Boogie Nights

by KEM Huntley

This ’70s joyride through LaLa Land’s exotic erotic film scene is a fresh twist on the extended family and the curious ties that bind. Writer/Director Paul Thomas Anderson presents a story that coolly dismisses accepted societal standards. He populates his screenplay with empty souls who follow their own (a)moral code, yet instead of alienating the audience, he convinces it to care.

A key component of this success is its underlying story structure. An exact storyform, however, is not immediately evidenced. At times it feels like an overall story with a goal of obtaining—the characters all want something: sex, drugs, fame and fortune. Other times the goal appears to be being—the characters believe their lifestyle is temporary and want to take on another role.  Buck dreams of being his own boss—ruling the “Super Cool Stereo World.” Following the grand argument may be somewhat difficult when the plot progression falters, for example, after Dirk Diggler (main character) and Jack Horner’s (influence character) falling out, the relationship story steps aside for a considerable amount of screen time in favor of the other three throughlines. Still and all, dressed in its best polyester double knit, Boogie Nights turns story into film art as the acting, cinematography, soundtrack, and so forth spins you through its disco party.

What follows is one “rolleroid” snapshot perspective of this Goodfellasesque epic:

Pornographic film director Jack Horner opens the door to his private paradise as the setting for the overall story. “It resembles the Jungle Room at Graceland” and comes complete with Jacuzzi, swimming pool, and its own (basement) film studio. Talent resides at this secure (thematic issue) funhouse where reality is distorted by white lines and Cuervo Gold. It is here where the changing industry (story goal of progress) is debated:

FLOYD

The video revolution is upon us—and our role is critical.

COLONEL

Jack, please understand that this is not an argument . . . this is a fact (overall story catalyst).

JACK

What?

COLONEL

I think that there is a serious case to be made for the price and the gamble on the whole idea of a home video market . . . two, three years from now, everyone’s gonna be able to walk into their local supermarket and buy or rent a videocassette . . . film is just too damn expensive . . . the theaters are already planning converting to video projectors.

Jack represents a different way of thinking. He has the ability (thematic issue) to direct “stellar, sexual standouts” but his true desire (thematic counterpoint) lies in making porno films with “stories.” Jack discovers (story driver–action) the next big thing, Dirk’s big thang, and the relationship story throughline sets in motion as each takes a fixed position on what it means to be a director and an actor. The thematic issue of confidence illustrates the positive aspects of their relationship. Jack is certain of Dirk’s value (relationship story catalyst), and this assuredness plays out–making the director amenable to the kid’s ideas—his  own stage name and his own action series (Brock Landers: Angels Live in my Town).

Sweet-natured and trusting (main character symptom), Dirk is a physics character, whose first approach to a problem is to work it out externally (doer). His male mental sex has led him to an environment where he can be “a big, bright, shining star.” An inexperienced (thematic counterpoint) actor, Dirk’s raw skills (thematic issue) are applauded in the adult film world (“Diggler delivers a performance (doing) worth a thousand hard-ons”).

The relationship story concern is explored in the preconscious, where Dirk’s anywhere, anytime, sexual impulses (“I can do it again if you need a close-up”) are filmed under the direction of Jack. The fantasy world Jack fabricates for Dirk eventually inhibits their relationship. Dirk boasts he blocks his own sex shots “. . . and he (Jack) gives me flexibility to work with the character . . .”  His vanity pricked, Jack laughs it off.

Jack’s tolerance (problem of accurate) of Dirk’s escalating ego and cocaine habit reaches its limit, illustrated when Dirk, strung out, screams, “YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” (solution of non-accurate) and Jack immediately fires him (overall story consequence of preconscious).

Anderson deftly indicates how the effects of the objective characters’ individual circumstances create dilemmas for them: the effect Amber Waves’ career choice has on her custody battle (no visiting rights), the effect Little Bill’s wife’s flagrant sexual escapades have on her husband (murder in cold blood), and particularly, the devastating effect Dirk has on Scotty (heart wrenching humiliation).

For Dirk, doing the hustle no longer means choreographed booty shakes—it’s risky street business with ill effects (main character problem). Trapped in a nightmarish parody of his own action films (Guns! Firecrackers! Sister Christian!) Dirk finally realizes he has no other option but to stop his wayward Wonderland course—that only he can be the agent (cause) of his change—a solution shared in the overall story.

