tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64118281844679397512024-02-19T07:46:07.452-08:00City ObservedA Midwestern transplant seeks definition in the streets of LAjohnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-59003600931806183802014-05-04T15:16:00.000-07:002014-05-05T22:53:47.277-07:00Where There's Smoke ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Topanga is a quirky community. When we decided to decamp to
the hills from tony Santa Monica a friend quipped “You’re moving back to the 60s?”<br />
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Most of what I knew of Topanga was by reputation: bosky, aging hippies and artists, tree huggers, the place time forgot.</div>
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When we moved to the top of the mountain we only had a fairy-tale
notion of what to expect. We’re still acclimating. People are friendly; some
will talk your arm off. They take their time and there’s very little of the
self-importance or smugness you find in West LA.</div>
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As peaceful as it is, you’re still reminded of the vast
metropolitan area beneath your feet. Just a few steps from our front door is an
overlook that commands a majestic view of the San Fernando Valley, which is
especially impressive at night with millions of twinkling lights and the
beacons of jetliners overhead – the Santa Susana Mountains hulking in the
distance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wildfires are a constant threat here, and Topanga practices
the art of evacuation religiously. We first learned about the annual fire drill
when Mary ran into John Stevens, who chairs the committee and lives down the
street. Tall and lanky with a booming voice, John has an air of easy
self-confidence, who treats you as if he’s known you his entire life. His house
is mysteriously cloaked in all manner of shrubbery and vines, which makes one
wonder what really goes on inside. There’s an old GMC van
parked out front and in the back a small forest of Ham radio antennas.</div>
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“Are you doing the drill next Saturday?” he asked enthusiastically.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary answered that she’d be out of town but she’d be sure to
tell me about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next day’s mail brought an impressive packet of
information. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Ready Set Go!” it proclaimed. “Practice your plan!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ve all seen wildfires in these tinderbox hills on TV but I’d
never seen them up close, and it was a little sobering when our insurance agent
scoped our house and took pictures before issuing a policy. Naturally one gets
a bit nervous when the Santa Anas kick up and it hasn’t rained in months.
(Actually, it rained the night we moved in – a rare occurrence, we were told.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I decided to do my civic duty and was up on alert that
Saturday morning, eagerly awaiting the phone call that never came. I did
receive text messages warning that the “fire” was advancing on Topanga and ordering
various neighborhoods to head for the valley. So, I leashed up Bella and we jumped
in the car. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Switchbacking our way down the hill, it was difficult to see
if anyone else was an evacuee. In this big city it’s easy to blend into the
crowd. Soon we were zooming down Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Woodland Hills and
turning right on to Ventura with all the other Saturday errand-runners. As we
made our way into the staging area in the parking lot of Taft High School I
didn’t see any VW busses or vans with Grateful Dead stickers. Maybe I’d taken
the stereotype too far.</div>
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We were met by volunteers in orange vests who directed us to
a parking space. I signed in, filled out a short survey and let them know I
hadn’t received a phone call while Bella did her usual thing making new friends
and attracting adoring children. It was more like a festival. I wondered if
we’d be this cheerful in a real emergency.<o:p></o:p><br />
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I heard a voice I recognized and turned around to see Jeff
Ippolito, who had hooked up our washer-dryer and installed a light fixture for
us. Mary found Jeff by Googling “Topanga handyman” and it turns out he grew up
in St. Louis and is a fellow University of Missouri alum. A local now for
nearly 20 years, Jeff is an eternally-smiling, self-effacing guy who always has
a story or two to relate, with great aplomb. A onetime set dresser for TV shows
and commercials, Jeff’s true bliss is fashioning art out of junk in his spare
time. He recently volunteered to build a scale replica of an old California
mission for his kids’ elementary school. I’ll ask him for a photo and share it.</div>
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Today there’s a brush fire in Pacific Palisades, about six
miles from us as the crow flies. The smoke is drifting past us and fire engines
have been tearing down the road. John tells me we’re in no danger, but it’s hitting
a little too close to home. At least we know the evacuation route. Next step is
to assemble our wildfire/earthquake survival kit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-59368002391406486582014-04-15T10:00:00.002-07:002014-04-15T18:13:39.938-07:00From Laptop to Segway So, I used to make fun of people on Segways. Who hasn’t scoffed at a bunch of tourists puttering down the street like lemmings? I mean, why not walk? It’s just more evidence we’re growing lazier and out of shape.<br />
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That all changed when I got an e-mail from my director buddy who was doing another video for my CEO Double.<br />
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We have a shoot in San Diego next week. Can you come and pretend to be Dan (not exec’s real name), he asked.<br />
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Remembering I had a blast on the standup scooter in Phoenix, I said yes and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.<br />
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“This time we’re gonna have you ride one of those bicycle taxis, except there won’t be any passengers,” he said.<br />
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I had a hard time visualizing this assignment, so all I could do the night before was send up a prayer to the Transportation Gods to spare me a broken ankle.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhns-ZjElEA0GXcBrKmpU8qm6MUKXBG0bYGGw2zYpqh8ts3r1YgjYIi3kfgHCbln7a2guJVJv600bgz07UZ-85HfUHFsvWRZa7-7DVTcPgSvFT07Rp3NQgHo55J27_uZHNV7QND1-VQrSak/s1600/midway+selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhns-ZjElEA0GXcBrKmpU8qm6MUKXBG0bYGGw2zYpqh8ts3r1YgjYIi3kfgHCbln7a2guJVJv600bgz07UZ-85HfUHFsvWRZa7-7DVTcPgSvFT07Rp3NQgHo55J27_uZHNV7QND1-VQrSak/s1600/midway+selfie.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At USS Midway. No idea what to expect.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Up with the sun the next morning, we were off to the USS Midway. This is an aircraft carrier and there was no bicycle taxi. Just a helicopter buzzing overhead. Hmmm. It shall be revealed, I kept telling myself. Just trust the director.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBTZUuY8oPKG-1lCSSTI7LR1_k8gUVfBtFujw_OzFrMh8vAv8gjeL3mVrIGeJcYX7bJ8VLKFNKDpe_2jiauDyqOE4C2gctxDTWu2_3UKQOcaO3FZAOg-7hWhjRrHoA7v_GnbGEMS5Ie7F/s1600/chris+and+crew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBTZUuY8oPKG-1lCSSTI7LR1_k8gUVfBtFujw_OzFrMh8vAv8gjeL3mVrIGeJcYX7bJ8VLKFNKDpe_2jiauDyqOE4C2gctxDTWu2_3UKQOcaO3FZAOg-7hWhjRrHoA7v_GnbGEMS5Ie7F/s1600/chris+and+crew.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris briefs crew on deck of USS Midway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And it was. First sequence of the day: exec parachutes onto the deck, rips off helmet, gives thumbs up. Luckily, I only had to do the second and third thing; they got a real skydiver for the tricky part. (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7hYqxajOgU&feature=em-upload_owner" target="_blank">Check out the video</a>.)<br />
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Then, we were off to the Segway store, where Rhonda gave me a quick course. (I was tempted to say “crash course.” Not a good idea.) I thought if senior citizens can ride one, so can I. Turns out it’s pretty easy and doesn’t require the balance of a gymnast. I can do this, I thought.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7t9Gws-T_ndlWW6FyGseyvXVdKUAHnXflKIlPaHfXu-8qRfAiS_KsDv1C6bguxX7QAMWYrvGcfz55p3Vx_cRiVekNmJoIx48CtdNCFR23eylgkhBUSsR3KikYUJI9bbWkcSUtG54HMRQS/s1600/rhonda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7t9Gws-T_ndlWW6FyGseyvXVdKUAHnXflKIlPaHfXu-8qRfAiS_KsDv1C6bguxX7QAMWYrvGcfz55p3Vx_cRiVekNmJoIx48CtdNCFR23eylgkhBUSsR3KikYUJI9bbWkcSUtG54HMRQS/s1600/rhonda.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhonda calibrates my Segway. Help me, Rhonda!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
First stop, San Diego Zoo, where I turned heads crossing in front of the main entrance – with the light, of course. From what I recall, only one insult was hurled at me. Something like “Hey, Segway Man!” You see, it’s one thing to wear shorts and a t-shirt on a Segway, another thing to wear a suit.<br />
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Next location, Petco Park, where we discovered it’s best to take the thing out of Training mode because I was having trouble getting up a 3-degree incline. I actually had to perform an emergency dismount once. Embarrassing.<br />
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Anyway, there’s a beautiful plaza in front of the stadium, which I traversed over and over, stopping to whip out my smartphone to take a photo of the field. By now, I’d lost all pride and was oblivious to the curious stares of onlookers.<br />
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Last stop was Coronado Island, where I spent 45 minutes zooming up and down the sidewalk with the bay and skyline in the background. It was a beautiful day and I had a gentle breeze at my face. Nice work if you can get it! I have a photo to prove it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkzmKNBzw8bK4y3t4D6r5uyoepn1b9nyK_VJ4HpJyIQPtt-J_Jx9gTRmHLHhFJMbljECgnGiSriIJaULPRzl6AmWjPg4hHBln5YH6ZPw5IU_qj7md6SW-YrY4J65wgvwh7JK8YZkTxtpS/s1600/me+on+segway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkzmKNBzw8bK4y3t4D6r5uyoepn1b9nyK_VJ4HpJyIQPtt-J_Jx9gTRmHLHhFJMbljECgnGiSriIJaULPRzl6AmWjPg4hHBln5YH6ZPw5IU_qj7md6SW-YrY4J65wgvwh7JK8YZkTxtpS/s1600/me+on+segway.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling now, because it's over!</td></tr>
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Since then, I’ve traded in the Segway and returned to my laptop, where I do my best work. But one day I just may get on that horse again for fun – and remember to take it out of Training gear.johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-53070011061060640882014-03-04T17:04:00.000-08:002014-03-04T17:04:35.622-08:00I'm Not a CEO, but I Play One on TV<div class="MsoNormal">
I work with executives, helping them develop and deliver
their messages, but I never thought I would play one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Awhile back I had registered with a company called Central
Casting, which provides background actors to the film and television industry. Just
for fun, mind you. Friends who are really serious work the system feverishly –
some going so far as to hire an agent and join the union hoping to one day
land a speaking role and – who knows – achieve minor celebrity status.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have no such aspirations. I just thought it would be a fun
experience to spend a day on a set standing in the background at a cocktail
party. Knowing I have the look of a middle-aged lawyer or accountant I figure
someday a casting director will be looking for a guy in a suit to walk through
the lobby of an office building.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After months of not playing the system, I got a voicemail
from Central Casting out of the blue. A director had picked me from a group of headshots
to appear in a … well, the booker said it’s kind of complicated so would I
please call him back. When I got Walid on the phone, he said the shoot was for a
large company and well-known brand. The job involved flying out of Orange
County with the crew to Phoenix for the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s so exciting, honey!” my wife Mary exclaimed. She’s
my biggest fan.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m gonna be in a commercial for <unnamed company>!” I
uttered, breathlessly. (I knew the company’s name at this point; I’m just
protecting their name out of professional courtesy.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the phone with Kris, the director, I learned this wasn’t
a commercial, but a video for an all-employee meeting. I would be a double for one
the executives. “I assume you’re ok jogging and stuff like that,” he said. </div>
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“Sure,” I replied. Little did I know … <o:p></o:p></div>
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One morning, then, bright and early, we boarded a Southwest
flight to Phoenix. As we made our way down the aisle Kris spoke to a woman sitting
in row 10. “That’s Candice. She’s the client,” he said. Uh-oh, I thought. Added
pressure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We touched down in Phoenix about an
hour later, and soon I was riding in a van with people I barely knew, being
asked to do things I wouldn’t normally do (some at risk of life and limb). <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was Talent!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The video would be shown to set up the executive’s entrance at
the employee meeting. Here’s the premise: he’s on the treadmill when he gets a
call from a colleague asking why he’s not at the meeting. He’s forgotten he’s
in a different time zone and it’s an hour later than he thinks. That’s where I
come in as the double – as we portray the executive’s frenzied attempt to make
it to the arena.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dialing up the comic value, the decision was made to put executive
on a little motorized scooter! Picture a middle-aged guy in a black track suit
and helmet, riding a Razor. Balance required. Something I’m not exactly blessed
with. But, what the heck.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my first scene, I was supposed to come zipping through
the double doors of an office building. I’d never ridden one of these things and
there was no time to practice, but this wasn’t the time to back out. We were on
a tight schedule and the video was to be shown in two days! My first few passes
were a little wobbly, but I quickly got the hang of it. The biggest challenge
was revving up from a standstill. I couldn’t completely get my balance until I
gathered a little speed so I learned how to push off with one foot like Bart
Simpson. Hey, this is pretty cool, I thought: motoring across a parking lot on
a beautiful Arizona morning, just me and the gentle desert breeze.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We did probably 15 takes, and thank goodness I get to the
gym regularly because the day was about to get more and more physical. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We were going to show the executive (me) traversing the city
on the scooter, so Candice – a Phoenix native and our driver – had made a list
of locations that are unmistakably Phoenix. On to Papago Park, nestled between
the city and the desert, with gorgeous views of mesas and cacti and scrub. Up
and down the bike path I went, following Kris’ instructions and exhortations. Bless
him, he kept telling me every take was great. I couldn’t have made it through
the day without his encouragement.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wrapping at the park, we loaded the van and hustled to Tempe
Town Lake, where I puttered up and down a concrete plaza, trying not to hit
pedestrians, while Kris and Tim positioned themselves for different angles –
high and low, left and right. I had stopped counting takes at this point.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After the lake, Candice had a brainstorm: let’s have our “executive”
stop for Girl Scout cookies! She had a couple of nieces and their mom (her sister)
who were happy to comply. They met us at a strip mall armed with a card table,
poster board and boxes of cookies. It was really a team effort, everyone
contributed great ideas and the girls were excellent actors!<o:p></o:p></div>
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By now we were racing the clock. It was after 3:00 and we
still had to shoot in downtown Phoenix and inside U.S. Airways Arena and wrap
