I knew it was coming...

...and, sure enough, the computer-generated telephone voice advised me that I need to show up at Long Beach Superior Court at 7:45 tomorrow morning.

I know, I know, it's my "duty as a citizen" or some such highly devoted noise. I'll get that speech at the court.

But I don't wanna do it.

Either I'll waste a day sitting in what is only slightly more comfortable than a holding cell and get sent home unchosen, or will end up on some eight-month "trial of the century." Either one, simply put, sucks.

There is one trial for which I'd cheerfully volunteer to be on the jury. According to a local TV station, a certain L.A. city council-person's (mine!) office hired members of a street gang called the Grape Street Crips as "gang-intervention specialists" and paid them with city (taxpayer) money. One of these worthy gangbangers is now in jail on, apparently, rape and assault charges.

What's worse, this particular gentleman complained to the city that he was being "harassed" in the course of his meritorious service and, as a result, two police officers got transferred and reprimanded. He also had highly confidential LAPD documents in his possession when arrested, and these, allegedly, came from an identifiable city employee.

Now I wouldn't dare suggest that my very own city council person-ette would ever stoop so low as to pull a dimwitted (and, in my view, resignation-worthy) stunt like hiring gangbangers to run an anti-gang program. The mayor might, though. He's the one howling (en Espanol) for millions of additional dollars to fight (with "intervention," bribes and -- I suspect -- city jobs) gangs, which are said to have 40,000 members in the city.

But no arrests have been made of the responsible elected criminals officials yet. They'll get away with this. Again.

And they'll be busy tomorrow while I'm sitting in that damned jury room. Tomorrow is, of course, May 1, which is the big communist/labor union holiday. In solidarity with every strange fringe group they could rope in, various illegal-alien enabler groups are sponsoring yet another "day without a Mexican" full of demonstrations, marches and speeches to show all us citizens and legal residents why we should simply throw the borders open and let everyone come pouring in. Mayor "we clean your toilets!" Villaraigosa will surely show up; there will be TV cameras, after all.

And tomorrow night, there will be "anti-discrimination" protests against city laws banning taco trucks from dispensing their wares unrestricted. I suppose we'll hear mobile air horns blaring "La Cucaracha" all night....

At least traffic ought to be light on the way to the courthouse tomorrow.

Another day ends...

...but not soon enough.

Hell, it could have ended at around 10:00 this morning if you ask me.

A while back, I mentioned the car photographer D. loaned me. Well, thanks to his taking off (kicking and screaming, as usual) for his annual month in Italy, during which time he blows most of a year's income, I still have the car.

Not that I'm complaining, you understand. It was kind of him to answer my call for wheels when I was in need, but the stupid thing broke a mount for the exhaust system, and it's making a hell of a racket.

So I whisked it off to a muffler shop, where I was told the system is shot and needs a full replacement. Not true, by the way, but the guy didn't want to tackle the Alfa's muffler, and so racked up the price considerably.

PARENTHETICAL GIVE-ME-THE-ESTIMATE-PLEASE THOUGHT: When you come right down to it, the car needs new u-joints, shocks, engine and transmission mounts, four matching tires, a good tune-up and other items I haven't identified yet. It will never get them. D. doesn't do that kind of stuff. If I had the coin to get all the problems cleaned up (and I would, if I could), he probably wouldn't notice.

Some clever engineering work by yours truly with a couple of coat hangers (a skill I learned from my first car, which dropped mufflers like seagulls drop...ummmmm, you know...) got me past that temporarily.

And then, on the way to Trader Joe's on a damn hot (95 degrees) mid-morning I discovered that the little knob marked with a blue snowflake doesn't do a damn thing.

I've been spoiled by new cars, I guess.

The rest of the day, from buying gas at $4.07/gallon to other irritants, made me long for an end to Monday. I could do without all Mondays, but this one seemed to be worse than many.

At least I don't have to report for jury duty tomorrow. Which is good for all defendants scheduled for trial at the local courthouse.

It's freekin' hot here today...

...as in 96 degrees right now.

It was a mere 92 when I got back from my walk at around 11:00. A bit warm for exercise of that kind, though I guzzled a fair amount of water on my return.

Didn't take many pictures...there wasn't much to see.

Unless you count these two kittycats, beating the heat as best they could...



And a Model T Ford, of all things, whose driver braved the heat -- and black top, interior and paint job -- to give it a run...



This year is the 100th anniversary of the Model T, by the way. That makes it -- along with dirt, some rocks and dinosaurs -- older than me!

