Hurricane Katrina ceased being a weather story days ago. I now watch as an interested bystander. I am very unhappy with what I see.
If FEMA or any other part of Homeland Security has had an impact on those people in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast, I haven’t seen it. Again, this storm wasn’t a surprise. I told people here in Connecticut how bad I thought it would be… but I wasn’t alone.
Reading the pre-Katrina statements from the Weather Service’s New Orleans office, there was no doubt this was being portrayed as a killer… a once in a lifetime type event. The Hurricane Center was saying the same thing.
Where was FEMA?
Where was Homeland Security?
Where are they today?
How can we allow our fellow citizens to suffer, as these people are certainly suffering? Where is the humanity that symbolizes America? These poor citizens deserve comfort.
New Orleans is a city filled with poor, black people. I would be easy to think this was racist or classist treatment. I don’t think so. I think this is a case of inept agencies. They would have poorly served any group so affected, regardless of station in life.
It looks like there are still people dying from this storm. How disgusting is that?
From the New Orleans Times-Picayune:
Katrina Heads West
When I called my folks yesterday to give them their “Katrina heads-up,” I immediately heard the discomfort in my mom’s voice. It’s not that she didn’t feel they could weather a hurricane. It’s that she already has.
Even if it creates no significant damage, a hurricane is a major inconvenience. My mom and dad remember the days without power, phone and air conditioning. Who wants to repeat that?
She said they were prepared in the things you’re supposed to have: lanterns, water, food, batteries.
I wish I could say they were off the hook. The definitely are not. The predicted track brings Katrina perilously close to Boynton Beach early Friday morning.
A hurricane is bad enough during the day. In the dark of night, it’s worse.
The only good news is the hope Katrina will stay a minimal hurricane. Much of South Florida is built to easily survive a category one storm.
This isn’t my last post on this storm.
Sunday in Fall River and Fenway
Sunday’s are for sleeping late, but not this Sunday. It was road trip time with my friend Bob. So, I was up before the crack of 8:00!
OK – I know that’s sleeping in for most people. Remember, I live in the east, but operate on Hawaiian time.
We stopped for a quick container of coffee, dropped my car off at New Haven’s Union Station and headed eastward on the Connecticut Turnpike. Because the Turnpike is also I-95, this east-west route has signs referring to north and south.
It still drives me nuts!
Saturday night late, I had received this cryptic little email from another Bob friend, in Florida.
midnight
amazing
78° for a dewpoint temperature represents Calcutta-like steam. It was very warm and very sticky Saturday night and nothing, except the Sun beaming down, had changed by Sunday morning.
With a Google generated map and directions in hand, we headed toward Somerset, MA and WSAR, scene of one of Bob’s earliest jobs and my first. There was never any thought that 36 years after my last time there, WSAR had moved. In fact, the only question was, how much was still the same?
In a poetic, romantic world, I’d now tell you about all the memories that rushed back to me as we drove up. The truth is, I could only vaguely make a connection. That surprised me.
The building is the same. It’s at the end of Home Street, on the edge of a neighborhood of modest homes. Beyond WSAR’s field of towers, a huge power plant poked out through the very thick haze.
Amazingly, someone was at the station. We think he was the manager of what now is a little mom and pop two station facility. WSAR is news, talk and sports. Its sister station, formerly WALE is all Portuguese.
The inside of the building had been changed, as you might expect after all this time. The man at the station told us to walk around and take a look.
We didn’t stay long.
I think Bob got more out of this than I did. I wish I would have made more of a connection with my past. Working at WSAR was such a seminal moment in my professional life.
Heading north, we stopped at a mall in Taunton for breakfast/lunch and then proceeded to Boston. It was very hazy. Nothing about the Boston skyline that was distinct. Everything was sort of placed within the murkiness.
We maneuvered up Storrow Drive, off at Arlington Street and then across Back Bay to a garage under the Prudential Center. I thought it would be a good idea to park at the Pru and then take the subway¹ to Fenway.
We got to the platform only to see signs cautioning that no dollar bills would be accepted on the train. The three token machines were not working. There was no token clerk. What to do?
We popped back up at street level and walked into the Colonnade Hotel. Most business are bothered by subway change seekers and I understand why. But, we really needed the change, so I did everything I could to look like a touristy hotel guest. Having my camera slung over my shoulder didn’t hurt.
Oh, by the way… contrary to the many posted signs, you can use dollar bills on the subway. The driver puts them in a slot on the side of the change machine. I have no idea what happens to them at the end of the run.
It didn’t take long to get to Fenway. It is just beyond the Mass Pike, a few blocks from Kenmore Square. The neighborhood looks like it was industrial – the buildings have that kind of feel.
Crowds of happy people (the Red Sox are in first, after all) were heading toward the stadium.
Immediately, I began to sense a different vibe than I had felt at Yankee Stadium. Maybe it was the fact you could see the stadium as you approached it or the banners on its brick exterior? Maybe it was the cluster of stores across the street?
Whatever it was, it was not Yankee Stadium. Since Yankee Stadium was a disappointment, this was a good thing.
We found a man selling tickets and lucked into great seats. The luck wasn’t the site lines or distance from home plate – both of those were what we expected and quite good. The luck was being under cover in the grandstand, as you shall see.
We walked through a security screening and into a throng of people moving past the concession stands. It felt good. I don’t know why. It felt right. It was old and cramped but totally appropriate in a way Yankee Stadium was not.
We walked into the stands and gazed at the stadium. It’s a gem. The stadium has a small feel to it. And, I guess next to a 50-60,000 seat park, it is. Our seats were up the first base line, directly opposite from the green monster.
I was pleased to see restraint in the advertising signs on that big, green wall. They were all green and white. They fit in.
The first inning was rocky for the Red Sox. They finally retired the White Sox without a run, but it was obvious Matt Clement wasn’t throwing his best stuff.
There would be plenty of time to think about that, because as the first half inning ended, the heavens open, accompanied by deep throated thunder.
How glad was I, at this moment, that our seats were under cover? We watched as most of the lower deck and other exposed seats cleared out.
Within a few seconds the players and umps had left the field and the grounds crew was in charge, covering the base cutout and pitcher’s mound and unrolling the tarp.
This is something I had seen on TV, but never in person. The tarp is immense, covering the entire infield and skinned areas of the field. It went on quickly.
As a meteorologist (Wow, I can now refer to myself that way), I was concerned that they were placing themselves in harm’s way during the storm. You would expect a lightning strike to hit a light tower or other taller structure… but it could easily strike someone on the field, or in the stands, I guess.
It rained as hard as I’ve ever seen. Sheets of rain poured down. Most people moved to shelter. Others, resigned to getting soaked, stayed where the were.
At one point, security guards on the field were issued yellow slickers. By this time they were already soaked to the bone. I tried to figure out the value of this late move? By this point, the slickers were just holding in the moisture already there.
The rains stopped and the crew came back to remove the tarp. Now, what was heavy was heavier. The tarp was loaded with water.