in time to make a 7:30 flight. Working her connections, Candice got Kris and
photographer Mike on a hotel balcony across the street so they could shoot me
crossing the street (multiple times), winding my way through the plaza and into
the front doors of the arena. <o:p></o:p></div>
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By now, I was one with my Razor. So what if people thought I
was a lunatic, puttering down the sidewalks of downtown Phoenix at rush hour? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once inside the arena, the script called for me to negotiate
a narrow corridor, make a sharp left turn, then a quick right into a waiting
elevator with Jorge, the marketing rep for the Phoenix Suns, holding the door
for me. There’s no way I can do this, I thought. But, I somehow managed without
looking too clumsy. The only problem was remembering to hit the brakes once I
entered the elevator because it was barely large enough to accommodate the
scooter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the final shot, I had to emerge from a hallway, buzz
past a concession stand, ditch the scooter and sprint to the entrance of the
arena floor, fist-pumping all the way. Jorge would stand by, pretending to talk
on his cell phone, which he quickly stuffs in his pocket when he sees me flying
toward him and catches the scooter – all in one fluid motion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I hope I don’t break your wrist,” I said, because the last
thing I was thinking about was the scooter and I ditched it and slung it at him,
my momentum carrying me forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No worries, I’ve got this,” Jorge said calmly. He was about
half my age and athletic. Caught the scooter every time without breaking a
sweat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I, on the other hand, was heavily perspiring and winded by
the end of the shoot from sprinting down the hallway and backtracking for each
subsequent take. How do stunt people do this day in and day out? Somewhere
along the way I think I pulled an oblique muscle. But it didn’t produce a
miserable hurt, just a feeling like I’ve been pushing my body.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Really, the whole day was about pushing ourselves and each
other to get the best location, the best angle, the best sequence of shots.</div>
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We’ve always heard the saying about having to walk a mile in
someone’s shoes to appreciate what they do. Well, in this case, I traveled a good
mile as a stunt double and I have even greater admiration and respect for the
people who tell stories on film and video. And while it was fun to portray an
executive, I think I’ll keep my day job. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-32704630440980099252014-02-28T18:00:00.001-08:002014-03-01T10:19:27.331-08:00Portrait of the Actress as Activist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiaNk2Hw0TQ-ZAsuVPWN1q7Q7QWzZWlMIMugcxp4MIC_zGsqP05LCZ1NHAMp0utJq_Jq3hI3WSyuFCdUUZggb6CRKlx-0f7NSPu22ahuzoLubWu-EOAZxOiMPFHQ-P8LIv5mjA36KeyM6/s1600/beata+pozniak+painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiaNk2Hw0TQ-ZAsuVPWN1q7Q7QWzZWlMIMugcxp4MIC_zGsqP05LCZ1NHAMp0utJq_Jq3hI3WSyuFCdUUZggb6CRKlx-0f7NSPu22ahuzoLubWu-EOAZxOiMPFHQ-P8LIv5mjA36KeyM6/s1600/beata+pozniak+painting.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
The young woman wears a dark, strapless, floor-length dress. She sits with her legs crossed and hands folded. Her long hair, pulled across her breast, flows to her waist. Eyes downcast, she looks pensive and expectant. The painting is almost Chekhovian, evoking the feeling of turn of the century Russia.<br />
<br />
This is the portrait of a young Polish actress – not at the turn of the century but during the 1980s. Beata Pozniak is a timeless soul; she could thrive in any era. Years before she was discovered by Oliver Stone, Pozniak earned her way modeling and posing. Allowing herself to be the artist’s subject only deepened her acute sensibility and sensitivity.<br />
<br />
The somber expression she wears in the painting speaks of the trouble she witnessed in her native Poland. Pozniak lived at the epicenter of the Solidarity movement and witnessed the oppression of friends and relatives under martial law.<br />
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That experience fueled Pozniak’s sense of social justice and commitment to activism. The actress/artist/writer/filmmaker almost singlehandedly convinced Congress to recognize International Women’s Day in 1994 – 79 years after it came into existence.<br />
<br />
I met Beata Pozniak Daniels at a function on the Westside a few nights ago and was captivated by her energy and fire. She’s married to an architect and they have a son. She told me about her work on behalf of women around the world, so was it coincidence that she once played the President of the Earth Alliance on TV’s Babylon 5? She was also Marina Oswald in Oliver Stone’s <i>JFK</i> on the big screen and you may also recognize her from <i>Mad About You</i> and <i>Melrose Place</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4QydXBDRuiotc0mhyqDOhidLW3Np0KjrWYHvKjI9bUyAE-46Q1YHSZV5IhTzYaAV756T6zZ8CUJcqaflL3kIET3Fzrpjucu-1y4nhVnI4wrCVGFsuKMWUAD4T8iQZIFbjQae1-v7fkN5/s1600/pozniak+headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4QydXBDRuiotc0mhyqDOhidLW3Np0KjrWYHvKjI9bUyAE-46Q1YHSZV5IhTzYaAV756T6zZ8CUJcqaflL3kIET3Fzrpjucu-1y4nhVnI4wrCVGFsuKMWUAD4T8iQZIFbjQae1-v7fkN5/s1600/pozniak+headshot.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
International Women’s Day was founded in revolutionary Russia in 1915 and spread throughout Europe and Asia. Celebrated on March 8, it’s a day to recognize women in positions of leadership and influence. In some cultures you’ll also find husbands, sons, brothers and fathers making gestures of appreciation to wives, mothers, sisters and daughters.<br />
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Today, with so much talk about leaning in, marriage equality and reproductive rights, Pozniak Daniels’ message is especially relevant.<br />
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When I asked her if she encounters skeptics who think an international women’s day is patronizing of women, she exclaimed “It’s not patronizing, but almost shameful that we still need to have a special day to recognize the contributions and potential of women. I hope there will come a time when we can dispense with the title and have a People’s Day!”<br />
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And so, the pensive actress in the painting has evolved into an indefatigable champion of women as well as the underserved and oppressed.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpd61S3JeD51p4R7WeJMVawZpCuMDDZZIkbEE-F59oMhlaAbEVbinF_pFsbSIVCxc9CQd6S08QIgeTBXk2vD9NzKxJJKdKc9wqCwlYRgmno2RJEVRyPjtjcKjWMw-zZEItLorDIyguskw0/s1600/pozniak+w+garcetti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpd61S3JeD51p4R7WeJMVawZpCuMDDZZIkbEE-F59oMhlaAbEVbinF_pFsbSIVCxc9CQd6S08QIgeTBXk2vD9NzKxJJKdKc9wqCwlYRgmno2RJEVRyPjtjcKjWMw-zZEItLorDIyguskw0/s1600/pozniak+w+garcetti.jpg" height="154" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With LA Mayor Eric Garcetti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On March 8 in Los Angeles, Pozniak Daniels will be recognized for her efforts at a luncheon celebrating International Women’s Day, sponsored by the Women's International League for Peace & Freedom. She’ll be joined by actress Mimi Kennedy and activist and screenwriter Lila Garrett. More information is available <a href="http://www.socialuplift.org/ADs/Mimi_Kennedy_2014_Luncheon.html" target="_blank">here</a>.johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-1257813217895890362013-11-12T20:39:00.000-08:002013-11-13T17:12:22.062-08:00Monday Night in Pasadena with Richard Pryor<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqKgH4LUhzD6KedMxXqCBydzqG0uzl6JaQru1gaU7g5m3LiHSDwuo5fW_7LVV-i4CHgRbxJhXlbp-YVmOTDeaN08c6PdtROP_GRbz8Ri7x-lMa7syIBayG30RYQREKORQfwz5VMGfY0iM/s1600/Pasadena+Town+Hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqKgH4LUhzD6KedMxXqCBydzqG0uzl6JaQru1gaU7g5m3LiHSDwuo5fW_7LVV-i4CHgRbxJhXlbp-YVmOTDeaN08c6PdtROP_GRbz8Ri7x-lMa7syIBayG30RYQREKORQfwz5VMGfY0iM/s1600/Pasadena+Town+Hall.jpg" height="148" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pasadena City Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
An autumnal chill had descended on the foothill city. The
breeze at my back, nudging me down Colorado Avenue, made me feel like I was
back in the Midwest.</div>
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Students from Le Cordon Bleu shuffled to the bus stop and
young adults in hoodies darted in and out of doorways. On one side of the
street were splashy retailers and eateries with exotic names. On the other
side, the merchants that have been around for years and survived volatile economies: a bridal shop, a school supply, a furniture store. A
20-something wearing a Stanford sweatshirt skipped mirthfully down the
sidewalk, stopped abruptly, wheeled about and tore off in the other direction
to the amusement of her male companion – giggling all the way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Compared to Burbank and Glendale, Pasadena is old world and
genteel. People project an easy confidence – not in a rush but living with purpose.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A clutch of women in their 50s emerged from Tender Greens,
chirping in that tone that lets you know they’re having an intelligent
conversation and you’re not included. They were on their way to Anne Lamott’s
book talk at All Saints Episcopal Church.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A friend had recommended I visit the
legendary Vroman’s Book Store. So, I hustled down the street with the November
breeze at my back, wondering why I didn’t wear long pants on this chilly
evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I came upon Vroman’s unexpectedly. First, you notice the
warm and inviting coffee bar and don’t realize it’s part of the bookstore.
Then, you come upon a series of shelves and displays on the sidewalk under the not-so-watchful eye
of an attendant checking his phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I leaned into the double doors, stepped inside and found
myself in what looked like an appliance store from the 1960s with its harsh
fluorescent light, uneven, squeaky floors and general lack of charm. This is the brick-and-mortar
bookstore that your parents remember, and while the model goes the way of the dinosaur, Vroman’s holds fast to tradition knowing its clientele treasures
the touch of a book, the feeling you get when you flip a page. Staff members have penned handwritten notes recommending their favorite reads; you'll see them on practically every shelf.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I browsed the Fiction, leafing through Dave Eggers’ latest
novel. Sauntered over to Music, where I became absorbed in the letters
of the great Leonard Bernstein. He was somewhat controversial in his time and
boy, did Jerome Robbins take him to the woodshed over his initial sketch of
West Side Story! (It was nevertheless a collaboration made in heaven.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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My concentration was broken by an amplified voice:
“Attention, Vroman’s customers. In just a few minutes, brothers David and Joe
Henry will discuss their new biography of comedian Richard Pryor, <i>Furious Cool</i>. Please join us on the
second level for their talk and book signing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Looks like my next hour is booked, I thought. After all, I had
time to kill as Mary was at the aforementioned Anne Lamott talk up the
street.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I mounted the stairs, snaked through the greeting card
section and followed the sound of voices belonging to a well-heeled crowd of musicians,
poets, actors, activists and showbiz people. Many were dressed in black or
other muted, solid colors, mingling and chatting with an easy self-confidence. </div>
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Joe Henry took the microphone and explained in an unassuming way that as
kids he and his brother were mesmerized by old Richard Pryor concert footage. Years
passed, but the flame continued to burn, so much that Joe wrote a song called <i>Richard Pryor Addresses a Tearful Nation</i>. (Note: Joe's a musician of considerable renown who has
written, produced, played and sung with the likes of Aaron Neville, Loudon
Wainwright III and Bonnie Raitt.) As he told it that night,
Disney, which owned the label on which the song was to appear, asked him to get Pryor’s
permission. Pryor and his wife dug the song and asked Henry if he would write a
screenplay about Pryor’s life. So, Joe summoned his writer brother (whom he
admitted is far more meticulous about research) and they wrote a screenplay on
spec.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94NHwa5Y7MCiHxlCchwSNrXMSWqQQc8PxBdPmIgqrBWlgL3QHbQVW-LU8W0Jr3uSM8YgzqLMGi98IcDnhU_sVvzmuO1vXk8jESL3zXWqMscubmPDC1yHOdf31AQJznA_Ol9rC8_NKlWOZ/s1600/Henry+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94NHwa5Y7MCiHxlCchwSNrXMSWqQQc8PxBdPmIgqrBWlgL3QHbQVW-LU8W0Jr3uSM8YgzqLMGi98IcDnhU_sVvzmuO1vXk8jESL3zXWqMscubmPDC1yHOdf31AQJznA_Ol9rC8_NKlWOZ/s1600/Henry+2.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe and David Henry sign copies of <i>Furious Cool</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, after a couple of years of diligent work and little to show
for it, the brothers were dropped from the project. Undaunted, they repurposed
their work and turned it into a biography called <i>Furious
Cool</i>.</div>
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Most people remember Richard Pryor from <i>The Toy</i>, <i>Stir Crazy</i> or <i>Brewster’s Millions</i>, forgettable
films he made later in life. But that’s fool’s gold. The true gold lies in his
standup performances from the 60s and 70s – a treasure trove of R-rated social
commentary from the heart of a bitter man. How bitter? David Henry pointed out that
Pryor’s mother was a prostitute and was raised by his grandmother, a formidable
woman who didn’t hesitate to mete out abuse in the guise of punishment.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whether you liked him or not, there’s no denying Richard
Pryor spoke with a unique voice – bitter, brilliant, provocative. The Brothers
Henry haven’t attempted to chronicle every seminal moment in Pryor’s life;
rather, they set out to reveal what made him tick and explore his influences,
from Lenny Bruce to Redd Foxx. Apparently, they’ve succeeded. Noted Joe:
“Kirkus [Reviews] seems to hate everybody but they love us. So that’s
something.”<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06an37o-ARF5Oxf3QbI5dS3D6Z8lGgiRB8nNysU9cFNrs2618kW0f_YZc7VkAYwcTftdaemdfwl6c3gXecMRJ13oK9HmpwyxmzPpS3IK3DMTr3e3bJFyjtL5R3fUk6QOPKwdKbtXpjGrW/s1600/booksFurious_Cool_t580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06an37o-ARF5Oxf3QbI5dS3D6Z8lGgiRB8nNysU9cFNrs2618kW0f_YZc7VkAYwcTftdaemdfwl6c3gXecMRJ13oK9HmpwyxmzPpS3IK3DMTr3e3bJFyjtL5R3fUk6QOPKwdKbtXpjGrW/s1600/booksFurious_Cool_t580.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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I asked the brothers if they’re concerned Pryor will be lost
on younger audiences and forgotten by future generations. Joe said he hopes
Pryor is remembered for his off-the-wall, unrehearsed riffs onstage rather than
scripted moments in bad movies. I guess it’s not the biographer’s job to promote his subject on the masses – but instead to put it out there and hope our
children and grandchildren will discover Pryor on their own.</div>
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The destructive lifestyle caught up with Pryor, who famously
set himself on fire while freebasing cocaine. At the end of his life he was
confined to a motor scooter and crippled by multiple sclerosis when Joe Henry
visited him, bearing gifts of jazz CDs. While Pryor was barely able to speak at
that point, Henry said he walked away from those encounters with an eerie feeling
that entire conversations had taken place. And that’s sort of a metaphor for
Pryor’s influence, which lives on in the work of David and Joe Henry. <o:p></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-5228785996981909012013-08-26T11:30:00.000-07:002013-08-26T12:24:30.659-07:00Backstreet Boys<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The alley behind our building is nothing like the alleys I
remember growing up in small town Missouri. Seward Street was our “alley,” a
place to park the garbage cans and a way to sneak in the house past curfew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6 ½, as I call it, features the usual generous array of
trash and recycling containers, along with a continually changing and random
collection of items people donate to the homeless: furniture, clothing, books
and even record albums. (Where is a homeless person going to find a turntable?)
