Around Town

We've been walking around town a lot lately. It's a good way for us to get exercise, especially with a 25 pound wiggly bag of cement strapped to your chest.

Around the neighborhood, some new wall paintings/murals have been showing up, and they're pretty cool.

The first is on the wall f our old haberdashery:

The establishment is now a boutique clothing shop. I purchased two hats at the haberdashery over the years, one of which I nearly wore out, and the other is a bowler I usually bring out only for St. Patrick's Day.

I believe the outer images are based on photographs in a rather straightforward manner, and the central is both haunting and awesome.

On one wall of the historic landmark Acres of Books this graffiti mural showed up:

That one is literally down our street, and it reminds me what a vibrant we're living in.

On My Own for 120 Hours

Last year at this same time Corrie's family flew her out to Oklahoma City to throw her the second of three baby showers. It also happened to be FCBD Saturday and Mother's Day Sunday.

This year she made the same basic flight, but since May Day was on Monday this year, it was only FCBD Saturday; Mother's Day, the second Sunday in May, would be the next week.

This year she made the journey not solo-with-child like last year, but with child-in-tow, as the Boy went on the furthest afield trip of his young life.  He'd already been to both another state and country, but OKC represents his farthest trip.

It was also his first flight.

I was staying behind to be left to my own devices.

But I was pretty sick, so the time alone was pretty basic.

It started innocently enough...

Dinner in El Segundo

Corrie  drove so I could hang out in the back seat and mug with/play with Cass on the way to LAX. I was not looking forward to either being without these two or the virtual meeting I was supposed to join at 4:30, which was increasingly looking difficult. As it was already 3:40 as we were arriving at the airport, traffic on 405 south was already stop and go for large swaths, and arriving at my laptop in Long Beach by 4:30 was already a punchline.

Corrie suggested stopping somewhere close by (a brewery?), having dinner and a drink, and doing the meeting on my phone before letting traffic die down (SURE, SURE) and heading home.

Sold. 

Saying goodbye at LAX

I started heading south on surface streets (Sepulveda, which is North/South at that point) and quickly got to El Segundo Blvd and hung a right. I knew that the El Segundo Brewery was on Main, or another version of Main St in LA County, and knew that I had wanted to visit this tiny beach-town-in-the-middle-of-LAX-flight-zones for a while.

After a strange up-and-down of a hill and the road shedding lanes, I noticed the blight on my left disappeared into what looked like nature---it was shelter-belt vegetation at the north end of a refinery. Fog loomed ahead as what looked like the outskirts of Los Osos started appearing on the right, 

We came to a stop sign, and I noticed it was Main St. I took a right and immediately started looking for parking. This town, if the El Segundo community of Los Angeles could be considered a town, is basically Los Osos merged with SLO. From my memory, the main drag in Los Osos hardly qualifies for that designation, but El Segundo has an abbreviated Marsh/Higuera setup that more closely resembles Los Osos.

I parked on the street parallel to Main and around the corner from the Brewery and saw, incredibly enough, when I exited my car a copy of Orwell's Animal Farm stuffed into a bush. I thought that if the book was still there on my way back to the car I would take it home---I had yet to own it.

It turned out it was too early for El Segundo Brewery to be open, so I went across the street to a restaurant/bar, took up residency on a bar stool, ordered a beer and dinner, and watched LeBron James and the Cavs demolish the Pacers. I'm not sure which game it was, but it didn't matter. Maybe it was Toronto LeBron was destroying.

Eventually the Brewery's tasting room opened, and I finally got to visit. We've been thinking about checking both it and El Segundo out for a few years now. On this particular Wednesday a few minutes before six pm it was crowded, and I shared a picnic-style table with another solo dude. He was busy on his phone while I read the latest "Beer Paper: LA."

Around 6:15 I decided to leave and brave the freeway home. Meeting was a bust, I was comfortable from the food and beer, and the cat's ate dinner at 7, so let's see how late they'd be eating.

Before leaving I noticed a particular gift bush was beckoning:

Would I not take a book from a bush?