By folding the tarp over itself and moving back and forth, the grounds crew was able to deposit most of the water just beyond the base paths in shallow right field. Then a groundskeeper reached down and began pulling plugs from the turf, opening drains to carry the water away.
This was nearly as good a show as the game!
Play resumed, but it wasn’t to be the Red Sox day. They were getting pummeled by Chicago. And then, it began to rain again.
We stayed a while and then, remembering there was a 6:40 train to Connecticut or a three hour wait until the one after that at 9:40, we left. Bob got off near his car and I continued, first on the Green Line and then the Red Line to South Station.
South Station is open and airy with kiosks for food, books and magazines. The ceiling and walls are largely populated by ads for Apple’s iPod. As much as I thought the green and white ads at Fenway were appropriate, I felt this was not… and I’m an iPod fan.
I went to a ticket machine to pay my way but all it wanted to sell me was a ticket at 9:40. I moved to a real person behind the counter. He gave me the bad news. The 6:40 train was sold out!
This wasn’t good. But, there was nothing I could do, yet. I got a salad, sat between a woman and her loud toddler son and a homeless person who seemed to be nodding off, and had dinner.
As train time approached, I moved toward the platform. Maybe there was someone based in New Haven on this train? Maybe I could talk my way on?
I ran into a conductor. He was from Boston, there was no doubt from his accent. I told him my plight and he said, “Don’t worry, you can sit in the Club Car.”
Easier said than done. He went to work on the train as I waited for the platform to be opened for passengers. When it finally was, my ticket was for the wrong train. They wouldn’t let me pass to get to the Club Car.
I began to panic. I was tired, extremely sweaty and I imagine quite pungent. I didn’t want to spend the next three hours at South Station.
I did something I have promised myself never to do. I took out my business card, handed it to one of the security people and asked her to ask one of the crew members (who all, except for the Club Car conductor were from New Haven) if they could help me.
Maybe I’m justifying what I’ve already done, but I thought I worded my request in such a way that it didn’t go over my imaginary line. It wasn’t a, “Don’t you know who I am” request. Well, it didn’t seem like one at the time.
As it turns out, a very nice conductor traveling with his family took mercy on me. He got me past security and onto the train. And, during the course of the trip I got to meet everyone who was “working on the railroad, all the livelong day.”
Here’s the more amazing corollary to this story. The sold out train couldn’t have been more than half full! Why did Amtrak think it was full and refuse to sell tickets? I have no idea. I would guess I wasn’t the only one prepared to spend another three hours in Boston… and some people probably did.
So, there’s the Boston trip… except for one little thing. As it turns out, after we left, the Red Sox waited and waited and waited and finally postponed the game. My two tickets are eligible to be replaced with tickets for another game.
I’m looking forward to returning to Fenway.
¹ – I guess it officially fits the definition of subway, but Boston’s Green Line is just trolleys in a tube with some of the ugliest, dingiest stations ever seen by man. I have no doubt I was safe and never felt otherwise. It was just the subway time forgot.
The Rest of Our Philadelphia Trip
One of the prime reasons for going to Philadelphia was to go the see a Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park.
Before we go on, let me say how displeased I am with naming rights to stadiums and arenas. It’s a shame there’s no longer a Veteran’s Stadium in Philadelphia or Oakdale Theater near me in Wallingford, CT. Maybe there is a benefit to me by having Citizens Bank or Chevy (in the case of the Oakdale Theater) kick in some cash… though I don’t see it.
I am tilting at windmills. It’s never going back.
My friend Peter picked us up at the hotel and it didn’t take long to drive to South Philly and the stadium. Citizens Bank Park, Lincoln Financial Field and the Core State Arena (it’s hurting me to write this) are all located on the same tract of land that held the Vet, Franklin Field and the Spectrum (still there, but now with a corporate name preceding the word Spectrum).
I paid the $10 to park and we found a space fairly close to the entrance. Helaine had bought four tickets from a broker – though they were only marked up $4. We walked into the stadium.
Since this was my birthday trip, Helaine had arranged for my name and age to be flashed on the scoreboard with the other 11 year olds. We went and signed in. There was a charge, but I got a very nice Phillies hat.
The ballpark itself is a very nice place. Whereas the Vet was all concrete and steel with no thought of aesthetics, there’s lots of exposed brick and other warm touches now. And, Vet Stadium’s turf – possibly the worst playing surface in all of professional sports, has been replaced by beautiful real grass.
Beyond the outfield is a huge food court – Ashburn’s Alley. That’s where we headed first.
Steffie wanted to have a genuine Philly Cheesesteak, and Geno’s of South Philadelphia fame is represented. This is not ‘old school’ baseball food. It wasn’t soggy. It was hot. It was delicious. We found a place to sit and ate our lunch.
The game was scheduled for 3:15, so we headed down and took our seats. I was surprised that there had been no hassle when I brought my camera and two lenses in. The Phillies web site said it would be OK, but I had a sneaking suspicion there would be scrutiny over any camera with a removable lens.
These were probably the best baseball seats I’d ever had. We were behind the Phillies dugout, in the sun, 25 rows from the field. We were in foul ball territory. We were very close to the action.
The Phils were playing the San Diego Padres… and the Phils had gotten hot! The night before, Chase Utley ended the game with a walk off homer. Is there a more macho act?
For us, the game began slowly. It seemed like Robinson Tejeda, the Phillie starter wasn’t in control. I say ‘seemed’, because when you see the box score, you see a pitcher totally dominating the opposition. It’s funny how those two elements don’t always match up.
I took a lot of pictures at the game. Some might say I took too many pictures. Here’s my favorite, Bobby Abreu ducking out of the way of a Pedro Astascio fastball. Judging by the catcher’s glove, this pitch was traveling where it was aimed.
We stayed until the very last out, anticipated the worst when Real Cormier was called in, but getting a one inning gem instead. Billy Wagner picked up the save.
After a short stop back at the hotel, the four of us (Peter included) went out searching for dinner and the sights. We hit South Street first, but realizing that wasn’t the right spot for dinner, headed to Market Street and the Penn’s Landing area.
Again, we found Italian food. Again, it was very good. But we were very tired.
Our walk back to the hotel was uneventful, but left me uneasy. There were too many places which seemed sinister.
Tonight, I sent an email message to Mayor Street. It’s attached to the link at the bottom of this entry. Whether this kind of message makes any difference or not is beyond me, but I am always willing to write and make my opinions felt.
We finished up our stay Sunday with brunch on the Moshulu.
I once heard someone say you should never go out to dinner at a revolving restaurant. I think the same applies to converted sailing ships. The food was OK – nothing special. The ship was OK too… but just OK.
The interior of the ship was larger than I expected. I know that because of the schlep from our table to the buffet!
By 1:30 we were heading home. We headed north on I-95, over the Delaware via the Betsy Ross Bridge (A white elephant when it was built, I hope it’s more useful now), Route 90 to Route 73 to I-295 and then the New Jersey Turnpike.
We waited as long as we could before getting off I-295 and onto the Turnpike. It made no difference. We were stuck in stop-and-go traffic for the better part of an hour before things opened up. The rest of the trip was uneventful.
