Yesterday, I wrote about Rick's retirement birthday from Amtrak. I made the error of stating it would be his last day. Of course Horst Cahn, sole living survivor of Auschwitz, corrected me. It just would not be Horst if he wasn't giving us his two cents worth.
I had asked Rick what he would do on his "first day of retirement." Of course Horst has his two bit reply for me.
"George, how can he be alive when his last was the 30th?"
Well I don't give a shit, Horst!
"If you don't give a shit you will surely die of constipation."
As you can see, nobody wins with Horst. It is not by mere accident he survived Auschwitz' Rubber Camp when 3, 999 others didn't. He used his wits and all of us at table 5 have to suffer for it.
My biggest day was yesterday. I took my Oram Properties $1800 check and cashed it at the Wells Fargo Bank in Encinitas, but not before some scuffling. I had signed a letter stating my desire to leave the Cock Roach Hotel on the third of September. In now way should I have survived without God's interference.
It was MAY of 2011 when I went to room 204. Sir Thomas Cartwright found a room available on the the cu-cu floor of floor of fools. A Bobby Medina, a Philippine clerk, had told me a room was ready for me but he lied. Nothing was ready and my application had been lost. This foreshadowed stranger events. (Bobby spoke it but had no clue to the meaning of the English language.)
An elephant flew his horn inside the room next to me. Was I in the Bell-view Psychiatric hospital. Doors banged. Zebras ran up and down the floor. Zomba music blasted from music boxes. More doors slammed.
Well I complained at the front desk, and the clerks gave me a quizzical look, but no reply. I spent two hours roaming around the Harbor area. I enjoyed an English clam chowder at at Anthony's and shared it with the many seagulls.
My first night I don't know how I survived. I threw a few sleeping pills into my mouth. The elephant next door still made his bugle sound off and on. Boom Boxes continued to blast-away. The sound of unhinged doors woke me every few minutes.
I used my inhaler a few times to ward off my asthma attacks. I wondered why there was no A/C. The sound of buses, cars, trolleys, and a the horn of a coming cruise liner made noise and dust a constant companion.
In the ensuing months, one inmate hit the fire alarm for five days. Sleep now was impossible. My life was threatened by Jelly Belly Beans, a referral from Cameroon. There were more blacks than whites but somehow I made it through hot days, when I needed a voucher from Kaiser Permanente to just stay alive.
Up though the cracks came thousands of cock roaches. These insects played tag with the many bed bugs who slept with me. My legs looked like a raw steak with blood leaking from every cell. I itched and itched many nights away. I learned to sleep inside my clothes.
Everybody had things stolen. Several told me it was the maids that took thinks not boarded up. Cameras, computers and anything worth money was grabbed by these bed makers.
With the dank air, I battled bronchitis many-a-night. Even a trip to the City Council produced only only hemming and nodding. I found out that San Diego was on the list as one of our worst air polluted cities.
These last 'Y' days have been a dream come true. The animals are gone. I can sleep, take long showers and no longer have my life threatened. I still go to Lindbergh Field on hot days for sleep or in an emergency the next-door Weston for a shot of clean air.
The Monster Brothers took over the El Loco Hotel. Their firm name is Oram Properties located inside Camp Pendleton. The city council took over the building and allowed them to buy it. A staff member of the hotel told me that they were supposed to upgrade the hotel.
Instead, they turned off the hot water, sent a 60 day termination notice to us under our doors. Most fled withing two weeks. They then rescinded the notice and gave us another two month notice later on. The rooms during Comic-Com rented for as much as $300 per. Today the rooms rent for sixty five a night, including a bunk bed shared with another. As a visitor from Marseilles, France told me her experience a few weeks ago.
"Never will I return to this hotel. Why does only one elevator work? And I was up all night. Flies were hitting me at all angles."
Dear they were not flies. They were Cockroaches. Your lucky that the bed bugs didn't bother you or you would have itched your way out a lot sooner. I myself have had spiders sit down beside me and have dinner. Thank God my Kaiser doctor told me they were't the deadly kind.
"It is nice taking to you. Can you tell me how to get to the border."
In my poor French, I walked with her to the American Plaza Trolley Lines. A gave a TSA worker two fifty for a one way on the Blue Line. She would then take a plane to her destination inside the city.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
The King of Pumpernickel Bread
In an earlier blog, I mentioned that Horst Cahn celebrated his 89th birthday on the 25th of August -- mine was the sixteenth. Again I find myself at the Li'l Oak's cafe, or commonly called the Encinitas' Lunch Pail. Minus Lady Barbara home with a bad back, the group is all here and of course, all ears.
Brother Thomas, Abe, Max, and of course Horst wait for the 11:30 meal to be served. Again we sit at Table 5 at the Encinitas Senior Center. I pay my four dollars and am given a red card that you need to obtain a meal. Today it is corn beef, and hash. Besides good food, I hunger for fun and laughter.
Every five minutes, a sleepy Thomas interrupts. Thomas is in his eighties and does not have control of his mouth, just like me. HA HA. From a prominent family, he had left Italy before the war. With no knowledge of English, he floundered at U.C.L.A but took a class in accounting. He wears a perpetual smile, a forgotten beard and a shirt that will soon be covered with food.
"Horst," says I, "You told me that you worded in a deli in Essen Germany before the war. Can you tell me about how you made the bread."
Thomas interrupts. "Mussolini sent me before the war to become a doctor. He liked me..."
"Well George, what you don't know is that people came from all over to eat my Pumpernickel bread. And our deli became famous because of a mistake. I was supposed to place the bread into a oven for ten hours. We forgot and left it inside for twenty hours."
"Were you the head of the deli?"
"No, I as the helper. I helped the apprentice. Jews were not allowed to be in charge so the food would not be poisoned."
Can you tell me how the bread was prepared. Again the Italian interrupts. We ignore him.
"Mussolini sent me to U.C.L.A. I am not hungry, Take my plate.
"When we took the bread out of the oven after twenty hours, it had a sweater taste to it. The owner soon had us make fifty loaves every day. Customer came from all over Essen to enjoy the bread's sweat taste."
"We used a large pot with an electrical mixer. We told nobody our secret was to leave it in twenty hours. We used only dark wheat to make it."
At that point our food was served. We had two slices of corn beef with cabbage with gravy. Thomas was not hungry and donates his plate to Eleanor, a recent arrival. The food is better, much better than before.
Horst shows us a picture of his girl friend. Another man tells that he has been "holding out on us."
"I don't give a shit Max. I want more of the bread story."
Horst interrupts me and screams, "George if you don't give a shit, you will die of constipation."
At that point in the story, I play a name game with Thomas who is all smiles and laughter today. Good food and friends uplifted his day.
Me: "Thomas, when I say "Musso" your say "Lini" We play the name game and everyone cracks up. Then we go to the front to pick up our one or two day old bread. I bus the dishes and say good-by to them...and now hello to you.
Brother Thomas, Abe, Max, and of course Horst wait for the 11:30 meal to be served. Again we sit at Table 5 at the Encinitas Senior Center. I pay my four dollars and am given a red card that you need to obtain a meal. Today it is corn beef, and hash. Besides good food, I hunger for fun and laughter.
Every five minutes, a sleepy Thomas interrupts. Thomas is in his eighties and does not have control of his mouth, just like me. HA HA. From a prominent family, he had left Italy before the war. With no knowledge of English, he floundered at U.C.L.A but took a class in accounting. He wears a perpetual smile, a forgotten beard and a shirt that will soon be covered with food.
"Horst," says I, "You told me that you worded in a deli in Essen Germany before the war. Can you tell me about how you made the bread."
Thomas interrupts. "Mussolini sent me before the war to become a doctor. He liked me..."
"Well George, what you don't know is that people came from all over to eat my Pumpernickel bread. And our deli became famous because of a mistake. I was supposed to place the bread into a oven for ten hours. We forgot and left it inside for twenty hours."
"Were you the head of the deli?"
"No, I as the helper. I helped the apprentice. Jews were not allowed to be in charge so the food would not be poisoned."
Can you tell me how the bread was prepared. Again the Italian interrupts. We ignore him.
"Mussolini sent me to U.C.L.A. I am not hungry, Take my plate.
"When we took the bread out of the oven after twenty hours, it had a sweater taste to it. The owner soon had us make fifty loaves every day. Customer came from all over Essen to enjoy the bread's sweat taste."
"We used a large pot with an electrical mixer. We told nobody our secret was to leave it in twenty hours. We used only dark wheat to make it."
At that point our food was served. We had two slices of corn beef with cabbage with gravy. Thomas was not hungry and donates his plate to Eleanor, a recent arrival. The food is better, much better than before.
Horst shows us a picture of his girl friend. Another man tells that he has been "holding out on us."
"I don't give a shit Max. I want more of the bread story."
