Book

I am progressing. The book is taking on a life of it’s own.

Sole-less Holiday

I was about nine when I first realized that my family life was one of uncertainties and fear. My father was in and out of work as much as he was in and out of a bottle of gin—or whatever he could afford at the time. My mother was a stereotypical Native American (half-breed) whose self-induced poisoning came by way of a tall rum and coke every hour on the hour, and a menthol cigarette. Today, she is unpolluted.  I grew up knowing hunger and pain; knowing that my feet were going to hurt and smell the next day because I had hand-me-down shoes with holes in the bottoms; knowing that my Dad would put newspaper inside my shoes and tell me they were fine; knowing that I would be embarrassed at the lunch counter because my friends had money and I had food stamps; not knowing if I would ever feel normal.

 To be fettered by poverty should be endured by no one, especially an innocent child.   

I recently received an e-mail that was forwarded to me by my sister-in-law. The original e-mail was sent by a LAPD officer involved in a program called PALS (police activity league supporters).  Officer Kelly, above her regular duties, is also in charge of the police explorers in her division. She felt the need to reach out to others to help a young man in need and prevent him from slipping through the cracks. His name is Chance. He comes from a broken home and is having trouble fitting in. He lives in a one bedroom apartment with his Mom and brother, and one other family. He has no real father figure and his unemployed mother is trying her best to keep food in the house, which usually doesn’t include school money or clothes. The kids at high school constantly ridicule him for wearing the same hand-me-down clothes every day. And, as if that weren’t enough, he is constantly picked on for being the only blond-haired, blue-eyed teenager on a gang-infested street. At 16 years of age one can only imagine the turmoil his mind and body are experiencing.

Chance is not the only boy with these problems, but I felt similarities between us that compelled me to act. Money is tight for us right now but my wife and I wanted to help, so we went shopping. With a large assortment of clothing in hand, and an even bigger care package from my Momma, I breezed into the police station to meet with Chance.  I had a strange reaction—I was nervous.  Is it possible that I didn’t really want to see myself in him or revisit my past? We sat down across from each other as he opened his gifts. He put me at ease as his smile grew at each item he got. Suddenly he had to excuse himself…he went to the other room to wipe his eyes.  When he came back I shared my childhood history with him. My simple message to him was direct, you are not alone. He began to open up to me. In a show of respect his eyes never averted from mine. He told me his home life consists of a mother who is completely absorbed by her gay relationship of a few years and a lesbian roommate that is constantly yelling at him. If it wasn’t for the explorer program and sports he doesn’t know where he would be today. He tells me he aspires to be a canine police officer—the teaching officers agree that he would make a good officer provided he stays on this path. More people start to arrive. At first I thought it was an outpouring of concerned people coming to support a struggling young man but Chance told me that there is a hand full of explorers graduating tonight and he invites me to stay. How could I refuse?  Like a proud parent I waited with eagerness and when they finally called his name I was the only one standing…I didn’t care—it felt right. He shied away from his photo being taken, shook his instructors’ hands and walked straight down the aisle to the back of the room to shake mine. In the brief time with Chance I noticed when he is in a social climate he’s very distant at first, possibly in attempt to keep himself in check.   I surmise that there is a lack of understanding on the part of his family, however, in his mind; I think he has already replaced them.  We said good-bye to each other…I haven’t heard from him since, perhaps I never will.

If one little gesture from a stranger can make a difference in a person’s life, even if it only has a small impact, it’s worth the effort— it makes us a humane people. Happy holidays!