Oh – there was that sign on the George Washington Bridge that I captured. I’m hoping it’s legal to take photos before you get to the sign, as I did.
So, what have we learned? We were surprised and pleased that Steffie enjoyed the game. Yes, she got a shirt and excellent junk food… but she bought another shirt with her own money and seemed to be interested in the game.
We also enjoyed visiting Philadelphia, the place where we met 25 years ago, as tourists. There are rough edges that need to be smoothed for Philadelphia to become a better tourist destination, but so much is in place right now.
We’re In Philadelphia
The trip to Philadelphia wasn’t terribly bad… for a Friday afternoon… in the summer… on I-95. There is a place, about halfway through New Jersey, where the four roadway Turnpike becomes the two roadway Turnpike. At the point (or actually a few miles before it) the traffic slows to a crawl.
We made Philadelphia by mid-afternoon. The hotel was easy to find (considering Helaine had grown up here and I lived here for five years, we should know where things are) and nicely located.
We’re on the Delaware River. When I was here, this area was industrial and well into an era of hard times. It’s been reclaimed now as an entertainment area with restaurants and hotels.
Just across the way, and over an expressway, is the main body of the city. The streets in Philadelphia are numbered – so we’re ‘below’ First Street.
After we checked in, we decided to walk north, along the river, and ended up at Dave and Buster’s. D&B is a national chain of arcades on steroids… with a bar!
I found a flight simulator and attempted to takeoff and land without killing any of my passengers. No sweat. Next it was a boxing simulator. I’ve never played an arcade game that took so much out of me. There was even a readout with the number of calories you burned!
While I was playing games, Steffie and Helaine were working the ticket dispensing machines. What were they looking to get? Who knows? They were acquiring tickets as its own end.
I settled in next to them on a machine that tosses a coin onto platform. Small ‘sweepers’ push the coins forward. Hopefully, if your coin ends up in the right place, it will dislodge other coins causing them to fall in a tray, getting you tickets.
By the time we were done, Steffie had a dragon. It’s actually quite cute.
We went back to the hotel to wash up and get ready for dinner. Then, we headed to Society Hill and Old City. The latter name comes from the fact that this was the colonial center of Philadelphia. This is where Benjamin Franklin and Betsy Ross lived… though not together.
It was in Society Hill where the beginning of Philadelphia’s in-town gentrification began with the Society Hill Towers, two luxury apartment buildings. As I remember, they’re condos now.
We walked past Bookbinders and up Chestnut Street. This part of Philadelphia is an amazing mix of old and new. There are glass box office buildings and historical sites. Some streets are paved with cobblestones.
Philadelphia has a system of streets and alleyways. In some ways, that makes its downtown similar to Boston’s. Some of these alleys are just wide enough for a car – barely.
We went hunting for a restaurant to have dinner. Steffie and Helaine read the menus posted near the doors. We finally settled on an Italian place, Amici Noi, at 3rd and Market.
Good choice. The food was excellent and the portions large.
Surprisingly, all the restaurants we look at were fairly empty. Maybe Philadelphia isn’t the tourist city it should be. Certainly, on a hot Friday night, plenty of locals would be headed to the Jersey Shore.
It’s a shame, because this is such a beautiful and livable city.
After dinner I decided to head to South Street, knowing Steffie especially would like it. First, a detour. I wanted to see Independence Hall.
I remember, back when I lived here, how cool I thought it was to just drive by the Liberty Bell or Independence Hall. It’s no different now. There’s something very impressive knowing these icons of American history are right in the middle of modern life.
We walked down 4th Street past some beautiful neighborhoods of very expensive, very small homes. I can only shudder to think how these places have appreciated since I left 25 years ago this month.
How to describe South Street? Eclectic. Bohemian. Over the top. Very much like Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles.
South Street is where you find stores… like Condom Kingdom!
We walked and Steffie darted into some stores looking at clothing. We also stopped at Rita’s so Steffie and Helaine could get ‘water ice’ and I could get some custard. Perfect.
Meanwhile, South Street was packed with cars and cops and parking enforcement officers. I have never seen tow trucks move as quickly and deftly to get cars off the street! Something tells me this is a very expensive way to get unwanted valet parking.
We headed back to our hotel. We were, to understate it, tired. In fact, I went to bed a good seven hours before my normal bedtime!
Today, we head to the Vet¹ for the Phillies versus San Diego Padres. I’m psyched.
¹ – The Phillies play in Citizens Bank Park. I know that. I still want to say they play at the Vet… and it is, after all, my blog.
On To The Weekend
First things first. My tooth pain has greatly subsided. There’s still swelling on the gum, but I’m hoping that’s from the injections. The tooth is in my drawer, where it now belongs.
Let me add, though I took a sick day from work Thursday, Friday was already scheduled as a vacation day. Bad timing on my part.
We once had an employee at the station who tried to explain to my boss that since she was sick on her vacation day, it should count as a sick day. That’s chutzpah.
I was well enough to head to the shoreline for a planned family celebration. I’ve been told to keep my mouth shut on what was being celebrated, but we went to Lenny’s in Branford.
I was petrified to go! I’d run into Lenny’s daughter while having my hair cut and she told me how the place had been remodeled. Didn’t she understand? The charm of Lenny’s was that it looked like it was built out of whatever was stored in someone’s garage.
I’m glad to say the main dining room has been remodeled… the particle board removed from the walls… but it’s lost none of its charm. That’s a tall order. It looks nice – really, not just compared to its older self.
We weren’t going to Lenny’s for the ambiance. We were going for fried shrimp for the girls and the shore dinner for me.
Even with only one half of my mouth operating, it was great! The lobster, the mussels, the corn – excellent. Why you only get two clams is beyond me, but that ‘s what the dinner calls for. My only ‘customization’ was getting a bowl of Rhode Island clam chowder¹ instead of a cup.
Through dinner and the rest of the evening I was a little woozy. It wasn’t enough to stop me, but I certainly was in no condition to operate heavy equipment. Helaine drove and I was grateful to be her passenger.
When we got home, I napped. I couldn’t sleep all night because there was a test to be taken for my Oceanography class.
I took the test around 3:00 AM. This should be an interesting grade because I wasn’t really able to concentrate on reading the text necessary to answer the questions. I had the attention span of a toy poodle.
Back to bed at 4:00.
By the time I woke up this morning, I had gotten over 16 hours of sleep in the last 24. On the other hand, I was feeling better, which was good because I had long standing plans for a friend to visit.
I’ve known Bob since my first professional day in radio, early fall 1969. Bob was a disk jockey at WSAR in Fall River, MA, where I started.
When I first me him he was Skippy Ross, then Skip Tyler, now (for over thirty years) Bob Lacey. With his partner Sheri Lynch, Bob presides over a very successful, syndicated morning radio show. It’s a show considered ‘woman friendly.’
Bob had left Charlotte, NC Thursday afternoon and had been hanging around New England since Thursday evening. Though I’d tried getting him on his cell phone a few times, he was unreachable.
By early this morning there was a discussion whether Bob was actually going to show or not. It was starting to look like ‘not’ had won when the phone rang.
