Vol. 1, Issue 1
August 26, 2003

Edited by Michael Dare (dare2b@earthlink.net)
Never published by Bob Kushner (hollywoodfp@aol.com)

FEATURES

THE ENERGY WAR: BUSH VS. THE U.S.

Did Bush & Cheney "Order" The Great Blackout? by Cheryl Seal
Enronization of the Bush administration by Steve Clemons

TALES FROM THE MIDDLE EAST

The Prisoner of Zion by Mary la Rosa
Iraqi Commander Swears He Saw USAF Fly Saddam Out of Baghdad by Bill Dash

OH GOD

What would Jesus do About Cramps? by Nancy Cain
Bob Hope's Last Monologue from Heaven by Lynette Sheffield
Creation Science Fair Proves God Exists by Tom Norris

GUEST EDITORIALS

Let's Hear it for DADD by Mike Jasper (Sidebar: Woman Gets MADD)
Apopalypse Now by Steve Young
Global Voice by Jim Channon

REGULAR COLUMNS

Homer Simpson Censored by Paul Krassner
Inside/Outside by Billy Hayes
Occult Gossip by Robin Clauson
Equal Time by Bob Boudelang
Consuming L.A. by Punko
Organized Noise by G-Man
Disinfotainment Today
Ask Dr. Hollywood

PLUS

Takin' it To the Streets!
cartoons by Khalil Bendib and Jennifer Oliver
puzzles
letters from Art Kunkin, Jay Levin, and Jim Kaplan
A Poem by S.A. Griffin
a half dozen ads asking people to advertise in the HFP
Posters from whitehouse.org
Political Cartoons from politicalstrikes.com

Welcome to the very first issue of the Hollywood Free Press.

We're going to rip you away from the commonplace and snap you into realities you have yet to discover. We're going to enlighten you, piss you off, and turn you on. We're not going to be another version of something else because we're not like anything else you've ever read. We don't blindly accept ANYTHING. We're not corporate owned or beholden to anybody but our own sense of inner justice and humor. We're going to make you laugh at things you didn't think were funny and care about things you never even thought about before.

We are the alternative. We are the opposition. What are we opposed to? Stay tuned!  We're opposed to lies. We're skeptics. You can't put anything over on us. We're opposed to cover-ups. We're opposed to rewriting the past to suit the future. We've got nothing against whores who sell sex but are vehemently opposed to media whores who shill for the elite. We're opposed to anybody who puts his or her own personal needs ahead of the needs of mankind. We're opposed to Republicans, Democrats, liberals, and conservatives. We're opposed to easy labels. We think for ourselves. We think anyone who blindly follows another's ideology is an idiot. We think terrorism is a tactic and that a war against a tactic is moronic. We think we have real enemies and they're not always who you think they are.

We're in favor of decriminalizing all drugs and victimless crimes, abolishing ALL political contributions, changing the national anthem to "This Land is Your Land," and a whole lot more stuff.

We're against racism, sexism, any ism!

We're against the death penalty except for Fox TV executives, government interference in our personal lives, having to change our clocks twice a year, every law in the books that hasn't proven its efficiency, and a whole lot more nasty stuff.

One of the things that's broken is the media. We're going to be a problem to those hiding their agenda. We're going to offer actual solutions to seemingly insurmountable problems. We are radical in every sense of the word, and if we ever slip into the commonplace, we expect you to kick our ass. We're not out to make you feel safe. We want to rattle your bones and wake you up to this New World.

We're going to take on big business. Allow us to remind you that the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language defines fascism as "A philosophy or system of government that advocates or exercises a dictatorship of the extreme right, typically through the merging of state and business leadership, together with an ideology of belligerent nationalism." Sound like anyone you know? Gee, I wonder why they didn't mention "court appointed with lack of a democratic mandate?" We're antifascist, so there's no way we can take on big business without also taking on big government.

We're going to respond to you and expect you to tell us what you want from us. We're open to discussion. We know we're going to regret this but we invite your submissions. We want to read your writing and see your art, even if you've never been published before.