Before I set out on a walk today...

...here are some shots from yesterday's walks.

Yes, that's "walks" plural. Did about 5.5 miles yesterday in separate jaunts. One (the shorter) involves a steepish hill, which hurts the bejeebers out of my calf muscles, so it must be good for me.

I don't know what this plant is, but it's covering everything in the neighborhood right now. Sort of like kudzu with tiny flowers...



I do know what this is: it's an early-1950s Chevrolet, and since it has the rare extra windows at the rear of the cab, it's worth one heck of a lot of money...



A little something to worry about next time the Big One strikes...



Can't you tell that I'm terrified?

The "Whatsername Effect"...

...is something that has affected the way I look at photography.

Ages ago -- when she had a journal in another space, my adopted daughter began posting photos. Most of them had very simple subjects made more interesting by her point of view and willingness to push the shutter button no matter what.

At about the same time I bought my first digital camera (which I still use), I decided I needed a break from the kind of rigid approach to photography I had learned. Not having to pay for film and processing lets you do that. I decided to shoot anything that seemed to offer possibilities. Hey, it worked for her.

Thus a series of shoes-on-a-wire images, which Whatser really seemed to like, and excursions into night-life, kittycats and anything else that looked interesting. Without her inspiration and encouragement, I would never have made those pictures.

I bring all this up because I went for a walk the other day after chatting with her. Of course I took my camera.

Sunsets are cool, and here are two related but somewhat dissimilar views of that nightfall...




And I decided these gulls were worth a shot, even though the camera was furiously blinking its low-light warning at me...



Finally, this warm and inviting set of steps beckoned...



BW (Before Whatsername) I would probably not have bothered with any of these shots. I've had much more fun with the camera since then!

Coincidence? I think not!

A couple of days ago, I had a nice conversation with my adorable adopted daughter, and today I saw this in front of my pad...



Yes, yes!

I dunno how she got the shoes here, all the way from Northern Ireland, but I just know she had something to do with it....

Clever?

Well, maybe just kinda bored with looking at cars....

Though I had a good time today -- and dared to eat Knott's Berry Farm fried chicken; it's the best, even if I could hear my arteries slamming shut -- I found myself looking at the hundreds of cars on display as pieces, not complete vehicles.

Take, for example, the porthole windows on a row of '56 Ford Thunderbirds with hard tops...



Or the hood of a '39 Mercury Eight...



The tail light of a '57 Mercury Turnpike Cruiser...



Or a customized Mustang...



Or the pinstriping on a '40 ford that was mildly hot-rodded...



Can you tell I've seen -- and photographed -- all these cars before?

A lot of my recent postings...

...have concerned cars. That's simply the way it goes sometimes; business gets in the way of pleasure.

And it's quite likely a few more posts may follow the pattern after I return from my wanderings today. Fair warning, and all that.

But here's a photo taken during my Friday walk, in which the automotive presence is, at best, incidental. A much more relaxing view, if you ask me.



Note that the kitty is ignoring me. I get a lot of that these days. In many instances, that doesn't bother me much (I'm used to it), but some cases of vanishing from other people's radar are, to put it mildly, disappointing.

At least the cat had an excuse. He was intent on a bird, even if too lazy to actually go after it.

Sometimes, the hunt is more satisfying than the capture.

You don't see one of these every day...

...or even every week, come to think of it.

But I -- and a few hundred others -- saw one this morning.

It's a 1948 Davis car, brainchild of a Californian named Gary Davis. Beginning with an experimental three-wheel car built by race-car manufacturer Frank Kurtis at the end of World War II, Davis planned to revolutionize transportation with this "aircraft-inspired" design. It didn't work; after building 16 cars -- 15 of which apparently still exist -- Davis got into serious trouble with the government for supposedly fraudulent stock sales -- he was a guest of the state for a couple of years -- and called it quits...



The rear view is as strange as the front, albeit wider because it has two wheels, not one, in the back...



Inside, it has room for two or three passengers...



This one is not totally original. Every Davis had a heavy, low-powered four-cylinder engine built originally for industrial use. Somewhere along the line, this one received a Ford "flathead" V8, which probably weighs less than the original...



Here it is driving away, with its light steel hardtop in place. Headlights, as you can see, were hidden behind vacuum-operated doors...



From all reports, the Davis tended to go around corners on two wheels. This bothered some drivers. Hell, it would bother me, and I'm always up for driving weird cars.

