Showing posts with label Echo Park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Echo Park. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 20, 2023

Congrats to Anna Biller on her book "Bluebeard's Castle" (Verso)

 


The Anna Biller "Bluebeard's Castle" book event at Stories Books and Cafe was fantastic. All the books were sold out, and the chit-chat I had with Anna on their stage was a lot of fun. But I have to give credit to Anna's great audience, who are smart and wonderful people. That was the best Q&A session ever for a book event, all due to the high quality of Anna's fans. Congrats to Anna Biller and Stories for making this event a fun and a total success. #annabiller #thelovewitch #storiesbook&cafe

Friday, September 20, 2019

Tosh's Journal: September 20 (Love[sex]Dolls)



TOSH’S JOURNAL
September 20

There’s a hotel in Echo Park that I go to, and it is called “The Hotel for Lost Men.” This hotel is made for middle-aged men, to dwell in a passion where no one is watching or making demands on them. It is based on a series of ‘love’ hotels in Osaka, Japan, but this one has a twist. What you get is a room, but also a sex doll. And this is not just any sex doll, but one that if you touch it, you swear it’s human skin, and even the eyes look real. A unique blend of high-quality silicone has been applied to create the doll. Each doll is made with a skeletal structure. Their skin is “soft to the touch, and the doll’s breasts have been modified to enable a softer, more realistic touch and feel.”

I go to this hotel because by nature; I’m a shy man. Also, I don’t require a relationship because I find them annoying. If I wish to relate to another person or girl, I can do that easily with my post office clerk, or the young girl behind the counter at Starbucks. Human communication or one-on-one, of course, is essential for some, but for me, all my inner-thoughts are enough. I never feel lonely. I don’t desire companionship. I don’t want heart-to-heart conversation; I desire to stick my penis in a doll.

With that in mind, “The Hotel for Lost Men” is on a side-street, in the hills of Echo Park. The structure looks like housing from Walt Disney’s “Snow White and the 7 Drawfs, and in fact, it is suspected that Disney built these structures for his workers, due that his studio was close to these homes. Once you walk in, you are in the lobby, where you can see the various dolls. For instance, there is a doll who dresses like a hotel receptionist, and you can go up to her and order a doll and room. There is a giant menu which lists all the girl dolls, with photographs of course, and a picture of the room as well. Prices are listed as well as if you want to rest (two to three hours) or spend the night. There are various types of rooms one can order. Some are over-the-top, like “Sade’s bedroom,” or “Mustang Ranch Fantasy,” and so forth. I chose “Nightporter” room and requested Sarina, a doll that reminds me of an early girlfriend I had in Taft High School. It takes them about ten minutes to secure the doll as well as the room. I never see a live worker on the premise. Every transaction is done through the hotel receptionist, whom I mention being a sex doll as well.

The Nightporter room is based on the film and is a large room with six or seven hospital beds. Sarina was on one of the beds dressed in a black sweater and an off-white dress with a shirt collar. My high school sweetheart used to wear the same dress, and one of the wonderful things about this hotel is that you can custom made your dolls to whatever specific clothing or hair or eye color. The girls look real, and I have never seen a dead girl before, but I imagine that this is the closest one can get to a dead girl.

When you touch Sarina, she feels real, but no sign of life. Intellectually it is hard for me to penetrate a doll, but once I get in a mindset, I’m fine. I’m obsessed with my ageing, and, interestingly, this hotel caters to men in my age bracket, and I’m not sure why? But what is interesting is that I physically age, but the dolls look precisely the same. Of course, they do not age, and they remind one of the time being stopped, or perhaps a memory that one freeze, so one can observe over and over again. After each encounter, one is responsible for cleaning up the doll, and in the drawer, they have assorted cleaning tools. One would think since I’m a paying customer, would leave the dolls dirty, but I can’t do that. Not thinking about the next guy, but more out of respect for the doll, and the pleasure she gave me, or is it more about the joy I give myself?

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

"Martini Teeth" by Tosh Berman




Due to my extensive dental surgery, I can only drink my dinners at this time.  My dentist suggested that since I'm already an alcoholic, I should just sip cocktails that have some food attached to it.  Which means, of course, the olive vodka martini, which is made correctly at TAIX Restaurant and bar in Echo Park.   Right between the drink and focusing on much as possible a book I brought with me to the bar, Andre Hodeir on Classical music after Debussy, it struck me how hard the bartender works, as well as the waitresses.   Personally, I have always been served well in this establishment.  I also ordered navy bean soup since it was a Thursday, and rightfully so, a Thursday which is Navy Bean Soup day.   I can never fully understand the connection between the Navy and bean soup, but I never question these things in front of a busy bartender.