Stripped of his pride, a wiser (unique ability) Dirk stumbles back to his Hollywood home. By this time, Jack has resolved his own problem of sticking to the proven method of producing porno on film to successfully using videotape (unproven). Preparing for his next feature with Jack, Dirk’s angst has evaporated (story judgment good). He is cool. He is sexy. He chants to his mirror image—“I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a big bright shining star”—and karate kicks to the credits.

Pecker

by KE Monahan Huntley

Pecker is a Dramatica grand argument story emanating from John Waters’ weird, yet very real, world. Pecker (main character) is a “snappy go happy—happy go lucky” amateur photographer. His sidekick, and occasional assistant, Matt, is a pro at “five-finger discounts.”

PECKER

Dude, you’re gonna get popped.

MATT

Not me bro—I’m invisible.

Pecker’s girlfriend, Shelley the “stain goddess” (influence character), operates the local laundromat—The Spin n’ Grin.

PECKER

You’re my Venus De Milo.

SHELLEY

You’re crazy. You see art when there’s nothing there.

Pecker’s parents run business ventures that run in the red. His mother’s thrift store outfits the homeless; his father’s dive bar cannot compete with the strip club (overall story focus-temptation) across the way. Little sister Little Chrissy is a sugar maven; big haired big sister Tina bartends at the downtown gay discotheque. Grandmother Memama has a roadside pit beef (!) sandwich stand, and believes her Blessed Mary statue speaks (overall story solution-faith).

Pecker is open (main character unique ability) to the variety of life in and outside of Hampden, a district of Baltimore: “If it wasn’t for you, Peckerman, I’d never know this shit existed.”

To Pecker, “everything always look good” through the lens of his camera.

Pecker has taken pictures all over Baltimore for his first exhibit to be held at the fast-food joint where he works, The Sub Pit.

The fliers he has plastered around town (main character approach-doer) catch the eye of Rorey. She approaches (overall story catalyst) Pecker, checkbook in hand: “Your pictures are amazing. They’re the real thing. . . . I’d love to give you a show in my New York Gallery—if you’d be willing.”

At the opening, Pecker and his “culturally challenged family” are introduced to the New York art world that anoint him: “A brand new art star.” Pecker snaps pics of the chic crowd because: “Life is nothing if you’re not obsessed.”

The family returns to Hampden to find their home burglarized. Rorey encourages him to: “Take pictures, Pecker. This could be your next show. Your dad’s loss. Your mom’s sadness. Get close-ups.” As quickly as the community has embraced Pecker’s fame, they are ready to disown it—and him. The police officer investigating the case admonishes the boy: “What they call art up in New York young man, looks like just plain misery to me.” Shelley entreats him not to: “. . . become (consequence) an asshole, Pecker. I beg of you, do not become an asshole.”

All manners of catastrophes hit. Little Chrissy is put on Ritalin. Matt is caught shoplifting. Tina’s fired. Memama is accused of faking Mary’s miracle. Pecker can no longer take original photos: “I’m trying to get new stuff, but everyone knows me now.” As one potential snapshot subject snaps: “Some people don’t feel like being art.”

When Rorey puts the moves on Pecker (main character focus-temptation), an act witnessed by Shelley—it is the last straw for the photographer (main character response-conscience). Assuring Shelley he loves her “more than Kodak” (relationship story thematic counterpoint-commitment) he turns his back on New York and says: “They can come to me this time . . . I’m going to have my own show right here in Baltimore (mental sex-female).”

Shelley learns (overall story requirement) to appreciate the colors of her world (influence character resolve-change), and the town realizes its favorite son is true blue (main character resolve-steadfast). New York travels to Baltimore by limousine, and Pecker’s “outsider art” is a brilliant success (overall story outcome). All applause for Pecker and “the end of irony.” A newscaster inquires, “So what’s next, Pecker?” To which he replies, “Well. I’m thinking of directing a movie.” (main character concern-future)

Go

Go on a road trip, Go-Go Girls on the Vegas strip.  Take X for the head trip.

