Trash for Sale. Cash Only. No spammers.
2009-04-03 10:17:06

Welcome back, I'm Esther Einhorn.  You haven't heard from me because I've been busy with my engagement to a butterfly and my impending move.  I'm moving from the quiet, hot, stilted, gigantic strip mall that is the San Fernando Valley into the loud, hot, gritty funk of downtown Los Angeles.  And I'm selling all my crap.  In my reorganizing, I counted 70 t-shirts.  Does that sound like a lot?  I was able to get rid of maybe 20.  Jeans are even harder.  I had 16 pairs, I got rid of 4.  Two more were snatched back from the Goodwill pile when I just got too emotional.  Why is it so hard to let go of shit?  Because everything in our hoarding pack rat mentality tells us that the more we have, the safer we are.  And I think we are predisposed to that mentality even before corporate advertising digs their talons into our central nervous system. 

I must say, getting rid of things feels wonderful.  (But so does buying things.)  Putting junk up on Craigslist has been way more fun that I thought it would.  I like meeting random people at the nexus of when and why someone needs the exact thing I am getting rid of.  There's a French lady coming by in an hour to buy a red desk.  Happy Birthday to the guy who bought my old piano as a present from his mom.  Call me, hot girl who bought the bar stools. 

A big reason for the move is to have more community connection.  Downtown LA is a hub of frenetic energy.  It's about 40% homeless, 30% dogs and 30% smart, young people searching for meaning and inspiration.  And the historic buildings are absolutely beautiful, probably because many of them are still in a sad state of decay.  There are people everywhere- shouting, singing, barking, banging on buckets.  The sleepy valley has lulled me into some kind of dream state where I never bump into anybody.  I've lived in the same building for 6 years, and almost every day I see someone who lives here that I've never seen before.  It's only a 3 story building.  Plus, the old people in the building have started dying.  

And when they die, the dumpsters fill up with SO MUCH CRAP.  The two large dumpsters and three recycle bins spill over with broken and dusty smelly plastic junk.  As everyone dies with so much junk I have horrific visions of the world filling up with trash.  We're drowning in it.  It's killing us.  Time to move... to Mars.

You can't spell HOMOPHOBE without HOMO!
2009-01-27 00:01:48

So I was in South Pasadena yesterday, that pristine suburb where money blooms like begonias on thier many old growth trees.  I was taking a walk on one of southern California's rare cold, bright and crisp days.  I spotted an open door of a beautiful old building into which young and radiant couples were heading, so I followed.  Lookout bitches, here comes Esther Einhorn!

As luck would have it, I walked into a food tasting for engaged couples.  Jackpot!  I told the host my fiancee came down with a case of the shits (a tasting from a less reputable caterer, no doubt) and made my way to the bar.  Free wine and beer!  The food, though plentiful, sucked.  I ate three appetizers, two salads, three pasta varieties (Chef Boyardee, Ragu, and Kroger's value brand?), three main courses (the inimitable and unaviodable beef, chicken and fish), and two cakes.

Yum yum yuck!  Better than the food, however, was the company.  Everything was served wedding style (lukewarm and at big round tables), so I sat with an adorable fresh faced couple and the parents of the bride.  The blond and freckled kids were about to graduate from some religious college, and were to be married just days after graduating.   Cast off the chains of one institution, kids, and shackle yourselves to another!  Sounds terribly comforting.  The parents were gentle and well-meaning.  Dad was in the construction business and Mom rode a Harley.  They had Korean neighbors who were very hard working. 

But the odd thing, and the raison d'etre for this hasty blog entry, was an exchange I had with Dad.  As someone who works vaguely within the klieg lights of the Hollywood film industry, I'm used to yokels asking inane questions about the business.  But Dad had a new one.  Apparently, the only thing he wanted to know about Hollywood was this:   "Now, I'm not a homophobe or anything, but, are there really alot of... those people... in the buisiness?"

"Um, gays?  Yeah, there are quite a few..."

" Well, are they really pushy?  Like, do they try to change you?"

I was struck by the timing and intensity of his curiousity.   Here we are, twenty miles from Hollywood, and a man from the distant land of San Bernadino is really asking me this.

"Of course they do!"  I said.  "How do you think there got to be so many of them?"

I didn't say that.  I don't know what I said really.  Something to send the signal that, while I am one of them (religious and ignorant), I am also tolerant and worldly.  I did not want to offend, nor alienate, but I did want to make him feel a bit like a child.  The whole affair served as a gentle reminder that there are other kinds of people in this, the real world, outside of the Hollywood bubble.  

I don't want to come across as too judgmental on the family.  The kids will make a beautiful couple and I hope they have a lifetime full of love, devotion, and kinky sex.  Mom and Dad were really nice people, too, even if Dad does have some deep-seated gay fantasies. 

But don't be surprised if, come March 24 at the Pasadena Arts Center Banquet Hall, an army of scantily dressed homos storm the dance floor during the father daughter dance!   Wouldn't that be faaabulous?