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Stalag Dracula
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
Trace could smell the desperation on the two men when he walked into the restaurant. A vaporous cloud of wretched hopelessness hung over their table, the detritus of their failed careers taking the form of a black storm front that threatened to explode with violent fury at any moment.

If I can see it, Trace thought, surely their investors can see it, as well as their wives, friends, and their associates in the low-budget film community. Their children can see it. Their bill collector...

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Henry Miller in the Rain
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
The rain came down upon the old man’s smooth and hairless head like stinging needles of punishment. When he saw the yellow glow of the Western Union sign in the night sky he momentarily forgot about the storm and the wet clothing that clung to his wizened skin like death’s wraith and became lost in thoughts about Henry Miller.

“Stop me if you’ve heard this before,” the old man told Trace over the phone when he returned home. “Henry Miller worked at Western Union in New York for four ...

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Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
“What I don’t understand is how the fire jumped all the way over here.”

Trace poked with his cane at the charred remains of a stack of rackjobber paperback books. The covers of the books were singed but intact, lurid gay porn titles with even more lurid charcoal renderings of homoerotic art.

“The fire didn’t jump over here,” Trace said. “This was a separate fire.”

Greg chewed on his thick lower lip for a beat. He didn’t like Trace’s answer.

“What does that do t...

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Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
“It’s raining.”


“I don’t like going out in the rain. People here don’t know how to drive when it’s raining.”

“Stay in then. Is my tie straight?”

“Yes. I don’t want to stay in. It’s too depressing.”

“Go to a movie then.”

“I already checked the paper. Nothing I want to see. Besides, that only kills two hours.”

“Whatever. I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes. Have you seen my briefcase?”

“Which one?”

“The brown leather one.”<...

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Alan Ladd and the Coyote Solitario Cantina
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
She was a floater.

The woman’s body had sank to the bottom of the old-fashioned clawfooted bathtub, remaining there under nineteen inches of water until it became bloated with gas and buoyant, floating back to the surface days later.

It had been an unusually warm October in L.A., so Trace figured it didn’t take long for gas to form and rigor mortis to set in. The nails had already loosened from the fingers and toes. Her pupils were huge, dark, dilated orbs, gazing blankly at t...

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Skunks of the Hollywood Hills
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
“Did I ever tell you about the time I groped a girl in a pharmacy and she turned out to be a he?” Trace asked.

Pamela stared at him over the rim of her wine glass and simply blinked.

“The moral of that tale,” Trace continued, grabbing the bottle by the neck and refilling his glass to the rim, “is that one needs to know the terrain before assuming a comfort level, or something to that effect.”

Trace and Pamela were standing on the white marble patio of a luxurious faux ...

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Smoking in Beverly Hills
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
“Is there more?” she had asked. More to the story, she meant, more to the story about that night.

“Of course there’s more,” he had replied. “There’s always more.”

There is, for instance, the moment they emerge from the theater on South Dohney in Beverly Hills and he lights a cigarette. The first cigarette he has had in over ninety minutes, not that he was counting the passage of time except where being in her company was concerned. Ninety minutes. It would all be over in less ...

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Laurel Canyon
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2006
They take Laurel Canyon across to the Valley, her squat black car gripping the road like a panther and she is in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, eyes on the asphalt as if searching for meaning in the white lines that her headlights pick up but really, actually, she’s just concentrating on the serpentine twists and turns in the canyon night.

The radio is off. It was on during the entire drive to Beverly Hills, first a classical station and then a classic rock station that ...

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Wilshire Boulevard
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Los Angeles, CA - 8/4/2006
He craned his neck into the windshield of the car and gazed upwards at the rows of palm trees jutting into the night sky on a residential street off Wilshire Boulevard.

“I have an obsession with palm trees,” he confessed.

“No shit,” she said, eyes prowling for a parking spot. “I read your short story.”

“Speaking of which” he said while marveling at the way the palm fronds were etched against a charcoal sky bordered by sodium light, “in that last story I wrote, the one ...

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Monkeys on Sunset Boulevard
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/21/2006
“You cannot have an affair with this woman,” she insisted.

Jason took his large coffee from the Starbucks barista and moved to the little counter where the sugar and cream was kept. Susan dogged his heels, refusing his offer of coffee or tea. She avoided all caffeinated beverages.

