The Slam Bang Dennis breakfast included pancakes, scrambled eggs, beacon and sausages. Included for nine ninety nine were coffee and fresh orange juice. Dennis is located a block east of Western and Wilshire close to the Wiltern Theater area. Coffee with refills and fresh orange juice is included in the bill of fare.
The remodeled eatery now had a great AC with great food at a reasonable price. Outsiders came inside to use their one urinal toilet -- and they were gracious about it.
L.A had another heat wave and I didn't sleep a wink at my daughters apartment Friday evening. But it was worth the visit as we saw Mac Beth at the Landmark Theater in Westwood and enjoyed our reunion.
It was going on eleven o'clock on Saturday and I wished to return to Huntington Beach and get myself out of the sun. I waved to the waiter for my bill, nine ninety nine. He came to my table.
"Do you wish me to give you some coffee to go?"
"Yes, and thanks."
Sleepy but re-energized, I walked across the street where there was a CVS store. An old man lay over a walker dead asleep or simply dead. A pool of urine and soiled pants told me if alive, it would not be long for the other world. A few feet from him asleep over his bike was another man fast asleep. I wondered if he had overdosed on Heroin or a derivative.
On the corner was a Mexican selling oranges and across Western a Lady sold fresh tamales. I took the elevator to the ground floor to buy a ticket on my way to Union Station.. I removed my TAP card and paid 35 cents to activate it for my trip. After I tapped my card on a turnstile. I took the stairs to the ground floor to await my purple line train..
It is always great to forget about driving and allow buses and trains to get me to my destination. I don't have to worry about cars, other persons or things. I entered the Purple Line train and relaxed. In front of me sat, or shall I say, slept with his legs over the seats. His sidekick, his bike sat beside him. An what a bike.
His bike had two wheels, one a midget and the other a giant. He slumped down holding a drink. He wore multicolored socks and wore tattoos everywhere. A wry smile told me he needed an audience as they all do.
The Huntington Beach strand was where I first witnessed these bikers doing all types of tricks. They followed another floor show on the concrete bleachers. There, several gymnasts did all kinds of routines taking turns. After each somersault or swivel, they asked for asked for money.
But back to the bikers. They came with all types of bikes. Several could swivel on their bike seats and control the bike, have the bike stand on one wheel, or turn the front wheels over and over again, always keeping good control over their four wheel animal.
But back to the train. The biker wheeled out doing a few floor exercises. I got off at the Seventh Street exit and tapped my ticket to get on the Blue Line Long Beach train. My journey was half over now. The Long Beach train left the station and soon was on Flower Street. And what a view. Los Angeles had more high rises going up to the sky.
The patrons were diversified. I told a father that he missed his stop and needed to get off at the Pico Station and take the Expo to get to U.S.C. He thanked me. After a stop at Trade Tech on Washington Street, we continued on and stopped at Vernon, Compton, Firestone and so forth. It felt good to have seen my number two daughter. My own mind did cartwheels on the train.
We left the Watts station, and continued south to the Anaheim, Pacific Coast and finally my stop at the Fifth Street station. I waited a few minutes and climbed aboard the 91 Long Beach bus, distination the VA building...where luck was on my side. The number one bus waited for me...Not edited yet.
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Surf City Bus Stop
My goal yesterday was to crop my hair, that is after my four dollar big McDonald's breakfast Another hot and muggy day greeted me at the Main Street Bus Stop. The 29 bus had the usual on board: the homeless, walkers and wheelchairs , domestics, and the tattooed skateboarders.
I could not remove the stumps from my memory. Yesterday at the Adams stop, a blanket that covered two stumps looked wither asleep or dead. The legless man had homesteaded the bus stop for days and one day would leave on the meat truck to Potters Field.
Potters Field is the final destination of unclaimed morgue bodies. It is a several acres of land between La Habra and Whittier. Over time, The decayed bodies turn the dirt into clay. Kitchenware items are made out of these acres of dirt.
On Warner, the bus dropped me off next to a Big Mac remodeled restaurant. Its AC had been upgraded and my blood cells craved fore more H2O. I ordered the big four dollar breakfast and coffee. I asked that my sugar and cream be added.