In this one night stand of a film, director Doug Liman and Writer John August’s “Ginseng and Dexatrim” fueled skim of L.A.’s surface picks the audience up and we go to Hollywood and Vegas, baby, travelling with outsiders who interact and occasionally intersect with each other in three different stories.

Part one, “Ronna.” originally intended as a short, concerns Ronna Martin, grocery store checkout clerk. Taking Simon’s (protagonist in part two) shift, she’s working the register when Zack and Adam (protagonists in common for part three) come through the line. Facing eviction, opportunity knocks in the guise of a drug deal:

ZACK

Say . . . (checks nametag) Ronna. You don’t know where we could get something to go with this orange juice, do you? . . . something . . . euphoric.

Off the timeclock, Ronna and cohorts Claire and manic Mannie are in the car:

CLAIRE

You know that Simon’s in Vegas.

RONNA

I don’t need Simon. I’m going to Todd.

MANNIE

Todd GAINES?

CLAIRE

Who’s Todd Gaines?

MANNIE

Simon’s dealer. . . . But it’s like an evolutionary leap. You’re moving up the drug food chain. Without permission.

CLAIRE

Ronna, you shouldn’t do this.

RONNA

Both of you just chill the fuck out. It’s just once. When Simon gets back, we can still pay for quarters . . . . But this is my deal, so just sit back and watch.

We all watch as the best laid plans unravel for Ronna. The deal is a set up. Zack and Adam are actors whose backstory is revealed. Recently busted for possession, they must play their part to make the illegal indiscretion go away.

Meanwhile in part two, “Simon,” a British lad, revels in the bright lights and big city of Las Vegas:  champagne, fast women, and a stolen fast car accessorized with a 9mm Beretta:

SIMON

This is why I came here. . . . America is about a man and a gun.

Go is a long, strange trip set to rave music that blares and neon lights that blur. The film features fringe characters that rollick in indiscriminate, illicit behavior. Pop culture references, many particular to L.A., convey much of the humor. As a slice of SoCal 90’s life, Go works extremely well. The film, however, does not appear to let well enough alone. Themes introduced but not explored indicate there might have been something more. For example, the only parent in the film contends:

VICTOR

In the old days, you know how you got to the top (thematic issue-experience)? By being better than the guy ahead of you (thematic counterpoint-skill). How do you people get to the top? By being so fucking incompetent that the guy ahead of you can’t even do his job, he falls on his ass and congratulations, you’re on top.

All this coming from a father who owns a strip joint and employs his son, Vic Jr., as the bouncer. The statement about today’s youth is issued forth but not followed up with a satisfying rebuttal-for or against.

Lack of context does not distract from the fun; however, it does undermine any meaningful thematic assertions Go is attempting to make. Protagonists erratically move the action forward in each story, but no time is allowed for emotional investment.  Concession is given to events that somewhat link the characters in all three stories:

BURKE

It’s all connected. The circle of life.

Not the Disney version, but life in the fast lane that may be extinct by the millennium. The last line uttered–“So. What are we doing New Year’s?”–hints at the pathos of characters who know they are going nowhere. Good times are for the moment only, underscored by the melancholy lyrics,

“Don’t let it go away, this feeling has got to stay . . .” as the credits roll on ”bye.”

Fast forward to 2020.  Watching Go with the millennial Socialites.

The fog rolls and retreats in a tentative, mincing manner.  No shade, no shroud for the ghostly crowd.  Outside, they are no longer allowed.

The parties.

The rowdies.

The “Howdies.”

Confiscated car keys.

“We aim to please.”

They’re such a tease.

“Ho.  Let’s blow.”

The lease is up, but there’s nowhere to Go.

From The Valley to Silverlake: X Years of Making the Scene: Interview with Kim Lipot Ochoa

A person posing for the camera

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“Who’s been doing your hair?”—Shampoo

“Who’s been doing your hair?”—Blow

Gazing beneath Los Angeles glitz, the obvious and overt in ‘n’ out of favor flavors, one can encounter a creative arts underground.  The scene shifts, trends tire, still the beat goes on.  At the core are the anonymous denizens of the in-crowd who give these punk rock artists a name.  Fan the fame.  Kim Lipot Ochoa cues their look.

Outlasting those who overdosed, and the poseurs who “did it for the fashion,” for more than four decades Kim has maintained her personal impact by creating a unique image for others.  In the salon or social swirl, the Kim constellation embodies the two or three degrees of separation that edge the brazen and beautiful of Hollywood’s underworld.