“It will ruin your career, what little of one you have,” Susan continued. “I’m not berating you, Jason, I’m stating a fact.”

Jason smiled demurely and stirred the cream and sugar into his co...

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Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 10/10/2005
The Santa Monica Pier was cluttered with the usual batch of late summer tourists, plump and pasty-skinned Midwest families ambling about in their Universal Studios T-shirts with mini camcorders strapped to their wrists. Trace hated tourists and always felt like one himself whenever he visited such L.A. landmarks, which inspired a jaded “I would rather be anywhere but here” persona just in case somebody actually did mistake him for a tourist.

Josephine suggested they walk along the sh...

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Story by dom and earl from los angeles, CA - 9/15/2005
Two Takes by Dom and Earl

Take One:

Dom and Earl went to a neighborhood diner to catch up on old times. They went way back and had run into each other at the museum a few weeks before. Earl had been spending his time in the desert breaking rocks with small pick axe and building balsa wood turbines to harness the wind so that he could power a transistor radio and a 40-watt light bulb. Dom was just being Dom, wasting time and talking about the junkie revolution.

Gimme ...

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The Convergence
Story by Lela Michael from Glendale, CA - 8/21/2005
The first time I saw you was at LAX. I had flown out from New Mexico to meet you, my favorite chat room chum, for a weekend out with the girls, or so we had both told our husbands.

This would have been the entire truth if not for your eyebrows. A more curious moment I have never experienced than when you first stood in front of me, for I was mesmerized instantly with how perfectly they stayed still the first time you smiled at me.

Certainly I became fond of the rest of you as...

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Darwin For Pigeons
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/14/2005
“Did you make that pigeon blow up?” the little boy called up to Trace.

Trace was standing on the balcony of his fifth floor residential hotel room. Moments before he was smoking a cigarette and observing the pigeons on the lawn below. There were two of the birds pecking and hunting for food. One was a slate-gray pigeon with ruffled feathers, a scruffy little fellow, and the other was a plump and stout bird. Every time the scruffy pigeon happened upon a scrap of something or other – p...

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Melville Blues
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 4/10/2005
"It's 'Moby Dick' with cops and robbers," Trace insisted.

Hovick leaned his bony elbows on the desk top and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was one of the youngest development executives in the movie business, rising from script analyst to administrative assistant to junior exec in less than a year and a half.

"Has there ever been a good movie made from 'Moby Dick'?" Hovick mused.

"The John Huston version wasn't bad." Trace tossed back a long swallow from the 20 ounce...

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The Jerk at the Black Angus
Story by Natalie Bettencourt from Modesto, CA - 3/28/2005
We left the Black Angus in Burbank at around midnight because I'd just poured a Tequila Sunrise down the back of the jeans of the jerk at the bar.

The ruby-red grenadine soaked a conspicuous stain down his backside. I was sober enough to realize we needed to get out before the guy fully unleashed. He was spitting ice shards at me, angrily studying my face while I feigned "accident", and you could just see his eyes light up with thoughts of punching me in the mouth while I played inn...

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Assessing Heather Locklear for a Dollar
Story by Natalie Bettencourt from Modesto, CA - 3/26/2005
"Do you girls drink milk?" It was an innocent enough question. Still, I was leary of the woman who had approached my sister and I at the Glendale Galleria. The woman had a clipboard and wore glasses. She looked official.

"We'll pay you a dollar to answer a few questions. It will only take a few moments of your time." The woman was persistent. I wondered what she meant when she said "we" because there was no one else around.

I looked toward my sister, older and wiser, for ...

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Trace And The Munchkins
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 3/13/2005
Trace had a bad habit of tripping over little people. At six foot one, he simply didn't notice them at his feet until he was already stumbling all over them.

"L.A. is rotten with dwarves," Trace explained to Lisa as they lay in bed one night shortly after she moved into his hotel room. "It's because of the "Wizard of Oz'."

Lisa threw back her head and laughed long and hard. Trace impatiently waited for her laughter to subside before continuing.

"It's true!" he barked, l...

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Skunks of the Hollywood Hills
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 3/3/2005
“Did I ever tell you about the time I groped a girl in a pharmacy and she turned out to be a he?” Trace asked.

Pamela stared at him over the rim of her wine glass and simply blinked.