The dip it party

We were invited to the annual fondue party next door in which most of the neighbors are invited: Jack and Dianne, Bobby and Jackie, our new neighbors Melanie and Craig, quiet Kaye and Sandy and Maria. We all brought our kids—it was a full house. I can’t say that I’m much of a fondue person after my traumatic experience with a bread bowl-spinach dip a few years back(Superbowl 38 party; preparer of the bread bowl with dip just played with her 80 pound drooling boxer, smoked a cigarette then proceeded with hand shaping the bowl while tasting the mix—her husband came in behind her and commenced with a double dip of his fingers…I vomited.) and I definitely have a problem with community sharing when it comes to dipping items, but the fondue was freakishly first-rate and I found myself dipping beef cubes! Surely it was due to the fact that we were all plunging into a vat of boiling oil…easing my germaphobic tendencies. The children all played together; some nicely, the others, not so nice…the edit button in some kids isn’t a fully developed feature. It was at Heath’s and April’s dinner party that I discovered we live on murderers’ row. First it was Jake and Natalie with their landlords the slip the party girl a Mickey and push her off the balcony duo, and now Jackie’s family tree has come into question. Apparently Jackie’s grandma, after years of abuse from her alcoholic husband, sewed him to the bed while he was sleeping and beat him with a baseball bat. She took a break to have a glass of crown royal then blew his face off with his own shotgun. The incident was deemed a justifiable homicide. Hey Bobby! I hear that your wife is a better shot than you and she can sew.

 Side note: the Culdesac covenant, you know who you are, likes menthol.

 The evening came to a close when Sandy won the aluminum foil toss—I’m not sure how Jack missed every shot, it must have been the cleavage. The house across the street has had no activity for several months now. I wonder if we will be adding another to the M list.

House on the hill

Jakes house

Dr. Kami (a prominent pediatric dentist in the San Diego area) was charged with involuntary manslaughter. Dr. Kami was alleged to have supplied Sandra Rodriquez (a 21 year old party girl) with Ecstasy that led to an ill reaction, causing her to fall to her death 12 floors beneath the doctor’s Long Beach Hyatt Regency room.

After being exonerated, Dr. Kami made this statement: “The death of Ms. Rodriguez was tragic, and my heart goes out to her family, but bringing up past charges isn’t going to bring her back, especially charges on which I was acquitted.”

Why was the wife of Dr. Kami present (Dr. Nazli, who works with her husband) while he picked up these party girls? Rumor has it she was the one that picked the girls.

In an e-mail response to the doctor’s statement from an unknown sender:
“I know what you did, Kami. You’re not innocent. You simply beat the rap. I’m glad that not a day goes by that you don’t think of her death and your temporary acquittal.
You only prolong the twisted agony of your guilt and judgment by hiding behind your storefront facade. Every dog has his day.”

 Yeah, I want my kids to be treated by Dr. Christian Szell (The Nazi dentist in the “Marathon Man”- “Is it safe”?)

Good question huh?

Hey Jake—better pay on time, or start running!

The company Jake works for supplied the jet for President Clinton.

 He said, “The aircraft remained on the ground in Pyongyang for 20 hours during the President’s diplomatic mission—boring! Once the President’s team was safely aboard with Lee and Ling, the jet was escorted by North Korean fighters during the entire time it operated in North Korean airspace.” I overheard Clinton’s advisors talking, “Kim Jung- Il felt the former president has qualifications that North Korea wanted to see before releasing the two Americans: a serious attitude and connection to the Obama administration. Clinton’s mission provided the isolated North Korean regime with the respect and legitimacy it wanted.”

 I asked, “what about the fact that what the two reporters did was illegal, moreover, Al Gore is their employer?”

 “From what I understand, there was not a lot of talking on the way back.”

 I stated, “I guess we owe N. Korea a solid!”

 One 18 seat corporate jet round trip to Pyongyang N.Korea…$200k

Government fuel costs for the trip … $20,000.

 Satellite phone use… $15,000. (Conference call with Obama, Hillary and Al, reminding Bill that even though 15 yr. old girls are legal in N. Korea; you should abstain).

 Secret service and non-restricted air space…$? (No transparency). There are some things that money can buy—for everything else there’s… Steve Bing, a long-time friend of Clinton’s and a huge democratic supporter.

Jake said, “This is nothing; I just found out that the owners of my house are murderers.”