I got home around 7:30. Why I thought leaving El Segundo at quarter-past six was better than quarter-past four is beyond me, but in reality it was pretty much the same. I wasn't really prepared to wait until traffic actually lifted (reasons: because parking at our place is such a nightmare; the cats; and I still had some work to do), because that would have been at least another two hours.

The Virtual Meeting

I had known about this virtual meeting for a few weeks, and even in my response email when I got news I mentioned the possibility of taking my wife to the airport around the same time as the meeting. When that possibility turned into a necessity, I let them know again that I would do my best.

When Corrie was circling LAX trying to figure out the terminal (it wasn't posted correctly) I was in the back seat with the Boy trying to find out which terminal on my phone. This was after the decision had been made to just try the meeting at a bar or brewery and use my phone.

But at that time, trying to figure out the terminal on my phone, the battery had gone from yellow sliver to smaller red sliver. Awesome. I parked in the shade of a building in El Segundo around the corner from the Brewery and got back to my phone: rereading the email said I needed to download a virtual meeting app. Great. I started downloading it and the red sliver of battery life went down to red exclamation point.

I do not have a car battery charger, if you couldn't have guessed by now.

I sent an email to the meeting-holders telling my situation---left LAX, scrambled to shady street in El Segundo, downloading app, dying battery---when the screen does that I'm-now-super-dark-but-actually-dead-yet thing. It was 4:25, and the meeting would be starting shortly,

When I got to the bar stool I first ordered a beer, then checking the status of the download: complete, Sweet! I went to find it...hmm...not in the usual spots...but then pay-dirt! Tapped. Nothing. Then, message: "Cannot Open App."

By then I was just amazed to still operating the thing. I erased it and started downloading it again, noticed it was now almost 4:40, and started another email to the meeting-holders explaining again the situation.

But this was the straw. Mid sentence my phone was done, buzzing once, showing me a splash screen that said "Samsung," and turning off. 

Can't say I didn't try.

The only thing that made me nervous was there being a problem with Corrie and Cass's flight and them not being to reach me. I remembered that Corrie knew my phone was on the edge before they got on the plane, and that I was going to try and get the meeting done somewhere between LAX and our place, so should they call, and my phone not be working, it stood to reason that Corrie would know why and be able to arrange what she needed without me until I got home and got a charge. She's resourceful.

Thursday and Friday Come and Go

Thursday came and went in a blur. Was I sick? Was it allergies? I think on Thursday it showed up more as sickness than allergies. 

Friday was mostly the same until night, when a colleague who lives close by asked if I wanted to join him for tacos and beer, seeing how it Cinco de Mayo. I debated it internally for a while: being without family meant that I could go do stuff, but I was feeling shitty and the idea of being in the quiet, without the needy rigors of work or an eleven month old bouncing off things, was too appealing.

I turned the colleague down, but planned for Saturday.

I got comfortable on the couch, trying to decide what to watch on Netflix. Then a thought coursed through my body: Nobody's here and this is what I plan on doing? What would I do if I had all this time to myself, and I do, so...?

I strapped on my Chucks and zipped up my hoodie, got good and groovy, and went for a stroll.

I did just what I would do if on my own: get groovy and head out for a walk, be among the Friday night peeps of Long Beach. I walked down to the beach and cruised up the marina walk we do twice a week. Up to shoreline village and the tourist collection is deep.

Everywhere you look there are happy visitors from far away, mostly white-skinned, ready to enjoy the cheesy and kitschy shops and restaurants.

From there I headed up Pine Avenue and into the going-out crowd. Not so heavy with the tourists, rather, young folks from all over the south bay region and Long Beach proper come down to show skin and strut. And drink.

It was a zoo; loud and obnoxious, young and silly, a crowd I would have been a part of 15+ years ago, but am fully happy to be past. 

Eventually I made it home and went to sleep, looking forward to the possibility of sleeping in.

Free Comic Book Day 2017, a Birthday Party,

and Musing on Uber

I slept all the way until 7:10, which felt glorious that morning. 

I also remembered a birthday party I was invited to that was happening that Saturday, so I had to cancel my plans with the colleague.