Horst interrupts me and screams, "George if you don't give a shit, you will die of constipation."
At that point in the story, I play a name game with Thomas who is all smiles and laughter today. Good food and friends uplifted his day.
Me: "Thomas, when I say "Musso" your say "Lini" We play the name game and everyone cracks up. Then we go to the front to pick up our one or two day old bread. I bus the dishes and say good-by to them...and now hello to you.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
A Visit to San Diego High School
Since now I am 75, I have had to edit my life. I need to do only the essentials every day. My sponsor wants me to publish my book, The "Amby Schindler Story".Amby went to San Diego's first San Diego High school school in the middle thirties. . I needed a venue to publicize my book in hope of luring a publisher. I also wished to go to the Veteran's War Museum in Balboa Park and see about using it for a book showing.
Spinach, lots of Popeye food, would be my guest today for breakfast. Ever since Lawrence Barnes survived three leg surgeries, I fell in love with the cafeteria at Scripps Mercy Hospital, San Diego's oldest. So I indulged my palate with scrambled eggs, two lean bacon strips, mingled with the spinach. As always, I spent time inside the hospital library reading the New York Times and working its computers.
I discovered that the downtown 'Y' was sold to pay debts. The city council okay-ed the deal. It appeared that they wished to maintain a low rental atmosphere there. That didn't occur. Some rooms went for $300 during Comic-Com, and each accompanied two bunk beds for sixty five dollars each. Some felonious sham.
I returned to the Old Town Commuter lot and substituted my Cavalier for a Green Line Trolley. Back inside my 'Y" I made plans to go to San Diego High School and then the Veteran's Memorial museum, up the street on Park Blvd. I wished to see Captain Will Hays, the chairmen of the Memorial Veterans Center.
I took the Blue Trolley to the Seven bus for my trip to Park Blvd. I wished to see the Principal and make a date to show a DVD and bits and pieces of my book. A line of students greeted me and made it impossible to get inside the main office. It was registration day.
Instead, I walked up the library steps and to my surprise, saw new books stacked everywhere. Even the Alumni office had been rearranged and was located outside. Sharon removed the 1933-34 yearbooks and I tried to take pictures of Schindler and his Highlander teammates. Upset that I could not see the Principal, I got her phone number and took shots of some other alumni members. I took one of Art Linkletter, and also Gregory Peck's, on a a Forever Stamp. I took pictures of Russ Sanders and 'Cotton' Warburton on the walls also. (I had met 'Cotton's dental son in Santa Monica six years ago.
Peck had been a member of the advanced Glee Club and also a member of the Junior Varsity Football team. I wondered if I might get more information from the Census to see where he lived and so-forth. Russ Sanders, in a wrestling pose, would put Jack La Lane to shame. A statue of him can be found in the quad of U.S.C. ( Why last Monday I took a picture in front of his statue.)
From the high school, I got on the #7 bus and rode it ways to the Veterans Memorial Museum. Inside were room that depicted the history of our wars, dating back to Revolutionary times. It is five dollars for adults but vets get inside free. There are old rifles, bomb sights and narratives of famous battles. In fact, i get so involved it feels like I am in a battle. I met Captain Will Hays. He was Captain of two Frigates, the Warden and Ecstasy during World War 2.
"My two ships floated ahead of the aircraft carriers. We tried to undermine the subs and lead the ships to their destination." I got more information on who to see for a showing and after a salad meal in the Balboa Prado area left and took the #7 back to my hotel.
I put on the Turner channel, tired of the shit T.V. has to offer that kettles terrorism, and watch, would you believe Roman Holiday starring Peck and a thin filly named Audrey Hepburn. I hoped that on my next holiday I might meet Hepburn's twin.
My blog is taking off and will soon be looking for sponsors and advertisers. Ask your friends to follow me, and thanks for your patronage. Remember you don't have to agree with me so trash me when you feel like it.
Spinach, lots of Popeye food, would be my guest today for breakfast. Ever since Lawrence Barnes survived three leg surgeries, I fell in love with the cafeteria at Scripps Mercy Hospital, San Diego's oldest. So I indulged my palate with scrambled eggs, two lean bacon strips, mingled with the spinach. As always, I spent time inside the hospital library reading the New York Times and working its computers.
I discovered that the downtown 'Y' was sold to pay debts. The city council okay-ed the deal. It appeared that they wished to maintain a low rental atmosphere there. That didn't occur. Some rooms went for $300 during Comic-Com, and each accompanied two bunk beds for sixty five dollars each. Some felonious sham.
I returned to the Old Town Commuter lot and substituted my Cavalier for a Green Line Trolley. Back inside my 'Y" I made plans to go to San Diego High School and then the Veteran's Memorial museum, up the street on Park Blvd. I wished to see Captain Will Hays, the chairmen of the Memorial Veterans Center.
I took the Blue Trolley to the Seven bus for my trip to Park Blvd. I wished to see the Principal and make a date to show a DVD and bits and pieces of my book. A line of students greeted me and made it impossible to get inside the main office. It was registration day.
Instead, I walked up the library steps and to my surprise, saw new books stacked everywhere. Even the Alumni office had been rearranged and was located outside. Sharon removed the 1933-34 yearbooks and I tried to take pictures of Schindler and his Highlander teammates. Upset that I could not see the Principal, I got her phone number and took shots of some other alumni members. I took one of Art Linkletter, and also Gregory Peck's, on a a Forever Stamp. I took pictures of Russ Sanders and 'Cotton' Warburton on the walls also. (I had met 'Cotton's dental son in Santa Monica six years ago.
Peck had been a member of the advanced Glee Club and also a member of the Junior Varsity Football team. I wondered if I might get more information from the Census to see where he lived and so-forth. Russ Sanders, in a wrestling pose, would put Jack La Lane to shame. A statue of him can be found in the quad of U.S.C. ( Why last Monday I took a picture in front of his statue.)
From the high school, I got on the #7 bus and rode it ways to the Veterans Memorial Museum. Inside were room that depicted the history of our wars, dating back to Revolutionary times. It is five dollars for adults but vets get inside free. There are old rifles, bomb sights and narratives of famous battles. In fact, i get so involved it feels like I am in a battle. I met Captain Will Hays. He was Captain of two Frigates, the Warden and Ecstasy during World War 2.
"My two ships floated ahead of the aircraft carriers. We tried to undermine the subs and lead the ships to their destination." I got more information on who to see for a showing and after a salad meal in the Balboa Prado area left and took the #7 back to my hotel.
I put on the Turner channel, tired of the shit T.V. has to offer that kettles terrorism, and watch, would you believe Roman Holiday starring Peck and a thin filly named Audrey Hepburn. I hoped that on my next holiday I might meet Hepburn's twin.
My blog is taking off and will soon be looking for sponsors and advertisers. Ask your friends to follow me, and thanks for your patronage. Remember you don't have to agree with me so trash me when you feel like it.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
The Making of the Movie, Titanic
In no way did I think that my move to San Diego would take me to the making of the picture, Titanic, but it did. I met Larry Barnes about three years ago, inside a small Jewish store front Chabad. We became intimate friends, or soul mates.
In earlier blogs, his identity had been hidden. I called him Sam the Taxi man. He had driven taxis and pedicabs for several years. Lawrence had also won, after ten trials, a verdict against Twentieth Century Fox. But as a good story teller, I will let the events unfold for you.
Larry bought a spread of Cole Slaw, black beans, and chicken. The only thing he forgot was sliver wear-ware. That would prove to be a big mistake since he rolled the dice at Seven Eleven and left his cell phone there. (Later he found it in a refrigerator.)
Still we ended up at the Harbor, between the two Sheraton Hotels. In back of us stood the San Diego International Airport and across the bay was North Island. We made an early dinner spread on an round tabled umbrella. We viewed a large truck loaded ship and several sail boats. I took his advise and shut my mouth and listened -- something that took me 75 years to do.
I was partners in a Tijuana flower shop on Primavera Street. It was 1996 and I was busy reading the San Diego's United Tribune. I lived in a trailer then and sold flowers to the locals. My partner and I made lots of money in the early eighties. A black Taurus drove up and parked in front of the flower shop. Several well dressed men got out and walked towards my store.
The lead man spoke with a heavy British accent and screamed, . "Does anybody speak English here?"
"I do and how can I help you?"
"Thank God you spik my language. Are you the flower man for the city?"
"I am, and am at your service."
"We are making a movie in Roserito Beach. Can you come to our set?"
"I am at your service."
I drove to the beach. I had lived there for a few years. I saw a gigantic movie set. A movie studio had brought their sets to the beach. I saw an exact replica of the ship Titanic. Their were sets and cranes everywhere. It was a movie city. Ford was too busy to see me but had an assistant take me to large tent.