Knowing that "all the brains aren't in one head," we have assembled a wide variety of interesting, intelligent, prolific and entertaining contemporary writers. We like writers who are saying things no one else is saying, whether we agree with them or not. You've probably heard of local heroes like Paul Krassner, Steve Young (and whomever we end up using), but you're going to be hearing from a lot of voices who are currently only heard on the Internet. Allow us to introduce you to Barry Crimmins, Meria Heller, Dr. Don Rose, bartcop, govrant, the NetWits, The Broadside, Political Strikes, and (whomever has something significant to say).

We're truly free and you can't afford to miss a single issue, because if you do, there will be others out there who know more than you do, and we can't have that. You're going to want to say to your friends "I can't believe the Hollywood Free Press said that IN PRINT,"

Pull up a seat, shake off your preconceptions, and make yourself comfortable. We're going to be around for a while.

Sincerely,

Bob Kushner - Publisher

Michael Dare - Editor

According to statistics from the National Traffic Highway Safety Administration, 13,050 of the 41,945 traffic crash fatalities in the United States during the year 2000 were alcohol related. Do you know what this means?

Sober drivers are killing us off at a 2-1 ratio.

Maybe it's time for these sober types to put down their fuckin' cell phones, stop off for a drink and relax a bit. I was amazed to read these statistics, since organizations such as Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) seem to suggest that all the evils on the highway are perpetrated by drunk drivers.

So where are the sober TV ads?

"Jenny Miller. Seventeen-year-old soccer player, straight As in high school, and beloved by her friends. Killed by a sober driver late for traffic school in 1998."

Seems to me you could run a lot more of those sober ads, given the statistics. That's why I propose we start a new organization called DADD -- Drunks Against Drunk Driving (I thought about calling it DOA - Dipsomaniacs Of America, but that's so broad). After all, you don't really believe drunks want to climb into their cars or trucks after getting shitfaced in a bar, do you? If so, then you should check out any last call in any bar in any neighborhood in the country. See? We don't even want to leave our fuckin' bar stools.

It's time to examine the real problem causing these traffic fatalities -- motor vehicles. "But cars don't kill people, bad drivers kill people," some will say, just as some others will say, "Guns don't kill people, people kill people." Really. Well, let me put you people in the center of the road, and I'll come barreling down in my Ford pickup and see if you scatter. If I come running at you with a red wheelbarrow, I don't think I'll get quite the same reaction.

Same thing with guns. If I walk into the Austin Police Department with a gun in my hand, you can bet one of the officers will yell out, "Gun!" But if I walk in with a ball point pen, nobody's going to yell, "Ballpoint pen!"

That said, I will allow that bad drivers are part of the problem. I will also add that drunk drivers make up 1/3 of the problem. And this is where DADD can help. We've formulated some key guidelines grounded in reality -- unlike MADD's pie-in-the-sky solution of zero tolerance, where one drink at a bar could mean a jail sentence.

1) Every neighborhood must have a bar within walking distance.
2) Each city must offer real designated drivers free of charge.
3) These designated drivers must be Mormon or belong to some other temperance society, since the designated drivers we now have at our disposal either get pissed off at us around midnight and leave, or worse, stay until 2 a.m. but only drink six beers instead of the usual 17.
4) No tricks. Towing our cars away the next morning is not allowed.
5) All bars must have no less than 12 rollaway beds.
6) The ceiling on bar tabs must be raised by 200 percent. (This really doesn't have anything to do with drunk driving, but when you're dealing with a committee of drunks, the errant proviso or two is bound to come up.)

Any of the above suggestions (except number six) would do more to curb drunk driving than the current ticky-tacky policies in place. Will it happen? Hell, no. Because there isn't any money to be made from DADD's solutions.

Let me explain. When I was a reporter in Sebastopol, California, a cop who specialized in drunk-driving arrests told me, "It's sexy. You pull over a drunk, he gets fined, the city and county split the money, the attorneys get their fees for his court appearance, and everybody thinks I'm a hero."

Everything that cop told me makes sense, with one exception. Not everybody thinks you're a hero, Dennis. Not everybody.

Mike Jasper's a writer out of Austin who demands a pair of panties from all female readers. He can be found at http://www.mikejasper.com/.
 

Eclipsed by headlines of exploding budget deficits, an ever-struggling economy, and the extraordinary costs of war, is perhaps the most economically debilitating news for the movie-going public.

