L.A.'s Finest

The weather out here has been pretty nice lately. Unless otherwise noted, you can pretty much pencil in L.A. for sunny, high of 75, low 58. This week it got into the low 80's, so Bubba and I decided to get to the coast and the beach a lil' Saturday. We started with a top down ride up the PCH, you know, to feel the wind flowing in our hair, kind of thing. Problem was, everyone else had the same idea, so the PCH was a might crowded. Instead of my corkscrew curls flowing indiscriminately, my hair stood still, leaving me to recognize just how much the California sun seems to be increasing, and/or highlighting my greying mane.


Ever the gawker though, I couldn't help but notice what was going on along the Malibu stretch of beach. Real-life Baywatch. No joke. I could see a lifeguard in the Pam Anderson red bathing suit, holding her post from the lifeguard tower. Binoculars and everything. Then, I spy this low flying helicopter, riding the coast, I'm assuming in search of struggling swimmers. But flying with the intensity and urgency of a Vietnam napalm bomber.

Then, when Bubba and I got back to Santa Monica, we parked the car for a while, and strolled around for a while. We decided to at least dip our toes in the water and on the sand, since we were there and all. And what do I see, but TWO policemen in full gear, on dune buggies, making sure things stayed in control along the beach. I got to thinking, "what could possibly represent, 'things being out of control?'" Open coolers with beer in them? The occasional smoker (it's illegal on the beach there)? A kid with a sand castle tower that violates local building codes? I picture one of these cops coming up to a 6 year-old, and billy-clubbing 4 inches of his sand castle off until it's up to snuff.

I used to see this back in South Orange, NJ. Bored out of their mind cops assigning completely exaggerated importance to inconsequential "transgressions.' I'll never forget, my first job out of college, working in a health clinic in Newark. Anyway, Elmer King, head of "Security," practically pistol whipped the 4 year-old boy who kept jumping on the waiting room chair. That kind of thing.

Still, I DO feel safe now, that no one will kick sand in my face, steal any shade from my beach umbrella, or try to "pants" me out of my swim suit. They take their beaching seriously out here.

This is how it Starts

I've nothing exceptionally Californian to speak of today. Rather, what I CAN speak about is my seemingly ever increasing desire to speak upon a whole lot of things. See, I experienced a first this week. For the first time ever, I was a caller on a talk radio show. On Monday, at the outset of my evening commute, I flip on the radio. Basically, I have a four-pronged attack: I have one sports radio show, one news/talk show, one jazz station, and one CD at the ready. Whoever has the best offering at a given time gets my attention until further notice. So, at this particular point in time, ESPN radio had my ear, talking about Lebron James' status in the NBA. "Is he the best player?" and things of that nature.

I don't know why, but when one guy spoke of how he'd never seen anyone so single-handedly carry a mediocre team to the NBA finals before, I "snapped," and simply HAD to chime in. I call up, and I actually don't get a busy signal. Some screener asks me my name, and what I want to say. They put me on hold for 5 minutes. Then I hear, "Scott, from Los Angeles, you're on the air." Semi-stunned, I kept my wits about me enough NOT to say, "First time, long time." Instead, I barrelled into my point. "Yeah, hi. I just want to say, if you think Lebron's the first guy to carry a weak team into the finals, go take a look at Allen Iverson's supporting cast back in 2001." Before they could recover from the genius of my insight, I came back with the second barrel. "Also, Lebron's the most TALENTED player, but not the best because he doesn't bring it every night. Tim Duncan is an efficient, winning machine, who will destroy Lebron."

There's a bigger issue here though, on top of my masterful basketball insight. A definite trend in the works. Sure, this was my first call, but actually my second attempt. (2 weeks ago I went ballistic when informed of this a-hole, who's baseball playing, drunken mess of a son had killed himself drunk driving, had the BALLS to sue everyone and their grandmother for his sons death. Guy was drunk, stoned, speeding, on his cell phone, without a seatbelt, and he mercifully only killed himself. Meanwhile, his dad is suing the guy who's car stalled on the side of the road that his son rammed into). So now, I'm calling in radio shows, blogging, and wagging my finger a lot when I have actual live people in my presence. The dam is breaking. Here come the floodwaters. Make way for my soapbox. If I ever run for any type of political office, mark this date on your calendar's folks. You'll be able to look back and say, "THERE! That's where it started." Buh Logic is going to make an imprint on this world, by God!

