Local Calls

I sat at the kitchen table with such an exasperated look that the Big Scoop herself knew something was amiss.  "Did they write back?" she asked.  "No, and I wrote twice.  Are you sure this is the right number?"  She looked and checked her scribbling from school.  "Yeah, that's what she wrote."  Before I could say anything else she asked (not as a statement) "I wish I could just call HER."

In my chair, I was struck by lightning.  In our youth (you and me, dear reader), there was 1 phone number to call for an entire family.  There was no missing anything because that was it - you'd get a hold of the kid or, worst case, the parents who would let you know what (if anything) they knew about their location.  Now?  Well, post-Covid I have a ~10% success rate connecting with a normal person to coordinate.  The other 90% are just a waste of texts - into the either, never to connect.

Being the Big Scoop's main daily guardian means I am at school in the morning and afternoon and come into contact with some of the most woefully ignorant dipdingles ever created.  Swollen moms drive minivans like they stole them around neighborhood streets, often times right into curbs.  A father who dressed his son like Rick Nielsen (which would actually be a positive) blithely walked with him right into oncoming traffic - an image burned into my brain.  During the various strikes occurring at the start of the school year, this 90% would cluster at the school entrance, squawking and blocking anyone from passing.  The dialogue seemed to only be laughter and "I know!" before dropping a cup of coffee on the sidewalk.

It is these very adults that I'm having to engage in some form of communication.  No wonder we're striking out!  Days, weeks later we meet up: the scoop and the other kids run off.  I avoid all banal talk with the adult and say "I texted you twice 2 weeks ago, saying who I am" and so on and I get "Oh!" or a confused look at their phone with "let me check."  I use all my reserves to prevent just calling this grown adult such a dumb dummy.

Soon I will have 2 weeks of dealing with such moments.  Instead, it tends to be the 2 of us enjoying a swanky diner, wandering in stores, and maaaybe shooting hoops.  It wears on me and yet when I review that 90% who are utterly baffled by the self check out line, the rest of us continue to look for human value.  

It's not me, it's Utah

I have established a good set up in my life these days when it comes to "doing stuff."  Obviously, if it's something I want to do, I'm doing it.  If it's something I don't want to do, I'm usually not doing that, either.  (Note: it took some time, but this flex is absolutely vital in life, and in speaking to others my age in a similar life situation, they are amazed one can do this.  If you fit this category and are not doing this now, I highly advise you to get moving)  This hasn't cut down on the amount of squawking in the house from others, of course, but it's made my days happier, so it's worth it.

This leaves one category: something is proposed and I either have no experience with what's suggested, could take or leave it, or truly don't know.  "What the hell.  Sure." tends to be my response.  I needed to remember this after a typically terrible lunch in a sportsbook in a Las Vegas casino.  Normally, I'd stay and fight through either with bets, or move to a different casino to find the right fit.  What I hadn't done before was continuing to drive east. 

What you see first might be what "Las Vegas" doesn't want you to see: very industrial, a bleak desert landscape, with a racetrack thrown in for spice.  Next thing you know, you're just in the desert with no buildings anywhere, and you can't help but think you drove through a mirage.  I figured there would be some casinos near the border, and there are, and they are as comical as I'd expected.  No time for investigating - had to push onward to Arizona.  

At this point, I'd been in the car a while, so when I was driving through the Virgin River gorge at dusk, I was more than a little concerned.  You're making good time, you have no use for looking at scenery at these speeds, and yet you feel like you're suddenly driving indoors.  (Outside, under some light)  By the time of a Utah arrival, I felt like I'd crossed the finish line.  Look, we made it!  Take in a beautiful sunset, and we must be where we're supposed to be, right?

No, we're not, and because of the woman formerly known as Smiley's hunt for "hot slots" that commandeered 2 hours of our time, I'll be driving a 2-laner through the mountains in pitch black.  "Hey Trip, where are we?"  Well...I have no idea.  Arriving later on at this time of year gives you little time for calibration or figuring out what's what.  Awful food for dinner, worn out from driving desolate landscapes, and on an uncomfortable bed at the "lodge" was not an ideal ending.

Sun up, some of the locals were about.  My body says it's an hour earlier than the clock which might not mean much to others but after yesterday, it does to me.  "Come on - are you ready?"  Well, no.  My body was in Las Vegas yesterday, so get up at this hour on a Saturday, sure, I'm running on adrenaline for 24 hours.  But I'm not there, I'm at a national park.  It's time to hike?!  Groggy, comically bundled up for the early legs of the trip, my stumbling in will have to be tempered.

The wandering is narrow, but despite the early cold, not only is the scenery worth it, so too is the people watching.  Some is familiar to LA (large families a variety of ages leaving garbage in their wake), others not so much: one group of maybe 20 were all wearing bright blue shirts saying AUSTRALIA in a massive font.  Another group included active seniors cautiously moving with walking sticks who, if I'm being honest, I'd have kept to just flat terrain as 1 slight slip would cause damage.  The Big Scoop took a couple spills, no injuries, but no fun either, and the kind of thing that drives someone to say they're "never hiking again."

So, she and I returned to the lodge dirty, exhausted, and more concerned with relaxation on this "vacation" than pushing it.  After cleaning up it seemed fitting that I watch a Utah game on the uncomfortable furniture.  If the option is working too much to enjoy the scenery and nightlife which is limited, I can't say this is something I'd have wanted to do...or at least not in a way that I'd like.  The vacation conundrum alongside the people of my house continues.  More-than-passable Thai food capped the night, and I tried to be optimistic for the future.

More driving the following morning at least brought me to a small town in the middle of nowhere: Orderville, Utah.  And yes, the best of this was an ATV ride to rock climb for views like this:

Post-climbing allowed me to wander this town.  I'd have explored as long as it took to see everything, whatever that might be:

What's doing in Orderville?  The post office bulletin board advertised getting your up-to-date shots, available properties and other services.  

Pet care is apparently also a local issue.   I didn't feel right about calling any of these numbers what with it a weekend and not wanting to bother the locals.

Wherever it is, I always appreciate a "main drag" of town, especially one where there are no stoplights.  It makes it all the easier to get around.  If anyone noticed, no one seemed to mind.  A man complimented my Rams winter hat by reminding me "we've always liked the Rams because Merlin Olsen played there."  I nodded and said, "Utah State." which, with a smile seemed to give me more bonus points than I realized at the time.

Who's up for some Ice Cream Soup, kids?  I thought so!

