In your childhood memories, there's space for lease

There's no going back.  Even if you could, you can't do it.  (And, on second thought, if you really could, you'd be stuck)  Time passes on, and that is a good thing.  Except for an apparently large segment of the population, life and society and public spaces, they evolve and change...and it's good.  It's good because the future brings new things...

But when I am back in Minnesota?  It's a balance.  It's looking at (and searching for) the new, but really wanting to hit what's still behind, to think back to a time...no specific time, it shifts by location.  I wrote over a decade ago (sheesh...well, on second thought, that sounds about right) about how all the old haunts were disappearing.  There was less and less pull to return, or so I thought.  There were new places to discover, of course, but even those around me felt put on the spot when I suggested "a new place."

If I can find anything that ties to the swank days (and, on top of that, a touchstone of my youth) it's enough for a visit.  Upon arrival it was easy to have the run of the joint because...well, unlike decades ago, I had the run of the joint.  Not that there was an abundance of reasons for anyone else to show up.

It wasn't that the mall was truly empty.  At least I don't think so...there were a lot of cars...but a lot of open stores.  A LOT.  Either the landlord is looking for a ton of cash (more than it's actual value)...I suppose that's one end of the spectrum.  Whatever the other end has to be here.  I looked left and right, and I was the only one around.  I walked from one end to the center...and still, no one arrived.

I'm not the quickest draw...in no way was I expecting anything to be the same.  The curiosity was more on how it evolved.  Apparently, I was the only one who cared.

It was very grown up to leave the house without supervision.  You went in the back entrance (where teens smoked stuff known and unknown, and you walked past them, making you just as cool).  You could go to the right, and amble down there, just either walk or check out a few places.  Well...Great Clips, here all these years later.  How about that.  In the 80s, a large video store arrived.  I know it made it through the 90s...it's where I found Incoming Freshmen, a drive-in movie that stunned people for years.

There's still a restaurant on the end, a "brewpub" now (of course).  Remember the old place with those amazing homemade cookies?  They were huge!  (sigh)

So I headed back to the other end, seeing that action near the liquor store and supermarket was still there.  As placeholders, that hasn't changed after decades.  The rest...well, here's a place.  A spa.  I think that was a bike shop.  And it had been a computer store too, I think.  A girl who worked there walked out, talking to someone on the phone about a much more interesting topic.  I was walking the other way, anticipating a look of "how'd a person get in here?" but I was allowed my memory lane haze.

There's a hardware store now (in a strip mall, unusual) inside.  Heh..."now," like I'd know.  I could wander in there, but I don't really need anything.  I felt glad it was there, though I have no idea why.

That night, post-meal with relatives, we started talking of the origins of the legendary Tailgate Dip...and then how the specific Tailgate itself came to be...an interesting and hilarious tale of the "old days" and a lot of drinking and an era of just going for it.  These were college kids and adults.  The college kids, some of them (in their late 50s now) are still around.  Most of the adults are long gone.  To a child, the adults were amazing people: men who looked older than they were, who seemed to be in the middle of the party 24/7 no matter the location.  The conversation took a lull and I couldn't help but feeling a combination of melancholy and "well, that's how it goes."

So, the day of leaving, told that the Old Dutch chips would be shipped to you as a taste of the "old country" (read: oh no they won't), I started to reconcile that I just wanted the old neighborhood to do well...as it did by me 30 years ago.

But when I left the mall, I thought "beyond the people that own this place, I'm the only one who cares."  But if I came back next time and it was long gone...would I really get bent out of shape?  No.  I don't live there, no one I know lives right by there.

The memories would be in tact.  The photos would remain.  Isn't that it, the sum of its parts?  An amalgamation of cherry-picked moments to cover the mundane, stresses, strife and abuse that was real life?

That a very real, tangible thing still stands to send me back...a very thing that, in 2019, doesn't have a website.  Well there you go - it really is 198x, or whatever, and it's my domain.

In Search Of...Potsy

(swanky synth plays)

Leonard Nimoy: In 2018, legendary gambling and eating icon Potsy was seen in Southern California.  There, his life a near secret, he seemingly vanished from all scenes.  Time went on, and the absence stunned those professionals and amateurs in his circles.  Since that time, unlike such legends as Bigfoot and The Abominable Snowman, there has yet to be a sighting.  This is Leonard Nimoy.  Join me as we go In Search Of...Potsy.

Narrator: This series presents information based in part on theory and conjecture. The producer's purpose is to suggest some possible explanations, but not necessarily the only ones, to the mysteries we will examine.

(different swanky synth plays)

Leonard Nimoy: The many characters of Las Vegas, and the effects that spill into other cities, tend to focus toward crime.  But those who are part of what said characters call The Dance feature just as many intriguing personalities.  One such personality, Potsy, had been known throughout the shores of North America.

Leonard Nimoy: What distinguishes these characters from the casual gambler, casual eater, or both, is the fervent need to find places known and, to the layman, unknown, to achieve satisfaction.  To them, successes and failures blend together over a period of decades...perhaps even a lifetime.

Leonard Nimoy: A recluse who wishes to remain so yet maintain the opulent lifestyle might stay at a swanky hotel such as this resort.  For someone established, the action comes to them.  Yet for many, a character such as Potsy tended to drift toward the action.  Such a pattern makes his disappearance all the more baffling to experts and fellow degenerates alike.

Leonard Nimoy: The study of such phenomenon, specifically in the living world, is not unique to academia.  Yet it's here at UC San Diego, in the famed Geisel Library, where the research of Potsy's whereabouts began.  That it was a university nearest his previous sighting was the largest reason for location.  We spoke with Professor of Social Behaviors, Dr. Torsten.

Dr. Torsten: The behavioral pattern of the degenerate, though however unsavory, is one that as researchers we feel we can identify through our work.  Here, this is a completely different case.  All of the usual locations turn up nothing.  It's a topic that confounds us for many reasons, not the least of which is the perception that a degenerate can completely change.  That's never been seen or recorded, because even in instances where the gambling may become problematic, the dining aspects remain the same.  That's not the case with Potsy.

Lenoard Nimoy: The motivation of Potsy has been attempted to be discerned ever since.  Is it a fear of gambling-created enemies, living or dead?  It is ironic, that a degenerate's motivation to disappear supersedes that of what we know of a degenerate.

Dr. Torsten: There are aspects of life that even someone at, say, their low ebb, can't avoid.  And even so, you can't even say 'well, look at it like setting up a trap.'  That is useless in this situation, because we're talking about someone who can simply glance at the day's lineup at Aqueduct or the line of a Big Sky basketball game, and make a move like we blink an eye.

Leonard Nimoy: When communication slowly faded, few were aware of how the future would play out.  The first locations searched were those where he'd been seen.  As far back as a decade ago, researches wondered if, like a deer returning to a salt lick, the search would be simple, and swift.

Leonard Nimoy: Though anyone who has ever walked through a casino floor or wandered through a sportsbook is all too aware of a constant movement of people, men often hiding in plain sight.  While this may not be the intention of many, it makes the searching all the more difficult.

Leonard Nimoy: Searching a hotel, from garish lobby to the many stories of suites, smoking and non-smoking, is an endless task.  No more successful than searching for a person on the street from 8 floors above.

Dr. Torsten: It was established that there was no sighting at the major casinos.  And in that moment. I felt it was the quickest, surest way to know this was going to be a problem that was immense...that we may never get through.  He was an off the strip man, so that's the next step, though it has to be said we felt, and I can speak for myself, inside...that this was futile.  I was optimistic, but all too aware of the reality.

Dr. Torsten: The motel manager, particularly the night manager, is used to inquiry, and even confrontation.  If you're the law, he or she will help you.  But if you're an academic, if you're curious about a guest's whereabouts, and the guest isn't causing any trouble, then you're at the end of the road.  It was at this point that we felt lost, that this was the rare case that was unsolved.