They trek up and down these alleys at all hours, pulling their makeshift carts
loaded to the hilt with bric-a-brac.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkawcr6NjALLDk_5VoIZtqvLo2Cu7PGgy9lOAHKtly96SZp61OodxkfV6txxBSUYcJjpAcWQH1u6ejPe9FByIdeNf_k3UFxUYae0lxB_X0X-vfc5VxBiFaGM56Phul7vlWXWj581R5gzAL/s1600/homeless.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkawcr6NjALLDk_5VoIZtqvLo2Cu7PGgy9lOAHKtly96SZp61OodxkfV6txxBSUYcJjpAcWQH1u6ejPe9FByIdeNf_k3UFxUYae0lxB_X0X-vfc5VxBiFaGM56Phul7vlWXWj581R5gzAL/s1600/homeless.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of the time I don’t hear them as they pass a mere 50
feet from our door – save the occasional hacking or coughing, which is a dead
giveaway – and I’ve never seen one cutting through our breezeway to access Seventh Street.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dog walkers, nannies and locals also use the alley, which is
just wide enough for a car plus a human, so long as you dodge the trashcans. It’s
truly the underbelly of the neighborhood, where you see the backside of the apartments,
tiny balconies stuffed with the oddest assortments of furniture and household
items, and neighbors unloading groceries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since parking is at a premium, people will sometimes pull
into the alley, get out and wipe down their cars. The other day, while toting some
recycling, I walked past this guy polishing a beautiful European sedan, all dreamy
with its dazzling wheels, gleaming finish and plush interior. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was about to keep walking when he called out, “Is everything good today?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It sure is if you own that car,” I replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sensed he was proud to tell me about his ride, a Jaguar, and
wanting to take a break on this gorgeous, sun-splashed day, I asked him about
it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhk7KuCksiVos3zP8sG63JCCuIrpCyzY5Nbm53XQcZZC642XNd2cj7S_SFa7lJv6E11xYxgaqccxv7OWDJHg7iycAMaHY2CeQx2yrQDlhVz5aE0Qm7oWcwEnKGqNzzNOJq5SjHET2pAJq/s1600/jaguar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhk7KuCksiVos3zP8sG63JCCuIrpCyzY5Nbm53XQcZZC642XNd2cj7S_SFa7lJv6E11xYxgaqccxv7OWDJHg7iycAMaHY2CeQx2yrQDlhVz5aE0Qm7oWcwEnKGqNzzNOJq5SjHET2pAJq/s1600/jaguar.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He opened the door, urged me to sit in the driver’s seat and
take a gander at the instrumentation. I’d never sat in a Jaguar and now realized
what I’ve been missing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Galpin screwed up the lease so I bought it off lease for
17,000. A steal,” he crowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Put your foot on the brake and press that button,” he said.
“No, that button.” Duh. I was like a gawky teenager trying to unhook a girl’s
bra. Upon starting the engine, I noticed a circular knob arise from the center
console like up, periscope! Then the air vents flipped open, jetting filtered
air into the cabin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jerry Botham was his name – like Gotham with a B. Not the
kind of guy you’d meet in a dark alley.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was from St. Charles, Illinois – outside Chicago. I thought
I detected an accent. Owns a plumbing and heating business. I’d seen his trucks
around town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You must do a good repair business with all of these rental
units around here,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Nah, I avoid ‘em for the most part,” he replied. “I do more
high-end. You know who’s taken this over?” he said, with a sweep of the hand to
indicate the entire area, followed by a furtive glance to either side as if
someone were eavesdropping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mexico.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cringed inside. So, we’ve got a racist on our hands, I
thought. Ok, let’s see where he’s going with this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“They come in here, do these jobs and screw them up, then I
get a call to come fix up their mess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He proceeded to tell me he built Madonna’s house. Being a
good listener and not gullible, I listened with great earnestness, hoping I was
getting the straight scoop from the genuine article. But as I think back on our
conversation now, who cares? Regardless of whether he was making things up or
not, he was still just as colorful. Maybe more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ve gotten to the point where I can be selective about my
customers,” he boasted. “If I hear attitude on the phone, I say, ‘Sorry, we
can’t help you.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jerry was about my height, receding blond hair parted in the
middle, slight gut, sporting a t-shirt and jeans. His eyes had a dancing
quality – indicating this is someone who’s alive and eager to see what each new
day will bring. Had maybe a day or two of beard on him. Would look right at
home in a Bears jacket sitting on a stool at Mother’s on Division, I imagined. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He told me he’s 64, and like most guys bearing down on the
twilight years, we talked about growing old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m trying to turn back the clock,” I said. “Living here
has been good for my health and my outlook.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jerry agreed, having lived here since 1968. His philosophy?
Don’t ever buy into the fact that you’re old or you’re gonna get beat by that guy
who’s 35. Then, he gave a little demonstration that has stuck with me for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s all in the body language,” he said, purposely slumping
his shoulders. “You can’t walk around like this," he said as he hung his
head and affected a nasal-y twang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You gotta come on like this,” planting his feet shoulder
width apart, throwing his head back, squaring his shoulders. Then, as part of
the act, he exclaimed, as if to a customer, “I’m gonna help you through this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a simple demonstration – kinda campy, but truly
palpable. In that moment I saw the sheer force of a positive, assertive posture
and how it can foster success. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what if the guy was kinda full of himself? He reminded me
of something very important in that one, fleeting moment: your attitude shows
in the way you carry yourself, and people pick up on that. These are lessons
you won’t learn in school or in the boardroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here was a plain-talking guy, a self-made man, just
polishing his Jag in the alley on a beautiful day. No big deal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the conversation turned to the differences between the
Midwest and California I bemoaned the fact that I’m paying to store some of the
furniture we brought from Kansas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“That Korean girl has some storage space down the alley,” he
proffered. “Talk to her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Priscilla, our building’s owner, I thought. When I asked
our landlady about this alleged storage space, she just laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In this neighborhood?” said Liz. “Are you kidding?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ok, maybe Jerry has a tendency to embellish, but he’s good
theater. Not a bad encounter in an alley on a gorgeous Santa Monica day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-40199104420355840692013-07-18T18:32:00.000-07:002013-11-12T18:38:49.975-08:00Baked with National Pride<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Willie and Shirley Douglas raised five boys near Koreatown.
It was a hardscrabble existence – coming to LA from Jamaica by way of Florida
and New York. Willie was an industrious guy. Always a self-starter, full of
ambition. Got his Master’s in Sociology from Cal State-Dominguez Hills at night
while building a property management business by day. Yep, apartments. Buying,
fixing up, renting, flipping occasionally for a larger property.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s a long way from Ocho Rios, Jamaica to LA. But many have
made the journey; there’s a significant Jamaican population here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Willie's son Reginald wants to capitalize on our fascination with
and love of things Jamaican. Having inherited his dad’s passion, Reginald crisscrosses
the city in his bright blue Honda Civic, peddling a trunk full of wares. Tirelessly
hawking his bagels, cream cheese and bagel chips with an uncommon flair and
unwavering smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But these aren’t bagels, Reginald exclaims. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“They’re Jamagels,” he says, drawing out the word, as in
“jahhh-MAYYY-gel.”<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2ItmWSCDOLsaQ_VdOXpqD36ZMQ9Yvfb6EnndrIoIYPP5sdFMQibcWwedgeARcdpwPvtkZ3cGyICNW-SlwUE7rATTR1xsFOfKS_JU659m6QZHF-8JHzj6sRiVBQpbbor_-7FAUgKqmaKa/s1600/reginald+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2ItmWSCDOLsaQ_VdOXpqD36ZMQ9Yvfb6EnndrIoIYPP5sdFMQibcWwedgeARcdpwPvtkZ3cGyICNW-SlwUE7rATTR1xsFOfKS_JU659m6QZHF-8JHzj6sRiVBQpbbor_-7FAUgKqmaKa/s1600/reginald+3.jpg" height="257" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reginald shows his wares from the trunk of his Honda.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bagels infused with the flavors of Jamaica. Using spices
like ginger, nutmeg, vanilla. Or pimento, cloves, allspice, garlic and onions. Or
raisins, cinnamon and malt syrup. Six kinds of bagels and five flavors of cream
cheese – even one that’s Jerk flavored, with spice extracted from the Scotch
bonnet pepper, found only the Caribbean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This guy has found his calling. For years he was a graphic
designer, selling t-shirts to retailers at trade shows. He’ll tell you custom
t-shirts should have no more than two colors. Any more than two and they look …
well, tacky. (My word. We’ve all owned a few of those.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the fashion biz started wearing thin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s always looking ahead a year and if you don’t have a
fresh idea every three months, well …” Reginald says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, how did this second-generation Jamaican from central LA
become interested in food?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Because I’m a creative person,” he says. “My mind is
constantly working. I went back and forth six or seven months on this idea. Should
I do it or not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, like a true entrepreneur, he just did it. Started cold
calling bakeries around town, pitching his idea. Would they be willing to test produce
some bagels, mix different spices in them? Reginald got lots of rejection, but
what entrepreneur isn’t used to rejection?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, he found a baker willing to give his idea a shot.
Brooklyn Bagels in downtown LA agreed to the plan, but it would be expensive.
In order to get a reliable sample, they’d have to bake 13 dozen. If the first
one wasn’t precisely right, they’d throw out the rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lots of testing and tweaking and months later, Reginald gave
birth to the Jamagel. Brooklyn Bakery has been making them for 2 ½ years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The name Jamagel is trademarked. A combination of Jamaica
and bagel, but “Jabagel” didn’t roll off the tongue, says Reginald. However,
changing just one letter and he found the lyrical name that conjures images of
swaying palm trees and crystal blue shores.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“When you say Jamaica, everyone loves Jamaica. Everyone
loves Bob Marley. Even if they’ve never been there. So I said ‘How can I come
up with a product that people will eat every single day?’ People eat bagels
every single morning.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">True, with food, not much changes because we are creatures
of habit. Reginald is hoping to tap into that. But first, you have to encourage
trial.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, like every good marketer, Reginald built a web site and
a Facebook page and launched a Twitter account. He spends his day pitching
locally-owned grocers and doing in-store demos. I met Reginald at Rainbow Acres
in Marina del Rey one evening. Almost walked past him as he called out to me.
But there was something about that infectious smile and attitude that brought
me back. Reginald pitched, a little breathlessly, and I listened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know that feeling, when someone is trying to sell you
something on the spot? You think, “what is this guy doing and what am I getting
myself into?” That was me. I sampled some cream cheese, made mindless
conversation, then said goodnight and walked to my car. Then, I doubled back,
asked for his card and said I’d like to talk more about his little enterprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About a week later, we met for coffee. He
had just come from a meeting that didn’t materialize. His appointment was a
no-show. But Reginald doesn’t know disappointment and rejection, so he gladly
sat with me, sipped ice water and told his story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He said he’s the only person in his family with the food
fascination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Jamaicans all know how to cook and cook for themselves so we
usually don’t think of food as a commercial pursuit,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reginald is looking for financing because, while several
stores have bought his products, he has ambitious growth plans and has to pay
that baker and the dairy that produces his cream cheese.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Several months ago I was having breakfast with a former
Disney executive – talking about life and global issues and business. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s the first thing you think when you think of California?”
he asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well, my opinion is, to be honest, I think it’s lost a
step,” I said, referring to the sagging economy, unemployment and companies’ unwillingness
to locate here because of taxes and regulation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes. But, California has something you won’t find anywhere
else,” he countered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, very eloquently, my friend described the budding
creativity and entrepreneurial spirit that courses through the veins of the
Golden State. It’s characterized by boldness, desire and an uncompromising belief
in one’s ideas. Never giving up, always eager to wake up every morning and see
what opportunities lie ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This spirit is everywhere. You can’t deny it. I certainly
found it in Reginald Douglas – the Jamagel Man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I waved goodbye and walked away, Reginald called to me: “Don’t
have a good day. Don’t have a great day. Have a Jahhh-MAYY-gel day! See, I made
you smile!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe, just maybe, this entrepreneur will make it work by winning
people’s hearts and taste buds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best place to learn more or place an order is <a href="http://www.jamagel.com/">www.jamagel.com</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-32582136444640269462013-07-10T10:00:00.000-07:002013-07-10T10:00:25.768-07:00Pack Your Laptop and Get Out!<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Awhile back I wrote about the coffee shop in Santa Monica that has no wi-fi by design.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I see <a href="http://www.business2community.com/tech-gadgets/should-laptop-hobos-be-allowed-in-coffee-shops-0547270" target="_blank">in this story</a> that some coffee shops are growing weary of the hobos who camp out all day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bad news for those of us who are out here on our own. Guess I'll be spending more time at my kitchen table and drinking my own coffee. </span>johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-41704640290981881732013-07-08T10:57:00.001-07:002013-08-25T17:42:53.927-07:00Making Sense of "Social"<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m going a little off topic today, but this is still in the
category of observation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />How did you learn about the Asiana crash in San Francisco?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Were you on Twitter or Facebook? Did someone mention it
during a phone call? Did someone yell it across the room?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Maybe you were watching TV and up popped a bulletin:
Breaking News.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Watching the story unfold, I began to form an opinion of
this chaotic method of information delivery we call social media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />First, anything is social media in my book. It’s social
because we’re sharing information and sharing an experience. And it’s media
because there has to be a channel through which the information flows – be it
the aforementioned Twitter or television.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Here’s how I found out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Russ Mitchell, a friend who’s a TV news anchor in Cleveland,
posted a Facebook link to KTVU’s live streaming coverage. Not one who
regularly watches streaming video on his laptop, I initially bypassed the KTVU
link and instead Googled “San Francisco crash” and clicked through bulletins
from newspaper web sites. It didn’t matter if the newspaper was in Boston or Baton
Rouge or the Wall Street Journal – information is viral and location agnostic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />For the next hour, I searched Twitter using various hashtags
– #sfo, #sfocrash, #sfoemergency – and followed the unfolding events through a chaotic
series of 140-word blasts. The most arresting tweet was <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887323368704578591863760520532.html" target="_blank">David Eun’s</a> photo of
the wreckage, taken minutes after he escaped the plane. Many of these amateur
dispatches were speculative, but many were also sourced to various news media.
I found myself sampling the early coverage from a broad array of web sites –
many retransmitting Eun’s photo and duplicative information.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLI7dbYp2GpIhR2bfNFJx-qTtV3i5iCsOkg3opNVyUDj5xuzdxv4Rs48lPn2u-1l0O6qJXs_Ih0pUTL3h6vrpY462jW9pA7DEvG9vpSOmYs7GpZ2Tq-kRZojDXihBj86QnBD93kTXMKtBC/s1600/eun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLI7dbYp2GpIhR2bfNFJx-qTtV3i5iCsOkg3opNVyUDj5xuzdxv4Rs48lPn2u-1l0O6qJXs_Ih0pUTL3h6vrpY462jW9pA7DEvG9vpSOmYs7GpZ2Tq-kRZojDXihBj86QnBD93kTXMKtBC/s1600/eun.jpg" height="320" width="310" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Fast forward about an hour. I wanted to catch the NTSB’s
news conference so I went back and found the link to KTVU’s coverage. At this
stage I was invested enough in the coverage to stream live video on my laptop.
