CAMILLE AND HILLARY
The most obvious feature of these two women is their fame.  And yes, they are famous because of their respective husbands.  That’s O.K.  One might also add that they are “strong” and dynamic in their own light when not viewed through the marital prism.  Hillary and Camille have moved into the public limelight independently because of recent statements.  Hillary just observed that the hell being caught by Bill Clinton is because of accident of geography.  That is, the criticism being leveled, the scrutiny, allegations, innuendoes, etc. are the direct result of being born - and one might include raised - in Arkansas.  Yup.  That’s a stretch, but it's pretty much she said.

Camille, understandably still anguished by the death of her son, Ennis, has identified America’s penchant for racism as the motive for the young man death.  She cites everything from slave-owning presidents to white religious iconography.  Ennis was killed because America teaches hatred of Black people.

In a way (albeit limited) both women are correct.  They are not flailing at the world in emotional and ill-founded ways.  They clearly have not “lost it” and even their detractors can identify and perhaps even empathize with their anger.   Someone very near and dear - no matter what “society” thinks/feels has received/is receiving an injustice.

The familiar “Hell hath no fury...” quote does not apply here, but something else does.  The fact is that President Bill Clinton is (seemingly) in deep do do because of the nature of allegations which intimately tie him to one Monica Lewinsky.   It’s all messy stuff and will remain so for a while.  It is he who apparently (intentionally vague here) kept things moving along with the young intern and it is Clinton himself who should have put a cap on the entire chapter.  With an appropriate focus on his actions, it does nothing to clarify matters by alluding to the fact of his (and Hillary) being from Arkansas.  America remains hopelessly in love with Camelot and all its Kennedyesque trappings; but ironically, John Kennedy is a Bill Clinton hero/role model.  The Eastern and Northeastern empires do hold sway over much of American financial and cultural life (and lifestyles); but the assumed Hope (Arkansas) -Brentwood (California) Connection is as geographical as we need to get for the time being.  Hillary is hurt and Hillary is s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g here.

Countless interactions between Blacks and whites make it virtually impossible to rule out race as a significant factor in modern America.  That is, there are implications, overtones and outright blatant hot and heavy stuff that gets mixed into these interactions cum confrontations.  To deny race is to deny reality.  And the feelings toward Black people of the now convicted murderer of Ennis Cosby are publicly known.   Yet one cannot/should not rule out the fact of unfortunate coincidence.   Camille says Ennis was killed in a middle to upper middle class neighborhood.   Fact is, nobody ever talks about Los Angeles freeways as part of a neighborhood.   That is both the horror and the beauty of them: they belong to everybody and nobody.  Nothing in these climes is more convenient and more impersonal.   Further, there are no homes immediately where his car stopped and it was a flat tire that halted his vehicle and not a red light or drive-by.  And a recent model Benz is a distinct “mark” of real or close to real affluence - whether the vehicle is owned or leased.  What is, is!

So what we have are legitimate “complaints” questionably applied.  Real hurt and unreal speculation.  Good people, bad logic.  Period.

PUSHING THE ENVELOPE AND GLOBAL CHILLIN’
The popular song teaches that what the world needs now is love, sweet love.   That’s good advice that will always be true.  But perhaps as an accompaniment, the world could stand some chillin’.  It goes like this: We are constantly bombarded and cajoled about meeting unrealistic goals, pushing ourselves to and beyond our limits, being “firstest with the mostest”, going for the gold..with gusto (whatever the heck gust is), making the gain with lots of strain, etc.    But how much sense does all of that really make?  And who can keep up that pace all the time...or even most of the time?  And who the heck wants to or even cares?

The good news is that for the most part this calculated madness finds itself primarily in the capital arena -  one that seemingly must push Americans to buy, buy, buy!   No matter what one has or how much one has there is the constant pressure to get another one, a better one, etc.  Money rules...or else.  That sort of thing.   It is expected that the so called average person cannot be or should never be satisfied with anything!  One is characteristically too fat or too skinny, too slow or too inadequate in some other way, too dumb or too knowledgeable or the wrong things, too short or too ugly, too content (which means not guilty enough) or too sober (meaning, of course, lots more booze or other drugs).  You name it and you   probably are it!  And if not you, then someone in your family.   Maybe even yo’ mama!  In a word, something just ain’t right.   And that’s sad, really sad.

True there is much of life that begs for immediate change, rapid improvement.  There is that fence needing painting, reading scores that could stand an upward notch or two, and a relationship that is tottering and virtually begging for a boost.  So be it.   But that’s not what I’m talking about here.  What we need is a massive dosage of Global Chillin’.  A planetary infusion affecting everybody and everything.  A big push to pull back!!  Dig it?  Take hold of that gigantic wish list and rip same into shreds.  Back up, back off, turn down the temperature and...yup: CHILL.  Although the details won’t be mentioned here, I have done it and, miracle of miracles, it works!  Just having taken what I call a summer Radical Sabbatical has been most healing.  To a personally surprising extent I have kept myself separated from Things Administrative and Office-like.  To not be where the action is or is supposed to be is just great.  That has allowed me to either be unaware of the action or to shrug my shoulders when (belatedly) hearing about it. 

