DRINKIN' WITH THE DISTRICT

Here are links to two stories from recent issues of the District. Yes, they are both about booze.

This first one is about the dollar beers at Fantasy Castle. My friends say it makes me sound gay. You decide.

This second one, which ironically mentions one of my gay friends, is about the white Sangria at Sevilla. It rules.

UPDATE ON YESTERDAY'S POST

So the Press-Telegram has a story today about the Long Beach City Council's attempt to ease laws regarding public smoking.

Could this have anything to do with why so many in the Long Beach tobacco smoking industry are donating money to First District candidate Robert Garcia?

RICKY BERRY FOR LB CITY COUNCIL PART 2

LbReport.com has a story about this guy named Robert Garcia and his campaign for the First District's open city council position. The article begins with a detailed description of who has donated to Garcia's campaign and how much they've given. Later, Garcia responded by saying most of his contributions are from people giving $100 or less. Sure, dude.

When you've got the fire and police unions giving $2,500 each, you don't care about the little guy. If my math is correct (and it's usually not), $2,500 from one group equals 25 $100 donations. And with this money coming not from people but from city-backed groups, where do you think this guy's allegiance lies?

The story also mentions how "cigar/smoking/tobacco related businesses" have donated, some up to the maximum alloted $1,000 amount. Garcia disputes this claim, saying, "I recieved contributions from a few Cigar Lounge small business owners that I know, not smoking firms or companies." Well, one look at this list and you can see seven different people associated with smoking lounges donated money. Call it what you want, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out something's up when seven seemingly random business owners who just so happen to be in the SAME business give money to one candidate. That's a bullshit move, the kind the city can expect more of if this clown's elected.

Oh, and twice in his statement Garcia mentions he doesn't smoke. For a guy who doesn't smoke and never has, he sure has a lot of connections within the smoking community.

Later he writes, "However, if a responsible adult wants to smoke a cigar in a cigar lounge, that is their business and I support the current state law guiding that issue." For once, I agree. But does he feel the same when what those responsible adults are smoking ISN'T tobacco?

Everyone I know has nothing but terrible things to say about Long Beach city government. They drop the ball at every chance they get because they want to squeeze out this town's character in favor of glossy high rises and outdoor malls. If the people of Long Beach -- and more particularly, the people of the first and second districts -- were in charge, Acres of Books would still exist, the Pike would never have been built, CityPlace would have stores people actually want to shop at and the Vault would be a viable club. But no, we get shit on every chance the city gets. That's why I'm moving to Portland.

You want more of the same bad ideas, vote for Garcia. He's the guy who's backed by the same people responsible for all those terrible ideas. You want someone with a fresh perspective on things, a person who hasn't been running for political office for all of his adult life, vote for Rick Berry.

FERNET-BRANCA IN THE DISTRICT

Fernet-Branca is one helluva drink. Read all about it.

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/food-drink/drink-of-the-week/drink-of-the-week-21/

RICK BERRY FOR LONG BEACH CITY COUNCIL

Anyone who knows me is aware that I don't back politicians. I think they are slimy, egotistical and lame. But there's a guy running for Long Beach City Council who I can get behind.

It's my friend Rick Berry. He's an absolute great person and very deserving of someone's vote. He's not like all the other politicians out there, which means he's a real human who places fresh ideas over bureaucracy.

Rick has set up a weekly get-together at Zephyr in Long Beach. Last week was his first attempt. I was there. So were a few others. Check it out and ask him some questions. He's very friendly and will bring about more change than any of the people he's running against.

DAVID SEDARIS IN LONG BEACH

If you read my story in the District (and I know you did), you'd understand that readings are boring. But David Sedaris was different. He wasn't boring.

I thought he might read a bunch of his published works, but a lot of what he read seemed to be works in progress. Fortunately, they were each funnier than the next.

