(editor's note: It's becoming clear, through years of research, that Dee Louis operates best without supervision. We had recently tailed him to Wyoming, to which he responded with a year-long blackout on posting. However last month we decided to end all communication with him, and he replied 2 weeks later from Tanzania. His comments appear here, unedited)
We're still walking out here, and the night hasn't begun to fall. That's the thing about The Spin... it's always waking up somewhere. Life can be reduced or expanded, but it's always going to come down to what's right there, in front of your face. If you can't live it, you can't know it. The Motto. Off we go....
I suppose at one point the world was a lot simpler, and I suppose that right before that, it was infinitely complex. When Lucy or whoever stepped out from the primordial ooze, the whole thing got much more in a line. That thing - the first steps, the dawn, whatever you call it - it happened a million years ago yesterday, and it happened right here. In a flash, existence woke up and we were finally able to start pursuing the secrets. Here we are a million years later, and we are still asking. But Lucy, ah. Lucy knew.
Lucy was born in the rift. The rift that tore at the continents and tried to shuck half of Africa back into the sea. That was the first of many incidents of Earthen Revenge. Ah, the poetry of that... to be born in the valley of death. But really, isn't it all the same? Trees growing out of decaying matter, and all that? If it's all on a spin, then does it ever really stop? It spins as much today as it did back then. This isn't Newton's Billiards.
Oh hell, reign it in already. It's not like you got shot in the war and are seeing the bright light. Tell a STORY...
David Mitchell once said that if you ever wanted to just plain get off your ass, then India was the place. There, he explained, it is quite simply impossible to feel bad for yourself, to lay in bed all day, to be lazy. You step onto that street, and it's right here, right now. That's Nairobi. You don't consider anything. You don't contemplate. No thought digs more than a layer deep. Here, take a test: step out onto that curb and tell me what your cousin's name is....
Too late.
There's quick-moving cities (Tokyo still holding the trophy on that one) and then there's quick-moving cities with Bonus Chaos. That's Nairobi. Everyone move, only nobody do it logically. Just GO. Pick a direction (or not) and simply mash the gas pedal. Eventually, like moths in a jar, we'll either figure it out, or die. Again, not much difference.
If the goal is to eventually see every side of the dice, then we're making good progress. Call this the "danger" side. I don't know what it's like in Northern Mexico right now, but I'm guessing it's close. I can taste The Fear. You don't get a lot more dangerous than Africa (both in biological and human threats), and that's something that you can't really forget. I remember a time in Hawaii... we had a huge tsunami warning. They drove by on the Kam highway blasting out evacuation orders. They said that by 10am (it was 6 at the time) that the tsunami would arrive and we should evacuate to higher ground. Our house was already at the top of a hill... it would've taken a 200 foot wave to take us down. We sat there that morning and Reasoned with the thing. Finally, we came to a conclusion... we were NOT going to be "those people" on the news. You know the ones. The mother who brings a 3 month old baby to The Dark Knight Rises. The guy who stays in his house in Tuscaloosa as Aunty Em gets lifted away to the heavens. And you see the news and think "What a tragedy... but what the hell were they DOING there?" So that's why we play it safe. We're not going to be those people. And, as surely as we fled the tsunami, we take the book's advice to "never go out after dark, ever". Alright then. Dinners will be behind fences. Enough said.
But that's ok, because there are a few worlds out here, and the Bonus Chaos only stretches as far as the city limits. Eventually, we slink back to the ooze. The Great Rift Valley lays open before us, a miles-wide swath cut down the globe like a gash in a golf ball, absolutely teeming with life so utterly incomprehensible. The biodiversity here matches anything I've seen before, and we find ourselves stunned at the proximity we can get to this kind of bubbling nature. This is where it began, this is where it continues, and this is where it will never end. I ask the guide "What natural defense to the wildebeest have against the lions?" He replies "There are many of them". Simple mathematics, that's the advantage. Evolution just took a day off on that one. I suppose it's counter-evolution, in a way. Something's not allowing the lions to grow in numbers, and that's keeping the denominator (or is it the remainder?) constant. A man with 16 bullets can probably only take down a max of 16 people. So then it's simple... just don't give him another gun.
There are no answers out there, only astounding emptiness, but that's an answer in itself, I suppose. We long ago stopped searching and started wandering. The greatest thing being to find yourself in a place. I suppose "find" implies there was first some "searching". But not necessarily. Because just like you can find yourself bellied up to the bar drinking Shiner at the B&B BBQ, so too can you find yourself sitting in a Swahili restaurant after sundown during Ramadan, wishing that you could never blink again.
Our lives are a story. It started when Lucy woke up. It will continue through the evening. We'll be there, and then we'll be here.
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Maui Madness
I found out what benefit you receive as Pacific Gold's sole writer. (Well, sole as far as I knew) I had turned down a June assignment based in Spokane. Why I had to go there to ask students what it was like for the last day of school, I don't know. Despite this writing delay, I went to the offices for another assignment. I couldn't have been on the orange foam couch for 5 seconds when I was shown two envelopes. "You're the one writing these days, Trip...so you get to make the choice. That guy Dan...Drew...yeah, Drew, he gets the other." So, I took an envelope, laughed at an old ad for home interest rates ("12.3%?! Now you know why I lived on a boat in 1984!") and waited until getting home to open...
"You'll be going to Maui to see how 'off season' life goes for locals, and look for ocean life. Tickets and itinerary enclosed. Story due by end of the month." Shit, I lucked out on this one...I think? Best not to guess where they sent Drew...if he went, or will write for that matter.
I was taking some comfort until I met with Drew at a celebration I held up the coast. There, surrounded by booze and food, Drew took the microphone and began to regale the audience with comedic anecdotes about me and Smiley, and continued in this entertaining fashion until the conclusion. Everyone applauded, Drew received multiple compliments (heartiest from me, as you can imagine) and then Smiley and I both spoke aloud Drew's writing abilities. But...here I am going to Maui. Whether it's fair or not, off I flew...
When people say Hawaii time, they don't mean time of day, they mean "pace of life." This takes some adjusting to, whether on vacation or assignment from Dealville. In Dealville, you're hustling to be one step ahead. But in Maui, though no one will say it to your face, you feel it real quick: Stop worrying about everything. No one else is in a hurry. No one else needs anything more than another rum drink. So, just...
(Sighs and reflects)
Finding locals, away from tourist areas (off the beaten path and otherwise) is not easy. The locals know this, and they know their meal ticket is tourism. It sure as hell isn't its OWN inertia, or ease of making a living. In fact, those who do find it supremely difficult. But that's not the face you see. The face (unless they're retired, which is a "loving this life" face) is still smiling and welcome. No shakedown...no pity story. The reason: the weather and each other. They're all on the same wavelength.
Getting on a boat and going elsewhere helped find ocean life, but it also brought a rough case of seasickness. We made our way over to Lana'i, though not on our own charter it would seem. The cool waters calmed my nerves, and underwater, we rightly saw oddities...
The Trumpet Fish (among others) continue to send reminders of a whole world out of sight...and continuing wonder. Even saw an underwater spider...or so it seemed. (I hope the editor doesn't mind because...yeah, I didn't want to investigate) Sea turtles continue to be a searchable item...though it ended in taking the road often traveled. This is something to avoid highly, because if you think the mouth-breathing set has trouble enough walking...imagine them in water, with new snorkel gear, having never done it before in their life.
There I stayed, in one spot, without making a scene. The fish were doing their thing, and then - there it is.
"You'll be going to Maui to see how 'off season' life goes for locals, and look for ocean life. Tickets and itinerary enclosed. Story due by end of the month." Shit, I lucked out on this one...I think? Best not to guess where they sent Drew...if he went, or will write for that matter.
I was taking some comfort until I met with Drew at a celebration I held up the coast. There, surrounded by booze and food, Drew took the microphone and began to regale the audience with comedic anecdotes about me and Smiley, and continued in this entertaining fashion until the conclusion. Everyone applauded, Drew received multiple compliments (heartiest from me, as you can imagine) and then Smiley and I both spoke aloud Drew's writing abilities. But...here I am going to Maui. Whether it's fair or not, off I flew...
When people say Hawaii time, they don't mean time of day, they mean "pace of life." This takes some adjusting to, whether on vacation or assignment from Dealville. In Dealville, you're hustling to be one step ahead. But in Maui, though no one will say it to your face, you feel it real quick: Stop worrying about everything. No one else is in a hurry. No one else needs anything more than another rum drink. So, just...
(Sighs and reflects)
Finding locals, away from tourist areas (off the beaten path and otherwise) is not easy. The locals know this, and they know their meal ticket is tourism. It sure as hell isn't its OWN inertia, or ease of making a living. In fact, those who do find it supremely difficult. But that's not the face you see. The face (unless they're retired, which is a "loving this life" face) is still smiling and welcome. No shakedown...no pity story. The reason: the weather and each other. They're all on the same wavelength.
Getting on a boat and going elsewhere helped find ocean life, but it also brought a rough case of seasickness. We made our way over to Lana'i, though not on our own charter it would seem. The cool waters calmed my nerves, and underwater, we rightly saw oddities...
The Trumpet Fish (among others) continue to send reminders of a whole world out of sight...and continuing wonder. Even saw an underwater spider...or so it seemed. (I hope the editor doesn't mind because...yeah, I didn't want to investigate) Sea turtles continue to be a searchable item...though it ended in taking the road often traveled. This is something to avoid highly, because if you think the mouth-breathing set has trouble enough walking...imagine them in water, with new snorkel gear, having never done it before in their life.
There I stayed, in one spot, without making a scene. The fish were doing their thing, and then - there it is.
(Note: Not said turtle, but this one is saying hello)
The turtle was doing its thing, well aware it was in a high traffic area. It began to swim toward me, so I had to do some quick thinking. I did nothing. If this sea turtle wants to say hello, have me carry it somewhere, or attempt to gnaw on my arm, it'll do it. I'm in his house. (her house? I have no idea) Word must have shouted along dry land. At that moment, the flailing brigade began to surround me, kicking me wildly with their fins, and pointing with flabby, surprised limbs. The water was shook up, and the lack of space was making it hard for me to concentrate. All the while, here comes the turtle. Ol' Lumber's slo-mo action was enough to eventually scare off everyone...but me. The turtle came up to my side, lifted its fin, and patted me on the back. It swam on. Like the picture you see above, it was a rare moment when nature, in its element, is happy to see you.
As a result, you would think underwater would be the place to be at all times. It's easy to get away from the masses and meet new creatures. I hasten to remind the reader (and realized it too late for myself) that the Pacific is an angry sea. It is large, the ground shakes under it, and man has placed a belt of garbage that floats in it and washes ashore. Hell, we even wrote two years ago about these waves. Sadly, I had to turn down a snorkel day to remain on land while Smiley continued the underwater adventure. Doing so gave me the chance to get the local vibe.
I was laying under palm trees, listening to the wind and waves help my recovery, when I heard two female voices. They seemed to have a decent amount of vocal fry from smoking, and, just in conversation, I could tell they held the inside story. One woman's dog wandered over and stayed next to me (because I can apparently communicate with animals) and that brought the lowdown.
One of the pair was a lifelong native: "I don't look it, huh? Lived here my whole life. But I did live in southern California for a few years. You know Costa Mesa?" Ah...my predictions were correct.
"Yeah...they want people living here to do the work, but I wish people from the mainland came over here because it gets done faster. You know that area by the airport? All that stuff by the Costco? TWO YEARS." I nodded in agreement, not really knowing what she was talking about, but understood that this E-Z mindset meets local-needed construction, and no one really wins. Meanwhile, making a living isn't easy. The dog owner cleans condos, having to balance the time off as a good/bad thing. "Been doing this for 23 years. Used to be really busy. Did 3 turnovers a day." She also shared the nugget that "Canadians are the worst tippers." Must have been the bad exchange rate for all those years.
I went back to lie down as she went back to her friend, but since her dog was now by my side, I kept my ears tuned to their convo. Could I glean some wisdom from local's life by eavesdropping?
"My neighbor comes over with a 20-pound bag of pepperoni from Pizza Hut! She says 'Hey - want some pepperoni?' I said 'I don't like pepperoni that much.'" "Where did she get that?" "From Pizza Hut. I swear, she's always coming over with stuff like that."
There you go, folks. That's the real life in Maui: random giant bags of pepperoni, shipped directly to the island. After the "Holy Gold!" take in of the weather, and the quick acceptance of the lifestyle pace, it's sink or swim. Sinking isn't the worst thing in Maui...the turtles will be there to lend a hand.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Dodger Stadium: Park at your Own Risk
As I sit in a monitoring cell today, the Dodgers have the best record in the major leagues. I have no idea how this happened, particularly now with a steady stream of injuries. (An infielder thankfully was taken to the hospital at the right time, avoiding an amputation - I kid you not) They finished yet another sweep of a first-place team, this time the Cards. I'm ready to write another blog about Tommy Lasorda and victory eating, when I read this morning's story:
"Dodger fan beaten as pregnant girlfriend watched in shock."
Son of a bitch...let me guess where this took place...yes, the Dodger Stadium parking lot.