Leonard Nimoy: The terminology that has been used in some circles may even sound of that of a policeman, looking for clues of a crime.  But no crime has been committed here...only that of defying logic.  It is precisely that shattered logic that baffles scientists, researchers, even fellow degenerates.

The Message: TOLD Y'ALL!  Y'ALL AIN'T GONNA FIND HIM.  Y'ALL KEEP LOOKIN' BUT...WHO WE TALKIN' BOUT?

Leonard Nimoy: It was here, at this fast food restaurant, that Potsy was last seen by the outside world.

Leonard Nimoy: A man who seemingly never had his fill would do well to dine at an establishment with affordable prices.  But whether it was the food, the location, or the jolly sign, Potsy was drawn to this establishment before moving on.  And yet the question remains: to what?  And why?  And, most importantly, where.

(swanky synth plays)

Leonard Nimoy: In Search Of...cameras are traveling the world, seeking out the great mysteries.  This program was the result of the work of scientists, researchers, and group of highly skilled technicians.

Don't Call it Love When You're Talking To Me

It was well into the "shank" of the evening (if you will).  People were slowly drifting away, or breaking away.

This went for the guest of honor as well.  The cool nighttime ocean breeze was wafting through, and with fewer guests, the fire seemed like a good enough place for some private conversation.

How do you feel about 42?
42 what?
Well, you know, years.
It depends.  How do you feel?
I feel betrayed!
Oh, really?
Well, you know, they say, whoever they are, that life begins at 40.  And I spent the last 2 years realizing they've been lying through their teeth.
You know, I think the last 2 years have been rather good.
That's because you're 38.
Keep your voice down.
Oh!

Some guests came by to say goodnight, and in a way it was perfect timing.  Up to get more wine, desperate to keep the party going...even in this slower state, if that meant reality wouldn't arrive just yet.  Not today, at least.

How do you feel, Birthday Boy?
I feel invalided.
You mean invalid?
I'm...well, that too, but basically invalided.  Like an invalid.
Well, remember what they say, George.  After 40, it's all 'patch, patch, patch.'


Ugh.  I'm going home.

Hard Times

There are so many metrics and measures for what "making it" suffices that "getting by" gets closer and closer to the middle.  The usual.  Remember when people used to just dump shit they didn't want?  That turned to charitable donations.  It was then, an approximate time and date unattainable, that the charities said "thanks but quit sending us your old TVs."

What do you do with all your shit is a problem when you have too much of it.  It's only when you have a larger problem ("getting by") that an enterprising idea hits the neighborhood.  "You know, you could post that online, maybe you could make some money."

The late Steve Simpson once wrote that the phrase "not worth my time" is a heavy one, because at some point you have to acknowledge and accept a dollar value for which that IS worth your time.  And we're not just talking work...it's anything taking up your time.

I thought of that when I saw this ad

Here's half a spindle of blank DVDs.  How about $10?  Give this person a sawbuck, these can be all yours.  It's the same as Amazon's prices.  Or something.  I don't think you need to tell people you're not sure what to do with all your discs.  I used to put DVDs I made into slim cases in some sort of bizarre display.  The spines were too small to read, so I still had them in alphabetical order.  Then I bought a DVD case and not only saved room, I got back some pride.  DVD collections are quite a sight today - I know a guy who has two floor to ceiling cabinets that have doors housing everything.  You wouldn't know what's in them unless you knew someone who was buying each season of The Facts of Life on DVD.

"All the cords"  If you have a working SD television, you're in good shape.  GTA games are tons of fun, right?  Damn right they are...wait, is the memory card empty?  I remember when I thought the PS3 had graphics "good enough" for me, and then I saw the same game on PS4, and then I pretended not to care about that kind of thing.  

Speaking of which, I have the Atari of a girl I knew in college.  I have a ton of games with it, too.   "Works great."  Last tried to hook it up a decade ago.  Survived multiple moves for the simple reason that the box was unopened from the last move.  

$15?  Retro gaming action!  You never know.   I could make some money, and after the "tax relief" I...any takers?  Hello?

High Off the Hog

You'd think, given my background and heritage, I'd have been invited to a get-together and told "bring bacon" before in my life.  Sadly, this has not been the case, because kind hosts would provide and all would be well. 

"So...you want me to cook the bacon at my house and THEN bring it to your house and THEN you'll cook it again?  I don't...you can't cook it at your house?  Why can't...OK, but how much are we...THAT much?  Shit...ok, I'll try but..."

You know how you have favorite vices?  And that one of the vices might be bad for your health?  And that one of the ways people are told to quit is to, say, smoke a pack of cigarettes in an old phone booth or something?

(These are stories...I don't smoke, never got the hang of it...and I don't buy or cook bacon for the fact that it should be a treat, damned if it isn't so good.  I even had a breakfast once with an Orthodox Jew who said to me, as he dined, "come on...it's bacon."  And, proceeded to eat an entire side of it)

You'll just have to believe me but I'm pretty sure I have a hog's worth (hogsworth - is that a farm term?) now, ready to go.  Whole house smells of it.  Interested dogs are slowly walking past the house on a warm Spring day.  Yeah, pups, I know.  Even turkey bacon, which, let's be honest, looks like an eraser.

It's nearly the lunch hour, and I've got to head to Malibu for this event, so we'll be in the car, and the car will SMELL of it, oh yes it will.  Natural bacon car air freshener.  I'll open the windows and look at the fish just jumping out of the ocean.

People moving slow, whining, all the usual B.S. that surrounds me each weekend.  How do I escape?  Farmer John, you have any ideas?

Mmm...bacon.

Locker Room Talk

3 points?  That's it???  Sheesh.  Well, the media around town has continued to dissect why, how, and most importantly what was said after the game.  Why?  Well, there wasn't much to the game.  What are the secrets?

If we're talking about what's said, I go with what the Big Scoop said when New England went up 10.  "Fiddlesticks!"  Things like that help keep it all in perspective.  I was later found sitting on the floor with my head adjacent to a coffee table, in essence feeding myself empanadas.  Sounds like any other weekend.

Looking for solace, I went to YouTube to find some post-game talk from bygone eras.  I didn't need a rehash of what we all saw with our own eyes.  I'm climbing down the 70s football well and then I saw this...I immediately got out of my chair, turned around to see that no one in my house would possibly care about this the way I do, and then sat down and looked again.  In wonder.

 That's Bert Jones, Baltimore Colts QB, happily discussing a win.  But what was that in the frame?  It wasn't supposed to be the focal point...but good god.  Is that a stack, half a dozen plus, of snoose?  Just for Bert?  I guess I shouldn't ask questions but...



How much do we want to bet he got it for free?
Did Irsay miss it because he was on a plane to "Ariezooner"?
How often are the tins replaced?
Who on the staff would claim it's just "leftover from the Orioles"?
Is the percentage of people back then not even noticing 99% or 100%?

Bert got the win, he has some dip to deal with, leave the man alone.  Football season is done.  March can't come soon enough. 

The LA Rams: Success

It sunk in quickly for me.  The Rams are going to the Super Bowl.  The LOS ANGELES Rams, as it was meant to be.  As I'd dreamed.  As I'd written about on this very blog.  And not a re-hash of Super Bowl XIV.  The real thing.  I'm overjoyed!

That isn't the narrative, of course.  It was the missed Pass Interference call.  It's turned not just Saints fans, but many MANY professional hot-takers, into those very infamous Talk About Its: those in the sportsbook who drink too much, don't win, and can't stop telling you why their incorrect guess should be correct.

I, of course, can mention 2 missed Fase Mask calls, 2 missed Delay of Game calls, and I just get "Yeah, but...".  OK, we all agree, they missed the call.  The game didn't end that very minute, but that's what everyone wants to think.

I've seen some incredible home-team delusions in my day.  I saw the Vikings fans in the...hell, doesn't matter the decade.  "Letting go" is not a phrase in their lexicon.  But I also never saw the Vikings fans want to sue the league.  Or demand the Kommissar start it over and play again.  These people aren't dreaming.  They aren't joking.  They aren't upset just because they ran out of salami.  They're serious.  One so serious to spend real money to buy billboards in Atlanta, site of Super Bowl LIIIIIIIIIIII to remind everyone it should be the SAINTS that represent the NFC.  We all agree?