I have mixed feelings about David Sedaris. On the one hand, I think he's a goddamn genius and by far the funniest writer around. On the other, I am so freakin' jealous of him that it's hard to comprehend. I envy his career and wish I was doing the same. I feel like he beat me to it and if I was to write in a similar manner, the influence would be way too obvious. But you gotta admit...he lives in France, is number one each time a new book comes out and charges $45 to see him. That's the life I want.

The crowd was a mixed bag of young white hipsters, old white people in sweaters and lots of gays. I wasn't sure how many of the gays would be in attendance because of the gays I know, none of them know who David Sedaris is. Maybe he's a straight icon like Madonna is to their team.

DAVID SEDARIS

I've been super busy, so this is all you get for now.

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/arts/books/he-talk-pretty-friday/

NIGHT MARCHERS AT ALEX'S (PART DEUX)

I was going to rant and rave about how awesome the Night Marchers were last night at Alex's Bar, but this guy beat me to it. He's pretty good if ya ask me.

http://blogs.ocweekly.com/heardmentality/last-night-reviews/last-night-night-marchers-alex/

OUT OF THE CLOSET

The store, not me.
http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/commerce/dept-of-commerce/ready-to-wear/

PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SOCKS

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/commerce/buy-curious/the-quiet-man/

RAY BRADBURY AT ACRES OF BOOKS

Sorry about the camera angle. I never used that function before. Now I know.

Famed author Ray Bradbury is known for lots of things, namely his books, which include Farenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles. Locally, people know Bradbury as a proponent of Long Beach's Acres of Books, a world class destination soon to be hit by the city's figurative and literal wrecking ball. Bradbury ain't no spring chicken, so he called the store (and the media) to make what could be his final appearance.





I'm lucky enough to be on the good side of Acres of Books and jumped when manager Raun Yankovic called me with the news. Yes, it took four days for me to post this, but that's the beauty of this blog thingy - I can update whenever I want.

Bradbury talked for about fifteen minutes in the store's music room, which doubles as the open mic lounge. It was hot outside and even hotter inside that cramped space during the middle of the day. He couldn't hear well, sat in a wheelchair and took his time. Most of the questions asked were of the amateur kind ("Why are bookstores important?" "Are you sad to see this place go?") and made me glad I wasn't covering this. Shit, now that I read this, I guess I was, which means my question of what he reads now is probably pretty lame too. Damn.




He talked about diplomas not meaning a damn, how stupid it is for the greater Los Angeles area to lack quality bookstores, how places like Borders and Barnes & Noble have a place if done properly, the meaning of the French medallion around his neck and a bunch of other stuff I can't remember. But it was good, in a press conference sort of way. Most of the reporters seemed like an editor sent them there and I was disappointed that fewer fans didn't show up, but it was Wednesday at 1 p.m. Score one for the unemployed!

As you can see by my pictures, there were a lot of photographers. Most pissed me off. I mean, get your shot and get the fuck out of my way, but don't push two inches in front of me and stand there for a few minutes and expect me to move. We're in the business together, but come on people, show a little respect. I mean, look at my pictures below. They're just as good as anything the so-called pros produced from this event.

BUNGALOW MARCASSO

This place is around the corner from where I live. I like to walk over there and pretend I can afford some of the stuff they sell.

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/commerce/dept-of-commerce/true-grit/

TACO SALAD DAYS

Here's a little thingy I wrote for the District regarding the taco salad at Coco Renos. Now I know everyone will say the tofu tacos are the best, but those people haven't had the taco salad.

PS Make sure to ask for tofu.

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/food-drink/the-sides/sides-10/

SLICK RICK IN LONG BEACH

My friend Gabe and Rick the Ruler



Holy shit! Could it be true? Slick Rick, MC Ricky D, Rick the Ruler was coming to my town?

I was excited but cautious. Rap isn't that good live, especially when it's old dudes doing it. But I got love for Slick Rick (and free tickets), so you know I went.