What follows are fragments of cocktail-fueled conversations about what it means to be undeniably cool and almost famous in the land of La Di Da.

Valley Girl

“Fuck you.  Fuck off for sure, like totally.”—Valley Girl

What’s the difference between punk rock life in hip Hollywood and a prefab existence in my so-called vacuous Valley?

RANDY
This is the real world.  It’s not fresh and clean like a television show . . . We’re ourselves . . . you’re all fucking programmed.

JULIE
So, what does it take to be so free?
RANDY

That’s a good question.

For one Valley girl, the answer equaled X.

Kim Lipot graduated from Kennedy High School class of 1980—smart, shy, and sixteen years old.  Nixing the “Oh, I’ll just hang out plans,” Kim’s suburbanite mother arranged for her daughter’s entrance into the material world of 9 to 5.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: A friend of mine has a bit part in Valley Girl.  He says that’s what you do growing up in L.A.  Leave the long boulevards in the dry hot summers and go to the beach.  Get cast as an extra in movies.

Kim:  My friends and I went to Zeroes beach, up the coast from Zuma.  I had a white Volkswagen campervan and a license a 22 year old had left at my drive-thru bank teller window.  She never came back for it.  On the weekend, we would buy liquor at Alpha Beta and drive around to house parties.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: So how did you get into punk rock?

Kim:  My prom date lent me his X album.

The Starwood

“Days change to night/Change in an instant.”—Los Angeles

Kim:  I found out X was playing at The Starwood.  My girlfriend and I put black roux rinse in our blond surfer girl hair so we wouldn’t stand out.  It turned steel metal gray.  We went anyway.  The scene was great.  The Odyssey, The Seven Seas, Club Lingerie . . . crowded hardcore shows with twenty-five guys to every girl.  New Wave Music, The Go-Go’s, B52’s .

Boogie Nights

“All the drugs are at The Starwood.”—Wonderland

Spinning around in Kim’s hair chair.  With equal concentration, she expertly mixes colors and listens to the salon buzz as we discuss P.T. Anderson’s Boogie Nights.

Kim:  I used to go dancing at the movie’s club, “Hot Traxx.”  It was an all ages club on Sherman Way—called The Reseda Country Club.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: The scene between Amber Waves and Rollergirl is cocaine classic.  Making plans, yet never leaving the room.

Kim:  We’ve all had that conversation.

Decline and Fall of Western Civilization

“Punk rock.  That’s stupid.  I just think of it as rock and roll ‘cause that’s what it is. . . . It’s for real . . .There’s no rock stars.”—Eugene, Decline and Fall of Western Civilization

Penelope Spheeris documentary explores anarchic behavior in the context of L.A. punk rock.  The attraction to rebellion, the insightful music—intoxicating to the tightly wound and aimless ramblers alike.  Black Flag lyrics express why the fury needs its sound.  With no outlet, the consequences of unreleased tension and boredom may be fatal.  “Depression—it’s gonna kill me.  It’s gonna kill you too.”

Spheeris casts a grim shadow over this scene—point of fact John Doe tells her:  “Reality is dark.”  Twenty-five years later, Brendan Mullen and Mark Spitz proclaim in Spin, “SoCal punk has always been about anger.”

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: What about the angst?

Kim:  Punk rock has always had its dark side.  Everyone felt like an outsider, yet we knew we were involved in something unique.  I found my place.  Where I fit in.

At nineteen Kim enrolled in beauty school.  Classes were from 1:00 pm to 10:00 pm.  Quite conducive to the clubbing lifestyle.  Glam-o-rama.

Colleen:  I was fourteen and in high school.  Kim would cut my hair at the beauty school.  I became her hair model for salon interviews.  Growing up, Kim and I lived catty corner to me and my two older sisters, Kathleen and Eileen.  Kathleen was a “girlfriend” of The Bay City Rollers and John Waite—among others.  She claimed “Missing You” was written about her.  She and John Waite had the same color auburn hair.  That was their connection.  Kathleen ran away at sixteen.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Rock and roll fantasyland.