Despite the team's surprising start, last season's opening day crime is still fresh in fan's minds. Last season, fans had plenty of reasons to avoid games, a parking lot beat-down at the top of the list. Yet now, they'd like to think all of those negative aspects, including parking lot insanity, faded away.
The LAPD can call it "road rage" (road rage IN A PARKING LOT?!) or try to pass the buck with quotes like this because...
“In a Dodger season there are 81 games, they will draw 3 million people and on any given day they can have a sellout with 56,000 people. I don’t believe that any law enforcement agency or any professional sports team could guarantee there would never be any type of incident with those types of numbers,”
AH - I get it. So really, odds are, someone...what, every month or so...will just get roughed up in the least and nearly killed at most because there's too many people? Folks, this time it was fan on fan because that Chevy might have hit that Honda, or was it the other way around? All at 5-10 mph? Of course, this time, there was enough LAPD on the scene to catch the criminals. They were there, likely, because last year someone was nearly killed. Whatever it takes, right?
The perception, however often crimes such as this occur, will be come the reality (correctly or otherwise) to the fan. Not unlike the New York City subways of the 1980s, if fans think the lots are beat down zones, regardless of increased police presence, they'll stay away.
Speaking of trains, last week a friend and I spoke of the joyous news that a new Metro train line now makes it all the way to Culver City. This was good for us on the west end of town - park there, train to downtown, shuttle to the stadium. We talked of good things: saving on parking money, an extra beer...and then the added point "plus, we won't get beat up in the parking lot." "Yeah," he chuckled. I meant it as (mostly) a joke.
I hasten to say it, but this is the new ownership's group first moment to do something positive. And do it quickly. Because eventually (and quietly) if the parking lot turns into an L.A. Raiders game, no matter how good the Dodgers are or become, you won't want to see the results...
"Dodger fan beaten as pregnant girlfriend watched in shock."
Son of a bitch...let me guess where this took place...yes, the Dodger Stadium parking lot.
Despite the team's surprising start, last season's opening day crime is still fresh in fan's minds. Last season, fans had plenty of reasons to avoid games, a parking lot beat-down at the top of the list. Yet now, they'd like to think all of those negative aspects, including parking lot insanity, faded away.
The LAPD can call it "road rage" (road rage IN A PARKING LOT?!) or try to pass the buck with quotes like this because...
“In a Dodger season there are 81 games, they will draw 3 million people and on any given day they can have a sellout with 56,000 people. I don’t believe that any law enforcement agency or any professional sports team could guarantee there would never be any type of incident with those types of numbers,”
AH - I get it. So really, odds are, someone...what, every month or so...will just get roughed up in the least and nearly killed at most because there's too many people? Folks, this time it was fan on fan because that Chevy might have hit that Honda, or was it the other way around? All at 5-10 mph? Of course, this time, there was enough LAPD on the scene to catch the criminals. They were there, likely, because last year someone was nearly killed. Whatever it takes, right?
The perception, however often crimes such as this occur, will be come the reality (correctly or otherwise) to the fan. Not unlike the New York City subways of the 1980s, if fans think the lots are beat down zones, regardless of increased police presence, they'll stay away.
Speaking of trains, last week a friend and I spoke of the joyous news that a new Metro train line now makes it all the way to Culver City. This was good for us on the west end of town - park there, train to downtown, shuttle to the stadium. We talked of good things: saving on parking money, an extra beer...and then the added point "plus, we won't get beat up in the parking lot." "Yeah," he chuckled. I meant it as (mostly) a joke.
I hasten to say it, but this is the new ownership's group first moment to do something positive. And do it quickly. Because eventually (and quietly) if the parking lot turns into an L.A. Raiders game, no matter how good the Dodgers are or become, you won't want to see the results...
Thursday, May 10, 2012
You might think I'm crazy
The first item on the conveyor belt was a box of Trix. I wasn't trying to proclaim anything in doing so...it was simply on top of the cart.
"Is this for your kid, or is this for you?"
I wasn't expecting to be judged on my grocery purchases. The last time that happened was a decade ago, when I was buying a 12 pack of beer and cheez balls. The cashier said "Beer, cheez balls...what, no cigarettes?" I responded, politely, that I don't work at a supermarket. Was that cold? Harsh?
It gets worse at the drug store. A multitude of personal items can be in your purchase, but you'd never point and laugh at some old guy for buying Depends because, possibly, that could be you one day. My lowest drug store purchase was on a very ill night. I was buying a plunger and Imodium AD. I tried not get the young, cute cashier...but you know what happens...
"How's it going?" (She then looks down at the items)
I've had better days...
Where was I? Right. So, I said no, the Trix are for me. They might be for kids, but I am not a rabbit, so I may also eat them. It is also on sale for $1.80, and I have to make that deal.
"Yeah, but it has a lot of sugar."
Excuse me, Mom. I have no cavities. I get excellent check-ups. I brush after lunch - do you? I didn't think so. I asked if there was an age limit on this cereal, as I clearly was not aware of said rules.
"When you're not a kid..."
Again, in a polite fashion, I said "Well, when I was a kid, my Ma never bought us these cereals. She wanted us to have good teeth, right or wrong. I am now old enough to buy my own groceries, and in some cases items I was not allowed to have as a child...the Trix, the whiskey, too much mac n' cheese. (This week it was priced at normal levels, not overpriced)
Have I, or will I, reach an age where I am not to eat or do certain things? Do grown-ups not enjoy cheeseburgers and milkshakes at Foster's Freeze? I do. Now that I'm out of my 20's, should I stop with the Friday Night Pizza Party? I'd like to keep that going. Too old for a granola bar for breakfast? It might be cheap and easy (two descriptors that used to lead to GOOD THINGS in my youth)...so what? Whole wheat flax seed fiber sticks, guaranteed to "break the bowl?" No thanks. Past the days where it's acceptable to blast The Germs while sitting outside? I don't think so.
It's who I am. And when you live in a place like this, you blend in. Which, after all, is why I'm here. Keep it going...till the sun go down.
"Is this for your kid, or is this for you?"
I wasn't expecting to be judged on my grocery purchases. The last time that happened was a decade ago, when I was buying a 12 pack of beer and cheez balls. The cashier said "Beer, cheez balls...what, no cigarettes?" I responded, politely, that I don't work at a supermarket. Was that cold? Harsh?
It gets worse at the drug store. A multitude of personal items can be in your purchase, but you'd never point and laugh at some old guy for buying Depends because, possibly, that could be you one day. My lowest drug store purchase was on a very ill night. I was buying a plunger and Imodium AD. I tried not get the young, cute cashier...but you know what happens...
"How's it going?" (She then looks down at the items)
I've had better days...
Where was I? Right. So, I said no, the Trix are for me. They might be for kids, but I am not a rabbit, so I may also eat them. It is also on sale for $1.80, and I have to make that deal.
"Yeah, but it has a lot of sugar."
Excuse me, Mom. I have no cavities. I get excellent check-ups. I brush after lunch - do you? I didn't think so. I asked if there was an age limit on this cereal, as I clearly was not aware of said rules.
"When you're not a kid..."
Again, in a polite fashion, I said "Well, when I was a kid, my Ma never bought us these cereals. She wanted us to have good teeth, right or wrong. I am now old enough to buy my own groceries, and in some cases items I was not allowed to have as a child...the Trix, the whiskey, too much mac n' cheese. (This week it was priced at normal levels, not overpriced)
Have I, or will I, reach an age where I am not to eat or do certain things? Do grown-ups not enjoy cheeseburgers and milkshakes at Foster's Freeze? I do. Now that I'm out of my 20's, should I stop with the Friday Night Pizza Party? I'd like to keep that going. Too old for a granola bar for breakfast? It might be cheap and easy (two descriptors that used to lead to GOOD THINGS in my youth)...so what? Whole wheat flax seed fiber sticks, guaranteed to "break the bowl?" No thanks. Past the days where it's acceptable to blast The Germs while sitting outside? I don't think so.
It's who I am. And when you live in a place like this, you blend in. Which, after all, is why I'm here. Keep it going...till the sun go down.
Friday, April 27, 2012
More to Come
The search for gold is a continuous one; always on the look-out. Video gold is one of those things, and thanks to some very friendly collectors, I've received multiple old episodes of the Tonight Show. Since I've accumulated these discs, I've filed them where they should be filed: under SWANK.
In each instance, the only negative (if it is such a thing) is the topical humor of the monologue. Johnny makes a quip, everyone laughs, and I run to Wikipedia to find out he is referring to President Ford's budget director. The rest? It's a truckload of people simply making it happen. Even better? These were recorded by some friendly man in a station control room long ago. This means, after the national ads, nothing but Doc and the boys groovin' it out. And thus, the "more to come" bumper slides.
They're a lost art, especially for today's late night talk shows. Moreover, they're usually difficult for an audience to see. This certainly was not the case back then. But Johnny's bumper cards certainly evolved over time.
I may be over-thinking this, but the above bumper card comes from when the show was still shot out in New York. 1971 New York, well...it was swank, but then (as now) doesn't hold a joint to LA. This rigid "art" was typical of the episodes of the time.
Ah. here we are. They're more proud to say they're in Dealville than anything else. What, we're moving to Burbank? Make that shag carpet, Kenny. Yeah, and a lot of live ferns.
Once settled, you'd see motifs of the California lifestyle, one the show began to embrace completely.
There were variants on this theme, but it continued throughout the first year or so in California. After this identity was established, the cards were...OK, I want to put this point across without any accusations at all. I've used the word "swank." Is "funk" an appropriate word? "Imbibed during creation" an appropriate phrase?
Whichever you choose, an artist would be given room to make a whole series of cards, filling an entire episode, on a rotating basis. Let 'er rip.
"Fred, I had this dream last night..."
"Go for it, pal."
One of the multiple reasons the show moved full-time to CA was greater access to film starts, a lifeline a talk show desperately needs (as do studios). It's fun to see their spirit caught up in this wave.
So, we're doing an episode on New Year's Eve, and it's the late '70s. Our guest will be Robert Blake. Johnny returns from commercial with "10 seconds to the New Year" and says a brief word...followed by "3...2...1..."
Guy on the left: "HAWWWWWW"
Just as the pioneers headed west, so did this show. It wasn't easy...we had tough conditions, unexpected troubles, and a constant fear for our lives. But enough about NBC in the late 70s.
Yeah...perhaps there was research showing more people trip while watching Tonight than any other show?
Well, it's getting late...time to go to bed. Hey, what's on after the show?
Chuck Mangione? Turn on the coffee pot! We're going ALL NIGHT!
In each instance, the only negative (if it is such a thing) is the topical humor of the monologue. Johnny makes a quip, everyone laughs, and I run to Wikipedia to find out he is referring to President Ford's budget director. The rest? It's a truckload of people simply making it happen. Even better? These were recorded by some friendly man in a station control room long ago. This means, after the national ads, nothing but Doc and the boys groovin' it out. And thus, the "more to come" bumper slides.
They're a lost art, especially for today's late night talk shows. Moreover, they're usually difficult for an audience to see. This certainly was not the case back then. But Johnny's bumper cards certainly evolved over time.
I may be over-thinking this, but the above bumper card comes from when the show was still shot out in New York. 1971 New York, well...it was swank, but then (as now) doesn't hold a joint to LA. This rigid "art" was typical of the episodes of the time.
Ah. here we are. They're more proud to say they're in Dealville than anything else. What, we're moving to Burbank? Make that shag carpet, Kenny. Yeah, and a lot of live ferns.
Once settled, you'd see motifs of the California lifestyle, one the show began to embrace completely.
There were variants on this theme, but it continued throughout the first year or so in California. After this identity was established, the cards were...OK, I want to put this point across without any accusations at all. I've used the word "swank." Is "funk" an appropriate word? "Imbibed during creation" an appropriate phrase?
Whichever you choose, an artist would be given room to make a whole series of cards, filling an entire episode, on a rotating basis. Let 'er rip.
"Fred, I had this dream last night..."
"Go for it, pal."
One of the multiple reasons the show moved full-time to CA was greater access to film starts, a lifeline a talk show desperately needs (as do studios). It's fun to see their spirit caught up in this wave.
So, we're doing an episode on New Year's Eve, and it's the late '70s. Our guest will be Robert Blake. Johnny returns from commercial with "10 seconds to the New Year" and says a brief word...followed by "3...2...1..."
Guy on the left: "HAWWWWWW"
Just as the pioneers headed west, so did this show. It wasn't easy...we had tough conditions, unexpected troubles, and a constant fear for our lives. But enough about NBC in the late 70s.
Yeah...perhaps there was research showing more people trip while watching Tonight than any other show?
Well, it's getting late...time to go to bed. Hey, what's on after the show?
Chuck Mangione? Turn on the coffee pot! We're going ALL NIGHT!
Thursday, March 08, 2012
It's been building up to this
Traffic in LA is a constant. Regardless of the time of day, a succession of stories could be told of shit traffic. Now we have the added ingredient of $4.50/gallon gas. Once that hit (and it hit fast, because that is how oil companies work) there was talk...but that was it. Summer of 2008, the last time prices hit this level, citizens of LA would hold signs blaming the president, and occasionally attacking the help. This time? Seems to be a weary sigh...maybe it's because those protesting now all own a Prius, I don't know. (Fuck, I DO know, and if you can read between the lines, you'll know too)
Mentally, I had passed a threshold. $4.25 is too much already, but more than I'd be willing to pay. Last time, I lived a mile from work, so it didn't really matter. But this time? I was willing to put my life in someone's hands: the Big Blue Bus.
