Your Name Here!
Photo by Jack GouldWoe to us, for verily we have spent all our Bread and then some on a snazzy new Couch; a $100 subscription to Timothy McSweeny's Worldwide Fondness (www.mcsweeneys.net) because we wanted them to like us ("Here is a Check for $100, for, lo, we are made of Money," said we); and a Toyota Corolla from Crown Toyota in Long Beach, which did kindly release us from the disastrous Contract we'd signed in which we did feel royally screwed and gave us instead a proper Price that was not $1,200 over Sticker, and so we thank them. But we also wring together our Hands, for our Paycheck is gone, and consider selling our Body for the view of drunken Fops as a Stripper or a Porn Star, but then Commie Mom would be forlorn. Alackaday!
Now, if anything can ruin our Day, it's Commie Mom not being pleased; she's got a Mouth on her! And so we have decided upon an alternative Course of Action, in which You, the Reader, shall sponsor some or all of Commie Girl for Loads of Cash. If Huntington Beach can give up its Name for a paltry $3 million to our future Overlords at Coca-Cola, and Garden Grove can do the same for Pepsi, then surely we will be excused if we beg a few Crusts from Captain Creem's or perhaps Club Rubber. Or maybe we should think bigger: Commie Girl, brought to you by Rockwell and Hughes—just like Representative Christopher Cox! And then we could write a fantastic big Report in which we blame scurrilous Misdeeds on the shifty Chinaman instead of on our own Multinational Arms Merchant Corporate Masters. Blaming Chinamen is always Fun, particularly when one cleverly pulls one's Eyelids up with one's Fingers while transposing all "L" sounds to "R's." Such Tactics are especially useful in diverting attention away from the Ways in which said Masters do Business: for Instance, the Pentagon absorbs the hundreds of thousands of Dollars in Costs when our Death Merchants attend global Arms Shows, but said Death Merchants keep all of the Profits from their Whoring. This pains us in the same Manner in which we are pained when Drugs are researched and developed at public Expense (usually in public Universities) and then our Leaders hand over the Patents of these Drugs to Pharmaceutical Companies and allow them to bleed us for every Pill, with high Officials like Al Gore personally stepping in to make sure sick People in Africa don't get Benefits from Black Market Versions of the Same even though said Drug Dealers are currently recording the highest Take Home of any Industry in our Land. How about "Commie Girl, brought to you by Allergan"? Or, perhaps more elegant, simply "Pfizer Girl"?
We sloughed off our Despondency Aug. 3 to attend a Jonathan Richman Show at the wondrous Lava Lounge inside Java Lanes, where there ought always to be Ski Bunnies gathered round the Flagstoned Fire Pit and breaking incongruously into Song like Patty Duke and her Sorority Sisters. Richman, who wrote "Pablo Picasso (Was Never Called an Asshole)" of Repo Man soundtrack Fame and of course more recently starred as the Troubador in There's Something About Mary with our new Hero, Ben Stiller, is still extremely odd and still talks in a weird Guatemalan/ Mid-Atlantic Accent (you know, like Cary Grant and the newly British Madonna) even though he is from Boston. He delighted us all with very Latin numbers, and then he retired to Hof's Hut to eat Pie with his Drummer Tommy Larkin, rock-critic Legend Jim Washburn and Stephen Hodges, who is apparently also quite Renowned, though it did put us out a Bit that we knew who Hodges was but he couldn't say the Same for us. Still, they were all very nice, and we learned Buttloads about some old Jazz Guy or Other about whom they would not Shut Up.
Richman, by the By, is brought to you by Vapor Records.
We then went Home and stayed there for several Days before attempting to attend the OC Weekly's preview of Mystery Men, starring Stiller, but we accidentally went to the Block at Orange instead of to Tustin, so we looked at all the little Skaters brought to you by Vans. They were very nice. Then we went Home and stayed there again for several more Days until we were dragged out screaming to attend the Santora Arts Complex opening, which was studded with Luminaries like Santa Ana City Councilman Tom Lutz and his lovely Wife, Nancy, with whom we Gossiped about certain Members of the Council who are currently out on Bail. Also in attendance were Cal State Fullerton Art Honcho Mike McGee, Artists Village Godfather Don Cribb, Artist Sandow Birk, Gordy Grundy from Art JournalCoagula, and a Bunch of gay Marines, many of whom were drinking Beers at the newly opened Gypsy Den. The gay Marines are brought to you by Bill Clinton.
We traveled on to a Party at the Studio of Skeith De Wine, where we witnessed more gay Marines falling in Love and apparently became quite sotted, though we didn't realize it at the Time. In attendance was Madam Montana, the kindest Pimp you'll ever meet, and a Homocore Band called Best Revenge, which played poppy Ditties, and the Bassist was actually a giant of a Woman, and not a Man in a Skirt as we had originally thought. Still, she had Nothing on the Busstop Hurricanes' Twisty Lemons, who already has Swains heartsick throughout the county. De Wine's Party was most certainly not brought to you by Coors, even though some gay People can obviously be had for a few Bones.
On Monday, we hopped down to our own Weekly Cafe in Long Beach's Marina Pacifica Mall, planning to excoriate it for you as the essence of corporate Lame. And in fact, at the back of the Tower/Good Guys multimedia store, the caf cowers under giant, futuristic Video Screens that hang over it like loud Smog over Anaheim. There is no better Metaphor for corporate, Big Brother Terror—like when Microsoft announced its deal with Steve Jobs, who stood at a Podium under a hundred-foot-tall slavering Bill Gates.
In Fact—and, yes, we say so ourselves—the Weekly Cafe is a delightful space that lets one burn one's tapes onto CDs for free, allows free Internet and Web TV access, and does some other Things, as well as serving Sandwiches and Salads and a fine Espresso. The Weekly Cafe is brought to you by the OC Weekly and the LA Weekly, its Sister Publication in the global Stern Publishing Empire, which is brought to you by Hartz Mountain Pet Supplies, which is brought to you by Leonard Stern and God.
Commie Girl is brought to you by her parents, Jerry and Donna Schoenkopf. E-mail her—why not?—at CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.
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