(Don’t ask me why but I’m averse to watching video on my Samsung Galaxy
device.) Either I missed it or it had been postponed. Instead, San Francisco
General was holding a media briefing and spokesperson Rachael Kagan was
standing before the cameras. As befitting the risks of live TV, KTVU caught her
giving a media-only phone number to assembled reporters, on which she promised
to record patient updates throughout the evening. A minor error, considering no
one at KTVU could possibly know Kagan was going to give the number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />As Kagan patiently answered questions about the conditions
the crash victims and the hospital’s readiness to treat them, it occurred to me
that I had now put my full faith in the abilities of the KTVU news department.
No longer was I sampling via Twitter; I was submitting to a narrative of sorts,
being led through the sequence of earlier events and current developments by an
anchor in tie and shirtsleeves and a few reporters in the field. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />And here’s the thing. It was all social. I was consuming
bits of data and images provided by total strangers. I was relying on them to
be my eyes and ears. I was even re-tweeting. I tweeted to my modest group of
followers that the crash was commanding major attention and suggested they
follow some variation of #sfo for the latest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />It occurred to me that when the big story breaks – a plane
crash in San Francisco, Christopher Dorner’s “catch me if you can” with the
LAPD or a California brush fire – this news consumer still finds value and
places his trust in local television. Call me lazy, call me old-fashioned, but
when I tire of Twitter or am looking for a different perspective, I still like
to have TV thread it all together for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I commented on Russ’ post: “They’re doing a good job, IMO.”
Minutes later, he agreed. “They really are!” Then someone commented “Us too.”
It was Eric Thomas, an anchor at KGO, also in San Francisco. Then Russ posted a
link to KGO’s coverage, to which Thomas replied “thanks man.” Some time later
another poster thanked Thomas for bringing
the story to viewers. Granted, most of us in this thread are newsies or former
newsies, but to me it illustrated that television news is still relevant and
useful when a big story breaks. <br /><br />That’s when it’s at its best. And, we were
demonstrating that the convergence of media is indeed powerful – using Facebook
to promote TV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Days later my M.O. has changed and I’m reading more accounts
from newspaper web sites. Print media can still effectively tie it all up in a
bow and is probably more effective at weaving in the more substantive
investigative findings. It’s how I learned the pilot only had 43 hours on a 777
and that one of the victims may have been run over by an emergency vehicle. But,
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that I’m often led to the paper’s site by a
tweet or Facebook post.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Terrible tragedies bring strangers together. Social media
gives us that rush of knowing that others are feeling many of the same feelings
and experiencing adrenaline flow. TV – just as much a part of social media –
allows us to sit back and let the story wash over us, but in a powerful way
with marvelously blended words and sounds and pictures. IMHO.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-2686064853872509222013-06-13T06:00:00.000-07:002013-06-13T06:00:03.433-07:00Who's on Third?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica is a monument to commercialization that seems to have found a quasi-natural rhythm of its own. For all the retail frenzy that assaults the senses, it has a certain appeal if you just let it come to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Don’t set foot in this bodacious bazaar with a bad attitude, however, or you’ll quickly grow annoyed by the fortune tellers and street performers. Not to mention the restaurant hostesses who accost you if you make eye contact. I once had words with a college-age kid who wanted me to sign a petition. I’m offended by their guile; they sidle up to you and initiate a conversation like you’ve known each other for years, calling you “dude” or something. <i>I don’t know you</i>, I thought. <i>You’re being presumptuous if you think I want to discuss saving the children or saving the whales</i>. Am I cold and heartless, I wonder?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />If you’re already having a bad day you’ll grow quickly irritated by the self-absorbed who don’t look where they’re walking or think the rest of the world wants to hear their story, told in a voice of self-importance and accompanied by exaggerated gestures and raucous laughter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Most Santa Monicans will tell you they try to avoid Third Street. It’s for tourists, after all. Amateurs. I was once one of them. But, walking to the gym, it started to grow on me, precisely for the reason I would normally avoid it: the people. I’ve found I become energized in a crowd of strangers. It’s probably my Midwestern upbringing, from years of opening the front door to nothing but the song of birds and crickets.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEwpjVL3_RUDvhyQ6lemXDts5n6w1Ynbu0xPRYoJHWbwLfFY05uTNgoTUZsyCc5ApMHrMjMTzxdUP3NVJ6s_8iybAnzSdPVLP66a2b9SjbCohbVgLqhoFC8O_CztFv7NCgBz3BayNo0y1/s1600/topiary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEwpjVL3_RUDvhyQ6lemXDts5n6w1Ynbu0xPRYoJHWbwLfFY05uTNgoTUZsyCc5ApMHrMjMTzxdUP3NVJ6s_8iybAnzSdPVLP66a2b9SjbCohbVgLqhoFC8O_CztFv7NCgBz3BayNo0y1/s1600/topiary.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the animal topiaries say "Look at me, look at me!"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Stroll down Wilshire toward the ocean and turn left at the Barnes and Noble, past Banana Republic, Monsoon (Asian fusion cuisine) and Chipotle Grill and prepare to experience a slice of southern California that’s not exactly the traditional Santa Monica.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first sensory experience that greets me is the big bearded guy in a stocking cap, playing guitar with a portable amp. He seems affable, almost approachable. He’s perched just beyond the imaginary border of the Promenade so he doesn’t have to obtain a performer’s license. This guy seems to live in that grey area between homeless and mainstream. You just can’t tell. He has a plastic cup for tips but I never see him overtly begging. His guitar clashes with the voice of the elderly man sporting an Amish beard singing Tony Bennett karaoke style only a few hundred feet away. Don’t these people have to audition first? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />If it’s spring or summer you see and hear tourists from everywhere – San Antonio or Santa Ana, Birmingham or Burbank. Personal style is paramount; everyone has a look. Swarthy young men in aviators and tight shirts, a couple days’ growth of beard, sipping a glass of wine with their girlfriends in leggings, flipflops and oversized sunglasses. The Latino with gelled hair and an Angels jersey hanging with his hermanos. The mother-daughter pair weighted down with bags from Kitson, Anthropologie and, God forbid, Abercrombie & Fitch, striding purposefully to their car so they can retreat to the leafy havens of Brentwood or Pacific Palisades.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day I encountered a protest march. It was a Sunday in early June, a good time to play to a large audience. They were shouting about genocide in Turkey, although as a group they didn’t look particularly oppressed. Some people stopped and observed the spectacle, others walked by in a hurry to get to their cars and beat the traffic. I went home, did some research and learned more of the citizen unrest in Turkey and its oppressive government. You can learn something useful here, and I’ll bet you won’t find that claim on the chamber’s web site.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Just the names of the stores are a delight for the imagination: Pink Ice, Hard Tail, All Saints, Journeys, Rip Curl. And then there are the more traditional names: Apple, American Eagle, Kenneth Cole, Tiffany and Tumi. Around the corner on Arizona, attracting anything but misfits is The Misfit –a nightclub that is unabashedly hip with its beguiling, even intimidating dark interior.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />My sense of smell is always rewarded and it adds to the experience: That athletic store smell of shoe rubber that greets my nostrils as I approach the Adidas store, the marvelous array of scents from perfume vendors and the more earthy flavors from the kiosks bearing incense and other spiritual products.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVJSu_EHJz_TR1FeA2tQSobMfx2RuZaYN_HB9E2ZMBV84jgP1UwaxMRRvioRxkd_72GxP48SCNR8ooQ3xBlmLjyQsq_Xzz6p8jeRVmAUWKsXLrUkFYLX3y0HNCJB3kFUInh3_N8lfQfY1/s1600/farmers+market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVJSu_EHJz_TR1FeA2tQSobMfx2RuZaYN_HB9E2ZMBV84jgP1UwaxMRRvioRxkd_72GxP48SCNR8ooQ3xBlmLjyQsq_Xzz6p8jeRVmAUWKsXLrUkFYLX3y0HNCJB3kFUInh3_N8lfQfY1/s1600/farmers+market.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What June gloom? The Farmers Market is happenin'.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />A trio of athletic and gregarious black men attracts an impromptu audience with acrobatics and dance moves, set to a throbbing beat from a rather sophisticated sound system. They’ve plucked two people from the audience for a demonstration – a spry grandmother and an attractive blonde twentysomething, of course. I keep walking because I’ve seen this show before on Venice Beach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Approaching The Coffee Bean I find myself involuntarily taking deep abdomen breaths in anticipation of the pleasant, rich aroma of coffee. I note the patrons – more leisurely than the crowd on foot – sipping and chatting, fiddling with their iPhones or staring absently into space. That’s the life, I tell myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />The pizza joint next to the AMC theaters now has gluten-free pizza, and I promise myself I’ll give it a try sometime. <i>You poor fools</i>, I tsk-tsk to myself as I pass Johnny Rocket’s with the patrons shoveling cheeseburgers and downing milkshakes. <i>You’ll regret it later</i>. (I’ve turned into a nutrition snob.) On the southeast corner of Third and Arizona the people who brought you Chipotle are opening their third Shophouse Asian Kitchen here – the only others are in Washington DC. Yeah, it’s trendy like that here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tourists from Germany, Japan, Australia throng Third Street. They seem less casual than the Americans – more earnest and observational. Often it’s difficult to tell if someone is from another country or a person of non-US lineage living in Los Angeles, this city has become a kaleidoscope of nationalities. Whatever. The diversity inspires me and feeds my energy.</span><br />
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-67378104260053921742013-06-07T15:45:00.001-07:002013-07-18T12:14:14.939-07:00Just Another Day on the Westside<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Helicopters have been buzzing our neighborhood all day. The President was here, somewhere, lunching with patrons in a leafy neighborhood. Elsewhere, several people are dead, a gunman is in custody and several others are in hospitals with gunshot wounds - after a crime spree near Santa Monica College. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night I tweeted POTUS to lunch in Brentwood. Ho-hum. Just another day on the Westside.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just another day, when terrified students dove under desks and scattered into the streets. Just another day, when a guy with a gun tried to hijack a couple of unsuspecting motorists. Just another day, when this same guy (presumably) set fire to a house and two people inside perished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our daughter called from Kansas. "Hey, I heard about the shooting at Santa Monica College. Are you guys okay?" We were. We had strolled to CVS to pick up a few items, then over to Chipotle on the Third Street Promenade for lunch. We ate outside, under the June gloom, with our dog Bella. Around us tourists mingled, unaware of the terror going down less than two miles away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I saw some firefighters standing around, chuckling, that's all," I overheard a woman say, who must have passed by the locked-down area.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope, you'd hardly know this was anything but a ho-hum Friday in Santa Monica. But we aren't callous. We have feelings and pray for the injured and their families and for the nerves of those unsuspecting college students.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm worried about these helicopters," my wife just said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's nothing. It's just for POTUS," I say. "They're giving his motorcade air cover."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hell, what do I know? But I don't want her to worry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary's on the phone with a friend in Montrose, telling her about the chaos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Secretly (or not so secretly) I think we thrive on the excitement. Are our lives so mundane, so boring that it takes something like this to arouse our passions? I can only think of the Oklahoma tornadoes and the outpouring of sympathy and support. Deep down we are good people. We would venture into the teeth of a conflict to help our fellow woman and man. Look for the helpers, said Fred Rogers. We want to be one of those people, because somehow we feel more alive when we extend a hand to others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary has turned on ABC7. They're all still doing wall-to-wall coverage. Police are still trying to sort out what happened. Neighbors are all too willing to talk about what they saw. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More people have texted or written to see if we are ok. Yes, we're fine. We are tucked away in our apartment several miles from the campus. But we know that area all too well. I get my car worked on over there. Nearby is a Mexican restaurant we like. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reporter just said "this doesn't happen in Santa Monica" and "neighbors are shocked." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just another day on the Westside. </span><br />
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-79440858799225295252013-06-03T12:00:00.000-07:002013-06-03T12:00:00.873-07:00Finding Bliss in the Joy of Others<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a spin down Lincoln Blvd toward Manhattan Beach to see my friend Catherine - a native Angelean. You see it all – the spotty outskirts of Santa Monica south of The 10 with the auto mechanics and little cafes and Hawaiian barbecue, the dusty storefronts of Venice (could use a power wash and a coat of paint), then the expansive condos of the Marina and the ever-growing sky as the street widens and you approach the rather grand Loyola Marymount campus and soon LAX. I love to drive that section of Lincoln that parallels the north runway; you swear the planes are going to land right on top of your car. I nod at the iconic In-n-Out on Sepulveda, where all the visitors flock for a burger just after landing.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And on through El Segundo to Manhattan Beach – a part of Manhattan Beach that most people don’t envision. They picture a little elite fortress of a town, secluded from the rabble and decked out with charming merchants and eateries. And of course the pier and myth about beach volleyball being born here. No, I’m talking about the Manhattan Beach along the PCH, home of yoga studios and UPS stores and Ralph’s and car dealers. Yes, John Elway Toyota is here. Once I stayed at a tired Residence Inn next door to the Elway lot. This is the dealership bearing the name by the All-World QB? Like most things in the middle-class sections of Manhattan Beach (and LA for that matter) it’s quite modest. First, land is precious and lots are small and, second, being exposed to the relentless California sun gives everything kind of a shopworn appearance. (We put up with wood rot and general fade in Santa Monica because, hey, it’s Santa Monica. At the beach, a little of the right kind of shabby is okay.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I parked in the snug, cratered parking lot near Two Guns Coffee. Catherine recommended it and I’m always up for something new. The strip mall – if you want to call it that – was chock full of random little stores (how do they stay in business?) and surprisingly, parking was at a premium. If you didn’t know this place was here you’d miss it. Unassuming comes to mind. Inside I found a few tables and a small counter and the aroma of some fine blend of coffee. I’m not that discriminating; I think all coffee smells good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Catherine was waiting for me, croissant and cup at hand. Beaming as usual. Even when the chips are down, she has a ready smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“How are you?” I called to her from across the room. We hugged. I sat down. She recommended the pastry; I said no thanks I had breakfast. She had just come from working out. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A light workout, she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“It’s great and you don’t perspire too much.” I’m not familiar with that type of workout.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Catherine was laid off a few months ago and we often commiserate about the job market. We worked at the same company for a time. Her husband was laid off from the same company but has since found work elsewhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Catherine lost a job, but found peace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“For the first time, I’m really enjoying our south Redondo Beach neighborhood,” she said. “I used to work long hours and didn't get to spend a lot of time at home. My husband and I live across the street from the high school so the softball and football fields are always bustling with kids. I feel a part the community now. There's a comforting ebb and flow to each day that I never felt before." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Somehow I don’t think Catherine will suffer for lack of a corporate job. She’s had some interviews, but so far nothing. It’s the toughest market ever, in the toughest city in America.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instead, she’s rekindled a passion for taking pleasure in the joy of others. We all know brides invest a lot of effort in their wedding day and want to preserve the memories, and Catherine has tapped into that sentiment. For several years she’s had a business preserving wedding bouquets so brides can have a lasting keepsake of their special day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“I’ve been taking social media classes, learning about search engine optimization and such,” she rattled off, excitedly. “I’m really working at marketing my business.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />And this is what Catherine loves to do. She loves to see the expression on a newlywed’s face when she picks up her arrangement. This being LA and South Bay Floral Preservation being a one-person operation, there’s no earthly way she can deliver. Her customers must drop off and pick up, or they can arrange a FedEx delivery. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“I market within a 50 mile radius of Redondo Beach, but I’ve had brides from out of state use my services,” she said. “This is the biggest day of their lives, so they’ll go to great lengths to make it special.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />While Catherine has shared joy, she’s also witnessed grief. She’s been asked to preserve floral arrangements from memorials, and the stories are sobering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“There was a girl – a teenager – killed in a car accident,” she said a catch in her throat. “It was so sad. I don’t know how people carry on.” A real earnestness in her expression. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />And maybe Catherine’s contribution can assist with the healing – even in some small way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m heartened by the pluck and determination of Angelenos – their capacity for finding a purpose. When her company gave her the boot, Catherine rededicated herself to her business. <br /><br />Unlike those faded buildings, she’s intent on preserving beauty and following her bliss.</span><br />