While public transportation continues to be an afterthought in LA, I wanted it to become my routine. I was fortunate enough to realize there was a route that was my exact drive to work. How lucky is that? So what if the buses only show up every 20 minutes?
The first week was one of adjustment. I had to accept things that other riders have likely known for years. The bus will often be late. It also might be early, and if it is, you're fucked. It will stop for no one unless you make a scene. The driver will be polite and full of excuses when asked a question. But when I made it home last Friday, I was a happy man. I had gone almost a week without driving and was still able to get shit done. I also wanted to be smug...and maybe I crossed that line. During the weekend, Dr. Gold and I realized we could take the same bus to a golf course, play, get drunk, then take the same bus home. We celebrated the future.
I should have known better. I was just lucky, that's all. And all it took was one fucking day.
Maybe it was when I realized that I would have already arrived at work and yet I was still waiting for a very late bus. Or was it the guy on the bus who put his bag on another chair to prevent an old lady from sitting down. No, I think it was another late bus home, in cold (for here) weather...and after 40 minutes 2 of the same line drive next to each other.
Trip: Is that another #5 bus behind you? (Of course it is...I just want to hear what he'll say)
Driver: Yeah...bad traffic on Olympic.
Trip, calling bluff: We're on Colorado.
Driver: (sigh)
No, Mr. Driver, you don't have all the answers. But you do have one that you won't tell. And now I am pretty fucking SALTY. Again, I could have been home drinking rum and eating Jalapeno chips. What's the solution here?
Well, the public transit solution that the mayor pushes so often has one fatal flaw: a majority of the transportation has to co-exist with the same traffic people are trying to avoid. There's no subway line near you? Sorry, the city council in the '90s didn't want their neighborhood bothered with all that construction. Right before the public voted them out, they voted for more buses. Problem "solved" I suppose.
Pay through the ass, or lose up to 1 hour and 30 minutes of your day. Um...no?
Mentally, I had passed a threshold. $4.25 is too much already, but more than I'd be willing to pay. Last time, I lived a mile from work, so it didn't really matter. But this time? I was willing to put my life in someone's hands: the Big Blue Bus.
While public transportation continues to be an afterthought in LA, I wanted it to become my routine. I was fortunate enough to realize there was a route that was my exact drive to work. How lucky is that? So what if the buses only show up every 20 minutes?
The first week was one of adjustment. I had to accept things that other riders have likely known for years. The bus will often be late. It also might be early, and if it is, you're fucked. It will stop for no one unless you make a scene. The driver will be polite and full of excuses when asked a question. But when I made it home last Friday, I was a happy man. I had gone almost a week without driving and was still able to get shit done. I also wanted to be smug...and maybe I crossed that line. During the weekend, Dr. Gold and I realized we could take the same bus to a golf course, play, get drunk, then take the same bus home. We celebrated the future.
I should have known better. I was just lucky, that's all. And all it took was one fucking day.
Maybe it was when I realized that I would have already arrived at work and yet I was still waiting for a very late bus. Or was it the guy on the bus who put his bag on another chair to prevent an old lady from sitting down. No, I think it was another late bus home, in cold (for here) weather...and after 40 minutes 2 of the same line drive next to each other.
Trip: Is that another #5 bus behind you? (Of course it is...I just want to hear what he'll say)
Driver: Yeah...bad traffic on Olympic.
Trip, calling bluff: We're on Colorado.
Driver: (sigh)
No, Mr. Driver, you don't have all the answers. But you do have one that you won't tell. And now I am pretty fucking SALTY. Again, I could have been home drinking rum and eating Jalapeno chips. What's the solution here?
Well, the public transit solution that the mayor pushes so often has one fatal flaw: a majority of the transportation has to co-exist with the same traffic people are trying to avoid. There's no subway line near you? Sorry, the city council in the '90s didn't want their neighborhood bothered with all that construction. Right before the public voted them out, they voted for more buses. Problem "solved" I suppose.
Pay through the ass, or lose up to 1 hour and 30 minutes of your day. Um...no?
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Burritos, Beer, Basketball...and Nixon?!
It hasn't exactly been news that the UCLA Men's basketball team was kicked out of Pauley Pavilion for this season. (Each person I asked to join me at some point this season for a trip said "Wait, they're not in Westwood?") This happens when you follow consecutive trips to the Final Four with mediocre basketball. The squad isn't helped any with the school's advertising "Catch the Bruin Road Show" - equating this to Cinerama on tour or (more likely) the Harlem Globetrotters.
The Bruins have spent this season playing either "exhibition" or "home" games in Ontario, Anaheim, and the Sports Arena. The other option, likely, would have been the Forum, but a deal wasn't reached. So, upon hearing that Minnesota Laughs had secured 4 tickets and a parking pass for the Colorado game, I was likely too excited to see the arena. The game? Eh...
But LA being LA, leaving Burbank (long story) to get downtown with over an hour in advance was not enough time. The thundering Golden State Freeway was shitsville, and attempted cutting through Glendale through downtown (while Minnesota Laughs attempted to drive as if she were blind) got us there roughly 5 minutes into the first half. But, we were alive. Not much time to take in our surroundings.
As you can see, the Sports Arena enjoys fine sight lines...almost Met Center-esque. The school really tried to make this seem like a "home" for the year, with championship banners throughout. It was a vocal crowd, which is the LA style. Screams and taunts against an opponent who had played a grand total of 8 games in the same conference as the Bruins flowed. Another benefit: the acoustics...which would explain why the old venue still sees big name musical acts. Even at 3/4ths full, it was LOUD. My exploring would have to wait...Minnesota Laughs and her friend were knitting and barely paying attention, while a man on the end of the aisle (wearing a 1992 NCAA Final Four cap) struggled to get up each time. Maybe it was the leather chairs?
Halftime sent EVERYONE out of their seats, and we hit one aspect where the old place showed its age: the bathrooms. Dr. Gold, someone who joined this excursion, was the first point this out: "Oh man - troughs. Wow." There were other options, and those options included not having soap at each sink (why isn't there one long sink with 30 nozzles?) and it took an excited fan to search through the janitor's closet to get more paper towels. Hey, whatever it takes...
So, we took a lap and in doing so were impressed by the concessions. Not all were open (to do so would make things convenient) but one stand was making homemade burritos of your choice. GOLD. What's that I see? A BEER?! That's right, this isn't an on campus venue. Purchasing said nectar (a Blue Moon...could be worse) was on everyone's mind. The duration of my wait saw my finishing said burrito. I was getting pretty fucking salty by the time I hit the front of the line for my order. I was missing the game and I looked to the side (instinctively) to see a TV. There wasn't one...but there was a framed photo of Richard Nixon. The hell?
To my left, there's a framed photo of JFK. There has to be an explanation for this (there is...which doesn't make it nearly as cool to just stumble on the two). Finally returning to our seats, UCLA began to make quick work of the Buffs, including one comical dunk when 300+ lb. Josh Smith dunked...and then landed on the ball. The ball did not flatten, and despite one wagon wheel down, he recovered.
Time was tight as we scrambled to leave. As we exited, Dr. Gold asked "OK...you can only save one. Forum or this place?" (sigh) I have to make that decision? Let's save that tale of the tape for the ultimate decision. Hell...a certain owner of the Rams might end up owning the Dodgers...and they'll need a stadium location. Would you be acceptable in razzing one of these to get the Rams back? I think that idea, for better or worse, ups the ante.
The Bruins have spent this season playing either "exhibition" or "home" games in Ontario, Anaheim, and the Sports Arena. The other option, likely, would have been the Forum, but a deal wasn't reached. So, upon hearing that Minnesota Laughs had secured 4 tickets and a parking pass for the Colorado game, I was likely too excited to see the arena. The game? Eh...
But LA being LA, leaving Burbank (long story) to get downtown with over an hour in advance was not enough time. The thundering Golden State Freeway was shitsville, and attempted cutting through Glendale through downtown (while Minnesota Laughs attempted to drive as if she were blind) got us there roughly 5 minutes into the first half. But, we were alive. Not much time to take in our surroundings.
As you can see, the Sports Arena enjoys fine sight lines...almost Met Center-esque. The school really tried to make this seem like a "home" for the year, with championship banners throughout. It was a vocal crowd, which is the LA style. Screams and taunts against an opponent who had played a grand total of 8 games in the same conference as the Bruins flowed. Another benefit: the acoustics...which would explain why the old venue still sees big name musical acts. Even at 3/4ths full, it was LOUD. My exploring would have to wait...Minnesota Laughs and her friend were knitting and barely paying attention, while a man on the end of the aisle (wearing a 1992 NCAA Final Four cap) struggled to get up each time. Maybe it was the leather chairs?
Halftime sent EVERYONE out of their seats, and we hit one aspect where the old place showed its age: the bathrooms. Dr. Gold, someone who joined this excursion, was the first point this out: "Oh man - troughs. Wow." There were other options, and those options included not having soap at each sink (why isn't there one long sink with 30 nozzles?) and it took an excited fan to search through the janitor's closet to get more paper towels. Hey, whatever it takes...
So, we took a lap and in doing so were impressed by the concessions. Not all were open (to do so would make things convenient) but one stand was making homemade burritos of your choice. GOLD. What's that I see? A BEER?! That's right, this isn't an on campus venue. Purchasing said nectar (a Blue Moon...could be worse) was on everyone's mind. The duration of my wait saw my finishing said burrito. I was getting pretty fucking salty by the time I hit the front of the line for my order. I was missing the game and I looked to the side (instinctively) to see a TV. There wasn't one...but there was a framed photo of Richard Nixon. The hell?
To my left, there's a framed photo of JFK. There has to be an explanation for this (there is...which doesn't make it nearly as cool to just stumble on the two). Finally returning to our seats, UCLA began to make quick work of the Buffs, including one comical dunk when 300+ lb. Josh Smith dunked...and then landed on the ball. The ball did not flatten, and despite one wagon wheel down, he recovered.
Time was tight as we scrambled to leave. As we exited, Dr. Gold asked "OK...you can only save one. Forum or this place?" (sigh) I have to make that decision? Let's save that tale of the tape for the ultimate decision. Hell...a certain owner of the Rams might end up owning the Dodgers...and they'll need a stadium location. Would you be acceptable in razzing one of these to get the Rams back? I think that idea, for better or worse, ups the ante.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Beyond the Blue Horizon
Here I found myself at yet another benchmark of life, and in the same location no less. The cycle had moved, and again I was in good graces. It was a sunny spot where I could scoop up white sand, smelling the salt in the air from the tide. One where the alligator tail was fresh, the drink kept flowing, and the sun kept shining.
The earth may have shook, but I didn't feel it. The malaise had left me, and I was lost in the pull of the waves as the sun looked down. What is beyond that horizon? I am looking west to home, but I can see my life, once again, just beginning. Another beautiful day, annoyances cast aside, with happiness surrounding me. I can't say it was self-satisfaction, at least not as I continued to look at that horizon. And it kept looking back at me.
All I felt it was telling me was that I was living life. And then I looked up, and in an instant, saw the image above. Sure enough, there it was...in the horizon. I realized I was not alone.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Re-evaluating the Turkeys
(No, this is not a food column)
When your writer was just a young lad, Dealville in mind, I read any TV-related book I could find. More than one would do their best (in varying levels of journalistic ability) to document horrible shows...strictly programming, as at the time the behind-the-scenes stuff wasn't as marketable. "Find out the truth of what happened at CBS!" In the 80s and 90s, who cared? "A look at the worst shows ever made!" SOLD!
So, years later, it's interesting to note a response of two trends so many scribes felt the need to let their say be printed:
1. If they thought they'd seen bad sitcoms, maybe that had, but holy shit would the next 20 years deliver some junk
2. Once producers realized to cut out the middle man (being the host of a "news magazine" show or "daytime talk show") and let the freaks be freaks in their natural habitat, it changed programming forever.
For the first part, there are two aspects that grew like a fungus and nearly guaranteed shit.
Consider an 80s show that was considered a "turkey" afterwards, and in print. "We Got it Made," which had the following concept: Two roommates (guys who are classically very different in personality) decide to place an ad for a housekeeper. They end up hiring the first person who showed up: a hot looking blonde. Their girlfriends are naturally suspicious, but the guys (and the housekeeper) insist everything is on the up and up. That is, of course, until misunderstandings come up each week.
Good lord, look how long it took me to explain that. OK, now here's a new show on Fox, "I Hate My Teenage Daughter" and that situation: Two mothers who've tried to give their daughters everything they never had suddenly realize that their girls are turning into exactly the sort of mean, stuck-up people who made fun of them in high school.
Not a lot of "sit" in that sit-com...so they'd better bring the com, right. Well, that brings us to the 2nd aspect
I recently had a dealmaking dinner with a longtime executive of a TV network, and he expounded on the topic without prompting. "It's all piss, fart, shit, ass...but I have to read all the scripts. The crowd in the seats only sees this stuff once. I have to read these scripts all the time." There will always be bad TV shows, we agreed, but he noted that today's bad shows are on a whole new level. "They're boring...that's how bad they are. You can't even say anything about it...you see it, you've seen it before...same shit...NEXT." I wasn't sure if he was saying that as an executive, or a viewer.