Inside the commissary was a large long wagon holding trays of of different types of gourmet foods. Prime ribs, chops , and the freshest vegetables graced each table. I indulged and saved a few scraps for my dog Tasha
A gentleman sat down beside me.He introduced himself as Bill Zane and told me he was an actor in the movie. I told him about my credits in the music business and that one of my closest friends was Bob Seger. I had done publicity for some of the biggest rock stars in the seventies.
In the eighties, I was the largest distributor of flowers in North County. began to make a few flowers arrangements. Several years earlier, I was the largest distributor of flowers in North County. I owned acres of flowers and among my clients were Safeway, Vons, Ralph's and a host of other stores.
"Well Larry, you are quite entertaining. I hope we eat together every day during the filming of Titanic. He told me the names of those visitors were Mike Ford, the Art director, and also Antonio Mata, Barry Wilkerson, and Roz Singleton. Wilkerson was the prop maker. (I bump into Mata every day.)
The next day I returned with four vases of flower arrangements. Included were the freshest cuts of colored Roses, Daffodils, and other varieties. I showed the arrangements to Ford the next day.
"F..k..F..k... You are the flower man."
I became the go-to-guy for the production. Any time they needed anything, the film makers came running to me. I brought an refrigerated truck to the set. The flowers had to be fresh at all times.
I changed flowers on four sets, particularly the master bedroom's.. To the dismay of other workers, I would run to my vases and remove and replace the flowers and it did not bother its Director David Cameron one bit. Many were jealous of me. Almost everybody loved me. even with Cameron, the director smiled and kept out of my way.
I had no idea then, that they would fire me several months later and I would sue them in a Mexican court and win.
It was now clouding over and I had forgotten to wear a jacket. Larry still was upset that he had left hid cell in a Seven Eleven. I told him that next time he should not gamble and leave the phone inside the car. We dropped the left overs inside a trash can and said good-by to the Harbor. The spot was one of my favorite spots and will be included in my book about San Diego.
Sprint Shop was closed to we hustled to Best Buy to buy another. Thank God Larry had his Google phone insured. He drove me back to my 'Y' cell. My phone still had not lighted red...I put up my hands and surrendered to sleep when I heard my phone.
It was my green eyed blond haired Mexican friend Juanita, from Juarez. We talked for hours and the only thing she didn't ask was the color of my underwear. (Unedited)
In earlier blogs, his identity had been hidden. I called him Sam the Taxi man. He had driven taxis and pedicabs for several years. Lawrence had also won, after ten trials, a verdict against Twentieth Century Fox. But as a good story teller, I will let the events unfold for you.
Larry bought a spread of Cole Slaw, black beans, and chicken. The only thing he forgot was sliver wear-ware. That would prove to be a big mistake since he rolled the dice at Seven Eleven and left his cell phone there. (Later he found it in a refrigerator.)
Still we ended up at the Harbor, between the two Sheraton Hotels. In back of us stood the San Diego International Airport and across the bay was North Island. We made an early dinner spread on an round tabled umbrella. We viewed a large truck loaded ship and several sail boats. I took his advise and shut my mouth and listened -- something that took me 75 years to do.
I was partners in a Tijuana flower shop on Primavera Street. It was 1996 and I was busy reading the San Diego's United Tribune. I lived in a trailer then and sold flowers to the locals. My partner and I made lots of money in the early eighties. A black Taurus drove up and parked in front of the flower shop. Several well dressed men got out and walked towards my store.
The lead man spoke with a heavy British accent and screamed, . "Does anybody speak English here?"
"I do and how can I help you?"
"Thank God you spik my language. Are you the flower man for the city?"
"I am, and am at your service."
"We are making a movie in Roserito Beach. Can you come to our set?"
"I am at your service."
I drove to the beach. I had lived there for a few years. I saw a gigantic movie set. A movie studio had brought their sets to the beach. I saw an exact replica of the ship Titanic. Their were sets and cranes everywhere. It was a movie city. Ford was too busy to see me but had an assistant take me to large tent.
Inside the commissary was a large long wagon holding trays of of different types of gourmet foods. Prime ribs, chops , and the freshest vegetables graced each table. I indulged and saved a few scraps for my dog Tasha
A gentleman sat down beside me.He introduced himself as Bill Zane and told me he was an actor in the movie. I told him about my credits in the music business and that one of my closest friends was Bob Seger. I had done publicity for some of the biggest rock stars in the seventies.
In the eighties, I was the largest distributor of flowers in North County. began to make a few flowers arrangements. Several years earlier, I was the largest distributor of flowers in North County. I owned acres of flowers and among my clients were Safeway, Vons, Ralph's and a host of other stores.
"Well Larry, you are quite entertaining. I hope we eat together every day during the filming of Titanic. He told me the names of those visitors were Mike Ford, the Art director, and also Antonio Mata, Barry Wilkerson, and Roz Singleton. Wilkerson was the prop maker. (I bump into Mata every day.)
The next day I returned with four vases of flower arrangements. Included were the freshest cuts of colored Roses, Daffodils, and other varieties. I showed the arrangements to Ford the next day.
"F..k..F..k... You are the flower man."
I became the go-to-guy for the production. Any time they needed anything, the film makers came running to me. I brought an refrigerated truck to the set. The flowers had to be fresh at all times.
I changed flowers on four sets, particularly the master bedroom's.. To the dismay of other workers, I would run to my vases and remove and replace the flowers and it did not bother its Director David Cameron one bit. Many were jealous of me. Almost everybody loved me. even with Cameron, the director smiled and kept out of my way.
I had no idea then, that they would fire me several months later and I would sue them in a Mexican court and win.
It was now clouding over and I had forgotten to wear a jacket. Larry still was upset that he had left hid cell in a Seven Eleven. I told him that next time he should not gamble and leave the phone inside the car. We dropped the left overs inside a trash can and said good-by to the Harbor. The spot was one of my favorite spots and will be included in my book about San Diego.
Sprint Shop was closed to we hustled to Best Buy to buy another. Thank God Larry had his Google phone insured. He drove me back to my 'Y' cell. My phone still had not lighted red...I put up my hands and surrendered to sleep when I heard my phone.
It was my green eyed blond haired Mexican friend Juanita, from Juarez. We talked for hours and the only thing she didn't ask was the color of my underwear. (Unedited)
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
A Trip to U.S.C.
Football season is here. Already a few leaves have fallen off the mighty Oak. My sponsor Eddie scolded me for not having my book published. Well, I don't wish to be in hell with Coronal Eddie. I needed to travel to Los Angeles. My brother was in the Huntington Beach Hospital and also I wished to see my two daughters and grand ones, Summer and Spring.
I picked up my car at the Old Town Terminal. I needed a sleeping pill the night before since below me many kids had an all night party at the 'Y'. Yet the Sunday drive went without a hitch. My budget did not allow me to stay at the motels. My daughter found one for only $80 on Santa Monica Blvd. The old motel was called the Stars Inn.
It's Indian manager spoke broken English but did give me room #14. It was just what the doctor ordered. A large old bed for a large old man suited me fine. The bathroom told me its age. There was no commode over the toilet. A handle on the right side removed the waist. The shower took ten minutes to heat the water. It was not a walk-in shower. It was a drop-down one and almost tore my knee up.
But it wasn't all that bad. It was across the street from Little Tehran or the Century City mall. One joint allowed me to make my own hamburger. The menu felt like a computer with too many gadgets and programs. "Waitress, this fandango-ed menu is getting me upset. Just give me a regular burger with onions and tomatoes..and don't forget a clean glass of water and straw." The burger is what I needed.
Most of the Persian women wore more jewelry on their strapless shoes than face. They must spend days manicuring and designing jewelry for each toe. Earlier with my daughter, I sat to enjoy the glitz and glamour of the setting. The Persian men walked behind their caravan. Their wives walked slowly showing little emotion.
They could have been going to have their heads shaved off. Their kids did there thing, darting here and there. Their wenches did not smile or laugh. They were hostage to this display of false wealth.
I felt too anxious the next day to just sit. I decided to go to U.S.C. to take pictures of some of Schindler's football buddies. I took the #14 bus to the #720 Wilshire Rapid, and then a Dart F to the Trojan Campus.
Everywhere I saw remodeling going on. On the second floor are the U.S.C. archives at the Doheney Library. A lady allowed me to remove the 1936-39 U.S.C. yearbooks called the El Rodeo.I took pictures of Ray George, and Mickey Anderson. And there was an article about a 1936 track meet against Ohio State.
An article about Jessie Owens excited me. Schindler told me he had met the Great Jessie at a track meet. The article verified what he had told me. Owens won four events that spring day of 1936. He ran the one hundred yard dash in 9.4 and his other times foreshadowed his performance in Berlin, the sight of the Olympics.