The party was across town, and part of me wanted to ride my bike, but as I was already planning to ride across town in a more northerly route for FCBD, I decided to take an easy bus over to Belmont Shore. Six stops down Ocean Blvd at a buck and a quarter.

For the Free Comic Book Day shenanigans, check out this post on my comic blog.

The birthday party was cool and nice, but weird. I didn't have too much to drink since I felt so ill, and eventually left. It had started to drizzle as I made my way to the bus stop, but stopped by the time I got there.

The breeze, though, was still stiff and chilly. As I waited for the bus I started to think about Uber and Lyft and asked myself, Why was I so reluctant? People my age and economic demograohic would have already ordered their car and be halfway home while I---already sick and weary from miles of bike riding---was waiting in a chilly breeze at a bus top with no place to sit (the bench was wet)?

I never came to a reliable conclusion. I'm not really a Luddite or anachronistic, I'm not really afraid of using my phone for financial transactions. And waiting for a bus on a busy Saturday night in a trendy part of the city?

Why I am so reluctant?

Actually Sleeping In, Cleaning,

and the Pick Up

On Sunday after feeding the cats I went back to bed and slept in all the way to 10:30. IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Eventually I got around to cleaning, which took the better part of Sunday. Whenever I'm alone, the integrity of Corrie's clutter-free life is sorely breached:

Yikes...it can get crazy when I'm all alone

Monday after work I went up to LAX and picked up Corrie and Cassius. Cass did well on both flights, there and back, but waiting in a tarmac queue for a half hour had him lose his cool. He was with four other babies all losing their cools, so that must have been nice for everyone else on board.

Corrie drove home, and we took Sepulveda the entire way, until it changes over to the PCH, and then we cruised home like I was coming home from work.

With virtually no food in the house (Thursday I ate a pound of sauteed kale for dinner) we went out to dinner at the pizzeria around the corner from our place, the site of book signing, Rebel Bite. It was open-mic night. We stayed for a few acts, but came home and started the bedtime routine. A whirlwind of activity, my time having been far different than Corrie and Cass's.

Together again

Not being sick would have been nice, but we can't have everything, can we?

Not being around the boy was a strange mix of emotions. One part relief that his safety and well-being is out of my hands and one part terror that his safety and well-being is out of my hands. Not having to listen to him when he's having a night terror wasn't bad, but missing his giggling and his sweet smile was agony.

Parenthood...am I right?

Recent Adventures, Part Two

Having a membership to the Aquarium of the Pacific means we can stroll right in with our cards at anytime the facility is open. This is something we try to take full advantage of and have taken Cass many times since procuring the membership back in late December.

It also means that we're "members" of some civic minded community, members of the friends of the aquarium or the like, and receive a pretty cool magazine each month.

We also get cool invites for behind the scenes looks at new exhibits, previews of new exhibits, even a members-only adult prom (we missed it because of the timing (a Thursday!?) and babysitting matters).

Recently we got invited to check out the preview of the new amphibian section which will be opening for the full public very soon in the summer. Since we've been a dozen times already, we've watched as a lackluster corner area was cordoned off, sealed away, postered over with amphibian advertisements, and then opened back up to us last night during our members-only preview.

Amphibians are so cool...older than the dinosaurs, spread out on every continent besides Antarctica, the single and most obvious link to both water and land creatures (nearly every single specimen is both!), and a brazen disregard for our principles of specie-dom.

I could go on for too long, so here're some pictures:

Three red and black varieties of poison-dart tree frogs are in this picture, and they are smaller than plenty of bugs, especially the roaches of downtown Long Beach, which are so big they sometimes order Uber to get around. Check out Corrie's fingernail pointing at one in the bottom of the frame...

As we walked around looking at everything, one frog was busy trying to escape:

We thought the event ended at 9:30 and had arranged for the babysitter to be there accordingly. Since Cass is now the pretty sick one (feverish poor guy), we were nervous about going at all. But since his fever had broke and he was sleeping soundly, and we were only going to be a twenty minute walk away, we talked ourselves into it.

When the 'sitter told us all was good on the home front, and realizing that the event actually ended at 9, we did something we hadn't done in quite a while: we headed to a bar.