Many AMC Theaters have stopped giving free refills with the purchase of a large popcorn. It seems that with the wholesale cost of popcorn at about a nickel a silo, AMC felt that giving complimentary refills to a customer who paid around $5 for the first bag was hurting the bottom line. After all, with theater admissions closing in on double figures and a twelve ounce soda going for about the price you can buy a 24 pack at 7/11, AMC must be near financial ruin.

I, for one, have personally felt the pain. One day, many years ago, I purchased a large popcorn with a the promise of a free refill. To be frank, the small print in the guarantee did explain that the refill must be completed the same day as the original purchase.

But sometimes I would become confused and use the bag for another day's refill. In fact I would get confused a lot. Still, what if it were another day? A re-fill's a refill, right? And the cost to AMC would still be the same. The fact that I would have to approach the concession stand, appearing not to have just walked into the theater, concealing the fear that my transgression would be discovered, having the extrication of the smuggled bag from my coat go undetected, and performing well enough at the counter that all concerned would believe I had just purchased the popped corn that day, all seemed to make a non-same-day refill a fair exchange. Of course, if I then brought the same empty back for free-refills, day after day, week after week, ad infinitum until that particular bag would fray and eventually disintegrate, what be the harm?

Then, one day, it seems that AMC decided that too many of their patrons had become "confused" so they began to instruct the concessionaires to mark the bag with some type of scribbling so that it could not be used for more than one refill. I felt that was fair, that is until I found that whiting out the mark was near impossible. Alas, I was forced to accept the new AMC edict...and adjust my strategy.

I would hand the bag to the youngest, most inexperienced, easily distracted concessionaire, talking to him or her all the while they were filling the bag; asking for a cup with ice only (to be used for the three cans of soda my wife smuggled in), and more times than not, I succeeded. Soon after I noticed that the innocents behind the counter were no longer working there and AMC's refill-training methods seemed to have been shored up. They knew what they were up against and marking the bags was now a given. Fair enough. Sometimes you have to accept the inevitable. Then again, sometimes you don't.

Remaining in the theaters after the film, watching the credits so people would think that I was film-savvy enough to recognize which best-boy was being used on that particular film, was now replaced by a search for unmarked bags that weren't drenched in butter scum or kiddie-drool. At least it was better than foraging through the theater trash for the unmarked refill prize...which I began doing the following week.

But now it seems that my closet full of large, unmarked AMC popcorn bags, will go for naught. AMC has banged the final nail into the refill coffin. No refills at all are to be offered. They have decided that profits supercede customer cunning and family budget demands. I for one think it's a bad move. Obviously AMC feels differently. And it will get worse. Don't be surprised if soon there'll be Diet Coke can, store bought candy and bologna-on-white detectors placed at all theater entrances.

So it is that I ask you not accept AMC’s savage savings salvo against we, the movie going public; do not let this multi-plexed, mega-sized, megalomanic corporation take away the last vestiges of creative discounting; do not accept $4 candy bars and $5 nachos tainted with Cheese Whiz, without having some sort of economical option.

Here’s what you do. If you choose not to prepare home grown popcorn, hit the Target store closest to the theater where you can get a large freshly popped popcorn for $1.29. Tuck that bag into the front of your pants and dare them to ask question the obvious goiter problem you’ve had to deal with most of your life. If they don’t believe it ask them to feel it, and when they do, giggle and ask what time they’re getting Believe me, you’ll get in without a problem

If we all get together and refuse to kowtow to their greedy demands, AMC will no longer seek to rob us of our God-given right to secure a second bag of popped corn free. They will be more concerned with what to do with all the first bags they never sold. It’s not actually a boycott, it’s a...well, it is a boycott, but it’s one that’s deserved.

And we must employ the above plan quickly. After all, it could get worse.

God forbid Pacific Theaters reads this.

Next week: Getting the second/free pizza without buying the first.