“The moral of that tale,” Trace continued, grabbing the bottle by the neck and refilling his glass to the rim, “is that one needs to know the terrain before assuming a comfort level, or something to that effect.”

Trace and Pamela were standing on the white marble patio of a luxurious faux ...

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Skunks of the Hollywood Hills
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 3/1/2005
“Did I ever tell you about the time I groped a girl in a pharmacy and she turned out to be a he?” Trace asked.

Pamela stared at him over the rim of her wine glass and simply blinked.

“The moral of that tale,” Trace continued, grabbing the bottle by the neck and refilling his glass to the rim, “is that one needs to know the terrain before assuming a comfort level, or something to that effect.”

Trace and Pamela were standing on the white marble patio of a luxurious faux ...

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Bogart Sleeps Here
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 2/28/2005
“But I don’t write poetry!” Trace protested.

Marcel lit a cigarette and smiled at Trace through a curl of smoke.

“That’s the theme of the next issue. If you want in, you have to contribute a poem.”


The only reason Trace contributed anything at all to Kidnap was to expand his portfolio. Kidnap’s detractors – and they were legion – dismissed the monthly arts and culture magazine as “a leftist rag.” Marcel DuPont, the founder and editor, ran the publicatio...

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Poor Sonofabitch
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 2/25/2005
“You know that I have to write about this,” Trace called out to Lisa from the bathroom. He finished brushing his teeth and, glancing to the mirror as he replaced the toothbrush, he saw a face he couldn’t recognize. It was his own face but a much younger version, which made him think about the possible healing power of falling in love.

When Trace returned to the bedroom, Lisa was half-asleep. Her long, slender legs were entwined in the soft brown bed sheets like orphaned tree limbs li...

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The Last Fling
Story by Joe Romano from Clayton, CA - 2/6/2005
“The threats are not real,” he wrote on a piece of hotel stationery. “If they were I’d have carried them out already. No, I’m just trying to teach you something. We may not all be pretty but we all have feelings.”

He put the pen down bearing the Knickerbocker Hotel in gold lettering and reviewed his work. Direct yet delicate. He poured himself another shot of Dickel and wished for a cigarette as he looked out over Hollywood Boulevard and the faraway lights on the hills. Beautiful peo...

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Algebra in the Hollywood Hills
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 2/4/2005
Before speaking to Karl, the scruffy coyote scratched behind his ear and then casually sniffed at a fallen pinnate-leaved branch from a jacaranda tree.

“Somebody pissed on it already,” the coyote complained. “I love the pure smell of jacaranda.”

The animal was blocking Karl’s path on the fire road that lead to the underground bunker two miles below the wandering bucolic splendor of Griffith Park. Every day, five days a week for the last thirty years, the old man had hiked this...

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Spider Palm
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 2/3/2005
“It’s a spider palm.”


“A spider palm,” Joel repeated, nodding toward the potted plant to the right of the hotel’s pneumatic glass doors. To Avery, the plant resembled his daughter’s punked-out hair, all green and willowy and full of spikes.

“Did you know there’re over twenty species of palm tree?”

“I had no goddamn idea.” Avery frowned and fished a cigarette out of a crumpled pack of Marlboros. He hated buying cigarettes in the soft pack. There was alway...

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Bill's Bottle
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 10/20/2004
Some people who treat life like a dangerous and reckless adventure, it is said, have a bullet with their name written on it. Until the day I was summoned from the void and assigned my mission I always dismissed the bullet notion as a tired and over shopped metaphor because when you think about it in a larger sense everyone has something with their name written on it: cancer, a massive heart attack, the grill of a Mack truck bearing down on your bumper at eighty miles per hour on a rain-slic...
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Wrestling Mariel Hemingway
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 10/11/2004
I would like to say right out the gate and for the permanent record that I am not attracted to other women. I have been married with varying degrees of happiness for ten years. My husband is a wonderful man and a profoundly successful real estate developer who is gifted with astonishing precognitive capabilities that have always kept him one step ahead of the curve.

I love my husband dearly and he never fails to demonstrate his devotion to me. But the Mariel Hemingway issue is start...

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The Cowboy From La Mancha
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 10/9/2004
It took those geniuses at the LAPD a week to figure out that I was the one behind Pop’s last ride but Dad always was a private man. There were no scrapbooks in his house with pictures of me and Mom or anything like that, no little note stuck to the fridge with a magnet that said, “In case of death, contact my son at such and such an address and phone number” so I can’t really blame the cops for taking so long.