Just the two of us and each having a drink, we copped a quiet corner in the downstairs whiskey bar around the corner called the Blind Donkey and enjoyed moment.

Recent Adventures, Part One

I've been too busy to get to the long(ish) post about being left to my own devices while Corrie and Cass met the Dolman family at large in OKC. It was the Boy's first flight, and my first non-work related absence from him.

Anyway, I got a text the other day saying something like, "Hey, I've got an extra ticket to the Angels game on Tuesday...in a suite, food and beer supplied. You in?"

How do you say no to that?

It felt pretty easy, actually, but I resisted the urge to decline. I was/still am quite sick, and Corrie had only been home for a few days, and it didn't feel right to take off to a game, even if the ride was included...(sigh)...ride included? Ride to and from Anaheim, food, and beer provided for a suite experience? Corrie said it best: "You kinda have to go."

The spot was phenomenal, even if the photo doesn't do it justice. Above is baseball's best player, Mike Trout, in the batter's box.

Maybe he's baseball's best player ever...

On the ride home my friend's radio was tuned to news radio, and the second thing I could hear was a traffic report.

It was 11:05 at night and the radio program was discussing a traffic report, which was more than two sentences---there was plenty of traffic news to report.

Let that sink in.

The Angels broke a scoreless tie in the middle innings, then the White Sox roared back and took the lead. The friend who texted me is from a Chicago and is a Sox fan, and the company that rents out the suite knows he's a Sox fan, and so once a year, when they're in town, they get him and his pals the suite. Pretty sweet. (Oh, homophones...)

In the bottom of the 9th inning, the Angels tied it, but didn't win the game. After a scoreless 10th, I leaned over to my other buddy, the one that drove, and asked how long he wanted to stay. I don't really care about either team, and needed to get some rest. He said he was pretty much ready whenever.

The third in our literary-minded trio was already asleep on a chair in the suite. After some incriminating phots, we woke him and left. (The photos were not my idea and I refused to participate. Spoil sport, I guess...)

As we walked out, a White Sox player hit a home run, putting them ahead in the top of the 11th inning.

I still don't know for sure who won...

Happy Birthday Dan!

Each year my brother gets closer and closer to my age... Today we went on a hike to celebrate.

But by "we" I don't mean him and I, just myself with my own peeps. Dan and I are about 400 miles apart.

But we went over to Point Fermin. There's a park at the end of Gaffey Street in San Pedro. San Pedro sits on the other side of the port from us in Long Beach, but whereas Long Beach is flat with the Signal Hill bump, San Pedro sits on the most southerly roll of the Ranch Palos Verde Peninsula, an erstwhile Channel Island that has turned into a peninsula though eons of the river deposits that created the LA Basin.

Anyway, Dan's Birthday today was the first time we ever went down to the Point Fermin park at the end of Gaffey, so it wasn't until today that I realized that this hike was only fifteen minutes away from home, essentially three towns over:

Down at the bottom is almost like Montan(y)a de Oro:

Cass loved him some palm tree smacking, standing tall with no help:

The Point is the sight of a historical lighthouse, a spot open to visitors between the hours of 1 and 4:

It looked pretty cool but we didn't get inside. Bummer.

Anyway, happy birthday Dan! Hope the movie and steak were both as good as I imagine!

Twenty-Eight Hours with the Boy and the LA Book Festival

Corrie had a long-planned camping trip away from the four of us boys, and as the date came up, anxieties did so as well. Hers mostly, as I was sure I could handle it (overconfidence is no stranger here), and the Boy had no idea what was going on.

With Corrie all packed up and ready to go, she said her goodbyes and I held Cass as he watched her descend the stairwell and shut the door, and then we watched from the window as she drove away. He whimpered a little as she left, but after the car was gone, we got back to normal: playing and having a good time.

That was only an interlude, since I was getting ready to embark on a trip to USC to bring the Boy to his---and miy own---first book festival.

Originally I had planned on taking the trains, but this would prove just too inconvenient in a practical sense. Stupid lack of infrastructure. I would have to take the Blue line all the way to the Staples Center and switch to the Expo line, a combination of at least 85 minutes which could easily be 110 minutes. That's all well and good for a single adult head with a buzz and something to read, but with a 10 month old in tow?