Maybe it was the three beers and the Lakers losing, but I wasn't feeling it as I hopped on the bus to downtown Long Beach. Turns out it wasn't the beers or the Lakers.

Some local emcees opened. Some were better than others, but none blew me away. It never ceases to amaze me how bad most rappers are because they no NOTHING about working a crowd. That's ironic because that's what emcees are supposed to do.

Anyway, Ricky D hits the stage after his deejay played a mish mash of old school hits. It's sad, but this was the best part of the show. Slick Rick came out and stood in the same spot for about 25 minutes, then split.

I'll give him mad props for the amount of jewelry he had on and his pink shirt, but other than that, his show was WEAK. I felt like we were getting the half-assed, this-ain't-LA-so-who-gives-a-fuck attitude. He played wack version of "Mona Lisa" and "Children's Story" and an ok attempt at "La Di Da Di," but the novelty wore thin. I was ready to bail when Rick the Not So Ruler ended his show, which made me feel much better about leaving early.

The highlight of the show came when he was on stage shaking ends. Method Man came out from the backstage area. Not to perform. Just to be seen. That's right folks, you heard it here first. M-E-T-H-O-D MAN was in Long Beach. I heard a rumor the Raekwon the Chef was there too, but I didn't see him.


I really didn't want to type any of this. I love Slick Rick, but the show sucked. I felt bad for anyone who paid $25 for that. I tried giving him the benefit of the doubt by thinking maybe he was really high or something. Ricky D, if you read this, don't hate me. I still got love for ya, but your show needs work.

HOLE MOLE GOT ROBBED

It's our first scoop over here at Jim Hall Sleeps All Day and we must say -- we are mighty proud of our discovery. I pulled into Hole Mole's parking lot around midnight to park for Fern's. My friend Chris and I walked up and saw a cop talking to the really cute young girl who I shouldn't even be saying is cute. But if she's old enough to work the night shift...

Anyway, we walked in to a group of our friends. They all said Hole Mole got robbed. Disbelief. I was sitting on a stool peeping my head out the door. I could see the cute girl talking to a cop. She had a dishevled look on her face. I wanted to hug her and tell her it would be ok, but that sounded way too pervy, so I erred on the side of caution and skipped that. Later, Chris and I got hungry and decided to do some investigative journalism, aka crossing the street to see if it was true. There was a cop standing by the door. He waited until we tried to open said door until telling us they were closed. Chris asked if it was because they were robbed. The cop said yes.

So there we have it. Our first breaking news story. Too bad it had to be a bummer. Chris and I saw a fight there a month ago and now this. If the people of Long Beach don't behave, Hole Mole will cease with the late night hours. If that happened, where would people like me go for veggie-friendly Mexican food at 2 a.m.? So knock it the fuck off you assholes. Some of us are trying to eat.

I SEE THE WEIRDEST SHIT

Yesterday I was eating lunch at Hole Mole in Long Beach (which one you ask? Wouldn't you all in Internet land like to know...) These two 50 something guys with salt and pepper hair wearing casual Friday clothes come walking down the street when out of nowhere a pigeon swoops in and clips BOTH guys in their heads. The guy closest to the street got it worse and yelled like a little girl when it happened. The bird kept flying. When they walked by me, I said, "Close call, huh?" They smiled and laughed. I don't know why, but lately I've been catching all sorts of things like this, like someone is telling me to document these strange occurrences.

Like last Wednesday for example. Exactly one week before I was at a friend's house talking about some local tagger. The conversation naturally lent itself to the "art" of tagging and I said I'd seen upwards of one hundred instances of people spray painting or using a Sharpie on public property. The two people I was with both said they'd never see that. Fast forward a week...Driving down Anaheim right across from Rec Park. Stopped at a red light, I just happened to glance to my left and lo and behold, some teenager is hitting up one of them odd looking green cylinder thingies with the holes in them. Instantly I thought of my conversation the week prior and called both people to tell them what I'd just seen. They both laughed.