As I've always said, if you don't want your money, just give it to me.  But honestly, these fuckers really think this is pro wrestling, where suddenly a new ref will come out and say no, we saw in the back he hit him with the belt/brass knuckles/roll of dimes, and the REAL winner is _____.  We've gone to wacky world.

The day following the game I went to the beach.  There, I saw a large amount of tourists along with LA citizens.  I saw Rams gear a-plenty.  A child yelled at me "GO RAMS!"  That's right, son.  We're gonna do it.  Hell, we got this far!  Can you believe it!  After so many years gone from LA...

Oh shit.

Fuck.

I forgot about that good ole narrative...LOS ANGELES DOESN'T DESERVE A TEAM!  Don't EVER let it die, right, windbags?!  "Jimmy Traina" of Sports Illustrated and "Joe Flint" (clearly a bot and not a real person) of The Wall Street Journal, take it away:

For fuck's sake.  So Los Angeles just flat out doesn't get together to watch football games.  It must be solitary, in the privacy of their own home.  This metric alone will show "true" fandom.  Shouldn't have won.  Shouldn't have the Rams back (where they never should have left, nor run by Georgia).  Shouldn't HAVE an NFL team because...well...Rams fans don't watch enough TV.  And the Dodgers fans leave early!  And Lakers fans DURRRRRRRRRR

The envy, folks.  The envy on this one is mighty THICK!  Not just for victory, but everything: lifestyle, weather, whatever is seen...through their eyes, ready to judge, deliver the opinions to an agreeing 49 states.

"They don't care."

I think, as a Rams fan, as a person who long hoped for just the team to arrive, to having to put with Jeff Fisher as a coach...to someone who's phone was so nutso after the game that the fucking network went down...I'll tell you what I don't care about.

Everyone else's thoughts.

Oh that might sound harsh, but inasmuch I don't have any interest in saying I'm for or against any other team, that I know next to nothing about any other team, I don't spend any of my effort, energy, or time (for what it's worth) on giving a flying fuck about other teams.  It doesn't interest me, and I can't see how someone could for another.

Wait.  WAIT.  I've got it.

Hmm...no, because if I lived in New Orleans, there are so many things to do, so much culture, that I wouldn't get that bent out of shape...but I guess that's just me.  Because if I DID care, and went out of my way, on an ongoing basis, to do so...

I'd be a windbag.

7 Days

Day 1
Hurry and get the supplies, it's the Dawgs and the Tide, part 2!  Let's Hunker Down!
Hey, looking good at halftime!  Course, we've been there before.
She's seems warm?  Maybe it was the dinner last night?  She seems fine otherwise.
Oh man, here it comes.  It's happening again.  Bama is Bama...oh well.
She's not well?  OK, I'll come home, but we'll watch the 2nd game there and--
Let's just go to urgent care.
You're not sure?   Look at her.  There's nothing?  All I'm doing is keeping her mind off it.

Day 2
Well, you've got to check in to the bathroom before anything.  I know it hurts.  I'm here.
No, I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.  Just relax, we'll get through this.
Try to eat this, if not, that's fine.
Well, maybe we should go back to urgent care, because this isn't working.
She does seem fine, but this is the lull, you have to believe me.
Let's try this.  Can you sleep?  I know, but you need the rest.

Day 3
Checking in to see how she is.  The same?  OK, I'll get supplies.  She has to be miserable.
Look, if the doc says to ease into the usual food, why not?
Oof, ok that didn't work.
We can do the same tomorrow.  Just keep me posted.
Sleep good, we'll get over it.

Day 4
I know she should stay home, but can she go out?  Let's go to the doc.
Her personality is completely different, Doc, but I would too if...
No, they're still in there.  You can hear she's in pain; anything for that?  Anything?
I gotta go back to work, but please let me know how she is.
I'll stay here in the morning.  You're so tough.  We're going to get through this.

Day 5
Yup, I'm here all morning.  Yeah, we're getting better, aren't we?!
I know, but you if you can eat this and everything is good, then we'll try other stuff.
No, can't do mac n cheese.
OK, gotta go to work.  See you in a bit.
Budget cuts?  I'm sorry, I wasn't ready if...are you sure?
I'm sorry, it's just that this has been a hard week.
Fuck it I'm going home for the day.

Day 6
I'm trying hard not to say bad words or the wrong thing, but do you know what this means?
Don't you like it when life is normal?  Why can't it be normal?  And...what does that mean?
Man, that rain is coming down.  Hoo wee. 
Wait, is that a squirrel eating our Halloween pumpkins?
Hold on, I'll get it.  Stay inside. 
Tomorrow, we'll go places and stuff.  I'll check my work from now and then.

Day 7
Well you do seem better.  OK, let's get stuff at the library.  No, we have to go here first.
I can tell you're feeling better because you're trying to boss me all over.  Knock it off.
I said tell me about Christmas presents but I'm not getting you anything.
If I get you that, you're gonna lose it, and I'm out $5.  Remember what I said on Wednesday?
Come on, let's go.  Hey, watch out!  Pay attention to your surroundings!
How much is that?  Christ, listen to me...sure, OK.
(Sigh)  Yeah, the weekend.  Well, you're back on it.  You really want a cheeseburger? 
Tomorrow?  OK, tomorrow.  This has been quite a week. 
Getting better.  Didn't know we had to, huh?

My friends say no, don't go for that cotton candy

Finding myself in such a tense moment, I saw immediately that the left and right sides of the ridge had to continue to be watered.  The shrub in the middle was weak anyway, and we let that go.  My adrenaline was increasing, but it went tandem with the moment.  Holding the line, hoping to delay the sparks.

Then I woke up.

 

Last weekend, I was 35 miles from fire destruction moving at an unrelenting pace.  35 miles wasn't shit.  We were all stuck inside (lest you think you're some big timer who could go out for lunch and set aside your headache, eyes watering, awful throat, and depression).  35 miles and for all I knew I was surrounded by webers full of pall malls.  Thanks to the firefighters, it was a slow fade to Sunday night, which was deemed "tolerable" and colder nights, which "help" insomuch it's not 80 degrees at that time.

 

And true, this isn't the first rodeo; in 2003 the fire in San Diego blew up here and made a run of fall days look like a permanent 5PM.  Even last year, I opined that the Verdugo mountain fires had no way of hitting my domicile because it would have to cross a freeway, train track, and "river" to get over here and...

 

Oh, fires can do that?  Well color me a fucking simpleton for being so caviler to think I could out-smart the beast.  The very definition of dumb luck, there's now talk of "here are the masks" and "this looks like a good indoor air purifier and ionizer" without a trace of irony or what-are-the-odds inflection.

 

I've lived here long enough to see the changes.  Santa Ana winds were expected in the fall.  Now they're more of a year-round intruder.  The winds could bring a possibility of a wildfire.  Now we know there will be one, just a matter of location and size.  We used to have a rainy season, without fail.  Now some years it rains, but most are barely moist.  Rain used to be met with gritted teeth knowing your drive.  Now there's dancing in the streets.  Holy shit, it's raining!

 

The hurricane, the snowstorm, the tornado, it arrives, it devastates, it leaves.  The wildfire?  It isn't leaving.

"I Owe You Nothing!"

As a topic that's been conveyed in various ways on this blog, a lesson learned is to not get overly involved in your favorite sporting team's fortunes.  This is a rule that I've been able to apply to nearly all sports-related aspects of my life, and it's occurred with great success.  Life, on the whole, has fewer man-made pitfalls.

And then there's my fandom of the Dodgers, which for some reason has avoided this trend.  I actually thought I had applied it, but when you run into people who are like-minded (intentionally or otherwise), I find old habits die hard.