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-36232661183363305442013-05-16T11:57:00.001-07:002013-05-16T11:57:49.348-07:00Land of the Self-Absorbed?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This isn’t Mayberry. Of course, what city is these days? It’s difficult to find a town in America where you can walk down the street and feel comfortable speaking to a total stranger. There are degrees. I would say in some places you can still give the knowing nod of the head and get a smile in return.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">L.A. will be having none of that. Things move too fast. Everyone is in their own world, enveloped in their own issues, consumed by their problems. Considering the long distances people traverse across the Southland to conduct their business or pursue recreation, there’s no time for the trivial. Let’s face it. We are all self-absorbed. That, of course, doesn’t excuse the person who fails to return a pleasantry for a pleasantry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />One day Mary came home from a long walk with Bella in an exasperated mood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“That was just weird,” she said. “A woman walking four dogs came toward me, and I said ‘Looks like you’ve got your hands full,’ and she said “It’s best if we don’t socialize” and walked on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Kind of a curious retort.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I can understand that, yes, this woman did have her hands full, but why dismiss someone like that? I admire my wife for so many reasons. One is her forgiveness. When confronted by someone behaving like a jackwagon or tool, she reminds herself of “the baby in the back seat” analogy. Let’s not be hasty to criticize someone because we don’t know, can’t know, what troubles they may be dealing with, like the mother or father who’s driving erratically because there’s a baby choking in the back seat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I try to keep this in mind when walking the streets of any city. Let people be, unless you see an obvious opening – like when another dog sniffs the arse of your dog, eliciting a chuckle from its owner, which leads to a brief conversation about how friendly and innocent dogs can be. However, let’s refrain from taking a page from our four-legged friends. Let’s not sniff the arses of others we encounter on the sidewalk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Now, what if the tables are turned? What if someone is quick to speak to me? What if that person is homeless, asking for money? The homeless population of Los Angeles is considerable, owing to the state of the local economy, the unemployment rate and the hospitable climate. This is a vexing problem, a conundrum, something better left to the social scientists. I’m never sure what to do. If it’s an isolated incident – if I were to encounter one homeless person every other week or so – I would probably dig in my pocket, peel my only bill from my money clip and hand it over. In L.A. the homeless are so prevalent that it’s not uncommon to encounter five or six on the short walk to 7-11. I would run out of money after the first or second appeal, so I choose to treat the homeless equally: they’re getting nothing from me. I keep walking. I find it convenient to wear earphones and listen to my music while walking to the gym. Yes, I may still be accosted even if I look absorbed, but I can make the excuse that I can’t hear. This isn’t uncharitable; it’s a mode of survival. I have compassion for the homeless, but I don’t think the homeless problem is going to be solved by modest handouts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />My friend went to high school at St. Monica’s in Santa Monica, part of a large, well-endowed parish. The rich and famous attend this church and fill its coffers. Yet, she says, it’s a curious irony that just across the street sits Christine Emerson Reed Park, which is frequented by homeless.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“Here you have this incredible wealth on one side and abject poverty on the other,” she remarked. “You wish somehow the church could make an impact.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />No doubt St. Monica’s has significant outreach programs and has been doing good in the community for generations. It’s just one of the many curious juxtapositions you see in southern California.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />What would Sheriff Taylor have done about the homeless? To my knowledge, the closest thing Mayberry had to a homeless person was Otis Campbell, the town drunk. Andy occasionally let Otis bed down in the jail. That won’t work in L.A.</span><br />
<br />johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-25252500402366297802013-04-24T16:54:00.000-07:002013-04-24T16:54:57.893-07:00What? No Wi-fi?<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A quiet counterculture is building in the world of coffee shops. You probably don’t even notice it in your neighborhood. It’s starting very modestly, and I doubt it will supplant the Starbucks model we’ve come to know and, in my case, grudgingly accept.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One afternoon my wife and I set out with our laptops, looking forward to a couple of quiet and productive hours at a nearby, locally-owned coffee purveyor on trendy Montana Avenue in Santa Monica. We had noticed this store on the corner for some time. It looked very attractive from the outside – giant, plate-glass windows that let in an abundance of sunlight, bright interior, a spare, clean look. The kind of place where you can sit quietly, clear your mind and get creative.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Approaching the door, however, we noticed very few places to sit – only benches around the walls and tiny, low, round-topped wooden tables. None of the overstuffed, comfy chairs we’d come to expect in more traditional coffee houses.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It looks like they really don’t want us to come in,” said my wife, and I agreed. Cold and sterile came to mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />We peeked inside the Starbucks across the street, but all the seats and chairs were filled. So popular was it was this mid-afternoon that we decided to return to the local place and give it a try. After all, I reasoned, we have each other. Do our surroundings really matter? (You come to recognize what’s enduring and fulfilling versus the fleeting and unsatisfying. Your wife is your best friend and you relish your time together.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />When we walked in, we were greeted by the type of funereal silence that always makes me uncomfortable and self-conscious. I almost turned around and walked out. Music played softly, and the energy level was low or nonexistent. If you speak, you appear foolish. Intimidating sums up the experience so far.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />At first I thought maybe this is the kind of place where you get your coffee to go – so paltry was the available seating. But no, there were a few customers, occupying a long table with high stools in the back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />The clerk was cheerful in a quirky way, although I felt as if she was thinking “these people don’t know or appreciate our sophisticated blends of coffee and tea. Watch the guy order a plain drip coffee.” Which I did, with room for milk. I have no pretension about these things and refuse to order something overly gilded or contrived just to fit in with the crowd. I think my wife ordered an iced chai tea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />My wife noticed the barista, who didn’t crack a smile the entire time. Made several coffees before she poured the iced tea. (I mean, all she had to do was pour the tea. Simple.) I usually don’t let the attitudes of others – especially strangers – affect my mood, but ms. barista’s vibe was palpable. It cast a pall over the place. Sulk much?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />My coffee was good, but not worth the four bucks I paid for it. I guess when we overpay for the coffee we are paying for the privilege of sitting in a coffee house for hours, sucking up the wi-fi.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />About the wi-fi. We opened our laptops, searched for available networks and found they were all encrypted. I asked the clerk if they have a wi-fi network. “No, we don’t,” she replied, probably sick of answering the question for the 60th time that day, displaying little compassion. No apologies. The whole premise of this coffee format is “unapologetic.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />As Americans, don’t we have the right to free wi-fi?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />“That’s okay,” I said to my wife. “We can do other things.” And she showed me the photos from her writer’s retreat in Whitefish, Montana. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I’ve since noticed this no computer policy at other coffee houses. There’s a spot on Pico near Fairfax that segregates the laptop users. Polite little placards adorn each table explaining the policy. At least laptop use is somewhat acceptable. And the place is buzzing with energy, unlike the aforementioned tomb near our apartment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />We stayed for about 45 minutes, not sucking up their wi-fi but sucking up the oxygen in the room and taking up space. I guess I got my $4 worth. And don’t bother asking for a cup to go. No paper is consumed here. <br /><br />This is a classic coffee experience, accentuated by large, white porcelain mugs. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Maybe this is a new model, I thought. High-concept coffee. The anti-Starbucks. I’m clearly in the minority because most of the Yelp reviews were gushing. Do these people derive some perverse satisfaction from being surrounded by smugness and sterility? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />It led me to revisit a question I’ve always pondered about the attitudes of the help and the clientele. It’s a chicken and egg thing. Does the help turn hostile from dealing with arrogant clients all day, or do clients become arrogant from being waited on by hostile help?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />So many questions, which I think I’ll consider as I sip my $1.95 grande at Coffee Bean.</span><br />
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-5466066722914510192013-04-08T10:24:00.002-07:002013-04-09T15:28:06.215-07:00Worlds Colliding<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend Robb informed me Anaheim was settled by the Germans. Well, that
makes sense. Anything that ends in “heim” must be German, I figure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Their saint was Ana, and that’s why you have Santa Ana, and then next to
it is Anaheim,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were having this discussion one evening in the parking lot of Alpine
Village in Torrance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our high school friend Stan was in town on business and
the three of us went to dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing in the parking lot, away from the
noise of the band playing a singles event, Stan observed “This place is kind of
in the middle of nowhere.” Funny how it takes an outsider to notice what’s
right in front of our faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Is there a German settlement around here or something?” he asked. Stan
is of German heritage. He has one of those names that is easily bungled and we
used to find creative ways to mispronounce it in high school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The answer is, well, no. Alpine Village is an attempt to re-create German
life in the middle of a nondescript area of southern L.A. county. It’s a mixed
neighborhood, with some residential, a dab of retail and a commercial
enterprise here and there, totally devoid of zoning restrictions. Kind of a
wasteland, really. The presence of the 110 Freeway nearby makes this section of
Torrance an afterthought. The 405 / 110 interchange is just a mile away and the
zillions of motorists who pass this way are determined to reach their
destination – they pay no mind to the Torrance Blvd. exit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s why I’m amused whenever Robb recommends we eat here. He’s a big
fan of beers – even brews his own – and he’s always up for a tall glass of
pilsner. Beer and knackwurst. The knackwurst on Alpine Village’s menu reminds
me of the scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, where Ratner takes Stacy on a
first date and they sit shyly, swallowed up in oversized chairs while being
served by that big Brunhilda. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alpine Village is a commercial enterprise that defies easy explanation.
First of all, it’s situated on a humongous lot which could accommodate an
airport hotel or light manufacturing facility. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s a series of buildings, the
anchor being a giant beer hall with dance floor and assorted party and meeting
rooms. It’s Old World meets nondescript 1970s U.S.A. There are touches of
German sensibility–walls of stucco and dark beams, coach light fixtures that
exude a golden glow, dark hardwood floors. The servers don’t wear lederhosen or
those frilly, low-cut frocks you see on the lasses at Oktoberfest in Munich.
They dress like they work at Target.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hostess on this evening was a fairly miserable young woman sporting a
white dress shirt, thick black hair and trendy glasses – of Hispanic or
Filipino descent I would guess – who found it difficult to muster a smile as I
entered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m meeting friends here,” I said, as if to preempt her attempts at
seating me. After all, that would require some effort and I wanted to save her
the trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Um-hmmm,” was her response, then she returned to her smartphone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Luckily we are adults, self-sufficient, and had no trouble commandeering
a table on our own. We settled in to our beers and sausage appetizers, and were
chattering with the ease of middle-aged white guys, when all of a sudden we
heard a report of epic sonic proportions, one that always makes me cringe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“TEST, TEST, CHECK, CHECK, CHECK 1-2.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Musical equipment had materialized on the stage and a technician was
prepping for a performance of some sort. We then noticed the hall was starting
to fill with people of every age and stripe – in every type of garb imaginable.
Large tables bore “RESERVED” signs. Clearly, something was up, and we were not
a part of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I excused myself, made a trip to the restroom and did some
reconnaissance. An organization </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">called OC Good Life was hosting a singles
event. There’s something about putting the letters OC (for Orange County) in
front of everything; it makes it sound more hip, more intriguing. Good Life in
and of itself is pleasant enough, but OC Good Life conjures images of a happy
middle-aged couple rolling down the coast in their convertible, hair blowing in
the salty breeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One look at this crowd, however, and words that came to mind were
“trepidation” and “anxiety.” Balding men in cheap sports jackets and too much
jewelry, women teetering in exaggerated heels and makeup, eyes darting around
the room as they try to adjust to the light, unsure of where to go, what to do
next or what pose to strike. I felt some measure of compassion for them,
because haven’t we all felt ill at ease in certain social situations? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I walked back into the main hall to be reunited with my goulash, an
overanxious woman sporting bright red lipstick and bullet-proof hair accosted
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Have you signed in yet?” she asked enthusiastically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being married and not looking for the Good Life in the OC, I said “No,
I’m just here with some friends, having dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh, okay,” she replied, not defeated, just in a courteous tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At about that time, the band struck up a Motown tune (might have been
“Heard it Through the Grapevine”) and the shouting began. By shouting, I mean
my friends and I were shouting to hear each other and the lead singer had a
tendency to shout when she reached for the high notes. A little like nails on a
chalkboard at times, but overall the band wasn’t bad. The lead singer – looking
older than she sounded – was nearly expressionless even while singing the most
poignant lyrics. A guy sang harmony with her and they were accompanied by
guitar, bass, keyboards and drums. I wondered “Where do these people come
from?” Stan later pointed out to me that the band was called “Bits and Pieces.”
An appropriate name, given the fact that they looked as if they’d been thrown
together moments before taking the stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our attempt at making conversation over the loud music continued for
about 15 minutes, then we paid our bill and decamped for the parking lot.
Before we left, I noticed maybe 15 couples dancing on the big floor. I usually
judge the quality of the band and the overall party atmosphere by the number of
people actually dancing. There was no Midwestern reserve about these folks; they
were here to party and let it all hang out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On our way out the door, Robb and Stan asked the hostess about this
event. When she replied “it’s a singles event” and they answered “Hah, we don’t
qualify” I thought guys, give it a rest. She has no sense of humor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I find myself making conversation on a wide range of subjects in the
midst of an unfamiliar and unrelated environment, I find it stimulating. Here
we were, discussing old high school friends, past jobs, family and music, while
standing in a parking lot in a city far from where any of us grew up, as
strangers passed by. It’s surreal, and energizing. The night breeze swept in
from the ocean, passed through palm trees, whisked past freeways and buildings
and billboards carrying an element of magic. Sometimes I refer to it as “worlds
colliding” or a “mashup.” Regardless, I thrive on this coming together of
random elements as they create their own energy and momentum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing outside the front door, we got to watch people come and go.
