Tag: Southern California

Surfing At Newport Beach

We’re approaching mid-January but I’m on my cousin’s deck, sitting outside typing this entry. Granted, I’m about to go back inside, but the point is, I could sit outside!

It’s Orange County in Southern California. People were wearing jackets last night, but that’s about as cold as it ever gets – ever.

I went to work with my cousins today. I sat in on a meeting about their business and an Internet site. I butted in a few times. I hope I did more good than harm. One never can tell.

Michael and I bugged out after the meeting and headed west. Before long, we were in Newport Beach.

Before this trip to California, I knew I wanted to photograph surfers. It’s not that I’m into surfing or surfer boys, but surfing makes for good photography. My main ‘surfing’ lens is also my lowest quality lens, but with strong light it gets the job done.

Today’s photo problem was the light was behind the surfers. It shows in the pictures. If I had unlimited time and access, I’d come out in the morning when the Sun would be over my shoulder.

Newport Beach was attractive for a number of reasons. Like much of Southern California, there’s a thriving business district right up to the beach. There are cafes and shops and foot traffic. There’s also plenty of parking… or at least enough for a January afternoon.

Newport Beach also has a long pier. That allowed me to go out as far as the surfers, though still far away.

I took nearly 300 photos today. That’s crazy. In the film days, this never would have happened. Ansel Adams only had eight or ten plates when he hiked into the back country.

Digital photography is a blessing and a curse. The curse is, it encourages you to be slutty with your camera, shooting anything that moves (Slutty is the right word, isn’t it?).

We spent a couple of hours at the beach. The day was beautiful and mild. The waves were running five and six feet.

I called Helaine to tell her to throw a few things in a bag and join me. Whatever she couldn’t take, we’d get here.

There’s a lot to be said for the warm California sun. I’m still going back home tomorrow.

Morning In The Valley

It’s still drippy here in the San Fernando Valley. I stepped outside barefoot to shoot a few photos of the grapefruit tree in the front yard. Try that back in Connecticut!

My friend, a member of a number of show biz societies, has some movie screeners, so this afternoon I’ll re-watch Juno… and later (he’s seen a bunch more) he’ll vote for one of the myriad awards Hollywood gives itself.

There is something about Southern California that is appealingly laid back, while aggressively driven at the same time. It’s tough to explain.

More From The Firelines

Another note from the burn zone out west. This time it’s from Cousin Michael, in Orange County.

We’re still safe — and we’re also still in Newport Beach, although I did return to Lake Forest tonight to get a few more things, water the plants, and take Max to a Cub Scout meeting.

The fire isn’t burning quite as close as last night, it’s moved further east and south, but gigantic bright orange flames are still visible in the foothills just a few miles away. And because of the wind, and the terrain, and because the fire makes it’s own weather, the fire is almost completely unpredictable. That’s why we took the opportunity to stay overnight a few more miles away.

It didn’t look quite as scary tonight, even though huge pockets of flames were visible in the hills just above us. Maybe one just gets used to it.

For anyone who might be interested in following what’s happening in our area on the national news, the fire is variously called the “Foothill Ranch,” the “Portola Hills,” the “Santiago,” or just the “Orange County” fire. Fortunately, we have very brave fire fighters here.

Melissa grew up in Southern California, but Michael is from New York via everywhere. He’s been in SoCal over 15 years. In Orange County, he’s nearly a native.

These fires seem more insidious than other weather perils. How is it, in 21st century America and even with advanced warning, there’s nothing to do but watch the fire take its toll… and worry you might be next.

LA Fires

I am watching the local Los Angeles TV coverage of the Malibu Canyon fire here on my laptop. I have often been critical of local news in Los Angeles. However, today, I have nothing but praise.

The copter and reporter coverage is amazing – especially when you consider each crew is putting themselves in harm’s way. These fires can turn on a dime.

The people of Los Angeles are being well served by their local media this afternoon.

Unfortunately, wild fires are a way of life in Southern California. Brush fires where a part of Los Angeles before there was a Los Angeles! There is little you can do to prevent them, though the impact can sometimes be lessened by brush clearance and other techniques.

That being said, homes are built in places that have views to die for… literally.