I can't talk to dead people or feel a presence when I enter rooms, but maybe catching glimpses of the most random things is my sixth sense. Like the time in Hollywood when I saw a woman in her 80s get off the bus in front of me and faceplant into the ground. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then the light turned green, the bus got moving and so did I.

UCLA lost. No big shocker there. I was at a party a few days before the tourney started and got into it with some guy who thought they'd go all the way. This guy's drunk, stupid or both, I thought. I was right. I'm a pretty big Bruins fan, but even I knew they weren't beating Memphis. Maybe next year? Wait, isn't that what we've been saying for three years in a row? Is the glass half full because they've got to the Final Four three years in a row or is it half empty because they've come away without a title in any of those years? I dig coach Ben Howland, but how long before people start to criticize him for not bringing home a national championship? Getting to the Final Four is great -- winning is even better.

Going to see Artie Lange tonight. Should be fun. Full report tomorrow. Or whenver I feel like it. Maybe never.

My pea brain tells me the way to get more hits on this blog is to comment on the news and link to stories. That sounds fine, but I don't have the time for that nor the desire. I like spilling the random thoughts in my head onto the Internet for all to see. Makes me feel less crazy or something.

Sorry to sound like a broken record, but Fucking on the beach in Italy. Beach fucking Italy. Italy beach fucking. Seriously, I don't think anyone reads this blog besides people looking for those keywords.

SATURDAY NIGHT RECAP

I spent part of the early evening in my new garden. It's in my backyard. I shoveled a bunch of dirt. Sounds dull, but it was pretty awesome. Being outside in the great weather is a welcome relief. I'm ready for summer.

Walked down Broadway to a party. I bought a 34-ounce Miller High Life and later had a Pabst Blue Ribbon. In between drinks, a friend and I smoked a bowl in a corner of the apartment.

Saw a killer band called Ninja Academy. They rule. They play fuzzy bass and killer drums. Like the Minutemen if the Minutemen were into Spazz.

Got a ride back to someone's apartment near First and Cherry. Some girl went home and so did I. Filled a bowl and smoked it on whatever street I was on. Good buzz going, I walked down Broadway in no time.

Got home and went pee. Then a walk down Broadway to Temple and down to the water. I hung alone atop Bluff Park for about twenty minutes. The real people are out at 12:30a.m. We're all going somewhere, but where, none of us know. We should stop and talk, but the late night news have us convinced that everyone outside at this hour is crazy. Nevermind WE'RE outside at this time...

Really though, I love late night solo walks down to the water. It's there, might as well use it. There werew a few couples embracing. I was the only guy by himself. That's cool. I like being alone. Good time to think, refresh and replenish.

Wind was blowing like a mucka, but I through my hand over the flame and smoked a bit more. I've been kinda slow in the smoke lately. But tonight I said fuck it.

I'm sure there are better highs than the kind that take place in public, but I'm not sure I know what those are. Blazing a lil chronic out in the open is a big middle finger salute to the ways things are "supposed" to be. If I can't smoke a little weed at the beach, then we're all doomed.

Seriously, it feels good walking down the street smoking pot. Very freeing, relaxing. I used to follow the rule that if a person can smoke indoors, they should. Not any more. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em and wherever ya got 'em.

I was trying to get the attention of a cat that lives on the bluff. Loads of cats live there, but one was eye-balling me from ten feet away. I moved slowly, but it dispappeared into the dark night. Next time.

The rain started as a drizzle, but became a full on water assault after twenty minutes. It was time to go home when my glasses got foggy from the rain.

Good night Long Beach. Once again we've danced our dance, sang our song, met our match and lived to tell about it.

TIDBITS

Lots of random things...

At work. Bored. The only thing worse than having too much to do is not having enough to do.

Sang karaoke for the first time in a while last night. Then woke up with a tiny hangover.