While it’s an unscientific observation, I got the impression that the people
who frequent OC Good Life are lower-middle to middle class, of Hispanic, Greek,
Italian and mixed ethnicity. And probably some Germans who came for the
Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier instead of finding a mate. The men most likely
shop at Target and the women at Ross. Most were wearing their “best” outfit and
most seemed uncomfortable in their best clothes. Just catching whiffs of the
various colognes, aftershaves and perfumes as people breezed by was a kind of
heady delight. I could people-watch all day and all night, I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Observing just this one frame of the human drama reminded me that there’s
no single type of LA or Orange County resident. These were the working classes
of Torrance, Buena Park, Long Beach, Fullerton and Inglewood. You wouldn’t be
able to pick them out of a lineup as southern Californians. They could be from
Miami, Baton Rouge or Bakersfield.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks later I read in the L.A. Times web site that there had been a
shooting at Alpine Village:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“A man was fatally shot and another was stabbed early Sunday during a
fight at a punk-rock concert at the Alpine Village Center in unincorporated
Torrance, authorities said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fight initially broke out inside the German-themed locale and spilled
into a parking lot about 12:25 a.m., the Los Angeles County Sheriff's
Department said.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t know what to think. Sobering, for sure. Tragic. To think we were
standing in that very parking lot, feeling perfectly safe, savoring the
atmosphere, blissfully unaware of the mayhem that can erupt in our midst at any
time, with little warning.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-18636718084012317032013-03-19T14:25:00.003-07:002013-03-19T18:51:40.856-07:00Starstruck? Nah, Not Really<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll get this one out of the way now: the blog about celebrity spotting
in L.A. No one comes here without some anticipation of seeing a celebrity or
two. I, for one, gave up long ago because I have no luck in
this area. In fact, I consider it a sign of coolness to not care. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe I’m not frequenting celebrity haunts. But then, my landlady saw Alec
Baldwin on the Third Street Promenade and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar at Ralph’s. Me, I
have celebrity repellant so I won’t go out of my way for a sighting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, I was amused when we hit the celebrity jackpot one evening at
Giorgio Baldi’s in Santa Monica. I didn’t know Giorgio Baldi from Giorgio Armani,
but a friend had recommended it as <u>the</u> place to go. I didn’t give the
recommendation much thought until we noticed it was just down the
street from our bed and breakfast. Maybe it was a sign of great things to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We must have looked acceptable enough to land a table on a busy
night in this exclusive joint. In the corner, near the kitchen. Whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We wouldn’t have been aware of the star power in the room if not for a
fellow diner who pointed out no fewer than five famous people: John Cusack,
John McGinley, John Mayer, Dan Aykroyd and Nick Faldo. Aykroyd was sitting next
to me – his back to me, actually. My wife was fairly impressed when his wife
asked to borrow our pepper. She also got a kick out of seeing Mayer – a
heartthrob of sorts, I guess. I actually wouldn’t have minded shaking Cusack’s
hand; always found his work amusing in a quirky sort of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remained fairly calm during the evening and managed to concentrate on
my wife and my dinner. Still, there was a kind of electricity in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, when we returned to L.A. to live I remarked that after two weeks in
this city I’d only spotted one celebrity: Mark DiCarlo. Who is Mark DiCarlo,
you ask? I’ll get to that in a minute. We took Bella to Runyon Canyon, hoping
to find an offleash area bounded by a fence so she wouldn’t bolt. She’s a
gentle, sweet dog, a Lab mix. But when confronted with any wide-open space and
no leash, her instincts take over and she’s off! Runyon Canyon is expansive with
no sign of a fence anywhere, so we kept her on the leash. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Up the trail on this warm day walks a shirtless guy – just a regular Joe,
I figure – and someone asked the location of the offleash area. Guy replies:
“Just follow this trail on down. You’ll come up on an area where the dogs are
basically going crazy.” Then it hit me. That’s Mark DiCarlo. I doubt two out of
100 people selected randomly would have recognized him. I got lots of “huhs”
when I posted the experience on Facebook. One friend went to Google and still
couldn’t figure out who Mark DiCarlo is. I did find a brief bio somewhere. I
remembered him from a late-night reality dating show. Then, just a few months
ago, I saw him on Jeff Lewis’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Interior
Therapy</i> on HGTV. DiCarlo was a fussy client (aren’t they all) who
challenged the formidable Lewis with his quirky obsessions and unique brand of sarcasm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few hours later, I told my wife “You remember the shirtless
guy coming up the hill who told us about the offleash area? That was Mark
DiCarlo.” She wasn’t familiar with him, either. This is the woman who bookmarked
IMDB and can identify minor character actors on TV. “Look, it’s so-and-so. She
was on this series and in that movie. You remember her.” Then I have to rewind
because we’ve missed a full minute of dialogue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have a longtime friend named Jann Carl. (It’s funny, some people you
rarely see anymore but they remain dear to you.) Even in college, you knew Jann
would eclipse the rest of us in the realm of TV news; she had the demeanor and
personality. Her swift and meteoric rise took her to L.A. at young age, where
she anchored with the late Hal Fishman at KTLA. Then to KABC, where she
co-hosted “Eye on LA” with Chuck Henry, and finally to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Entertainment Tonight</i>, where she always got the big assignments, one-on-ones
with the biggest celebrities. Here's someone who probably doesn't gush when she meets a celeb, right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jann tells a funny story about going to the
Tonight Show with some friends and family shortly after she arrived in L.A. When
she saw Johnny Carson in the hallway, she shouted “We love you, Johnny!” How disarming
and sincere. But, in Jann’s estimation, what a silly, trite thing to say.
“Couldn’t I have thought of something more astute or sophisticated?” she always
wondered. Fact is, when confronted by someone with that much star power, the
brain lock kicks in and it’s hard to think of anything intelligent to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some are less prone to this starstruck state, however. When I did
publicity for Lee National Denim Day, I always secured the services of a
videographer named Mike Milken. One year, Rob Lowe was our celebrity
spokesperson. Time comes for the interview, Rob steps up, Mike sticks out his
hand and says “I admire your body of work.” Which I thought rather odd, because
here’s a guy who’s successful and made a lot of coin but not a Shakespearian
actor and not known for doing serious theater. Weeks later, it hit me. Milken
was probably poking fun at Lowe’s then-scandalous on-camera romp with a barely
legal female sex partner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things improved in the celebrity-spotting department, when a week later I
bumped into Eriq LaSalle exiting the elevator at ClearChannel studios in
Burbank. Aside from LaSalle’s intense facial expression (a trademark), I was
taken by the fact that he traveled solo – no publicist or manager in tow. One
doesn’t need a handler to go out to lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, friends were rather slow to recognize the name. C’mon, this guy
was on E.R. (and a few other shows my wife could tell you about). He’s got more
name recognition than Mark DiCarlo. Yet, he would probably elicit no more than
a raised eyebrow from the crew at TMZ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-70173975936299745472013-02-26T12:37:00.004-08:002013-02-26T16:48:30.316-08:00Frankie's Fight<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I started going back to the barber. Guess I got tired of cutting my own
hair – what there is of it. I could whip out the electric clippers and be done
in five minutes. In nice weather I used to do it on our deck. A “hillbilly
haircut,” I called it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I found a barber shop about a four-iron from our apartment, on Wilshire,
and walked in one day. I didn’t know what to expect. After all, it had been
several years since I’d darkened the door of Sport Clips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The place had changed hands. The awning says Pacific Barber Shop but the guy told me it’s now Wilshire Barbers or something like that. Got a clean
buzz cut for 20 bucks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my second visit, I was seen by a black woman with a long dreads, cool
energy and big smile. I slid into her chair. Told me her name is Frankie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Lakers were on TV and the other barbers were chattering. Frankie was
pretty quiet, saving her verbal salvos for just the right moment. Lots of
friendly banter and she could hold her own with these guys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got to talking about sports – the state of the Lakers and Clippers,
the NFL playoffs, why LA doesn’t have a team and when will it get one. A couple
of guys were pulling for the Niners and there was the defiant Raiders fan which
you’ll find in every crowd. Frankie was pretty quiet during the NFL discussion
so I asked her, “What’s your team?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Mine is Kansas City,” she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really? Me, too,” I said. “Are
you from there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yep,” she answered. And then, “I need to get back home soon and see my
dad.” Her voice modulated ever so slightly, like that catch you get in your
throat when something pierces the heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">About that time I noticed the boom box, pumping out Motown and soul. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That song always reminds me of my dad,” she said, referring to a number
by Teddy Pendergrass. “We talk all the time, like when I hear a song that he
always liked I’ll give him a call and we’ll talk about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I liked her description of this precious father-daughter relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My haircut complete, I dismounted the chair and Frankie opened her arms
wide and said “Come here, we gotta stick together. We’re cousins.” And so, we
hugged out the troubles of the world – two Kansas City Chiefs fans in a foreign
land, in a city without a team. Something about the Chiefs rotten season lent a
poignancy to that moment. The team that broke records for incompetence. The
team with the player who killed his girlfriend, then turned a gun on himself in
front of his head coach and general manager. A season to forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple of weeks later on my next visit, I asked Frankie if she’d had any
time off lately. Just making small talk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I was off last week,” she announced, almost proudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Vacation? You take a trip?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No. Chemo.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Really?” I replied. “Oh.” I was taken aback. Didn’t know exactly how to
respond to this woman I don’t know very well who just told me she has cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Are you … ok? How you doing?” I asked, with some trepidation. I didn’t
exactly want to open up a sensitive subject, especially if the prognosis wasn’t
good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m doing great!” she chirped. “The chemo went fine. I went every day
for a week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s terrific,” I said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you haven’t had cancer, it’s tougher to relate. This is a serious
thing, I thought, and here I am – the worst thing I had is the mumps as a kid. I
was feeling humbled in the face of this very resolute person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where do you go for chemo?” I asked, just trying to keep the
conversation going, partly trying to avoid awkward silence as she deftly guided
the clippers over my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Kaiser, in Woodland Hills.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ah. Is that far for you? Where do you live?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I live in Carson. Just moved there. It’s not a bad drive. I’ve traveled
farther for less.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Carson to Woodland Hills is a trek. It could be 45 minutes in good
traffic, two hours or more in bad. But Frankie preferred to think of it as a
breeze. Probably is – compared to battling cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I usually walk by Wilshire Barbers on my way home from the gym. Today, it
was Friday afterhours, the golden light glinting off the ocean and painting the
palm-graced streetscape. People were rushing to the 720 bus, gathering on the 3<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">rd</span></sup>
Street Promenade for drinks or a little shopping. I glanced in the window of
the barber shop and saw Frankie at her post. The shop was bustling, patrons
wanting to look their best for the weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walked on, several steps past the front door, then suddenly planted my
feet and did an about-face. I went back and looked in again. Yep, that’s what I
thought I saw. There was Frankie, wearing a cap over her<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bald
head! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A bald head is a shock to those of us who don’t have cancer. We don’t
expect to see it. I associate it with the ravages of the chemo and try to
imagine the pain, fear and discomfort. Still, I was happy to see Frankie
working, living her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walked into the barber shop, pulled off my headphones and gave Frankie
a thumbs up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How ya doin’?” I called out over the sound of the clippers and the TV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Great. Good to see you,” Frankie answered with her beaming smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What happened here?” I asked, pointing to her head. “Who cut your hair?”
I have a tendency to ask two-part questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“They did it,” she said, pointing to her fellow barbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Bet they had a good time,” I said, with a chuckle. “Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I put it in a box, at home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then it hit me. Cancer patients cut off their hair because they
refuse to suffer the indignity of having it come out in bunches during chemo.
Frankie was beating chemo to the punch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s a little hair lost when you’re fighting the battle of your life?
Maybe I’ll ask Frankie to shave my head next time in a display of solidarity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-81004756292450634742013-02-20T12:32:00.000-08:002013-02-20T16:08:31.265-08:00More T.O.P.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Several readers wanted to know more about Tower of Power - specifically,
their music. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here are a few samples. I can't say it's their best work or
representative - it's just what YouTube has to offer. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Knock Yourself Out<o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">German TV – 2005 – Larry Braggs is a very dynamic vocalist, IMO.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WcmSn3qOMbE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Squib Cakes <o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">German TV – late 90s, I think. Dig the hair. – Tenor sax solo (approx 5:30) is the
BEST!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/rDdBgxGUcOg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I Got to Groove<o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Basel Switzerland – Again, Larry Braggs is magnetic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qU0vIqnaa8s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I Like Your Style<o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">German TV – 1998 – Catchy tune. Guitar solo doesn't cut it for me, however.</span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nzfBA72Ekus?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This Time it’s Real<o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Frenchy’s – Hayward, CA – Should have been a Top 40 hit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zf5yEsu1Yas?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So Very Hard to Go<o:p></o:p></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From TV’s Soul Train – a classic <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/APlwRR9IO_E/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube.com/v/APlwRR9IO_E&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/v/APlwRR9IO_E&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-18205077682167350482013-02-13T19:41:00.000-08:002013-02-14T11:36:32.486-08:00Got My Soul Vaccination<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just off the 101 in Agoura Hills, on one of those streets Midwesterners
call a frontage road, sits a modest strip mall from the 1950s. Instead of big
box stores or name brands, you’ll find purveyors of sewing supplies, organic
pet food, a blind and drapery store and a place called The Canyon Club. The
façade is more rugged than L.A. chic – stucco and brick, dark wooden beams,
coach lights. Inside is a cavernous two-story hall flanked by bars with an
elevated seating area in the rear. Giant multi-pointed, luminescent stars hang
from the ceiling, adding a whimsical element. This is a well-known venue for
live music and comedy. Artists on their way up or down play here, and the
calendar is always packed. A sampling of upcoming acts: B.B. King, Kenny Loggins,
Merle Haggard, Rick Springfield, Sinbad. You get the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This legendary venue – worn but serviceable – was the perfect place to
see the timeless soul/funk band Tower of Power. A West Coast original, T.O.P.
was founded in Oakland in the late 60s by a bunch of guys who were inspired by
the rhythmic sounds emanating from Detroit, Philly and their own backyard. In
fact, the East Bay has always been a fertile incubator for a diverse array of
original music, and T.O.P. has that sound that conjures up visions of the gritty
underbelly of the Bay Area, inhabited by streetwise guys with a sentimental
side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been a fan since high school. I acquired the Back to Oakland album
in ’74; I think it was a promotional copy from the college radio station where
my older brother worked. While everyone else was listening to Led Zeppelin and
Pink Floyd, the band geeks were drawn to any group with horns – Woody Herman,
Maynard Ferguson, Thad Jones and Mel Lewis and of course the rockers Chicago
and Blood, Sweat and Tears. Over the years I’ve caught Tower of Power’s shows
in some unlikely places – at a little gem of a performing arts center in
Brampton, Ontario in the dead of winter and on the courthouse square in Paola,
Kansas on a warm summer’s evening. I knew they would soon make their annual
appearance at The Canyon Club, so I bought two tickets and invited my high
school buddy Robb, a trumpet player and music educator who lives in Anaheim. A savvy
southern Californian, Robb was smart enough to avoid the two-hour drive (one
way) and I didn’t blame him. Our 20-year-old daughter was my next choice.
