BeachHead

She said:  You may not know this, but we need to move out of our sweet sweet loft.  *Sigh.*  *Wist.*

Moving ahead... now we're looking for a new pad.  Kind of a slow process, but it's fun, too -- and I'm starting to imagine what life would be like upon moving just a leeeetle bit outside of DTLB.  Lower rent is the aim, and it'll probably be just far enough away that I need to bridge my commute with some other way of getting to the train.  I don't want to count on biking every day, because maybe I'll want to wear nice clothes, so I'm thinking scooter. 

I want to go electric if I can, and I have a big soft spot for those old-style Vespas.  So here are my favorite options as I see them:  ZAP's Zapino.  The Oxygen Lepton-E.  The 168 from EVT America.  (Even though the price of the traditional gas-powered Meitian Retro is hard to argue with.)

The LA Metro doesn't allow gas scooters on the train, but I haven't found any rules against electric ones.  If that's right, I could ride an electric scooter to the train, haul it onto the train with me, hop off the train and up the elevator, and ride the last six blocks to work.  Only drawback I can see is losing the half mile walk each day to and from the train in downtown LA....amidst the throat-choking, snot-blacking fumes of downtown rush hour.  Pass.  (So I lose the walk.  I should go to the gym more anyway.)

So what do you think?  Which scooter looks like the most fun, and the best deal?  Would you go electric?  Which one would I look cutest on?  Got any other recommendations? 

 

He said:

"The rain season is currently the driest to date in downtown Los Angeles since records began in 1877"
-National Weather Service

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20070401/sc_afp/usclimateenvironment

 
So, we can look forward to: more dust (ash), great sunsets, constant news coverage, and wall-o-traffic.  Sweet. 

 

She said: Here are the pictures I promised from the wildfire on Sunday.

Driving along the 91:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choppers in action:
 

Filtered sunlight:
 

She said: I drove to work this morning ('cuz I could, it's fun occasionally, and I actually needed to today), and the smoke from the fires made the sunrise look like a sunset.  It was eerie, driving north on the 710 at 7am with the 'setting sun' on my right.  At work in downtown LA, I could smell the fire by the time I went outdoors, at noon.  It's another hot day today, and the smell of the fire was that of hot, dry toasted grasses.

She said: Our friend Alie and I planned to go for a hike today.  At around noon, we went online and selected a dog-friendly trailhead to aim for in the Anaheim Hills.  We picked up Brin (her dog) and set out southeast on the 91 Freeway, looking forward to an afternoon hike, canteloupe on the trail, playing with the dog, and a few hours in the sun.  After about 15 miles we started to see some strange cloud formations.  No...wait....it was looking like smoke.  "Huh.  That looks like the direction we're headed," said Alie thoughtfully.  A few more miles, and we were still headed toward the smoke. 

"That's, um....looking just like where we're heading.  That would be a weird coincidence," I said, an edge in my voice.  At this point the smoke wasn't just white and gray -- it was getting orange and black, too.  Quite beautiful, actually.  I fished in the backpack for her camera and started taking pictures.

We kept getting closer to our exit.  "Weir Canyon - that's us!"  The smoke was now billowing orange, black and silver from above the hill that we were aiming for.  We followed the directions: up Weir Canyon, right on Serrano... aiming for Hidden Canyon Road, but couldn't get there because police had barricaded it. The fire was big, and getting bigger.  This photo from today's LA Times (credit: Myung J. Chun) is of a flushed rat crossing the exact road we were aiming for.  If we'd been a few hours earlier and had been hiking in the hills when the fire broke out....who knows what would have happened!  I don't even want to contemplate the possibilities. 

For the pyros among you, dear readers, let me go into a little more detail (and I will upload the photos from Alie's camera soon): the police were routing all traffic at the barricade into an adjacent neighborhood.  I jumped out of the car to take more pictures, and Alie parked.  We met up, and joined a growing crowd of people on the sidewalk and open area adjacent to a reservoir.  The reservoir, in fact, where 3 choppers were filling up with water and making runs to the fire.  One of the choppers had the bucket on the bottom that had to be dragged along the water to fill.  Once full and in the air, the forward force made the bucket swing back like a pendulum stuck at one end of its path.  It would only hang more freely once its load had been dropped. The other two choppers had hoses hanging from their bellies.  These choppers lowered themselves down, almost touching the water, and used the hose to suck water up into their bellies.  They'd then pull out, fly up out of the reservoir, swoop over our heads with their whoppa-whoppa-whoppa and up to the hill where they'd discharge and make a quick return.

This experience reminded me why we call our firefighters heroes: when they show up you know it's because they're there to help -- and more often than not, they're putting themselves in harm's way.  I called Chris & Patti (the firefighters in my family) to ask why the choppers were dropping water upwind and behind the fire, rather than in front of it, in between the fire and the houses.  They said A) the fire creates its own weather system, with updrafts that can be dangerous for the helicopters and B) by closing down the back of the fire and flanking it on the sides, firefighters can narrow the front of the blaze, aim it away from houses, and force it into dead ends (when the wind isn't working against them).