We had to press onward, however - 1 more park to see.  A much more leisurely drive led to Ruby's Diner.  In a location that looked like the saloon in Dodge City where the Griswolds decide to visit and watch Clark get "shot" from an ornery bartender, we naturally took the all-you-can-eat BBQ buffet.  It hit the spot and also gave everyone a different kind of fuel: the kind where you're going to want to walk around a bit.  Where can we go with few crowds so that I can release the brass bonanza?

Nothing echoed out here, thank goodness.  Plus, I could blame the nearly 2 miles high altitude on why I needed to just get back in the car.  We were losing the light, and my greatest fear (driving these narrow, mountain-edged roads in the dark) was realized.  When we finally made it back, we shoved down enchiladas at a furious pace.  No one said much (we were worn out) but this meal felt like a victory more than anything else.

Somehow, we made it back the next day.  We stopped in Las Vegas and kept her "hot slot" hunt to a minimum.  We didn't stop in Baker, Yermo, or Barstow.  We had to get home.  And when we did, at dusk, it was an immediate look-around at how things were when we left.  We had no idea of our future and yet, it was accomplished.  Holding on to a tree root to dodge massive groups of tourists on a narrow trail?  Having a milkshake for breakfast while chatting up small town locals?  Trying to keep my breath over 9,000 feet at Rainbow Point?  Lamenting traffic for an F1 race in Las Vegas? 

"What the hell.  Sure."       

Family Circle - October 25, 1983

Long ago (though not as long ago as this magazine) I received a large envelope from the Twin Farms.  I figured it to be a month's-worth of Sunday coupons, or maybe more junk I don't need (that's why it's still there).  The junk I speak of is more along the lines of "now that you've looked at this, you can throw it out."  But upon opening, I saw just this, along with a note:

"Hi honey, found this at work and thought you'd enjoy it!  Love Mom"

See - now we're talking.  I didn't know you saved the old band programs, but you can ace those at your leisure.  Don't even waste the money on the postage!  But this...well, I'm just going to have to dig into this one - 40 years later!

We've got a lot to take in just by looking at the cover.  There's no real cover headline, but there are some intriguing claims: "Bike your way to fitness" you say?  Tell me how.  A suggestion of the world's best chocolate chip cookies better explain the green, mopey-looking cookies in a jar towards the back.  Who isn't crazy for cheesecake, but who wants to actually make the stuff yourself?  40 stocking-stuffers for next to nothing?  Considering the Big Scoop's behavior over the past few months, I'm not planning on spending a lot of dough re mi, so this might work out.  Let's take this to the counter of Thrifty's and give them the 3 quarters for this issue.  What's inside?  Well, I'm not scanning everything, but some highlights:

The cover has a fold-out for Purina Cat Chow, which features the "chow, chow, chow" jingle and something called "Country Blend" cat food which advertises "MORE REAL CHICKEN LIVER & CHEESE FLAVOR"  A few pages later is a 2-page ad for Congoleum showing a large baby nursery (complete with wallpaper, because this is 1983) which begs the question: 40 years ago, what was better: a carpet or linoleum when it came to a baby safely crawling around?  It is the "most stain-resistant, durable, no-wax vinyl floor you can buy."  Tough choice.

The "Readers Exchange" and "Parent to Parent" sections are where our readers share ideas, recipes, and the like.  Even if these seem like no-brainers, writers received $50 from the magazine ($154.50 today - righteous bucks) if printed.  

They were young, urban professionals.  They worked hard and played hard.  They were players, and now they have a cigarette all their own.  Shouldn't these have been called "Playas"?  Making big deals and smokin' at the bar?  Play on, playa!  Do yo thang!

Photo evidence shows I was trick or treating through the majority of the 1980's.  One parent would go out with friends of mine and myself (though it was always a battle on who had to go along - wouldn't you rather stay home and have the wife answer the door?) and we'd zig zag around the block.  The fervor listed here in this article also lasted long throughout the 1980's.  Rules I remember, all these years later: don't go to the brown duplex on the corner.  (That's also a life lesson)  Don't eat generic candy - if the wrapper doesn't say anything, forget it.  If the people or candy are weird, just be nice and polite and get the hell out of there.  

One house always gave out ballpoint pens.  Another was a realtor and gave our calendars.  One year, a woman demanded a trick before giving treats.  I think I did rudimentary gymnastics I learned in P.E. or something.  Got 2 candies!  Did you ever get fruit on Halloween?  I always heard of the razors in apples, but never knew anyone who dealt with it for real.  By the way, look at the list of safety rules: "9: Give children small trick-or-treat bags that will fill up quickly.  This will speed up their return home."  The hell it will - you either start eating it, or trade out stuff you don't like, or dump the bad stuff along the way.  A safety rule when visiting my house: if you're a kid, you actually have to say "trick or treat" or in the least "please" - showing up and just opening your bag gets you nuthin'.  If you're a teen who's barely dressed up, I will of course accommodate you because I'd like my home to remain the same.  Beers are also given out upon request.

"Go ahead!  Indulge yourself."  They'll pay the postage if you choose the deluxe version for $5.50.  Can you tell Claudia Collette's version of "Norell" from the...wait a minute, there's a perfume called "Opium"?  The hell?

A cool temperature, quiet, and dark.  Doesn't exactly seem surprising to read this - "play tapes of soothing sounds."  We've been doing this for years, of course.  Get the tapes.  By the way, look at the interpretations of sleep positions - are we sure that position 6 has to be given that name?

The "Crazy for Cheesecake" section starts off with something called "Italian Molded Refrigerator Cheesecake" that looks, well, less than appetizing.  The 2nd recipe is "Almost Lindy's Cheesecake" which, if I'm correct, invented the dish.  Might as well eat almost the same recipe.  Also included is "Macaroon Rum Raisin Cheesecake" and something referred as "Refrigerator Loaf Cheesecake."  What's with all the fridge loafs?

 

I don't know how far in advance this was sold (like how Playboy was a month ahead), but the World Series was over by a couple of weeks by the time of this publication.  40 years later, the Orioles still wait for another - I have an anecdote about that which, I'm afraid, I can't share here.

Of the 101 gifts you can make yourself, the #33 (plaid party dress) looks like if I was tasked with making a dress.  You'd ask why I used so much fabric, and I would say back that I hadn't planned on that, but I'm making it work.  How about the festive bow on top?  

One of the cover topics was "1983 House of Ideas: Decorating touches to add warmth & charm."  In the event you may see homes (even your own) with solid color walls and solid color furniture and think it looks modern, just remember that many of us had to grow up in rooms such as these where you literally had to walk out and ask the room to stop.  Slow down, room.  Enough.