With more channels, more ways to watch, more people watching, the net to trap such shit has more and more holes. It's harder and harder for network TV to maintain what grip they have left, which might be why of all the shows in TV history that have been cancelled after 1 episode, HALF have been within the last 10 years. This makes for a deadly combination...
Would you rather go online and watch shows that were considered shit afterwards and find out...hell, this ain't that bad, or struggle through some of today's "hit new comedy?" I'd rather have another drink.
When your writer was just a young lad, Dealville in mind, I read any TV-related book I could find. More than one would do their best (in varying levels of journalistic ability) to document horrible shows...strictly programming, as at the time the behind-the-scenes stuff wasn't as marketable. "Find out the truth of what happened at CBS!" In the 80s and 90s, who cared? "A look at the worst shows ever made!" SOLD!
So, years later, it's interesting to note a response of two trends so many scribes felt the need to let their say be printed:
1. If they thought they'd seen bad sitcoms, maybe that had, but holy shit would the next 20 years deliver some junk
2. Once producers realized to cut out the middle man (being the host of a "news magazine" show or "daytime talk show") and let the freaks be freaks in their natural habitat, it changed programming forever.
For the first part, there are two aspects that grew like a fungus and nearly guaranteed shit.
- You don't need a situation for a situation comedy.
Consider an 80s show that was considered a "turkey" afterwards, and in print. "We Got it Made," which had the following concept: Two roommates (guys who are classically very different in personality) decide to place an ad for a housekeeper. They end up hiring the first person who showed up: a hot looking blonde. Their girlfriends are naturally suspicious, but the guys (and the housekeeper) insist everything is on the up and up. That is, of course, until misunderstandings come up each week.
Good lord, look how long it took me to explain that. OK, now here's a new show on Fox, "I Hate My Teenage Daughter" and that situation: Two mothers who've tried to give their daughters everything they never had suddenly realize that their girls are turning into exactly the sort of mean, stuck-up people who made fun of them in high school.
Not a lot of "sit" in that sit-com...so they'd better bring the com, right. Well, that brings us to the 2nd aspect
- As time evolved, you could get away with saying stuff that was "revolutionary" 15 years ago.
I recently had a dealmaking dinner with a longtime executive of a TV network, and he expounded on the topic without prompting. "It's all piss, fart, shit, ass...but I have to read all the scripts. The crowd in the seats only sees this stuff once. I have to read these scripts all the time." There will always be bad TV shows, we agreed, but he noted that today's bad shows are on a whole new level. "They're boring...that's how bad they are. You can't even say anything about it...you see it, you've seen it before...same shit...NEXT." I wasn't sure if he was saying that as an executive, or a viewer.
With more channels, more ways to watch, more people watching, the net to trap such shit has more and more holes. It's harder and harder for network TV to maintain what grip they have left, which might be why of all the shows in TV history that have been cancelled after 1 episode, HALF have been within the last 10 years. This makes for a deadly combination...
Would you rather go online and watch shows that were considered shit afterwards and find out...hell, this ain't that bad, or struggle through some of today's "hit new comedy?" I'd rather have another drink.
Friday, November 11, 2011
"I have no idea."
Two years ago, I wrote of a highly unlucky gambling trip to Las Vegas. Well, here I was again (large surprise, huh?). It's an important weekend of NCAA Football and Breeder's Cup races. You know the dealing I had to do ensuring I'd dive head-first into this pit of despair? Charity begins at home for this group, and so does life gambling for the rest. I'm in one of those camps, and while my fortunes are better this time around, as I entered this rumpus room, I had WON all of my bets. That's how life goes. Did we sign up for that yo-yo?
(Not long after this excursion, I sat at a diner in Yermo, CA with Smiley. We ate hash browns and discussed the possibilities of sports gambling as a vocation. I had to tell her the sad truth: "You do all this research, so when you win, that's your pay. It is hard work paid off. There's little thrill, like winning on a roulette number, because according to you it was supposed to happen. If you win on a longshot, you get the thrill, but the rest is punch in, cash out. But hard work can lead to losing money, and that's why everyone in there looks like they do. Among other reasons of course.")
Matters not, because I was in the plus column after a disastrous weekend in October. So I was scrambling in the sports book to find a seat at working TV to catch the vital Louisiana-Monroe/Louisiana-Lafayette game. It's tied to one of my bets (naturally). The desk I chose was littered with a half-dozen Churchill Downs tickets. It is news to me that they race in November, and maybe to the man who previously sat here. That's a LOT of fail tickets. He left in haste is my guess. He also left 3 pens (ballpoint pens in this sportsbook - we've all taken a step up!), a half-finished drink, and the wrapper for a high fiber bar.
It was as I began to re-think the departure of this man when someone who I can only identify as the brother of Yukon Cornelius approached my station. (It was an aisle seat, which, as a reporter, was to my advantage)
Yukon: (Unintelligible)
Me, realizing I'm being talked to: What?
Yukon, smiling: The only way you're gonna beat them is with a whip!
Me: Yeah...
Boy, I hope he's talking about horse racing.
The battle for Louisiana has been found. (It took me a week to look it up and realize Lafayette and Monroe are NOT that close to each other: 3-4 hour drive in Sportsman's Paradise) Let everyone else watch Northwestern and Nebraska...we've found our battle. Clearing room on my desk I see an engraved plaque on the desk...one covered with tickets: "Reserved for IPT Players. See Management." How about I don't?
I'm hearing the typical yelling as races get down the stretch, but what's been unique is the area near the collection desk: a group is there just congregating, waiting to cash in football tickets. Their game must be near the end, but they CAN'T WAIT. I'm really hoping for a riot of some sort, but it doesn't happen. And then, from behind me a row or two: "Stupid Coach!" Ahhh....that's the sportsbook member I know.
The action in Lafayette gets tight (I bet it does) when a gambling pro returns to his desk. He has 3 magazines of various gambling and horse racing details, and multiple markers in a rainbow of colors. By this look he should be all business, but he isn't. He's uncomfortable, and annoyed. Something isn't right. The cocktail waitress walks by (at high speeds, likely frightened to death of the inhabitants, most of which looks like a High School Principal convention) and the pro stands assertively: "Miss? Hot Tea...with MILK." Before I can even finish asking myself if he's mentally on an airplane in 1962, he changes TV stations rapidly. The screens here are touch, so you can move quickly between games. "Jesus!" Is it good or bad, Sir? I find out seconds later. "Back to Blackjack."
No words between us have been exchanged, but we both know he's going nowhere. The markers and papers indicate otherwise. In a feeble attempt of review, I scan the sheets for one last bet, something that would give me yet another excuse to extend this journey. Again, from behind me: "3 man rush? Sucks!" It's not a good day for that man, like most, we'd gather.
The pro gambler to my left is getting more and more worked up. He changed channels, muttered "Fuck.", changed channels again, and muttered "Damnit." By word choice alone, there has to be a difference in outcomes, and his paperwork could give insight. I'm starting to plot my next move of his actions...that and the fact that Lafayette is down 10. The Cocktail Waitress walked right past the pro without the drink...something that did NOT please the man. "Aw, Geez." Wait a minute - what's with the Leave it to Beaver talk all of a sudden? You're a Pro - do as Pros do, get pissed and swear aloud when Santa Anita's fortunes don't work out.
The turnover was getting higher and higher. The desk attendants were laughing, which made me curious...enough to wander out for fresher air. It was just a brief breath, but I can't hide it: I wanted more.
(Not long after this excursion, I sat at a diner in Yermo, CA with Smiley. We ate hash browns and discussed the possibilities of sports gambling as a vocation. I had to tell her the sad truth: "You do all this research, so when you win, that's your pay. It is hard work paid off. There's little thrill, like winning on a roulette number, because according to you it was supposed to happen. If you win on a longshot, you get the thrill, but the rest is punch in, cash out. But hard work can lead to losing money, and that's why everyone in there looks like they do. Among other reasons of course.")
Matters not, because I was in the plus column after a disastrous weekend in October. So I was scrambling in the sports book to find a seat at working TV to catch the vital Louisiana-Monroe/Louisiana-Lafayette game. It's tied to one of my bets (naturally). The desk I chose was littered with a half-dozen Churchill Downs tickets. It is news to me that they race in November, and maybe to the man who previously sat here. That's a LOT of fail tickets. He left in haste is my guess. He also left 3 pens (ballpoint pens in this sportsbook - we've all taken a step up!), a half-finished drink, and the wrapper for a high fiber bar.
It was as I began to re-think the departure of this man when someone who I can only identify as the brother of Yukon Cornelius approached my station. (It was an aisle seat, which, as a reporter, was to my advantage)
Yukon: (Unintelligible)
Me, realizing I'm being talked to: What?
Yukon, smiling: The only way you're gonna beat them is with a whip!
Me: Yeah...
Boy, I hope he's talking about horse racing.
The battle for Louisiana has been found. (It took me a week to look it up and realize Lafayette and Monroe are NOT that close to each other: 3-4 hour drive in Sportsman's Paradise) Let everyone else watch Northwestern and Nebraska...we've found our battle. Clearing room on my desk I see an engraved plaque on the desk...one covered with tickets: "Reserved for IPT Players. See Management." How about I don't?
I'm hearing the typical yelling as races get down the stretch, but what's been unique is the area near the collection desk: a group is there just congregating, waiting to cash in football tickets. Their game must be near the end, but they CAN'T WAIT. I'm really hoping for a riot of some sort, but it doesn't happen. And then, from behind me a row or two: "Stupid Coach!" Ahhh....that's the sportsbook member I know.
The action in Lafayette gets tight (I bet it does) when a gambling pro returns to his desk. He has 3 magazines of various gambling and horse racing details, and multiple markers in a rainbow of colors. By this look he should be all business, but he isn't. He's uncomfortable, and annoyed. Something isn't right. The cocktail waitress walks by (at high speeds, likely frightened to death of the inhabitants, most of which looks like a High School Principal convention) and the pro stands assertively: "Miss? Hot Tea...with MILK." Before I can even finish asking myself if he's mentally on an airplane in 1962, he changes TV stations rapidly. The screens here are touch, so you can move quickly between games. "Jesus!" Is it good or bad, Sir? I find out seconds later. "Back to Blackjack."
No words between us have been exchanged, but we both know he's going nowhere. The markers and papers indicate otherwise. In a feeble attempt of review, I scan the sheets for one last bet, something that would give me yet another excuse to extend this journey. Again, from behind me: "3 man rush? Sucks!" It's not a good day for that man, like most, we'd gather.
The pro gambler to my left is getting more and more worked up. He changed channels, muttered "Fuck.", changed channels again, and muttered "Damnit." By word choice alone, there has to be a difference in outcomes, and his paperwork could give insight. I'm starting to plot my next move of his actions...that and the fact that Lafayette is down 10. The Cocktail Waitress walked right past the pro without the drink...something that did NOT please the man. "Aw, Geez." Wait a minute - what's with the Leave it to Beaver talk all of a sudden? You're a Pro - do as Pros do, get pissed and swear aloud when Santa Anita's fortunes don't work out.
The turnover was getting higher and higher. The desk attendants were laughing, which made me curious...enough to wander out for fresher air. It was just a brief breath, but I can't hide it: I wanted more.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Indian Summer
What gets you through life in transition? Is it anticipation of the future, and the vast unknown? It would have to include the outlook that whatever that will be in the future will be better. Is it the fact that the present is new? Your immediate surroundings (physically or mentally) are different; that itself is interesting. Is it the feeling you have when you notice you as a person have evolved?
When I look through the music I have, the first thing I associate with it (normal or bizarre) is when I bought it and what I was doing at the time. If forever briefly, the music can take me back to that place, living life and (simultaneously) getting into the songs.
Around this time in 2002, I bought this album.
It is a game of youth, matching lyrics to your current situation. And these were things I likely didn't notice at the time...I was too busy doing some of the activities mentioned above.
From Second Hand Store
So you burned your bridges and headed downstream
Never know until you try
Spent your fortune on riverboat queens
'Til the river ran dry
---------------------
So you keep on following directions until
Pretty soon you passed it
Guess you should've know better and still
It was fun while it lasted
I had just got out of a long, complacent relationship and moved out on my own...and the song refrains "Any Way the Wind Blows." Living and working in Hollywood, I didn't want to move too far, and I found a furnished place at the base of Laurel Canyon, north of Sunset. A perfect place, it was not, but it had a location that couldn't be beat. Easy drive to work, and to the valley to hang with the returning Dillon. I could walk to nearly anywhere on the Strip, which helps if you're drunk. You also don't realize how long you're walking with all the shit going on. The place seemed to find me, and it was (for the most part) good.
From Indian Summer
And it's not as easy as it used to be
Finding time to let my mind wander
I can still hear them calling
Indian Summer
Not that work life was improving, at all. The wheels were spinning, the volume unending. It could've been worse: a "friend" around this time asked me to co-sign a loan for him, so deep in debt...this is what happens when you graduate college and "moving to LA" is the end of the goal. We stopped talking roughly after I turned him down. Did he know how hard I worked to get that cash?