My lawyer wants me to plead temporary insanity, saying the grief got to m...

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Above Sunset Boulevard With Gojira
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/12/2004
Darkness falls fast in the Hollywood Hills. While the rest of Los Angeles enjoys the faltering rays of the summer sun as it makes its slow bleeding descent into the Pacific, the rugged canyons and passes that were once inhabited by Native American warriors are plunged into something akin to an eclipse as fingers of darkness slither through the rambling thicket and around misshapen boulders to embrace the million dollar habitats of the movie colony.

I parked my car in the gravel driv...

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Striking Johnny Depp's Dog With A Bible
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/10/2004
The Institute must have been setting her up for failure, Sharon thought, otherwise why would they have saddled her with the impossible Malibu door-to-door route? Getting someone to respond to a doorbell’s summons at one of the posh houses that dot the Pacific Coast Highway, let alone a living and breathing person willing to listen to a spiel from a Bible-toting sales lady, was a task dreamed up by a gleeful sadist.

Sharon had no doubt that the Institute For Higher Consciousness Thro...

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Christopher Walken and the Tuna Fish Sandwich
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/9/2004
I was working the grill at the craft services wagon on this crappy movie starring Christopher Walken. I knew the movie was crappy because Angelo, my sister’s kid, wrote the screenplay. Aside from that I won’t say anything bad about Angelo because he got me the gig on the roach coach after I had been black balled from just about every craft service outfit in town. The problem is they want the people who prepare the food for the crew and the stars to be dumb, to hold no strong opinions, just ...
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Lucky Strike
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/9/2004
What’s amazing is that my deeds went without notice for so long. If I operated a bowling alley I certainly would be aware of such anomalies as someone walking off with all of my bowling balls.

Two weeks before the bowling balls began disappearing I had pitched to a producer, Sid Welch, a story about a pro bowler who enlists in the Army at the beginning of the Iraq War. During his first tour of duty his Humvee rolls over a land mine. The bowler-turned-soldier loses his right arm. Fro...

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Winona Ryder Suffers For Your Sins
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/8/2004
Only three days until Christmas and I hadn’t accomplished a spot of shopping yet, not one spot other than the $40 coupon I bought my mom for one hour of Thai Massage Foot Reflexology therapy at this little clinic on Hollywood Boulevard in Thai Town. If you’ve never tried it, foot reflexology is a very beneficial holistic treatment. There are pressure points on your feet that correspond to your heart, lungs, liver, eyes, you name it. My mom has been a waitress her entire life and no one dese...
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The Man With Kevin Spacey's Face
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/8/2004
Things got really bad after that movie "The Usual Suspects". That’s when people would stop me on the street and say, “Hey! Keyser Soze!” Of course, I had no idea what people were talking about until one of the night clerks at the hotel told me about the movie and about my resemblance to Kevin Spacey.

Of all the things that I derive pleasure from in life movies are right up there with smashing my face against the windshield of a car careening down the freeway at 80 miles per hour. I l...

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When the Daltons Rode
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/7/2004
Things do look a damn sight different around these parts today. Back in the ‘20s and ‘30s this was a boomtown the likes you’ve never seen with more boosters than you could shake a dirty stick at. Out north where the Valley is now and further out east near Pasadena there was orange groves as far as the crow flies.

Where the Chateau Marmont is on Sunset Boulevard, all of that land west to the sea was called No Man’s Land, a tract of unincorporated county territory that didn’t have to p...

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A Hard-Boiled Christmas
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 8/4/2004
L.A. is no place for someone as sensitive as a classics professor.

It was 6:15 PM on Christmas Day. My partner and I had drawn the holiday call-out duty. We were having dinner at the Cat and the Fiddle when my cell phone rang. I was glad for the intrusion because my partner, “Mac” McIlvaney, was carrying on with all of these boyhood Christmas memories that were so thick with sugar and sweetness that I wanted to heave up my bangers and mash right there on the bar.

It was Katz o...

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I Killed Sal Mineo
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/16/2004
Sal Mineo peered through my bedroom window last night. Well, actually, it was the ghost of Sal Mineo because as you know he’s been six feet under since 1976 when I plunged a knife through his heart in the carport of his apartment building on Holloway Drive, not far from where I live.