Steve Young is author of "Great Failures of the Extremely Successful" (Tallfellow Press) www.greatfailure.com, an award-winning television writer, and director / writer of "My Dinner With Ovitz" www.mydinnerwithovitz.com
 
 

    Knowledge of George W. Bush’s chart and his inevitable fall is what’s kept astrologers sane these last few years, and finally his progressed aspects signal the waning of his power.  The good news is, he won’t be the next president, but the bad news is, he has more than a year to finish looting our economy.
    His regime is crumbling, and pit bull Saturn is waiting patiently to checkmate his unbridled arrogance.  Saturn is the Mafia Don of the heavens; it punishes hubris and hypocrisy, rewards restraint, and is ruthless in collecting karmic debts.  George II can run but he can’t hide his ruinous legacy.
    Concurrently, warrior Mars encourages the Bush administration to devise reckless military maneuvers to distract from coming leaks and scandals.  The sudden interest in Africa materialized after discoveries of extensive oil reserves in the Gulf of Guinea.  Now we’re sending troops there.
    Astronomically, it’s interesting to note that Saturn is the closest to the sun since 1974.  Remember Watergate?  Mars is the closest to earth in 60,000 years, and in late August it will outshine Jupiter.  (Only Venus will be brighter.)  There are endless theories about the significance of these phenomena.  Suffice it to say, the portents are ominous.
    Added to this mix is the 20-year U. S. presidential death cycle. Some believe its origin was the curse by Shawnee Indian Chief Tecumseh on the office (and William Henry Harrison in particular) after the battle of Tippecanoe and the collapse of the Native American military movement.
    Astrologers, however, believe it is linked to the conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn, a 20-year cycle, in earth signs.  When Reagan was shot, the conjunction was in an air sign.  Presumably that quirk spared his life.  Bush has worrisome upcoming health aspects, so perhaps nature, not assassination, will end his presidency.  Surely, the only thing scarier than a President Bush must be a President Cheney.
    Meanwhile, Nostradamus scholars are scrutinizing the Gulf and Iraqi Wars for clues to his texts, because the land is Biblical and Nostradamus continually referred to the area.
    Bush and his neocon advisors use “crusade” as a code word for their global agenda.  No wonder the Muslim world is paranoid!  Time reports that between 1982 and 2001 the number of Christian missionaries in Islamic countries nearly doubled from 15,000 to over 27,000.  The Independent estimated that 800 missionaries were in Iraq even as warfare continued.
Muslim expert Charles Kimball in his May 5th "Fresh Air" interview sums up the situation best: "To go into an area -- especially to tie aid to some kind of proselytizing initiative -- would be to fuel the worst sort of fears that this is a new kind of crusade, that this really is a kind of Christian imperialism.  And I think that is tantamount to a lighted match in a room full of explosives."
    Well, at least the Armageddonists are happy with the new agenda.  There are only so many seats in heaven, you know.  At least that’s what the Bible gossips say.

Send mail to: OccultGossip@aol.com

RESTAURANT & BAR REVIEWS

Lava Lounge
(323) 876-6612
1533 N La Brea Ave.
Los Angeles, CA
Hours: 9pm - 2am

    The Lava sits amidst a suburban style strip mall on La Brea between Hollywood and Sunset. Its exterior promises more grit than the interior offers, but this is L.A., and a good dive is hard to find. Even the bikers and hookers you encounter on the way there seem oh so chic. The prostitutes look like union members and the junkies have good skin and fake tits. This portion of town, for all its promises of seediness and despair, seems to lack the proper hang for drunks and eighty-year-old men talking about their glory days in the war. I'm searching, but find none of that. However, at the end of a strange day, the outside of the Lava looks like it could be dive or swank, and I waltz towards it with hopes of whiskey and surreal conversation.
    My day. Whiplashes of culture shock. New in town. Looking for a place to live. Navigating the city without wheels. I grab a subway to the Vermont and Santa Monica Station. It's near a college so the place can't be all that bad. I walk up to the building. Boards on the windows. Boards on windows are great for underground parties and late night exploration but not for living. Annoyed that I have gone the distance in yet another fruitless pursuit of a place to live, I return to the subway.
    On the way in, a young woman is nearly accosted by a run of the mill crackhead. Not a cop to be seen anywhere, so I step in and calm his delusional nerves. I make him laugh, he walks away. The woman nods and smiles. First smile I've gotten in days.
    Once on the subway, I sit there, exhausted beyond belief, I crack open a Coca-Cola. For a moment, I wonder if there's anywhere in L.A. you can live without spending a grand a month. A place that doesn't, you know, eat ass. A female police officer approaches me.
    "Sir, we need you to step off the train," she says. She's kinda hot for having such a scowl on her face, and seems as if she hasn't been laid in five years, four months and three days. Her forty something male partner stands behind her, admiring her aggressive vocal tone and probable penis size.
    "Is there a problem?" I ask.
    "Sir, please step off the train."
    For a moment, I think there might be some confusion over the incident outside. On the verge of explaining that I was the one trying to help, not harm, she finally tells me about the serious problem at hand.
    "Sir, you're drinking a Coca-Cola on the subway."
    "And you're arresting me for this?"
    "We'll let you off with just a ticket this time. There's a sign posted right there sir. No food or drink. Please step off the train."
    "Are you fucking kidding me?"
    They weren't. This is what they do for a living. Cruise the far too gentrified subway and hand out tickets to people who are already too poor to own a car. A woman outside nearly gets mugged without a cop in sight, and I'm being harassed over a beverage that doesn't even contain booze (but really should have).
    "Something funny sir?" she asks.
    "When you graduated the academy, did you know you'd be chasing Coca-Colas?" I answered.
    Her jaw drops. She looks sexier pissed off than she did in shock.