But anytime it would get me down (daily, as it turned out) I could walk around the lot and smile - shit, this was at least progress. Remember when you said you'd be doing this, and your father didn't believe you? Nobody said the line to the top, whatever that is, is straight.
From At the Station
(Not lyrically, but it reminded me of the theme from "Fridays" which is always a plus)
From Tomorrow
Tomorrow, made up my mind
Gonna get busy, come from behind
Today, I'm staying right where I am
Break a few rules, make a few plans
There's thousands of things to keep you from doing
What you want to do
And if isn't this, then it's that
Back where it's at, and you're never through
When the aforementioned things did change, I wanted everything else to...as if life is that much of a switch. Balancing a desire for change is hard if there are moments and things in your life that you want to stay the same. After a while, mentally it seems easy (pushing away the cop-out) to drift back. There's comfort in knowing, but little excitement.
In my new place, I was one dart across the canyon to the hills. And I would wander. My entry was the Chateau Marmont, and on nights the kitchen door would be open, dining room empty. It's a room service kind of place, after all. Many times I passed the ghost of Belushi, and each time he looked out of shape. But we'd nod, and I'd move on.
Up and up I climbed to Hollywood Blvd...an aspect few seem to realize: it's up there, too. A perfect vista route, there was inspiration all around. At the time it seemed like a good walk: peaceful and relaxing. I'd continue to Kings Road, which I'd take back to the Strip and the then-Hyatt House Hotel. Once or twice, on the walk back, I'd see someone I know at a bar's patio. "Hey Trip - did you just walk from up there?" Yeah...(yawn) "I forgot, you just moved. You're in the hills? That's awesome! You want a margarita?"
The album ends with Life's Been Good...no need to go over that ground.
Over and over it goes...but you ask anyone who writes for this blog (well, either of us) and we can both tell you: a clearing of the mind, when you do something as simple as switching up locations for any length of time, does wonders for the soul. It gives you life anew, and there will be a moment, either in the hills of Hollywood or at a bar, in a Hawaiian hut, or whatever...that you realize your life is Gold.
When I look through the music I have, the first thing I associate with it (normal or bizarre) is when I bought it and what I was doing at the time. If forever briefly, the music can take me back to that place, living life and (simultaneously) getting into the songs.
Around this time in 2002, I bought this album.
It is a game of youth, matching lyrics to your current situation. And these were things I likely didn't notice at the time...I was too busy doing some of the activities mentioned above.
From Second Hand Store
So you burned your bridges and headed downstream
Never know until you try
Spent your fortune on riverboat queens
'Til the river ran dry
---------------------
So you keep on following directions until
Pretty soon you passed it
Guess you should've know better and still
It was fun while it lasted
I had just got out of a long, complacent relationship and moved out on my own...and the song refrains "Any Way the Wind Blows." Living and working in Hollywood, I didn't want to move too far, and I found a furnished place at the base of Laurel Canyon, north of Sunset. A perfect place, it was not, but it had a location that couldn't be beat. Easy drive to work, and to the valley to hang with the returning Dillon. I could walk to nearly anywhere on the Strip, which helps if you're drunk. You also don't realize how long you're walking with all the shit going on. The place seemed to find me, and it was (for the most part) good.
From Indian Summer
And it's not as easy as it used to be
Finding time to let my mind wander
I can still hear them calling
Indian Summer
Not that work life was improving, at all. The wheels were spinning, the volume unending. It could've been worse: a "friend" around this time asked me to co-sign a loan for him, so deep in debt...this is what happens when you graduate college and "moving to LA" is the end of the goal. We stopped talking roughly after I turned him down. Did he know how hard I worked to get that cash?
But anytime it would get me down (daily, as it turned out) I could walk around the lot and smile - shit, this was at least progress. Remember when you said you'd be doing this, and your father didn't believe you? Nobody said the line to the top, whatever that is, is straight.
From At the Station
(Not lyrically, but it reminded me of the theme from "Fridays" which is always a plus)
From Tomorrow
Tomorrow, made up my mind
Gonna get busy, come from behind
Today, I'm staying right where I am
Break a few rules, make a few plans
There's thousands of things to keep you from doing
What you want to do
And if isn't this, then it's that
Back where it's at, and you're never through
When the aforementioned things did change, I wanted everything else to...as if life is that much of a switch. Balancing a desire for change is hard if there are moments and things in your life that you want to stay the same. After a while, mentally it seems easy (pushing away the cop-out) to drift back. There's comfort in knowing, but little excitement.
In my new place, I was one dart across the canyon to the hills. And I would wander. My entry was the Chateau Marmont, and on nights the kitchen door would be open, dining room empty. It's a room service kind of place, after all. Many times I passed the ghost of Belushi, and each time he looked out of shape. But we'd nod, and I'd move on.
Up and up I climbed to Hollywood Blvd...an aspect few seem to realize: it's up there, too. A perfect vista route, there was inspiration all around. At the time it seemed like a good walk: peaceful and relaxing. I'd continue to Kings Road, which I'd take back to the Strip and the then-Hyatt House Hotel. Once or twice, on the walk back, I'd see someone I know at a bar's patio. "Hey Trip - did you just walk from up there?" Yeah...(yawn) "I forgot, you just moved. You're in the hills? That's awesome! You want a margarita?"
The album ends with Life's Been Good...no need to go over that ground.
Over and over it goes...but you ask anyone who writes for this blog (well, either of us) and we can both tell you: a clearing of the mind, when you do something as simple as switching up locations for any length of time, does wonders for the soul. It gives you life anew, and there will be a moment, either in the hills of Hollywood or at a bar, in a Hawaiian hut, or whatever...that you realize your life is Gold.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sports in the Heartland, Part "Doof"
Three years ago, Drew wrote a summary of where sports were in the twin farms. The summary wasn't that glowing in full, and now things might be worse. Consider the following flat tires on the mini-van:
> The Minnesota Twins are in the dumper. A year removed from winning the division and legions of fans who devoured the concession wares, the Twins posted the worst record in the American League. Further reports on the blog to your right give the impression the model for which the franchise had been built in the 00's is long busted. I won't pinpoint to what, exactly, is the biggest factor to the fall...I just hope Joe Mauer doesn't have the Hog Flu.
> The Vikings "start" is their worst in 9 years. For those NOT Vikings fans (the majority of this blog's writers) it has been entertaining to watch. All the warning signs were there: retread QB, lack of key position players. Yet, the fanbase continue to chug ahead. Remember: this is a fanbase who knows the Vikings are ready for a Super Bowl dynasty "if they just get the guys they need." True, these 3 losses have been close games, and you don't need to tell ME about close losses. Consider last night's Redskins loss...and the fact that the last 3 trips to Dallas brought a 1 point loss, a 3 point loss, and a 2 point loss.
(Fun Gambling Story: Lazily beginning my Sunday, I see the Vikings game is at halftime and they are up big. Knowing their story, I attempt to place a 2nd half bet for Detroit -4. I receive a missive that the bet I'm trying to make has now changed. It's -4.5. OK, lemme have...that and Detroit 2nd half moneyline. "Your proposed bet has closed." Huh? Halftime didn't end for another five minutes...but the word was out, and heavy coin was being placed on Detroit. Been a long time since that happened. You can guess the result.)
> The University of Minnesota's football team was recently outclassed by North Dakota State. The coach might legally not be elgible to be on the sidelines. Fans and reporters point fingers at everyone but themselves. More in-state recruits hit the bricks. Anticipate U of M-Crookston being added to the schedule in 2013.
> Gathering all relevant reports, the Wolves don't really exist. 4 cans o beans still get you two (2) tickets to a game. I wish them luck, of course. Your reporter received silence on the phone when asked if the town was "ready for the season."
> It would also appear that the Wild fanbase could care less if they achieve success. Sure, they might not attend all dates because Madison and Tanner have their Mite game at 5:00 at the Bloomington Ice Garden, but that's OK. The Wild do seem to make news now and then for illegal hits, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Old time hockey. It's just that when the Stars left, my ability to properly care about the NHL went with them...maybe you know someone who feels the same?
It was one of these rake-ups that led my own mother to say (swimming against the tide of reality - a Minnesota problem if there was one) "How 'bout the Linx?" I apparently misunderstood her, thinking she was making a golf reference. "No, our WNBA team." I laughed, heartily. I laughed AT my own mother...and had to be the person to tell her "If the WNBA is your big highlight right now, does that mean you're no longer following the Viki--" "Oh NO...but they're a good bunch of girls."
That response sent my mind wandering to somewhere else in that state. A truthful yet mythical locale. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen these are the Spring Prairie Homecoming Queens for 2011. A great bunch of gals there. Is it true two of you work at Rosie's Diner? I'll have to stop by and say hello. Line up for da pictures now, girls. What a great bunch of girls. Band practice starts in 10 minutes in the Cafitorium."
The rest of the seasons for the aforementioned teams can't be THAT bad, can they? It won't snow AS much this year, will it? This waistband WILL stretch if needed, right, LuAnn?
> The Minnesota Twins are in the dumper. A year removed from winning the division and legions of fans who devoured the concession wares, the Twins posted the worst record in the American League. Further reports on the blog to your right give the impression the model for which the franchise had been built in the 00's is long busted. I won't pinpoint to what, exactly, is the biggest factor to the fall...I just hope Joe Mauer doesn't have the Hog Flu.
> The Vikings "start" is their worst in 9 years. For those NOT Vikings fans (the majority of this blog's writers) it has been entertaining to watch. All the warning signs were there: retread QB, lack of key position players. Yet, the fanbase continue to chug ahead. Remember: this is a fanbase who knows the Vikings are ready for a Super Bowl dynasty "if they just get the guys they need." True, these 3 losses have been close games, and you don't need to tell ME about close losses. Consider last night's Redskins loss...and the fact that the last 3 trips to Dallas brought a 1 point loss, a 3 point loss, and a 2 point loss.
(Fun Gambling Story: Lazily beginning my Sunday, I see the Vikings game is at halftime and they are up big. Knowing their story, I attempt to place a 2nd half bet for Detroit -4. I receive a missive that the bet I'm trying to make has now changed. It's -4.5. OK, lemme have...that and Detroit 2nd half moneyline. "Your proposed bet has closed." Huh? Halftime didn't end for another five minutes...but the word was out, and heavy coin was being placed on Detroit. Been a long time since that happened. You can guess the result.)
> The University of Minnesota's football team was recently outclassed by North Dakota State. The coach might legally not be elgible to be on the sidelines. Fans and reporters point fingers at everyone but themselves. More in-state recruits hit the bricks. Anticipate U of M-Crookston being added to the schedule in 2013.
> Gathering all relevant reports, the Wolves don't really exist. 4 cans o beans still get you two (2) tickets to a game. I wish them luck, of course. Your reporter received silence on the phone when asked if the town was "ready for the season."
> It would also appear that the Wild fanbase could care less if they achieve success. Sure, they might not attend all dates because Madison and Tanner have their Mite game at 5:00 at the Bloomington Ice Garden, but that's OK. The Wild do seem to make news now and then for illegal hits, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Old time hockey. It's just that when the Stars left, my ability to properly care about the NHL went with them...maybe you know someone who feels the same?
It was one of these rake-ups that led my own mother to say (swimming against the tide of reality - a Minnesota problem if there was one) "How 'bout the Linx?" I apparently misunderstood her, thinking she was making a golf reference. "No, our WNBA team." I laughed, heartily. I laughed AT my own mother...and had to be the person to tell her "If the WNBA is your big highlight right now, does that mean you're no longer following the Viki--" "Oh NO...but they're a good bunch of girls."
That response sent my mind wandering to somewhere else in that state. A truthful yet mythical locale. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen these are the Spring Prairie Homecoming Queens for 2011. A great bunch of gals there. Is it true two of you work at Rosie's Diner? I'll have to stop by and say hello. Line up for da pictures now, girls. What a great bunch of girls. Band practice starts in 10 minutes in the Cafitorium."
The rest of the seasons for the aforementioned teams can't be THAT bad, can they? It won't snow AS much this year, will it? This waistband WILL stretch if needed, right, LuAnn?
Monday, September 12, 2011
But the Earth is all we know
A casual glance makes me seem ambivalent, doesn't it? Shit, maybe I am, but I'm making deals somehow. Just you see. That might be a college football bet coming in. It might be lunch plans with the diplomats from Paraguay. Or, an evening at a swanky nightclub in Santa Monica, which is when I was snapped into an alternate-reality (beyond a congregation of robots) by Smiley.
Dealville surrounds me, but does not envelop anyone. You could tell me you're visiting but lost yourself in a Ross Dress-For-Less off the freeway...and then I'd tell you to get the fuck out as fast as possible. So in said nightclub (outdoors on the deck), when first glance is all anyone gives anyone else, I would advise to find a pocket where people have broken away and are making it happen. Blending in? Worry not, tell them you program "hold" music. You run a puppy spa. You are an accountant for bakeries. They don't give a fuck.
So, I had my entry key to this window of gold. Should I behave myself differently because it's a wedding after-party and I've never met the bride and groom? Of course not! Dance, bullshit, keep an eye on the waitress. Looks like the tab is still going - how polite of these aggressively drunk revelers to include me!