This has to be said...

So, I just got back from my lunch. I decided to stay out and eat, and figured I'd occupy my time with catching up on the newspaper. Historically speaking, I'm a big newspaper guy. I used to buy two daily, ESPECIALLY in my commuting years where I had lots of train time. It got to where I could strategically fold a paper and still rock my Su Doku whilst standing shoulder to shoulder in a rush hour subway car. Plus, I'm just old school about the hands-on experience. Don't get me wrong, I pull plenty from the internet and what not, but I've just always liked my newspapers.

Since I've been here, my hard copy consumption has dramatically slowed down. I'm not really feeling the L.A. Times, and more than anything, my commute is driven. So for the sake of not killing myself or others, I begrudgingly don't read behind the wheel (though I DO play air guitar, and tap some fat polyrhythms on the dash over the latin jazz show on my drive home). Meanwhile, my treasured Sunday ritual of crossword/coffee/bagel has been largely forsaken, seeing as I've yet to even come close to finding a satisfactory bagel. Content wise, I miss the 4-inch letter, tabloid headlines on the front and back pages, and general sensationalism. I saw the NY papers go nuts over the A-Rod scandal, or should I say, the "Play-Rod," "Stray-Rod," "Yankee Doodle Randy" scandal. I miss that stuff.

But today at lunch, I was reminded of the final dagger, dividing me from newsprint. While waiting for my lunch, I dart over to the 7-11 to grab a paper (since corner newsstands are essentially non-existant). Grab my Times, pull out my 2 quarters. Oh. Right. THEY CHARGE TAX ON THE NEWSPAPER HERE. Fitty-four freakin' cents. That just chafes me. Newspapers are supposed to be bought and sold with quarters. Multiples of 25 cents. EEEEvery once in a while, perhaps a dime increment can be tolerated. 25 cents, up to 35, kind of thing. Fifty-four cents?!?! That's just fundamentally wrong. I can honestly say I'd wrather pay 60 cents before 54, just for the "privilege" of keeping it silver. "We pay tax on everything else, why not the paper?" Because, that's why. It's wrong. Just wrong. Or if we MUST pay tax, make the price 46 cents, so with tax it's 50.

Back to my Mission

All right, I seem to be straying a tad in the last few offerings. Things are getting a mite political here at Buh Logic, and that's not my intention. This is supposed to be light-hearted whimsy. My off-beat take on a world gone mad. Now I'm doing critiques on the homeless and abortion. Next thing you know, I'll be telling you about the shape-shifting aliens in our midsts. (that's a joke folks. A direct reference to a dear friend who has co-opted some, er, "unconventional" ideas since he moved out here, lest anyone take me seriously). Anyway, as we say in corporate America, I'm straying from my mission statement.

The fact is, I have actually begun to establish the type of "life groove" I lamented losing a few entries back. There is a palpable rhythm to my life beginning to take shape. Between work, the commute, my home life, and my music (I'm recording a CD, hopefully fit for public consumption by summer's end), I haven't engaged in too many wacky adventures lately. At least not California specific anyway.

This phenomenon, actually, is quite interesting to me, this concept of the establishment of a life rhythm. Like, I've been here about 6 months now. I would say that for all relative purposes, I've mastered, I don't know, L.A. within approximately 15-20 mile radius of my home. May not sound like much, but that's a lot. Have I been EVERYWHERE within that radius? Of course not. But I'd say I've represented a high percentage of that area, certainly the things of note. I know all of the big streets. I've been to, or at least passed by, the beach, the O.C., Hollywood, Downtown, Universal City, Ventura County, Santa Barbara, Koreatown, Silver Lake, Simi Valley, Fairfax, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, etc. (If you're really bored, go to map quest and punch all of them in to see the ground I've covered. In other words, I get it. I get the idea of what's doin' around these parts.

A further wrinkle is that in lil' Manhattan Island, where I lived or worked in for I guess 14 years, I could STILL find little nooks that were undiscovered. Places in the city where until that day, you never had cause to be there, so you never happened upon them. None of this is a complaint, mind you. If there's one thing I've learned in life it's that dynamics ALWAYS change.