There was also a picture of Schindler as a member of Sigma Alpha Epsilon. I took pictures of Gil Kuhn, the Trojan 36 Captain and also O'Neil, whose uncle and Dad had a hand in the building of the campus.. Also were the pictures of Pole Vaulter Earl Meadows and Discuss thrower Kenneth Carpenter. They won Gold at the 1936 Olympic Games
After taking pictures from the El Rodeo, I took out a sliced turkey spread with apricots and plums. It was too hot to eat. Most of the students were Asian or Caucasian. You could tell they had smarts by their quick movements. I took a picture of me and Tommy Trojan and then went to the book store. I got the name of Cecil Brown, in charge of books.
The Dart F bus drove me back to Figueroa Street, and the #720 Rapid bus took me to Beverly Drive. I had a great time with my second daughter and at about five thirty on Sunday, stopped in at Dina's for a half chicken and potato I loaded up on Coffee for my drive to Encinitas. I parked it and took a leisurly ride back on the 9:36 Amtrak.(Not edited)
I picked up my car at the Old Town Terminal. I needed a sleeping pill the night before since below me many kids had an all night party at the 'Y'. Yet the Sunday drive went without a hitch. My budget did not allow me to stay at the motels. My daughter found one for only $80 on Santa Monica Blvd. The old motel was called the Stars Inn.
It's Indian manager spoke broken English but did give me room #14. It was just what the doctor ordered. A large old bed for a large old man suited me fine. The bathroom told me its age. There was no commode over the toilet. A handle on the right side removed the waist. The shower took ten minutes to heat the water. It was not a walk-in shower. It was a drop-down one and almost tore my knee up.
But it wasn't all that bad. It was across the street from Little Tehran or the Century City mall. One joint allowed me to make my own hamburger. The menu felt like a computer with too many gadgets and programs. "Waitress, this fandango-ed menu is getting me upset. Just give me a regular burger with onions and tomatoes..and don't forget a clean glass of water and straw." The burger is what I needed.
Most of the Persian women wore more jewelry on their strapless shoes than face. They must spend days manicuring and designing jewelry for each toe. Earlier with my daughter, I sat to enjoy the glitz and glamour of the setting. The Persian men walked behind their caravan. Their wives walked slowly showing little emotion.
They could have been going to have their heads shaved off. Their kids did there thing, darting here and there. Their wenches did not smile or laugh. They were hostage to this display of false wealth.
I felt too anxious the next day to just sit. I decided to go to U.S.C. to take pictures of some of Schindler's football buddies. I took the #14 bus to the #720 Wilshire Rapid, and then a Dart F to the Trojan Campus.
Everywhere I saw remodeling going on. On the second floor are the U.S.C. archives at the Doheney Library. A lady allowed me to remove the 1936-39 U.S.C. yearbooks called the El Rodeo.I took pictures of Ray George, and Mickey Anderson. And there was an article about a 1936 track meet against Ohio State.
An article about Jessie Owens excited me. Schindler told me he had met the Great Jessie at a track meet. The article verified what he had told me. Owens won four events that spring day of 1936. He ran the one hundred yard dash in 9.4 and his other times foreshadowed his performance in Berlin, the sight of the Olympics.
There was also a picture of Schindler as a member of Sigma Alpha Epsilon. I took pictures of Gil Kuhn, the Trojan 36 Captain and also O'Neil, whose uncle and Dad had a hand in the building of the campus.. Also were the pictures of Pole Vaulter Earl Meadows and Discuss thrower Kenneth Carpenter. They won Gold at the 1936 Olympic Games
After taking pictures from the El Rodeo, I took out a sliced turkey spread with apricots and plums. It was too hot to eat. Most of the students were Asian or Caucasian. You could tell they had smarts by their quick movements. I took a picture of me and Tommy Trojan and then went to the book store. I got the name of Cecil Brown, in charge of books.
The Dart F bus drove me back to Figueroa Street, and the #720 Rapid bus took me to Beverly Drive. I had a great time with my second daughter and at about five thirty on Sunday, stopped in at Dina's for a half chicken and potato I loaded up on Coffee for my drive to Encinitas. I parked it and took a leisurly ride back on the 9:36 Amtrak.(Not edited)
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Electric Shock at V.A Hospital
My day began the right way, on the steps of the 'Y' hotel. Again a northwesterly massaged my lungs with a little coffee for a pick-me-up. In front of me, the City National Bank was having its scaffold removed. For over six months, the bank tried to create a new image. Banker's Corner also has the B of A and Union Banks. It is in the American Plaza area.
With a coffee in my right hand, I enjoyed the circus in front of me. Over twenty Mexicans carried the wood from the scaffold down to the one below them until another placed boards on the cement floor. It was precision as each man sang the Mexican song Blow the Man Down sung in Spanish. (Many come on the Blue Trolley for work.)
Again no clouds and a bright sunny day told me to put more sun screen on my nose, ears and the top of my head. The midday San Diego sun hits you at eleven o'clock since it is closer to the Ecuador. A Kaiser skin doctor told me a fortune could be made with ear protectors.
A young hairless man tried to negotiate the steps. I cuddled a conversation with him.
"Tell me what you drank last night. I wish to copy you tonight."
"Two quarts of pure vodka. Yes-sir, two quarts." He tripped but made it to the 'Y's entrance hall. The other hairless one below me quipped a few more words and I responded.
"It is my birthday this Sunday. I will be celebrating with a trip to see my grand daughters, Summer and Spring."
"How old are you?"
"75, yes 75."
'Don't jive me. Why do you look so young?"
I can't afford Vodka. But seriously, I gave up booze for dance many years ago. I take lessons every week in Balboa Park.
At the point, Frank invited me to breakfast at the Grand Cafe, inside the Y.M.C.A. A year ago I would have refused but found the young man needed company. Besides, my 75th would be tomorrow. How I stayed alive and coped with asthma and high blood pressure I will never know.
"Let's sit at the bar." he begged. He ordered a breakfast burrito and not to disturb him ordered the same with chili.
"Do you serve vodka here?" he inquired to the waitress.
"Sure do."
Frank gulped down the first shot. He showed me a picture of his girl friend's license. "I took her license after she threw my cell phone out the 'Y's window and punched me in the face. I called the police and he wrote it up.
I wondered why the 'Y' still provides no security. I saw a girl last night threaten to jump from my floor. She waved to me from the outside fire escape. The waitress gave him another. Without interrupting him, I will summarize his story to save time and boredom.
"My head was blown up by a mine in Fallujah. I had been taking electric shock treatments at the V.A in San Diego every other day. It screwed up my memory...I even was arrested and thrown into a T.J jail. They hate gringos there. They did not feed me for two weeks. I lost twenty pounds."
"I hitched up after 9/11. I had served four years now in the Army and get a $2000 dollar disability pension. Mom has Pancreatic cancer. I have my own apartment in Scranton, Pennsylvania, where I was born. There is nothing to do but watch our local team. It is a New York farm team."
"I lift weights and do a lot of mountain climbing. I was religious until the war. I saw too many heads cut off by those bastard Talaban or whatever. They don't care about life. I killed many with my hangrenade rnade throwers."
Well Frank, got to go now. Remember the closer you get to God, the less Vodka you will need.
With a coffee in my right hand, I enjoyed the circus in front of me. Over twenty Mexicans carried the wood from the scaffold down to the one below them until another placed boards on the cement floor. It was precision as each man sang the Mexican song Blow the Man Down sung in Spanish. (Many come on the Blue Trolley for work.)
Again no clouds and a bright sunny day told me to put more sun screen on my nose, ears and the top of my head. The midday San Diego sun hits you at eleven o'clock since it is closer to the Ecuador. A Kaiser skin doctor told me a fortune could be made with ear protectors.
A young hairless man tried to negotiate the steps. I cuddled a conversation with him.
"Tell me what you drank last night. I wish to copy you tonight."
"Two quarts of pure vodka. Yes-sir, two quarts." He tripped but made it to the 'Y's entrance hall. The other hairless one below me quipped a few more words and I responded.
"It is my birthday this Sunday. I will be celebrating with a trip to see my grand daughters, Summer and Spring."
"How old are you?"
"75, yes 75."
'Don't jive me. Why do you look so young?"
I can't afford Vodka. But seriously, I gave up booze for dance many years ago. I take lessons every week in Balboa Park.
At the point, Frank invited me to breakfast at the Grand Cafe, inside the Y.M.C.A. A year ago I would have refused but found the young man needed company. Besides, my 75th would be tomorrow. How I stayed alive and coped with asthma and high blood pressure I will never know.
"Let's sit at the bar." he begged. He ordered a breakfast burrito and not to disturb him ordered the same with chili.
"Do you serve vodka here?" he inquired to the waitress.
"Sure do."
Frank gulped down the first shot. He showed me a picture of his girl friend's license. "I took her license after she threw my cell phone out the 'Y's window and punched me in the face. I called the police and he wrote it up.