The "World's Best Chocolate Chip Cookies" is only a 2-page photo spread, a brief tribute to inventor Ruth Wakefield and then 9 recipes.  (Was the invention a "happy accident" or did she really intend for this to happen?  She said she meant to do it.)  The weird green cookies are chocolate chip pistachio cookies.  The recipe includes "1 package pistachio-flavored instant pudding and pie filling."

Like you, many times I've enjoyed Hamburger Helper and wondered "might I enjoy this more if it were soup?"  They're giving you a recipe to do just that and (out of frame) a 15-cent coupon...with no expiration date!  Many times, I've wanted to bring this coupon to the store just to see the response, but that would make this incomplete, so there it stays.  Speaking of, there's also an ad for Lite Chicken of the Sea tuna fish ("Tuna for the 80's...and beyond") with a 20-cent coupon, no expiration date either.  

A crisp, late-Autumn morning on the farm.  It's this time of year that you know the flavor really counts.  This recipe form Land O Lakes is for a jeweled cheese ball but look at the ingredients.  8 ounces cheddar cheese, 1/2 cup butter softened, and some brandy is actually an alcoholic drink.  It's called The Potsy.

Jack Klugman's lunch was all set.  Cheesesteak and iced tea.  Who the hell is this kid taking Quincy's food?  I think I convinced my mom to buy these once, but she never made them, and it went bad.  Kind of hard to tell, too.  I didn't realize Klugman was a Philly guy, so now this makes sense.  He also made it to 90 despite all his health challenges.

A recurring segment on The David Letterman Show (that didn't make it to Late Night) was reviewing mail-order items "from the back of cheap, sleazy magazines."  Dave would show the ad and then the item and riff on it.  There were pages and pages of this kind of stuff in the back.  "Letters from Santa" - for $1.25 each.  What a deal.  "ADORE UNICORNS?  HAVE A PASSION FOR DRAGONS?"  You'll send $1 to Beasties & Beauties in Buffalo, NY.  There are a lot of Beasties & Beauties in Buffalo.  ZING

The final ad is for Armstrong Glazecraft vinyl tile flooring.  This seems to be a nice bookend to the decorating of the time: In a room with loud wallpaper and linoleum flooring, an 80's lady walks in wearing a plaid head-to-toe dress.  On the food tray, she has a jeweled cheese ball, Steak-Umms sandwiches and Hamburger Helper soup for dinner.  We smile warmly at each other, discussing the topics of the day: Halloween candy safety, sleep positions, and the World Series.  As the meal is finished, we share a tender moment and I ask "Oh, is that one of the world's greatest perfumes you're wearing?" 

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #30-26

(Begins clearing desk)  OK!  It's October, let's get back on this quest!  Where was I?

For those of you finding this randomly:

#50-#46

#45-#41

#40-#36

#35-#31

#30 - Day of the Reaper (1984)

Back of the VHS Description: Warning!  This film contains scenes of violence which may be considered shocking!

Tim Ritter did Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness in my last batch, and this one comes from when he was in high school. However, I'm afraid this title is getting a pass from me.  Congratulations to Tim on getting a distribution deal for this film...but you can only take so much ADR and 10 to 15-minute chunks of "exposition."  So, to give credit to where credit is due, instead here is a screen cap from A Closer Look at Prohibition, directed by Mike Wilson.

#29 - Slugs (1988)

Back of the VHS Description: It all began in a peaceful community, a place that had never known evil...until now.  But 20 years ago in a stillness beneath the waters, something sinister happened and now its deadly spawn has been released, coming out from the depths into the light.  First they got into the water system, now they'll get into your system...how can they be stopped?

Not just Slugs, Slugs The Movie.

"Since when are the god damn sewers MY business?"  Who said that?  Mike Brady said that.  No, not Robert Reed, Mike Brady, town health inspector.  Additionally, hockey legend Jaromir Jagr makes a cameo appearance as a "senior in high school"

Maureen: David, I'm sorry for being a bitch so much of the time.

David: You're not a bitch.  I think the real problem is--

Maureen: My drinking.  I know.  It's getting the upper hand on me.  Maybe I should see someone about it.

David: You mean it?

Maureen: I can't risk losing you.  

But those cramps David has, the strange taste in his mouth, the salty salad?  The general unease the next day at a big business lunch?  The bloody nose?  Well, that isn't an "80's bloody nose" (as is referred to around here)  

Just before he rots from the inside out, David's nosebleed (which fell into his drink) is now...well, almost dry, but continuity is something that lives in another genre.  These slugs are in the food, in the sewers, they're, well, everywhere!

With the body count increasing, and the carnage at the greenhouse just being discovered by the sheriff, Mike Brady has had enough, especially when slugs are coming out of the kitchen faucet.

Line reading of the movie: Mike Brady to Officer Dobbs:

"Look, now listen to me Dobbs you tell that fat bastard to get his ASS over to Frank Phillips office immediately you GOT THAT?"

Lessons learned:

- A dog's instincts are always right.

- You can have beers that you ordered arrive at your table and then just get up and leave.

- Local news theme music can be used as a score.

- Sewer inspectors often take their masks off when they're cleaning out drainage pipes.  

- School bell, fire alarm, what difference does it make?

In the end, especially after watching Day of the Reaper, this was a refreshing return to normal.  (Or, what passes for it on this list)

#28 - Slime City (1988)

Back of the VHS Description: An old N.Y.C. apartment building sets the scene for this terror drenched tale of demonic possession.

Thirty years ago a powerful alchemist named Zachary ordered all of his disciples to commit suicide with him in the basement of his tenement.  Zachary's wife remained with the living in order to procure host bodies for the reincarnation of the souls of the self slain.

As the landlord of this run-down building she supplies the tenants with Zachary's potent "Himalayan yogurt" and home grown grain which are quite irreversibly addictive.  The hapless consumers cannot quench their thirst for the powerful hallucinatory effect which seems to turn them inro oozing slime drenched creatures bent on violence.  By the time it becomes apparent to the victims that these are by no means hallucinations, the transmigration of souls is almost complete.

The tale centers around Alex, and aspiring art student, who rents a flat in the forsaken building and is being groomed as the host for Zachary himself.  His desperate struggle to remain sane as (remaining unintelligible on the box I found)

(Breathes deep, exhales)  Well, since the synopsis of the entire movie is on the box, is it any good?

