Today, Venice is still one of the world's most engaging bohemias. It's not an exaggeration to say that no visit to L.A. would be complete without a stroll along the famous beach path, an almost surreal assemblage of every L.A. stereotype-and then some. Among stalls and stands selling cheap sunglasses, Mexican blankets, and "herbal ecstasy" pills swirls a carnival of humanity that includes bikini-clad inline skaters, tattooed bikers, muscle-bound pretty boys, panhandling vets, beautiful wannabes, and plenty of tourists and gawkers. On any given day, you're bound to come across all kinds of performers: white-faced mimes, breakdancers, buskers, chain saw jugglers, talking parrots, or an occasional apocalyptic evangelist. Last time I was there, a man stood behind a table and railed against the evils of circumcision: "It's too late for us, guys, but we can save the next generation." But a chubby guy singing "Kokomo"-out of tune but with all his heart-cheered me up.