    Back outside, I begin my quest for something familiar. A dive. A place you choose to go for surreal moments, unlike the city that seems to hand them out without even demanding a cover charge. And this is what brings me to the Lava.
    There's a Lava in my former hometown, Seattle. Unrelated, but both feature dim lighting and a chill atmosphere. This one is far less Tiki than my former haunt, and for that, I'm grateful. The whiskey is poured stiff by a five-o'clock shadow fella named Josh. Josh is handsome, but not in the typical L.A. way. Dark hair, left cheek that pushes up higher when he grins, open, warm smile, infectious laugh. Has the perfect balance between laid back apathy and conversational enthusiasm down to a tee. With his accessible demeanor, he also comes off with a self-assured style of speech, the kind you get after you've seen a lot of shit. I recount the story of my day.
    "Welcome to L.A. baby. The new chief figures the best way to stop crime is to start small."
    "Yeah, there's no money in tickets for the big stuff."
    For a moment, I find myself sounding like one of those anti-establishment fuckers whose views only exist to justify the disdain of their own lack of accomplishments. We speak of whiskey and Ethiopian food, crafty addicts who prefer to hide track marks in their toes, and his girlfriend's father who happens to be from my neck of the woods. Well, not Seattle, Kirkland, a town not far out. The kind of people who quote their salary within the first ten minutes of conversation.
Something about Josh's grin reminds me that even in a cold and lonely new town, people are people, and you get out of them what you look for. Probably could have found that same warmth in the sex-deprived cop if I'd bothered to look.
    There's a band playing. Some weird hybrid between The Doors and The Proclaimers. For the love of god, someone must protect the children. A beautiful Czech girl and her "art escapes depression" singer/songwriter friend. A wide-eyed tweaker and a lawyer who's about to give up on his battle for civil liberties realizing he's still working for the man. Conversations that drift between soulful and soulless, sadly funny and desperately searching for moments that feel a little less lonely. A sense of jaded romanticism and late night inspiration cross my nervous system. This is the Lava.

Organized Noise
by

XLR8 YOUR MIND

    Ever wanted to step inside the pages of XLR8R magazine? If you're involved with modern music, you know the oddly-yclept periodical, now celebrating a decade of dedication to "truthful and opinionated coverage of emerging music and culture." (Hmm, sounds like what we claim for these pages. Except for the truthful part.)
    From its humble fanzine beginnings to its current eye-grabbing gloss, XLR8R has been a beacon for all of us who love organized noise and the people who make it, play it, shake it, and have anything to say about it.
    Now, XLR8R mag has teamed up with Adidas Originals to present a one-night event called "The Living Magazine" on August 21 at Temple Bar in Santa Monica. Like Alice on the trippy side of the looking glass, you'll step through the pages of the magazine, including live-action, life-sized and audio-enhanced features on visual artists and musicians. Promised headliners include Tino Corp, LFO, Wildchild, Beans, Broker/Dealer, Cex and Crack W.A.R. This will be far out for those who are in (I'm not trying to be cute with that line; it's just that Temple Bar only holds about a quarter of the people who are going to try to make it to this event).