I See Palm Trees

I am writing tonight, sitting in front of our hotel room, in Palm Springs, CA. The swimming pool is ten feet ahead. On the other side of the pool a group of people are sitting, chatting, around a small gas powered fire pit.

Back home, there’s a dense fog advisory. Here, the stars are blazing.

Wow, it’s nice. But first, our trip.

You don’t get to Palm Springs by dark without leaving Connecticut before dawn. Helaine’s alarm was set for 2:00 AM. We pulled out of the driveway around 4:30 AM.

We’ve planned stays in both Palm Springs and Las Vegas, so we flew to Vegas first, rented a car and drove the nearly 300 miles to the Springs.

The fight itself was uneventful. Much of the Eastern United States was partly cloudy with a distinct haze that dulled the view from 36,000 feet. It was as if the Midwest had been rendered slightly out-of-focus.

Before takeoff, and a few more times during the flight, the pilot told us it as very windy in Las Vegas… and it was.

We made a very steep descent into McCarren Airport, probably to avoid the turbulence until the last minute or two. As I looked out the window, the right wing vibrated up and down like a guitar string after it had been plucked.

By the time we were rolling on the runway, the passengers had broken into a round of applause. I’ve always wondered if they can hear that in the cockpit?

The Las Vegas airport has a brand new rental car facility, a little farther from the terminal than were the cars were before, but containing all the rental agencies under one roof. Helaine found a great deal on the car, and since I had a “Dollar Express” card (though I hardly ever rent cars), we headed downstairs and were in our red Dodge Charger with Nevada plates in about ten minutes.

It’s strange to arrive in Las Vegas and immediately turn south, away from the Strip, but we did. I-15, the highway between Las Vegas and Los Angeles, was loaded with cars as we left the city behind and were soon in what’s surely some of the ugliest territory in the united States.

The speed limit on I-15 is 70 mph, but I assumed I’d be doing 85-90 mph. Not with this traffic. I settled back in the pack and held on tight as the strong winds pushed the Charger back and forth in my lane (and sometimes out of it).

Our plan was to stop in Baker, CA, right at the edge of the Mojave Desert and not far from Death Valley, at The Made Greek Cafe. It’s a place LA-LV commuters have always known about, now made famous after a piece on Food Network.

The Mad Greek is about as tacky as you can get, but my souvlaki was pretty good and the strawberry shake was to die for.

There’s not much in Baker, other than the Greek’s. The main drag runs parallel to I-15. Down the block is the World’s Tallest Thermometer!

Back in the sixties, a radio preacher named Curtis Springer put Baker on the map. His headquarters were at Zzyzx Springs, but his mailing address was Box B, Baker, California.

From Baker, we headed through the desert to Barstow and then Victorville, where there’s both a Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans Drive!

We slowed down entering the Cajon Pass, a steeply descending and curving stretch of highway that gives truckers fits and made Helaine a little uneasy too.

On the radio, we’d heard about a small plane crashing in the center median of I-15 and sure enough, like some trophy deer head, the tail section (along with the last few digits of the plane’s registration number) sat on the edge of the breakdown lane, slowing traffic as everyone took a look.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We got a bottle of water in Loma Linda as we continued on I-215. By San Bernadino, the flora had changed. It began to look like Southern California with tall palms spotted across the landscape. The ugly desert had turned into the pretty desert.

We took the ramp onto I-10, saw the beginning of the huge windmill farm that straddles the opening of the Coachella Valley, exited onto California 111 and pulled into Palm Springs by late afternoon.

I’ll write more about this hotel, the Desert Riviera, in a few days. Least it to say, for Helaine and me, this is quite a departure. The hotel is a very small property – only ten rooms built around a swimming pool.

It is run by a husband and wife and their sister. It has been lovingly restored to 50s retro chic.

The only downside right now is a problem shared by all the hotels in the Springs. There’s a motorcycle convention in town! I believe it’s a “I used to be wild, but now I ride on weekends because I’m a grownup,” group and not Hells Angels and Mongols.

On the other hand, every few minutes a throaty and noisy Harley rumbles it’s way down Palm Canyon. I’m tired enough to know I’ll sleep through it.

Charles Lane – Trust Me, You’ll Know Him By Sight

As character actors go, he had quite a career. He was always the stiff, stern company man or governmental hack – the guy who had a ready “no” for anything you needed.