We were standing what seemed less than a mile from the fire, the light was orange from the smoke filter on the sun, and the wind was blowing so straight and hard that we could barely smell the fire -- it was all blowing straight along the ridgetop, headed for a cluster of houses.  The crowd around us was mostly residents of the community next to the reservoir.  They were on their cell phones talking to friends and family, and taking pictures.  They were no doubt feeling some schadenfreude, glad it wasn't their turn to water down the roof and evacuate. 

After half an hour or so, it looked like our end of the fire was mostly contained, and we set about to leave.  I don't know for sure that the houses we were watching were OK, though I'd like to think so.  But that one wasn't the only blaze today -- we saw at least two more strung out along the ridgetops and canyons of Anaheim Hills.  It was a 90 degree day with 5% humidity and high fire risk.  More of the same tomorrow, and any spark could start it right up again.  On the one hand, I wish good luck and safety to those affected.  On the other, I can't help but think that's what insurance is for...you knew the risks if you built or bought a house there...and Mama always wins.  

 

He said:  Saw another excellent specimen of California Beach-Dude (Surfus Californius) today on my way home from work.  As can often be observed in the wild, this male Beach-Dude was riding a kind of cruiser/beach bicycle which is so popular in these parts.  Flip-flops, baggy shorts, no shirt, surf-board under-arm.  The deep tan and long hair seems to be part of this species' markings, perhaps conferring certain advantages in his natural habitat.

He said: Sitting on the roof with a book and a glass of Shiraz at the tail end of a hot day.  The kind of day that makes you sorry to have to lay hands on the steering wheel.  The temperature is dropping fast with the dying light; a wind convinces me to relocate to the edge of the hot-tub.  From here, with my jeans rolled up and my feet in the  water, I am enjoying my reading and the view by turns.  The haze, now a mixture of purples and oranges, has brought the horizon close.  Very close.  I can barely make out the edges of Long Beach and the port beyond it  - Palos Verdes and the rest of the city are obscured.  Instead of making the world seem stuffy and cramped, the strange light makes it seem as if I'm sitting on top of the world.  I'm in a summery snow globe, and the sun sinks into the haze which obscures it like a mountain.

She said:  Eight-lane surface roads... fourteen-lane freeways... fortress-style construction where the grand entrance is through the parking garage and foot traffic enters through a side door... drive-time news that doesn't report on public transit breakdowns, but avidly details Sigalerts... vigilant jaywalk cops and cars that can and will run you down -- it's all part of Los Angeles car culture.  My most recent example: coming to work on the weekend only to discover that not only can I not enter without a parking garage access card, but the only way to leave our courtyard of buildings is through a dingy exit door in the parking garage stairwell.  Making me late for my bus, etc.  Argh.

He said: The very same climate that gave us 90 degrees and scorching low sun in December is now gracing us with what Los Angelinos call June Gloom, or May Gray, depending on who you ask.  Dawn arrives grey and damp, giving way to a soupy and cool air with occasional drizzle.  By mid-afternoon, the stuff burns off, yielding to slightly higher temps and sunshine.  For Los Angelinos, this qualifies as crappy weather.  For someone who's grown up on the west coast of Norway, it seems perfectly pleasant.  It does put a tiny crimp in our style as we welcome guests from New England this spring and early summer, but it hardly bears complaining about and is easily countered by the presence of palm trees.  In fact, I quite like it.  It's the sort of weather that makes me think I would really dig the Pacific Northwest (don't worry, no more moves imminent).

He said:  We took Betsy (Jo's mom) to the Santa Monica farmer's market this morning, before brunch with Jeff and Kimber and a short hike on the Will Rogers Santa Monica Ranch.  Like most things in Santa Monica, the market is a scene first and a market second.  It's a funky mix of crunchy people and scenesters shopping for fresh fruit, produce, clothes, flowers and prepared foods to the tunes of a Django Reinhardt-esque band.  People get their tamales, rennaisance-style omelettes, freshly squeezed juices, crepes or other fine foods, and lounge around on the adjacent lawn.  There are even pony rides for the kids.

Fresh-faced teens wield the lids of impeccably clean composting and recycling bins, and left-leaning political points of view are tastefully and uncontroversially floated via buttons or advocacy tables.  Hip shades, sundresses, designer jeans and organic carrots.  

I'm torn here - as much as it's wonderful and tasty and comfortable and cultured and pinko-commie and totally comfortable to me, I am almost suspicious of how easy it seems.  Not quite sure why, but I think I actually like things a bit dirtier, a bit more broken, a little less friendly and a little less PC.  Or maybe I see myself in many of the people there and I'm a little uncomfortable in my own skin?

In any case, the Santa Monica market too far away to be practical for us, so I will happily take the market down the street on the LBC promenade which is more diverse, cheaper and dirtier - even though their music blows.