Once upon a time, this was the kind of film that could have easily made it in a grindhouse.  New York-shot, it has that grime.  But then, I think back to all of the other movies shot in college, and I remember the interiors of northeast apartments, the shotgun mic barely picking up dialogue, the stilted acting, the unnecessary cuts (and other scenes where there SHOULD be a cut)...it all came back to me.  This, I tell you with grave certainty, is not a positive.

Now, with that out of the way, let's look at our main character going to his side job:

Galaxy Video!  However, after eating a neighbor's "dinner" and having sex with the mysterious lady down the hall, things suddenly turn back and white?  Introduction to Filmmaking, M/W 3-5PM.

OK, I've said enough.  Feh to this whole thing as a movie.  You can have it.  But as a pile of amazing make up work?  Well, take a look and you tell me!

#27 - Killer Workout (1987)

Back of the VHS Description: They came to get their bodies into the best shape of their lives...too bad they'll never have the chance to enjoy it.  In the locker room...in the showers...in the weight room...even in the parking lot.  Someone is turning the most beautiful bodies in town into a grisly, brutal body count.  Now, nobody's safe.  There's no place to hide.

HOLY SHIT THIS FILM WAS ALSO TITLED "AEROBICIDE"

To preface this review: it's shot on film here in LA and the environs, so just by that alone (city streets, parking signs, etc.) it looks like a pilot that wasn't picked up.  That is a good thing.

At first, however, I was confused: we start off with a death by tanning bed, but even in execution (pun, well, intended, I suppose), it doesn't make sense: is the bed haunted?  Is it actually a flying saucer?  Eh, let it go, because we're on to the first aerobic montage.

Let's sing along!

Hey Baby, I got the apple

Red and juicy, warm and sweet

All the laughter and the lovin'

That your hungry lips can eat

Only you, tonight

My one desire

Only you, tonight

'Cause Baby, you set the fire

What'cha see ain't what you get

The truth don't know for sure

Love'll blind you, and you'll forget

The things you'll wanna know

Only you, tonight

My one desire

Only you, tonight

When the instructors at Rhonda's Workout keep turning down the sleazy advances of a customer, ominous music plays.  Later, another innocent exercise student buys the farm via giant safety pin. 

In-between convertible rides, Diet Pepsi, bikini reveals, kills, and chases to the soundtrack to 8-bit Double Dragon, are more aerobic montages.  And then, even more.   For a gym with an active and growing body count, the business continues apace.

Unfortunate plot holes:

- As the film begins, a woman puts leftovers in a microwave and then leaves her apartment.

- "Aerobicide" and "Death Spa" are spray-painted on the front of the gym.  It is never seen again in any establishing shots.

- (More that are specific to the plot that I'll let you find for yourself)

It's a REAL stretch to get to over an hour for this film, but it's unintentionally hilarious many times over.  You'll get the point much earlier than the ending, but however long you'll last in this workout, you won't forget it.

#27 - Silent Night, Deadly Night Part 2 (1987)

Back of the VHS Description: In Silent Night Deadly Night Part 1, you witnessed the brutal slaughters and cold-blooded rampage of Billy.  

Now...it's his young brothers' turn.  Ricky, adopted as an orphan, coming from a secure and supportive family, suddenly turns violent after discovering that his lover is two-timing him.  

His memory is triggered back to the death of his parents by "Santa Claus" forcing Ricky to snap...going off the deep end.  He is driven by an urge to kill and kill again, seeking vengeance on those who have double-crossed and deceived him...and anyone else who gets in his way!  This is one Santa story you don't want to tell your kids.

As I think most of our readers know, there is maybe a half hour of new material in this sequel, and what is here is all over the map.  Long ago (I think it might have been on Mike's forum site) I detailed how I saw the first movie at the New Beverly with the director or one of the writers in attendance.  They were great anecdotes, but they don't really apply to this...and I always wondered if the original writers got credit on this one as well because there was so much of their original work in this movie.

But let's just say this - go watch the "Garbage Day" scene in its entirety.  It doesn't have to make sense in-between all you watch today, but it doesn't have to.  It's just fucking nutty ("I'm gonna slip these cuffs on...and no funny stuff!").  

So it goes with this list.  When it comes to looking ahead...do I dare?!  

There's something in the make, yes

This past weekend was a kaleidoscope of moments, none of which were particularly (or even specifically) serious, but each of these moments were familiar in my LA past:

After repeated weeks of thinking I was The Cooler in real life, I amazingly won all my college football bets.  I don't appreciate this "all or nothing" response to my purported wisdom, but I can say that, as of this writing (and strictly because of a bet I won on Saturday) that Florida State football is professional.  So, too, is North Carolina and Louisville.  I didn't mean to do an all-ACC Football ticket, but then again, if you really knew me, you would expect such a thing to have occurred as pure happenstance and then you'd nod, returning to your sangria.  I now look back, and the 2nd thing I thought was "I remember having a weekend like this right AFTER an awful one...ain't that something?"

I also spent a fair amount of time attempting to get two (2) volleyballs out of a tree.  "Help" and help kept arriving, and all of it matching the laughter and emotions of a game show audience.  Here come people I don't know with all sorts of implements...and just before success occurred, I looked over my surroundings: a handful of children and their families, all moving about.  Maybe I've stumbled on to a great idea for a stunt show - it'll cover the time once all the strikes are over, and new shows aren't ready.

I'm not used to my location being "the place to be" - at least not in decades.  And even then, that's not ideal because you can never truly break away.  I was watching USC and Arizona State go at it when the request came for pizza.  This was around 10:30, and I said no out of reflex: I didn't want to get up and do anything.  Then, to my surprise, my own lightning storm hit me: why the hell not?!  I couldn't think of an answer beyond me own laziness, so a bit later, I suddenly realized I was hungry for pizza, especially since I'd just brought one home.  Our guest had decided that she was enticed by a pizza commercial and, it turns out, not actually hungry.  Oh well, breakfast is figured out, I guess.

At a crowded eatery on Sunday, I said "5 for smoking, please" which not only elicited laughs from the hostess, but many angry looks from the other diners young and old.  Am I the only one who remembers this?  Can anyone take an unexpected joke in this town anymore?  In the quieter moments, waiting for the food, I remembered times when I delivered a solid gold zinger, and the help was just so damn dense it laid there like the crusts of a reuben.  

I would go on, you see, but people keep pretending to say "hi" to me but in actuality are looking at what I'm writing.  That, unlike all of my examples above, is a new one.  