Moments later, the bride was laying on the lap of Smiley and myself. I had to be involved somehow, right? If I didn't hold on to her waist, she would roll on to the floor. So that was her desired position - I would never be able to live with myself to see the photographer take snapshots of her on the floor, no matter the cheerful attitude. There is a photo, somewhere on the east coast, of us as a motley crew. 7 and 7 in hand. Everyone's happy.
"We're visiting from Florida...I love the feel of this town." Hell, you're on your 12th drink - if you still feel that way, I'd consider that a ringing endorsement.
"Really?! I grew up in Coon Rapids. Did you know they wanted to change the name to Rapid City, but they couldn't afford the stationary, so they didn't do it." If that isn't true, it should be.
"I'm in Silver Lake." Wow, very hip. "Yeah...it's..." Maybe another line of questioning, miss?
This went on and on until we made the 2nd (3rd?) goodbye. The glow that you get after a night of sudden fun: is it that you found gold, or is it because gold found you? I slept 10 hours and then woke up and actually said "Oh man...what time is it? Oh - football is on."
Dealville surrounds me, but does not envelop anyone. You could tell me you're visiting but lost yourself in a Ross Dress-For-Less off the freeway...and then I'd tell you to get the fuck out as fast as possible. So in said nightclub (outdoors on the deck), when first glance is all anyone gives anyone else, I would advise to find a pocket where people have broken away and are making it happen. Blending in? Worry not, tell them you program "hold" music. You run a puppy spa. You are an accountant for bakeries. They don't give a fuck.
So, I had my entry key to this window of gold. Should I behave myself differently because it's a wedding after-party and I've never met the bride and groom? Of course not! Dance, bullshit, keep an eye on the waitress. Looks like the tab is still going - how polite of these aggressively drunk revelers to include me!
Moments later, the bride was laying on the lap of Smiley and myself. I had to be involved somehow, right? If I didn't hold on to her waist, she would roll on to the floor. So that was her desired position - I would never be able to live with myself to see the photographer take snapshots of her on the floor, no matter the cheerful attitude. There is a photo, somewhere on the east coast, of us as a motley crew. 7 and 7 in hand. Everyone's happy.
"We're visiting from Florida...I love the feel of this town." Hell, you're on your 12th drink - if you still feel that way, I'd consider that a ringing endorsement.
"Really?! I grew up in Coon Rapids. Did you know they wanted to change the name to Rapid City, but they couldn't afford the stationary, so they didn't do it." If that isn't true, it should be.
"I'm in Silver Lake." Wow, very hip. "Yeah...it's..." Maybe another line of questioning, miss?
This went on and on until we made the 2nd (3rd?) goodbye. The glow that you get after a night of sudden fun: is it that you found gold, or is it because gold found you? I slept 10 hours and then woke up and actually said "Oh man...what time is it? Oh - football is on."
Thursday, August 11, 2011
(Hide comments)
A television personality echoed my own brain last week when he mentioned that reading comments online of ANY kind of story was a waste of time. It's as if you took the can of tuna that's your town and ripped it open to find the most confusing mess of your own fellow citizens. No room in this cab for rational thought. Those of us in Pacific Gold attend summits in Las Vegas and sit in the sportsbook surrounded by "Talk About Its," but these are generally people who confine their opinions to sports. That doesn't make what they do logical or right, of course, but shove those dolts into the "fandom" file and close it.
Lest you forget it wasn't always like this. If you truly had any response to an article, good or bad, you had to write a letter to the editor. 90% were quickly glanced for lobotomy drips...and then tossed. As you look back, this means that millions of articles in multiple publications never experienced a writer's hard work dumped upon by the lonely and absurd. So, let's go back in time and give a completely random collection of news articles their due! (Comments reflect that specific day's response, not current views)
Headline: H.R. Haldeman Dies (11/12/93)
The Story: 4th White House Chief of Staff dies. Key member of Watergate scandal, post-prison saw him as a successful businessman
Comments
Sandy Huddelston: A low point in our country's history. How come Bush's group never got such a deal?
Luis Barry: OMG you're kidding, right? Haldermann totally admitted everything - you can't say he wasn't a patriot. Right or wrong, at least he copped up to it.
SK8ter_dude: Guy was in jail, bro
Headline: The Atlanta Braves' success is nationwide thanks to WTBS (8/9/82)
The story: Ted Turner's "Superstation" is spreading the Braves' fan-base across the country, creating interest (and ratings) along the way with a winning season.
Comments
Paul LoSchiavo: GO BRAVES!!!!!!!1
DZ41982: This is totally unfair. I want to watch my Oakland A's play, and there's more Braves games on. I bought a satellite dish for a lot of reasons, but I can't find my favorite team? I'm pointing toward Satcom 3 - does anyone know if that's right?
DanielD: Whatever, man, Braves are gonna blow it again. Did you even read the article or are you another hillbilly moron?
Headline: Exxon Valdez tanker hits reef, spills oil (3/24/89)
The story: A half-million barrels of crude is now all throughout Prince William Sound.
Comments
Natasha Dailey: Guys, this is devistaating. What is the Red Cross going to do about it???
LI1990: Greenpeace! We have to stop drilling for oil! Our planet needs to survive and we're killing ourselves and animals to do it.
PeterD: Like anyone can prove it!
----------------------------------------------
I think we can agree the "gold" days were nice without em, huh?
Note: What to do if people leave comments to THIS?
Lest you forget it wasn't always like this. If you truly had any response to an article, good or bad, you had to write a letter to the editor. 90% were quickly glanced for lobotomy drips...and then tossed. As you look back, this means that millions of articles in multiple publications never experienced a writer's hard work dumped upon by the lonely and absurd. So, let's go back in time and give a completely random collection of news articles their due! (Comments reflect that specific day's response, not current views)
Headline: H.R. Haldeman Dies (11/12/93)
The Story: 4th White House Chief of Staff dies. Key member of Watergate scandal, post-prison saw him as a successful businessman
Comments
Sandy Huddelston: A low point in our country's history. How come Bush's group never got such a deal?
Luis Barry: OMG you're kidding, right? Haldermann totally admitted everything - you can't say he wasn't a patriot. Right or wrong, at least he copped up to it.
SK8ter_dude: Guy was in jail, bro
Headline: The Atlanta Braves' success is nationwide thanks to WTBS (8/9/82)
The story: Ted Turner's "Superstation" is spreading the Braves' fan-base across the country, creating interest (and ratings) along the way with a winning season.
Comments
Paul LoSchiavo: GO BRAVES!!!!!!!1
DZ41982: This is totally unfair. I want to watch my Oakland A's play, and there's more Braves games on. I bought a satellite dish for a lot of reasons, but I can't find my favorite team? I'm pointing toward Satcom 3 - does anyone know if that's right?
DanielD: Whatever, man, Braves are gonna blow it again. Did you even read the article or are you another hillbilly moron?
Headline: Exxon Valdez tanker hits reef, spills oil (3/24/89)
The story: A half-million barrels of crude is now all throughout Prince William Sound.
Comments
Natasha Dailey: Guys, this is devistaating. What is the Red Cross going to do about it???
LI1990: Greenpeace! We have to stop drilling for oil! Our planet needs to survive and we're killing ourselves and animals to do it.
PeterD: Like anyone can prove it!
----------------------------------------------
I think we can agree the "gold" days were nice without em, huh?
Note: What to do if people leave comments to THIS?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
That's the way it's done
“I’d like to cancel the order. In fact, I have some equipment I’d like to sell.”
I’m almost tempted not to write about the Dodgers, because each day adds a new wrinkle. And wrinkles aren’t the kind of shit that makes anything look better. At first it was the good news: “Slimy” Steve Soboroff has left the team. His role seemed to mainly talk up what a great guy Frank McCourt is to the entire world. He couldn’t find a lot of interested parties and, seeing the financial documents, conveniently left his job…on a Sunday. Remember that, because…
MONDAY, Frank files for bankruptcy. That’s bad. Frank has no money. Bud wisely nixes Frank’s mysterious Fox Sports deal since court documents show Frank planned on taking half the cash from a multi-billion dollar deal and sharing it with his wife. This was, you know, to pay their legal fees. Fees encountered in a divorce proceeding.
The Dodge then hit Minnesota, unknowingly on “Get a hit, get an RBI for free” night. That’s good. Hey, I’ve been there, Twins fans. We were swept by Dusty Baker. We slept knowing the slow process of Bud taking over the team was at hand. But the wheeler-dealer had one more math problem on his sheet.
If you had to choose between these two loans, which would you take?
A. 7% interest, no fee
B. 10% interest, $4.5 million fee
Now, since you are smart, you’ve chosen A. But how good are you at losing money? How good are you at spending money you don’t have? If you are a champion of bleeding money (yours and others), well, you choose B. And you use that as evidence that all is well. Paychecks WILL be sent out on Thursday. No forfeits for the next few weeks! This is a good choice if you are a complete and utter moron. Or, Frank McCourt. Remember this folks, because there will be another “deal” soon, where he’ll save the day by overspending and trying his hardest to show you how he saved!
“Change the Channel”
A recent trip to Las Vegas enlarged a shocking trend. It was the furthering of television show slot machines, and that all of this was at the expense of table games. Want to try “Paradise Poker?” Oh, I bet you don’t like the odds. But check this out, a Password Slot! Match 5 Marty Allen’s in a row and win 16 cents! Who’s Marty Allen? Well, it’s someone whose likeness we got for cheap! Looks like the single deck black jack table is all full again. How about this $50 minimum multi-deck table? Oh, I see you’re a Fantasy fan. Then you’re really going to like this Lord of the Rings slot machine. Can you find the ring? If so, match 3 for the bonus!
Some of this, to me, is sweet justice to casinos. The actual gamblers are avoiding games that are so tilted toward the house it’s not worth it. So, while the high limit folks continue to have their own section, the rest figure they might as well be entertained while losing (or possibly making) money! It’s unnerving, walking past tables with attentive dealers. Checking, and checking again, and again, their chips and cards. They are completely ready. Quietly, they eye the moving clientele.
"What, you’re not good enough for this game? Oh, you’re wondering where the bowling alley is, Megabucks? It’s next to the food court. (sigh) What time do I get off?"
Happy St. Patrick’s Day in June?!
Upon returning, it’s been another cruel start to the summer out here. It’s even crueler near the beach, where I make deals. You’d think that would be idyllic: summertime, beach, and Lowenbrau. But each day in Santa Monica is met with temps and weather fit for March Madness, not summertime gold. By months end, 28 of the 30 days will show below average temps. The average? 72-75 degrees. That might not mean a lot to YOU, but I didn’t buy beer brats and kool-aid because I thought it was March. It’s because it’s fucking SUMMER. Of course, it will be 88 in November, and we’ll rejoice. But is there ever a season where you want it to be what it should be like summer?! Of course not. We gotta heat up. Ah, Potsy’s box o BBQ sauces has arrived. Get that grill going.
I’m almost tempted not to write about the Dodgers, because each day adds a new wrinkle. And wrinkles aren’t the kind of shit that makes anything look better. At first it was the good news: “Slimy” Steve Soboroff has left the team. His role seemed to mainly talk up what a great guy Frank McCourt is to the entire world. He couldn’t find a lot of interested parties and, seeing the financial documents, conveniently left his job…on a Sunday. Remember that, because…
MONDAY, Frank files for bankruptcy. That’s bad. Frank has no money. Bud wisely nixes Frank’s mysterious Fox Sports deal since court documents show Frank planned on taking half the cash from a multi-billion dollar deal and sharing it with his wife. This was, you know, to pay their legal fees. Fees encountered in a divorce proceeding.
The Dodge then hit Minnesota, unknowingly on “Get a hit, get an RBI for free” night. That’s good. Hey, I’ve been there, Twins fans. We were swept by Dusty Baker. We slept knowing the slow process of Bud taking over the team was at hand. But the wheeler-dealer had one more math problem on his sheet.
If you had to choose between these two loans, which would you take?
A. 7% interest, no fee
B. 10% interest, $4.5 million fee
Now, since you are smart, you’ve chosen A. But how good are you at losing money? How good are you at spending money you don’t have? If you are a champion of bleeding money (yours and others), well, you choose B. And you use that as evidence that all is well. Paychecks WILL be sent out on Thursday. No forfeits for the next few weeks! This is a good choice if you are a complete and utter moron. Or, Frank McCourt. Remember this folks, because there will be another “deal” soon, where he’ll save the day by overspending and trying his hardest to show you how he saved!
“Change the Channel”
A recent trip to Las Vegas enlarged a shocking trend. It was the furthering of television show slot machines, and that all of this was at the expense of table games. Want to try “Paradise Poker?” Oh, I bet you don’t like the odds. But check this out, a Password Slot! Match 5 Marty Allen’s in a row and win 16 cents! Who’s Marty Allen? Well, it’s someone whose likeness we got for cheap! Looks like the single deck black jack table is all full again. How about this $50 minimum multi-deck table? Oh, I see you’re a Fantasy fan. Then you’re really going to like this Lord of the Rings slot machine. Can you find the ring? If so, match 3 for the bonus!