This Davis is going to a new home in Connecticut -- by truck, not under its own power -- so I suppose I won't be seeing it again.

After this moment of trivia, we return you to scheduled programming....

Ramos and Compean, again...

...as the illegal-alien drug smuggler whose lying testimony got the Border Patrol agents 11- and 12-year prison sentences is himself convicted of drug smuggling and now faces jail time.

In all probability, Osvaldo Aldrete-Davila, the criminal, will serve less time than Ramos and Compean will have to serve unless the Court of Appeals where the appeal of their unjust conviction is being heard dares to challenge the shameful and illegal tactics used by Jorge Bush's "pal," persecutor Johnny Sutton.

Sutton was also the mastermind behind the atrocious conviction of Deputy Sheriff Gil Hernandez, who dared fire a weapon at a van full of illegals who were trying to run him down. One was very slightly injured. Hernandez got a year in jail; the illegals got green cards and money from our government.

Thank God there are a few people who give a damn about this insanity. One is CNN host Lou Dobbs, who spoke to my Member of Congress, Dana Rohrbacher, as well as Texas congressman Ted Poe, both of whom have tried to overcome the forces of Bush's do-anything-for-illegal-aliens storm troopers.

Watch both of these clips. They are among the very few places where you can hear the outrage this travesty of justice deserves.

Oddly enough, great defenders of Law and Order and Securing the Border such as Rash Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, not to mention those great pundits of the blogosphere, such as Michelle Malkin and Ann Coulter, have been largely silent about the Ramos/Compean debacle. Much easier for them to whine about the kind of meaningless political trivia that does not affect real Americans, I guess.

The three would-be presidential candidates, one and all advocates of throwing the borders wide open, haven't said a word about this issue. And of course Jorge Bush, who has been proving with each new "decision" that he intends to give Jimmy Carter a race for the title of America's Worst President, stands firmly behind Sutton, his "good buddy."

It's about time the drug-smuggling lying slimeball faces true justice. Sutton and his pit-bull, Debra Kanof, should have adjoining cells. So, too should Jorge Bush. Criminals should not be allowed to prosper from their misdeeds.

And Ramos and compean should be free, with full restoration of their rights and jobs. They should be compensated for this miscarriage of justice, too.

I said I would...

...post photos from my little fun-fest on Monday, at least if any were sufficiently embarrassing/humiliating.

But then it occurred to me that some of photographer D's images will be published, and it would therefore be Bad Form for me to put 'em up early. So I picked a couple I doubt will see print.

This one, for example, shows how tight the confines of the Messerschmitt really are. There are some better, none of which show the look of terror on my face, thank goodness...



And then there's this shot of me showing my usual grace and litheness while exiting the Isetta. They'd freekin' well better not run this one...



A good job there's not a soundtrack to accompany the latter photo! There are surely people out there who won't know or understand the names I was calling D. for snapping this one.

Sadly, none were quite as mirth-provoking as I had hoped. I knew I should have worn the red nose, red wig and size-25 shoes.

I don't like to write about my work...

...and I intend to be completely cryptic about it here.

Suffice it to say that, in the course of what I do, a very nice guy was persuaded to bring these two toys out for me to play with today...



Between them, the red Messerschmitt and yellow BMW Isetta sported seven wheels, two cylinders, less horsepower than an original VW Beetle, and were capable of holding four people who don't mind being, shall we say, close to each other.

The Messerschmitt was terrifying at first, and hot as hell inside that plastic bubble. By comparison, the Isetta felt like a Real Car.

This was the strangest thing I have ever done for work. And believe me when I say I've done some weird stuff.

I must have looked like a circus bear riding a tricycle. If photographer D.'s photos of me doing my stuff are sufficiently embarrassing, I might even post one.

Just don't ask me why I was puttering around in these two minuscule beasts. To tell the truth, I'm not sure myself.

But it was non-stop laughs....

If I had my way...

...there were several cars I would have driven home from the British car show instead of a somewhat crotchety Alfa Romeo.

First on the list was this '56 Austin-Healey "100." I owned one many years ago, and still kick myself for letting it go, even though I had to...



Equally desirable, but in a much different way, was the late-1920s Bentley 4 1/2 Liter with "Le Mans" bodywork. I love all Vintage Bentleys unreservedly; the 4 1/2 is my second-favorite, as wonderful an old truck to drive as you could wish for...



Somewhat more modern is this Jaguar XK-120. The company's motto used to be "Grace, Space and Pace," and the 120 has it all...