I wondered why the 'Y' still provides no security. I saw a girl last night threaten to jump from my floor. She waved to me from the outside fire escape. The waitress gave him another. Without interrupting him, I will summarize his story to save time and boredom.
"My head was blown up by a mine in Fallujah. I had been taking electric shock treatments at the V.A in San Diego every other day. It screwed up my memory...I even was arrested and thrown into a T.J jail. They hate gringos there. They did not feed me for two weeks. I lost twenty pounds."
"I hitched up after 9/11. I had served four years now in the Army and get a $2000 dollar disability pension. Mom has Pancreatic cancer. I have my own apartment in Scranton, Pennsylvania, where I was born. There is nothing to do but watch our local team. It is a New York farm team."
"I lift weights and do a lot of mountain climbing. I was religious until the war. I saw too many heads cut off by those bastard Talaban or whatever. They don't care about life. I killed many with my hangrenade rnade throwers."
Well Frank, got to go now. Remember the closer you get to God, the less Vodka you will need.
Friday, August 15, 2014
A Return to my Favorite Beach, O.B.
OB for me means BK Printing. I need fliers made for a preview of my up-and-coming Schindler Story. I do look forward to this Jewish Mexican. His name is Salomon. And since Ocean Beach's locals are rough around the edges, what better place to be than today. I have always been rough around the edges, but now know how to smooth them out.
I said good-by to the Monsoons of August and hello to a northwesterly wind. Not a cloud in the sky, but wait, since the August sun would cream my bald spot. I needed an umbrella so I bought one on Newton Street after a breakfast at the popular eatery, the Old Town Restaurant.
I had taken the #35 Ocean City bus out of old town. Most of the riders were domestics going to their jobs at Arby's, Big Mac's or one of the hotels along the way. The bus was full. Three forty five year-old's were playing can you top this. They acted like kids inside grownup attire. The #35 ended up on Cable Street where I got off.
The previous day, I had danced with a lovely green-eyed Mexican with blond hair. I met her at the Balboa Park Ballroom and we hit it off. We liked the same movies and enjoyed dancing. So with a beautiful day it was perfect to go to my favorite print shop.
All of the tables had been taken over by heavy local eaters. Each crammed the hash browns or hot cakes into their eager mouths while I took a stool by the counter. My appetite was hefty after the two hours of dancing the day before. In fact, I never felt so good.
"Is that the special on the wall? Good. I will take it but make sure no milk is put on my scrambled eggs. And I want a lemon slice over my water."
"You sure you don't wish coffee?"
A young couple was pawing at each other. They also savored the food as well as each other. The Y was just up the street. Never have so many people enjoyed eating so much. Your could hear them mash the food. A young man next to me began a conversation. Not to bore you to death, I will sum up what he told me about Ocean Beach.
'My Dad, who is eighty five, used to fish for tuna. He and many other Italians had fishing boats out of Point Loma Landing. It is just up the street from us. The Navy enlisted their refrigerated crafts for the war effort in the Pacific...Many did not make it back...I grew up here and still dig for clams. Two blocks from here is the end of the San Diego River where it meets Mission Bay. Every week, I shovel up the clams from the sand bars."
"How do you cook the clams?"
'Just steam them and throw butter on top. The fishing license is $59 dollars each year. I don't surf but love to fish."
"Well what is your name? Bet you are about twenty five years old."
"No I am forty five with three kids. I live in Mission Bay. How old are you?"
"Well my birthday is in two days. I will be seventy five years of age."
'No way. You don't look a day past sixty."
'That is what my new green eyed friend told me. She wanted to know why I looked so young. I told her I was named after the son of Moses. Moses lived to be 120 years old. I told her my body resembled one in its thirties but my head does not lie. My eyes close at eight o'clock sharp."
Frank told me that all he fish are brought in from Mexico. He recommended a half day boat and a trip to Cabo San Lucus. He told me it was the most beautiful island in the world. The Aerospace engineer soon left after we exchanged cards.
From there I waked to BK's at the end of Newton Street and spoke with Solamon. I asked him to think about fliers for my book promotion. It was real hot and somehow, I knew meeting my green-eyed Mexican had something to do with spicing up Friday.
I said good-by to the Monsoons of August and hello to a northwesterly wind. Not a cloud in the sky, but wait, since the August sun would cream my bald spot. I needed an umbrella so I bought one on Newton Street after a breakfast at the popular eatery, the Old Town Restaurant.
I had taken the #35 Ocean City bus out of old town. Most of the riders were domestics going to their jobs at Arby's, Big Mac's or one of the hotels along the way. The bus was full. Three forty five year-old's were playing can you top this. They acted like kids inside grownup attire. The #35 ended up on Cable Street where I got off.
The previous day, I had danced with a lovely green-eyed Mexican with blond hair. I met her at the Balboa Park Ballroom and we hit it off. We liked the same movies and enjoyed dancing. So with a beautiful day it was perfect to go to my favorite print shop.
All of the tables had been taken over by heavy local eaters. Each crammed the hash browns or hot cakes into their eager mouths while I took a stool by the counter. My appetite was hefty after the two hours of dancing the day before. In fact, I never felt so good.
"Is that the special on the wall? Good. I will take it but make sure no milk is put on my scrambled eggs. And I want a lemon slice over my water."
"You sure you don't wish coffee?"
A young couple was pawing at each other. They also savored the food as well as each other. The Y was just up the street. Never have so many people enjoyed eating so much. Your could hear them mash the food. A young man next to me began a conversation. Not to bore you to death, I will sum up what he told me about Ocean Beach.
'My Dad, who is eighty five, used to fish for tuna. He and many other Italians had fishing boats out of Point Loma Landing. It is just up the street from us. The Navy enlisted their refrigerated crafts for the war effort in the Pacific...Many did not make it back...I grew up here and still dig for clams. Two blocks from here is the end of the San Diego River where it meets Mission Bay. Every week, I shovel up the clams from the sand bars."
"How do you cook the clams?"
'Just steam them and throw butter on top. The fishing license is $59 dollars each year. I don't surf but love to fish."
"Well what is your name? Bet you are about twenty five years old."
"No I am forty five with three kids. I live in Mission Bay. How old are you?"
"Well my birthday is in two days. I will be seventy five years of age."
'No way. You don't look a day past sixty."
'That is what my new green eyed friend told me. She wanted to know why I looked so young. I told her I was named after the son of Moses. Moses lived to be 120 years old. I told her my body resembled one in its thirties but my head does not lie. My eyes close at eight o'clock sharp."
Frank told me that all he fish are brought in from Mexico. He recommended a half day boat and a trip to Cabo San Lucus. He told me it was the most beautiful island in the world. The Aerospace engineer soon left after we exchanged cards.
From there I waked to BK's at the end of Newton Street and spoke with Solamon. I asked him to think about fliers for my book promotion. It was real hot and somehow, I knew meeting my green-eyed Mexican had something to do with spicing up Friday.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Death on the Rails
The Coaster #660 stopped too long in Sorrento Valley. The sound of sirens came closer and closer on Pacific Highway. Somebody whispered that the "fire trucks were for us".
The Encinitas station had been jammed with Padre fans. Six packs, bags of whiskey, were packed away by these fans to watch their beloved Padres go up against Colorado Rockies. It was a night game. Al most all were younger than thirty. They paid too much for their box seats or lodges but it was worth it. Their team had strung together many victories. A new Padre Dynasty was in the making.
I had just finished a heavy dinner at Big John's, as the locals call the eatery. The Tip Top has kept my engine running ever since I had moved to the San Diego area. From the Carlsbad restaurant, I drove to Costco to have my 1940-50 super 8 films converted into a DVD. I could still taste the delicious Idaho as I parked my car in the Encinitas Commuter parking lot.
There wasn't a seat to be had. I was stuck with a gal who kept on jabbering to one who pretended to listen. I was focused on my book. About one hundred boarded the #660 going south to San Diego. Their weariness contrasted with the excitement of the fans wishing to inhale another Padre victory. After five minutes, the conductor came on the intercom.
"We have had an emergency on board the train. Please stay in your seats. I will notify you when we will continue." I felt glad to have brought a book aboard. Surely the stop wouldn't be long. It happened to me a year ago and it took a coroner about an hour to arrive and another three to complete his autopsy.
Twenty minutes passed. Jubilation changed to anarchy. The young folks began to jostle each other. Hell, some spent over a hundred smackers for a pair of box seats. The guy in back of me told me he would propose to his girl friend. Now everything was on hold, including cupid. The conductor came back on again.
"We are sorry for the inconvenience. Will all passengers exit to track two....Again, will all passengers leave to track two."
I got up and left the train. Everyone else just sat until it dawned on them. The discontented crowded the second track. It was now 6 o'clock. My heart began to pound. Would I be another body to be examined by the coroner?