Charles Lane’s resume on IMDB is as long as your arm. There are 300+ entries, many of them for multiple appearances on the same TV series. On Bewitched alone he was Mr. Roland, Mr. Cushman, Mr. Jameson, Mr. Harmon and Mr. Mr. Meikeljohn.

Like most character actors, he wasn’t well known by name. If you’re too well known, your value as a ‘character’ diminishes. The ratio of those who knew him to those who knew his name had to be 100:1, maybe more.

From the LA Times: “His roles were so numerous that he told TV Guide in 1965 that he would occasionally see himself in movies on TV and have no memory of having played that role.”

I most remember Charles Lane as Homer Bedloe, president of the railroad (the CF&RW) that employed Floyd and Charlie and ran the Cannonball between Hooterville and Pixley with that stop at Petticoat Junction’s “Shady Rest Hotel.”

Mr. Bedloe was out to get Kate Bradley, while Kate’s Uncle Joe tried to get Bedloe. Kate was always victorious. By definition, everyone on Petticoat Junction prevailed against Uncle Joe! Homer Bedloe never got more than a Pyrrhic victory.

It wasn’t until I read about him in Wikipedia and saw his ‘original’ name (Charles Gerstle Levison) that I realized he was Jewish. They had Jews in San Fransisco in 1905? Who knew?

Charles Lane was 102 when he died on Monday in Southern California. He was one of my all-time favorite mean people.

A documentary on his life is in production. I’d like to see “You Know the Face” when it’s released. Meanwhile, the clip below is from Nickelodeon on the occasion of his 100th birthday.

It Only Hurts When They Speak

From my Cousin Michael in sunny, crispy, Southern California:

According to Melissa, on KTLA radio this morning the announcer said that the switch to daylight savings time was good news regarding the Anaheim Hill fire, since there was now an extra hour of darkness when the fire was less likely to spead. Then the other announcers agreed. We live in a land of morons.

KTLA is a TV station. There’s no KTLA radio, so they’re off the hook.

That leaves us with three points here.

  1. The days of Edward R. Murrow are over
  2. Some listeners perceive news anchors as announcers – people who read and add no expertise to the situation.
  3. Some radio station needs a better name recognition campaign

As with Major League Baseball, is it possible we’ve expanded media to the point we’re thinned the herd a little too much?

Changes In Bed

I went to sleep a little later than usual last night – around 4:30 AM. Helaine used to complain if I went too late. Now she relishes the snore free hours before I arrive.

It was chilly last night. The temperature was well down in the 40s. Still, there were windows open all around the house and the fresh air was invigorating.

I lifted the blanket and comforter and slid into bed. Oh no. They’re back!

Sometime after I made the bed Tuesday, Helaine stripped it and replaced our regular sheets with flannel ones.

Don’t get me wrong. I like flannel sheets. They are much less a shock to my system than the crisp but cold sheets that have been on all spring and summer. It’s just, putting flannel sheets on the bed is an acknowledgment that the cold weather is approaching… approaching rapidly.

“Eight months,” said Helaine as we discussed the sheets early this afternoon (morning for me, as I live on Hawaiian time).

I unfurled my fingers, one at a time. September, October, November, December, January. One hand down. February, March, April. Oh my God. That’s eight. She’s right&#185.

Some day, when you consider why people retire to Florida, Arizona or Southern California, please remember these two words: flannel sheets. People want to retire where they don’t need them.

If I close my eyes, I can already see the first heating bill of the season.

&#185- As the Pope is to matters of faith, Helaine is infallible in all domestic matters. This matter cannot be disputed. She just is.

Mother And Child Reunion

I left work late last night – around 1:00 AM EDT. We went on after the NBA Championship game.

You know those annoying folks who are always chatting on their cellphones as they drive? That’s me! At 1:00 AM I called my California cousins. How could I have known what a good time it was to call? There was a story to tell.

My Cousin Michael is married to a great woman, Melissa. The family did well when Melissa became part of it.

When she was 11, Melissa first discovered she was adopted. As an adult, she’s been looking for her birth mother.

As I listened to the story that would unfold, I realized how little I knew or could understand about this part of Melissa’s life.

Finding someone who, at least at the time, didn’t want to be found is tough. You have to connect the very few dots there are and make assumptions which may or may not be true. The search might lead to your parents… or not. They might be glad to hear from you… or not.