She’s a musician herself and inherited our appreciation for musicianship
regardless of genre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, off we went. Arriving early because I’d read dicey reviews about the
way Canyon Club accommodates general admission ticket holders, we fell in line
at the door behind a guy carrying a trombone case. That’s interesting, I
thought. Does this guy think he’s going to sit in with the band? No sooner had
I begun pondering this than we were hustled inside, sporting our plastic wristbands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It took a minute or so to adjust to the darkness – except for the blazing
oranges and blues illuminating the performers on stage. The opening band was a
group of guys who looked to be in their 20s, a wailing guitar solo, nice chord
progressions, I thought, yet their style was difficult to pinpoint. Kind of
bluesy, a bit reminiscent of Jeff Beck, only with whiny vocals. (Hannah later informed
me their lyrics were sophomoric.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The people watching is as good as the music. <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When
the crowd responds positively and everyone is grooving, well, that’s magic. </span>On this night, the clientele was made up of 50-something
women with big hair and exaggerated heels drinking white wine, balding white
guys showing their age and expansive weight, a few hipsters with facial hair
and rakish hats, and a large <span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:Mims" datetime="2013-02-13T11:07"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></span></del></span>contingent
of folks in my demographic – nondescript, middle aged. At one time these people
were the youth of the nation, dancing on tables and shimmying to the sounds of
a much younger Tower of Power. They are the inoculated fans (hence the song Soul
Vaccination) who own all the records, maybe even the DVD of that live
performance on German television. They’ve seen the band at Tahoe, in Dallas,
Detroit and Boston. And Tower of Power has aged with us. Four of the band’s ten
members are original founders – well into their 60s and still going strong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It didn’t take long to notice a weird dynamic in the room. The Canyon
Club figures it can make more money by seating a couple hundred people before
the show and serving an overpriced, underwhelming dinner. Dozens of tables were
arrayed in the front of the room closest to the stage. Waiters with huge trays were
pushing their way through the GA crowd, security (if you want to call it that)
kept admonishing us to stand back and make room. It started to spoil the
anticipation and became almost suffocating. Did I pay good money for this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shortly after 9:00, a voice offstage intoned: “Ladies and gentlemen, put
your hands together for the one and only, the original Tower of Power!” The
room erupted into a combination of applause, shouting and whistling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tower of Power is hip-shakin’, bone-rattlin’ music, characterized by a
rock-solid funk beat, scritchy rhythm guitar and bumpy bass punctuated by
exuberant horn blasts. Yet very few of those at the tables stood up for the
performance, which was unfortunate, because the beat is infectious. Maybe this is
an illustration of how old we’ve become, I mused. Seeing the seated guests in
front, leader and alto saxophonist Emilio Castillo greeted us with “How you
doin’, LA? Aha. Laid back, as usual.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These guys prove you’re never too old to groove. With a solid complement
of youthful members, Tower of Power never fails to bring the energy. The first
blast pins you against the wall, sets your spirit soaring and before you know
it your muscles are involuntarily reacting to the beat, maybe you’re nodding
your head or tapping your foot. One guy behind me – looking like he could be a
banker or an insurance salesman – had fallen into a reverie, eyes half-closed,
head swaying like a bobble<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:Mims" datetime="2013-02-13T11:09"><span style="color: teal;"> </span></ins></span>head doll. Others mimicked little
dance steps, a few stabbed the air with their fists in synch with the beat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the fiftysomething matrons ambled toward us, drink in hand, and
slid in front of my daughter as if invited. She uttered a few words to no one
in particular and I couldn’t figure out if she was with someone or just moving
about the room on her own. A West Hills housewife, maybe, or a divorcee from
Tarzana? She had probably grooved to these same songs 40 years ago, maybe
caught T.O.P. at the Fillmore in San Francisco. The thing about T.O.P. fans is
we never tire of hearing the same songs year after year, tour after tour,
concert after concert. It’s nice to know there are some constants in life. Oh,
sure, T.O.P. continues to crank out new stuff, but it’s all rooted in the same
soul tradition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The great thing about playing in Los Angeles,” said Emilio Castillo, “is
all the musicians come out. Please welcome to the stage our good friend,
trombonist Nick Lane.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d never heard of Nick, nor had most of the patrons, but in the spirit
of the evening we gave him a raucous welcome. Anyone who’s a friend of T.O.P.
is a friend of ours. And out trotted the guy we’d seen carrying the trombone
case! He really was sitting in! Trombonists toil in relative obscurity; it’s
not part of T.O.P.’s normal instrumentation. But, it complements the other
horns and packs additional punch. I quickly looked up Nick Lane on my phone. I
learned he’s an L.A. studio musician, having collaborated with Aaron Neville,
Bonnie Raitt, Eric Burdon, Neil Diamond, No Doubt, Rod Stewart – an eclectic
bunch. A native of Marshalltown, Iowa. Small town boy makes the big time. You
could tell the guy was holding his own and having a blast, and we were like
proud parents, urging him on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the music of California, I thought. Of course it’s universal –
loved by fans around the world. But whenever I hear T.O.P. I can’t help but
think about those early days when this band of soul<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:Mims" datetime="2013-02-13T11:11"><span style="color: teal;"> </span></ins></span>mates from Oakland
was bending ears and turning heads, their early fame racing down the coast and
delighting the masses in southern California as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the encore, we hit the exits; it was past bedtime for us old funkers!
Out into the crisp night air, the music of a bygone era still ringing in our
heads yet facing the realization that this is 2013 and there’s a big city out
there and millions who’ve never heard of Tower of Power. It was a surreal
reentry, but I suppose every fan has that moment when they leave a concert,
experiencing that euphoria and just knowing they can hit the Play button in
their brain at any time and keep the spirit alive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-17514354845208477892013-01-22T12:44:00.001-08:002013-01-22T12:51:59.178-08:00Like Father, Like Son (kinda)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Local TV and radio personalities were once part of every city’s identity.
Chicago had Bill Kurtis and Walter Jacobsen on WBBM-TV and the quintessential
Top 40 disc jockeys like Larry Lujack of WLS radio. New York had Cousin Brucie
on WABC and Don Imus on WNBC, Ernie Anastos and Roseanne Scamardella on
Eyewitness News. Even the smaller cities proudly laid claim to their own crown
jewels – KMOX in St. Louis, KOA in Denver and WWL in New Orleans. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one time, L.A. boasted a bevy of AM radio stations with considerable
reach and influence: KFI, KHJ, KRLA, KMPC and KFWB. L.A. radio gave us Gary Owens
(who became the announcer on TV’s <em>Laugh-In</em>), the morning team of Lohmann and
Barkley, The Real Don Steele, Charlie Van Dyke and Shadoe Stevens. From
Valencia to Venice, San Dimas to Santa Monica, every listener had their
favorite radio companion, and everyone was tuned in. There wasn’t a kitchen
counter without a transistor radio and car radios were an essential traveling
companion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They say the Golden Age of Radio was the 30s and 40s, but the 60s and 70s
were the Golden Age of local radio, and each market had its own unique sound.
After all, listeners in Boston are not the same as listeners in Miami.
Lifestyles, climate and customs vary, and so did the programming nuances of the
radio stations catering to those audiences. While the playlists were often the
same, local tastes dictated the flavor of local radio, manipulated by
high-energy disc jockeys who mixed a multitude of audio sources like fine
chefs. When you heard a personality didn’t make it in a particular market, it
was often because he didn’t understand his audience or couldn’t deliver that
elusive X factor cherished by the audience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today’s radio landscape in Los Angeles is different. Sure, you’ll still
find a few drive-time personalities that manage to distinguish themselves from
the pack: Ryan Seacrest, Shotgun Tom Kelly and two guys named Kevin and Bean.
But, short of Seacrest, few if any jocks are household names and listeners have
more options than radio, thanks to the viral and instantaneous nature of social
media and the indispensability of mobile devices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is, however, one LA radio personality who upholds some of the old
traditions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.kfiam640.com/pages/timconwayjr.html?_show" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Tim Conway, Jr.</a> would probably be the first to admit he’s swimming
against the current and that there’s no fighting the inevitability of social
media. Conway hosts a weeknight show on <a href="http://www.kfiam640.com/main.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">KFI (640 on your AM dial)</a> that beams
clear across the Western United States from studios in Burbank. It’s
unapologetic in its mainstream appeal and hearkens back to the traditional talk
radio format. Not like today’s talk radio, fueled by political agendas. Nope,
it’s a look at the stories of the day through an irreverent lens. And, oh, does
he have a treasure trove from which to choose: Manti Te’o’s imaginary
girlfriend, Lance Armstrong’s much ballyhooed confessional and a constant
stream of developments involving law officers trying to keep the peace in this
sprawling, densely-populated metropolis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Conway can be garrulous, funny, sarcastic, self-deprecating and
self-aggrandizing all at once. It’s hard to believe this guy is the son of the
soft-spoken, unassumingly hilarious Tim Conway from the Carol Burnett Show.
Sure, you remember him if you’re of a certain age. The diminutive, balding guy
with the understated antics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The younger Conway carries on like a house afire, a runaway freight
train. His wingman – newscaster Aron Bender – has a Conway-esque voice so you
often can’t tell them apart. Bender will sometimes challenge Conway’s
shoot-from-the-hip hectoring, but his primary role is serving up current events
for Conway’s commentary. Bender is the front-man for a still formidable news
operation – a point of pride for the station in an era when radio news seems to
be marginalized.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The show’s greatest value is its ability to produce gratuitous laughter.
Conway’s wit is above average, while his father was the real comedic genius.
Quipped the elder Conway once to his son: "Comedy is in your blood. Too
bad it's not on your show." (So, comedy is in the eye of the beholder.)
Instead, Conway and his crew take a more surgical approach to generating
laughs, using one of the oldest tricks in the radio book: taking liberties with
recorded statements of newsmakers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A weekly feature is What the Hell Did Jesse Jackson Say, billed as
Southern California’s longest-running radio game show. Conway’s producer combs
Jesse Jackson speeches, looking for phrases that are virtually unintelligible.
Conway will then play the soundbite over and over until a listener can
interpret it correctly. The winner receives a prize; I can’t remember what it
is, but that’s immaterial. There’s something funny – in a very juvenile sense –
about repeatedly hearing bursts of the Jesse Jackson patois. (No offense to
Rev. Jackson. I was honored when he put his hand on my wife’s belly when she
was pregnant with our daughter.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Examples: “Bowel weela fod” is “battle we fought.” “Be arrever gee” is
“be a refugee.” “Come ow wig” is “come our way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a similar vein, Conway and Bender poked fun at famed foodie Paula
Deen. When it was revealed that Deen suffered from diabetes, Saturday Night
Live’s Kristen Wiig did a spot-on impression. The following Monday, Conway had
a field day with Wiig’s impersonation, playing drop-ins such as “booter and
awwrl.” (butter and oil). It had me belly laughing so hard I was getting a good
core workout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The world according to Tim Conway is a middle-class place, curmudgeonly
at times but mostly well-intentioned and good-natured. His key demographic must
be middle-aged white guys – the same people who remember watching his pop on
Carol Burnett as youngsters. The only time he rankles me is when he rants about
the decline of downtown L.A. As a recent arrival to this city, I want to
believe things are looking up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you tune in to Conway’s show without knowing where it originates, you
probably wouldn’t guess Los Angeles. The show’s mainstream personality speaks
to the fact that southern California – for all of its diversity and an
otherworldly ethos – has a very mainstream element. Think of the seemingly
endless suburbs in the San Fernando Valley or the once-dynamic defense and
aerospace industry which fueled the dizzying growth of the South Bay. There’s
an all-American substance behind the veneer of style in the Southland – if you
want proof just examine the body of work of two guys named Tim Conway. Not flashy,
just funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-76037885831709625532013-01-08T11:42:00.000-08:002013-01-08T11:48:40.753-08:00Pancakes with Pride
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll probably catch grief for writing about an IHOP.
You know, The International House of Pancakes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a city this rich and vast, why not someplace with
local flavor and character? Like Richard Riordan’s Original Pantry downtown or
Uncle Bill’s Pancake House in Manhattan Beach? Fine. I love the latter and want
to get to the former soon. But, for now, I feel compelled to tell about the
IHOP in El Segundo because it showed me something sort of sweet and poignant
about local life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s the best IHOP on the planet. I’m sure of that. I
don’t know how they inspire or motivate their associates, but someone should
bottle it up and distribute it to other employers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We discovered this gem when I was working in the area
and my wife came from Kansas City for a visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Let’s go to breakfast,” I said one morning. “There’s
an IHOP not far from here. How bad could it be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had come to regard IHOP as a middling chain with
decent food of the indulgent variety (starch, fat and sugar) and a weary wait
staff. Let’s say I never felt particularly energized when eating there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This experience, however, was like a breath of fresh
air. Walking into the IHOP on Sepulveda you’re greeted by a bright-eyed, eager
hostess who cheerfully asks how many in your party and your name. You take a
seat inside the small waiting area or, why not wait outside? It’s a beautiful
day! Look around and you notice the clientele represents all walks of society.
Also waiting for a table are a bed-headed dude sporting stubble and his
girlfriend in a short, gauzy skirt and flip-flops. (It may be March, but it’s
flip-flop weather.) A Hispanic grandmother, mother and grandbabies (one of the
boys in an oversized Oakland Raiders jersey, the infant daughter passed out on
mommy’s shoulder). A group of Korean twentysomethings. An elderly couple in a
chatty mood – they probably come here every Sunday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon, a white van pulls into the cozy parking lot and
out tumble a group of crisply dressed African American teenagers. They have the
countenance of unassuming, quiet confidence. You can’t help but admire them
because you sense they’re an ambitious lot, perhaps having overcome obstacles
and worked hard to get where they are. We guess this could be an
interscholastic debate team, their advisor a gregarious middle-aged man also
wearing white shirt and dark slacks, sunglasses swinging from his neck on a
lanyard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The advisor stops to speak to a group of elderly women
in the first booth. You suspect they don’t know each other, but there’s
something “knowing” about their encounter. It does the heart good to see this
spontaneous eruption of conversational chemistry. The restaurant manager steps
forward, gestures and speaks in an animated tone with the advisor while the
kids glance sheepishly at each other. How ya doins are exchanged, small talk
made. The advisor takes a quick head count and the manager marshals a couple of
his servers to cordon off a few booths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within minutes our name is called. I’ve enjoyed
observing this Sunday morning slice of life and forgotten how hungry I am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 382.55pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are seated by another hostess, who’s also wearing a
genuine smile. The staff appears truly happy to see us, eager to accommodate. I
love the sport of journalistic inquiry, and in these situations I find myself
asking question upon question, some perhaps unanswerable:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 382.55pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How
can a national chain be inconsistent when it comes to quality of food and
service?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 382.55pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why
aren’t the other IHOPs like this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 382.55pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is
there something in the water?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 382.55pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is
everyone always this pleasant because of the weather? (I actually think this
hypothesis has legs.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My law school son and I often pose these questions and discuss them. We
are amateur sociologists, and it’s a good way to pass the time while you’re
waiting for your food. The central question is always “what makes people the
way they are?” Is it their environment, their upbringing or some unseen force,
maybe a combination of heredity, social mores and expectations? Is it just a
matter of having a good day or a bad day? L.A. is a perfect laboratory for such
inquiry. In fact, one could easily become overstimulated from so much
observation and reflection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve eaten at this IHOP several times and the experience never fails to
delight. People take pride in their jobs, there’s a strong work ethic. The
staff is accommodating and genuinely friendly. Like they’re glad to meet you. It’s
a perfect foil to the fussy bistros of nearby Manhattan Beach – as exceptional
as they are. Here you’ll find real, middle-class people – an illustrative
cross-section. One time at this IHOP we were served by a young woman of 19 or
20 who told us she was in fact from the town of El Segundo. She had a
self-confident but unpretentious manner. Blonde, wavy hair with a streak or two
of some unnatural color and a piercing or two. She was quirky and quite the
monologist. All she needed from us was eye contact, a smile and the utterance
of an occasional “uh-huh.” Sometimes it’s nice to not have to carry the
conversation – or even hold up your end. Maybe the incessant chirping drives
some people crazy, but I found her disarming and charming at the same time. I
can’t remember a thing she told us about herself as she readied her order pad
and clicked her pen incessantly. That’s not the point. The beauty of this
encounter was it thrust open a window on El Segundo –that unassuming community
built around the Chevron refinery, tucked between LAX and the tonier South Bay.