Some of this, to me, is sweet justice to casinos. The actual gamblers are avoiding games that are so tilted toward the house it’s not worth it. So, while the high limit folks continue to have their own section, the rest figure they might as well be entertained while losing (or possibly making) money! It’s unnerving, walking past tables with attentive dealers. Checking, and checking again, and again, their chips and cards. They are completely ready. Quietly, they eye the moving clientele.
"What, you’re not good enough for this game? Oh, you’re wondering where the bowling alley is, Megabucks? It’s next to the food court. (sigh) What time do I get off?"
Happy St. Patrick’s Day in June?!
Upon returning, it’s been another cruel start to the summer out here. It’s even crueler near the beach, where I make deals. You’d think that would be idyllic: summertime, beach, and Lowenbrau. But each day in Santa Monica is met with temps and weather fit for March Madness, not summertime gold. By months end, 28 of the 30 days will show below average temps. The average? 72-75 degrees. That might not mean a lot to YOU, but I didn’t buy beer brats and kool-aid because I thought it was March. It’s because it’s fucking SUMMER. Of course, it will be 88 in November, and we’ll rejoice. But is there ever a season where you want it to be what it should be like summer?! Of course not. We gotta heat up. Ah, Potsy’s box o BBQ sauces has arrived. Get that grill going.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Looking backwards
(editor's note: recently we received a bundle of old ticket stubs and newspaper clippings from Western Wisconsin without a return address. A note inside indicated "This autta (sic) give you guys some idea of what we're talkin bout. Don't trust a Holy Roller! Truthfully, Dee Louis" We've scanned and posted the safe-for-work version of the clippings)
So, this happened. In what was my first trip to The Meadows, we decided that we had definitely gambled enough and were now in the mood to watch D-talent football players fall down without tackling. The final score of this game was 12-9. All field goals. And there were like 10 misses in there too.
We did get to drive through the absolute armpit of Las Vegas to get out to the stadium though, so all was not lost.
That's Wayne Terwilliger's autograph. He'll outlive us all.
"Hey man, you know where I can cash this? Better yet, you got 60 cents for the bus?"
What would happen if I brought this back now? They probably wouldn't bat an eye. What's the oldest one of these you think they've accepted at the Plaza? There has to have been a bum out there who found a winning Keno ticket from like 1967 who brought it to the cashier and she didn't even flinch.
The color coding. The "to do" list (note that "Get Up" is on there). The commentary ("Isiah vs. Larry, I wonder who will win"). The analysis. It's all here folks. The main nerve of Las Vegas.
.
Let's take a small break.
Phones. Come and get em.
Nope.
Sports! Brought to you by cigarettes.
Pro-tip: If you look like you're in the first stage of a world-class goiter, you might want to avoid posing for a picture holding a sausage link. And Brent, if you are a grown-ass man with braces, you might want to just dial the smiles down until you see the orthodontist.
I'll pass.
So, this happened. In what was my first trip to The Meadows, we decided that we had definitely gambled enough and were now in the mood to watch D-talent football players fall down without tackling. The final score of this game was 12-9. All field goals. And there were like 10 misses in there too.
We did get to drive through the absolute armpit of Las Vegas to get out to the stadium though, so all was not lost.
That's Wayne Terwilliger's autograph. He'll outlive us all.
"Hey man, you know where I can cash this? Better yet, you got 60 cents for the bus?"
What would happen if I brought this back now? They probably wouldn't bat an eye. What's the oldest one of these you think they've accepted at the Plaza? There has to have been a bum out there who found a winning Keno ticket from like 1967 who brought it to the cashier and she didn't even flinch.
The color coding. The "to do" list (note that "Get Up" is on there). The commentary ("Isiah vs. Larry, I wonder who will win"). The analysis. It's all here folks. The main nerve of Las Vegas.
.
Let's take a small break.
Pro-tip: If you look like you're in the first stage of a world-class goiter, you might want to avoid posing for a picture holding a sausage link. And Brent, if you are a grown-ass man with braces, you might want to just dial the smiles down until you see the orthodontist.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Take my team, please
Picture this: you're broke (oh, that's a stretch). Long ago they stopped taking the NPR membership money from your checking because it was giving you overdraft fits. You've gone down the ladder and ended up permanently at Aldi. The bus don't charge insurance. Within this situation, would you buy a t-shirt with your favorite sports logo on it? If you said yes, is it because it would make you feel good? That part of the price would go to boosting the team, possibly giving them enough money to sign that big free agent, the one last piece to push the team over the top? Would you go to sleep at night like The Gambler, convinced you had broke even, and that you were now emotionally AND financially invested in The Team?
Are you the Governor of Minnesota?
In 20 years every team is going to be Green Bay. They'll sell it to the communities in different ways.... but civic ownership will be widespread. They'll put a stadium in Lilydale or whatever, and the conditions will dictate that the "people" will own the team. Of course, the "people" will then elect their leaders to run the administrative functions (so they can get back to watching GREENWAY!), and the wool will go over the eyes. They'll sell "shares" or whatever, and Keith of Keith's Kettle will be first in line to plunk down 250 dollars a pop, so that they can hang it in a frame in the basement with their PBR taps and the drum set that has to stay in the closet. We'll monetize our pride, and the guys will really feel like "our guys". Everyone will have a team, and they'll pass the championships around like a turkey leg. Everyone gits a bite.
All of the sports are capitalist to various degrees, but for the first time ever, they've been able to convince Dumb Mouthbreath that they indeed are doing it all for him. That's the perfect marriage with politics - the grand idea that a rich, famous, handsome man has the interest of a fat, lazy slob in mind when he makes decisions in his life. "I'm on your side, union workers!" he says, as he eats a meal that costs more than 2 months rent in the Marcy Holmes neighborhood. And we all buy it, because we're very very dim. "Hey, that guy fights for the little man!" Yeah, he learned to fight for the little man at YALE.
It makes sense, then, to fight this war in the public arena, as though a mass of people in the United States has ever been able to exact any kind of change other than general social adjustments. "If we show up to this rally, perhaps they'll keep the team in Arden Hills!" Yeah, except not. They'll bring these battles, be they Labor or Stadium, out to the public square and let everyone Talk About It. Then, at the end of the night, the cigars will be lit with hundred dollar bills and Deals will be made. The rally-goers? Back home for CBS' Monday Night Bonanza. Ah, order.
I suppose it's a tricky position to convince people that they aren't as dumb as they are. It's got to be a terrifying position... prop up the ignorance of sports fans who believe that by spending money on things, they will be a part of it (Hey, I own alternative energy stock, does that get me to the front of the line when they launch the ships for a Colder Earth?). But that's our world. Take someone's money, tell them they've done a Good Thing, and cash that fucking check with the quickness.
It's simple. If you drive between Minneapolis and St. Paul, your car will likely be ruined due to the immense amount of potholes. The pavement buckles and splits constantly due to 6 months of the year being frozen, and a month of days filled with 18 hours of sun. So, when it comes time to dole out money to fix these various roads and civic projects, I suppose it makes perfect sense to spend hundreds of millions of dollars to upgrade the roads leading to and from the proposed stadium site in Arden Hills (a city I became aware of 2 months ago). Just double it down, invest it all in the team, hoping to holy hell that we'll be able to celebrate a championship like the New Orleans Saints and that will make us forget, if even for a moment, that we live in hell. That's what we're aiming for.
So please, fair Gold patrons, come and take this team. Put these people out of their misery. Wrench it from their plump hands so that they can wake up in the morning and not think about what Ben Leber is having for breakfast. Maybe we can get back to life for awhile, and then in 10 years you can bring back the Minnesota Wilderness, or whatever.
We need a break. We need the money.
Are you the Governor of Minnesota?
In 20 years every team is going to be Green Bay. They'll sell it to the communities in different ways.... but civic ownership will be widespread. They'll put a stadium in Lilydale or whatever, and the conditions will dictate that the "people" will own the team. Of course, the "people" will then elect their leaders to run the administrative functions (so they can get back to watching GREENWAY!), and the wool will go over the eyes. They'll sell "shares" or whatever, and Keith of Keith's Kettle will be first in line to plunk down 250 dollars a pop, so that they can hang it in a frame in the basement with their PBR taps and the drum set that has to stay in the closet. We'll monetize our pride, and the guys will really feel like "our guys". Everyone will have a team, and they'll pass the championships around like a turkey leg. Everyone gits a bite.
All of the sports are capitalist to various degrees, but for the first time ever, they've been able to convince Dumb Mouthbreath that they indeed are doing it all for him. That's the perfect marriage with politics - the grand idea that a rich, famous, handsome man has the interest of a fat, lazy slob in mind when he makes decisions in his life. "I'm on your side, union workers!" he says, as he eats a meal that costs more than 2 months rent in the Marcy Holmes neighborhood. And we all buy it, because we're very very dim. "Hey, that guy fights for the little man!" Yeah, he learned to fight for the little man at YALE.
It makes sense, then, to fight this war in the public arena, as though a mass of people in the United States has ever been able to exact any kind of change other than general social adjustments. "If we show up to this rally, perhaps they'll keep the team in Arden Hills!" Yeah, except not. They'll bring these battles, be they Labor or Stadium, out to the public square and let everyone Talk About It. Then, at the end of the night, the cigars will be lit with hundred dollar bills and Deals will be made. The rally-goers? Back home for CBS' Monday Night Bonanza. Ah, order.
I suppose it's a tricky position to convince people that they aren't as dumb as they are. It's got to be a terrifying position... prop up the ignorance of sports fans who believe that by spending money on things, they will be a part of it (Hey, I own alternative energy stock, does that get me to the front of the line when they launch the ships for a Colder Earth?). But that's our world. Take someone's money, tell them they've done a Good Thing, and cash that fucking check with the quickness.
It's simple. If you drive between Minneapolis and St. Paul, your car will likely be ruined due to the immense amount of potholes. The pavement buckles and splits constantly due to 6 months of the year being frozen, and a month of days filled with 18 hours of sun. So, when it comes time to dole out money to fix these various roads and civic projects, I suppose it makes perfect sense to spend hundreds of millions of dollars to upgrade the roads leading to and from the proposed stadium site in Arden Hills (a city I became aware of 2 months ago). Just double it down, invest it all in the team, hoping to holy hell that we'll be able to celebrate a championship like the New Orleans Saints and that will make us forget, if even for a moment, that we live in hell. That's what we're aiming for.
So please, fair Gold patrons, come and take this team. Put these people out of their misery. Wrench it from their plump hands so that they can wake up in the morning and not think about what Ben Leber is having for breakfast. Maybe we can get back to life for awhile, and then in 10 years you can bring back the Minnesota Wilderness, or whatever.
We need a break. We need the money.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Nothing to Lose
At that age (like now) I had the slim look…likely should have “bulked up,” (as my father wanted me to do)but it beat being fat. The girl was the opposite of me…and whatever “weight” she had was up top, above the stomach. Plans those days were simply a cover to parents. You had to give an indication that you were going to do something. This was pointless. I wasn’t going to give them the truth, and I did and didn’t know what would happen.
We’d get in the car and drive…drive to the point that we were “nowhere.” That’s when it began. Maybe we thought this was a blank canvas. It could happen during the day, but it was better after dark. It was summer, and it was warm. It was sensational.
This was no courtship, or jewelry bound relationship. We both knew this, but we never spoke of it. Looking back, it seems we both knew that if we DID say something it would ruin the whole deal. But we were of that age, when you claim “nothing” is going on. A window of life; early maturity, when you know what you’re doing and why, and loving the freedom. She and I did this often, never knowing where we’d start, but knowing where we’d end. Sounds impersonal, but it wasn’t. I got mine, she got hers…we were happy. The boredom, bullshit from the parents, it was all wasting away. And all this…during the summer. To a northern boy, it wouldn’t be the same otherwise.
Weeks went by…lost in this shuffle and haze. There was one of those summer rainstorms that keep you up, or hoping you’d closed the windows. I heard a big clap and then thought to myself “I wonder if that is by her house.” Then it hit me: I was caring…even at some minor level I was concerned when we made an unspoken bond we wouldn’t.
And there I sat, thinking I could do all this “no stress.” What did it matter to me? It wouldn’t be a big deal either way, right? I wonder what she really thinks. Summer is almost ending.
What did I know at that moment? What I wanted to know took the summertime to find out. Hell, look at me remembering this. Growing up.
We’d get in the car and drive…drive to the point that we were “nowhere.” That’s when it began. Maybe we thought this was a blank canvas. It could happen during the day, but it was better after dark. It was summer, and it was warm. It was sensational.
This was no courtship, or jewelry bound relationship. We both knew this, but we never spoke of it. Looking back, it seems we both knew that if we DID say something it would ruin the whole deal. But we were of that age, when you claim “nothing” is going on. A window of life; early maturity, when you know what you’re doing and why, and loving the freedom. She and I did this often, never knowing where we’d start, but knowing where we’d end. Sounds impersonal, but it wasn’t. I got mine, she got hers…we were happy. The boredom, bullshit from the parents, it was all wasting away. And all this…during the summer. To a northern boy, it wouldn’t be the same otherwise.