Clinton Airlines

 

It was one of those mornings. The previous day’s coffee is cold in the pot—as I look through my kitchen window I watch my dog traipse through what I hope is mud. Damn, we just cleaned the carpets, but another sleepless night keeps me from an immediate intervention.  I placed my oversized mug (40 ounces of porcelain that doubles as a bicep workout) into the microwave— my body anticipates the boost and responds with a bottomless growl. Seconds later and my mug was empty. Don’t judge me…we’re all junkies in some form or another. Like clockwork my evacuation orders were received, but I forgot my newspaper.  Without hesitation I walked out to my driveway wearing only my black boxer-briefs and a t-shirt and start the newspaper hunt. In my humble opinion it takes far more effort to drive by the front of my house and throw the paper under one of our cars then it would to just drop one out of his window on my front walk, maybe the paper guy thinks that he’s saving on plastic by utilizing the shelter of my car. I dropped into a modified push up position and grabbed the paper which was wrapped in plastic…go figure. I go to stand up and there is Jake, finishing his run for the day.

 Damn, too late to scamper back inside, “hey Jake—out for a run?”

“Yep, trying to stay in shape.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to fall asleep on your laptop and over-shoot your runway!” I said in jest. Being a pilot, I thought he would at least crack a smile, instead he comments on my shorts.

“Nice running tights…I didn’t know jockey underwear made running clothes.” He turns away and jogs into his garage.

Later that day, I had a fortuitous encounter with Jake out front. “Guess who flew over to Korea with a Clinton!”

To be continued…

 

update

Sorry that I dont have time to update properly but I am currently working on multiple things; A big Gala and the new Farrell’s opening in Mission viejo.

Lovers Lane to Crazy Train

 

  I pulled into my friend’s place of work (a large industrial building in north Valencia that rests atop of a hill).  I walked in and noticed several employees standing at the large window facing the view of the valley. Behind the veil of dark tint we all became peeping Toms. It was explained to me that a few couples, some during their lunch hour, come to this location to park (an older term describing front or back seat fornication).  This particular couple in their late thirties put up sun visors destroying the nice view of the valley, but not our view of their indiscretions.  A few full moon appearances later, they got out of their vehicles and decided to finish dressing.  My guess is that the cost of motels lately has made some people more creative. The customary holler of “get a room”  no longer applies.

The purpose of my visit was to accompany my friend on a job to analyze possible damage to some furniture after a move. Approximately one hour in traffic and we arrive at an apartment in West LA, situated on a…you guessed it… cul-de-sac.  We waited for a reply at the gate buzzer.  She picks up and instead of saying hello says: “You’re late.  I will have to walk all the way down and let you in, otherwise you will get lost and waste my time.”

I turn to my friend.  “It’s only two minutes after our appointment time – is she for real?”

“Welcome to Looney Tunes,” he comments.

She greets us at the gate and demands that we don’t walk behind her, instead, we are asked to lead.  “How do we find your apartment?” I ask.  “Don’t worry, I’m sure you will find it!”

My friend chimes in, “You have to direct us. We don’t know where you live!”

After she gives us some misguided direction, we get to her door. Suddenly, she holds up her arm like a crossing guard directing school kids and says, “You have to wear shopping bags on your feet before you touch my hardwood floors.”

I rolled my eyes and complied with the inane request to expedite our visit  to her personal sanitarium.  I whipped out my trusty measuring tape, and then as if I pulled the devil himself out of my camera bag she goes off the deep end.

“No cameras – no cameras – I said no cameras!  You are trying to take advantage of me because I’m a woman!”

“No ma’am. I need to take photos so I know what it is I need from the shop,” I said.

She frantically searches for her cell phone and while walking away says , “I’m calling your boss!”

My friend pulls her aside to try to reason with her. “Look, I am the boss, and we are here to help resolve the issues with the supposed damage which you have yet to provide.”

She used some expletives and that was enough for my buddy. “We’re out of here!”

She rants some more, and then completes a one-ninety ( her train track is that warped) . “Wait. I will compromise. I can cover up my things with a blanket so you don’t invade my privacy.”