He showed up an hour later and we hopped in the convertible on what had turned into a spectacular spring day. The sky was blue, temperature warm, humidity about right. We were heading toward the shoreline.
Bob had actually grown up around New Haven and knows those parts of the area that haven’t changed over the last 40 years – which is most of it!
First stop was lunch. We went to a place call “The Place” in Guilford. “The Place” is one of a kind.
You sit outside (in the open or under a tent-like cover) on old tree stumps. The food (lobster, clams, chicken and the like) are cooked out of door on a long wood fired grill. When your order is ready, the grill it cooked on is brought to your table.
The owner, Vaughn, kvetched about the weather. I would think to a place like this good weather means good business and a May like we had means… well, it wasn’t a good sign.
Bob had a lobster and I had clams. I’m sorry to be positive about everything, but it was great.
Next up we drove down the Turnpike into Old Lyme and then headed randomly into an area called “Miami Beach.” We drove down Hartford Avenue and I was astounded – 21 years in Connecticut and I’d never been to this cool, vest pocket, beach community.
A friendly cop showed us where we could park and we were off. This is a really nice beach. As Connecticut’s Long Island Sound beaches go, it is broad and white. There are plenty of stones which makes barefoot walking a little tougher.
Of course Bob and I were dressed totally wrong for a day at the beach – both wearing long pants.
We moved off the beach itself and into an open air beachfront bar. Bob had a beer and I a Diet Coke ($5+$2 tip). Reggae music was wafting in and it was perfect on this idyllic day.
Like “The Place,” I have to wonder how open air establishments like this make it in the ratified air of a short season Connecticut summer, and with total dependence on good weather. Every season has got to be make or break. I thought about that as I sipped my Coke.
We didn’t have long. Bob had dinner plans with some friends he’s known longer than me. We continued east to Mohegan Sun, the closer of the two Connecticut mega casinos.
Bob was stunned. It is a very impressive place. And, the shopping area with its upscale shops connecting the old and new casinos is elegantly glitzy.
Bob wanted to play craps, though he hadn’t played in years. I pulled $60 out of my pocket and quickly turned it into $15 – good going. Bob had similar luck, but on a lesser scale.
We headed for the car and headed back home.
Bob will be back in Connecticut in the middle of August. We’re hoping to see the Red Sox and visit WSAR’s studio. Truth is, hanging with a friend is the important part. The rest is just icing on the cake.
¹ – I had never heard of Rhode Island clam chowder until I moved to Connecticut. Manhattan is red, New England is creamy and Rhode Island is a clear broth. When properly spiced, it’s great and nowhere as heavy as New England. As for Manhattan clam chowder – please! Who’s eating that?
Out To Dinner
A major Saturday for Helaine and me – we went out to dinner with another couple. This is huge in the general social scheme of things as we’re normally stay-at-home types.
We were having dinner with Amy and Rob. Amy is Helaine’s friend and I had never met Rob. Helaine and Amy met online through a project they were both involved in and then, through Rob’s work, Amy and Rob moved to Connecticut.
We chose to take them to Tony and Lucille’s on New Haven’s Wooster Street. Wooster Street is the heart of New Haven’s “Little Italy.” Many of the residents and business owners trace their roots back to Amalfi. It’s no surprise that Amalfi is New Haven’s sister city.
Helaine and I have been going to Tony and Lucille’s for over 20 years. It is a family restaurant in the truest sense of the word. Parents are in the kitchen. Children are on the floor waiting tables. In many ways, we are treated as if we’re part of the family.
When Steffie was born, it was the first place we took her! Sitting at a small table in the corner, we put Steffie’s carrier on the floor next to Helaine. Lucille, in her pre-grandma days, took Steffie and carried her around the restaurant while we ate.
Did I mention the food is really great?
We met Rob and Amy at 7:00 and sat right down. The restaurant was crowded. Local colleges, including Yale, are in the midst of their graduation frenzy. Parents are in from all over the place often celebrating with their graduating children.
Speaking of which, the governor of a nearby state was there eating. Included in his entourage were his family and what I assume were state troopers, standing watch. They were ensconced in a side room – private but visible from the main room.
Memo to the gov – I won’t mention your name here, but the folks who waited on you were less than thrilled with your attitude. Would it be so difficult to be gracious? These people were working hard for you.
During dinner people cam up and said hello. I’ve been here a long time. I enjoy that. But I was irked by one woman – and she probably didn’t mean to upset me.
She sat near me and told me she liked me but that she thought I was wrong most of the time. Grrrrrr. I’m certainly not right all the time, but that was an exaggeration on her part – and why? What was she trying to accomplish?
If she knew how hard I work trying to be right and how upsetting it is to me when the forecast doesn’t come in as predicted, she probably would have chosen her words differently. I guess knowing those things isn’t her obligation.
We ate our dinner and walked across the street. I’m sure it’s somewhat sacrilegious, but we had dinner at Tony and Lucille’s and walked across the street to Libby’s for desert. Libby’s is an old style Italian bakery.
The line out front was as long as we’d ever seen, stretching out the door and on to Wooster Street. As we snaked our way inside, we caught a glimpse of what was there. If you’re on a diet or watching carbs… hell, if you’re watching anything, this isn’t the place to go.
In order to get people to eat things that are so bad for them they’ve got to be delicious!
I don’t remember what anyone else had, but mine was a chocolate mousse concoction. Somewhere there is a cardiologist who did not sleep last night because he dreaded I was eating this thing. It is the proverbial heart attack on a plate.
It was so amazingly good!
We came back to the house where Steffie was waiting, dessert in hand. Steffie really likes Amy, so she was happy to be home on a Saturday night to say hi (and start the coffee while we were in the car).
All-in-all a very enjoyable night.
Jeff and Lauren Get Married
This was the payoff of the trip – to get an watch two friends get married. It’s always a little chancy when you go to a wedding. There are weddings and there are WEDDINGS. This was the latter.
The wedding and reception were held at a restaurant/caterer located within a very nice office park – Villa Christina.
Jeff and Lauren got married under cover, though outside. The guests sat in chairs on the lawn. It was breezy and chilly, but it was raining where Jeff grew up and snowing where Lauren grew up. Breezy and chilly was good.
The first good sign was when I overheard the usher tell another guest there was no side for the bride or groom – anyone could sit anywhere. I found a seat in the back, but on the aisle. I wanted to take pictures.
It was a very informal ceremony, performed by a very folksy reverend. A few times, when appropriate, Jeff made comments to the crowd. There was lots of crying… good crying.
I was very impressed when Lauren’s grandmother came up to the mike and recited a very sweet poem, from memory. It was a nice touch, as was Lauren’s sister’s singing.
If I’ve ever been to a wedding with more good looking women, I don’t remember it. Yet I still desperately missed Helaine. I think I would have had even more fun sharing this time with her. It really was contagious.
After the ceremony there were appetizers and an open bar. I managed to get some food on my suit. Maybe it was better Helaine wasn’t here after all.