Part III of the Rob Woodard interview will be posted tomorrow or late tonight.

I'm feeling this change of weather. Time to dust off the BBQ and croquet.

Went to the Beer and Politics meeting at Gallagher's Tuesday night. But I got there late and missed the whole event. I stuck around for the post-party, which I guarantee was more fun. Nothing better than disgruntled journalists (and PTers to boot!) getting drunk and complaining. Ran into a few friends. Not sure why they were there, but they were. When I asked what the meeting was about, someone told me it had to do with the way the Press-Telegram is going downhill. Well duh. In the newspaper game, we call that old news. Isn't Long Beach tired of this already? The PT sucks. Get over it. It's a shame what asshole Singleton has done to it, but the damage is beyond repair.

Lakers lost to the Bobcats? What? When's Pau and Andrew "gettin' all the fuckin' rebounds" Bynum returning? Not soon enough.

I'm broke, but thinking about hitting Gallaghers tonight for karaoke. It's run by a short Philipino man who's got a surprisingly good selection of Snoop and Dre. The same can not be said about the Wednesday jock at the Prospector. He didn't even have songs listed by artists' names. Song titles only? What the fuck kinda karaoke is that? He must be new. But that didn't stop me from ripping up the joint with Young MC's Bust a Move. It's my new karaoke standard.

I'll add more as I go. I gotta pretend to be doing something. Or maybe I don't. One thing's for sure, there's only so much Free Cell and Solitaire a guy can play before he starts getting a bit stir crazy. Maybe I should download AIM and bother my friends. Nah. That takes too much work.

Oh, I almost forgot. Italy Fuck Beach. Fuck Italy Beach. Beach Fuck Italy. Fucking in Italy. Fucking on the Beach Italy. Beach fucking in Italy. That should boost the ol' hit counter through the roof!

INTERVIEW WITH ROB WOODARD PART II

Here's part two of my interview with Rob Woodard. I should also mention Rob is responsible for convincing me to read some of my poetry at certain places around Long Beach. So I thank him for that. And if you've heard my poetry, you can blame him for that.

J: You bring up Mike Watt in your writing. He definitely fits into that category.
R: He plays what he wants to play. Nobody told him he couldn’t combine Richard Hell with Funkadelic or the Sex Pistols and jazz. The first mistake people make in the arts is planning to make a living. If you’re really good and stick to your own path, you’ll make a better living than trying to make a living. That’s one of the reasons I got an anthropology degree – I wanted to learn. It’s a good field because it combines archeology, sociology and biology all under one package.

J: Have you incorporated that into your writing?
R: I haven’t so far, but it informs what I’m doing in my new novel. It’s set in the future and is very different than anything I’ve done. I’m creating a society – and it’s not our society – from all these things I learned about social structure, group behavior and all these things. But it’s not a formal thing. Nobody reading that will think they’re reading an anthropologist.

J: You’ve said you don’t write short stories because you’ve never gotten into them. Why?
R: I’ve never enjoyed reading them or writing them. I’m not sure why. Short stories all seem the same. There’s three ways to write them. They have the same rhythms, structures and they don’t interest me much. They’re confining and predicable. There are a few exceptions. I really like Hemmingway because he was a born short story writer, much better than a novelist. I like some of John Fante’s short stories. People treat it like practice and that’s part of the problem. It’s not treated as an art form in itself; it’s treated as a stepping stone to something bigger. People like Hemmingway proved you can say more in a short story than you can in a novel. It’s like going to a baseball game and watching the pitcher warm up. I suppose it’s interesting in a sense. But I must admit, because I never got into them, I haven’t read that many of them so I am more than willing to say I’m ignorant don’t know what I’m talking about.

