Venice Beach, California: Hey Man, Can You Spare a Buddha? (And Some Medical Marijuana, Too?)

1.
Venice Beach is the kind of place you should go if you're still mourning the death of Jimi Hendrix. After all, Jimi died yesterday, right? Just like Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and John Lennon.

Visiting Venice Beach is like being back in the seventies. Everybody seems to be on drugs - mushroom, LSD, Dr. Pepper. You can get it all here plus the "new" Grateful Dead LP, man.

When I walked down the famous boardwalk in this L.A. enclave, a Hispanic man came towards me "dressed up" in two billboards.

"I'm looking for a desperate housewife to move in with me," he shouted. People didn't notice him. Why should they? In Venice Beach you don't stand out if you're weird. You only stand out if you're a clean cut Republican with family values.

Venice Beach has its own freak show, too with three legged caterpillars the size of skateboards. And you can visit your neighborhood psychic if you brought your palms with you.

"I don't see any future here, man," the psychic says to a customer. But who cares? You can probably buy a new future at the astrologer next door.

I pass a Rastafarian who is playing his electric guitar.

He's on roller skates believing he is the new reincarnation of Bob Marley. They're all here, the ghosts of the past. This is where they come back to earth to light up their joints, singing We Shall Overcome, dreaming of Jamaica, ganja and One Love.

And hey, if you have some sick conspiracy theories, this is the place to let the world know about them. Or how about signing up for a medical marijuana card? It sure beats those pain killers your Mom is addicted to.





2.
I've rented a bike and ride along the boardwalk into neighboring Santa Monica.

It's a sunny day. I buy a pair of four dollar sun glasses, so I look cool. Santa Monica has a different vibe than Venice Beach. It's totally 2010 with a dreadful mall and tourists eating over prized sushi. And since this is close to Hollywood, everybody is looking for celebrities.

Last time I was here I ran into Ben Kingsley. This time I don't even see Lindsay Lohan's dad.

Four years ago the great British actor was talking on his cell phone when I walked up to him, tore the phone out of his hand, and asked if he knew me from somewhere? Ben said no, hurting me deeply. Everybody wants to be a celebrity in L.A. If you haven't been to rehab at least once, you're nothing!

I head back to Venice Beach to watch the skateboarders, the sweaty racquetball players, the henna tattoo junkies, and the spiritual beggars who ask if you can spare a Buddha.

MY PARENTS WERE EATEN BY PIGEONS. I NEED MONEY, another sign proclaims.

I don't stay long. I don't like Venice Beach. It makes me feel way too normal.

****

Pat Robertson's God Has Very Bad Breath

1.
Pat Robertson's God has very bad breath.

If you don't know who Pat Robertson is, it's not important. He is just another televangelist who likes to be in the news.

A few days ago he went on TV and said that Haiti was hit by the earthquake because the Haitians had made a pact with the Devil.

In 2005 the Christian preacher wanted Bush to assassinate Venezuela's President Chavez. And he was quoted as saying that gay marriage is the beginning of a long downward slide to legalize child molestation.

If NBC ever needs a new host for The Tonight Show. why not go with the funniest comedian in the US, Pat Robertson?


2.
Pat Robertson isn't the only preacher who talks with God. We all seem to create God in our own image. To my mind, God is 53 years old with a body of a 52 year old. He writes great novels that are out in four languages, and he is fond of yellow curry, soccer, and blogs that don't make sense.



3.
Sometimes God is better in literature than in life.

I just read a wonderful novel, Conclave by the Italian writer Roberto Pazzi. This great book was released by a small press in Vermont and didn't sell many copies in the US, but it was a best seller in Italy and other countries.

The Pope is dead. Cardinals from around the world gather at the Vatican to elect the new spiritual leader. A month, four months go by, and the cardinals can't agree. The world outside grows impatient. What's going on in the Vatican?

The cardinals start having nightmares. A Turkish bath is constructed, so the cardinals can relax their aging flesh. Rats start to roam the Sixtine Chapel, eating away at the frescoes. Are the rats God's punishment to the cardinals? Who does He want to be Pope and does it even matter?

The rat problem becomes worse. Stray cats are brought into the Vatican to do away with the rats. Then the scorpions arrive, the symbol of death and transformation ...

Yes, you're right, Conclave is not a social-realistic novel. It's a funny, absurd, and profound book about faith. Roberto Pazzi is a warm writer who doesn't point fingers at the Holy See, but asks some hard questions about the absurdity of dogma and organized religion.

DISCLAIMER: Don't read this if you want to run for Pope. Unless you're into rats and scorpions, that is.



Read about my meeting with Roberto Pazzi at Festival International de la Littérature in Montreal, Quebec here.

*****

Promotion Porn for Writers, Bloggers & Other Low Lives

1.
It's not easy being a writer.

How do you promote your own books? And why should you? In the good old days you didn't have to do anything. The publisher or the publicist did the dirty job while you anxiously waited by the phone equipped with a Gin & Tonic and a bag of quaaludes.

But times are changing. Now the publishers want you to be active. They want the writer to be on Twitter, Linkedln, Facebook, Faceparty, GoodReads, LibraryThing, Shelfari, Ning, Xing, Wayn, Friendster, My Space, and most important MyChurch. And if that doesn't work, they'll demand that you rob a bank or do something sinister to cocktail waitresses, so you make international news.

Yes, there are many ways to go about it. Luckily my American publisher Hawthorne Books did a lot when The Tsar's Dwarf came out, but they also let me know that I should set the internet on fire with my unpronounceable last name.

"And you should do a video on YouTube from your readings," they said.

"But I always have a bad hair day," I complained. However, when your publisher demands action from you, you better comply. So here it is, a year and three months too late: a silly author interview with me.

It's 2 minutes and 22 seconds long and will give you a small insight into my sick brain. I talk about what drives me (sex, drugs, mussulman curry?), how I started out as a playwright, the courses I teach at Portland State University, and why I don't drive. This is Oscar worthy stuff, people. The director, by the way, is my pale girlfriend who shall remain nameless until she gets a tan.

If you're self destructive you can watch it below. The lighting makes me look fat, and the audio makes you believe I have a Danish accent. That's not true. In real life I sound like a used car salesman from Omaha.



2.
Meanwhile, the life of shameless self promotion continues on all the social websites. If you ever follow writers on Twitter, you find that everybody wants you to know about his book or her blog. You see tweets like "My grand mother just died in a horrible car accident. By the way, check out my new romance novel."

It's not easy being a writer. When are you too much for your surroundings, and when do you disappear into the walls like a wet poodle? (If wet poodles disappear into walls, that is?)


PS!
If you're a writer you should follow #Litchat on Twitter.com, a chat room that attracts writers from around the globe every Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays at 1 pm/PST, 4 pm/EST, 9 pm/GMT, and 10 pm/mainland Europe. You can read more about it on Litchat's blog.

One of the golden rules is NOT to promote yourself or your books too much but simply engage with the community like a real human being. God, it's so hard!

***