Dinner was in the ballroom upstairs. The food was very good and the ambiance continued to be great. I was assigned Table 5 and ended up with a bunch of people from The Weather Channel, including Jim Cantore, their best known on-camera meteorologist.
Before I wrap this up, I have to relate one story which goes to the general mood of the evening. There were two still photographers at the affair, one shooting Nikon and the other Canon. Both had nice pro level cameras and lenses.
I tried to be out of the way as they shot. After all, they were there to document this for Jeff and Lauren and though I’d be shooting away, they take precedence. A few times during the evening we chatted, and they were friendly.
All was fine, until my battery went. I had taken over 120 shots at the time, and though I was surprised it went, I shouldn’t have been… and should have brought a second battery with me.
The Canon photog, seeing my plight, offered me a spare battery! These are special batteries made just for these cameras.
I told him I didn’t want to have him take a risk, but he insisted as he knew I’d want to shoot the bride and groom as they made their entrance.
I took my shots and then, guilt ridden, brought the battery back to him with thanks. A few minutes later he was back, with his charger. A half hour later, I was all set with a charged battery.
This guy was great. This was a selfless move by someone who cared enough to see I was having a good time.
Greetings From Ventnor City
I’m writing this from the kitchen of my friend Peter’s condo in Ventnor City, NJ. Honest, there is a Ventnor City, NJ… just down the road from Atlantic City. The people here call it Ventnor.
My journey started after work Friday night. Knowing I have no organizational skills, or willpower, going home after work would have just meant an extended period of putting off going to bed… so I set out for Peter’s house, in Cherry Hill, NJ at 11:35 PM.
That was a good idea because traffic was light and I made it in just under three hours. Not bad. EZ-Pass is good on the NJ Turnpike, making the trip even easier.
I didn’t relish the idea of a long drive but I had my cell phone along with the earpiece I seldom use. I knew if I got my Cousin Michael on the phone from California… well, let’s just say Michael is never at a loss for words.
That’s a good thing because I enjoy talking with him. Between Michael, Melissa and Max (their son) I kept busy through the Bronx, over the George Washington Bride and well into New Jersey. Finally I gave up because my ear was getting sore.
I also decided to run a ‘science experiment’ during the drive. I put my laptop in the front seat, powered by an inverter, working off the car’s battery so it would last the whole trip. The laptop had a wireless network card and GPS receiver hooked up and ran a free piece of software call NetStumbler.
As I drove along, sometimes every few seconds and sometimes only a few times an hour, a little sound went off and the computer would log the presence of a wireless access point. Some were password protected while others would have gladly (OK – gladly is overdoing it) allowed me to connect to the Internet or anything else behind their firewall!
After I return to Connecticut I’ll try and publish some lists and maps to show you what got logged. It was very interesting to me and I tried disparately not to look at the computer screen as I sped along at 70 mph.
I made it to Peter’s house around 2:30 AM. For me that’s the shank of the day. For Peter, it’s the middle of the night. He woke up and let me in. He even nuked a few burgers for me!
Saturday morning started with a visit to his nephew’s baseball game, breakfast at a deli and then a trip to the Jersey Shore. Peter recently bought a 2005 Acura RL and we felt it was necessary to test all the buttons¹.
Some parts of the car, like the XM Satellite Radio, were interesting. Peter and I agree the XM ‘decade channels’ play too many marginal songs (not hits) – probably an effort to avoid repetition and there’s no real ‘oldies’ channel as such. I did find the comedy channels interesting and am envious of his ability to hear every baseball game… though as a non-sports fan he will listen to none.
When a car is packed with gadgets, as this one is, there are things which seem superfluous or a little over the top. If, instead of touching a button, you’d like to wait five or ten seconds and hope your command is understood, you can tell the car’s climate control system to turn down the fan or adjust the temperature. Using the button is easier!
Mostly this is a sweet car and I enjoyed the ride to the shore.
Though sunny, today was blustery and cool. Still, we decided to take a walk down the boardwalk. The water was rough with spray coming off each breaking wave. The beach, as you might expect for April, was empty.
As we walked the beach, we ran into a flock of tiny birds. Though they do fly, most of the time they scamper on the sand, chasing the waterline in and out with the waves. They’re looking for food, I’m sure, but they were fun to watch because they’re totally in sync and choreographed perfectly.
There is no outward sign of communications between these birds, but they must know what the others are going to do. They change direction on a dime and never bump into each other!
Tonight we had dinner at the Tun, near the Atlantic City Convention Center. I’m on Atkins (again), so I told my waitress I’d rather not have the potatoes with my meal. Could she substitute something else? “How about French Fries,” was her reply.
The steak was very good and there was plenty of it. There was no Splenda for my coffee (a recurring theme of late), so I pulled a pack from the stash in my wallet. This is what 54 year old guys carry in their wallets instead of condoms.
After dinner we went to the Tropicana to see a comedy show. The Comedy Stop at the Trop has been there for at least 25 years. Recently it moved to nicer quarters in the hotel’s new wing called The Quarter. In fact the whole addition is very nice, somewhat reiniscent of the shops at some Vegas casinos.
We stopped in the Spy Store where I found some items going for many multiples of what the same thing sells for on EBay. I wasn’t expecting bargains, but this was a little ridiculous.
The comdey show itself was good and the comedians fine… at least that’s my impression from the audience reaction. Maybe I just wasn’t in a comedy mood tonight?
¹ – There is a button that Peter just can’t figure out. If you have any idea what the “DISP MODE” button does, drop me a line.
On To Palm Springs
Our week in Los Angeles was great. The three of us agreed we had a wonderful time. We saw friends, ate great food, visited fun places and (some of us) power shopped.
Now it was time to move our quarter ton of luggage to the next stop: Palm Springs. None of us had ever been here before, but we all like the desert.
Helaine had taken the time to print directions before we left Connecticut. Take a right from the hotel, down to Pico, then right toward Overland and I-10. But when we got to Pico there was a sign for I-10… but pointing left!
Who to believe? We chose the State of California. Bad choice.
The I-10 East signs lasted a few blocks and then… nothing. We continued to drive down Pico. Signs on stores changed from English to Spanish and then Korean. The buildings of Downtown LA grew larger. We were very lost.
When I came to a street I recognized, we turned. There was an overpass ahead, but not I-10. I decided to find a place to turn around and head back to Pico. And then I saw the sign: I-10 East.
The drive to Palm Springs is fairly easy. As you head east, Los Angeles County becomes less pretty. Then it’s bedroom town after bedroom town after bedroom town.
We stopped in West Covina to have lunch at “In-n-Out Burger.” “In-n-Out” is a West Coast chain of fast food burger joints. Steffie had seen one on some show, and she thought it would be fun.
“In-n-Out” has a very short menu. Burgers, fries, drinks – that’s about it.
I was immediately struck by how many people were behind the counter and in the kitchen. They seemed more labor intensive than McDonalds or Burger King.
My cheeseburger was excellent, the fries were light and good… and so, In-n-Out Burger now has a new fan.
We got back on I-10 and headed east. The land is fairly flat and filled with scrub type vegetation. We moved farther into the desert and the population began to thin out.
