Letters from the Front John Pezaris, Pasadena, California, 12 June 1995. AIN'T LIFE GRAND Went to a Hollywierd party last weekend. Hoo boy. I can hardly wait to get the hell out of here. I mean there were some stunningly beautiful people at the party (my fave was the guest of honor, a 25-year old woman who bears a striking resemblance to Marylin Monroe... and she was quite physically affectionnate by the end of the party to anyone who came within a couple of feet), BUT HOLY JESUS THESE PEOPLE HAVE NO BRAINS. I mean, their heads are full of OATMEAL. Once again, I kept my silence in a passive, depressed kind of way because it wasn't worth convincing someone that what they were saying was (laughable and) dead wrong when they didn't really believe it to start. Everyone was "adjusting," or "in transition," or "working, almost." Everyone had an excuse as to why they hadn't made it big, and dropped names like, well, like they are dropped only in Hollywood. And get this -- I'm not sure if Personal Responsibility has gone by the wayside, I mean it has been a few months, but the chic thing now seems to be going to CHURCH! No, no, no, not that these people have suddenly found morality or seek spiritual enlightenment; it's the chic thing to do. Zounds. [ I did manage to meet one interesting person at this party, and I hope to develop that friendship. She's a New Yorker. Figures, right? I just can't get along with these damned West Coasters. She's not a love interest by a long shot, but one increment to my meager SoCal social circle. ] I tell ya, I'm out here dying for your sins brothers and sisters, pressing flesh with the masses so that you don't have to. I'm making the world safer by mapping an area to be avoided at all costs. I'm martyring myself to the cause, seeking out substance in a land devoid of culture, a land stark in its lack of depth, a land where the silicone in a woman's breasts could caulk a house. Throw your hopes my way lads, pray for me, and though I might not make it back alive, keep a spare bed and a cold beer in quiet offering to my safe return. - pz. Next Letter, Previous Letter, Start Again Copyright (C) 1995, J. S. Pezaris, All Rights Reserved.