Or I might have settled on this tiny Lotus Elite. Beautiful, light and quick, the Elite was a masterpiece...



Finally, If I had had a suitable companion and two tiny friends, I might have plunked them all into this Morgan "4/4" for the trip back here. Crude they may be, but there's nothing else like a Morgan...



And that's the end of it. Unless I break down and put up a couple of other favorite cars, that is....

Li'l bitty cars...

...all from the late, lamented British Motor Corporation which, in its best days, controlled the majority of the UK's car industry.

First, a lineup of Minis, from the pre-BMW days...



A Riley Elf, never sold here to my knowledge, was a tarted-up Mini with a trunk appended to its rump...



Originally developed for the Royal Army, the Mini-Moke was as basic as basic can be. Because it weighed nothing, it was great fun to drive. A four-wheel drive version used two Mini engine/transmission units, one at each end...



The Mini Traveller had wood bits in back and clever rear doors...



Finally, the Morris Minor, the Mini's predecessor. I've always wanted one of these Minor convertibles...



One more set of pics coming soon....

They're just cars...

...and British cars, to boot!

But I happen to like British cars. I spent more than 40 years riding in -- and driving, and repairing -- Brit machinery, and that gets in the blood.

It's just the owners who can be deeply weird....

Since I had no real order in mind, I'll start with the random cars. First, since Scott signaled a desire to see the pix, here's a real Aston Martin, a lovely DB4, for him...



And it's just as elegant inside...



I thought the last Triumph TR8 had long since been returned to the rust from whence it came, but here's one someone has actually restored...



For my friends in the Antipodes, here's a vintage Morris Eight, which served (no doubt reliably) for more than 40 years as a delivery van for the Empire Bakery in Auckland, NZ...



Finally, to end the first lot of photos with real class, a Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith...



More anon.

I've had good reasons...

...for not posting during the past week.

Actually, they've been bad reasons, but you know what I mean.

My health -- such as it is -- has been good, I've been a good boy diet- and habit-wise, have walked every day, blahblahblah. In fact, I found out that I've dropped a considerable amount of weight in the last six months, and that's good. I needed to do that.

But everything else has been bad, or worse. I just don't feel like writing about that. In fact, there aren't many people I'd tell face-to-face, and none of those folks care to be listening to me right now.

If this continues, I may have to put up some photos of a car show I attended a week ago, just to put something up. I really didn't want to go to the show but, as part of loaning me a set of wheels to use for a while, photographer D. wanted me to accompany him. So I did, and am now limping around town in a cranky, elderly Alfa-Romeo. Someone has to do it.

The high point of the week was seeing a B-17 fly over yesterday...



Sometimes, life is not so good, and gets worse. Then, it gets really oppressive, frustrating and sad. That's where I am now.

Mothers, don't let your sons grow up to be...

...cowboys.

Unless, that is, they want to grow up to be Ленинградская Ковбои!

That would be Leningrad Cowboys, tovaritsch.



It all began when I saw this video of Sweet Home Alabama posted on Joan's wonderful journal. What she finds funny, I find funny, just as I always find her stories, comments and photos well worth looking at. That's a big hint that you should go there if you don't already. And go there regularly.

Okay, so I watched, and was initially amused by the garish striped suits, unicorn hairdos, long pointed shoes and Spaceman Spiff sunglasses.

But when I watched a second time, I realized there was some serious musicianship going on along with the outlandish stagecraft. These guys are good. They know what they're doing, and do it well.

One has to wonder how a Finnish band with a Russian name managed to get the Red Army Choir to join in. Those guys are heavyweights, Jim. They've made more than their share of recordings and, if I recall, appearances on PBS back in the old Soviet Union days. By and large, they do the traditional stuff and are pretty formal.

The Choir members are not just singers, but instrumentalists as well.

So why were they rocking out -- and clearly enjoying it -- here? I dunno. Money, I suppose, but also surely the "serious" musician's normal urge to cut loose a bit. And some, as seen on the videos, were cutting loose quite a bit.

It's a remarkable combination: pretty decent rock musicians with those performing Russkies in their formal uniforms. Standard guitars, drums, bass and a Russian orchestra with balalaikas, accordions, brass and acoustic guitars.

Think Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention meet the U.S. Navy Band, with the Marines and Air Force musicians thrown in.

A few more must-see/must-hear examples: Delilah and Happy Together.