I remember thinking “I wish my daughter could hang out with her. They’d hit it
off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-91007246532315607172012-12-19T22:52:00.003-08:002012-12-19T22:59:22.451-08:00Main Street Mashup<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My friend Vince’s sister-in-law Amelia runs a coffee shop in Santa Monica
with her husband and son. Amelia hails from New England – Haverhill,
Massachusetts – not far from Newburyport, where some of my wife’s family is
from. I’m always quick to play the Newburyport card because I know New
Englanders are a tight-knit bunch and it usually ignites the conversation. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the Yelp reviews of Amelia’s reads “Service is excellent and
Amelia is a doll.” I showed it to her, eliciting a nervous smile; don’t know if
she wasn’t moved by it or just being modest. Vince is married to Amelia’s
sister Rosmarie, and Saturday mornings you’ll find most of the clan sitting on
the patio outside Amelia’s Coffee & Paninis under an umbrella sipping
strong coffee from big white cups and chatting about everything but southern
California. I feel like I’ve hit the mother lode of authenticity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, chatter is the universal currency here; if you have the gift of
gab you’ll fit right in. But it’s not intimidating; there’s an easy, unassuming
flow to the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You just missed Michael Keaton,” says Vince. “Sat right over there.
Comes here often.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joining Vince this morning is Jon Peretti. I picture them as “running
buddies” – meaning they “run” together in a very figurative sense, not literal.
The “I got your back, you got mine” kind of thing. Jon is a wiry guy, balding,
sporting a day’s stubble and piercing blue eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We talk about Italian surnames. I tell them my family is from northern
Italy and Jon is familiar with the town. His people are from Naples. We discuss
complexion – Vince having light complexion like me even though he’s also
Italian. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“My father was black. Just black,” says Jon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yeah, my dad had a pretty dark complexion,” I say. “He would tan at the
drop of a hat. Me, I burn first.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jon is writing a book and currently wrestling with his new Apple laptop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Every time I do spell check, Word crashes,” he says. “And don’t get me
started on the white palace.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’s referring to the Apple store, where he’s had an underwhelming if not
frustrating customer experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I just want to talk to someone, so I say ‘I’d like to talk to someone
about my drive’ and the guy tells me I have to make an appointment,” he
laments. “I can see a guy about ten feet away, so why can’t I just walk up to
him and ask him? ‘You wouldn’t just walk into a dentist’s office and ask to see
the dentist’, the guy says to me. ‘Let’s check the calendar and see when
there’s an opening.’” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clearly, you don’t want to cross Jon Peretti when he’s having computer
trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Were they condescending?” I ask, referring to the associates at the
Genius Bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No, not condescending exactly,” says Jon. “It’s like the first time I
worked in Utah. You speak to someone and they’re smiling and nodding at what
you say but I can wave my hand in front of their face and their expression
doesn’t change.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the next few minutes, Vince tries to troubleshoot Jon’s Mac as Jon
continues to complain. I interject that I’m no devotee of Apple and have heard
the new iPhone isn’t all that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It takes me awhile to figure out Jon is originally from New York and has
a pad of some sort in Kyoto, Japan. I picture an efficient little apartment,
given how land there is at a premium. Soon Jon’s wife, Anya, and one of their
two-year-old twins show up. The little girl’s name is Yakura. The boy is asleep
in the car. Anya’s mother is also with them. Anya grew up in Lithuania, yet she
talks like she’s from Long Island. Dropped r’s and stuff like that. So fricking
charming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Anya, she makes up words half the time,” Jon says, playfully. “She’ll be
going along, talking, then out comes something and I’ll say ‘what did you just
say?’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anya, probably 15 years younger than her husband, takes it all in stride,
immune to the good-natured ribbing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They’re all precious, and I allow myself to imagine we’re sitting at a
sidewalk café in Tribeca or SoHo – not Santa Monica. While Yakura munches a
croissant and wanders over into the grass, Vince announces that I’m originally
from Missouri. This gets Jon’s attention because his youth weightlifting team
will be competing in a national tournament in Missouri the following summer.
Exactly where, he’s not sure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Bet it will be hot in July,” he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yeah,” I say. “I have memories of my daughter playing AAU basketball
tournaments in places like Springfield, Missouri and Kingsport, Tennessee in
the middle of summer. At least you’re in an air conditioned gym.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being from the Midwest brings curiosity. People I’ve encountered just
don’t spend much time thinking about anything beyond the California state line.
Think about it. California has 38 million residents. It has ocean, mountains,
desert, cities large and small and every climate imaginable. A nation unto
itself. Why would you need anyplace or anything else in your life? I share this
carefully considered opinion with Jon and Vince and they can see the wisdom. On
the other hand, I assert, Midwesterners are fascinated with the world around
them. Probably because we’re in middle of the country and we look to the East
or West with a kind of wide-eyed awe, partly for pleasure, partly out of a
sense of wanderlust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You can look in all directions from there,” says Jon, in between sips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’s right, and it speaks to the fascination I’ve always had with
southern California. It’s not the Midwest. It’s something different, almost
mystical. Now, I find myself embracing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Assimilation will help me study the natives more effectively. I took
great pride in affixing California plates to my car and getting my driver’s
license in the mail. Now, if I accidentally cut someone off in traffic or find
myself awkwardly trying to extricate my car from a dead-end street bearing
California plates, it’s somehow not as egregious or embarrassing as with
out-of-state plates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Hmm, must be from over the mountain, doesn’t know the neighborhood,”
they’ll say to themselves. You get more slack being from West Covina than being
from West Plains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By now Vince has phoned a colleague at work to ask for Apple advice.
Vince would go to the end of the earth to help you with a problem. Soon, he’s
commandeered Jon’s laptop and starts fiddling with it. At this point, I zone
out on their diagnostics and turn my attention to Anya.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Does he let you read what he’s writing?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh yeah,” she says. “He reads aloud to me sometimes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I leave it at that. While I’m sort of curious what the book is about, my
Midwestern restraint prevents me from going “all in” and asking more probing
questions. After all, it could be a memoir about something very personal and
private. Don’t let the weightlifting thing fool you, I tell myself. This guy
could be deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the exception of Vince, these people are about as California as I
am. Vince has lived in Los Angeles since he was 10, his Italian family having
emigrated to the U.S. from Cuba. He has a slight accent that you’d peg as
“something Mediterranean,” almost Hispanic sounding at times. What’s beautiful
about Vince is he is his own guy. Doesn’t follow others or adhere to fads. He’s
as unique as his accent. Broad-shouldered, greying mustache, an ever-present
twinkle in his eye. I took to Vince immediately while on a consulting gig at a
local defense contractor. No matter the stress level around him, Vince can
easily summon a smile and reassuring word. He’s worked for the same company for
30+ years and will retire with a good pension. For Vince, retirement is just
two years away, and I can tell he’s relishing it. With two kids in school and
one just graduated, Vince swells with pride over the job he and his wife have
done as parents. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“My oldest just graduated, put her resume together and is applying for
jobs. I don’t want to tell her how to go about it right away, so I’m giving her
six months then I may insert myself.” he says with a wry, knowing smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He continues: “I did tell her ‘you just gotta get a job, any job. Just
get started. You can’t be too picky.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Vince’s kids attend Catholic schools and I ask him about Loyola High,
because I’ve seen lots of license plate frames that read LOYOLA HIGH, GO CUBS.
A neighbor’s son goes there. Where is it? I ask. A back-and-forth ensues
between Vince and Jon until they realize I’m referring to the high school, not
Loyola Marymount University.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Loyola High – the boys’ school – is in downtown. A tough part of town,”
says Vince. “But it’s a good school. A lot of the boys from our parish go
there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had seen highlights of the Loyola football team the previous Friday
night on KTLA, but I can’t remember if they won or lost. The one thing I do
remember is a tweet from an overzealous fan that was accidentally posted to the
TV screen: JAMES SPANIER SUKS BALLS. GO ATA. Posted it to Facebook. Got tons of
Likes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tell them my son graduated from another Loyola – the University in
Chicago. Those Jesuits stick together, you know. Again, a reference to the
Midwest (Chicago) and I never know how it will play in front of an L.A. crowd.
Am I too sensitive or apologetic? After all, when meeting folks here, about the
only reaction I’ve received so far regarding the Midwest is about the heat and
humidity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, I wouldn’t trade this cultural mashup for anything. It was time
well spent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6411828184467939751.post-44878943056274030172012-12-07T14:58:00.000-08:002012-12-19T22:53:41.545-08:00It's the People<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This blog is about human interactions and impressions. It isn’t a travel blog - an attempt to describe locations and landmarks in florid hyperbole. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It's about one person’s encounter with a city </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that is expansive, often breathtaking and sometimes exasperating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, the risk of using such adjectives is they encourage hasty judgments and the drawing of shallow conclusions. While outsiders may characterize Los Angeles as shallow, I see it differently. Without a doubt, life can be hurried in Los Angeles, but beneath the veneer of brisk efficiency lies a complex city that warrants an unhurried and reflective examination. There are a multitude of layers here, and casual or cursory observations tend to perpetuate stereotypes and fail to do justice to the rich patina of personalities and places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some years ago I read Stephen Brook’s <i>L.A. Days, L.A. Nights</i> and couldn’t stop talking about it. Over lunch, at parties and sitting on the deck with my wife I would talk about how this book that I’d stumbled upon resonated with me. It was transformative and transcendental. Lying in bed at night and reading Brook’s work, I could picture the neighborhoods, hear the street sounds and smell the aroma of pork belly and chicken gizzards wafting from the Korean eatery just off Wilshire. This was my siren song, yet I had scant opportunity to succumb to the temptations of the City of Angels. The heart of this native Midwesterner longed to spend a lazy afternoon nursing a cup of coffee from Daily Grind while watching the world go by on Santa Monica’s colorful Main Street. But life’s events didn’t bring me to Los Angeles; I had few excuses to make the trip. Work and vacations always took me elsewhere – to some wonderful places, for sure – but the chance to truly experience LA? That remained a pipe dream for years.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By experiencing LA I mean living as a native or resident would live; not spending a weekend, sleeping in a hotel and visiting the only the locales inhabited by tourists. And just what or who is an LA native? Using the residents of our apartment building as an example, a standard definition upon which everyone can agree is elusive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here you have a reality TV producer originally from Rochester, New York, a roller derby queen, a trainer of service dogs, a comparative literature professor, a personal trainer to the stars (or so I’m told – never seen a celeb), several retired couples whose dossiers I have yet to fix, a young finance executive at a pharmaceutical firm and an extroverted landlady who hails from Glenview, Illinois. Some are native Californians, many are not. Each, I’m sure, would say they have had a rich experience living here. No two experiences are alike. The whole thing defies definition, if you ask me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, this is why I won’t attempt to capture the full spectrum of life of this entire metropolitan area. I won’t presume to represent this city in an exhaustive form. I write what I see with my eyes and know in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each day within the boundaries of what many call The Southland has yielded experiences and encounters that could fill pages. It is a rich existence, for which I’m grateful. I’m not terribly extroverted (like my landlady) so I can only imagine what my days would be like were I chatting up everyone I meet. Yet, I’ve always savored the art of inquiry; that’s the journalist in me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Example: The sofa we brought with us was too large for our cozy apartment, so we sold it on Craigslist to a charming young couple returning to the area after a stint in Portland. One day while walking to the hardware store I came upon an antique furniture store on Lincoln Blvd. called Courtney’s. My intuition, which usually doesn’t fail me, led me to picture a confident, attractive woman named Courtney buzzing around the store, bouncing from one customer to another with an air of superiority. I stepped inside, saw the place was barely half full of merchandise and eerily quiet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Approaching the back room I found a rather short, unassuming middle-aged man and another man fussing with an overstuffed armchair for a photo shoot. The middle-aged guy was Courtney. Mike Courtney, owner of Courtney’s. I told him I was looking for a sofa, attempted to describe our requirements and somehow found myself engaged in a fascinating conversation about the history of the store and Mike’s business prospects. Turns out Mike was being compensated to vacate his property to make way for the construction of luxury apartments – this being Santa Monica’s trendy downtown and a magnet for young, hip urbanites. For the time being, Mike planned to conduct his business online – selling to the “trade”, as he says: movie and TV set designers. In time he would look for a new property that would hopefully be more affordable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t remember how we abandoned the discussion of my sofa and got on the subject of Mike’s great uncle. Mike’s uncle was a cardinal, buried, in fact, at Notre Dame University. You a Notre Dame fan, he asked. No, I said. (In fact, I used to despise Notre Dame as a child – for no good reason – and bet against them every year in the family bowl game pool.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“My uncle was a real character,” said Mike. “You’ll never guess who he was best friends with.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn’t begin to imagine, although for the sake of playing along I probably said something like “Bing Crosby.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Nope. And I’m kind of embarrassed to say. J. Edgar Hoover.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Wowww, no kidding?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m a gay man, and you know what they said about Hoover,” he said, with a wink. “So I’m wondering. Did he and my uncle have some kind of …” the voice trailing off but I knew where he was going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last couple of minutes of this conversational thread dealt with something about Hoover sending the FBI trainees through Notre Dame and how Mike’s great uncle was an operative in all of this.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This was not what I expected to find inside Courtney’s. I’ll probably never see Mike Courtney again, but that chance encounter made a memory. I could have had that encounter in Chicago or Philadelphia or Albany instead of a mile from the Pacific Ocean. When you think of LA, Mike Courtney doesn’t immediately spring to mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guess there's no such thing as a typical Angeleno.</span><br />
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johnnynohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15448587991306866377noreply@blogger.com1