There can be no expectation, because you really know nothing. It’s is the unknown in the truest sense.

Yesterday, after finally being told who her birth mother was, Melissa made the call. The first time her mom wasn’t there. The second time she was.

Melissa began the call in her best lawyerly fashion. She was an attorney, calling from Southern California. Was this… and she gave the woman’s name. Was your father… then his name.

I can’t remember exactly what Melissa said next, but after both questions had been answered in the affirmative, I think it was, “Oh my.” Then, she told the woman on the other end why she was calling.

As I said, this call could have gone in any number of directions. It went well. It went very well.

Within minutes of making the phone call, Melissa found out who she was in the context of her birth – something she’d never known before. She had two half brothers – very tall brothers. Her mother found out she had another grandson.

Melissa was ecstatic to find her mother and based on what she’s told me, her mother was relieved and happy to find Melissa.

While they chatted on the phone, emails started flying. Photos went back and forth between California and the Rockies. I’ve seen them. You can see the strong family resemblance.

She spoke with her mom. She spoke with her brothers.

I would assume the next step is for them to meet. Though blood kin, they really are strangers. It’s tough to know how this will all come out. It’s just as tough to understand how this has changed Melissa.

The discovery took an instant. The implications will span her lifetime.

My Creative Family

We are a very small family. Even then, I am only in touch with a smaller subset of my relatives. Outside my immediate family, my closest relative is Cousin Michael. He and his family live in California – in the OC.

Michael is our most educated Fox. He has a closet full of bachelor and masters degrees, plus a law degree and PhD.

When he was in high school, he wanted to be a farmer&#185. That’s not the normal career path for someone born within walking distance of the Flushing El, who could see the Empire State Building from the front steps of his Queens apartment building.

If I remember correctly (and he’s not shy about correcting) he then studied library science, and of course, law. I’m sure I’m leaving something out.

He ended up working for the federal government as a staff attorney for the Labor Board in Washington. I remember visiting his office in a government building so depressingly institutional, linoleum and green wall paint would have classed the joint up.

At some point in Washington, he got hooked on theater. I don’t know how that happened, because Michael and I were out of touch for many of those years, but he got the bug. Michael gravitated to directing.

Though he taught and occasionally did ‘lawyer work,’ directing was obviously his vocational passion.

I have never seen Michael’s work, but now I’ve gotten to read about it. His latest production, Samuel Beckett’s “Endgame” is in the midst of a short run in Santa Ana, CA.

The Orange County Register’s reviewer was very positive.

This could be some bizarre, post-nuclear world where everyone struggles for survival, or it could simply be the extreme result of societies that value ideologies or materialism over human life. The time, place and context are never specified because, as director Michael David Fox’s staging proves, Beckett’s ideas transcend such specifics, creating disturbing images while raising philosophical questions deeply troubling once dwelled upon.

Beckett means for us to dwell on these issues, and Fox and company oblige with a compact staging that, like “Godot,” can be achingly funny one moment, stark and bleak the next.

I wish I could pop on down to Southern California to see it. The show runs through May 20, Friday and Saturday evenings and a Sunday matin

Steffie’s Home – Find Some Chicken Soup

I was in the car, coming home from work last night, when Steffie called. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t healthy.

From her symptoms, she seemed “fluish.”

A four-day weekend was coming&#185. She had already emailed her professors, telling them she wasn’t coming to class Friday. I asked if she wanted me to fetch her?

I got home, changed out of my suit (but not white shirt), washed off my makeup and headed back to the car. I was heading to Long Island at 12:15 AM.

Today was supposed to be pretty dreadful with rain in the morning and wind all day. Going last night seemed a whole lot smarter, especially when I thought about driving over the Throgs Neck Bridge in a howling gale.

A good part of the way there, I was kept company by my Cousin Michael in Southern California.

He too was on his way out, to meet some friends. I’m not sure how, but he made three wrong turns, paid two extra tolls and ended up at the wrong coffee shop before getting to his true destination – honest.

We spoke until I hit the New York State line.

I know there are lots of concerns about cellphones and cars, but this definitely made my trip go faster. I was on the hands free earpiece, so I was doing it legally.