Maybe it's the great success that does this...or the sense of community.  I don't know.  What I DO know is that I was at a "party" on Saturday which was decidedly not a party for the World Series, but the hosts were kind enough to turn on the game for those intrigued.  Even the most casual baseball fans surrounded me to watch.  Then a lady entered the room.

"Oh!  Who's playing?"

I think I did a sensational job by saying, in a calm and measured tone, that this was the World Series, and the hometown team was playing game 4.  In the intervening hour, Dick Mountain was doing his thing, and apparently I was an ebullient and humorous individual.

Later on into the evening, Dave Roberts wanted to revisit the warm glow of "Red Sox Hero" and he...well, you know what he did.   I got up and left the room.  I wasn't angry (well, overly angry), but I was more than anything disappointed.  Bewildered.

A woman who's only known me a few months said "Oh no.  Yeah, I can see it in your face.  It's not good."  Holy Moly...that's the vibe I'm giving off here?!  The anger, the disappointment, the frustration...that's truly on me.  The over-investment didn't pay off?  Well that doesn't feel good, does it?

When was the last time I felt this way?  Well, it wasn't after the NFL playoffs, or National Championship, so I must have been doing something right, or at least better, at the time.  It was...well, it was the 2017 World Series.  

Dialing it back.  More often than not, good advice in every situation.  "Funny" I guess, that it took two gut punches for me to realize I was not completely free with my lowered engagement.  There's wood to chop, there's deals to me made, can't we do it with a clear head?

The Rams won.  Great!  Will they lose?  Probably; got some good competition coming up.  Inevitable...that's how it goes.  (breath)  Ahhhh.  

The Electricity is in the Upheaval

(Trip Darvez once again shares a column from his archives of writing from the L.A. Reader, this from September 24th, 1981)

When you work the streets (or hell, even walk them) on a daily basis, things don't change suddenly...but stop paying attention, even if you're planted right in the middle of the zoo, and you suddenly look around: what in the???  There's another comedy club?  Oh...sure, they have a "New Wave Night" - OK...huh, another mini-mall on the way over there...

 

L.A.'s own Go-Go's "This Town" was playing over the speakers when I entered The Whisky last week, and in hitting me like a ton of bricks was the fact that the band, just 1 year ago, was selling out this place, and the Whisky itself was now, very slowly, looking around going "Oh....got it."  And here we are.

 

I began a recent day (notice how he's withholding information-ed.) rolling out of bed, enjoying a beer and watching Lost in Space reruns with an earthy girl whose attempts to replace the "food" in my kitchen with jicama were politely tolerated.  Later in the day, after some in-between respites at Sun Bee liquor, I happily weaved throughout the Strip with nearly every club playing live rock from bands that were in the least passable, and best, fantastic.   Brother, I don't mind telling you that, if asked on the spot the day after that Go-Go's show a year ago the future would be that drastic, different, and (in most respects) better, I wouldn't have believed it.  Hell, we were to happy to point out our future enemies to our new friends all the while lamenting the residue of roller disco.  (And no, there were no earthy girls in my place a year ago, either.  Not sure if that's good or bad.)

 

None of these bands were chasing the past, either.  This is a path forged anew, with most stepping aside and nodding, while a few toss their roller skates in the closet, and wonder if they should pick up racquetball.

 

Chrissie said "That's showbiz, big boy.  You've got to be cruel to be kind."  I think we are in this paper, and I think a lot of club owners throughout town are now acting, with too many reacting, to trends.  Things move fast for them, because, as I've announced, when you don't look around each day, you miss what's happening.

The Bad News Bugs

Just have fun...don't take it seriously...it's about getting exercise...they'll be our new friends...let's see how it goes...

At a field near the airport, we entered a crowded mass of families: dozens of kids wearing a rainbow of colors, the parents all set with lawn chairs, tents, blankets, snacks.  And then there was our team...a crew who had as much familiarity as a random meeting in the park to toss the ball around.  

Drills were introduced, but only as a guide.  It's about effort, really.  I don't care if you went around the cone, just look at her trying.  You're not walking away, you're not saying you're bored.  I call that an accomplishment. 

Then we looked across the field.  Damn - when did they have time to make a banner?!  That's cool.  I know we talked about making one, but look.  They have matching bows, too.  And...wait a minute, there's no way that kid is in this age group.  This is a ringer.  Right, right.  We don't keep score.  I know.  Hey, let's have fun!

 

A huddled mass, the same as discussed by the Statue of Liberty, they move to and fro.  Bodies occasionally fall, conversations begin in the middle of a game on the field.  Distractions as minimal as a dragonfly occur, and even "out of bounds" has a loose definition.

 

It's her turn to sit out and be a "cheerleader."  She was eating a watermelon slice when the Bugs went up 1-0.  I know, we're not keeping-  "I scored."  Hey, why not?

 

The only yelling is to get your own offspring to notice that the ball went behind them, or to notice everyone else is on the other end of the field.  The rest of the time is spent in laughter.  Not the players - the families ourselves.  This is all utterly hilarious...but are we laughing at the sight?  At ourselves for placing any kind of weight behind this endeavor?  At the concept?  Maybe we're just giddy.  After all, the sun broke out right as the game started and now we're all at the mindset of "that's enough, don't you think?"

 

The biggest reaction came from the snack bag received in the post-game high five round-up.  Snacks are what life is all about?  Well, I agree.  Don't take that jersey off unless you want to.  Yeah, I say you let everyone know you were making it happen out there.  If the only win/loss measurement is fun, how can you lose?   

Only if there are no snacks.  Keep the snacks coming, folks.

Not Yet

Despite the weighted responsibility in molding today's minds for tomorrow, you can work with every fiber in your being to make a great person.  Someone with only your best qualities, the qualities you wish you had but don't, and the entertaining qualities that might get you confused looks from people like teachers or...anyone else.

A certain former late night talk show host stated, and I'm paraphrasing, that he was excited to have a son because "he'll be just like me, he'll like 90% of the things I do, and he'll sit right next to me and not talk.  And oh, was I wrong."  To that extent, all I can do is continue to enjoy the things I do and then not help but be bewildered on what, of all things, connect.

I've written 3-4 metaphors and I can't come up with anything but the truth in that hearing the soundtrack to National Lampoon's Vacation hit.  So you enjoy the songs only so long until the audience starts to ask questions.  What's happening when this is on?  A 1-line answer doesn't suffice at this age.

"Can I see the movie?"

No...someday, but no.  It's for older people.

"But are there parts I can see?"

Sure!  Let me...(oh shit, what did I just do)

Explaining this to anyone else in the general public isn't the kind of thing that makes an overflowing pool of friends, but you'd be surprised to find who is caught off guard by this development, enjoys the trip down memory lane, and in conclusion, does not judge you.  And why not?  

Dinner time arrives, and when asked what music would be the preference, I'm told "Smooth Jazz."  Not by any adult.  Smooth Jazz, each and every time, and while that means most meals sound like someone left the TV on the Welcome Channel at an 1980s hotel, so be it. 

This is going to change, you know.  There will be some thing, almost certainly media-related, that will be undoubtedly current and modern, that she and I will both like...and there will be even more that she likes and I think is awful.  It's how it goes. 

But between you and me: if she genuinely enjoys watching current commercials, why won't she watch old commercials...with me?!

Hell Breaks Loose

After the dogs n burgers went down on the 4th, and fireworks properly viewed and enjoyed, the return to work brought only the most cursory conversation that it was going to be hot over the weekend.  "Did you hear?  100 on Friday.  Wait...it might be hotter.  Is that for here?"

Leading into the day, it was accepted and/or assumed that it was going to be 105; a stark contrast from the 4th, but it's Summer...that's how it goes.   Then Friday arrived.

Holy shit.

Shit.

You know when you open the oven to take out a pizza or whatever?  Imagine that outside.  Well, I wasn't imaging it, and it couldn't be that unusual.  I've driven to Las Vegas in June, ate in Baker at sundown when the world's largest thermometer was triple digits.  So...wait, is it me or is it getting hotter?