Just then I saw up ahead another train. It was moving. It was moving north. What the hell. And guess who the conductor was? It was engineer "Smarty Pants". I had met him on the tracks three years ago. He is always happy and running here and there to put out fires. He has a joke for everything. You might say were our good friends. He works hard to send his two boys to a charter school. He is one of many who don't believe in San Diego public schools.
I made my decision. I jumped aboard the #661 our of San Diego. I knew the Amtrak # 784 would leave Encinitas at about seven twenty. And Besides, my car was parked there with some large mangoes bought at the Grand Market, in back of Tip Top. Of course I made a few jokes. Nobody had paid attention to the train that stopped dead on track one
At six thirty I enjoyed a Mango and took up a seat at the local pizza store. A few teenage gals showed off their latest tattoos and high healed shoes. A few skateboarders said hello to me while a homeless one tasted an empty can from the trash.
I got on board the #661 going south to the Santa Fe Station. I made it! Only a few cocaine addict kids were on board. I read my book about the Duchess of York. Somehow I felt like a Duke riding my Amtrak to the downtown area.
I turned on the T.V. to see how the Padres were doing. They were ahead 4 to 0 in the ninth inning. Of course my ball game had already been won long ago, ever since I have walked in HIS shoes.
The Encinitas station had been jammed with Padre fans. Six packs, bags of whiskey, were packed away by these fans to watch their beloved Padres go up against Colorado Rockies. It was a night game. Al most all were younger than thirty. They paid too much for their box seats or lodges but it was worth it. Their team had strung together many victories. A new Padre Dynasty was in the making.
I had just finished a heavy dinner at Big John's, as the locals call the eatery. The Tip Top has kept my engine running ever since I had moved to the San Diego area. From the Carlsbad restaurant, I drove to Costco to have my 1940-50 super 8 films converted into a DVD. I could still taste the delicious Idaho as I parked my car in the Encinitas Commuter parking lot.
There wasn't a seat to be had. I was stuck with a gal who kept on jabbering to one who pretended to listen. I was focused on my book. About one hundred boarded the #660 going south to San Diego. Their weariness contrasted with the excitement of the fans wishing to inhale another Padre victory. After five minutes, the conductor came on the intercom.
"We have had an emergency on board the train. Please stay in your seats. I will notify you when we will continue." I felt glad to have brought a book aboard. Surely the stop wouldn't be long. It happened to me a year ago and it took a coroner about an hour to arrive and another three to complete his autopsy.
Twenty minutes passed. Jubilation changed to anarchy. The young folks began to jostle each other. Hell, some spent over a hundred smackers for a pair of box seats. The guy in back of me told me he would propose to his girl friend. Now everything was on hold, including cupid. The conductor came back on again.
"We are sorry for the inconvenience. Will all passengers exit to track two....Again, will all passengers leave to track two."
I got up and left the train. Everyone else just sat until it dawned on them. The discontented crowded the second track. It was now 6 o'clock. My heart began to pound. Would I be another body to be examined by the coroner?
Just then I saw up ahead another train. It was moving. It was moving north. What the hell. And guess who the conductor was? It was engineer "Smarty Pants". I had met him on the tracks three years ago. He is always happy and running here and there to put out fires. He has a joke for everything. You might say were our good friends. He works hard to send his two boys to a charter school. He is one of many who don't believe in San Diego public schools.
I made my decision. I jumped aboard the #661 our of San Diego. I knew the Amtrak # 784 would leave Encinitas at about seven twenty. And Besides, my car was parked there with some large mangoes bought at the Grand Market, in back of Tip Top. Of course I made a few jokes. Nobody had paid attention to the train that stopped dead on track one
At six thirty I enjoyed a Mango and took up a seat at the local pizza store. A few teenage gals showed off their latest tattoos and high healed shoes. A few skateboarders said hello to me while a homeless one tasted an empty can from the trash.
I got on board the #661 going south to the Santa Fe Station. I made it! Only a few cocaine addict kids were on board. I read my book about the Duchess of York. Somehow I felt like a Duke riding my Amtrak to the downtown area.
I turned on the T.V. to see how the Padres were doing. They were ahead 4 to 0 in the ninth inning. Of course my ball game had already been won long ago, ever since I have walked in HIS shoes.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
See Coronado Free
The greatest view of San Diego is free for me. I have a $41 compass card that puts me on buses, trolleys, and most trains. I needed to pay for a lost book and knew a bus ride over the Coronado bridge would be just what the doctor ordered. It is only $1.10 for a one way ticket or five dollars for an old day pass.
I picked up the #901 bus on Third Avenue and Broadway. It was about ten thirty and the bus comes about every thirty minutes. A good idea is to have some munchies and a water bottle. No need for a book since the ride is divine.
The 901 meanders through tenth Avenue until Park Blvd. From there is weaves around to the Imperial Terminal, and takes a rest stop. The new passengers are homeless, domestics or tourists wishing to see the Island most talked about. It travels onto Imperial until National and then proceeds to the on-ramp of the bridge.
Below is the train yards that brings new cars, cattle or other products towards Los Angeles later that evening. Also is the Naval piers that are mainly empty today, what wild fires flashing everywhere. The Tijuana mountains are to the south and the San Diego skyline are to my north.
The bus takes third street and swivels to fourth before it turns right on Orange Street. To the left is the way to the Coronado Ferry and its vintage shops. The 901 makes a right to the library on Fifth Street. An advertisement on the corner is posted. Their local bus offers free bus rides every thirty minutes and comes between nine to nine at night.
The #904 ride is free. It takes you to the famous Hotel Del, old downtown, Glorietta Bay, and the Marriott hotel among other stops. Next time I will partake in a luncheon at the Del Hotel. I pay the $25 dollar fine and leave the gorgeous library with outdated computers. There is only two in the computer room today. Backtracking is easy. I take the #901 bus in the other direction. Again we visit the Coronado Bridge.
Many buy the all-day five dollar bus pass and take the number 7 bus to Balboa Park.
Hunger grips me. On Park Blvd, the bus dispatches me to Lolita's where I order and delight in a enchilada dish with beans and rice. I walk a few more blocks and take the trolley back to the American Plaza, a block from the Y.M.C.A.
I picked up the #901 bus on Third Avenue and Broadway. It was about ten thirty and the bus comes about every thirty minutes. A good idea is to have some munchies and a water bottle. No need for a book since the ride is divine.
The 901 meanders through tenth Avenue until Park Blvd. From there is weaves around to the Imperial Terminal, and takes a rest stop. The new passengers are homeless, domestics or tourists wishing to see the Island most talked about. It travels onto Imperial until National and then proceeds to the on-ramp of the bridge.
Below is the train yards that brings new cars, cattle or other products towards Los Angeles later that evening. Also is the Naval piers that are mainly empty today, what wild fires flashing everywhere. The Tijuana mountains are to the south and the San Diego skyline are to my north.
The bus takes third street and swivels to fourth before it turns right on Orange Street. To the left is the way to the Coronado Ferry and its vintage shops. The 901 makes a right to the library on Fifth Street. An advertisement on the corner is posted. Their local bus offers free bus rides every thirty minutes and comes between nine to nine at night.
The #904 ride is free. It takes you to the famous Hotel Del, old downtown, Glorietta Bay, and the Marriott hotel among other stops. Next time I will partake in a luncheon at the Del Hotel. I pay the $25 dollar fine and leave the gorgeous library with outdated computers. There is only two in the computer room today. Backtracking is easy. I take the #901 bus in the other direction. Again we visit the Coronado Bridge.
Many buy the all-day five dollar bus pass and take the number 7 bus to Balboa Park.
Hunger grips me. On Park Blvd, the bus dispatches me to Lolita's where I order and delight in a enchilada dish with beans and rice. I walk a few more blocks and take the trolley back to the American Plaza, a block from the Y.M.C.A.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
La Jolla Village
The prospects of moving made me on edge. Anytime I moved anywhere, my nerves got the better of me. I told Sam the Taxi man to wait till next week. We were going to write about Titanic, filmed in Rosarito Beach. Yet I needed a time out yesterday for clean air.
After a visit to the Scripps Mercy's Hospital for my grilled spinach fix with scrambled eggs. I thought about a lazy day watching a movie in La Jolla. I read the New York Times and left for the La Jolla Village Shopping Center off of the Five Freeway.
After a few left turns I parked my car in front of Chase Bank. A blue disabled parking spot made me feel safe no ticket would be mine Instead of walking across the street, I thought about plopping down inside the Whole Foods Market. My lungs needed to wash the film of filth from San Diego air. And was I in for a surprise.
Whole Foods was a City within a City. My eyes lit up when I saw few tending bar to my right with a tavern next to it. Table and seats had several drinking one or the thirty types of ale. A large deli was set up to the left of it, but what struck me eyes were the lavish assortment at the salad bar of all salad bars.