J: You just started a blog. How do you think this new medium affects writers?
R: It’s a whole new genre within writing. I’m really enjoying mine and I’m still feeling it out. Mine’s really formal in places and it’s not what I want it to be yet. It’s a weird combination of diary, speech making and novel writing. It forces me to think about things like what if radio announcing was writing? It’s going out in the airwaves as you’re doing it. I don’t know where it’s going and that’s the interesting thing. I see books coming out of collections of blogs. It’ll be interesting to see how the printed word and blogs combine. I like the honesty and whether they say it or not, writers are always writing to be read. This brings that to a forefront.

J: I’ve heard you mention how you think today’s underground writing culture is perhaps influenced too heavily by Bukowski.
R: He freed language from the academics. The Beats started the process and his stuff was the death blow. Most academics don’t realize how incredibly irrelevant they are and how far behind the times they are. He changed everything. That doesn’t mean everything he wrote was great, but he opened up real language to come back, especially in poetry. A lot of people don’t understand was what he gave people was the license to do their own thing. But they thought it was an invitation to do his thing and they just keep copying him. In the long run, he’s revolutionized the English language. Eventually, the direct influence will start to fade. He’s only been dead for about a decade. He’s still very fresh and people are still discovering him. Right now, underground literature is buried in Bukowksi and it’s not helping anyone.

J: Tell me about writing poetry. For some writers, crossing the line from novelist to poet is looked down upon.
R: I don’t think writing poetry really helps you do anything. Artistically, it’s who you are. It used to be unusual to do both. Prose and novels used to be considered second tier. The serious people were poets. At some point those positions reversed. Most of us are trained as prose writers. Bukwoski did a lot of that by writing both and the fact that he was trained as a prose writer, he injected narrative back into poems. With narrative becoming important again in poetry, it makes it that much easier for a prose writer to write poetry or understand they can. It never occurred to me to limit myself to one. Knut Hamsun wrote everything. His poetry wasn’t very good, but he wrote it.

J: Is there a difference? Are you trying to say something different or is it just a different medium?
R: I think I am now. My poetry is changing rapidly. I’m trying to move away from narrative. Now it goes in more than one direction; it’s not straight storytelling style. Now that the narrative style brought me into poetry, I’m realizing there’s a lot more I can do with it. It’s taken me in directions that make me nervous. Am I leaving audiences behind? But you gotta do what you do. I can’t pretend I’m something I’m not. There’s a lot more symbolism, the imagery’s different. I’ve always had this fascination with painters. Part of me wishes I had become a painter instead of a writer. From the outside, it seems like there’s more freedom of expression. You can say many, many things at one time, whereas writing it’s much harder to do that. What they’re do with painting, I’m trying to do with poetry. I’m not sure how possible that is.

J: Kerouac tried to incorporate that idea into his poetry, but I’m still not sure how successful he was. He gets an A for effort., but…
R: My guess is that it would read a lot better in front of an audience than on paper. It sounds really pretentious, but everything happening in his poetry is already happening in his prose. It’s distilling and I don’t see any reason for that. His prose says all that. He wrote some really good poems, but if you took all of his best work and put it together, it would be a chapbook. Poetry went off the deep end and Kerouac’s attempt was to bring it back to real people and Bukowksi finished the job. People like T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound…I have no idea who Pound was writing “The Cantos” for. I don’t know who can read that. Parts of it are fabulous, but most of it is unreadable and that’s what people think of when they think of poetry. They think of something they don’t understand, something they were forced to read in high school.

J: That’s how I felt about poetry until I read Bukowski. He showed me it doesn’t have to be stuffy.
R: I get really frustrated with Pound because his earlier stuff was so amazing. He took the biggest wrong turn in literary history. You shouldn’t have to take a seminar to have to understand a poem. A lot of poets aren't very good writers because they haven’t trained themselves to write. Especially poets that that’s all they do, write poetry. You can get away with that on the surface, but it shows in the long run. Prose writing teaches you respect for your audience because you have to write something they’re going to read. A lot of poets don’t respect their audience, they attack them. Their basic attitude is, “Look how much smarter I am than you. You should really want to be like me. Buy my book please.” I don’t want to talk to that poet.

