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Letter from America June 24, 2004
Ode to the Dolphins
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
Page 3 of 3
I turned down the street towards my condo. It was dark and late and none of the geriatric residents of the Zuma Beach Community were awake. Then I heard a sports car's engine rev, like a Trans Am engine. The car pulled up behind me. Thinking it was Psycho, I turned down a side street and let the car pass by. When it was gone, I walked back to my street, approaching my condo -- but the car had turned around, swung back, and now was behind me again. I couldn't believe it -- my first contact with human beings in three months, and already I'm getting stalked. I should have stuck to my instincts and avoided these fucking humanoids. I should have just stuck with the dolphins.

I didn't want Psycho knowing where I lived, so I turned down a path between the condos that headed out towards the cliff edge. I heard him peel out on the road above, driving in circles and making a racket. It was real jungle-ape stuff. Then he sped away.

The next day, Vibe, looking very sober and cleaned up, stopped by with her son. "Did my boyfriend do anything to you?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Vibe said. She tried to talk to me, but I just wanted her out. I'd learned my lesson about humanoids. She sniffed and asked, "Are you cooking canned food?"

Embarrassed, I admitted that yes, I was cooking canned chili.

"I know ze smell of canned food," Vibe said excitedly. "I knew it vas canned food! You see?" She seemed to think this gift of hers would win me over.

"M'm, canned chili!" her son said.

"Leave Mark alone," Vibe reproached him.

It was heartbreaking -- and I didn't need heartbreak. I needed to be left alone. She got the hint and left.

Now she's back in her grim apartment in Culver City with her son, her sub-lessee, her canned-food-sniffing gift and her optimism.

I'm still here, watching the dolphins as I write this. In three days, I leave Malibu. It's back to the world of wretched human noise and the monthly rent struggle. Leaving here will hurt. But I will always be grateful -- to the dolphins, to the pelicans, and to the unbelievably kind goddess who let me stay here these past two months. Whoever believes money can't buy happiness is a fool -- Malibu is the closest thing to happiness I have ever known. If I could live here, I wouldn't ever write another word again.

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Westernized Politician
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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
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Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

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Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
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eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
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Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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