But my favorites were the "classics." The Cowboys'/Red Army Choir's treatment of the old Russian song Kalinka is downright inspired.

The high point, at least for me, is Those Were the Days, which is of course an old Russian Folk Song given English lyrics much later.

Who would have thought those humorless Commies had it in them?

Not me, comrades.

I doubt they would have (or could have) been in shows like these back in the days of Uncle Joe Stalin and Nikita the K, though.

Это классных. Очень здорово. I'm ordering some CDs. And a t-shirt.

Будьте первым, на блок-сделать то же самое, попутчиками!

April fourth...

...and I'm not lovin' it, no sirree.

Woke up early, as I had to get a refill for a prescription I'm taking. Since the medics at the hospital wrote me only a month's supply with no refills and I am sans health insurance, I had to make an appointment at the local "community clinic"...for 8:00 a.m.

I finally got out of there at 11:30, with prescriptions but in a totally foul mood. I won't describe the scene; if you've never been to a "community clinic," I envy the hell out of you.

Moreover, all the grief and general horse dung being heaped on me by work continues unabated. Once again, I'll omit details. Suffice it to say I am rethinking my decision -- made so many, many years ago -- to quit my job as delivery driver/counter boy at the local pharmacy to go to school and seek out a real job.

There's more, but why go on?

And to think I woke up this morning with fragment's of Sheriff John's "Birthday Song" coursing through my head. During my post-toddler years I, like every other kid in L.A., was glued to the TV when "Sheriff John" Rovick's show was on the air, complete with cartoons, live-action serials and lots of songs and helpful growing-up advice from the good Sheriff...



Every April 4th for a number of years, I thought he was singing that damn song for me, was blowing out the candles on the birthday cake for one dumb little lonely, fat, ugly kid out in the hinterlands.

What he was really doing, as we watchers found out one day when the commercial break ended a moment too soon and caught him puffing out smoke he was trying in vain to conceal (the joys of live TV!), was wishing he could grab a quick cigarette.

I know how he felt, Jim. You figure those things out when you end up a dumb big lonely, fat, ugly grown-up.

It has not been a fun day so far. A few welcome good wishes, but no presents. Certainly not the present I would have most enjoyed getting...but enough of that. I wasn't expecting it anyway.

I guess I should be grateful that I don't feel any older than I did yesterday.

I sure as hell am grateful that the day is half over.

Guess it's time to go for a walk.

Bah.

An uneventful walk...

...in part, I suppose, because my mind was elsewhere.

But there are always things to see. This feral cat lives at the "other" nearby beach...



And these ducks were new to me. They are not the ones I've seen before on another street...



This little terrier was watching his people eat at a local outdoor cafe...



Some strange plants grow around here...



And I guess the only thing you could call this is the "Mailbox of the Beast..."



Not a bad day. Not at all.

Better today...

...is what my dear friend reports. She sounds reasonably well -- certainly better than I did when the bug attacked me -- and is taking her medicine.

I announced my intention of monitoring her progress and hounding her at the first sign of any problems. Turnabout is fair play, right?

There is no doubt in my mind that your prayers and thoughts are helping. Keep 'em up, please. And know that I am grateful to each and every one of you.

PARENTHETICAL IN-OTHER-NEWS THOUGHT: No new word on the condition of the guy who jumped/fell off the cliff at the park last night. I must say that anyone who plays around in that area is dangerously short of measurable brain activity to begin with....

Bad days...

...in the neighborhood.

Early Sunday morning, a woman -- some say she lived in a building adjacent to the one where I live -- committed suicide by jumping off the cliffs by the local park.

This evening, someone else either slipped or jumped from roughly the same location. As on Sunday, the LA Fire Department responded in force, with trucks, personnel, boats and a rescue helicopter which lifted the unfortunate person from the rocks...



In this instance, the latest word is that the victim was alive but "unresponsive" and suffered massive injuries.

On a more personal level, a dear friend (you will remember her from her messages and comments here keeping you informed while I was in hospital a month ago) has not felt well for several days. She went to the doctor today, and was diagnosed with pneumonia. She is back home tonight; I haven't yet been able to talk to her -- she sent an email and then went to bed -- but am presuming her doctor is dosing her heavily with antibiotics.

For obvious reasons, it scares the hell out of me to hear that anyone else has pneumonia.

For those of you who pray -- and those who dispense kind wishes -- please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. She is a very special person, very much in my heart, and I hope you'll join me in wishing her a speedy and total recovery.