From the time I hung up with Michael, to the campus, I listened to the BBC World Service on WNYE – where I was a radio actor in the late 60s! Their newscasts are pretty interesting, until they get into the minutiae of British sports.

Unlike American radio, where nearly everyone speaks with an Americanized accent, the BBC is a polyglot of English. When you throw in interviewees from around-the-world, speaking English as a second language, the BBC ends up sounding like random conversations on the NYC subway.

Before I continue, the last few paragraphs highlight three examples of technology shaping our lives, and improving them. My use of cellphones probably tops the list, but the Bluetooth earpiece and the BBC’s ability to cheaply send high quality audio around the world aren’t minor.

It sometimes looks as if our adoption of new technology has peaked. Don’t be fooled. This next generation of technological innovation has to do with refining what we have to replace older, less efficient, systems. New methods of media transmission is a prime example.

I arrived on campus at 2:00 AM. Maybe I’m just an innocent, but I was surprised. The campus was loaded with people as if it were 2:00 PM! Aren’t they supposed to be asleep, preparing for their classes the next morning?

Like I said, I’m probably just too innocent.

Steffie came down with an entourage. Her roommate and at least one boy were there, giving her a hand with a small suitcase and large bag of dirty laundry.

We hopped into the car and were soon speeding home… literally speeding home. I know this because Steffie lectured me on my ‘too fast’ driving.

There was little traffic, it being the middle of the night and all. Since it’s winter (despite yesterday’s 60&#176+ temperatures), there was little road work to worry about… and slow down for.

We were back home in Connecticut by 3:30. My car had nearly 200 miles more on the odometer than when I left the house.

You don’t want your child to be sick… especially while she’s on her own. Going to get her was a no brainer.

When she recovers, maybe we’ll just put her on the train?

&#185 – I want whomever negotiated the schedule at Steffie’s school to negotiate my next contract. Didn’t they just finish a six week break?

The Rude Awakening

If you live in New York City – move on. You will feel no pity for me. I live in a quiet suburban neighborhood on a cul de sac. This is where the deer and the antelope play (minus the antelope).

If I want, and the weather cooperates, I can sleep with the windows open and know it will be mostly quiet. There is a fire station not far from here. If they use their siren, I’ve only heard it a few times over 15 years.

This morning at 8:30 AM the quiet was shattered as my neighbor’s alarm went off. These are neighbors we don’t talk with (though I’m sure this was an accident and nothing nefarious).

OK – 8:30 AM doesn’t seem early, but you’re not living your life on Hawaiian time. I am! Last night I went to sleep at 4:00 AM.

The idea of a home alarm is to scare a burglar and attract attention. This morning it scared my neighbor’s parents (who I assume were visiting) and attracted the fire department.

I wasn’t there and certainly can’t ask, but I’m guessing the moment the alarm went off, it lookd like that Expedia commercial where a young woman sends her parents on a vacation to a hotel where they’re sprayed with water in the bathroom and fall off chairs in the sitting room as the theme to the Jetsons plays!

In any event, my neighbor’s folks were powerless as all of this transpired.

It’s happened at my house, so I’m not going to rant on about disturbing the neighbors. People who live in alarmed homes shouldn’t throw stones.

This does bring up something curious about alarms. Have you ever driven by a home and found a sticker proclaiming the alarm on a window or maybe even a sign planted in the front yard&#185?

Why?

Why would you want to post a sign that says, “Hey, there’s an alarm here. Make sure you cut all the wires before you throw a rock in my window.”

Aren’t you safer without a sign? I know it’s less advertising for the alarm company, but they’re not my concern. Without a sign, that loud shrieking noise would be a burglar’s surprise.

I’ve always wanted to reverse the LEDs on my alarm panel so it looks like it’s off when it’s on and vice versa. Maybe I already have! Keep ’em guessing – on their toes.

Meanwhile, it never even entered my mind that the neighbor’s house might have been burglarized. That is the least likely reason for an alarm to go off here.

I was back asleep by 8:45.

&#185 – This is especially true in Southern California where alarm signs sprout in enough front lawns to considered a native species.

Last Day On Board The Norwegian Star

Aboard the Norwegian Star

This is our last full day at sea. That’s sad. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be pushing a pile of bags eight feet high toward LAX.