    The Los Angeles Music Awards (LAMA) show is November 22 at Qtopia. So why are we telling you during the dog days of August? Ahh, 'cause the LAMA showcases are going strong at Monsoon Café (Aug. 14) and Level One (Aug. 19, Sept. 2, 16, & 30). Go, make noise for your faves, and you just might influence the decision of the judges.

    Dark, deep, pretty, and full of deceptively soft whirlpools of emotion, the songs of Cara Jones sneak out of her CD, "Now" (Fall Girl Records) and engulf you. "Settle for Love" is a combination of slow rock and chill-jazz that concludes 11 tracks that have the ability to leave you limp and dazed from their beauty and intensity. Magnificently produced by Michael Aharon, "Now" is a gem.

    Is there a secret formula for musical success? Sure. It starts with talent, but then you knew that. Yet there is something more required. Once in a great while, the forces of nature conspire to let people create something mystical, magical, and monumental. Such an event is the musical juggernaut known as Powder.
    Ostensibly a quartet of costumed noisemakers (or so they've been dismissed by people who only glance at their publicity photos without attending a gig or listening to their "Sonic Machine" EP), Powder is actually a conglomeration of every powerful influence in the history of modern music.
    At the lower end of Powder's sleek sonic spectrum you find deftly-played bass and drums, just as with your normal, average, rock band - assuming your normal, average rock band has members who are good enough to be hired for top-paying session work. The artistry of their big booming beat doesn't stop with their technically superb musicians, for they combine these sounds with sequencer-driven rhythmic patterns that are relentless.
    Now stop for a moment and think about what would happen if you took the guitar player from, say, a Rob Zombie or Tommy Lee recording, and added him to the aforementioned killer rhythm section. Dynamic, yes? Oh you bet.
    Okay, consider the possibilities for crunch and smash and crash and bump and bash that would emerge from such an unholy amalgamation. Is that what you get with a Powder performance? Well, yes. But you get so much more. Why? Three words:
    Melody. Harmony. Imagery.
    With tunes that are so infectious that you can hum the hook the second time it appears in the song (!), Powder grafts trills onto their thrills in a way that has rarely emerged. It's Led Zep dates Betty Boop while the Chemical Brothers rape Missing Persons. And you know what? Those costumes don't seem so outlandish once you're enjoying the hard/soft onslaught of their music.
    Powder will be destroying your ability to tolerate mediocre bands on Saturday, August 23 at Qtopia in Hollywood. The occasion will be the Rock City News 20th anniversary shebang. Also performing will be the calculated outrage of Carbon 9 (fun, noisy, and a guaranteed good-time spectacle) and the brain-blurring industrial rock frenzy of Rakit (smash-crash fury, pent-up anger, and delightful anarchy in every chord). It'll be loud, but it'll be proud.
 
 

    That's the title of the mysterious, strange, and mind-tickling musical poetry CD by Hilary Goldberg (Caboose Music). Like a modern-day shaman, she conjures up images you've never seen before. Like a subversive beatnik, she tweaks the way you think about everyday reality. And like a word monger from Planet Thesaurus, she gives your brain a bounce. The guitars and keyboards by Gavin Ross and Tina DiGeorge are lovely in their own right.  Not for the masses, but a good bet for anyone who has ever wondered about the connection between rap and E.E. Cummings.

THE G-MAN makes noise at www.gmanmusic.com.

Editor’s Note: Art Kunkin published and edited The Los Angeles Free Press, the first alternative weekly newspaper of the 1960s. After more than 500 issues, the L.A. Free Press stopped publication in 1976 after achieving a paid circulation of 125,000 copies a week. However, Kunkin revived the Freep as a daily newspaper during the week of the Democratic National Convention of 2000.