And then, I spotted the wind turbines.
I knew this place existed, but had never really thought about it. On I-10, just before the exit for Palm Springs, up sprang a huge ‘farm’ of wind turbines. Each was on a tall tower with a three bladed propeller. They seemed to be spinning slower than would be expected with the wind.
This is an unbelievable sight, and I will check to see if it’s possible to visit up close.
We’re in Palm Springs now, settled in our hotel. More on what we did last night and what we’ve got planned for today a little later.
Spectacular Sunday In Southern California
When I went on Instant Messenger tonight, my friend Bob jumped in from Florida:
He is so right. Helaine, Steffie and I find this lifestyle and this place very appealing. I would go in a second.
Whoa! What am I doing? People at work read this blog. Don’t worry. Southern California is an obsession I’ve had forever.
Be quiet for a second. What do you hear? Nothing. No phone ringing. No offer. I came close with KCAL years ago, but I don’t think it’s meant to be.
So, we’ll continue to come out every year or two… continue to be teased by California… and life will go on happily in Connecticut.
As nice as California seems, my Connecticut life isn’t too shabby. After all, it affords me these trips to California!
Where were we?
We have stuffed ourselves like pigs on this trip. Every night has featured a spectacular dinner with appetizer and desert. There comes a point where enough is enough. That came this morning.
Instead of going someplace nice for breakfast, we decided to go to Starbucks and eat light. I had a bagel and coffee. Helaine and Steffie were similarly pedestrian in their meal.
We sat outside. It wasn’t long before Cleo, the dog, came and made friends with us. As we learned, her owner, now working on a movie in production, needed to give Cleo away. She was living in a place with no dogs allowed. Very sad, but we couldn’t bring Cleo back on the plane with us.
This was to be a shopping day. Before the trip Steffie had decided on some stores and some areas she wanted to visit.
I will admit it. She travels in a totally different world from me, especially when it comes to style and fashion. As I have learned during this trip, there are trendy stores, ‘celebrity’ stores, written up in People and US Weekly, featured on “E” and VH-1.
The names of these stores mean nothing to me, but to Steffie, this is a big deal.
We went to two or three of these ‘name’ shops on Robertson Blvd. in West Hollywood. While Steffie and Helaine browsed stores like Kitson, I walked the streets.
Actually, there’s a lot to learn.
For instance, just before the corner of Robertson and Beverly, there’s a sign warning that the intersection is “Photo Enforced.” Adjacent to a few of the traffic lights in the intersection are boxes with strobe lights and cameras.
Run the intersection, and you get a moving violation with photo showing you, the red light you’re running and other pertinent details! I saw it in action. Very sobering.
A block away from the shopping is Cedars-Sinai Hospital. There’s the Max Factor Pavilion, a center with Steven Spielberg’s name on it, and (just outside the hospital) the intersection of George Burns Road and Gracie Allen Drive!
This is Los Angeles, a factory town for TV and the movies. Getting your name out is everything.
Next stop for shopping was Melrose. I’m not sure why, but I gently begged off. I just didn’t want to walk into store-after-store-after-store.
Trust me. This is great sport for Helaine and especially Steffie. And I’d be right there with them if these were computer or camera stores. I dropped them off and decided to go on a search for the Hollywood sign.
I had done this before. There are places where the Hollywood sign is very visible, and then a block or two away, it’s gone. And, if you try and drive toward the sign, you quickly find none of the streets are parallel, nor lead in a single direction for more than a few hundred feet.
Nothing in my luck changed. I saw the sign, headed toward it and then lost sight of it. I got lost enough to end up on a ramp for the Hollywood Freeway with Burbank the first exit.
I got off and looked for a way to loop around and reverse course. Before I could get back on the freeway, I saw I was approaching Mulholland Drive.
Mulholland Drive is a twisty two lane road that runs through the peaks of the Santa Monica Mountains. The Santa Monica Mountains are what separate the ocean side of Los Angeles County from the San Fernando Valley (aka – The Valley).
Back in the 50s I used to watch The Bob Cummings Show. Bob, a perennial bachelor, would always talk about taking his dates to Mulholland Drive.
I turned onto Mulholland and it wasn’t long before I saw the entrance to a small parking lot. Immediately, I knew it was a scenic overlook. What I didn’t know was I had hit the motherlode for seeing the Hollywood sign! Not only that, the overlook also had an amazingly commanding view of Downtown LA and most of the west side of town.
I drove on, pulling to the side of the road a mile or so later for a view to the east of the entire San Fernando Valley. The sky was blue, the visibility was high.
None of these spots are for the faint of heart. These are steep mountains and the best view is close to the edge. In case you’re looking to get these vista, here’s my best guess of where I was!
I was excited at my find, but no longer had a reason to be on Mulholland. I drove to Laurel Canyon Road, made a left, and headed back toward Hollywood proper and Melrose Avenue in particular.
Melrose Avenue is where you go when you need something that looks good with your new piercings or to match the ink color on your tattoo. Whereas most of the parts of LA we had visited so far were pretty and well to do, Melrose Avenue is gritty.
I took a shot of a trash can filled to the brim, because I think it’s indicative of the Melrose feel. So are parking meters covered in concert posters and band stickers.
Amazingly, I found both a parking spot and Helaine and Steffie. As they continued to shop, I continued to shoot photos. This is a very photogenic street. And every ethnic, racial and socio-economic group is well represented.
Well, everything but middle aged white guys. I was the token.
We headed back to the Century Plaza to get ready for dinner. Tonight we were heading to The Ivy on Robertson, where earlier Steffie had shopped.
This was our fourth trip to The Ivy. There are two reasons for that. First, the food is spectacular. Second, there are always celebrities there – always.
Once I sat back-to-back with Martin Scorsese. Drew Barrymore walked by and stopped to talk with ‘Marty.’ The last time we were there, Steffie and Helaine saw Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit.
Tonight, our reservation was for 7:00 PM and we had requested to sit outside. Please, don’t be fooled. Outside in LA means under the stars, but adjacent to a propane heater. Even on a cool night, you’re nice and warm.
More importantly, from an outside table you get to see and be seen.
It didn’t take long for Steffie and Helaine to realize Cojo (OK – I called him Cujo, not knowing who he was), aka – Steven Cojocaru, was at a table nearby.
I’m not going to explain who he is because either you know him and are excited, or don’t and are a loser… like me.
Cojo was sitting at a table with a woman (unknown) and Al Roker, weatherman from the Today Show. As it turns out, I know Al. I’m not saying we’re best friends, but we know each other.
The last time I saw Al was at the White House in Washington. How many people can say that?
Years ago, Al made a very kind gesture to me, recommending me for a job that I didn’t even know existed, and I’ll never forget it. He is first class and one of a kind. He deserves whatever success he has… maybe more.
After dinner, I went over and said hello, and we chatted for a few minutes.
Helaine and Steffie felt the evening was a total success! I agree.
As always, the food was superb and the service attentive. We shared an appetizer pizza and I had linguine with all sorts of seafood. For desert I had ice cream and hot fudge over a pecan square. There were no leftovers from me!