In the center of the restaurant were the same group of old Vietnamese reminiscing, or so it seemed. The group resembled an old match box with each match a copy of the other All seemed over eighty but age was a number for them. The group bantered back and forth and only took a break to sip their coffee. Their clothes matched and all were well-groomed.
I had been told they were the original boat people who fled their county after the war and were given citizenship in our county with a way of having HUD provide them with discounted senior apartments. When they finished their coffees, one remained behind to clean and polish the tables.
My destination now was the Bella Terra, where I would take in a movie and allow my blood cells a chance to regain their senses with clean air. I kept looking for the 29 A bus when across the street I saw an angular man walking aimlessly. He must have seen a well dressed man across Beach and came towards me.
"Good morning. Got spare change for a coffee."
"No not today, Have a great day."
He ambled toward Big Mack. Somehow I knew he would return. And he did with the same conversation. Man did I wish for the bus to turn up. To show his disdain for me, he turned his cap around and muttered "Fuck you."
After a long wait, the 29 A bus arrived and non too soon. I felt like a pouched egg ready to be eaten. At Whole Foods, I bought five dollars of cherries and removed part of my Schindler manuscript from my Costco back pack. My body began to feel energized. I ate those cherries with relish before I walked over to Starbucks for a drink of pure air.
At about eleven o'clock, I walked towards the Century Theaters for their five dollar and change senior day. Inside I looked over the preview of each movie and decided on House. I finished off the sack of cherries and entered theater two for the one o'clock movie.
The movie about a couple who turned to starting a gamgling casino on their block so as to afford sending their daughter to Bucknell University. At three forty, I took another bus to Gothard Street. The Pickle Barrel Barber Shop was across the way from the Farmer's Market.
Inside, I removed a large pickle from the barrel. Cucumbers from the Farmers market were bought and fomented into pickles. After my haircut I meandered to the market and bought me a bag of dates at a fair price, two large tomatoes, onions, three oranges and two corns -- all for seven and change.
It felt good to make a date with the barber. My Ex girl friend Gloria told me that the mark of a man was his head and shoes Ever since, I have made sure to cut my hair every month ot so.
I could not remove the stumps from my memory. Yesterday at the Adams stop, a blanket that covered two stumps looked wither asleep or dead. The legless man had homesteaded the bus stop for days and one day would leave on the meat truck to Potters Field.
Potters Field is the final destination of unclaimed morgue bodies. It is a several acres of land between La Habra and Whittier. Over time, The decayed bodies turn the dirt into clay. Kitchenware items are made out of these acres of dirt.
On Warner, the bus dropped me off next to a Big Mac remodeled restaurant. Its AC had been upgraded and my blood cells craved fore more H2O. I ordered the big four dollar breakfast and coffee. I asked that my sugar and cream be added.
In the center of the restaurant were the same group of old Vietnamese reminiscing, or so it seemed. The group resembled an old match box with each match a copy of the other All seemed over eighty but age was a number for them. The group bantered back and forth and only took a break to sip their coffee. Their clothes matched and all were well-groomed.
I had been told they were the original boat people who fled their county after the war and were given citizenship in our county with a way of having HUD provide them with discounted senior apartments. When they finished their coffees, one remained behind to clean and polish the tables.
My destination now was the Bella Terra, where I would take in a movie and allow my blood cells a chance to regain their senses with clean air. I kept looking for the 29 A bus when across the street I saw an angular man walking aimlessly. He must have seen a well dressed man across Beach and came towards me.
"Good morning. Got spare change for a coffee."
"No not today, Have a great day."
He ambled toward Big Mack. Somehow I knew he would return. And he did with the same conversation. Man did I wish for the bus to turn up. To show his disdain for me, he turned his cap around and muttered "Fuck you."
After a long wait, the 29 A bus arrived and non too soon. I felt like a pouched egg ready to be eaten. At Whole Foods, I bought five dollars of cherries and removed part of my Schindler manuscript from my Costco back pack. My body began to feel energized. I ate those cherries with relish before I walked over to Starbucks for a drink of pure air.
