So this happened on Sunday, August 9. The CicLAvia organization had one of its rides, this one on the west side, beginning in Culver City and ending at the Venice boardwalk. And back again! I did it, I have some pictures here:
Cyclists along Washington Boulevard in Culver City.
The Blogger taking a selfie.
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The Blogger at CicLAvia in the valley, outside of Oil Can Harry’s, a place to dance.
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Noticed that the number of bikes on our local streets has gone through the roof in the past couple of years? Perhaps you’ve joined the cyclists. Perhaps it’s just the weekend jaunt to the Farmers Market; perhaps you’re an everyday cyclist. Or thinking about it. Commuting, to work and all, and what that would entail.
Here’s ten quick things to keep in mind:
First, do follow traffic laws. They are the same as the ones drivers must follow. If your actions are predictable, it’s much safer for you – and cars – out on those mean roads. Don’t run red lights, as much as you want to. Just don’t.
Plot your route on Google Maps. You have the option to click on the bike icon for Google’s best guess for a good bike route (which is often not bad at all).
Think about your return trip — it might be obvious, but maybe not. Will it be dark by then? If so, you need your lights (front and back, minimum) and warmer clothing, preferably something reflective.
Rain. Not likely here, almost ever, but it does happen. Heck, nothing worse than getting soaked on a bike. Shops sell some pretty nice rain gear so it’s worth hauling it out for those special rain days in L.A.
Shortcuts! I’ve always loved this site, where cyclists contribute their own favorite routes. Bookmark it; I have.
Taking it on the train: If you take your bike on Metro, first of all, be smart and take the elevator with your bike, and leave the escalator for pedestrians. I’ve seen enough accidents to know I don’t want to be a Metro Escalator Statistic. Choose the car that has the space at the end for bikes and strollers and other large items (coffins, refrigerators, etc). If you can’t hook your bike to the railing or kickstand it securely so you know it won’t fall, stand there and hold the damn thing so it doesn’t fall on somebody. It’s a delicate dance, especially when those trains are crowded. My method is to be direct but apologetic, so far that’s worked.
When exiting the train: I have a “no rush” attitude, in that I am perfectly happy to be the last person out of the station after the subway gets there. There’s no use in fighting for space on the first elevator, or crowding an up escalator or staircase with both you and your bike. I like to wait until all the people have gone and then I can leisurely make my way out without running into someone with my two wheeler.
Drivers don’t know what Sharrows are. Or, they do know but they don’t care and don’t want to give you the space they’re supposed to. So be wary of streets with sharrows. I’m pretty sure most drivers resent them and won’t be giving you that 3-foot space they’re supposed to, anyway.
Try try try to ride on streets with painted, official, bike lanes. Even better would be to incorporate Bike Trails (like the L.A. River Bike Path, etc.) into your commute. Basically anything that can separate you from motor vehicles is a very good thing.
The most important tip is the last: Riding on bike on Los Angeles streets is dangerous, just because of the sheer volume of traffic in what is still the premier car culture city. That said, you have to ride defensively. Drivers don’t or don’t want to see you, and you can never depend that someone is going to see you unless you make eye contact with that driver. When in doubt, hesitate. I’m lucky that I’m old enough not to take those kinds of risks any more; it’s just not worth it.
ghost bike memorial to a fallen cyclist – you don’t want to end up with one of these
It took longer than I anticipated to finish the book, and to do the edits I wanted, all the passes — one for plot, another for comments I’d made in the margins, yet another for character, yet one more for dialogue.
I will finish my latest pass through “Kept” in the next few days and get it off to the copyeditor — very much in demand, so I know she won’t get to it till September. So that and my own delay in finishing means that the book won’t come out for several months.
Which is OK. Because I want the best book possible. Also, the holidays are not the optimum time for book publicity, which is what I’ll now pivot to — that and the marketing/launch plan for “Kept.”
Because when you self-publish, you are as much of a marketer as you are an author. If someone asked me what I thought was the one thing potential self-publishers needed to think about seriously before going down that path, that’s what I’d say. Consider the marketing, consider if you’re up to it. It is essential, and you will either have to do it yourself or pay someone to do it for you — which most individual self-publishers can’t possibly afford.
Stay tuned for Update #3!