A meeting just cannot compete with a leisurely walk around Kenny Hahn Park in Los Angeles - especially during a weekday when there is no such thing as a crowd or entrance fee.   To quote Hammer, “Can’t touch this.” 

Sometimes it is personal tragedy or health emergency or the displeasure of a close loved one or a subtle hint from a child or a nudge from a friend or a rare piece of good advice via the media...it hardly matter what the source.  What does matter is the [oh, we’ve heard it a million times] is the fact that in the grand scheme of things earthly, what we know as life is indeed short.  And to get caught up in the self or externally imposed race to get nowhere is not worthy of us.  The prize is either elusive or, just as bad, only a gateway to another endless pursuit.  Tsk tsk.   It’s so much more fulfilling to write a nice, encouraging note to someone, then seal the envelope than to push one to no place worth journeying to in the first place. Chill Out and Love It!! 
WHAT I LEARN IN THE BAY AREA
Should I ever become sufficiently inspired to tell my own California Story, no small part of it will have to center around the joys I have found much north of Los Angeles.   That special spot along the coast, Big Sur, tells its own separate and no way equal story.  In fact, that one is best told or appreciated either by simply visiting here or, the next best thing, looking at pictures.

San Francisco has been special because it is so unlike L.A.  And that is not an L.A. put down.  First, there is the size factor.  “Frisco” is tight.   With moderate speed one can easily get the “feel” of the place in a day.   The rest of the time is the gravy that comes with leisurely walking, listening and, of course, eating.  The hills, the spectacular views, the compact interfusing with the home folks and tourists alike.  The wind and the Bridge.  A story within a story that Bridge.  Something happens inside most the “best” of one’s gut level - when looking at it from any angle and at any time of night or day. 
Alcatraz hides more secrets than it will ever yield.  It’s best that way.   Yet the view from Fisherman’s Wharf is haunting despite the merriment of popcorn eating children and street corner musicians. 

San Francisco reeks of history and at the same time is a modern as one might choose to have a city.  It is confined without being confining.  It is as much a destination as it is a way station to the somber artistry of Marin County to the north or the more urbanized setting (and distinctly more Black) of Oakland to the East via a longer less attractive bridge.  For a host of reasons I feel more singular and adventurous in San Francisco than in East Bay.  One says kick back and soak it all in, whereas the other bids me to watch (as opposed to beware), study, learn and then appreciate.  It’s an attitudinal thing and I am comfortable with either stance.   I always head north with a childlike air of expectation and - so long as the weather is reasonably cooperative - I am never disappointed.  Always new, invigorating, and educational in the non classroom sense of the word.  I was there recently and...I’ll be back again...and again.


THE DE-INSTITUTIONALIZATION OF DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES
It happened quite suddenly during a recent early Sunday morning trek to downtown L.A.  I was wandering through the amphitheater of California Plaza marveling at the amount of physical and non-physical work (make that sweat) that goes into getting that breed of humans called Angelenos to come and spend time and money in this land of downtown.  Here it was around 10 am and other than the usual film making suspects and real (from out of the country) tourists, the place was empty.

What occurred to me was that the drive was easily understood in terms of it takes lots of people to make the businesses survive, to say nothing of thriving.  Lots of folks most of the time.  My revelation was the downtown in the strictest physical sense does not/cannot apply here.  Downtown is an urban concept which must either be redefined or replaced altogether. 

Think about it.  One historically came
to that place called downtown because the latter had what was absent from the place from whence one “cameth.”  The movies (the big screen ones anyway) were there as were the big stores, droves of people to satisfy that need to be somehow connected to or with the unfamiliar others.  Festivals, concerts, parades.  All the truly big stuff.  One’s own neighborhood (God bless it) was sort of the arena for practiced urban living.  To go downtown, on the other hand, was to do something special however infrequent that might happen.  Serious question: “And what did you do over the weekend?”  The proud response: “I went downtown!”   To say that now would yield an eyebrow raised further inquiry: “And what in the world for?”  It would not be a facetious question. 

Los Angeles is perhaps one of the country’s most decentralized urban centers - a term which in and of itself raises questions because there really is not center as such.   Centers and downtowns have been synonymous.  Why go to a non-existent center when what one needs is close by.  The efficiency and speed and convenience of the freeway system notwithstanding, one’s basic or more elaborate and frivolous needs can be satisfied much closer than - in the case of Los Angeles - at the intersection of 6th and Figueroa.  Despite their justified criticism, the malls are close to home...wherever home happens to be.  So what does it mean?

