Out On The Prairie Cowboys fall for each other in Ang Lee’s riveting, landmark “Brokeback Mountain.”



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24/Seven

After The Rapture

by Seven McDonald



Look at all those heavily accessorized 18-to-24-year-olds pouring out of the Rapture show at the Henry Fonda Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. They’re all so tipsy and sweaty and texting their friends. In some sort of euphoric bliss after the dance band’s energetic performance, most of them are heading toward Star Shoes to meet up and hang (they hope) with the New York-based Rapture, who apparently have a reputation for partying with their fans. A couple of those fans are sitting on the sidewalk, like one Asian girl, who has fallen on the asphalt in her shorts and tights and hat, and is laughing and reaching out and yelping for her friends to help her up. Most of them have been dancing; all of them are happy.
Camille Rousseau is 21, adorable and nearly naked. She is wearing a collection of bracelets, ankle boots and a black-and-white-polka-dot, backless one-piece ’80s mini that barely covers her breasts. That particular eye-catching aspect of her outfit is exciting for the small group of thick-haired boys who stand a couple of feet away repeatedly asking her for a light or calling out her name.
How was the show?
“I danced it up,” Camille says, pushing her shaggy, highlighted bangs off her face. “I wanted to see the Presets, but I was running late.”
Why?
“My ride fell asleep.”
Camille, who went to the Lycée Français, is standing with Ally Schwartz, who says the show tonight “was tight.” Ally is 24 and wears a couple bracelets herself.
Who are you texting?
“My friend inside,” says Ally, peering up from her handheld briefly. “I want him to get me a shirt.”
What do you do?
“I am a stylist for commercials and music videos.”
What about you, Camille?
“Nothing at the moment,” she says, looking at Ally with interest.
“I was supposed to be a stylist on a music video, so that is kinda funny.”
Oh, you didn’t know what Ally did?
“No. We just met.”
Down the block, Anka, who would prefer not to use her last name, is talking to two guys. One of them, Sean, came with her to the show tonight. Anka wears two thick, white-plastic bracelets and a black-and-white New Wave Lycra dress. The flat-talking 24-year-old wears no makeup, and her hair is pulled back. She is from New York and moved to West Hollywood a few weeks ago “just to see what’s going on.”
Did you like the show?
“I’ve been going to them for years,” she says with authority. “They are fantastic.”
“For years?” one of the guys asks Anka.
“Yes,” she answers with proper smart-girl attitude. “For years. In L.A. you guys hear about stuff when it’s on the cover of Spin. In New York, we see things when they are just starting to blossom, when they are a … little egg.”
When did you start seeing the Rapture, Anka?
“Before their first album came out. I think they’re from California, but I see them a lot in New York. They played at the Bowery and all these little clubs — super dark and super gritty, just like, very New York, very Lower East Side. The first time I saw them outside was at the Curiosa tour, with the Cure, and they just filled the space. You could take anyone — they just play music. So few bands do that anymore.”
What do you mean, “You could take anyone”?
“It is just a lot more … hippie environment, if you will. You could just take anyone. They play a lot of instruments. Everyone is dancing. The other shows I’ve been to in L.A., the people don’t dance.”
But tonight everyone danced?
“Yes.”
What do you do?
“I’m a writer.”
Fiction? Screenplays?
“Just a writer.”
But you’re a music fan?
“For sure. Good music, like a good painting, can inspire other art forms. If you are trying to describe an emotion to someone but you don’t necessarily have the vocabulary to do so, you can play them a song. Like most people relate to Van Gogh, for some reason — the man who couldn’t relate to anyone. You can show someone one of his paintings and they can relate. I think the Rapture has that. They have emotion to their albums, an emotional journey.”
Sean, do you think Anka knows a lot about music?
“Oh, yeah. She’s funky. I used to date her best friend — she had great taste in music too. They’re both kinda fun and wild.”
Anka, are you sure you don’t want to tell me your last name?
“I don’t know. I’m new to L.A. I don’t know the etiquette.”