Reluctantly we placed the bags back on our feet and tried again. One photo into our escapade and she asks me to look at her glass entertainment center.  “Can you look and find some scratches for me, I know they are there?”

Wanting to say more, I just simply said, “No.” It wasn’t my place to psychoanalyze this woman who clearly needed to be back on her meds. Then my friend approached her one more time; from the wrong angle apparently.

“You’re cornering – you’re cornering me! She shouted. 

“Look – we are really trying to…”

She cut him off mid sentence and says, “You’re a real fucker!”

We removed the 99 cent store bags from our feet and flew the cuckoo’s nest.

After a long and silent drive home I pulled up to my driveway and noticed a new BMW in Jack’s garage. And then out comes Dianne, dressed in a black negligee, ushering out some young guy wearing a suit and tie. Must be a client.

I spy

Kaye is the latest addition to the cul-de-sac; a young looking, thin and frail woman in her forties. She has actually been in her home for several months but is somewhat of a recluse. I recently had the pleasure of a one-sided introduction in the middle of her driveway while my dog was relieving himself on her lawn. She eased the window down and said…nothing.  I immediately apologized for my dogs loose bowels and promptly began gagging during the clean-up with the microscopic sized bag my wife ties to the leash.

After she was done with what felt like a voyeuristic candid camera moment she unrolled her window further and said, “I just got back from church.” 

Before I could even respond, her window was up and she was pulling into her garage.  The stories from around the cul about her are mostly that she watches everyone and everything through her upstairs window—I’m glad I switched from tightey-whities to boxer briefs when I go to get the paper!

Sadly, I have to announce that Raven has flown from the cul-de-sac.  She and her two boys moved away last week without as much as a goodbye.  Truth be told, the real reason might be that she is looking to start over in a community where no one knows her. Her local boyfriend still drives here in the middle of the night and parks out front of the cheaters nest for a couple minutes, probably to reminisce –then he speeds off in anger.

Remember Raven’s bad landlord? Well, he’s back, renovating the house. It started with demolition and then mounds of junk in the garage, and then frequent visits to the garage late at night. The following day, a small fire breaks out in the garage. The trash heap, according to Kaye who came to investigate, was smoldering and beginning to scorch the walls. The landlord was nowhere to be found. Just as Kaye was about to call the fire department one of the workers shows up, unlocks the garage and promptly smothers the fire with a water hose and buckets of dirt.

The worker calls the landlord and he arrives within minutes. The first thing out of his mouth is, “did anyone call the police?”

He appeared relieved when his worker said no, however, Kaye went home and soon after, the police arrived with the fire investigator. Since I wasn’t around to witness the event I have to go by Kaye’s testimonial; she states they questioned him for at least an hour while he was detained in handcuffs. The authorities eventually left the scene issuing only a fine.

Today the crew is repairing the garage. I think I will keep my fire extinguisher handy!

Fres-no!

 When the idea of going to Fresno was first brought up I thought, why would anyone want to visit…isn’t it usually the contrary? A colleague of mine presented me with an idea for a book. I liked the concept and the fact that it would not take an arm and a leg to start – just a tender ass from driving. Off to the agricultural pit of America we went. Several hours later, of which half I spent trying to tune out some horrible country music, we made our exit toward our final destination. I turned to my cohort and said, “How is it possible that there are wineries out here?”

 “Got to go through a few oysters before you get a pearl,” she said.

Hungry for a snack we stopped in at a fast food joint. While waiting for our order we noticed some locals. This couple was arguing over whether Taco Bell was better than Carls Jr; I couldn’t help but gawk. The good ol’ boy table behind us couldn’t resist either.

 “Damn, that girl didn’t get hit by the ugly stick…she fell through the whole forest!” And, “That girl could eat an apple through a picket fence!” A bit of an understatement considering her teeth were pointing up and not out.

 The remainder of the trip was enlightening; I can’t wait to describe what we found.