115

I tried to cool down inside, but the indoor temp kept rising, too. Well of course it is...you can't win this fight. It was around this time that I went briefly outside to watch the plants die that I noticed quite the problem: the AC wasn't moving...but the fan was on inside which means...HEY! This'll be fun to fix!

SHIT

Checking circuits, switching shit, waiting for a thunderbolt to fall from the sky to save me or impart me with knowledge...none of it arrived. Temperatures were rising HAHA

It was like no euphemism I can think of to get the caravan west to the beach in the evening. It wouldn't be repaired until tomorrow, so let's cool it down - even in the dark. No surprise that we weren't alone in that feeling, the San Diego Freeway busier than usual for a Friday night with plenty Happy Brakes out there...but I made it to the PCH and even the salt air was cooking. I slept like a fallen log.

I drove back to Heat City and the solace of my neighbor's, awaiting the repair man while everyone else sipped drinks in pools right and left.

Of course, it was very quickly fixed, I was given an education, gave the guy some extra cash (because I'm a compassionate man who also was very happy to have AC) and it was taco time. Didn't mean the house was cool yet, but after the updated supplies from Ralphs, I was reportedly found relaxing on the couch, Pacifico in koozie, watching the Dodgers give Anaheim a few pointers. (Ross Stripling is going to throw a...well, look at that, strike 3. Next?)

By Sunday morning everything was "normal" inasmuch it was "only" 98, but damn near 20 degrees cooler is damn near 20 degrees cooler. After a minute out of the pool, it was all I could do to amble home, look at my dead plants, and rationalize my life with "at least the beer is cold."

The Longest Day

It was 5AM (or so I was told).  "Can I watch something?"  I stumbled out and damn near collapsed on the slumber party mattress.  "Today is the longest day!"

Already, this early, I think you're right.

Make bacon as fast as possible, essentially ignored as I leave home.  Off to show up when others don't.  Wait, wait...eh, fuck it.  Gotta go to the mill.

Meetings cancelled, time for reflection.  This will be a full day in terms of sun...let's try to keep it otherwise. 

Deals discussed.  A few laughs, nod in agreement.  Off to get sun.  And to think, on this very spot yesterday, I ate what was reported to be dinosaur meat.  (Not as gamey as I anticipated, but not that tender, either)  After more wood was chopped, I returned to view the horizon.  The sun was unrelenting, though an ocean breeze kept it cool. 

In-between bites of a Cuban sandwich I reminded all that there was much left to do with all this sun.  So we headed home and pet dogs for a while.

Goof and more goof, then a fleeting look outside brought an already-set sun.  Check it out...let's hang on.  To what, specifically?  The feeling.

It was dusk...I laid down and she sang me a tune.  The sun doesn't stay long in southern states, it's true.  We boogie on after dark.

You can't get what you want 'till you know what you want

This is it.  We're at the "it's not if but when" stage of Ol Bess.  After the mechanic did the last, needed repairs, he sighed and said "It runs."  Wow, thanks.  So, time to really look and get that new car.  Or new to me.  Whatever, I don't care.

That's an honest problem: I don't care.

Well...I DO care, you know.  It's just...in the words of Keith Levene, "I only know what I don't like."  But as for what it should be, what are the options?  Near everything?  OK...um...

There are sales.  Drive-a-thon.  April Showers of Savings.  Memorial Day.  Sell-abration.  Even "I know a guy who..."

An unidentified man is asked in the landmark album Chains and Black Exhaust his most important factors in choosing a car at the auto show.  "It's the color, man, and the monthly payments."  Amen.  At work, my office window faces the Hollywood Freeway from a high distance, and here's what I see, oh, 90% of the time: White, Silver/Grey, Black.  Over and over, an endless Raiders parade.  Occasionally a red car sticks out...but that's it.  Shit, when I got Ol Bess, Black was so UNPOPULAR that Saturn didn't even have a basic black car.  They had "Blackberry" which I took...and I noticed with a little grime, it was 100% black.

Where was I...right, the sniff.  I just saw 5 silver/grey cars cross the freeway simultaneously.  Damn, do people not care about this anymore?  Is it only me?

How are we doing for the following colors, car companies?
Goldenrod
Sunset Dusk
Sunset Musk
Horizon
Burnt Sienna
Burnt Orange
Powder Blue
Chevy Vans with murals painted on the sides
Red with non-optional racing stripe

Do the features include "power" options?  Is the interior plush?  Is cruise control standard?  Is there an antenna?  A USB port?  Does it seat passengers "comfortably?"  Can the navigation screen be changed to reruns of Hardcastle & McCormick?  

This is California.  This'll be easy, just you see.  (silently continues to convince himself of that fact)

Spread Thin

I remember when I used to have a lot of time on my hands...so much so that I'd just shrug my shoulders and wander around town.  I'm sure this sent those around me into some concern, but those times would (on occasion) bring some genuine excitement into my life though the means of discovery.  Stumbling into gold is a hell of a lot more fun than reading reviews online and getting your hopes up.

Nowadays, due to circumstances I did and did not create, there is precious little time like the above...at least for now, of course.  And even when that time arrives, albeit much shorter a range, I know the opportunity will be met with an immediate review: what did you do with that time?  It's an annoyance, to be sure.  You're being bossed around afterwards, so to speak, but there is a layer underneath all that: did you make the best of it?

So you do some shit alone that, one immediately notices, takes little time at all because you're not with "helpers" or other sloth-like distractions.  Now...what?  There ain't shit on TV.  You're on the computer at work enough, so...let's work on that garage.

I don't believe in "caves" just like I don't believe in bachelor parties, because if someone is suggesting that in this life I get one room for "my stuff" or one night for "me" because the rest of life will be a vicious landscape, then I wouldn't go down this path.  Instead, I sought to seek a space on the property that, under no circumstances would anyone but me voluntarily want to hang out for long periods of time.  This hit me around the time when I entered the hardware store, took in the smell in there (a smell that reeks of "let's do shit") that it was perfectly fine by me.  All I need is a beer fridge, and that'll do.

Wait a minute...is this insanity?  Look at this guy, drinking beer in an garage on a warm night...yikes.  Well, let us imagine that that very guy was happy in that element.  Comfortable in his own skin.  A completed decision.  Thankfully, it turns out I was not alone.  Former Pacific Gold writer Steve Simpson said I was actually behind on this development: it's your own personal break room.  I hunger just thinking about it.  And so it shall pass.

(My dream, of course, is a room full of flashing lights and keyboards, like those "computer rooms" or "headquarters" from 70s and 80s movies...levers and buttons, and I have a Mr. Microphone.  In a pinch, this alternative will suffice.)

I see my long term future not having to do this activity much, if at all.  But for now, I nurse the brew, look around, and nod the affirmative.  Enter these gates, and be happy.

You'll Get Nothing and Like It

Well, it's March, time for madness again

But I'm getting a little jaded about all of this.  The reason for this mentality is that, in each passing year, the very reason for why the tournament is as popular as it is slowly drains away.

I guess it actually began in another sport: college football.  They announce a playoff, however small, and I react positively.  Finally, everyone has a realistic shot at this.  Wait...there are 6 bowls involved?  Whatever, I don't care, as long...I'm sorry, "Power Conferences" is...what is that?

Well, what it is is the same lesson being told another way: there's a list of schools we care about.  The rest?  Get bent.  Oh, you're undefeated?  Don't care.  Ok, you can be in one of these 6 bowls, but not the playoff.  Hey, at least we let you in here, right?

March Madness was different.  Everyone in, and the love flowed.  Throughout my youth, seeding (which in the end doesn't matter) was appropriate on an agreed set of circumstances.  And every year, you'd get upsets.  Duke would lose tournament games in North Carolina and we'd rejoice.  Stephen F. Austin and Florida Gulf Coast would wear you down and make it happen.  Ohio would just plain beat the shit out of Georgetown.  I'd even get in the fun, especially when you'd sense a run (like George Mason) and ride the way in picks.  (A team former Pacific Gold writer Dave Blizznewski called Ghetto Magic)

But one time, a tournament started and I didn't make any picks.  No one really cared.  I just sat back and watched, hoping for upsets which didn't occur.  And another year...and another, and since I'm not ensconced in something that I'll foul up anyway, I cast my full gaze to the schools themselves.  I recognized nearly all of them, and this is in a day and age where my basketball viewing time is minimal.

