As I write this, Los Angeles is surrounded by wildfires, there’s a Category 4 hurricane headed our way, mudslides may follow the hurricane, and we’re overdue for a major earthquake.
Borrowing from John Steinbeck, who borrowed it from Shakespeare, it’s been the summer of my discontent. Even the weather. Until just this week, August was more like “June Gloom.
In January the City Council banned smoking from common areas of apartment buildings and condominiums throughout Santa Monica. The law went into effect in February, though in my building the signs didn’t go up until July.
One indicator that your life may be a bit dull is when your dog has more activities than you do. Oscar, a lovable golden retriever about whom I’ve written before, isn’t even my dog.
Because I do this every week, people naturally assume I love writing. It sounds romantic, but unfortunately, it isn’t true. Generally, writing is sitting alone in a room staring at a blank page waiting for my muddled brain to kick in (while everyone else is outside having fun).
In 1958, the ultra-conservative, anti-Communist John Birch Society was founded. They were such a fringe group, at one point they even suggested President Eisenhower was “pro-Communist.
Throughout history younger generations have often accused their elders of ruining the world (or at least, being idiots). Teenagers today could easily make this case if they weren’t so preoccupied listening to iPods.
Hall of Fame catcher (and amateur philosopher) Yogi Berra, once complained about a neighborhood restaurant, “It’s gotten so crowded lately that no one goes there anymore.
Not that anyone has asked recently, but among my least favorite movies is Godfather Part III. It was so awful that, when young Mary Corleone (Sofia Copolla) got gunned down at the end, my audience stood and applauded.
What a week it was. Monday, Bernie Madoff was sentenced to 150 years, meaning he could get out of jail when he turns 221. His wife, Ruth, forfeited all but $2.
When I was 12 I had a paper route, delivering Herald Examiner newspapers from my bicycle. The Examiner came out in the afternoon while the Times was L.
Sunday is Father’s Day (meaning there’s still time to get a tie he’ll never wear). It’s also the final day of the U.S. Open Golf Tournament. My late father loved golf so much that we kids could get away with lame gifts such as golf balls, or even tees.