That's All Gone

2 1/2 weeks ago, that's all it was, and now it's gone.  That part of the island is all gone.  I have the memories, of course, and the pictures, as others have as well.  When I'm looking at these pictures, they're not from years ago - it's WEEKS ago.  Less than a month is all it is, and there we were:

There's the big scoop under the 150-year old banyan tree.  Burnt to a crisp.

There she is drinking from a coconut in a park, palm by her side.  Ash.

That's the place with the delicious ono.  Best fish and chips I've ever had.  Gone.

A bit north of there, we went snorkeling at that beach and then hung out in that part of the island.  Finished.

I stayed north of there, not in Lahaina, but so what?  It's just another one dodged, a disaster missed by days, by a half-dozen miles.  But what if I didn't?  What if you didn't?  

How do you create a vibe?  How does a neighborhood give off a feeling?  More importantly, can it ever recapture that feeling?  How long are those locals, most of whom were friendly, migrants of climate change?  When do they come back?  What if they don't?  And even if they do, nothing is the same, so then what?  

There are hundreds of questions being asked by fellow Hawaiians and visiting fans.  Should we expect this?  Is this the future?  Can it be changed?  Is it too late?

I'm filled with questions, as you can see, but also something less than survivor's guilt.  It very easily could have been us in there, all simply a matter of planning and when school starts.  I've spent the whole week depressed, and little if anything has been able to get me out of this funk.  We read the stories and then stare at the ground or off into space.  We look at the pictures and think of "before" when we were there so recently and sigh.  

The sun will set.  It will rise again.  That is known.  The rest...is not.

Maui Madness Part II

It was a "unique" health month for me, June, and I didn't think I let that slip to the offices in communication before a July assignment.  Somehow, however, they knew: when I entered in, the desk assistant gave me a sympathetic look and a side hug, saying she was "glad to see (me) up and about."  I politely thanked her and went to drop off my envelope of receipts when I heard a holler to enter into the editor's den.  Again, apparently the view of me was dire, which made me wonder if I was the only one who didn't know what was going on.

"Good to see you!"  He was unusually chipper, so I did my best to reciprocate that vibe.  He then turned the conversation toward convenience stores, and later, wigs...which led me to wonder if I was getting the month off and he just wanted to shoot the breeze.  To my surprise, I was wrong.  "Hey, didn't we send you to Maui a long time ago?"  Yes, over a decade ago, I wrote of "off-season" life under and above water for locals.  "Well, I think you could use a pick-me-up.  How'd you like to go back and do a follow-up?"  After confirming that I wasn't actually supposed to find any of the people I'd talked to the last time, the itinerary and flight details were sent.  Here I go again.

With such a vague assignment as "follow-up," I figured this should mean I have more leeway in my investigation and reporting.  Therefore, I planned much less than I did the previous trip.  I wanted to see where the winds would take me.  I started with requisite snorkeling, catching up with friendly sea turtles and underwater oddities.  Afterwards, I fortified myself with fresh Ono and began to search for that local color: the kind that won't (instinctively) treat me like dirt.  I found this, and more, off Prison Street.

More than just a memorable name, it is power-packed in its own way for those 3 blocks.  The old prison is there, of course, and some eateries that seem enough away from the "I chose to wear this Pittsburgh IBEW T shirt on vacation" crowd.  There was also a man who set up camp in front of a tattoo parlor.  He was adjacent to a young tree stump.  The tree (a palm) didn't last long, it seems.  But it suits this man just fine.  "Coconuts!  Fresh coconuts!"  Normally I would know better, but for the sake of a story, I moved in.  "Did you fetch these yourself?" I asked.  "I used to, but now I leave that up to my business associate."  Business associate!  Such a charmed answer led to an education on the food and drink, and I learned that he did, in fact, know what he was doing.  There's a photo here, back in Dealville, of all of us: he is hoisting a prize coconut above, and we're all in a good mood.

And how could you not be, with weather like this?  Even in a storm, and afterwards, the morning brought cardinals a-plenty (in tandem with other tropical birds) and a rainbow or two.  That day's search was relatively local-free, so I headed up to Kapalua to a guitar/ukelele concert.  Performing that night was Grammy-winner George Kahumoku.  With his 12-string guitar, he somehow combined a guitar and harp, and sent us mentally to an ocean worlds away.  Afterwards, I dined on his home-grown sweet potato chips and asked him about a comment he made during the show: in the previous night's rainstorm, he was planting Taro.  I asked, "why Taro?"  It nearly seemed like he was at a loss.  "Well...you can do a lot with it.  I have some chips in the back, too.  We have baby sheep at the farm, too.  Here's my number - send me a text."

The problem is, well, life is different now.  On the last trip, if a Hawaiian music Grammy-winner asked me to text him to visit his farm in the Maui greenery, I wouldn't have batted an eye.  If he told me he needed my help to plant more Taro, I would have agreed had he (or his family) serenaded me on the farm.  I just sensed there could be literal gold in the hills.  This idea, to my surprise, was shot down.  1 vote no, 1 vote "ehhh."  So, instead of that, I walked along the Kapalua coastline as the sun started to dip behind other islands for a change in focus.  

In respect to the assignment, I was realizing that either my initial filing was dumb luck, or I'd have to search harder.  So, even more off the beaten path I went, this time to the off-pounded paths, cliffs, and waterfalls of Iao.  

Getting there, and the immediate entry, is naturally full of tourists, too.  After hitting literal forks in the road, I saw a trail that was clearly worn, but not too wide.  I can always turn back, I thought.  So, I wandered along the creek that leads to the ocean, and then came across, well...

Reggae and Hawaiian music blared from a speaker.  The smell of Maui Wowie filled the air.  The combination sat over a jagged rock formation in front of a small pool that laid before this creek dropped a few feet of stones and turned into faster-moving rapids.  A mix of languages, of ages, all chilled from the water and warmed by tropical breezes that greet them once they get out.

"YOU GOT THIS!" they yelled to the Big Scoop, unsure as she looked down at the water and just what she would get in to by jumping.  But in she went, and everyone cheered.  Back and forth they all went, massive splashes, jumping off a tree branch that seemed ready to snap at a given moment.  

Wanting my own relaxation in the midst, I moved down the trail just a bit, took out a sandwich I packed with some Pog to drink, sat on a rock, and took it all in.