Colleen:  Eileen and another friend of Kim’s, Nora Edison, all hung out and I tagged along.  Nora dated Louie, a drummer for DC3, and I lived in Venice Beach.  Punk rockers and poets.  Skateboarders like Tony Alva.  That’s where I met Eugene.  His claim to fame was the Penelope Spheeris documentary.  He took me out to dinner dressed in a 1960s retro suit.  He asked me to be his girlfriend.  When I said, “No,” he accused me of slumming it.  I wasn’t slumming it—I just thought it was too much for a freshman.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Fast times at Kennedy High.

Kim:  I went up to Oakland with Louie and the band.  DC3 had a gig at The Covered Wagon in San Francisco.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: I saw my brother-in-law’s cousin, Nate Kato of Urge Overkill, at The Covered Wagon.  Before they covered Neil Diamond for Pulp Fiction.  Before Blackie’s heroin addiction.  Whatever became of Louie?

Kim:  Overdose.

Sex.  Drugs.  Punk Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Make the Music Go Bang!

“The strong bond between bands and audiences was helped by the fact that the majority of these groups were not on the ego-tripping “We’re rock stars” excursion.  The members were fairly accessible and friendly—they would hang out and drink with the people who came to see them, and this helped break down the barriers created by all the “mega-stars.”—Keith Morris

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: How did you go from fanland to “I’m with the band?”

Kim:  A girlfriend I hadn’t seen for awhile came into the beauty school.  She invited me to a Judas Priest concert at the Long Beach Arena.  Greg Hetson, guitarist for the Circle Jerks, came with us.  We started dating almost right away and were together for the next seven years.  Keith Clark, the Circle Jerk’s drummer, and I would count the money after every show.  Count it, divide it, pay it out.  Now Keith’s my accountant, and Greg and I are Facebook friends.  He recently reminded me about feeding the baby giraffe at the zoo. 

It’s hands off nowadays for L.A. Zoo’s Giraffa camelopardalis subspecies tippelskirchii.

Repo Man

Repo Man featured the Circle Jerks, heightening the fantasy/reality aesthetic of the film.  Humor stops the theme of alienation short of annihilation.

Punk
I blame society.  Society made me what I am.

Otto
That’s bullshit.  You’re a white suburban punk just like me.

Kim:  The coolest people in the scene lived in nice suburban houses with their parents.  Yeah, there were some that lived on the streets—but they really didn’t want to be there.  Who would?

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: A mutual acquaintance was just telling me about her racing down Lankershim w/Corey Haim in the wee morning hours, Bret Easton Ellis scene style.

X Man

“I head for the Roxy, where X is playing. . . . they’re going to be singing “Sex and Dying in High Society” any minute now . . .”—Less Than Zero

Kim:  Greg, Keith Morris, John Doe, and I drove down to San Diego for a spoken-word performance.  Greg played acoustic guitar—which he never liked to do.  We drank beer and were bored for five hours.  When it came time to go, Keith was too drunk and Greg too tired to drive.  I hate driving.  John Doe stepped into the driver’s seat, looked at me, and said, “Baby, that’s what I’m here for.”  I sat up front and listened to Joh Doe the entire ride home.  Transfixed.  From then on, whenever we would see each other at a show, he would always say, “Hello.”

Reality Bites

And then it was Nirvana and the 90s.  Punk became pop flavor.  Kim and Greg parted ways.  New decade.  New boyfriends.  Always new hairstyles.

Kurt and Courtney

“Fame is a process of isolation.”—Kurt and Courtney

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: I loved the Kurt and Courtney documentary.  Ridiculous and enormously entertaining.  Nick Broomfield with his British accent—never veering from his serious “journalist” façade makes it almost believable.

Kim:  Anyone who’s been in L.A. for a length of time knows Courtney Love.  Before Kurt, she was a stripper married to a friend of mine.  A writer for the L.A. Weekly.  A transvestite who . . .

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Lest we forget what happened to El Duce, keep the rest of your story L.A. confidential.  Just in case Courtney is a killer.

Al’s Bar + Spaceland

“There are people possessive of the early punk scene.  They try to hold on to it, but years go by all by themselves.  There’s still a scene.  It’s a bit modified, but any night of the week you can hear the music.”—Craig Ochoa

In 1996 Kim married musician Craig Ochoa.  His band, Gasoline, often played at Al’s Bar.  Instant electricity.  Impromptu drive-thru wedding.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Reception venue?