I sat down to read about The Duchess of Windsor by Charles Highham. After thirty minutes, I decided to partake in the luscious salad bowls in front of me. My body needed greens and this treasure trove of vegetables would not be denied. So what if it was $8.44 a pound, this was my day to relax and a few dollars was worth it.
My body jumped with ecstasy with each bite. Good food and whole air was what I needed most. I drank four paper cups of delicious water. The gals kept streaming in. They all looked to be out of Glamour or Vogue magazines. I guess at soon-to-be seventy five I missed my calling. Alive again, I sauntered over to the Landmark movie house at 2 o'clock. Anything goes today George. I settled for a Woody Allen movie and a seven dollar bag of pop corn. The plot was narrow but the music of the twenties filled my mind. I sang after the movie.
I took a dancing lesson later on and slept like a baby that night.
After a visit to the Scripps Mercy's Hospital for my grilled spinach fix with scrambled eggs. I thought about a lazy day watching a movie in La Jolla. I read the New York Times and left for the La Jolla Village Shopping Center off of the Five Freeway.
After a few left turns I parked my car in front of Chase Bank. A blue disabled parking spot made me feel safe no ticket would be mine Instead of walking across the street, I thought about plopping down inside the Whole Foods Market. My lungs needed to wash the film of filth from San Diego air. And was I in for a surprise.
Whole Foods was a City within a City. My eyes lit up when I saw few tending bar to my right with a tavern next to it. Table and seats had several drinking one or the thirty types of ale. A large deli was set up to the left of it, but what struck me eyes were the lavish assortment at the salad bar of all salad bars.
I sat down to read about The Duchess of Windsor by Charles Highham. After thirty minutes, I decided to partake in the luscious salad bowls in front of me. My body needed greens and this treasure trove of vegetables would not be denied. So what if it was $8.44 a pound, this was my day to relax and a few dollars was worth it.
My body jumped with ecstasy with each bite. Good food and whole air was what I needed most. I drank four paper cups of delicious water. The gals kept streaming in. They all looked to be out of Glamour or Vogue magazines. I guess at soon-to-be seventy five I missed my calling. Alive again, I sauntered over to the Landmark movie house at 2 o'clock. Anything goes today George. I settled for a Woody Allen movie and a seven dollar bag of pop corn. The plot was narrow but the music of the twenties filled my mind. I sang after the movie.
I took a dancing lesson later on and slept like a baby that night.
The Y.M.C.A. Courtyard
The Y.M.C.A courtyard was the scene for this post. Now let me warn you, this event is highly charged so the meek should turn away from it. The head of San Diego HUD, Kettle Corn, had arrived along with his faithful servant, Marsh Mellow.
A few months earlier, the hotel had been bought by an Egyptian team that tried to rid themselves of the Section 8 or other low income citizens to make way for a five hotel by demolishing the old one. A staff member told me that Todd Gloria had given them permission to buy the iconic 1924 building. (Toddy was the Mayor Pro-Temp while Ex-Mayor Felt-more was in rehab. He will run for Mayor of San Diego in two years.)
In May the new owners placed a notice under my door at about seven at night. Notices are always placed at night in hope that our misguided sleep might lead to stress early death. They had offered carrots of green to rid themselves of this blotch on their hotel. (The resettlement letter did its job, perhaps the same way Hitler did it to the misguided Jews.)
Most of second floor dwellers fell for the bait. The new owners, the Monster Brothers celebrated with a bazaar celebration as to their new wealth. Some of the tenants now live on the streets but still a few good residents remained.
Of course I needed to get a floor plan of where I could set up shop. A visit to their Broadway headquarters told me nobody was home except a half English speaking Latina. I left my card with a security guard on a Friday. Kettle Corn was on a vacation on Friday.
Monday morning my phone rang. I had never heard the speaker before. He told me he was baffled by the notice we got. Two days later, the Monster Brothers placed another letter under my door. It apologized for the previous intrusion inside our domains.
After that the hot water was turned off. No more shampoo was placed into dispensers. One of the Monster Brothers sat in the lobby one early evening. I told him how disappointed it was to shave without hot water. I receded to the stairs and hear a booming noise. It appeared he shouted at Bobby Nicotine, to turn the hot water back on. The next morning I took my first hot water shower in two weeks. The lack of hot water scalded my memory and creative chips. I didn't write as well without my hot shower since that is when I speak to HIM.
."Let's move to the outside where their is more room," Bobby Nicotine demanded. He directed the circus outside in the courtyard. He became the new manager after Sir Thomas Cartwright had been dumped. Sir Thomas made everyone unhappy. He had some obsessive disorder. He was always checking everything for dust....but that is another story.
The sun hovered over us at two o'clock. already seated were wheel chair, stutterer, insanity, lost, and a few others. Kettle Corn sat quietly while Marsh Mellow answered questions. About thirteen remains of the day asked questions. I hastily returned upstairs for my umbrella and returned to hear the questions.
"I have looked all over but there are long waiting lists...I make too much money...I've gone to several places only to be turned away." The questions illustrated the futility of HUD. I wondered why it was needed since San Diego was doing away with the poor and middle class.
I asked Marsh Mellow if the building was going to be "demolished".
"I know about as much as you do. The old owners went through bankruptcy, and that is all that I know. Also, we don't know if the 'Y' will be demolished or not."
Like her name, Marsha tried to mellow out the heat of the day. It allowed Kettle Corn to relax and not be eaten up by these soon-to-be homeless inmates.
At that point, Smiling Wong entered the courtyard. Her over zealous smile made me forget why we were here. Marsh and Kettle smiled and welcomed the relief pitcher.
Yes it was the ninth inning, and the HUD people worried a few would stay in their cockroach, bedbugs infested rooms. Marsh asked her to speak.
"I have the answer to your problems. My building has about 25 air conditioned studios left. I have brought applications. The apartments are on fourteenth and Imperial." My mouth opened wide and threw out words I could not hold back.
"Kettle Corn told me about them. The studios are housed inside a unsafe area of San Diego. The homeless are entrenched outside with their their tents, sleeping bags, and Ralph's shopping carts. No place for a grandfather to see his family."
"Wait a minute. I have walked safely to Petco Park and haven't been raped or killed yet. We have 24 hour security."
Well as you can see, the city has placed blinders on the rest of us. no more do they offer low income housing. Instead, more and more hotels will be converted to bring in more tax money to the San Diego treasury. The city will produce more homeless, and future terrorists. It is time the city council has more open meetings.
Yet I wonder what would happen if all of us remained after the fourth of September.
A few months earlier, the hotel had been bought by an Egyptian team that tried to rid themselves of the Section 8 or other low income citizens to make way for a five hotel by demolishing the old one. A staff member told me that Todd Gloria had given them permission to buy the iconic 1924 building. (Toddy was the Mayor Pro-Temp while Ex-Mayor Felt-more was in rehab. He will run for Mayor of San Diego in two years.)
In May the new owners placed a notice under my door at about seven at night. Notices are always placed at night in hope that our misguided sleep might lead to stress early death. They had offered carrots of green to rid themselves of this blotch on their hotel. (The resettlement letter did its job, perhaps the same way Hitler did it to the misguided Jews.)
Most of second floor dwellers fell for the bait. The new owners, the Monster Brothers celebrated with a bazaar celebration as to their new wealth. Some of the tenants now live on the streets but still a few good residents remained.
Of course I needed to get a floor plan of where I could set up shop. A visit to their Broadway headquarters told me nobody was home except a half English speaking Latina. I left my card with a security guard on a Friday. Kettle Corn was on a vacation on Friday.
Monday morning my phone rang. I had never heard the speaker before. He told me he was baffled by the notice we got. Two days later, the Monster Brothers placed another letter under my door. It apologized for the previous intrusion inside our domains.
After that the hot water was turned off. No more shampoo was placed into dispensers. One of the Monster Brothers sat in the lobby one early evening. I told him how disappointed it was to shave without hot water. I receded to the stairs and hear a booming noise. It appeared he shouted at Bobby Nicotine, to turn the hot water back on. The next morning I took my first hot water shower in two weeks. The lack of hot water scalded my memory and creative chips. I didn't write as well without my hot shower since that is when I speak to HIM.
."Let's move to the outside where their is more room," Bobby Nicotine demanded. He directed the circus outside in the courtyard. He became the new manager after Sir Thomas Cartwright had been dumped. Sir Thomas made everyone unhappy. He had some obsessive disorder. He was always checking everything for dust....but that is another story.
The sun hovered over us at two o'clock. already seated were wheel chair, stutterer, insanity, lost, and a few others. Kettle Corn sat quietly while Marsh Mellow answered questions. About thirteen remains of the day asked questions. I hastily returned upstairs for my umbrella and returned to hear the questions.