J: When will your book of poetry be out?
R: I’m hoping next summer. But there’s nothing set in stone. “King of Long Beach” will be crowned whenever it happens. People keep thinking that title is very arrogant, but it’s actually really self-depreciating.

INTERVIEW WITH ROB WOODARD PART I

I first heard about Burning Shore Press about a year or so ago. I knew I wanted to investigate for reasons both personal and professional and now that I've met the man behind the company, I can say I am glad I did.

His name is Rob Woodard. He's a novelist/poet from Long Beach who's published three books --his novel "Heaping Stones," Dan Fante's play "Don Giovanni" and Tony O'Neill's book of poetry "Songs From the Shooting Gallery: Poems 1999-2006." Each is different than the next, but there is a common theme to what Woodard chooses to release. His publishing house deals with the gritty, the downtrodded, the sorts of things mainstream publishers aren't interested in. Which just so happens to be what I like to read.

I was excited when I discovered someone in Long Beach doing the kind of work he does. This is a special town and needs someone to shine the literary spotlight on it. And his work does just that. From scenes at Acres of Books or driving down Seventh Street, "Heaping Stones" is a Long Beach book that should be read by everyone who lives here. Woodard said something in this interview regarding why he writes about Long Beach and I agree. But you'll have to read to find out the answer.

I picked up "Heaping Stones" one Saturday afternoon and was finished before I went to bed. I can't say the same for many other books I've read. It's chalk full of despair, honesty, confusion and sex -- all things that can make or break a book. For Woodard, it makes it.

This interview is pretty long, so I'm going to break it up into different parts and give a mini intro before each one. So here's part one. And don't forget to visit www.burningshorepress.com. It's full of details and all kinds of good stuff. If you want to check out his blog, it's linked on this here site. Enjoy.

J: Your work reflects your background as someone who’s read a lot. How did you get interested in reading and writing?
R: I had a weird background. My family watched a lot of TV. My mom read a lot, but she liked mysteries. Murdering doctors are the best for her, which is fine, but it’s not exactly stimulating if you want to write. My stepdad used to read Edgar Allen Poe out loud, which is creepy when you’re a kid. I read “Little House on the Prairie” and “Tom Sawyer” and I loved it. But it didn’t stick. It was more important to watch “Gilligan’s Island” and “The Brady Bunch.” It wasn’t until my teens that I picked it up. I read a lot of Steinbeck and Hemmingway, then I got more into music. I started getting back into literature through bands where the lyrics matter. One of my favorite bands was X. This was serious musical poetry. Poets tend to look down on lyrics, but to me they’re the same thing. I started listening to the Minutemen; their lyrics are fascinating. Then I got into Bob Dylan and that blasted my mind about the potential of language. Also Lou Reed. He’s the opposite of Dylan. He’s a poetic journalist. Then I started reading the Beats. In my senior year of high school I took a poetry class. My teacher was so cool that she brought Bukowski. She was careful of which ones she brought. That got me reading other poets. It took off from there. Then I got really heavily into what I call the Pacific Northwest poets – Gary Snyder, Lew Welch, Philip Walen. I’ve always been into hiking and camping and stuff like that. They led me to ancient Japanese poetry and haiku. By then I was hooked. It just took me a long time to translate the influences into my own life.

J: Tell me about writing about Long Beach.
R: There are two sides. There’s the personal. I ran away from home essentially for about a decade. I had to come to terms with that in order to come to terms with myself. From a literary mode, growing up, the thing frustrating to me about books was they always took place somewhere else. I remember reading a scene in one of Steinbeck’s books that took place in La Jolla and I was all excited. Does everything take place in New York, London or Paris? Why are these places so special? It pissed me off. Why is my home not special? When I hit my Bukowski phase, one of the things I remember reading in “Factotum” takes place at the Los Alamitos race track. I grew up down the road from that. That really set off something in my head. And that’s where bands like the Minutemen came in. They were writing songs about San Pedro. If they were writing about San Pedro, which is nowhere near as cool as Long Beach, then I can write about Long Beach. At that age, I needed somebody to tell me it was ok.