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I liked this documentary on Ballet 422, which refers to the 422nd original ballet produced from the New York City Ballet Company. This one comes from choreographer Justin Peck, a 25-year old dancer/choreographer – and it’s his first ballet for the company.
For someone like me, who knows little of the world of dance, it was educational to watch the process of choreography. It’s always been somewhat of an enigma, or it’s like magic. Anyway, I really enjoyed the interplay between the choreographer and the dancers, and the parts that almost seemed co-created, or at least collaborated on. How these fantastic dancers remember what they’re supposed to be doing is truly beyond me! But they do, I guess that’s why they’re stars of the NYC Ballet, eh? Plus of course, there’s lots of eye candy no matter what your orientation happens to be.
The documentary (from director Jody Lee Lipes) also shows the requisite behind-the-scenes, including some parts of Justin’s life beyond Lincoln Center. We see him waiting for the subway, we see him go to his apartment in a borough other than Manhattan. It looks big enough by NYC standards, but then it got me thinking, he, a member of the corps de ballet probably doesn’t make enough money to live in that toniest part of New York.
So I looked up dancer salaries to get an idea. They are in the range, it seemed, of around $50,000 to $80,000 depending on what city they were dancing in and if they were chorus or principals or had a longer season, etc.
I found this information on The DL Reporter (http://dlreporter.com/2014/04/14/ballet-wage-issues/): (Raquel Nieves, author)
Jeremy Telman in his article, “New York City Ballet Dancers Agree to New Contract,” cited that a quick internet search suggests that a member of the corp de ballet makes $1,500 per week. He describes how the average rent in the city of Manhattan for a cramped one-bedroom is $3,150 per month and that it can get hard to find a two bedroom for under $1 million. “If the dancer gets paid for 38 weeks per year, that comes out to $76,000 per year, and that is a good salary in New York City as long as you can share a studio apartment in an outer borough with two or more other members of the corp (or you can marry an investment banker).[3]” Principal dancers, essentially the “A” list celebrities at ballet companies, make roughly about $1,000-$2,000 more per week than the corp de ballet (think below the line talent). Principals make more with the additional guest performance or teaching gig, but only a small percentage of dancers who join the company ever become principals.
So there you have it, on stage, like so many performers including actors and musicians, dancers appear to be so incredibly glamorous yet the society fails to reward artists for this. I also noticed during my viewing of the film that the theater building at Lincoln Center where the New York City Ballet performs is the David H. Koch Theater.
Yes, as in that Koch! Right, the Koch brothers, those infamous John Birch society right wing billionaire polluters from Kansas!
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In July 2008, philanthropist David H. Koch pledged to provide $100 million over the next 10 years for the purpose of renovating the theater and providing for an operating and maintenance endowment. It was renamed the David H. Koch Theater at the New York City Ballet Winter gala, Tuesday, November 25, of that year.
So great, he’s willing to support the actual structure and maintenance of the physical building, but the dancers who fly on the stage? Well, not so much, apparently. They are members of a union [American Guild of Musical Artists (AGMA)] and, well, you know, the Kochs, they just don’t like unions. Their group “Americans for Prosperity” helps states like Wisconsin gut union contracts, which is just another way to race to the bottom and destroy the middle class.
So I guess the dancers won’t really be able to look to David H. Koch for any help with their meager salaries that don’t really allow them to live in the city in which they perform. I guess it’s always been that way for robber barons, i.e., Andrew Carnegie probably didn’t help any turn of the century violinists with their rent either, though he built a theater in which they could perform.
Not that the $76,000 annual salary would make much sense to someone like David H. Koch, who, according to this piece, made $3 million PER HOUR from investments in 2012.
One of the last images in the film “Ballet 422” is of Justin Peck returning to the dressing room after all the curtain calls for this successful ballet premiere to don his costume to dance in the corps de ballet for the next offering in the program, later the same night. A worker among workers, a union man.
I’m not a sexologist. But I’ve noticed the differences between younger and older sex response as I’ve aged. So — this is just my opinion on having gay sex for 40-plus years. I thought of eight differences in older/younger couples vis a vis sex. If I think of more, I’ll add them.
