Always and always, for some reason, I inadvertently find myself in goddamn Hollywood. I don't like it, but the reasons never end, and here I was. Why, this Sunday I am to meet someone in North Hollywood for yet another LA adventure . . .
It was Saturday March 15, fifth year anniversary of the horrors of the Iraq War (always haunting my birthday since I turned twenty-one--on the 23rd by the way), and I'd been seeing all these stickers telling me to go this protest on Hollywood and Vine. So I sacrificed my cartoon time and checked it out.
Not part of any group, I did my best as an individual warm body amongst the crowds, and show my support. They needed masses to make a statement and I guess I helped. I don't really know if I did. The constant struggle for morality. Right and wrong means . . . what? I realize America is in a very trying time and I hope my little bit of standing up makes any tiny difference. But who knows if anyone cares. Well, it was the least I could do and worth a try.
It was certainly the biggest protest I've ever seen up close. Hundreds of people in the streets. Still, this being Los Angeles, like meeting a celebrity (see below) it seemed shorter in real life. 1960s footage of real marches are far more impressive.
Overall, of course, there was a high concentration of leftists. Now, I can dig that now and then, but when you go all out Marxist and Communist its hard for me to take you seriously anymore. Particularly, I've had bad experiences with these communists who won't shut up about Bob Avakian or whatever his name is, this latest revolutionary guy who is apparently going to save the world.
And there were Code Pinkers who handed me a sticker declaring "Make Out Not War", and others dressed like clowns, and then they play hip hop, draw chalk in the streets, strangest of all were the Zen dancers, and do drag the rights of Palestinians and immigrants into it, and mock coffins to be carried, and a few 9/11 Truthers, and some Ron Paul people too. All stepping on the dirty stars on the sidewalk, all Hollywood, all here.
There were a few Christian nutcases in the peripheral, the counter-counter protests. Not very many, but a few. I tried speaking logic to a guy I recognized from the old Martial Law documentary--I guess he was in New York in 04--and there was no reasoning with him. "Have you read the Constitution?" I asked. "I bet you're the kind of guy who hates the Constitution." He kept telling me he bets I'm 'the kind of guy who...' and it was completely ceaseless to speak to him. "Don't you think Saddam had time to hide the weapons of mass destructions. America needs the power to destroy our enemies!" Later he would yell to the crowds: "this is God's war! If you hate this war and you hate this country, THEN YOU HATE GOD!"
If his God tells me that I have to support the war, then yes, I'll hate that God.
But enough of soapboxes. Sadly, humans are not a rational species and some people, be they extremist Christians or radical Communists, are just so misguided and nothing you can tell them will ever change their mind. Some people think the government needs to redistribute all wealth, and some people think Jesus wants wars, and its not my job to convince anybody of anything.
They marched and marched, down to the CNN building, and then I abruptly left. So much to do at once here in LA land, and just a few train exits away downtown the Wizard World comic convention was on.
My buddy, with his insider contacts, was lucky enough to let me in on a free pass. I wouldn't have gone otherwise. Nothing too interesting happens at Wizard World LA, and I'd rather save up my money and my anticipations for San Diego Comic Con in the summer.
It was a slow con. I hung around the floor room, talked to some artists, looked at expensive old Silver Age stuff and action figures that I had no hope of buying. I didn't come with a fun group or anything. I mean, my buddy was real nice to get me a ticket, but I fear that he doesn't share my passion for these mythological narratives. He was in full producer mode, and it was taxing. Networking with everyone and talking about bad movies, while I was excited about buying the Essential Silver Surfer--reprints of the entire 60s run--for only five dollars, but he really just wasn't into these comicbooky things.
Watched some anime. Not very many big names to talk to. The only panel that was interesting was Dan Didio's DCU stuff, so I went to it and asked some questions and even bugged Dan Didio personally(editor-in-chief of DC Comics), in the hopes that he'll remember who I am. I've seen him at least four previous times in these conventions! I should have brought my sample scripts to share, it woulda been worth a try, but I was shortsighted when I packed that morning.
Kinda cool, I later looked up the Newsarama article on the panel:
WWLA '08: DC's COUNTDOWN TO FINAL CRISIS PANEL
A fan asked about the Legion, and DiDio reminded that it's the 50th anniversary of the characters, and they have significant plans for them. "I really liked the 'Legion Lost' era," commented the fan. "Come back and see me in a month," DiDio said.
That was me!
Then I saw Seth Green in the hall, and bugged him for a cellphone picture.
"I loved you in Party Monster," I say.
"Thanks man, that means a lot to me."
He wasn't a snob at all. I think its nice to plug celebrity's indie movies, to get on their good side, as opposed to everyone else here who wants to hear him talk about Robot Chicken. And, as a matter of fact, I rather do like Party Monster.
Later that night I was supposed to go to a music show in Long Beach, but I was so damn exhausted. I gave up and went to sleep early. On the bus ride home I got a phone number from a girl who also treked from LBC to H-wood for the protest. A minor miracle.
Sunday was supposed to be miraculous too. It sort of was. Mixed results.
I went to the beach to get fucked up again, new experiments, but it ended up being a highly depressing experience. It was a beautiful windy day and everyone was out and I couldn't stand it. Dark as it gets, utter meaninglessness, the empty void in my head confirmed by the lonely sights before me; all the scene a cliche. The screeching birds, the noises, the wind, the cold ugliness of everything. It turned to night and I sobered up and wandered the streets and occasionally glanced at my stupid Palahniuk book. I missed the bus while it was raining and I was so hungry and weak and tired and at the height of my frustration with the world.
"FUCK!"
Suddenly I bumped into someone I knew at this bar. Oh yeah, its the weekend before St. Patrick's and everyone was having fun but me. In my post-brain fry eloquence, I surprised myself with witty conversation and hung out there for a while. I wiped the tears from my eyes and had a Corona and smoked a cigarette and it was cool. I even met someone into Neal Stephenson and had an epic conversation. I ate some nachos.
Discourse. Communicate. Connect. Vishuddha chackra exercise.
Funny how big a deal an emotion is at the time, and then you get over it and you forget about it.
So, I survived.
And my twenty dollars disappeared.
And I write things down.
And I get by.
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