We still don’t know what to make of LA’s Downtown Art Walk, part art school spectacle, part drunken Mardi Gras but it gets us out of Hollywood for an evening. And last night as we were going to throw in the towel and head to King Eddy joining the company of men who’ve given up on life, we stopped into ARTY Gallery to find Len(Leonardo)Aaron, 94, sitting among his ingratiating drip and splatter canvases all in very familiar looking frames. Turns out the painter is one of the founder’s of Aaron Brothers Art-Marts, California’s ubiquitous discount frame shops. He looks us over saying “you must be an artist. You have to look a little crazy to be an artist.” Most profound words we’d heard all night, so we elicited more from the man.

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We ain’t smiling today. Rather we’re inclined to borrow that Doughboy helmet from the Legion Hall, keep it on until the shit storm of bad luck abates. So far the Taurus died, the HDTV crapped out, we spit out a filling and the other night somewhere along the Downtown art walk, our never-leave-home-without-it, credit card sized Sony T9 digital camera was lost, and we ain’t to blame.

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The King Eddy Saloon is where Charles Bukowski-and John Fante before him-got liquored-up, absorbing the color and tales of the down and out. It remains a clean, well lighted place and there are no fights here. Rather, drama is contained to the pavement outside, where this morning a dead women was pulled out from under a black Cadillac after being dragged a half mile or so down Skid Row.

Eight months after cops charge the Legman with walking on a flashing red light down on Hollywood Boulevard my jaywalking citation is dismissed