At about eleven o'clock, I walked towards the Century Theaters for their five dollar and change senior day. Inside I looked over the preview of each movie and decided on House. I finished off the sack of cherries and entered theater two for the one o'clock movie.
The movie about a couple who turned to starting a gamgling casino on their block so as to afford sending their daughter to Bucknell University. At three forty, I took another bus to Gothard Street. The Pickle Barrel Barber Shop was across the way from the Farmer's Market.
Inside, I removed a large pickle from the barrel. Cucumbers from the Farmers market were bought and fomented into pickles. After my haircut I meandered to the market and bought me a bag of dates at a fair price, two large tomatoes, onions, three oranges and two corns -- all for seven and change.
It felt good to make a date with the barber. My Ex girl friend Gloria told me that the mark of a man was his head and shoes Ever since, I have made sure to cut my hair every month ot so.
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Another Red Flag Day in Surf City
"It is a red flag day today in Los Angeles. The city will make it to 89 today, valley 104, and beeches only eight. But there will be high humidity so make sure you look in on the old and new to make sure they are OK."
Well since I had nobody to look in on me, I looked in on myself and took a bullet from the medicine chest. Almost immediately, my lungs coughed up some slime, the residue when my lungs breathing have been compromised with a harness called Ozone. I knew that Pacific City on the coast would be my salvation today, mainly the Waterfront Hilton.
"I'll take a medium dark coffee today?"
"Is that New York Times yours?...That will be five fifty five."
Outside the coffee shop, skimpy bathing suits with bearded men splashed in the pool. For me, i wished to wade into a pool of words, sung by the best writers in America. This guy Trump must be good for the papers circulation. Something new was added to the dirty tricks investigation. Trump Junior's nose kept growing longer and longer, just like Pinocchio's.
What I really get inside the hotel is pure crisp air, since inside the city it feels like breathing Cyanide. My air waves transmit the words into exciting events. And speaking of air waves, Trump seldom at white house and not without reason. He disdains reporters and the only one he listens to is himself. Why he is God, isn't he?" Adoph Hitler nationalized the radios and even newspapers back in the 30's. And no doubt Trump would do the same if he could and you no what, He just might.
Outside my white house is a marble fountain, and further away are the multicolored umbrellas homesteading their rights to a slice of sand close to the water. It is too hot to stand on the sand, and my feet have burns to prove it. While I cradle my coffee cup, I go outside on the patio and engulf the view the same way the seagulls do without a care in the world.
Seldom do I see any father holding the hand of his wife. It is all about their children. "Dad, can you buy this buggy board for me." The Dad's look totally unfit. There pockets might be stuffed with cash but for me, just give me the view the seagull and that is all that i will need.
Upstairs on the second floor, a lawyer spoke to me about his mother who passed on a few weeks ago. "My life is over. I did it all by the time I made 55 and with the death of my mother, there is nobody to love me." My lawyer friend cried. I felt sorry for him since we the secret of a good life is to live it each day, and for me tonight it means reading the book Mary Queen of Scots by Fraser.
Well since I had nobody to look in on me, I looked in on myself and took a bullet from the medicine chest. Almost immediately, my lungs coughed up some slime, the residue when my lungs breathing have been compromised with a harness called Ozone. I knew that Pacific City on the coast would be my salvation today, mainly the Waterfront Hilton.
"I'll take a medium dark coffee today?"
"Is that New York Times yours?...That will be five fifty five."
Outside the coffee shop, skimpy bathing suits with bearded men splashed in the pool. For me, i wished to wade into a pool of words, sung by the best writers in America. This guy Trump must be good for the papers circulation. Something new was added to the dirty tricks investigation. Trump Junior's nose kept growing longer and longer, just like Pinocchio's.
What I really get inside the hotel is pure crisp air, since inside the city it feels like breathing Cyanide. My air waves transmit the words into exciting events. And speaking of air waves, Trump seldom at white house and not without reason. He disdains reporters and the only one he listens to is himself. Why he is God, isn't he?" Adoph Hitler nationalized the radios and even newspapers back in the 30's. And no doubt Trump would do the same if he could and you no what, He just might.