Lono gives life, music, weather, and peace.  Alone, with the faint sounds of splashing water and the tunes, I felt harmony with all.  I wanted the others with me on this journey to be on my track, to look for vibes at our own pace.  To give ourselves over to the island and let it take us where we should as our move to soak it all in.  This wasn't easy to do, but as I learned that afternoon, I just had to find a narrower path.  What I would find, physically and mentally, were people who wanted, and found, the same thing.  In our own way, by our own definitions, we reached our destination.

Late Fees

I stepped out for just a moment, but that moment was indeed, well, monumental.  I played the voicemail to a number I didn't have saved in the phone.

"Money, what's happening?!"

Whoa.  Wait...Donovan?!  The guy went incommunicado in 2017?  The guy who others have called since then "a recluse.  No one can get a hold of him." - that guy?  In the message, he spoke of cleaning and finding mementos from Santa Barbara long ago, pictures, so on.  A fellow friend texted and we talked.  He prepared me for the call and said to circle back: "I want to see how it goes with you two."  

Bracing, I made the call.  "As I live and breathe, is that YOU on my phone?  How the hell are you?"  And while my initial talk was of the right now, I couldn't help but hold on the edge of the diving board - the whole "where they hell have you been?  Why didn't you return calls?  Not just to me, to anyone?!"  I rolled with it.  Soon, no time had elapsed at all.  We were zooming through the past handful of years and then complaining about the Dodgers bullpen.  Nothing had changed.  Then he said, "just wanted to let you know, I'm moving."  Out of state.  And now it all made sense.

The past few years had been tough.  The store's contents go in storage, and the building closes.  Videos and posters are sold to QT, no doubt for a pretty large sum of dough re mi, but also the final straw: it'll never come back.  That's done.  Family issues compound all this.  Whatever was an idea in the past is now top of mind.  What's holding him here besides friends and some family?  And if he's truly gone underground, why hang around here?

I shared the news of a new video store in Dealville - the size of a master bedroom, but full of swag and good vibes.  It's just as much a hangout as anything else.  Having talked to the owners, they shared the fiscal wheeling and dealing it took, something he no doubt was well aware of, and maybe weary.  He seemed only mildly interested.  As if that whole thing was in the past, never to return.

After a bit of time, I stopped on by for a shocking, too-brief visit: the interior of the house had been remodeled.  There was a new dog, just as chunky as the old ones.  This time, though, the mood was somber.  He was wearing a T shirt I bought him in 2015 (if not earlier).  He talked in more depressing tones.  We shared health issues, his more pressing than anything I've dealt with, thank goodness.  He showed the new house pictures, along with what was left to do here.  I had to break away, but I didn't like it.  I left hastily; not of my own volition or his either, but I felt unsettled.  I still wasn't sure when moving day would be, but I didn't want to end on that kind of note.

So, last week, impromptu in the way it used to be, I asked if he was up for lunch - my treat.  He'd have to dress for the outside world, of course, but how could he say no?  Things were more like "the old days" again.  On the way to a diner, we lamented the Covid closure of Four n' 20, home of the legendary pies and late nights.  He brought up Thanksgiving Eve 2005, when his fridge broke down and he had to scramble to get one 2 days before all the sales...oh, and as I helped bring it in with him, I naively asked if he'd measured that the damn thing fit in the front door.  (It didn't)  I brought up Thanksgiving Eve 2009, when he was suddenly tasked to get the food for the next day's meal.  Joining him on the trip was only highlighted when a wino came out of nowhere trying to take the food out of the trunk of the late, lamented Saturn.  Laughs and more laughter.

While dining (he chose the memorable combination of a cheesesteak, curly fries, and slice of cheesecake...steak 'n cake) we continued to talk old and new.  How the Dodgers shut out the Angels twice in a row, by the same score, with THAT pitching staff.  How people reacted when the store closed, and the shady things he was "asked" to do by former customers.  "People who thought they were my friend.  They weren't."  I mentioned how much the store did for people, for so long, and yet there were still leaches after him?  "Oh yes.  (sigh)"  Part of me thought that, by this point, they had faded away.  They had to have, right?  But just how much of that is now forced to gel with...well, when you move, what're you gonna do?  He did 1 thing (the family business) for a living since being a kid.  Middle aged crazy, maybe a fresh start is needed for a guy like that.

"Yeah.  The way I live, I can no longer afford to live here."  He's not alone: the LA Times would have you believe the eastbound and northbound freeways are jammed.  There's some truth to that.  How much?  I'm not sure, but here's another example.

Upon returning to his place, Summer having finally arrived weeks late to Dealville, we lounged by the pool.  I reflected back to those early days, the first BBQ/pool party I attended: sitting at a picnic table next to Joe Alaskey, asking about 80's stand-up while he shared insane Andy Kaufman stories.  (The same early, to me, parties I wrote about last year)  Hanging out when his dad recuperated from a stroke - no parties then, just one guy helping out another.  Many nights watching the Dodgers, TV movies, Swingtown episodes, the list goes on.  And yes, all the others taking advantage of his generosity.  They'd arrive looking for free food, free rentals, anything.  Some even stole.  But then the dust would settle, the sun would go down, the game would end.  He knew I didn't need all of that...though it was nice.  It was simply the hang.  It ebbed and flowed.

Every year, the end of the baseball season led to some depression - he'd take a break for a couple of weeks and not talk to anyone.  But then it'd start up again.  It'd be more of the same.  And then weddings, and offspring, and more time in-between.  Fewer returned calls.  More visits where I do all the heavy lifting.  Later still, it turned to nothing.  Years upon years, and not just me: all the people who are friends whom I met at the store, at those cookouts...all got the same response.  6 years.  

I watched the new thumpy doggy swim in the pool.  We laughed.  I thought about meeting Smiley in his old apartment.  About how her behavior at the first pool party she attended was nearly grounds for a break-up.  And had I done that...well, yeah, obviously my life would be different.  I ended up just creating some distance in time between she and I hanging out, and of course I had to spell out everything over and over again (because that's what I still have to do with her to this day), but it was an "either you adjust or IT'S OFF."  She got the message.  But had she not, or if it hadn't worked out, I knew damn well I could have just returned for another Dodger game, bringing over sandwiches or beer or both, and saying that it was over and he'd have said "Aw, that's too bad" and handed me a cool one.  Life endures.

But she and I endured, too.  The key element to what beginning there was between she and I was finally with me again.  "So, I'm gonna do one last blowout here at the house before it's sold."  The house might be empty, just the water and power running perhaps, but it's decided.  I have another summer assignment from the Gold - I hope I can make it.  Why do I think it'll feel like a school reunion?  I've never attended any other reunion in my life, with good purpose.  In this case, it would just seem wrong not to attend.