A) We have the usual powers.
B) We have the small conference champions.
C) And we have this at-large pool where the committee would much rather have more schools from the A conferences and not the B.  Why?

As with many sports-related questions that are answered in opinion and not fact, I'm not told a reason.  One new answer I heard this week was "Hey, remember, this is a TV show!  You want the big names for big games!"  We can agree or disagree with that, and considering my former career and knowledge on the subject, it would be useless to tell another windbag how they got it wrong.  It's that the victories of schools from a B conference beating a school from an A conference is WHAT MADE THIS WHOLE THING POPULAR.

The first question people say when discussing the madness is "Who do you have winning the tournament?" - a statement that could cover any sort of athletic competition.  The second?  "What are your upsets?"  The NCAA will tolerate 1, maybe 2...and the rest that aren't upsets really (except in seed) help stir that talk.  Those lovable ratings.  But when those little old schools don't get to play...it's just another weekend in December with "key match-ups."

I'll be watching, of course.  I like basketball, and more importantly, entertaining basketball.  Sometimes I can even coax the Big Scoop to join me, even if the topic turns to uniform color.  It'll mean nothing to her, but I'll watch and think "you're killing what made this great for no reason other than the whims of a very, very few.  I wonder if I'm alone?"

Heat Shaming

Because it was lunchtime, I forced myself to go outside for a walk.  This normally would not be an achievement, but it was a shaky 58 degrees.  It's been that way all week, and will next week, too.  It's Winter, I know...but when the Old Man throws in a hearty gust o'wind as well, this isn't easy. 

So I'm ambling...not struggling, just dealing with it.  You know what load of dung then entered my mind?  (It was actually a tour bus that went by, and I could, at that moment, see what those out of towners were thinking)  "Ha!  You think this is cold?  This is nothing!  Hell, where we're from, you'd be knee deep in a concoction of snow, dirt, water, and gravel!  You gotta get tough!"

OK, but...

If you live here, in Dealville, this IS cold, you see.  Which...

What makes it so that 58 degrees with fun wind is normal to anyone?  Does a person's comfort zone only exist indoors?  I don't know that it's about "rights" and wrongs, and I know I'm not alone.  The scuttlebutt around the office on Tuesday was a guarded agreement that hoo wee, it got really cold, didn't it?  I'm cold.  You're cold, so we agree?  

In my youth, I don't remember ever hearing anyone say that outside, or inside for that matter.  It's been decades, so I could have easily deleted that memory.  Maybe it's too obvious?  Maybe "no shit" would be the answer, and no one wants to hear it.

(But, no one wants to hear from Dealville when it's glorious and others are letting the car warm up, either)

I see March from here.  The sun, basketball, a big stretch.  Lemme hear those horns.

Business (Of All Kinds) is Booming in Southwest Florida

(Editor's Note: Trip Darvez once again reaches into the archives for a very early column...perhaps his first.

"I visited a DJ I'd met at a convention, and I ended up submitting this to the Miami Phoenix newspaper...they turned me down, but when I moved to LA to work at KLAQ, I ended up submitting this to the LA Reader in 1980.  It was enough to get another audition and, eventually, being added to the staff.")

You start noticing it when you get off Interstate 75.  Signs everywhere: "Coming soon!  Lakeland South housing development!  Southwest Florida's newest golf 'community' with fine dining!"  Get closer to the beach, and they change their prose but not their enthusiasm: all major hotel chains are here, along with condos for the snowbirds with enticing names like "Pelican Cove" and "San Carlos Harbor Inn" and "Bayside Estates."  They're here, new, with more on the way.  The reason is that the first real domino fell: the highway, expansion, and all that planning gets everyone jumping.  The new airport will be ready by "the early '80s" (as many remind me) and with said Interstate going from the Canadian border, they're ready to welcome everyone down.

This vibe isn't held by just the tourists, either.  I figured the locals would resent this, but they've embraced it, all for their own reasons.

Building Up

Like Hawaii, this is an early-to-rise part of the world, so construction starts a half-hour early down here, and site manager Nelson Quinones says whatever the extra time might hit him in labor costs, things can get done a week or two early.  "That's really priceless."

We're walking around what will be called "Island Towers" which will be complete with "Sunset Views, Beachfront Fun, and a slice of Paradise!"  Estero Blvd. seemed like a main drag for the island offshoot, but it's connection on both sides is bringing everyone: supermarkets, restaurants, you name it.  For the locals, the ever-increasing amenities for day to day living now here outweigh having to put up with noisy trucks here and there.

"Building this up is really a combination of things.  You want things to blend in."  How does a building aptly named "Tower" blend in with the homes, all exclusively 1 story?  "Well, I could have gone bigger.  They're going to do that on the east side.  Look, 6 stories is not, you know, obscene.  We're not doing a huge parking lot as you'd guess.  But by doing it this way, it's..." (He smiles)  Exclusive?  "You're getting the language down now."  As they are, this whole stretch of Estero will be dotted with similar properties, with churn year round.  Nelson is just one of many here to strike.

"They're loading up!"

If Nelson ready to strike, Lowell Vera of Parkway Liquors is ready for the rush.  The street is actually called College Parkway, but Lowell figured he'd run into trouble if he called it "College Liquors."  Florida's liquor laws prevent hard liquor in supermarkets, but distance has nothing to do with it.  Many locations have a liquor store either in walking distance or conveniently attached...Lowell is here on his own, not far from a House of Pancakes and, if you're coming east, you'll see it before the 7-Eleven.  "I really thought when that went in, that's it for me."  A customer interrupts with a bag of ice and a 6 pack of beer.  "But I got food here...no Slurpees, but I ain't gonna hassle ya." 

"It used to be that we'd get some college kids, and people coming from Cape Coral over the bridge, but..." Lowell fishes out a Kent, tapping it on the counter as if to emphasize his point "the 7-Eleven didn't help, but the slow period, that's what I like to call the Summer, that was strictly locals...it's not as slow.  Lotta construction guys coming in here, even in the morning."

A lady (his wife?  fellow employee?  I never got to meet her and he never offered a name, so we'll never know) rotates and stacks more iced oatmeal cookies on the shelf.  "Some of these guys, they just showed up down here, it's their first time, they have directions but don't really know the area.  So they see us, and I swear they were getting stuff like they'd be out on the water for weeks.  These two guys, remember?  I see em just get a Styrofoam cooler and put it on the counter and just start getting 8-packs and bags of chips, beef jerkey, didn't say a word.  I turned one and said 'you're loading up' and he just smiled.  My kind of sale!"

A "Growth" Business

Having a good time is getting easier in this area.  The boats roam at night, so I've been told, and the daytime business keeps going.  It's the business of feeling good, and business is, well, getting better and better.

"Terry" is a man who makes that his business, and the demands of the business are starting to get in the way of those good times.  "Shit, yesterday...(he takes a long pull of a rum runner and a hit off a joint, so much so that I wasn't expecting him to continue) some of the girls we had in here started just talking and talking.  We'd brought in a shipment, and I spent a day with (names redacted) cleaning that shit.  I just need a day or two to relax.  You know?  And they were just talking and..."  Another drag, and a look off into the sunny sky.

All of this growth in the area is offering a lot of people the same chance: the moment to relax and take stock.  Yet, none of those seem to take the time to do so, whether there is the time, or not.  "I bet you could talk to guys on the east coast, and...well, maybe in..."  (rum runner swig, and a shake of the head)

Terry returned from his office with a store-bought Key Lime pie.  We were both hungry, so we went head first.  "The demand keeps going up" Terry says, removing a crumb from his mustache.  "All this stuff distracting me, ruining my buzz, but I run out of shit more and-"  (more singing by the girls he loathes)  "Would you guys can it already?  You know?"  The music is lowered and "Got it" is yelled back.