Whether Sal was looking in my window because he knows I’m his killer or simply because West Hollywood is a small community and his spirit just kind of floats around here is a question that’s been buggin...

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The Air Down There
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/12/2004
Earl pocketed the $9.10 and spit on a pile of scrap aluminum to show his displeasure.

“You saying that’s all what the brass and copper in that thing is worth?” Earl scowled.

The recycling dealer never liked Earl. He had the hooked nose and beady-eyes of a predatory bird and his clothing always smelled of beer and Wonder Bread. But what he disliked even more than Earl was so-called “modern” or “abstract” art. Destroying those tangled heaps of twisted metal was a personal fetis...

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Shannen Doherty At The Formosa Cafe
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/11/2004
Paul was fifteen minutes into his conversation with the beautiful young stranger on the bar stool next to him when he suddenly knew why she looked so familiar. She was a television actress.

“What did the park rangers say?” Her voice was husky and flavored with amber and reminded Paul of the Wild Turkey on the rocks in front of him. If Shannen Doherty was a drink, Paul thought, she would be whiskey. Almost as soon as the thought entered his brain Paul mentally kicked himself for comin...

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Carla's Choice
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/10/2004
There was something wrong with Caleb from the first day Carla brought him home from Cedars-Sinai. As a baby he would lay on his back in the crib and stare fixedly at something only he could see in the north-west ceiling of his nursery. A psychic who worked as an advisor on a TV show that Carla was guest-starring in suspected a ghost and suggested that Carla burn white pillar candles and wild sage in the baby’s room to scare off the spectral intruder. All she succeeded in doing was nearly bu...
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The EMT in Boyle Heights
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/9/2004
The problem with a city like L.A., Ray began, is that it’s too far flung.

“Not only that,” Ray explained to Ella as he poured another double shot of Stoli, “it’s too fractured. Too many immigrants who don’t want to … what’s the word?”

“Assimilate?” She tucked one bare leg under her on the sofa, hoping he might notice the wax job she had done on her legs that morning. But those double shots of Stoli said something happened on the job and he needed to talk, to unburden.


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El Coyote del Rastro de Mulholland (The Coyote of Mulholland Trail)
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/8/2004
I’ll tell you something that’ll turn your head around. There are spirits of long-dead Chumash Indians all over the hills here. We see them quite often. They love to run and they’re very playful. One of them even helped me catch a rabbit once, which is what I wanted to tell you, about chasing the rabbit and biting that pup.

It had been a long day and I hadn’t had a thing to put in my stomach when I came across this rabbit. Plump and juicy, a lot of meat before you get to the bone. Jus...

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California Roll
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/7/2004
The Century Plaza Hotel in Century City was usually Ronald Reagan’s preferred host when he was in Los Angeles for brief business during his two-term Presidency.

In the summer of 1982, during Reagan’s first term in office, I was living at Casa De Vida apartments in the Palms district of L.A. Casa De Vida was a sprawling 365-unit building on Sawtelle Boulevard - at the time owned by Carol Burnett and her husband Joe Hamilton – nestled against the 405 Freeway. The nearest grocery store ...

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The Ether at 7264 Topanga Canyon Boulevard
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 6/2/2004
I can remember when going to Jack in the Box was a family experience, mom and dad piling us kids into the back seat of the Impala, driving the three blocks to Ventura Boulevard, then we would hang a left turn and there it was: that big, smiling jack-in-the-box looming atop the simple square façade. My dad would steer that big old Impala around the semi-circular driveway and up to the speaker to place our order – only us kids didn’t know it was a speaker, we thought it was an actual talking ...
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Dennis Quaid and the Piano Man
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/31/2004
The air was thick and stifling with the stench of disinfectant and boiling potatoes. The walls of the rescue shelter had been painted a sickening mottled green and were bare of any adornment save for a large crucifix over the pulpit on the stage.

“You ever heard ‘Sunset Eyes’?” the piano man asked. “Teddy Edwards used to play that one. Used to know Teddy back home in Jackson. Think I played wit’ him in a church choir but ‘at was a long time ago an’ y’know how mem’ries can get fuzzy.”...