I first woke up at 3:30 AM. My throat was killing me. For me, this is often the first symptom of a cold. Better now than a week ago.

I did go back to sleep, but not before noticing the ship is rocking a little more noticeably than before. It’s not rough. It’s not placid either. We’re sailing under partly cloudy skies, but the exposed areas are nowhere near as deep a blue as yesterday or the days before.

It’s winter. In Southern California, that’s the time of year storms sweep across the Pacific. Last week, the Norwegian Star ran into very rough seas as it moved up the coast. This week will be much more docile.

There are white caps on the sea surface, but I think that’s more a short term effect of the wind and not an indication of sea height. Of course, given enough time, wind produces waves.;

I posted an entry last night after the magic show, but that wasn’t the end of our night.

Many cruise ships have nightly ‘midnight buffets’. Not the Norwegian Star. That’s probably because food is available, in quantity, around the clock.

There is one ‘special’ buffet each week, the ‘chocoholic buffet’. Last night was the night.

It is an endless feast of cakes and cookies and mousses (Is mousses actually a word?). All the goodies are flanked by chocolate displays and ice sculptures.

If this was a test of self discipline, I failed miserably.

I sincerely believe a cardiologist, upon seeing the ‘chocoholic buffet,’ would begin weeping uncontrollably.

As Helaine, Steffie and I finished and were getting ready to walk upstairs (actually, for me it is beginning to approach waddle upstairs) we spied the captain! He was standing with another officer near the entrance to the Versailles Dining Room, where the buffet was being held.

I’m not sure why, but I walked over to speak with him. We talked for a few minutes, and though he was cordial, I wasn’t expecting an invitation to the ‘Captain’s Table,’ if such a thing even exists anymore.

Here’s what I learned. This ship is much easier to maneuver than you might expect, especially considering its size.

The Norwegian Star has no rudder! That astounded me. Instead, the rear propellers rotate a full 360&#176, allowing us to pivot or round a sharp corner (as we’ve done getting in and out of ports).

Because of it’s ability to quickly swing around, we don’t need to use a tug boat. I would assume that’s quite a savings for Norwegian Cruise Lines.

Back to today. It’s long sleeve weather, though I’m fighting the tide! We’re leaving the tropics and heading back toward the real world.

You can tell people are preparing to leave. On the in-house TV channel the cruise director (Mike from Niagara Falls, Ontario – no Julie McCoy) is giving the disembarking instructions. What can you bring? What can’t you bring? How much can you bring?

There are more cameras out that on the previous days. Maybe people have discovered they still have room on their flash cards. Who knows?

This afternoon was the crew talent show. I was going to miss it unit Ephren, our cabin steward, made it known he was singing and asked us to attend. How could we not?

Speaking of Ephren, when I walked in the room this afternoon, he and his assistant were cleaning the cabin and arguing (maybe it was a spirited discussion) in Tagalog, the Phillipine language.

No punchline. It was just weird. You seldom get to walk in on a Tagalog argument without traveling to Manila first.

Ephrem was second to perform. He sang, in English, and did a pretty good job.

Actually, much of the crew was reasonably talented, though not enough that you’d want to call Ticketron when “Crew Show” comes to your town.

We’re seeing Dave Heenan again tonight! That will be four times on this cruise.

Meanwhile our room is torn apart. Helaine has started reorganizing to repack our bags. By 1:00 AM they’ll all be outside our door.

It’s so sad.

Well, that’s it for the cruise. We’re still on the ship until tomorrow morning, but I’ll be a little too busy to post. There will be more to say when I get back to Connecticut.

Tomorrow will be a very long day. San Pedro to LAX to Las Vegas to Windsor Locks… get the car… drive home. Yikes!

I wonder if Steffie could be convinced to carry me?

Spectacular Sunday In Southern California

When I went on Instant Messenger tonight, my friend Bob jumped in from Florida:

a few more blog posts, and i’ll begin to wonder if you’ll stay there

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 Stars&#185 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.

Situated on a coastal bluff in the picturesque arts community of Laguna Beach, Montage Resort & Spa offers a unique mix: the amenities and conveniences of an ultra luxury beachfront hotel, coupled with the warmth and appeal of a cozy craftsman-style inn.

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.

&#185 – Shoot me – I just like typing that. It’s the world’s most pretentious street name!