I had a rough day.  I lost a temporary cap on my tooth, which makes it impossible for me to chew my food.  The thing has I had the perfect 'soft' burrito in front of me, and I felt a hard substance in my mouth, which was odd because I'm eating just a bean burrito.  I discovered it was my tooth cap, which carefully I didn't swallow, due that I put my fingers in my mouth among the bean material to remove the object.  It takes about 30 seconds to realize that something is drastically wrong, and then my temper came up.  I wanted to have a quick lunch before I shot my "Tosh Talks" episode on Jean-Luc Godard's film soundtrack music.  I was in such a state that Lun*na wanted to know if I want to postpone the filming.   I said go on.  Strange enough, I think this is the best "Tosh Talks" show ever.  Lun*na mentioned that my voice was loud and very clear.  I think all of this was due to my anger of losing the temporary cap.



After the show, I contacted my dentist who told me, even though she's on holiday, to come to her office at 5:30 this afternoon.   I did and met her at the parking lot because it seems the front door was shut due to construction work on the building.  I was a concern because when a car approached the parking lot, I didn't want to think whoever in that car thought I was a perv waiting in the darkness.   Luckily in the vehicle was my dentist and her almost adult daughter.  She took me through the back entrance which led to the employee's kitchen and sometimes storage room for outdated customers with their x-rays of teeth.   The whole dental office was under construction or remodel job of some sort, and therefore I didn't have to go to the dental chair, but the kitchen chair in the employee's room.

When I lost and obtained my temporary crown, I was immediately impressed with the horrible scent of my cap. It smelled like a dead rodent in my crown, but the fact is, my tooth, as busted as it was, felt like the dead animal lived there under a witness protection secrecy program from the Department of Justice.   Still, I was fascinated with the wretched scent of my cap, and wondered if perhaps all tooth caps smelled the same way?  



I sat down among the wires, plastic coverings, and industrial dust in their kitchen area.  Luckily I didn't feel any pain, but just awkwardness in chewing and my self-regard concerning my face.  I thought I had a vacancy between my mouth and everyone looking at me will be aware of my ugliness.   Ever since I was a young boy, I felt like an alien because other kids my age would comment on my oddly shaped teeth.  It wasn't until I reached into my 60s when I decided to get my teeth fixed. The irony is, I will probably be dead before the work is finished.   Still, a corpse with a good mouth is something people will remember me by. I'm just hoping that the casket will be open during the funeral procedure.

As I left the dentist office, I became more aware of how vulnerable I'm to other's opinions on my physical appearance. To dwell on the negativity is an endless amount of ocean of regret.  I choose to go into the darkness of the night and gently chew whatever is out there.

- Tosh Berman, Los Angeles, January 2, 2018

Sunday, August 9, 2015

The Sunday Series: Sunday August 9, 2015



The Sunday Series
Sunday August 9, 2015

The stench that is America.  You can smell on one’s hair and clothes. It is just like cigarette smoke in a crowded bar.  After awhile, the smell of dirty smoke lingers on you like it was a 3D object.  Some days, I just want to throw myself over the Los Angeles River, but it’s not deep enough to drown, just to crack your head.   The "Martini Drinkers of Los Angeles" is the only club that I’m a member of.   I have kept the membership up, even days or months, where I have nothing to eat.  Which due to my long habit of martini drinking, I always have the olive instead of the lemon peel.  Lemon peel is more delicious, but with hunger, the olive can be filling.  The Queen of the Tarts just came into TAIX bar, and I make sure the remaining olive is in my mouth, because he will take it for sure.  Us hunger boys can smell the hunger off others. 

The girls here are really something.   Sunday night is group sex night.  Buy one drink, the additional drink is free.  I go with my baby, and we do the can-can in front of the band stage.  The drumming is no-stop-keep-going.  Someone told me the Kray twins own this place.  I should have guessed from the interior.  It’s very rear if you get my drift.  The woman at the bar, she is by herself. I think she’s an actress.  I have seen all her movies.  Even the bad ones.  But wait, she looks too much like her, so it can’t possibly be her.  Is it?

I’m with the boys, and we’re talking about the waitress.   Each time I go to town, I see her face, serving the drinks, without a sense of violence in her movement as she approaches the table.  I rather be with the boys, now that I’m dressed up like a man, and standing up on my own two feet.  We have our matching cufflinks, and ties, and the blue oxford button up shirts - we stand together or we fall individually.  



I’m so drunk, that when I leave the bar, and look up at the night sky, I started to count the stars, but eventually I lose count and would have to start over again.  My partner in crime was supposed to write down the numbers as I counted them off, but he has other things on his mind. Shoot the stars out, because they’re so distracting, yet so beautiful.  I like to smell the night air, because there is something so deadly or sleepy that’s out there, and I feel like I’m walking on someone else’s property.   I tiptoe back into the bar with my pal, and we continue our drinking.