This time, when I left, I felt more refreshed and at ease.  Donovan was his more typically gracious self.  A thunderbolt then hit me: "Oh - you mentioned on the phone about cleaning my VCR.  Can you still do that?"  He didn't skip a beat.  "Dude!  All I need is Q-tips and rubbing alcohol.  You--" He then turned his back and there was a giant jar of Q-tips with long sticks - the kind you see in a doctor's office.  We both laughed.  We also both realized, with one of us accepting, that he wasn't completely removed...at least not yet.  

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #35-31

Sheesh, all this time and I'm not even half-way through my commitment?  Well then...I'd better step it up.  For those finding this randomly (likely due to screen caps) here are the previous reviews:

#50-46

#45-41

#40-36

#35 - Nightmare (1981)

(Not to be confused with Nightmares from 1983, a pleasure)

Back of the VHS Description: Nightmare is a terrifying trip into the mind of a man who is going mad - and trying desperately to stop himself.  It begins with the very nightmare that is the source of all the terror to follow: A man named george is suffering through a graphic dream that depicts the axe murder of a love-making couple.

(That's it?)

A presentation from Goldmine Productions.  I have to say, this was an interesting beginning: after the initial "scare" we get some knock-off Mike Post style music.  

But once we get going, it's the usual schlock fare.  I have to ask: just how much are we (the viewers) supposed to suspend belief?  And I'm not even talking about the plot - merely the way its shot?  I see what's happening, but the way it's done (say, a bad dream that is also a kill) is so slapdash that I'M the one that has to connect the dots that the filmmakers can't?  (Ugh, preposition)  

Whatever is there (in terms of a good idea, or random time capsule shots) is marred by things like juxtapositions in location when we're clearly in 1 setting, re-using shots (in walking scenes no less), and...ok, wasting too much energy on this one.  The redeemable qualities it has includes:

1) Genuine Times Square / 42nd Street adult clubs from 1980

2) Seemingly off-air radio from North Carolina & South Carolina

3) A C/W bar called Gatsby's

4) A character who's clearly trying to look like Tommy Chong

5) A close-up of a TWA plane landing (along with the Orlando airport), 1980

So, not a complete and total waste.

#34 - The Abomination (1986)

Back of the VHS Description: Breaking out of a hauntingly real nightmare, adolescent Cody finds himself an unwilling host to a 5,000 year old beast multiplying within and tearing out of his tortured stomach!

He is terrified when he discovers that he has become a helpless slave to an army of formless, bloody monsters tucked away in every secluded corner of his home.

Unable to resist their commands, Cody finds himself on a killing rampage filled with chainsaws and decapitations attempting to feed these ravenous, evil beasts.

Soon a whole town is terrorized with blood and scum as young Cody is transformed into an evil maniacal puppet of terror.  No one is safe anymore!  Not his friends, not his boss, not his girlfriend, not his evangelical mother, and most definitely not the deceitful television evangelist, Brother Fogg.

Naturally, this film contains multiple graphic depictions of blood, guts, and slime!

(Yowzer!)

From the first few seconds, it's blood splashes, awful effects, gigantic blood-covered monsters, shots re-used, all with sleazo synth underneath.  We are to understand that this film is written by...

While this ENTIRE MOVIE seems to have ADR dialogue & sound effects (Super 8, that'll do ya) this includes an excellent effect of a throat slashed.  (I watched it 3 times, still couldn't figure out how they did it.  Maybe he had the blood packed underneath?  Who knows - must've been real.)  As this happens the dialogue is "So you cut her throat?"  "Yes."  "Please go on."

The ADR is one thing, but when you have that going over an actor saying the same line just makes this seem dubbed.  Which, of course, makes this whole movie all the more insane.

Favorite part: upon visiting Brother Fogg, it is implied that he's in the bathroom, as we see a hand reaching for toilet paper.  We then are treated to 4 of the fakest-sounding farts this side of 2nd Grade.  I was dying!  He sprays air freshener (for good measure) and then doesn't wash his hands.  Talk about terror!

Edward Tylor was the founding father of cultural anthropology.  I wonder if there's such a thing as popular culture anthropology.  Specific to the 70's & 80s.  If not, it's something I'm starting to think that I founded: I've been studying all my life.

#33 - The Boogey Man (1980)

(Another one that was in theaters)

Back of VHS description: Look, it's insanely long and gives everything away, but it's Wizard Video, so here you go:

If we believe/know how much Halloween and Friday the 13th set the template for many a knock-off, they also set a template for construct of different plots.  Let's say the theme might be the same, then it was that film's job to either give a subtle (or otherwise) nod to those films or give their own take.  The crane shot to start is gold, and this is synth that would make anyone (even NFL Films) proud.  

The hauntings Lacey is going through are psychological, but using this as the throughline for the gore, well, that's what sets this apart.  Because instead of "crazy guy goes crazy", "crazy guy is STILL crazy", or "sane person goes crazy" it's instead the past.  (Some sort of faux-exorcism aside)  Just throwing this out there, but a question: if it's a single person (or persons) who caused harm in one's youth, does it only take their death to end the pain?  The suffering?  The, well, haunting?

For every 1 thing this movie does wrong (the music CUTS), it does 2 things right, be it awesome lighting, that super synth, Willie being seduced by, possibly, Laverne Defazio, (a very "of mice and men" ending to that scene), even a human shish kabob.  Suzanna Love, too...hoo boy.  With the good outweighing the bad, I'd recommend, but I also wonder if this film should be included in the list at all.

Moral of the story: Synth is forever good, and if someone had a traumatic experience in their youth - believe them!  

#32 - Truth or Dare?  A Critical Madness (1986)

Back of the VHS description: Truth or Dare, a child's game turned into a psychotic, twisted game of self-destruction.  This non-stop psycho-thriller packed with action will assault you personally.  Mike Strauber, played brilliantly by John Brace, formerly of the Burt Reynolds playhouse, brings you to the edge of your seat with passionate understanding coupled with unbridled hatred.  If anyone ever asks you to play Truth or Dare, tell them you saw the movie.

The Burt Reynolds Playhouse

Did you get that credit, folks?  I'm gonna say it again.  

Immediate props for a topless scene right off the bat.  Sadly, when it comes to the quality of the thing, it's the wrong things that are why this movie is even on the list.  Honestly, it's all the other things that make this film memorable: driving scenes with the same synth beat that go on WAY too long, music that cuts when a scene ends and I mean cuts (and when that doesn't happen, it's music that stops and starts again within the same scene, with nothing different happening!), those phones that could be hung up on any flat surface, the complete lack of nuanced editing and pacing, synth accenting when a character hits a car interior...

