Life's a Beeyotch

On this particular morning I’m writing about (due to the Janet Jackson incident at the Super Bowl, this blog is delivered with a slight delay), I woke up early, and for a change, it wasn’t Gweat’s related. Instead, Ruby and Rose, who as you know are two awesome gals from Ohio, and I were going to Venice Beach.

Before we arrive, I should imbibe some knowledge of Venice Beach on you. First, it’s the number one tourist attraction in California. Two, Arnold Schwarzenegger* used to pump iron there. Three, some of White Men Can’t Jump takes place there. And that’s all I knew about Venice Beach before I got there. Really, that’s all I know about anything. I made it through four years of college writing those three statements down as answers to every test question.

We got to Venice Beach early because it doesn’t take long for parking spaces to fill up, and those that have remained committed to this blog already know finding a parking space in California is about as easy as finding a sober Gweat’s. And those that have remained committed to this blog already know finding a sober Gweat’s is about as easy as finding a new post over at www.bullschmitz.blogspot.com.

So what is there to do on Venice Beach? Well, Arnold Schwarzenegger used to pump iron there. Also, it’s the number one tourist attraction in California. Finally, some of White Men Can’t Jump takes place there.

Upon entering Venice Beach, the first thing you see is a pharmacy that has a giant ballerina with the head of a vaudevillian tramp above the entryway. This would be the most normal thing I’d see the rest of the day. Rose, Ruby, and I walked around the boardwalk for a while, perusing the shops and vendors for arts and knickknacks. You can buy all sorts of stuff at Venice Beach. The shops are mostly souvenir shacks, with tee shirts and shot glasses that say Venice Beach on them. But they also have those delightful shirts that say things like, “I hear voices, and they don’t like me”—a fashion statement that makes a statement. Commonly found at monster truck rallies and the Blue Collar Comedy Tour. Other trappings include surf shops, wig shops, and worthless crap made out of wood shops. I shouldn’t say that. In one worthless crap made out of wood shop, I found a wall devoted to some large phallic carvings made out of wood (Ha!). I told Ruby and a 40-some year old man within earshot’s eyes lit up like he’d just heard his lottery numbers called. The second Ruby and I stepped away from the display, the man was right there, gawking the wares. Really, how worthless the worthless crap made out of wood shop is, is all relative to your level of homoeroticism (Dallas, I made note of where this shop is, so we can go back if you like. Man, two zingers on Dallas already. Can we make it three?)

In one store I bought a pair of sunglasses, a necessity in sunny California I have gone two weeks without, and then Rose and Ruby bought two pairs of the same kind of glasses I did because not so secretly they wish they were me.

Walking down the boardwalk with our identical glasses, more vendors were coming out to pimp their miracle crystal necklaces and hemp bracelets and Barack Obamas.** Rose and Ruby both picked up some neat paintings for their love interests back home. Since I have so many love interests, and since I’m on a limited budget, and since I don’t pick favorites, and since I don’t need material possessions anymore, due mostly to my limited budget and lack of storage space in the hostel, I did not purchase anything. I’m kind of like Gandhi in that manner. My, how far the mighty have fallen. I’ve got to get a job.

Really, Venice Beach is quite interesting. There are burnouts and Vietnam vets in wheelchairs everywhere. Oftentimes, the two are interchangeable with the other there. After seeing this, I can’t endorse the legalization of marijuana or any other drug. All you stoner college kids whose dad owns a dealership out there go on and have your fun with it, but seeing the long term effects of drugs on people that don’t have a trust fund to fall back on makes me just want to steer clear of all substances altogether. I imagine Kurt Russell had the same experience when he decided to abstain from drug use, knowing it would hinder his ability to escape from New York in 1997 back in 1981 and coach the 1980 U.S. Hockey team to a gold medal in 2004.

Other attractions included a wino wearing a dirty San Diego Chargers jersey and a signboard that told us he wanted spare change to get drunk, which freed his mouth to sing, “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Get me drunk,” over and over again. Near the beach, there were guys with oversized hula-hoops spinning around and around inside them. How anyone determined they could do this sort of acrobatic thing in the first place baffles me. Probably French.

In the middle of it all the pandemonium, there was a man outside promoting the Venice Beach freak show. He had a two-headed turtle sitting in a plastic container with water. He told us that inside we could see all sorts of animals with two heads. It was only three dollars. But why would I spend three dollars on something I could get for free just by walking down the boardwalk? There’s a guy not three feet away with a foot growing out of his cheek selling authentic dodo meat necklaces. I’ll save my three U.S. dollars for next week’s issue of Amazing Spider-Man, thank you.

Around noontime, Rose, Ruby, and I went to a café for lunch called the Sidewalk Café. Things on the menu were named after famous authors or titles. I settled on the Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., since I didn’t see the R.L. Stine on the menu, and wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep down the Ernest Hemingway. Its prose just doesn’t sit well with me. While eating my sandwich, Ruby spotted a man wearing a giant black sock over his entire body. He would stand perfectly still until a passerby got too close, then he’d touch the back of their head. Turning around to inquire who just did that, the victim would only find a man-size sock, look baffled, and continue on. Eventually, the street performer got rid of the Tanooki suit (Super Mario Bros. 3 reference) and ran around tickling people with feathers or imitating their walk mannerisms. At one point, he spotted a man and woman, most likely brother and sister, walking down the boardwalk holding hands. He dislodged the woman’s hand from her brothers, and walked hand in hand with the guy a good fifty feet. Eventually, the man realized it, let out an angry, “What the fuck?” and broke the bond which had united the two. After realizing everyone was staring at him, the man pretended not to be bothered by sharing hands with another man and feigned a smile. The crowd clapped for the street performer. No one has done a bit better since Buster Keaton. Come to think of it, no one has done any of this stuff since Buster Keaton. Eventually, the performer moved on, as a crowd had formed to watch his act. His act, requiring people to be unaware of his presence, was shut down.

Having finished our meals and no longer having anything entertaining to watch, we moved on to the beach, where we would sun and I would run into the Pacific Ocean. Along the way, I spotted Seventeen Days Into the Future Dallas.


That’s three!

Shortly thereafter, we all left Venice Beach. But we took with us memories, sunglasses, artwork, and some sun. With nothing else to report, I’ll let you all go. Enjoy the footnotes.




*Spell Check recognizes “Schwarzenegger” as a word. No red squiggly lines here.

**Spell Check does not recognize “Barack Obamas” as a word. Good luck trying to win an election outside of Venice Beach, you schmuck.