A young man wants to have sex late at night (or is OK with having sex late at night); and an older man takes that song “Afternoon Delight” quite seriously.
A young man considers his first load in a session the ice-breaker; an older man is just really happy if it happens. And then it’s over for now (bye).
In my experience, younger guys can still get hard at the drop of a hat, or the mere suggestion of a drop of a hat. Older men’s response is different, requiring actual physical manipulation (i.e., rubbing, sucking) of the penis to achieve a really good erection.
A younger guy wants to be the bottom for the older guy — this is my experience, anyway, in like 95% of the cases. Daddy is also living for that other 5%. (Some of us get nosebleeds at those heights.)
No matter who takes on the role of top and bottom during the sex, for the spooning the older man wants to be the big spoon and hold his younger lover in the protective caress.
For the older partner, the big O, while still desired and nice, is not so much the be-all and end-all to sex. Affection, kissing, hugging, petting (or whatever you want to call it) as well as oral or anal sex slowly, even without an orgasm, is just as nice.
While the younger man will like to have his sex almost anywhere or in any position, the older man in the couple will like the option of lying down, preferably somewhere comfortable — like a bed. With pillows.
An older man sees the (multiple facets of) value in having an ongoing partner or partners; the younger guy may likely still be in the sowing oats years. Truth is that as you age, fewer men are interested in the oats, though the ones that are, are usually a higher quality!
What have I neglected to add? What do you think?
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“Cities around the world are coming to the same conclusion: they’d be better off with far fewer cars. So what’s behind this seismic shift in our urban lifestyles?” Stephen Moss investigates
Why? Because cars hugely degrade the civilized environment. So read this Guardian story.
I’ve thought a lot about this – and the paradox of freedom – which is how cars have always been marketed. Tell me, looking at this photo of L.A. freeways, this is freedom?
Well, if so, save me from that method of being free. Some gems from the story:
“In many cities, the era of the suburban commuter, along with the era of the car, is drawing to a close.” – we can only hope this could become the ideal in places like Los Angeles, as well. (Which in my mind is always perfect for biking.)
On the future of the smart phone vis a vis car ownership: “Consumers will, so the theory goes, use their smartphones to check ultra-detailed travel news, locate car-club cars or bikes, check for parking spaces,call up Uber drivers, and arrange shared rides. Who needs a personally owned car?” — I’ve found this is true in my now 2 years plus of car-freedom in Los Angeles.
Truth is, I’m not very optimistic that the vision shown in this article will become a reality here in California, at least in Southern California, at any time in the remote future — but I have hope for the Millennial generation, who appear to be much more interested in changing the car culture than the Baby Boomers and older are.
The Guardian story is a long one, but worth it.
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Trump and Bernie are resonating for the same reason, IMO
I just realized that I forgot to post the actual text of my WeHo memory! The photo of it blown up to poster size will not do, as I don’t imagine everyone has a magnifying glass.
So, here it is. It’s reality, not fiction, so perhaps not as exciting as it would be if I embellished. I erred on the side of truth as I remember it. Text below photo.
My memory of WeHo birthday
MY FIRST BIRTHDAY IN LOS ANGELES/WEHO
I moved to Los Angeles in January 1981, back when there were no computers, no Internet or mobile phones, or any other recent innovations like marriage equality, gay community centers, or the ability to serve openly in the armed forces.
I’d packed everything into a rental car. I didn’t have much, but I did have two crucial items for my new life in L.A.: my bicycle, and my Damron Gay Guide.
Every day was adventure, learning the city and doing my work at the university. But I hadn’t made friends yet, and I didn’t know how to navigate the overwhelming gay community.
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I lived in Echo Park and was carless. I rode the bus, so the main gay districts of Silver Lake and West Hollywood were either a semi-short ride or an excruciatingly long ride away.
I’d ventured into West Hollywood once to get my bike fixed. Old Pacific Red Car tracks were still visible on Santa Monica; those storied outdoor burger shacks still open everywhere. Hot, shirtless hustlers, channeling classic surferboy looks, “hitchhiked” along the Boulevard.
I got the bike repaired and fled!
But my birthday arrived in March and I was 26 and I wanted to do something. I’d never been to Beverly Hills, so I told myself I wanted to see Rodeo Drive—why, I have no idea, it was just a place I’d heard of.