That idea fizzled during committee.

The drive wasn't so bad and the parking price wasn't as bad as I'd expected, so that was that. The return trip would be early enough that parking would be acceptable, which helped matters.

I used the stroller, which for our family is a rarity. We use our Ergo carrier and wear the Boy on a constant basis around Long Beach: we walk everywhere anyway and the stroller, while compact, is still a bit of a burden in bulk and sizing at the restaurant establishments we frequent.

Also, the stroller allowed me to show off my Pynchon shirt.

I've always heard that USC is in the 'Hood, that it's the bastion of "A-Way-Out-Ness" in South Central South LA. Having seen their lovely campus and the surrounding environs I'm not sure I agree with that designation. Maybe times have improved the area, but everything is north of 40th street, possible 38th. Maybe in 1920 this was considered "far" south of downtown, but these days I usually think of the fifty blocks from 70th to Imperial Highway as the heart of South LA. (Residents there won't ever read this, but I'm sure they'd take issue with that statement. Sorry everybody...I now it's bad and rough all over the central, blight-affected zones of this metropolitan mess...)

Anyway, we parked and started on our mission: have an adventure and celebrate books. We passed a lonely socialist table on our way to the big outdoor convention-styled booths area that was manned by a single black dude. I wanted to chat with him, and agreed to do it on our way out. I had planned not to spend a copious amount of time out, this far from home, because I essentially wanted to take it easy with the Boy.

Eventually we made it to the rows and rows of vendors. The first place I stopped at and struck up a conversation with was the Atheists United booth. I eventually picked up a book written by the lady with whom I had been speaking that touched on a very specific thing I had been contemplating recently: the state of being of the black atheist and a critical view of African American religiosity and generally conservative social views.

From there we made our way to lots of other booths, chatting briefly with authors, publishers, C-Span workers, fans of the printed word... I found a large place with a good deal on books. "Brand new books! Two for fifteen bucks!" the man barked, over and over. I came over and started perusing, but the stroller was difficult to maneuver in and the shelving on the uneven grass where it had been set up. They had a book on American anti-intellectualism, a copy of Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food, and lots of other things.

In the end, I put back the items I'd chosen. Wasn't I the champion of the under-served book writer, a champion of writers who attempt to speak the truth despite it not being necessarily commercially viable? Having just bought a small-batch printing of a book about black atheism, I decided to only go find either used books or books I wouldn't be finding anywhere else.

The opportunity to buy another book presented itself on the way out. Passing back by the Socialist's lonely table I found it manned by two gentleman, neither them the first black dude I'd wanted to talk to. No matter. I purchased a book about women's long fight for freedom and equality.

Here they are together:

In between those two moments, I purchased a gift for my dad as well as a the slipcase edition of Congressman John Lewis's graphic novel history March. Lewis himself was there signing copies, and as Cass and I stopped for a shady seat to grab a Cheerio-and-puree pouch snack, I realized that the nearby lines for signings seemed long, and that I should probably head out once the snack was over to get a start on avoiding fussiness. I think I heard them say that John Lewis was out for lunch at the time anyway.

In the two weeks since then, and having read about half of the March trilogy I have to say: if I'd known the details of John Lewis's story I would have waited all goddamned day in line, screaming baby or happy baby, just so I could say "Cassius Starling met AMERICAN HERO John Lewis."

And John Lewis is an AMERICAN HERO. Go buy the trilogy and read it. Please. Please.

A number of people throughout our time at the festival complimented Cass on his cuteness and adorability, which was expected. BUT NOBODY MENTIONED MY PYNCHON T-SHIRT. Not a single person.

I mentioned that to Corrie, and she said, "What? What kind of book festival was this?"

Once home, and the nap not taking, we ate some more, and then I had to start dinner. Eventually he went down for bed with no hiccups. He woke when I went to bed hours later, but I nursed him with the sippy-cup and he was asleep in moments.