"I guess I'm getting to be known, we're moving it out.  It's all going to be legal soon...by 1980, you could probably get high at 7-Eleven."  We both laugh at an idea that, if he's right, isn't far fetched.  Just then, one of the girls comes over with hair that's (so I've been told) dyed blonde.  "It really hurts."  She followed this up with a laugh, and Terry just waved his hand.

I leaned back and wondered...all this change, people busy making it happen.  You can't help but wonder where it will take you (and everyone else) next.

The narrative moved, too

As a sports fan, it's never fun when things don't "go well."  But think about it: how often does it go well?  Is there a hard and fast definition of "going well?"  Don't things have to at least "go well" for you to take time our of your day to involve yourself in some way?

The Dodgers lose game 7.  Georgia loses in OT.  The Rams lose in the playoffs.  It might not have ended the way you wanted, but it was better than expected, wasn't it?  Does that constitute as "going well"?  Sure.  Outdoing your expectations validates your time, right?  It was worth it.

Or...so the thinking goes.

Each team of each sport knows this and thinks this way, too.  Shit, some of them have to because, for some employees, it's their job on the line.  So...if YOU'RE not thinking about the team that way, they'll do their best to get you on their side.  It's how they keep making money.  By not doing that, you can't even convince the hardcore fans all that money and time is worth it.

Now, if I'm talking about a team having to work overtime to keep fan interest (despite the play on the field), you know I'm talking about the Chargers.

The Chargers.  (allows moment for laughs to subside)  A team who bent over backwards to upset their loyal fanbase.  An owner who had no idea on how to use that fanbase to grow it's value.  A "new" fanbase that doesn't really seem to exist.  If it does, you wouldn't see them at their stadium.

A team that now is comfortable being a second fiddle, renting a stadium....until a larger, newer stadium can also be rented from another team.  How do you end up this way?  This decade tells you how: you're just good enough...how you keep people thinking it's about to get better, and how if it's not better now, it's so close to being better, you'd best stick around.  Right?  Hello?!

2010: Coming of a 13-3 season.  A team with the #1 offense AND defense...has 4 punts blocked, gives up 3 kick-offs for touchdowns.  A loss to Kansas City in Week 16, and they don't make the playoffs.  9-7.

2011: For those of us in LA who didn't have Sunday Ticket, you'd be stuck with shitty AFC West games at 1PM more often than not.  (It was this poor viewing audience that windbags would point to and say "see, LA doesn't care about football".)  A season where 3 of the division's teams are 8-8.  Denver wins the division, because the Chargers start 4-1, then slide with a 6 game losing streak.  2 home games are blacked out.  (Back when that kind of thing happened)   8-8.

2012: Typical Norv season.  Never really in it, 0-4 vs. NFC teams this season.  7-9.

2013: A new coach, a strong ending to the season, everyone else losing, so the Chargers make the playoffs!  Better yet, they WIN a playoff game.  A close loss to Denver in the divisional round, but it was a clear improvement.  See, fans?  Things are getting better.  We're looking forward to an even better 2014!  9-7.

2014: They start 5-1.  Look out!  Hey, are they gonna get a new stadium?  I bet if they keep playing good they'll...wait, did I just talk about finishing the season strong?  I did.  In 3 of their last 4 games, they fail to get more than 1 TD.  In week 17, its a win and get in game vs. Kansas City.  Guess how that went down.  9-7.

2015: The middle of the season sees a truly Chargers-style losing streak: 6 in a row.  What makes it Chargers-style?  The first 5 games lost during the streak are by 1 TD or less.  That new stadium talk has swiftly been replaced with moving.  A bad team, bad record, fans hear this news and don't show up.  All this cannon fodder for the owner.  All to see...the team have to stay?  4-12.

2016: A fanbase who has been told the team has one foot out the door anyway (all the while crying poor) sees a 5-6 start end with an artistic 5 game losing streak.  As the caption read before the Week 17 game in San Diego (the last time, for the last time) before a half-full stadium  "This is what being dicked around looks like."  5-11

2017: Hey, we moved!  Not too far away.  And it's...OK, it's a soccer stadium, but look!  We're here, LA!  What?  Oh yeah, another team came here first.  And they play in the big stadium, and they played here for a long time.  But we're here, too! 

An 0-4 start, a stadium on the small side of "MACtion" with empty seats and those filled usually by fans of the other team, and the welcome never shows.  After the bye, the team goes 6-2 (beating only 1 playoff team, and that was the week the Bills decided their back-up might be a good idea).  But those two losses?  To actual playoff teams.  They need "help" to get in and don't get it.  9-7, the eternal Chargers record.

So what's the headline, buried on the site?

"After 0-4 start, Chargers finish strong and build momentum for 2018."

The narrative never changes.  Good start, bad ending, bad start, good ending.  Next year?  Just keep on spinning.

I'm One

Smile.  Head down.  Chop wood.  Quiet.  Check in and out.  Thankful and grateful.

But...I look out the window...the view, me oh my.  Breathe.  Relax.  Lean back.

Arrive.  Sit anywhere.  Take it in.  Listen.  Ask questions.  Get more tea.

Absorb.  Collect.  Look over, again and again.  Learn.

Stand in the sun.  Reflect, but just for a moment.  It's beginning.

All of this, I keep to myself.  Well, 90%.  OK, maybe 85%. 

I wouldn't say I've done a lot of "strange" things for a living.  Most have been at conventional locations, organizations known out here.  When you have to explain it, you can find out right away the kind of person you're talking to: and if that and any other conversations go further.  Shit, that's just the job.  Some places encouraged a healthy happy hour vibe, at work and not at work.  Others, I'd pair off with 1 or 2 people.  We all remember the places where you were the odd man out.

Part of the fun of having real friendships that span time is to see that people can evolve and change, but if they're truly your friend, it takes little for it to "feel like old times."  It doesn't mean things are the same, or that you'd want them to be.  It's the connection.  I wouldn't limit that to a person, either.  Your favorite sport, restaurant, vacation spot, doesn't matter. 

It's not easy when the "old neighborhood" changes and it's not the same as your youth.  Sometimes, awesome restaurants and bars close.  The friends you made there equally disappear.  Your vacation spot is now not as "off the beaten path" as before.  You still like listening to The Best of Heatwave, but now not everyone in the car agrees. 

What's new?  Well, don't you want to find out?  Can we watch college football and eat snacks, like always?  Of course we can.  But once the games are over, we're going for a bike ride?  Instead of drinking more beer on the couch, solo?  Shit, ain't that something?!

Looking Forward

A few years ago, I returned to my monitoring cell in Beverly Hills and saw the sun setting over the swankiest zip code in America.  I was confident in the future, and I was making it happen.  A self-referential moment, I liked where my life was headed.  It was a step up. 

And then, right after I took a step up...I fell down the flight of stairs.

And now, after all of the bullshit, I begin again.  Not doing the items of the past, but the goal all along.  Future-thinking, forward-thinking, all that shines.  I haven't had to live as much of a shell game as right now, but at least it's a game.  At least you get another chance to win...or keep playing. 

As I've said in the past, in this town, what you do is the 2nd, sometimes 1st question people ask (so they can judge and rank you, of course).  But if you want to live in polite company and not tell people to shove off, so it goes. 

It's great being normal again.  Now, on to the list.  New desk chair?  Yeah, but...look, 1984 Stars in Motion LA Olympics T shirt.  And...purchased.

"I wanted to give you an update"

Hey Trip!  I hope this finds you well.  Thank you for reaching out to us about this position.  We'd like to speak to you this week.  Please let us know if the time below works for you. 

Great!  I look forward to speaking with you then.

Trip, thank you for talking with me.  I've passed along my notes to the hiring manager, and they'd like to speak with you.  We do need to fill this position as soon as possible, so we'll be in touch by the end of the week.