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Sixteen Ounces
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/30/2004
Sometimes I’ll read something written by a colleague – novel, screenplay, magazine piece, what have you – that will instantly expose all of my weaknesses as a writer just as sure and as painful as that jolt of electricity through the jaw that warns of an exposed nerve in a molar.

On a recent Saturday evening I avoided a looming deadline on an Op-Ed piece by settling in with a couple of chapters from Michael Scott Moore’s novel Too Much Of Nothing, a coming of age novel set in mid-80s...

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Penny For Your Thoughts, Sailor
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/27/2004
I reached out for a memory the other day and pulled the wrong one off the shelf.

We were living in a Quonset hut at the naval base in Long Beach. The pre-fab shelters had been
set up as permanent housing for sailors and their dependents. It was set on a foundation of bolted
steel trusses and built of a semicircular arching roof of corrugated metal insulated with wood

Every afternoon I sat cross-legged on the hard floor with threadbare carpeting and wa...

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Seaching For 'The Poet' At Brand Bookshop
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/22/2004
Some people get compulsive about the series finale of “Friends” or “Frasier”. I get compulsive
about books. It’s all relative.

The latest object of my literary obsession was Michael Connelly’s 1996 novel “The Poet”, to date
the only stand alone novel the former Los Angeles Times crime reporter has penned after a series
of best-selling thrillers starring fictional LAPD detective Hieronymous “Harry” Bosch.

There’s a decent Borders Books and Music on Brand Boulev...

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The Virgin Mary on Griffith Park Boulevard
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/19/2004
“It’s a violin case,” Artie insisted.

“What’s wrong with your damn eyes?” Romolo scowled. “That’s a cello case.”

The two men stood beside their overstuffed shopping carts in the alley. The instrument case had been carefully propped against a recycling dumpster that Romolo and Artie were preparing to
raid. In the dim light of dawn Romolo could see that the outside of the case was of a slightly
faded chocolate brown and was obviously well cared for.

Romolo k...

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Ballad of the Blind Gunman
Story by Rodger Jacobs from , CA - 5/17/2004
“What did the blind gunman do before he became a blind gunman?” the producer asked.

“Well, it’s not like a blind gunman is an occupation in and of itself,” I said with a thin smile.

“Of course not. Who’d want to hire a blind gunman?”

“But if it was this blind gunman you’d want to hire him because he’s the best.”

It was too early into the pitch meeting to gauge how well things were going but at least I had sold him on the blind assassin pitch. The producer was at...

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A Real Woman
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/13/2004

"Have you ever noticed that you write your best stuff when you're separated from your wife?" Wesley asked as I handed him the two completed porno screenplays.

The two scripts were titled "The Sex Lives of Clowns" and "Lonelyhearts" and they represented the latest in a long string of erotic film collaborations between Wesley and I. Wesley was the director and producer and I was the writer.

"I swear to God, it would be in my best interest to keep ...

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10 Inches of Hail in Watts
Story by Rodger Jacobs from Glendale, CA - 5/13/2004
On November 12, 2003, a freak storm pummeled parts of Los Angeles with 10 inches of rain and hail, forcing motorists to abandon cars at the height of rush hour and leaving thousands of residents without power .....

10 inches of hail in watts

dateline : los angeles, california : 12 november 03

: r o d g e r j a c o b s

"So, how did a producer get attached to the project?"

"He’s not a real producer," I explained to Jack, pouring two pac...

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Preempting Oscar
Story by Daniel Flores Guadiana from Hesperia, CA - 4/19/2003
Preempting Oscar

Daniel Flores Guadiana

"Anti-war protests held in Los Angeles today have completely shut down Downtown," the anchor informed his audience. Just then a clip of a woman with gothic white make-up and painted on black tears was handed a microphone.
"We don't feel the conservative system is taking us seriously!"
"And in other related news," another anchor continued, "celebrities from film, television and music are joining together in a silent protest of o...

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Preempting Oscar
Story by Daniel Flores Guadiana from Hesperia, CA - 4/6/2003
Oscar Vasquez flopped down into his custom-made leather easy chair and clicked on his plasma television. These were the last two relics left from a silicon boom long passed.
"And now, presenting last years Pop Idol, Karri Clarkson!"
An exhausted twenty something walked across his screen, jaded and professional. Her distant eyes stared straight into the camera. She rambled on throwing plugs left and right like an electrician. The audience was on its feet for someone who looked no more...

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