One drinks after another, and I’m scared to even look at the final bill.  I don’t. I just hand the waitress my card, hoping that she will make it go away.  My life as told through the eyes of the beautiful young waitress. She is so much smarter than me.  She is the one with the mostist.  As my eyes glaze over the table, I focus on the half full (I’m an optimist) glass of whisky, and I think “Dear God, now what?” 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

The Sunday Series : Sunday March 8, 2015



Sunday No. 9
Sunday March 7, 2015

As I sit here looking at my tree outside the window, I notice that the seasons play havoc with its leaves, and therefore so does nature with my beard.  I never liked to shave, due that I find the daily procedures boring.  I have a thick beard, and if I wanted to be totally clean-shaven, I need to do it every morning.  Sometime ago, I decided to only shave once a week.   Only on Sundays, I would shave.  But the weekly process of trimming the beard and then getting a razor was like being in school. I don't like to be told what to do -either by teacher or nature.  It wasn't that long ago that I started to see a barber for a hair trim and shave every Sunday.   A shave and trim costs $60, while just getting a full-shave is $35.   I have this thing where I detest odd numbers coming up on my bill.  So just to avoid that, I always throw in a trim as well to make the total into an even 60.



I like to think my haircut is as precise as my personal life. Neatness is a sign of a civilized man, and to this day, I'm bothered to see if some male is either wearing his hairstyle wrong, or the clothing is off.    Socks to me is the real test.  They should match with something that you are wearing.  Shirt or even, a hat is good if it's the same color or pattern as your socks.  It's a little gesture, but the actions will take you far.  Also it serves as a mental exercise as well.  To locate the right pair of socks with the correct shirt can be a treasure hunt, but if you're good at it, the awards are plenty.  I have noticed that most women are aware of the sock and shirt combination.   The best or as I call it, my masterpiece is the argyle sock that matches the sleeveless argyle v-neck sweater. Powered blue button down shirt, either opened at the neck or buttoned up - your choice.  But the color combination is a real winner.



Every Sunday I do my best to dress as the best I can before I see my barber in Echo Park.   He knows me well enough (not my life, but what I prefer in a haircut and shave).  I remember the first time I saw him, and it was a joyful experience.  I got into his barber chair not knowing what to say exactly.  I always felt it was beneath me to show an image of the haircut I wanted.  To articulate your desires verbally to your barber is the best form of communication.   I told him that I wanted a haircut that was short as possible on the sides, and a tad long on the top.  He asked me if I wanted a "1" or a "2" for the sides I told him that I didn't know the difference.  He cut my hair to a "2" on the side, and then showed it to me.  It was long.  I told him a "1."  He then suggested a 1 and then a "2" and will cut half-an-inch on the top.   That sounded perfect and that is exactly what he did.



The best part of the haircut is when he focused on the hairline above the ears.  I was obsessed that he cut it in a way where the skin was shown, and that the whole area had to be 'clean' with no hair whatsoever going over the ears. He also spent time tracking down all the hair on my ears as well.  One of the things I hate the most is finding hair in or on my ears.  I hate to see it when I'm talking to a male person, and the first thing I notice is the hair either on the ear, or worse coming out of a nose nostril.  I do have poor eyesight, but still, the details are extremely important.  At home, I have a check list of things that must be looked at on a regular basis - which includes hair on the ears, coming out of the nose, and hair on the nose.  And eyebrows must be trimmed at all times.  Bushy eyebrows cannot be helped, but surely one can keep them trimmed and for God's sake don't allow hair between the two eyebrows.  One doesn't need a bridge between the left and right eyebrow.



The beauty of having a shave is being in someone's power.  As soon as the shave starts, my eyes are closed shut.  To this day, I have never seen a straight razor blade approaching my face.  The first thing he did was put a lotion on my face, and then a hot towel covering everything except my nose.  Once removed he forces my head to one side and starts to work on the neck and on up.  I can actually feel every hair being cut on my neck. Not exactly painful, but there is the feeling of something being cut off your neck and face.  The slight pain is part of the procedure, because every time you feel the tinge of pain or discomfort, you get an award of a soothing cream or hot towel or both.  When I shave I always shave upwards, but not once does he do that.  It is all downstrokes, and the whole procedure takes at least a half-n'-hour. It never fails, that I think of Sweeny Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street while feeling the blade against my throat.   Somewhere in that procedure he put on something that stung me slightly, but the smell was Royall lime.  I remember the scent of the after-shave, because my Dad wore it all the time.  There was one time he picked me up from the ground to kiss me, I must have been three or year years old, but I clearly remember the smoothness of his face right after he shaved as well as the royal lime scent.

As I was sitting in the barber chair, I was suddenly in another place, location and time.  The music being played over the barbershop sound system was Charlie Parker, when he was making recordings for Dial records in Glendale, California.  A sound that was very much part of my childhood at the family home.  So the combination of the scent, the hot towel and the memory of the smooth skin of my dad brought me into another dimension.



The images that were in my brain eventually became a black and white 8mm film, and once the towel was removed, and I opened my eyes, the world was in Technicolor.  The first time, the first trip is always the best, and after that, you're just trying to capture that lost moment.  Although my face is right, the hair perfect, and the shave as smooth as that girl's ass - I'm feeling out of time.  Like a stray dog knowing where his food is, I go back to the barber shop every Sunday to get my emotional fix for the rest of the week.