    Why is there a need for another newspaper in Los Angeles? It is because the L.A. Times and the L.A. Weekly are not meeting the needs of a very large group of people who don’t like what is happening to them and to the world around them.
    The Times is depressing to read!  Our big daily paper is so focused on the status quo, so immersed in reporting the ugliness and violence and corruption in the world that it does not project the possibility of a desirable and compelling future. The front news pages are especially grim. The only thing that changes in the Times from day to day are the comics and they also are neither funny or positive.
    Boring! The Times is ugly and boring because it is basically a mirror for a boring and ugly and violent world.
        The vision of the L.A. Weekly is not much better. Its focus on entertainment, on escape, is the main reason for anyone to pick up a copy. Once in a while The Weekly will do an investigative story from a liberal point of view but there is no consistency in those stories, no follow-ups, no meaningful alternative point of view. The pretense of being alternative, of sporadically exposing “corruption” is just another packaging technique for a publication that is basically being produced for the profit of its owners. The Weekly is only a pale reflection of the truly alternative publications of the 60s even if it is published as a small tabloid.
      The new Hollywood Free Press promises something else for those readers who want a publication that will be able to see the positive elements in the negative world around us.. Its editor, Michael Dare, has an Internet track record as a person who combines sarcasm, humor and genuine investigative reporting into a more alternative point of view than we have seen since the radical newspapers of the 60s. His opening editorial statement in this issue is a breath of fresh air when compared to the conformism of The L.A. Times and the liberal pretense of The Weekly.
    Of course, it remains to be seen if Michael’s vision will be realized, if he and his publisher can get the support they need to pay the printer and distributors and writers. As I see it, the key to getting this support is to clearly identify and meet the needs of the large numbers of free thinkers and potential free thinkers in our community who see the possibility for a world that rejects both the ugliness mirrored by the L.A. Times and the shallow, escapist vision of The Weekly.
    As a veteran publisher and editor myself, I have a few suggestions to make to Michael and his publisher, Bob Kushner, about getting support from this more evolved audience
    For example, there is one key word that I did not see used by Michael and Bob in this newspapers draft statement that I saw before it was published in this issue. I saw such words as “sarcasm” and “humor” and “genuine investigative reporting” but I did not see the word “Organize!” However, I do believe that the real audience for an alternative newspaper today would like to see a discussion and proposals about exactly how to replace the offensive Bush administration.
    In this connection I hope that Michael will encourage a discussion in this Free Press about the efforts of the Green Party to mount another presidential campaign, the evolution of today’s peace movement, the activities of the Labor Party now being organized by some major unions, the organization on the internet of a global independent media, the international organization of anti-globalism, the need for proportional representation election methods to replace the two-party system, etc. I’m not suggesting automatic support for any oppositional movements or demonstrations but this paper should be the place where the now invisible opposition should be made visible and discussed. Sarcasm and humor and simple investigative reporting are not enough today in my opinion.
    But while Michael might implement these editorial suggestions, there are other more structural issues I would like to raise that will be easily implemented. For example, I regret the inclusion of sex ads as the main source of financial support. This may sound strange coming from me because during the 60s I was one of the innovators of this type of advertising as a means of supporting the alternative press then. However today I would like to experiment with the possibility that the new alternative community in the United States has grown up to the point where individuals would pay a substantial cover price to support a publication just as Europeans do in their cities.
      Massage parlor advertising is offensive not only to most women but to many men as well and repels many readers. Therefore, it is my opinion today that a publication devoted to organizing the alternative community should eliminate sex advertising if at all possible. Although the trend has been toward advertising-based publications distributed free of charge, a weekly alternative press might be able to charge as much as a dollar a copy if its obvious purpose was social and political change.
    However, I would like to suggest that we welcome the Hollywood Free Press just as it is and give as much support as possible to Michael Dare and Bob Kushner. After all,
by permitting this kind of discussion about the paper in the paper itself, they are showing us that in the very first issue they are walking their alternative talk and are open to new ideas.
     Let’s not forget that there was and still is a great truth in H.L. Mencken’s observation that the only time you have a free press is when you own one.

Michael Dare wrote for us at the LA Weekly when I was editor and president. I would be greatly surprised if he did not turn out quickly to be the best new truly alternative editor speaking to Los Angeles. I have high expectations for the Hollywood Free Press

Jay Levin

Congratulations on assembling the smartest, most creative and outrageous team of writers LA has seen in years. I worked with Michael Dare at the LA Weekly back in the 80’s. Always one of my favorite writers, Michael’s brand of journalism is free of the political correctness and corporate bullshit that has turned most of the “alternative” journalism in Los Angeles into white bread with the crust cut off. Cheer me on, piss me off, and deliver the crust. Finally, a truly Free Press in LA.

Jim Kaplan
Publisher
Studio City Sun