By the way, the Ivy shots here on the blog are ‘stock’ shots taken in the afternoon. So as not to come off as a yahoo tourist, I was asked to leave my camera at home… and I did just that.
I’m probably not supposed to say this, because she’s very private about it, but today was Helaine’s birthday. Going to The Ivy was part of our celebration, and it lived up it our expectations.
Tomorrow is our last day in Los Angeles before heading to Palm Springs. We’ve planned a day at Universal. More tomorrow.
Orange County and Laguna Beach – Excellent
We woke up today to clouds and showers. It was in the sky. It was in the forecast. In fact, the forecast was for rain through the day and into Sunday.
It’s depressing.
This was our day to head south to Irvine and visit my cousins. We got the car, turned right on Avenue of the Stars¹ and headed toward I-10.
Before we left Connecticut, I went to Google and got maps and directions. Directions are not like horseshoes. Close doesn’t make it. Google’s directions were close, but not totally correct. Somehow, we muddled along and found our way to Orange County and the Foxes of Southern California. Google’s got to do a better job if they’re going to be serious mapmakers.
We visited Michael, Melissa and Max, noshed a little, and tried to decide where to go. There was a temporary break in the weather action, so we decided on Laguna Beach.
On our way, we passed by six year old Cousin Max’s school and decided to turn in and take a look.
None of us have ever seen a school like this. I’m not sure how to describe it except to say the school is a collection of small German fairytale style buildings. There are dozens of animals from pigs to goats to chickens to rabbits… even a llama.
He’s in the first grade, learning French and German. He loves the school, and I can see why. It is one of a kind. In many ways it fits Laguna Beach.
Laguna Beach is known as an artist’s colony. All along Pacific Coast Highway and the surrounding streets are boutiques, galleries and restaurants. It’s a browser’s paradise and, for the shoe-addicted like Steffie, a place to buy another pair of shoes.
Laguna Beach is also a beautiful and expensive place to live. Not far from the ocean are steeply rising hills. Somehow, huge houses have been placed on these hills. From the ground it looks like the ground is steep enough to cause a goat to reconsider where he’s walking. The houses are there none the less.
When you hear about California houses sliding down mountains, they’re talking about houses like these.
As we walked down one street, Helaine pointed out what looked like a TV crew. Though I didn’t see the camera, I did see a guy with a pack filled with wireless microphone receivers. Near him a woman held a clipboard. My zoom lens let me read what was on her papers. They were from MTV, probably taping another season of Laguna Beach.
That show was one of the main reasons Steffie was so anxious to go to Laguna Beach in the first place!
As we kept walking, the sky kept brightening. Before long, the Sun began to poke out and, though by no means warm, it got warm enough to be comfortable.
We headed down to the beach.
Like so much of the California coastline, the area around Laguna Beach is a coast with character. Here the beach is broad. Offshore, there are some rocks visible above the sea’s surface, allowing birds to rest… and poop. From time-to-time the waves break on the rocks, throwing white spray up in the air.
This is a friendly beach. Yes, there are people in the water (though, this being the Pacific, it’s awfully cold), but the real action is at the water’s edge. There’s a beach volleyball net, a playground and a small boardwalk with benches.
I was amazed, and pleased, to see dogs welcome on this beach.
Actually, Laguna Beach seems to be a very dog-friendly town. Many of the shops and stores had water bowls right outside their front doors. Others had signs saying dogs were welcome. I even saw one woman with a novel way of bringing her dog into a restaurant… without bringing the dog into the restaurant!
This is probably as good a time as any to mention something that really worked today. Obviously, what was fun for the adults and Steffie at Laguna Beach was not Max’s first choice. Luckily, he had his Game Boy Advance with him. Every time we stopped, he found a place to sit, pulled out the Game Boy and played Shrek II. He was content pretty much all day.
We continued to walk and browse, but dinner time was approaching so we headed south on the Pacific Coast Highway to South Laguna Beach and “Montage.”
None of us in the East Coast Fox family had ever heard of Montage. Michael and Melissa, the West Coast contingent, had only heard of it through friends, but had never been. What a find.
Excellent description for a property that originally housed a trailer park! It really is beautiful.
We were early for our dinner reservation, so we sat down for drinks in the main area in front of a picture window, looking down on the pool and the ocean. On the other side of the window is a balcony with the same spectacular view. I took my camera and started shooting away, only to be told my camera was “too professional looking” and I wouldn’t be allowed to take any more pictures.
I’m not quite sure why.
Dinner was at The Loft Restaurant, one floor down, but with an equally stunning view. This restaurant was equivalent to anything we had been to in Los Angeles… maybe nicer.
The service was excellent… though any place that refolds your napkin when you get up from the table tends to give me the heebee jeebees. The food was even better. Helaine compared it favorably to Spago, and I agree.
With dinner over, we said goodbye to Michael, Melissa and Max and headed north. We have been very lucky on the Southern California freeways, meeting hardly any traffic. By 8:30 we were back at the Century Plaza – exhausted.
What a great day. Everything we thought we’d do exceeded our expectations. The surprise spur of the moment things, or things Melissa and Michael had planned, were even better.
¹ – Shoot me – I just like typing that. It’s the world’s most pretentious street name!
Going To Malibu
Today, let me start before the beginning. We are in a beautiful hotel. Our room in it is very nice as well. But, there has been this one nagging problem.
Last night Helaine complained that at the top of every hour, the room’s alarm clock chirped a tone. Ever the electronics wiz I looked, but could find no way to turn it off. I called housekeeping.
This being a very good hotel, without skipping a beat they offered to swap our clock for another.
While we were out today they did just that. We knew it, because when we returned the clock was a different color. Sitting next to the clock was a Casio “G” Shock watch… not ours.
Coincidently, as I walked over to pick it up and look at it, it chirped. It was the top of the hour! It hadn’t been our alarm clock making the noise but a watch, left by a prior guest. Oops.
This evening Helaine brought it to the front desk to, hopefully, be reunited with its owner.
On to our day.
The plan of attack was to head to Malibu and take in the sights. Quite honestly, the weather could have been nicer. We have overcast skies with a bit of humidity. Not a perfect California day.
Malibu is a very easy drive from ‘headquarters’ in Century City. We took a left on Santa Monica, cut up Beverly Glen to Sunset, and then west past UCLA, OJ’s old neighborhood, Pacific Palisades and down to Pacific Coast Highway at the water’s edge. From there it’s a right turn and you’re traveling north toward Ventura County.
We were all hungry, so we looked for a nice place and lucked out when we found Marmalade Cafe in a small Malibu shopping center. Luckily, there was also a Radio Shack as Helaine can’t stand the touch pad on this laptop and was desperate for a mouse.
I had blueberry pancakes (excellent) and coffee (fair).
Let me become petty for a second. Coffee is lightened with cream, not milk. When restaurants bring out that tiny pitcher with white liquid, it should be cream. It was not at Marmalade Cafe.
We got back in the car and continued our trip north. As we approached Zuma Beach I could see some surfers, so we pulled over and I got out to shoot some pictures.