J: Your work has a theme of longing for love. Where does that come from?
R: There’s a lot of personal overlap. There wasn’t a lot of closeness in my family or excessive emotion. We weren’t touchy feely people and I think I kind of am. I’ve tended to go for women who are completely self-absorbed and capable of giving very little. These women were exciting because they do bizarre things because they don’t see anybody else. I was mistaking crazy women for interesting because they can’t get out of their own head. Part of writing “Heaping Stones” changed that. I’ve moved past that, but I still write about it. There’s nothing more harrowing than a crazy woman. When I write it now, it doesn’t feel like me. It feels like I’m copying myself.

J: Who are some of your influences for novel writing?
R: I really like John Fante. Nobody ever caught this and it really pisses me off. The opening of “Heaping Stones” makes jokes off the opening of “Ask the Dust.” My character walks into a coffee shop and has the same kind of sarcasm. Basically, it’s a re-write and nobody’s ever caught on to that, including Dan. It was designed to be an homage and a loving parody. D.H. Lawrence was a major influence, Henry Miller, lots of old Russian novelists like Dostovesky, Proust.

J: How does your time spent traveling the world affect what you write?
R: It opened my mind to seeing lots of different things. I did it so young. I was on the road, thousands of miles from home before I was 20 years old. I’ve never written about the places I’ve traveled to. I don’t know why, but a lot of it has to do with the fact that those years I was running away from my problems. I wasn’t facing my problems and there wasn’t much to write about or worth writing about. I tried setting a novel in Honolulu and Australia and it seemed really surface level. I couldn’t get it to gel and go anywhere else. It may very well happen some day. I need to be connected to a place before I can write about it.

J: Is that why you write about Long Beach?
R: Yeah, and exercising demons, coming to terms with my hometown. I had a less than stellar family situation. My father didn’t exist and my stepfather caused more problems than he solved. I never felt like I fit in growing up. My mom re-married when I was 6. The person she married had substance problems and troubles keeping a job, so for three years we moved constantly. I lived in Beaumont, Texas, Steamboat Springs, Colorado, Phoenix, Arizona and Santa Rosa, California. Those are formative years and by the time I got back here, my social skills were really limited because I never stayed anywhere long enough to become friends with anybody. Those places today are kind of sophisticated, but back then they weren’t. When I got back here, I felt like a hick. I never recovered from that.


J: You have two degrees in anthropology. Why didn’t you pursue an English degree?
R: I have a BA and an MA. It was a lot of things. When I was traveling, I always wanted to be a writer. I was trying to write and I wasn’t doing very well. But I was constantly reading. By the time I got back here, I started looking at the classes and I’d read all those books. I wrote about this in “Heaping Stones.” I gave my protagonist the same problem. I felt like I would have been dotting my Is and crossing my Ts to make it official. Plus, I was older and I was at that point where I wasn’t going to jump through hoops for professors to tell me what to write. Literature programs are cool because they expose you to lots of literature and help you teach, but as far as writing, I always thought that was a joke. I don’t think that’s how you become a writer. As soon as somebody tells me I have to read something, I don’t want to read it. That would have been a drag. Of the writers I’ve been influenced by, they’ve all been autodidact or their backgrounds weren’t in MFA programs. You need to be living and everybody in MFA programs gets squashed in the middle. They make great writers mediocre and bad writers mediocre. Everybody comes out the same. It’s the same with any art. Some of the least interesting musicians on Earth are the people who come from the Berkeley School of Music; they all sound the same. They’re technically fantastic players, but who cares?