I would ride my bike. It’s 10 miles. A straight route all the way down Sunset, then a quick turn down Rodeo.
That was to be my birthday celebration. I rode out there by myself on a dark Saturday night. Once I got there, all that greeted me were closed, if glittery stores. A few pedestrians were out; certainly not many: no cake shop was around to assist.
To say this was anticlimactic is an understatement. I was lying to myself. I didn’t want to see Beverly Hills; I didn’t care about that. I wanted to see what was always there for me in West Hollywood, and I knew this land of desire was just blocks away.
I’d copied the WeHo pages from Damron’s and brought them with me just in case. There was a place called the Blue Parrot (where Revolver is today). It sounded tropical; I’d had a fantastic gay time in Key West a year before this so I figured this might be a theme.
I tethered the bike to a pole in front. I went into the crowded, boisterous bar and the smiling, flair-juggling bartender made me my first ever West Hollywood birthday drink. I don’t remember what it was and I didn’t stay too long—I had to ride home.
I got the sense that I belonged in this place where gay bars fronted main streets and had picture windows looking out—and which also looked in. Although it took more time and more experience, that for me was the seed to loving this spot where one could hope to live a gay life free and authentic. — Jim Arnold
From the West Hollywood 30th Anniversary Celebration in Plummer Park June 27, 2015: Memoirs and readings at Fiesta Hall. Some pictures for you! I wrote about my first birthday alone in L.A./West Hollywood. Bittersweet, that’s what it was. Things did get better. But not for a long time.
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Look Ma, I’m equal today! Today, I have the same marriage rights as my 7 straight siblings. For my first 60 years, I have been denied those rights. This is a marvelous day, which will only increase in profundity as time wears on.
I certainly don’t always agree with the writer Andrew Sullivan but I did like his great perspective on our shared gay history, and this seems like an appropriate occasion to link to it and bring it back out.
It is interesting, what he says in the piece about the average 22 year old gay male today just assuming that his right to get married to another man is a given.
Case in point: Facebook! On Facebook, whatever we might think of it, it allows the generations to mix in a way that was previously largely impossible. I have an acquaintance, a musician/writer type, who is of that age group, 20s, Millennials, whatever you want to call them. I call it young and cute, in his case.
Anyway, this guy got engaged (!!) to another young man, equally as adorable, about his age. Since that announcement, I’ve been following their various travels and insanely cute and wonderful pictures as they go about planning their wedding and reception and all that.
To a gay man of my age and generation, (OK, I was 60 earlier in 2015) this is quite astonishing. I never thought we’d see same sex marriage in my lifetime; this wasn’t even something I thought about much at all. But I’m really happy that others did think of it, and thought big. Look where we are, look where we’ve come. There is so much more to do; just because there’s now a judicial decision making marriage equality the law of all 50 states doesn’t mean that people will change how they feel inside. The work goes on. And on. Like it always has.
And — even better, I got an engagement announcement from a gay couple who are friends of mine yesterday. Yes, this was via Facebook. They’re not quite Millennials; they’re older, but still I have to say I loved seeing the relative pomp and circumstance of a social media announcement like this. How wonderful it is for them to be able to share their love with the world this way.
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Nothing says WeHo like spandex and an old California friar.
I have a WeHo memory snippet that’s going to be hanging on the wall at this event. It’s from my birthday in 1981. I’ll take pictures and follow up by posting them.
Here’s the Facebook event from Hank Henderson:
David LeBarron and I would like to thank all of you for sending us your stories about West Hollywood. Together, your writings create a wonderfully diverse collection of passionate, funny, wistful, elegiac, sly, and fearless entries into the ever growing canon of literary Queer history. Congratulations to all of you.
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Your stories have been printed poster-sized and framed in custom frames created by artist Bill Cole. Together they will hang as an installation in the courtyard of Fiesta Hall in Plummer Park through the entire day of ‘West Hollywood: This Is Your Life!’ June 27th.
The courtyard opens at 3:30pm. The first performance at Fiesta Hall will be a homo-centric sponsored reading at 4pm (hint). Shows continue through the afternoon & evening. David & I hope you are able to come to see the installation and stay for part or all of the performances. It is a free event.
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