It was chilly and sandy and I suppose this qualified as a Geoff thing… a photo op. Helaine and Steffie stayed in the car.
A few months ago I had seen some surfing shots on a website, and I wanted to try my luck. I believe these surfers had about the same skill level surfing as I have with photography, but I got a few good shots anyway.
This was an opportunity to throw on the ‘long’ lens, my Sigma 75-300 mm. It’s not a bad lens, though it’s sort of slow¹. My surfers weren’t up enough to get a lot of shots, but I caught a few that were actually in focus, with the surfer atop his board.
I’d like to try this again some time on a sunny day, and a little closer to the action.
Part of the reason for this trip was to go to the Malibu Beach Colony. The Beach Colony is a very exclusive, very expensive neighborhood of homes. This is a community of the well known, well connected and powerful. The homes are behind a guard house on private roads. The backs of the houses are right on the beach.
If it were up to the people who live there, the beach behind these homes would be private – but California’s laws are pretty explicit in this regard. The land from the mean high tide line down to the ocean is public right-of-way.
We pulled into a public beach parking lot and then, while Helaine and Stef sat on the sand, I walked under a chain link fence and headed down the beach.
The homes in the Malibu Beach Colony are ridiculously expensive. Of that, there is no doubt. They are also squeezed as tightly together as can be. Yes, you can paint your neighbor’s kitchen while standing in yours!
The homes are mostly small, mostly two stories and all with incredible Pacific Ocean views. There is no Malibu architectural style. The homes are eclectic and totally different.
As I walked, there were no residents to be seen. There were, however, a lot of workers – all seemingly Hispanic men. A group of four or five were repairing and painting some steps, others were cleaning and sprucing up homes.
Actually there were some residents around – two dogs who barked at me as I passed their deck.
Peoplewise, except for me, this beach was empty.
It is a really beautiful place. Unlike the East Coast where most of the shoreline is on a coastal plain, there are cliffs and palisades along the immediate beach here. Not far to the east are steep hills separated by deeply etched canyons.
It is there, on the hills, where the really big houses sit. Some are spectacular. Others, like this ‘castle’ are just weird. More proof that money doesn’t necessarily buy taste.
When we left Connecticut there was still snow covering the grassy surfaces. Here it is definitely spring, with colors poking out as the rain fed ground gives life to flowers and plants.
Later, this summer, months after the last rain, these plants will die and set the scene for the brush fires which will surely follow. It’s the natural cycle of California. The beauty is so great – the climate so friendly – that people build here knowing full well it could all go up in a puff of smoke… or wash away in a heavy rain.
It does every single year, without fail.
We headed back toward Century City. Unlike our trip west, this time there was traffic. We crawled back up Sunset, retracing our steps to the Century Plaza. We’d need some time because we were going out to dinner tonight with my friend Howard and his wife Maria.
I’ve known Howard since our first day of college when he was (as I realized tonight) exactly Steffie’s age. We’ve been friends for over 35 years… and we’ve been friends through a lot.
Howard and Maria live here. Howard’s been in the L.A. area for close to 20 years. He is a show biz manager – a profession I still don’t understand 100%. Ido know Howard’s a great manager, especially based on some of the work his clients have had.
Tonight’s choice for dinner spot came from Steffie. We went to “Dolce” on Melrose Avenue. Melrose is very trendy, and “Dolce” fits in nicely, with celebs as the owners.
The restaurant is dark with loud (though very good) music, mostly from the 70s and 80s. The five of us sat in a banquet type booth. It is not the optimal table for conversation.
Though food was secondary in Steffie’s decision process, this was to be a meal. “Dolce” features Italian cuisine, and it was delicious. I had a pasta dish with Italian sausage. Helaine and Steffie had pasta with lobster. The portions, though not large, were decent. The food came out piping hot. Or waiter was attentive.
For desert we all had chocolate souffles which were rich and tasty. Unfortunately, it was milk and not cream (again) for my coffee! I know, I’m getting obsessive about this.
Considering this restaurant was picked more for its back story than it’s food, we were very pleasantly surprised. And, all things considered, the meals were reasonably priced.
Tomorrow, it’s dinner out with friends again! I’ll be 400 pounds by the time I get home.
¹ – The relative speed of a lens refers to its ability to capture light. A slow lens captures less than a fast lens, forcing you to slow down the shutter speed. The faster the lens the better… and of course the more expensive.
My Trashy Story
Every week, on Friday, our trash goes to the curb. Every other week it’s supposed to be accompanied by recycling. It doesn’t work that way in our household.
Whether it’s our distance from the curb or the amount of recycled newspapers we have (we subscribe to both the New Haven Register or New York Times) or maybe all the boxes we get because of online shopping, going to the curb bi-weekly doesn’t work. So all of this recyclable material piles up in the garage. A few times a year we stuff it into the SUV and I drive it to the transfer station.
Transfer station, what a lovely phrase. It’s so much more genteel than town dump.
I drove up to the transfer station this morning only to find the new policy – no newspapers. I had an SUV full of recyclables, and of course, the supermarket bags of newspapers were on top!
I unloaded the 20 or so bags of newspapers to get to the cardboard and other material underneath. At this point the transfer station folks took pity on me and found a place… a transfer station loophole if you will… that allowed me to drop the papers off. From now on it’s newspapers to the street, I suppose.
I want to be a good citizen, but it is increasingly difficult to follow the rules. In fact, it would be much easier to hide the newspapers and cardboard and bottles with our weekly trash. I’m sure a lot of people do just that. It also always strikes me as a little ironic that the two most talked about recycled products are made from sand (glass) or grow on trees (paper).
I know this is supposed to be good for the environment, and I’m for that. But, is it really? Is this just a feel good exercise with no payoff… or negative payoff?
From “Recycling Is Garbage” – New York Times Magazine, June 30, 1996:
I don’t know what to think. I want to do what’s right, but I am really not sure. Until I know otherwise, I will follow the rules.
In the meantime, part of our recycling life at home will have to change. Newspapers to the curb. I can hardly wait for the first really big rain on a Thursday night.
Phishing for Charity Dollars
Who hasn’t donated money or thought of donating money to the tsunami survivors in the countries surrounding the Indian Ocean? A few days ago I started hearing about fraudulent charity pleas and then I received one.
This story has a unique twist.
The email came to my Gmail account. How is this account already on spam lists? That’s unreal.
It purported to be from Mercy Corp, a charity I had never heard of, but one I believe exists and is a legitimate “good guy.” I’ve attached the text from the message to the bottom of this entry, should you want to look. It’s a plea that’s tough to resist.
Of course it’s bogus. This is a phishing scam, someone using the name and the look of a legitimate organization to gain your trust.
Normally you’re on your own to figure this out, that’s why phishing scams are tough to stop. But there’s a difference here. The ‘phishers’ link back to legitimate Mercy Corp graphics. As soon as Mercy Corp found out, they changed the graphic making it obvious what’s going on.
Phishing still stinks. However, we now know someone at Mercy Corp is very clever.