Right here I was going to put a screen capture of a "head exploding" in a mental asylum but even that didn't even look like much, sad to say.  So in sum:

One minute you're a mental hospital orderly, grooving out to music.

The next, the maniac has escaped, killing the music-lover and a patrolman, and then steals a car by missing the script supervisor's head by a good foot and a half.

#31 - The Uninvited (1987)

Back of the VHS description: Five young college students are about to receive an education in living terror.

At the Genetech Research Lab, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, scientists experiment at tampering with the forces of nature and unwittingly create a horrific and uncontrollable mutant creature.  When a group of young college student crew a luxury yacht they fall prey to a series of bloody, murderous attacks.

One by one passengers encounter the killer mutant.  Are the remaining survivors trapped in a floating coffin or can they return to the port on time...

(takes a sip of iced tea, clears throat, leans forward)

You know how many times, during this movie, I thought "OK, now I'm back on track!  This is great!"  There was some shit that brought me back to earth?

Good: (cat escaping) Scientist: Oh god, go get him!  Get the cat!

Bad: You should have cut that scene to a reaction 2 seconds before you did.

Good: Claire Carey on a boat

Bad: Having awesome practical effects and then cutting away?!

Good: George Kennedy!  On a break from playing Carter McKay on Dallas for this!

(George looks like if I somehow convinced Big Ed to star in a horror movie)

"Young broads are a pain in the ass.  (beat)  Old broads are a pain in the ass."

"I don't like you.  I don't like punk kids who think the world owes them a living."

Bad: Guy puking

Good: After George has been bitten by the cat, and freaking out, he shoots at it, giving us this shot

The more I look back at it, its ending, and other faults, I must admit I was laughing a LOT.  There are faults, yes, but there were many, many wrong choices that were so wrong I was just roaring!  Even with two then-current names (kind of stretch for Clu Gulager, but he'd been around) and more future names, as I have with some others in this experience, I have to raise my glass to this film.  They had a goal, and budget be damned, they did it.

Going Up and Down (But Up)

It is the volt to the veins.  The great reminder, of memories old and anew.  Of the first and the most recent.  There are gems of some kind just about everywhere you look.  And if there aren't any in the exact here and there, well, the anticipation of them in the very near future, YOUR future, is enough to tide you over.  

The ocean and road play cat and mouse: they are side by side, then not - the road wants you to take into green, see what's going on in towns medium, small, and next to nothing.  It knows you know the sea is very close by, and that you'll see it again if you just let the road guide you.

And so, it did, on Cinco de Mayo no less, for us to take in and celebrate.  All around us were reminders of all the rain the last handful of months.  Some good (flowers aplenty) and some not (the creeks were fine, but the sideways trees speak of a rough recent past).  After proper margarita and enchilada intake, plans began to be made.  We'd need to review just what the hell happened.

This was now a month or two afterwards, so the result was seeing how nature deals with what it wrought.  Driftwood is one thing, certainly not uncommon on any shore.  But this...

this seemed to let there be no doubt.  In April, residents and those visiting began piling it up along the shoreline, always in some sort of design.  (So much so, you'd think it had been there for decades)  This was new to me, but it likely wasn't to those south of San Simeon, some of who've seen much.  Maybe seen it all, though if we've learned anything the past 5 years weather-wise, it's a lot we've never seen before.  This will likely happen again.

That kept coming to mind as I ambled, looking at the turbulent Pacific.  Always shit going on.  What it might take of the coastline, it continues to give in waves.  A pack of surfers were doing well with a good tide considering it's near impossible for me to get out of the rack early, ever...certainly not on vacation.  I was fortified not by waves but by a breakfast burrito and hot sauce from Gilroy, but then again, the waves kept me moving.  Deep, slow breaths.

I wanted the coast to be my guide this time.  Paso Robles, maybe another visit. Hey, by the way, I saw a sign for town that, I swear, said its population was 18 people.  Is that true?  I'm pleased to report that it IS true.  A small dairy farm used to be here, now moved south to SLO where you can get help and run a business, but descendants (and others) stayed.  What's left, besides trespassing, was a barn with plenty of homemade wares and freshly made ice cream.  The kind where you eat it and realize that what you're tasting is how it's supposed to taste, why it became so popular, the kind that you'll think of when you're at someone else's place and you're given some slop you take to be polite and, after one lovin' spoonful, let melt to then toss out.

There is a collage of memories afterwards, though what stands out was The Big Scoop beating grown adults over and over again at bar shuffleboard.  She might have eaten 4 or 5 desserts that day as well.  I was complimented (in a roundabout way) on her personality and spirit and I kept to myself stuff like "yeah, but does she wake you up at 3:30AM because she can't find her pillow in the dark?"

The following day brought more of the same.  This is not a stretch where you're looking for the next truck stop.  You're looking for the next place to stop and look out, get out, and roam.  I can think of 2 states like that.  Hawaii is the other.  So, there you go.

It was a strengthening by mother nature, one that is always there but never in the same place 365 days a year.  You find it, and it gives life.  It gives strength.  It gives you just enough energy to make it to Buellton and Solvang.  Solvang for a hearty meal (do they make any other kind there?) and wandering.  Buellton to feed ostriches, as you do.  You can also take in what was, and what is.  20 years ago, this Summer, I started in Carpinteria and then ambled north.  It was a true vacation with no plans, the kind you can take at that age.  Somewhere in Los Olivos (maybe at the Cafe?  I don't exactly remember) I'm forced to share my profession with a local.  "Oh, really?  You know, a film company came to scout.  There's going to be a movie filmed around here in a couple months."  That's cool, I thought, never knowing what would happen.  

What was - Days Inn.  Outside of the windmill, an average motel I chose not to stay in due to the proximity to the main drag & the 101.  Now?  It's the "Sideways Inn" with fire pits and "an out of this world gym."  Driving past it, as expected, the Hitching Post II was packed.  In that brief flash along 246, all I could think of was a line from the bartender, where he says a busload of old people showed up.  That's what this area has endured, for good and bad, for the past 2 decades.  

Is that the same kind of evolution that you find along the coast?  That storms of any kind can come along, and with it some things stay while others are washed to sea?  Like any good thing, there is an eagerness to see what's changed, what's the same, all the while thankful to the eternal: that the coast, in its evolving form, will always be there.