Beverly Hills and Nate and Al's

Now I know why the weather men call it a Red Flag Alert. Red covered my car this week. The slight Santa Ana with record temperatures to boot made breathing difficult. Every day I needed to wipe off the dust and pollen from my car.
   The San Diego's news reported that San Diego air had improved with one hitch. The Ozone was graded an F. My earlier blog stressed the importance of pure air. Dirty air meant our immune systems would take a direct hit. Of course diseases like brain tumors and Alzheimer's disease begin with bad air - even a moron knows this. But on Friday I put everything behind me and set out for Los Angeles on the Metro-Link. The winds now came from on shore. I could breathe without using my inhaler.
   I parked my car at the Oceanside Commuter Terminal and extracted what I needed for the trip. I was looking forward to my stay with my number two daughter. She would be celebrating her 32nd birthday on May tenth. I grabbed a pizza at Dominoes and climbed aboard. Yet something was not quite right on the three twenty five headed for Los Angeles. 
   The doors for the first four cars opened and the others stayed closed. No big deal eh? Now we would be stuck like sardines. At least I carried my friend on board, Simon Wiesenthal - a book about his life in a concentration camp.  A utterly haggard and ill-mannered one sat across from me and gave me the eye. I felt sorry for this misplaced person but I needed to read in peace. A grandmother also sat behind me with her two grandchildren. I took up another residence on the train.
  Just like Horst Cahn, Simon survived partly because of he had skills that the Nazi's needed. Cahn had told the Germans that he was good with electricity. He sold light bulbs for food to the Poles living outside the walls of Auschwitz.
  But back to my train ride to Union Station and Los Angeles. Besides reading, I am a people watcher. The lady in front of me constantly drank from a coffee thermos. Of course when nature called, the car's toilet was not working - quite normal for this train. A few complained that the train was late. Isn't it always?
   What interested me was the chap who boarded in Mission Viejo. The Asian was the only one studying from a book. I asked him if it was Trigonometry.
   "No it is chemistry." He continued on his travel. But it was the manner in which he studied that interested me. He looked at the page and then shut his eyes. This kept repeating itself. Now I knew why the Asians got good grades. They not only read, but took mental pictures of the graphs and text in front of them. Yes their brains acted like computers. Their minds could save and retrieve information as needed.  That put them above the others.
  Henry, the conductor, called Anaheim, Buena Park. He looked hungover and the fact he did not check our tickets told me he was going through the motions The grandmother with the two kids was cracking her knuckles and brushing her hair. Her Grandchildren were asleep.
  But it was the men's toilets that made me laugh. At six o'clock a line formed outside the bathroom. Can you imagine six urinals still for our over populated city. Some guy in line screamed, "Can't you guy hurry up, I will miss my train! I felt like a horse inside a stall without walls. Embarrassed was how I felt. Yet I still made sure my Henry was dry, before extricating myself from this relic toilet ready for the glue factory.
  I tapped my ticket and soon was on the Purple Line Metro to Western and Wilshire.  I was the only white aboard. Now Outside, the Rapid Blue Pico bus made a few turns and I ended up on Pico Blvd, across the street from the Museum of Tolerance. The typical on shore breeze felt good after suffering the monsoonal weather in San Diego.
  This morning, I treated myself to another Nate and Al's breakfast. "You can't sit there. That is where the gang sits...Sit over there in booth number three." Big Bertha moved me to the booth. 
   'Can I have coffee, pickles, and pancakes please." It was going on seven ten and the eatery was filling up. In back of me somebody boasted about her "seven million dollar Bel Air home."Another spoke about her Hawaiian vacation. Everyone it seems needed to flagellate themselves and each other.  Yes Nate and Al's had turned into a Fraternity.
  I walked two doors down to Starbucks, and finished my coffee. Was I at a run-way fashion show at Bullocks. But it was there shoes that turned me on. Laces and jewelry laced their pumps and high rises. Every color matched the color of their shoes. 
  At about nine o'clock I needed to visit the library and write down what you are reading today. A visit to Nate and Al's for chopped liver and seeded rye ended my day. The Canon #14 took me home. The next day I felt like getting fresh air in Santa Monica Beach. I had no way to know that the Metro-Link would throw me off in San Juan Capistrano and I would visit the Oceanside Marine Base.