The next day went without incident until Corrie's return, and I felt pretty accomplished. Beforehand, I could have explained to a stranger every little thing I would be doing with the Boy, but it wasn't until I was alone with him that I realized the stress of being the only person at that moment that is making sure this other, littler person is thriving. That heaviness, that reality...that I wasn't so prepared for.

And Corrie does it everyday.

Upon being told of mamma's impending return:

Big Ol' Clusters

All of us have them: intersections that are headaches at best, total cluster effs at worst. I sat at one bad one today and it inspired me to write this right here, right now.

It also reminded me to put the other cluster eff I hit up much more routinely.

The first, from earlier today, was the intersection of Vermont, Anaheim, Gaffey, and Rancho Palos Verdes North:

Vermont is coming down from the North while Anaheim cuts diagonal through where Vermont splits off into RPV North on the left and Gaffey to the right. It makes much more sense from above. I was heading south on Vermont, trying to turn left onto Anaheim, about to head off the right side of the square.

Every direction has it's own light, and except for my left turn light, they all take their precious time. These streets are probably more iconic for LA proper than the picture I'll show next. Vermont travels down all the way from the west side of downtown LA to this terminus at the base of the Palos Verdes Peninsula over 23 miles later. Gaffey is the main street of San Pedro, a former-beach-current-port town in LA county. Pedro has its own feel and identity and tiny beachy town sense-of-self, and fosters a certain independence that betrays the truth: its subjugation to and annexation by LA when the larger town needed to claim the Port. (The Southern California Port(s) of the US are actually two bureaucratic entities: the Port of Long Beach (which is bigger) and the Port of LA (which used to be San Pedro?) and together the industrial blight is something special.)

Rancho Palos Verdes Drive is the main, curving thoroughfare of the ritzy peninsula, here named North, but also having a West designation as well. Anaheim is one of lower Long Beach's main streets and ends to the west off screen quickly.

If you ever find yourself driving through this area...um...no advice, just...sucks, man...

The other drive I happen to head through more often, as it is in Long Beach proper, and is where Clark, traveling south, intersects Stearns, heading east/west. The only issue is the Los Coyotes Diagonal, a large east-side Long Beach route, pretty much bisects their intersection:

They eventually altered Stearns to curve a little. Like the previous intersection, this one makes more sense from above. And, like the previous intersection, each direction gets its own light.

At least this intersection's lights are pretty decent. I'm usually driving south on Clark, hoping to breeze through the light.

May Day in the Southland

May Day celebrations date back to the Roman era with a festival called Floralia (similar to winter's Saturnalia). Back then the Summer Solstice was the midpoint of summer, not the start, and May Day was seen as the first day of summer. Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" highlights the solstice party as this midsummer phenomenon.

In the 19th century May Day was adopted by workers the world over as a day to celebrate labor and the proletariat. Eventually the US recognized Labor Day as a holiday in September.

May Day had been my parents anniversary as well.

At work last week a union rep had warned us that if we were going to take the day off that we had better get our reasons correct for the report that we have to fill out. We're allotted a specific amount of sick days or personal leave days, but still ave to sign paperwork after we get back about the reasoning.

Why would we take Monday off, someone asked. It wasn't me who asked, but that question had occurred to me. "For the protests!" was the snide response from one of our more cynical and burned out workers, and the tone implied the unspoken phrase you idiot at the end of the exclamation.

I remembered a handout I was given when I was with the Boy at the Book Festival the weekend before:

I got it while chatting with the Socialist's booth and laughed at the idea: Monday at 11 am...um, I work? So that'll be a little tough.

I heard later that the union had asked the superintendent to shutter the entire district for the anti-Orange Roughy protests, but the request was denied. We even got a robo-call from said superintendent extolling our importance and the importance of our institution for our young people, and that was the reasoning behind the decision to remain open.

Cut to earlier today while Corrie and Cass were taking a bath: I heard what sounded like chanting crowds. I looked out the window and saw a march coming down Atlantic, one of the streets bordering our block:

EDITED: The crowd beckons. They were heading south, and after a minute it had passed. Pretty cool, though.

To quote Homer Simpson, "I remember when I was young and cared about stuff..."

Of course now I care more than ever, but really more in the vein of How can I/we make this world better for my son?

Happy May Day!