Kim:  Spaceland.  I’ve known the owner, Mitchell, and all the bartenders for years.  We had the place from two ‘til eight.

Craig:  It was like watching a train full of people zoom by.  Zillion miles per hour.  Tippling.  Celebrating.  We had a western swing revival band—The Lucky Stars.  Tex Williams’ style.

Spaceland transformed into Weddingland.

The week before Kim and Craig’s fifth wedding anniversary, they attend a Circle Jerks reunion concert at Spaceland as VIPs.  Play catch-up with their crowd.  Afterwards, Greg Hetson (now of Bad Religion) gives them a lift home.

Garden Party

“I’m a loser baby.  So why don’t you kill me?”—Beck

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: I read an article about Gus Hudson in the music issue of Glue, and a little piece of my heart breaks.  I have no clue who he is, but I find it distressing that former protégé Beck has blown this unassuming Flipside Records producer off:  “It’s hard for us in the punk rock crowd to deal with bands that make it big. . . . We want the same relationship that we had before.  And somehow that ends.”

The next day, I go to a party at Kim and Craig’s.  Gus Hudson is there, wearing the same red shirt as his photo in the article.  As if he just stepped off the page into the backyard barbeque.  I have officially entered Kim’s own twilight zone.

Greek Theater

“We would talk every day for hours/We belong to the deadbeat club.”—B52’s

It’s a hot August night at the Greek Theater.  On the bill are the Go-Go’s, b52’s, and The Psychedelic Furs.  The Go-Go’s Behind the Music is in VH1 rotation.  Talk of who’s who and old school.  Kim and Craig meet and greet acquaintances.  Artists and critics.  We chat about Allison Anders and Kurt Voss’ Sugar Town.

Kim:  I’ll see anything with John Doe in it.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: And that’s how I learned about John Doe, Exene, and the scene.

Almost Famous

“Every picture tells a story,”—Faces

Kim and Craig see Almost Famous.  Coming out of the theater, a kid points to Craig’s bleached blond hair and shouts, “Eminem.”

Kim:  Kate Hudson’s dad played at my sixth-grade graduation.  The Hudson Brothers headlined Busch Gardens in The Valley.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Do you think Cameron Crowe’s film glams the rock ‘n’ roll film genre?

Kim:  Definitely.  The “Band-Aids” were too clean.  Penny Lane had too many cute outfits.  But what went on backstage—the bus ramming the fence, band on the run—that kind of thing did happen.  Happened all the time.

Behind the Music

“The whole thing was about being yourself.”—Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten, The Filth and the Fury

Everything old is new again.  Kim styles longtime client Billy Idol’s hair for his VH1 Behind the Music episode.  Her eighteen-year-old assistant is in awe.

🆆[🅱🆃]🅻: Well, you are a part of L.A. punk rock history.

Kim:  Yes, that’s probably true.

(Billy Idol update:  TBD)

Kim’s newest clients are not always punk, but they do rock.  She creates hairstyles for band members Beautiful Creatures before they rejoin the Ozzfest tour.  Rock and Roll never forgets.

Silver Lake

“Stake her claim in Silverlake . . . chalking it all up to fate.”—Michael Penn

From atop costume stylist Houston Sam’s deck on Micheltorena—the same street that boasts silent screen star Antonion Moreno’s restored mansion The Paramour—Kim co-hosts a wedding shindig for close friends.  It looks like the opening scene of Austin Powers.  Eclectic collection of guests.  Hair by Kim.  Kim’s raucous laughter belies a cool reserve.  A contradiction in terms, much like the music that changed her days to nights so many odd years ago.  She holds her son, Aristotle.  His mini tee forewarns:  “Future Punk Rocker.”  Shifting the baby from one hip to another, Kim casts a glance over the celluloid skyline.  Balancing the dynamics of static and change in her ruby red go-go boots.

Postscript:  After Kim, Craig, and Aristotle and their guardian angel, Felix, resided in one of Walt Disney’s former homes in Los Feliz, they purchased their current home in Eagle Rock, the day the city appeared on the cover of the Los Angeles Times as the latest in L.A. trendy real estate.

It’s a small world after all.

The author in the 80s.