Friday Fourteen

Sunday after Thanksgiving. South bound. Two hundred miles to the next city. Gas light on. No idea where's the next gas station. Good times.


Monday afternoon, headed home, gas light on again, drove all along Highway 1, nary a fuel stop, I swear Newport Beach must have passed a law against gas stations. Finally solved it by going inland. Going back, Catalina Island out on the Pacific calm and bright, I can see the attraction.


Still find these things around unexpected corners.


I got out for a walk on the beach.



Every time I see this thing it fascinates me. It hulks over Huntington Beach. Still don't know what it is exactly.


The Pier at Huntington Beach as seen while making a right turn onto the PCH from Main St.


The highway goes under LAX. Top was down, camera propped on top of the windshield, yeah, I'm dangerous like that.


Walked about Venice Beach right around sundown.






And went for the freeway, and six hours home again.

Wordless Wednesday #1

attribution

More Pix

You didn't ask but surely someone wants to see the rest so here. (Sac Decom 10 Oct 09)

Conference Whines and Chicks on Cop Cars

Wonderful to have a job and not minding at all the 7pm to 9pm phone calls with engineers of various sorts eight time zones to the west who are focused on technical issues of enormous significance to a computer manufacturer over there, and the company, and in some small way myself -- small in that the socio-political dynamics that determine who gets the fame and who gets the blame are entirely beyond me hence I proceed with the confidence and certainty of an eight-point buck in a thinned-out forest full of deer blinds.

SO, that all leaving me without time to write stuff but still wanting to publish something, anything, I will print without further comment one of the better pictures I took last weekend at a party. We've found a fun bunch of people to hang out with.

Paddling Redux

I like this old post and am going to link to it after the bonus pic.

We don't drive Gondolas in your Toilet so don't Pee in our Canals

Corona Del Mar

Right, that last pic was taken somewhere near La Conchita, on the last stretch into Santa Barbara from south-away. The setting sun was playing tricks with the evening fog and I thought I'd capture it. I was mistaken.

There's a sense of brittle preservation to a neighborhood so exclusive that no one could possibly afford to live there unless they bought in about the time of the Beach Boys, and judging by the age of the people out and about who were not walking to the beach, that pretty well covers it. The location, the weather, the architecture, and the landscaping were all perfection, tuned over many years. One gets a sense the only work left to do is figure out which undeserving children to leave it to. Or hell, Emma, let's just sell it to that Asian plastic surgeon and let the kids and their brats fight over the money. Especially now it's worth half what it was, heh heh.

  

But love is not dead there. A very sweet couple was kissing and cooing on a bench overlooking the sea. She was about seventy five, blonde long since gray, still pretty underneath all the years. He was about twenty five with a Jamaican look. It was all very romantic.

We staked out a spot in the sand and threw a frisbee in the light surf and risked broken ankles going out to the end of the breakwater. Felt like vacation.

  

One thing about the wealthy, though (probably your nouveau riche, selling smartphones to drug dealers). Who the hell spends a couple million bucks on a house by the ocean that was designed for Disneyland? There was another -- not pictured -- that was very spacious and clean and classy in a Bauhaus kind of way and I thought how satisfying it must be to spend six mil on a house that looks like a dentist's office. I did however like one of the sculptures, never mind how stupid-rich you have to be to put a three hundred pound hunk of bronze on your pool deck.

  

Next, if I get around to posting it, we shoot the pier at Huntington Beach.

Ro-o-oad

Love roads. They go places. Highway 50 passes a few miles from my house as it goes from West Sac all the way to the Maryland shore. Some day I am going to drive the whole thing. I am!

Not today. Went west on it a little bit, avoided sudden death when I realized with nearly a second to spare that the switch to I-5 LA-bound is one lane and not two, and headed south. And drove and drove and drove.

Actually the new adult and soon-to-be college student had the reigns when we hit the 100 and 200 mile marks, so I took pitchers. Surprised?


You shouldn't be. Yes, this vast truck stop is what you see exactly 100 miles down the road from my house. And 100 miles later we were still in the feet of the Coast Range, with orchards as far as they eye can see off to the left, rolling hills of dry grass under the tread of cows on the right, and an endless parade of cars and trucks on the broad ribbon of asphalt in between. Iconic California, really. To me.


Ever have a character in a story suddenly just leap out at you? Happens to me. One memorable invention was Tequila Mockingbird, until I did a search and found I was neither the first nor the tenth person to think of that one. But this Buttonwillow McKittrick -- I could tell you a lot about her, just from her name. And I'm sure you could tell me. But it doesn't matter, does it? Most stories are never written. We are on a path and we are going places, and there's just no stopping for side trips.


Miles later, at 300 from home, not a lot has changed.


When we passed 400 I was fighting late rush hour Los Angeles traffic and CBA to grab the camera. I did snap one earlier as we climbed the Grapevine towards Tejon Pass, no particular reason why. The mountains and the dueling trucks made for a sense of drama, but mainly in comparison to miles and miles of Kern County. Now we're here, winding down for tomorrow and our visit to UCI. To the Future, and beyond!

City Sidewalks

Concierge let us leave the car with the hotel after we checked out. Went for a walk. Up a couple blocks to the the Ferry Building. Remembered what it used to be like thirty years ago or so, back when there was an elevated freeway casting its shadow over everything. Not a nice neighborhood then, especially after dark. Now it's amazing.

From the old ferry slips, a view of the hill that used to telegraph ship arrivals. Now it's the most unique neighborhood.

A market was on that morning, full of food and happy people. Two, anyway, once we got our curry sausage sandwiches. The sunshine poured through the cool air like honey.

  

Inside the Ferry Building itself, not like its old self. My mother remembers the room where'd they show newsreels while you wait to board. I remember faceless office spaces when the refinery I worked at held a Christmas party. Now an upscale food market, full of people and color.

  

Outside again, the usual. These guys played well, but their harmony was, shall we say, untutored.

A beautiful day for a cruise round the Bay.

And making memories.

  

A Night at the Ballpark

One of my favorite places in the whole world. San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus singing the Anthem.

 

Lincecum lines up a shot and sends it in. Guy is amazing. Won the NL Cy Young last year. Was solid Friday night. Drove in the first run and pitched a complete game and a shutout.

 

View out towards the marina by the park. Infield maintenance during the game.

 

Pretty reflections on evening clouds. A play at the plate.

 

Flags with East Bay clouds behind them. Taking the A's to their last out. (Giants swept the weekend series.)