Next Stop Yreka

I'm lying. It's actually Orinda in the East Bay. At least for Tuesday night. Then north singing the I-5 blues all the way to Yreka on Wednesday. Basically 30 miles south of the Oregon border. Think Mt. Shasta, evergreens, deer in the back yard, small town, Wal Mart. THAT's Yreka. It will actually be hotter than LA because of the altitude but the noise factor will nearly be eliminated. No police helicopters, emergency sirens, or constant traffic din. The BEST part is that each night I'll be able to see stars. Lots of them. Something you NEVER see in a city. It is a simple pleasure that I adore when I'm there.

Beg Pardon

With All Due Repsect

Out earlier this morning to join a friend for breakfast. Headed for the West side of LA. For me the easiest route is West on Hollywood Blvd, then cut over to Sunset Blvd and finally onto Wilshire Blvd. This is LA and I'll always go across town before getting on ANY freeway, any day, any time. Living here you plan to minimize time spent in traffic on an hourly basis. It's rote. For a Sunday before 10am, my route rules! So I'm listening to KJAZZ and wonder for the briefest of moments "why are there news trucks in front of Grauman's?" HELLO!!!!???? Not quite awake yet are we? As the few cars in front of me slow for the light at Orange I'm right in front of Grauman's, exactly where the sidewalk shrine on Michael Jackson's star is located. I never travel without my camera. Down goes the window. Click. Light changes, traffic moves and one block later as I approach La Brea, there are more flowers but only one fan. They're Farrah's.

Hooray For Hollywood

One of the joys of living in Hollywood is the constant presence of low flying helicopters. Either the police or the media. It's nearly noon on a Sunday and a police copter has been shaking my 3 story apartment bldg for about 10 minutes. Constant circles above my "hood." So common is this air POV of my neighborhood that the intense noise of the rotors no longer terrifies the cats. In fact they now sleep through it. For the copter to be so low, it's either a car chase (the exit from the 101 Fwy is just around the corner ) or someone fleeing the scene of the crime on foot. I'm always listening for gun fire, screeching tires or a bullhorn. Never hear anything. Just that VERY loud noise of the chopper, swooping around in circles before it finally flies elsewhere to disturb the peace. THAT my friend IS Hollywood, not a glamorous image but the real reflection of the pit it is. Happy Sunday.

My Dog

Okay, it's my cat Cooper but he acts like he's a dog. He listens to what I say and obeys. What cat does that? In an earlier post we met Emma, his sister. She KNOWS she's a cat. She lives in Emmaworld. I am but a visitor. Coopaloop lives in my world and dare I say, is madly in love with me. Miss Peel, shows affection but I know I'm only the hand that feeds her. I am fascinated by how completely different they are. The were from a litter of four. Only 3 weeks old when I got them. The mother had been killed by a car. I chose Emma first. Her markings were different. The others looked liked identical triplets. Cooper was the only boy. They'd not been socialized at all and spent the first 2 days beneath the bed, hissing and mewing. Cooper was the first to emerge and explore. That sense of curiosity remains. Emma Peel still acts the scaredy cat. She'll take to her "safe" place perched high in the closet when she feels threatened. To this day the comforter, the one I've had for 7 years now, causes her consternation. She's certain it's alive. Amuses the hell out of me. Both notice if a shoe is out of place in the closet. They'll look in, crouch, Emma behind her brother, "You go first....I'll follow." Cooper then extends a paw tapping at the offending item to be certain it isn't alive. He then turns around and leaves. Emma remains crouched, ears alert, watching the offending shoe. Slowly she backs away and runs. If I'm bored I'll move shoes around, sit back and wait. Part of me truly thinks they know I'm amused and humor me.

Murals

Give Me An S, What's That Spell?

Cone Life, The Mini Series

Orange, The Summer Color Lover's Leap

Orphan Dude, NO drinking and driving!

NOT A Pro Basketball Fan But....

More New Friends

The more I walk the more new acquaintances I make.

The Return of Orange Cones

Honestly, they live among us.

Am I Tan Yet? I Need a Bath!

"Big John, Big Bad John" Frank Lloyd Wright He's The Man

Protecting The Fallen Hanging With My Homies

Latrine Duty Family Portrait with Odd Uncle Ernie

Miss Priss

That would be Emma. One of my 2 cats. Part of my morning routine is to clean the litter box she shares with her brother Cooper. As coffee water boils I'm scooping and disposing. What has already taken place is the tossing of Pounces. As soon as I enter the confines of the kitchen they assume their positions in the living room. It goes like this. Handful of Pounces, tossed in the air, landing all over the carpet. Cats searching, finding, scarfing. Like an Easter Egg hunt. Occurs daily. Afterwards as I sit down to read the morning paper or surf the net, Emma may begin to squeak. She doesn't meow. Only emits a tiny high pitched squeak. Attracts my attention because it's shrill and annoys the hell out of me. Often I try to ignore it but she's a persistent little fur ball. The squeaks are not inquiring "where are my Pounces?" No, they're about her dissatisfaction with the state of the litter box. To get her to cease and desist I must follow her into the kitchen (she's squeaking all the way) to the scene of the crime. Standing between my legs with her two front paws on edge of the litter box she looks up at me and back to the box, up to me, back to box, squeaking throughout. I "talk" back. "Emma, I cleaned the box 10 minutes ago. Scooped everything out. Put new litter in and even added some baking soda. NOT MY FAULT that as you scarfed down a 2Nd helping of Pounces, Cooper came in and dumped!!!" She doesn't care. She wants it cleaned to her standards. So with large green cat eyes looking up at me I re-scoop and re-pour. I step away. She looks over her shoulder and squeaks again. This time it's not about cleaning the litter box. No, it's about "Can't I have some privacy?!" I depart the kitchen.

We are not amused.

Walls of LA, The Sequel

LA Lost

The LA skyline is missing. This is the view from the back of the Griffith Observatory. Downtown can usually be seen in the middle of the picture on the left. June Gloom has devoured it.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen

By jove I think I've got it. I've figured out why I love the Brits so much. Ronald Coleman. Seriously. Watched "Random Harvest" tonight and it hit me. He was my first love. I was 3. "The Halls of Ivy" on radio and then on the black and white. He was sooooo handsome and that voice. It all makes perfect sense now! At least to me.

Look Who I Met Today