Weeks went by…lost in this shuffle and haze. There was one of those summer rainstorms that keep you up, or hoping you’d closed the windows. I heard a big clap and then thought to myself “I wonder if that is by her house.” Then it hit me: I was caring…even at some minor level I was concerned when we made an unspoken bond we wouldn’t.
And there I sat, thinking I could do all this “no stress.” What did it matter to me? It wouldn’t be a big deal either way, right? I wonder what she really thinks. Summer is almost ending.
What did I know at that moment? What I wanted to know took the summertime to find out. Hell, look at me remembering this. Growing up.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Foul Balls
So, our beloved Bums are now "owned" by Major League Baseball. Or is it "controlled?" "Making decisions?" Whatever the phrase, it is the beginning of a step in the right direction. Slimey McSlime is slowly on his way out, facing a very tough future. His business deals, shady as the day is long...his wife, who only seemed to be married to him if it helped her own bottom line...the houses, bought high (in value and in total) and sitting low. But my favorite: Owning land...creating a new company..."selling" the land to the new company...then PAYING RENT to it. It's something you still own, but you create something else to support.
This, while the parking lot gets sketchy.
Questions to consider:
Are there Dodger fans who were L.A. Raiders fans? Of course.
Did the L.A. Raiders fans become Dodgers fans once the team moved back north? Possibly.
Did that mentality of the fans in the stands slowly turn Raiders? Not really.
Is the parking lot a clusterfuck, enraging even the saintly? Absolutely.
Since the divorce trial, Slimey has taken a very hands-off approach. He's seen less frequently, and heard from even less than that. It took a week for Slimey to acknowledge a Giants fan beaten by the "gang mentality" (LAPD's words) and it appeared Slimey was most concerned with how it would cost him money. Money he doesn't have, ironically.
In a very USFL move, Slimey took out a loan from Fox Sports to give the organization the April paychecks. Good PR move. With the prospect of a stadium 1/4th full...fans scared to go to games in person, and an owner who can't foot the bill for the all-you-can-eat section, MLB did the right thing. All Dodger fans I know (and those who aren't) like the change.
Who doesn't? McSlime loyalists, such as Steve Soboroff. None of this was really his business until, just as this deal went down, McSlime hired Soboroff to become "Vice Chairman." (Hey - that was his wife's old job!) One of his duties is to "improve the fan experience" which (as of now) means "not getting knifed in parking lot J." In his latest "interview" to the LA Times, Soboroff included these gems:
On Slimey McSlime:
"[He's] a different person now moving forward."
On why he's the right man for the job:
"I don't drink. I don't use drugs. I don't use steroids."
Let's just do a block quote from the story because holy SHIT:
On Commissioner Bud Selig: "What did the commissioner of baseball do? He increased the value, he increased revenue lines. He did all kinds of great things for baseball. If you read his Wikipedia and you read Frank's Wikipedia, they ain't too different."
Reading between the lines of all Gofuckoff stated shows 1 thing: his concern is for Slimey McSlime. The Dodgers? Well...yeah, but you know, my pal Slimey will be just fine. (Anyone else sensing under the table money?) Meanwhile, the future is completely unknown for the team going forward. Setting the scorecard, you have a 1st time 1st-year manager leading a team of players...the majority of which are new to the organization. And who are the 3 right now at the top?
Bud Selig
Slimey McSlime
Steve Soboroff, who's been on the job less than a week, and has no experience. (He doesn't seem too concerned about the team, either)
Our beloved Dodge are fucked. Tommy! Big Pisan! Save us!
This, while the parking lot gets sketchy.
Questions to consider:
Are there Dodger fans who were L.A. Raiders fans? Of course.
Did the L.A. Raiders fans become Dodgers fans once the team moved back north? Possibly.
Did that mentality of the fans in the stands slowly turn Raiders? Not really.
Is the parking lot a clusterfuck, enraging even the saintly? Absolutely.
Since the divorce trial, Slimey has taken a very hands-off approach. He's seen less frequently, and heard from even less than that. It took a week for Slimey to acknowledge a Giants fan beaten by the "gang mentality" (LAPD's words) and it appeared Slimey was most concerned with how it would cost him money. Money he doesn't have, ironically.
In a very USFL move, Slimey took out a loan from Fox Sports to give the organization the April paychecks. Good PR move. With the prospect of a stadium 1/4th full...fans scared to go to games in person, and an owner who can't foot the bill for the all-you-can-eat section, MLB did the right thing. All Dodger fans I know (and those who aren't) like the change.
Who doesn't? McSlime loyalists, such as Steve Soboroff. None of this was really his business until, just as this deal went down, McSlime hired Soboroff to become "Vice Chairman." (Hey - that was his wife's old job!) One of his duties is to "improve the fan experience" which (as of now) means "not getting knifed in parking lot J." In his latest "interview" to the LA Times, Soboroff included these gems:
On Slimey McSlime:
"[He's] a different person now moving forward."
On why he's the right man for the job:
"I don't drink. I don't use drugs. I don't use steroids."
Let's just do a block quote from the story because holy SHIT:
On Commissioner Bud Selig: "What did the commissioner of baseball do? He increased the value, he increased revenue lines. He did all kinds of great things for baseball. If you read his Wikipedia and you read Frank's Wikipedia, they ain't too different."
Reading between the lines of all Gofuckoff stated shows 1 thing: his concern is for Slimey McSlime. The Dodgers? Well...yeah, but you know, my pal Slimey will be just fine. (Anyone else sensing under the table money?) Meanwhile, the future is completely unknown for the team going forward. Setting the scorecard, you have a 1st time 1st-year manager leading a team of players...the majority of which are new to the organization. And who are the 3 right now at the top?
Bud Selig
Slimey McSlime
Steve Soboroff, who's been on the job less than a week, and has no experience. (He doesn't seem too concerned about the team, either)
Our beloved Dodge are fucked. Tommy! Big Pisan! Save us!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Happiest Days of Our Lives
(Editor’s Note: In a March, 1980 edition of the now defunct L.A. Reader, the newspaper devoted an issue to “L.A. Youth: The 1980s.” Trip Darvez was assigned the aspect of parties, and wrote this story)
The biggest struggle of this undertaking, and the largest obstacle I have in completing this assignment, is the ability to blend in. Normally this is not a concern, but the last thing I wanted was each group that enters to say “Who the fuck is that guy?” As you’ll see, my worries were wasted time.
Instead of doing the lazy thing (buying them beer) I spent approximately 2 days hanging out at various teen spots (you likely know some) and was quickly informed of a party that would suit the story…I was invited by someone who was already going, and was given the address. Good enough.
“Man, you know how much that fucker cost?” Bill was pointing to a keg that was sitting in a sink, with the ice already on its way down the drain. Before I could even ask how they lifted a full keg into a sink and not break anything, I was interrupted. “Michelob one is in the bathtub and going.” Gary, who invited me to this party, was drinking from a Ronald McDonald glass. I attempt to tap the sink keg, which is Grensquell. A steady foam stream ends up in the CSUN mug I find in the cabinet. “Jessica goes to that shithole.”
Randy, resident of the house: “Guys…just be careful in here. I just found a vase that broke by the stairs.”
Bill: Why does your mom put flowers on the staircase?
Nothing is really different in 1980. They are listening to Pink Floyd on the stereo, there are couples going at in the bedrooms upstairs, there is a girl crying in the living room, and a stream of high school students roll through like a slow moving train. The whole purpose of this night was a drinking contest, and one brand was bought on the theory it had higher alcohol content. But one of the contestants has yet to show, and the other is in the backyard, smoking a joint. He was silent on this bet until he returned with a full glass of beer.
“Fuck them. I know I can drink more, but it’s just because we had a party at my place and I was in the pool drinking the brandy from Mike’s liquor cabinet. They couldn’t stand it, but we don’t have beer. (laughs) My dad would seriously shit if he saw me drinking his beer.”
My “conversation” was being drowned out by two girls complaining about a guy. We both ended up roped into it. “I told him I wanted to go to the Chart House. If he wanted to be serious, that’s what couples do. Be he says ‘I want us to have fun.’” This was supposed to be a big point, I could tell, but it was met with silence. I went to freshen up my beer. As I walked away, I heard the other girl say “well, did you tell him he had to pay for it?”
Every time the song came up, someone would cheer and then repeat “We don’t need no education.” Wanting a comparison, I went upstairs and checked out the other keg. It was still there, but the bathroom was nearing “truck stop” in ambience. I wandered about…one room was smoky, the master bedroom…you can guess…the rest were politely untouched. I wondered how this happened considering the deteriorating look of the ground floor. Or maybe everyone was lazy.
When you’re this age even the routine is an expansion. I know of plenty who’ve attempted to return to “Happy Days” of their own life. Whether they were Richie or Potsy, life was simple. Wasn’t it? Of course it wasn’t, but it seems simple now. “Have you ever seen Bill’s dad?” (An out of control executive of a grocery store chain, according to the teller) “Bill said something like ‘shut up’ or something to him, and he took his plate of food, threw it into the kitchen and said ‘finish your dinner.’ What a dick!”
A collection of empty beer cans (brought by some enterprising students) sat inside the stove. I catch Randy look at this out of the corner of my eye, and he does not look good. He comes into the living room to say to no one in particular “Were you guys in the upstairs bathroom?” Of course we were…the keg is up there…but we all say no. “Someone took the pills…they’re to help my dad’s ulcers!” He has the look of a man who knows his fate. But he’s a kid, and it’s life’s becoming real much too late.
I did exercise my wisdom once, when I told a gang that it wasn’t wise to drink in the front yard – if they cops show up, they’ll get you first. I was rewarded with a warm beer. As with before, teens have their own problems, and just like then, they are dealing with it in the same way. When I left the party, there were groups laughing, once guy passed out on the steps, the crying girl eventually got over it and started dancing with someone else. An attempt to make grilled cheese was put out by the foam of the sink keg. All these years later, I was proud to report that very little had changed.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Hollywood Does It Again
Do the residents of Hollywood & neighborhoods to the south enjoy...
Seeing neighborhood business get the shaft for chain stores?
Watching high rise hotels misplace residents in the name of "jobs"?
1-hour parking meters on Weekend Nights, with pay lots where free parking used to reign?
If so, they must, because yesterday they chose to re-elect Tom "I can charge for that" LaBonge to the LA City council. In a move that stunned your writer, Tom will be around for another term for more ways to completely destroy Hollywood, cutting any personality a neighborhood has, and succumbing to every whim of Big Business.
Does this mean he's completely careless to the Hollywood citizen? Not completely...potholes get filled...street lights get replaced. That's a broad example, but the basic nuts and bolts shouldn't be a difficulty. But citizens don't drop big bucks to build anything...and once the W Hotel was shoved in at Hollywood and Vine (written in this blog back in 2006) Tom wanted to make sure the owners, not citizens were happy. $$$$ is the answer.
"We don't do that"
-Tom, after finding out the LAPD was giving tickets for parking at broken city meters. Tell that to the people who have to pay the bullshit ticket! This was a couple months after Tom voted against a 4-month moratorium on rent increases in his district.
When Tom ran in 2007, it was unopposed (!) and with no competition, it made Tom think he had a blank check for bullshit. As the construction was going on, Tom continued to follow Antonio's plan for cutting the budget for each library in the district. THEN, when the ballot measure of increased library funding comes around, he supports that. So, is he against the kind of bullshit he passes? Sure, but no one in his district seems to care.
"Remember the gas lines under President Carter? Odd and Even? I couldn't follow that."
-Tom on a proposed odd and even watering only rule from the DWP during drought conditions.
I could go on...and on...but why should I? We have more years of Tom and his zany LA City Council escapades! Way to go!
Seeing neighborhood business get the shaft for chain stores?
Watching high rise hotels misplace residents in the name of "jobs"?
1-hour parking meters on Weekend Nights, with pay lots where free parking used to reign?
If so, they must, because yesterday they chose to re-elect Tom "I can charge for that" LaBonge to the LA City council. In a move that stunned your writer, Tom will be around for another term for more ways to completely destroy Hollywood, cutting any personality a neighborhood has, and succumbing to every whim of Big Business.
Does this mean he's completely careless to the Hollywood citizen? Not completely...potholes get filled...street lights get replaced. That's a broad example, but the basic nuts and bolts shouldn't be a difficulty. But citizens don't drop big bucks to build anything...and once the W Hotel was shoved in at Hollywood and Vine (written in this blog back in 2006) Tom wanted to make sure the owners, not citizens were happy. $$$$ is the answer.
"We don't do that"
-Tom, after finding out the LAPD was giving tickets for parking at broken city meters. Tell that to the people who have to pay the bullshit ticket! This was a couple months after Tom voted against a 4-month moratorium on rent increases in his district.
When Tom ran in 2007, it was unopposed (!) and with no competition, it made Tom think he had a blank check for bullshit. As the construction was going on, Tom continued to follow Antonio's plan for cutting the budget for each library in the district. THEN, when the ballot measure of increased library funding comes around, he supports that. So, is he against the kind of bullshit he passes? Sure, but no one in his district seems to care.
"Remember the gas lines under President Carter? Odd and Even? I couldn't follow that."
-Tom on a proposed odd and even watering only rule from the DWP during drought conditions.
I could go on...and on...but why should I? We have more years of Tom and his zany LA City Council escapades! Way to go!
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