Trip, I apologize for the delay.  Would you be free next week for a phone interview?  Please let me know.

I'm glad to hear the phone call went well.  We'd like you to come into the office to meet other folks in the department.  Is there a time later next week or the week afterward that would be best for you?  We do need to fill this position by the end of the month, so the earlier you could come in, the better.  Please let us know.

Terrific.  I'll send you information before the meeting.

Trip, thanks for writing.  I wasn't aware of any delay.  As a matter of fact, I know they liked you.  Let me reach out and I'll get back to you.

I just spoke to the hiring manager, and they said the job is on hold, but just temporarily for now.  I should have an update in 2 weeks. 

Hi Trip.  As far as I've been told, the position remains on hold.  I will definitely let you know if anything changes.

Hello.  I am currently out of the office.  I will write you back when I return next month.

Citizens for the Uprights

After reading about and seeing the wonderful reaction of Oakland Raiders' Kicker Giorgio Tavecchio's performance, and his humble and stoic response, it made me realize how kickers are viewed has changed throughout my life.  Of course, I'm old, so this is a large sample size, but there are clearly different eras.

At first, the kicker looked like and was an everyman:

Did this man just
A: Kick a field goal?
B: Fix your transmission?
C: Place cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew on a shelf?

This was the look, and as a majority, the straight-ahead style was the norm.  But the"sidewinders" (as they were so derided by old-time jocks) came in...domestically and internationally as well.  Coaches seemed to realize that you didn't really need to have much history in the game as long as you could kick, and kick far.  What does this really mean: coincidentally or otherwise, we started getting NAMES.

Florian is a Philly guy, and an Ivy leaguer as well.  He also split time playing in the NASL!

Zenon's family made it from Germany to Canada, where his excellence in track & field brought a scholarship to UCLA.  Injuries led him to football, and becoming a 2-time All-American punter.  Then, it was back home to Canada for a lengthy career with the Argos.  After a season with Kansas City, it was back to hopping around the CFL.  Of course, when the USFL came around, it was perfect for a guy like Zenon, and here he is about to deliver a little Bandit Ball.

(What, you didn't know Topps made USFL cards?)

Starting your career in the USFL is a good move, and success gets you recognition on coast-to-coast TV.

Kick em, Bojo!

Nowadays, you might get a quick quip or two about a kicker: they're good, they're bad, or the announcer's favorite cliche, they're "head cases."  Whatever the fuck that means.

Quite a detour down memory lane...and while the saying may go that "I never forget a face," if you ask anyone who writes (or wrote) on here, our memories for names are even stronger.  Kickers names?  Right down the middle.

"Whoa! Look at this!"

Wow...this is a great view!  You know, I'm not really sure.  I think that's a movie studio.  Do you have the map?  Let me see.  It says Universal...but I guess there's another one, too.  Yeah...let's see if we can get over this guard rail.

Careful.  Do you want the camera?  (sighs) I wonder what's on the other side.  Is the Star Map still in the glove compartment?  Eh, I'll get it later.

Do you ever think of...

What?  Oh, no, I was just thinking what it would be like to live here.  (laughs)  Yeah, crazy.  I think there's more lookouts if we go up to Mulholland.  I think the Star Map shows that, too.  OK, you ready to go?

I could do lunch somewhere, if you see somewhere you like when we're out.  Wait - before we go, let me get a picture of you.

Super.  You go up there first.

Someone (temporarily) saved my life

All my life, it was "it's not what you know, it's who you know."  And, even in the most minor scenarios, I found that was true.  It was always true.

And then, it wasn't...and it made me think, or realize, that it was all sow shit.  But it took an even longer amount of time realize that no phrase is absolute.  Maybe, just maybe, it was the "who" in the phrase that was the problem.  By knowing them, it didn't make a difference, it seems.  The very people I'd worked with before and would again...weomp?!  Hmm.

So, after more rejection, it took someone I know to end the suffering, albeit temporarily.  In the realm of possibilities, nothing is given.  What's wanted vs. what's expected, but honesty?  Respect?  They'll have none for you...until they want if FROM you.  And that's how things roll, I guess.  You saw them on your way up, you'll see them on their way down.

And when they hand you the receipt from buying new dish towels, tell them you, too, think of the "old days," that we should meet up for lunch, and keep to yourself that you may forgive, but you don't forget.

Half Full

The events of the day, and their resulting wear and tear, left me slouching on the couch in a way that only I can.  I'd even use the phrase "world-weary" if I'd seen the world, which I certainly have not. 

Then, she came up to me, all smiles.  "Let's go to the kitchen and get an ice cream sandwich!"

I shouldn't be buying those for a myriad of reasons, and I rarely go into the supermarket for 2-3 things.  But it's Memorial Day weekend, and the hot dog buns were moldy.  Damn it, I want my money back.  And...well, I do have a coupon, and they are M&M cookie ice cream sandwiches, and it's just about "summer" and...

"OK," I said, and just getting up seemed to keep the machine in motion.

"The first thing you do is open the freezer and get them."  She was "helping," and this was all part of the plan.  I cut it in half, which seemed to confuse and disappoint her.  I told her she was getting the bigger half, which wasn't true at all, but I was managing sugar in the late hours.

Sitting down, she suspected a ruse: "Can I have a bite of yours, too?"  No.  This way we both have some, right?  "Yes.  I got the biggest piece!" 

Well, this worked out perfectly.  Eating, both of us all smiles, she looked at me and said "I'm so lucky!"  No, sweetie.  I'm lucky.  Despite the large lack of good luck in my life, I'm lucky.  Right here and now, there's no doubt I'm lucky.

"Yeah!"

I've got living to do

Stacy, are you ready for cheer practice?

YES, mom.  God, why can't we get a Betamax?

A what?

A Betamax.  I'm missing this new show I like.  OH - LOOK! 

Ugh.  Stupid Mrs. Conover moving it to the night.  If it was after school--

Stacy, watch your language.  

Fine, I'm going.

(One week later)
  
Stacy, isn't your show on now?

Oh my god!  OK, Linda, I'll call you after.  Bye. (pause)  Mom, if you're gonna be in here, you have to be quiet.

(sigh)  Fine, I'll fold the laundry in the kitchen.

WHAT?!  Crap!  Why are they doing this?

Stacy!  Your language!

I'm calling channel 2.  Oh - sorry, Dad.  Let me know when you're off the phone. 

What happened to your show?

It's not on.  Some cartoon thing on instead.

Oh, well...you can help me fold the sheets.

Why do they have to ruin all the good shows?

I don't know, honey.  I don't know.

 

Going Under

Days go fast, in the "blink or you'll miss it" mode.  Weeks, next thing you know, are over.  People excite themselves over the weekend.  Myself?  It's just another day.

The "process" (such as it is) to land somewhere else is not a swift one, so each day only yields so much news.  It might be also described as a "trickle" and all the applying in the world to jobs that actually fit whatever one might call a skill set...you wait.

One of those currently in play is, believe it or not, a job with the city's library department.  My background fit much of what they are looking for, and I was pleased to hear I've made what I thought was "the cut."

This "cut" occurred at, of all places, a fire department training center.  I reiterated that I was not trying to be a fire fighter, but go I went...and before I knew it, I was in a cattle call.  Some were dressed to the 9's, some in what we call "The Summer of George."  But once inside, I sat down and took what can best be described as an "adult SAT test."  Just before I began, I was told that the large group I was in were all there for that job.

40 people can do this job?  The guy in line who said he used to work for LA Metro trains and now "works for his dad, outside" - he can do it?  The lady who said "I just go for everything now" - her too?  Was there any cut at all?

I left more confused than ever, and wondered...just what is the threshold?  Damned if I ever know.  HR departments are no help: it all "went great" and "we'll be in touch."  I hang up the phone, I reply with another thank you and...well, how do you tell someone you can only waste away the day watching old After School Specials until the bills are due?