#

24/Seven

Onward, American Soldier

by Seven McDonald



It’s sunny at the Greyhound bus station in downtown Los Angeles. Dressed in his service alphas (khaki shirt, olive-green service coat), Private First Class Rogelio Mendoza arrived here this morning on a bus from Bakersfield. Now he’s waiting for the 11:45 a.m. departure to Oceanside, where he is scheduled to begin training at Camp Pendleton.
The 19-year-old Marine sits in a blue-plastic chair, the type they have in elementary school playgrounds and in hospital waiting rooms, this one arranged in a short row. His hands, holding his ticket and perfectly folded cap, rest on his knees, which shake occasionally as he talks. His shoes are so shiny, they make the surroundings look even dirtier.
Mendoza, who wears glasses and got a 3.9 grade point average in high school, comes from Lamont, a city 10 miles west of Bakersfield. According to the latest census, Lamont has a population of nearly 13,000 and a median household income of nearly $25,000. He describes it as “just a little town with nothing but gangsters and a lot of trouble.”
“I had to get outta there,” says Mendoza, who enlisted this past August. “I was getting in trouble, doing a lot of drugs and just getting arrested.”
Born in Los Angeles, Mendoza lived here until 1995, when his neighborhood started getting too dangerous and his father decided to move the family north. When they first moved to Lamont, it was a safe area. But then it started getting overrun with gangs. Now, he says, besides a tiny area where his family lives, the rest of Lamont is “trashy, ghetto.”
His parents, both immigrants from Mexico, didn’t want him to join the military.
“They don’t like the war,” explains Mendoza, who has never voted or had a political discussion with either of his parents.
Do you believe in this war?
“I believe for one point it’s good, ’cause of the oil. The thing is, I don’t even think we are there for the oil anymore. Yes, we are trying to stop Iraq from getting into a civil war, but why do they have to send a lot a lot of troops just to make it stop? I don’t know, I can’t explain. It’s really hard.”
You think we went to Iraq for the oil. Why? To get it? To protect it?
“To protect it. I know it’s not ours. I just consider it, like, a battle to regain something we lost. That’s what it looks like from my point of view. We lost something and we are trying to get it back and the only way we can get it back is by shooting people.”
Do you believe in George W. Bush?
“Somewhat, and somewhat not. I heard from my staff sergeant that we already took over Iraq, so I don’t understand why [Bush] still has troops there. First we were fighting for something, now we are fighting for something else — right now it’s making me lost. Like, my staff sergeant told me, ‘You are gonna get lost, and you are gonna have a lack of information. Just go with the flow. If they give you orders, just do it. Even if you don’t like it or understand it.’ If they say, ‘Go in that house and shoot who is in there.’ That’s my job and I have to do that.”
You’re prepared to do that?
“Basically, yeah. Even if my consciousness says no. I have to erase that, like a robot.”
Mendoza knew people who killed other people back in Lamont.
“I had a lot of friends who were killed just for not giving [drug dealers] their money or something.”
And you saw people die before?
“Yes. I had friends lying there dead.”
What was the reason, a drug deal gone bad?
“Yes. And on a speed chase ... what was the reason? I can’t remember. Something to do with the homie’s sister getting raped and we went after the guy that raped her.”
You were in a car?
“Yeah. He took a wrong turn and flipped over. He got out of the car okay and the homies just blasted him.”
How old were you then?
“Seventeen.”
Mendoza says he decided to change his life this year. Since he’s enlisted, he gets more respect from people, the same people who he says used to hate him: teachers, neighbors, old friends. A few minutes ago, when he was waiting in line to ask a Greyhound employee about his departing bus, a fellow traveler issued him respect by allowing him to go ahead of him. Dressed casually, the older black gentleman shook Mendoza’s hand and told him that he had served in Vietnam.
Do you have a girlfriend back home?
“Yes. She was crying last night. I asked her if she wanted to wait for me. She said ‘yeah.’ If she does, [after training] hopefully I can get married. Her parents already said yeah. She doesn’t know.”
I won’t print that, then.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Mendoza, who in high school did best in economics and government, is making $1,040 a month and is, in his estimation, in the best shape of his life. Money and physical fitness were two of his goals when he enlisted; the political reasons behind the war were something he only began thinking about later.
So you feel as if you were taking care of yourself by enlisting, but the bigger political picture you don’t really understand?
“Basically, yeah.”
What is a good reason to go to war?
“Fighting for something you believe in. If you believe a country is not being right and torturing people, then take it over and make it how we are.”
What do you mean by ‘how we are’?
“Either Democrat or Republican.”
Did you enlist in part to save your life?
“Yes, to save my life, if I can. If I can’t, I will give it back. They train me. The only way to pay them back is ... well, hopefully not to end my life.”
The door to the terminal opens, and a young woman in Army fatigues walks by carrying a large duffle bag. She looks at Mendoza as she passes. Her shoes are shiny like his.

#

COLUMN — POLITICAL



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