"I have looked all over but there are long waiting lists...I make too much money...I've gone to several places only to be turned away." The questions illustrated the futility of HUD. I wondered why it was needed since San Diego was doing away with the poor and middle class.
I asked Marsh Mellow if the building was going to be "demolished".
"I know about as much as you do. The old owners went through bankruptcy, and that is all that I know. Also, we don't know if the 'Y' will be demolished or not."
Like her name, Marsha tried to mellow out the heat of the day. It allowed Kettle Corn to relax and not be eaten up by these soon-to-be homeless inmates.
At that point, Smiling Wong entered the courtyard. Her over zealous smile made me forget why we were here. Marsh and Kettle smiled and welcomed the relief pitcher.
Yes it was the ninth inning, and the HUD people worried a few would stay in their cockroach, bedbugs infested rooms. Marsh asked her to speak.
"I have the answer to your problems. My building has about 25 air conditioned studios left. I have brought applications. The apartments are on fourteenth and Imperial." My mouth opened wide and threw out words I could not hold back.
"Kettle Corn told me about them. The studios are housed inside a unsafe area of San Diego. The homeless are entrenched outside with their their tents, sleeping bags, and Ralph's shopping carts. No place for a grandfather to see his family."
"Wait a minute. I have walked safely to Petco Park and haven't been raped or killed yet. We have 24 hour security."
Well as you can see, the city has placed blinders on the rest of us. no more do they offer low income housing. Instead, more and more hotels will be converted to bring in more tax money to the San Diego treasury. The city will produce more homeless, and future terrorists. It is time the city council has more open meetings.
Yet I wonder what would happen if all of us remained after the fourth of September.
Monday, August 4, 2014
That Old Town Fig Tree
August the 16th of 1939 was when I was born to Edith and Harry Goldberg. The seventh month also breeds figs. I needed something to remove the taste of the Monsoonal weather in San Diego. Old Town provides all the figs I need in the summer months. A policeman escorted a bearded back-packer out of the park. The city fathers wish all the homeless to seek out downtown San Diego to make the tourist experience a memorable one..
After a short trip on the #567 Amtrak, I de-trained at Old Town and made my way to the grand fig tree. Two lonesome Sparrows showed me the way provided I allowed them to feast on the fruit at the top of the mighty tree. I picked ripe figs and dropped them into my Ralph's shopping bag.
The overripe ones I dropped into my mouth and sucked their skins until they evaporated. My mouth unraveled the skin and sucked it in. The first figs of the season lifted my spirits.
I said "hello' to a passing a yellow blooming tree, one of many in Old Town today. I stolled to the old church built close to Father Serra's original. The Immaculate Conception Church was packed like always. I walked up to the Choir area where several others were sequestered.The organ music put me into a spell I no not how to explain.
In the Rectory room I celebrated by eating four donuts, and two cups of orange juice. But I just knew the rest of my day would be blissful. I gave Maud some of my figs. She promised to return with fig jam next week. Her caretaker Lynn looked so lovely Harry and I could not take our eyes off of this tall Goddess. She is also a great artist. .
I took a contrary action after my second Mass. Computer work would have to take a back seat to Bing Crosby and Del Mar. The voice of Bing Crosby singing from an old platinum record excites me. I used my Compass Card to board Amtrak's ten forty which stopped in Solana Beach. From there I hopped on the double decked bus for my ride to the track. My yellow Diamond Card allowed me half off of admission and included a free program. The elevator took me to the fifth floor where I found a seat overlooking the track.
It was clouded and a very muggy. It felt bad so many horses buckled and were destroyed because of the turf course. As an old grass grower, I knew it took several months for grass to embed itself into the soil. Otherwise, I slid and fell during our touch football games.
I finished off a peanut butter sandwich and watched the fist two races. The third interested me since Drayden Van Dyke rode the number one, My Jealous. Patty the Hat came out ahead betting on him at Los Alamitos. The program listed this four year old at 15/l. It was a claiming race for horses three years and up. I bet the one and Desormeax's number 5.
My Jealous smoked out of the gate leaving the others to choke on dust. I knew he would not finish the race...yet there saddle cloth 1 remained to dike the others into submission. I felt like a millionaire and ran to the windows. Instead, all the cashier gave me was a few bob over thirteen dollars. The horse must have been bet down to five to one.
In the infield I saw a multitude of fans leaving the track. Now the rain mixed into the turf and my breathing apparatus opened up. I spent the next race watching horses being saddled until my eyes began to close.
I pictured myself as an owner helping Van Dyke up on my horse, George's Birthday.
 |
| A bloomin' Tree |
The overripe ones I dropped into my mouth and sucked their skins until they evaporated. My mouth unraveled the skin and sucked it in. The first figs of the season lifted my spirits.
I said "hello' to a passing a yellow blooming tree, one of many in Old Town today. I stolled to the old church built close to Father Serra's original. The Immaculate Conception Church was packed like always. I walked up to the Choir area where several others were sequestered.The organ music put me into a spell I no not how to explain.
In the Rectory room I celebrated by eating four donuts, and two cups of orange juice. But I just knew the rest of my day would be blissful. I gave Maud some of my figs. She promised to return with fig jam next week. Her caretaker Lynn looked so lovely Harry and I could not take our eyes off of this tall Goddess. She is also a great artist. .
I took a contrary action after my second Mass. Computer work would have to take a back seat to Bing Crosby and Del Mar. The voice of Bing Crosby singing from an old platinum record excites me. I used my Compass Card to board Amtrak's ten forty which stopped in Solana Beach. From there I hopped on the double decked bus for my ride to the track. My yellow Diamond Card allowed me half off of admission and included a free program. The elevator took me to the fifth floor where I found a seat overlooking the track.
It was clouded and a very muggy. It felt bad so many horses buckled and were destroyed because of the turf course. As an old grass grower, I knew it took several months for grass to embed itself into the soil. Otherwise, I slid and fell during our touch football games.
I finished off a peanut butter sandwich and watched the fist two races. The third interested me since Drayden Van Dyke rode the number one, My Jealous. Patty the Hat came out ahead betting on him at Los Alamitos. The program listed this four year old at 15/l. It was a claiming race for horses three years and up. I bet the one and Desormeax's number 5.
My Jealous smoked out of the gate leaving the others to choke on dust. I knew he would not finish the race...yet there saddle cloth 1 remained to dike the others into submission. I felt like a millionaire and ran to the windows. Instead, all the cashier gave me was a few bob over thirteen dollars. The horse must have been bet down to five to one.
In the infield I saw a multitude of fans leaving the track. Now the rain mixed into the turf and my breathing apparatus opened up. I spent the next race watching horses being saddled until my eyes began to close.
I pictured myself as an owner helping Van Dyke up on my horse, George's Birthday.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Meet Mr. Phoeng
In a wind blown firing May, I discovered my inhalers broke down when dust or grim entered the shell. It had never happened before. But this is San Diego where dirt, grime and crime are everywhere. The new fan-dangled gadget had told me I had over one hundred puffs left...
Sorry I left you, but the urge to play the recently tuned Yamaha Piano overwhelmed me. I felt overwhelmed that my retirement check had come on time...Hell, I was tired of eating Kirkland Tuna sandwiches.
Now getting back to my little broken inhaler, I drove to the Kaiser Clinic's pharmacy for a new ventilator. My turn in line came up, and I showed the gadget to the order taker.
"Dust and heat must have broken it. I needed a replacement...See there were 98 puffs left when it broke down." She took it and a few seconds later the tall blond gave me a brand new one.
"That will be seven dollars."
"Hell no. Last time I got a new one!" She called the head pharmacist over. His name was Phoeng.
"What is wrong? Why no work. Look-you." Mr Phong shook the gadget until it began to spit medication.
"Well Mr.Phoeng, if I could have shaken my hand the way you did, it just might have saved my second marriage. I am going to name my next Grandchild, 'Phoeng". g'.
He left and the cashier removed the tube's cover. My God Mr. Garrett, look at all of that dust...and is this a remainder of a package of Splendid?
Everyone began to laugh, and of course I needed to apologize. In the bathroom, I cleaned out the covering and sure enough, there was a small piece of a Splendid wrapper.
Next I drove a few miles to the downtown Carlsbad post office. Two checks smiled at me and they asked me to remove and cash them from my postal box.
"Why thanks for taking us out of here. I don't know why they placed me in bulk mail anyway. Doesn't Governor Brown care that you get your mail on time.'
I cashed my two checks and placed $600 into my daughter's bank account. I felt proud to be a great Grandfather who worshiped his daughters more than himself. I was about to throw away the torn envelopes when I heard a little noise.
"Can you take me to Del Mar. I want to bet on number seven, and can you buy us some kettle corn."
"Let me check if the Races are still on. Yes they are running at four o'clock. Let me fix the lip of your face before we go.
Message for Today: Live your passion, and your dreams will come true. (Not edited.)
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