Well, from the DOWN FRONT! perspective the pursuit of a (it would have to be conceptual) downtown might be worthwhile but it would call for a lot of currently scare imagination.  Only in rare place around the city will people gravitate to a given location for the sake of friendly albeit impersonal elbow-rubbing.  Old Pasadena, Westwood, Venice, 3rd Street Promenade,  are as rare as they are distinct.  But then there is another way of looking at the people gather phenomena which flies in the face of traditional downtowns.  It has to do with “ethnic ingatherings”, an important and all too often overlooked urban dynamic.  One which we’ll explore another time.

SPORTIN’ LIFE
The name of the establishment is Inglewood Sports; and I haven’t taken the time to find out where I.S. is located.  And that hardly matters.  What prompted this DOWN FRONT! look was 2 big, bad and bold billboards  along Manchester in L.A.   In ways that are not at all subtle the graphics project the world of athletics as not simply special but essential.  Gone is any hint of athletic engagement for the silly purpose of having fun!  Rather the game is the game of life itself.  One gets into it with serious intent.  Conquest, domination, victory are inherent qualities which cannot be avoided or one had best not “play” to begin with.   And, of course, this war - and that’s precisely what the game is projected to be - cannot succeed without the right equipment.  And one secures that equipment at (surprise!) Inglewood Sports.

The commercial aspect is understandable, crude though it may be.  In the simplest sense, it is the old story of anything for the consumer’s buck.  Like dreams of winning, nothing else matters.  More ominous, however, is the gladiator-all overpowering conqueror that pushes into a dangerous world of competitive fantasy.   First, as already suggest, squashing the opposition takes precedence over everything.  Secondly, and maybe not quite so frightening, is the clear emphasis on the game of all games...basketball.

I am a stone basketball observer.  My skills in years gone by never inched past fair although I was in the good category when it came to rebounding.  But I truly admired those dudes who were fast dribblers and excellent shots - even though in those ancient days one shot with 2 hands!  (Imagine that!)  Anyway, I have watched the evolution of a quasi-religion in which a leather orb has taken on the semblance of a bouncing god.  The ball is caressed, rubbed and guarded.  It goes everywhere and is protected from whatever is out there that may interfere with its existence.  There are even special bags for these obviously special balls.  Because it is so serious, it crosses the line and become silly.  And yet to see the basketball as a miniature representation of the planet we all inhabit might well suggest that we hold back on the laughter an interpretation of silliness might prompt.  Because if competently handling the b’ball is a metaphorical handling of an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable and oftentimes hostile life/world, then we have something special goin’ on here.  And Sportin'’ Life is anything but a plaything.  So maybe it’s something worth thinking about.  Then again, maybe not.

SACRED SILENCE
This coming Monday, the 17th is slated to be President Bill Clinton’s G.J. Day, i.e., Grand Jury.  There’s no need to speculate here about what he will say.   It is the talk of the international town.  Even those who say the whole matter is not important at least have to open their mouths to iterate even that!

What is interesting and peculiar is the silence of the religious community.  The good Reverend Billy Graham, no stranger to the White House, has not - to my knowledge - said anything.  I may be making a stereotypical assumption that Clinton is a Southern Baptist, but whatever he is, I don’t know of any public proclamations from the head of whatever denomination he belongs to.  There are many statements that such personages could make one way or the other.  Good grief!  Even men condemned to die get a friendly word from a priest.  To my way of thinking, whatever happened or did not happen, no person - including a head of state accused of dalliance - is beyond the long and inclusive reach of prayer.  Whus up with that?

THE CLINTON CAPER (8-20-98)
[Note: Dated ‘cause stuff happens real fast!]

1.  If what you do is (seen as) wrong, then nothing you say (subsequently) is right.  The busy speech analysts have torn into Monday’s mea culpa because of its “legalese”, avoidance, absence of sincerity, etc.  Even “Miss Monica” is upset because no apology was extended to her or her family.   Yet  I don’t recall her apologizing for the caper.

2.  Clinton’s statement to the contrary, Presidents give up their private lives when they take on that office.

3.  Americans are characteristically adolescent (or younger!) when it comes to an obsession with things sexual. 

4.  An interesting twist to #3 and #4.  The frequency, geography, (i.e., location) or methodology of  a president’s sex life are indeed his business.  The recipient/object of his affection(s) quickly and dramatically takes that same sex life out of the private realm.  More succinctly put: It ain’t what you do, it’s who you do!

5.  Booty Bootin’ - Contrary to all reports, these days it’s Hillary’s Vineyard, not Martha’s.  I trust that the First Lady is giving the First Man a First Class (well deserved) Butt Whuppin’.  When all the media smoke has cleared, Billy Boy needs to a) review  his vows and then b)  keep them.  It is that non-political.  It is that simple.                

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