Outside my white house is a marble fountain, and further away are the multicolored umbrellas homesteading their rights to a slice of sand close to the water. It is too hot to stand on the sand, and my feet have burns to prove it. While I cradle my coffee cup, I go outside on the patio and engulf the view the same way the seagulls do without a care in the world.
Seldom do I see any father holding the hand of his wife. It is all about their children. "Dad, can you buy this buggy board for me." The Dad's look totally unfit. There pockets might be stuffed with cash but for me, just give me the view the seagull and that is all that i will need.
Upstairs on the second floor, a lawyer spoke to me about his mother who passed on a few weeks ago. "My life is over. I did it all by the time I made 55 and with the death of my mother, there is nobody to love me." My lawyer friend cried. I felt sorry for him since we the secret of a good life is to live it each day, and for me tonight it means reading the book Mary Queen of Scots by Fraser.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
A Picture Postcard...Surf City
Whenever I am low on hope, I end up on the Coast and the Pacific View Center. There is a great view no matter where you eat or simply eat. Sometimes I walk up the steps and take a seat in front of Philz, the best coffee shop in the land.
I usually have a book in hand and sit in a corridor that provides shade and a blissful view of the ocean. This last week, the lines have been out the door...and then some. Time flies as I enjoy the various colors and hue of the main attraction, the tourists. They come from around the world and I can understand a little French or Spanish.
This morning a tropical storm came in with fifteen foot waves. On the coast, nobody swam or sat. All looked at the pounding waves. But I bought the best view. With a bad case of bronchitis due to humid and hot weather, I left the bus at the Waterfront Hilton Hotel, the buses second stop.
I walked up some steps towards a fountain and the main door of the hotel. On the left was a little coffee shop. Is it becoming my favorite since inside, the AC is free. I put down my new back pack and grab a New York Times -- the best paper in the land. I also bought a two dollar and change drink.
The Norm's meal hit the spot earlier and why not? A steak, eggs, hash browns and pancakes for eight and change. The AC at Norms of course helped as I connected with a bus to take me to the Hilton Hotel.
Beside the coffee clutch I sat enjoying the view. A lot of white water splashed and danced over the sand as nary anybody took the change to ride these large bunking broncos. And my the coffee tasted real good. Yet the water did not thrill me as much as the Watergate on the front page. A text between a Russian business man and Donald Jr. made it appear that they had tried to place dirty tricks into the up and coming election.
I devoured the newspaper and almost cried when I read about one of the finest from the Bronx go down with a bullet in the head. The funeral brought four thousand to New York's finest. And why was one hospitalized with mental illness allowed on the street, and with a gun?
The next day finds me at the Waterfront Hilton Coffee Hole Again. The AC and great view are free...well almost. Again I buy a Starbucks regular coffee and a New York Times. Yes, one might say the hotel and I are a match made in heaven.
Outside, the palms sway in the light wind while the remnants of crashing waves hit the beach. It is a bit humid, but inside the hotel who cares. I can't afford the room rates and I know I must be discreet and blend in.
Today I wear a white, thin blue lined shirt my daughter bought for me on my last birthday. With my gray hair combed and new tennis shoes, the ladies all give me the eye. I make sure not to open my mouth until I get my top dentures.
In my crows nest inside the hotel, I view the crashing waves and a girls volleyball team doing a warm up routine. Like yesterday, I work on a short word puzzle on the third page and inside notice a good article about a new cancer drug called Novartis. Those with incurable blood cancer have had their blood sent to a research lab and somehow reprogrammed to fight the cancer. Their T-Cells are then returned into their body and the results have been promising for the new drug.
Buggy boards, pails, and beach attire come and go. The beach below beckons them and why not, Huntington Beach is a picture postcard today.
My years of teaching speed reading put me at a big advantage. Outside, the waves crash white wash while bikers, and skateboarders make up the boardwalk. I notice that a Kaiser convention is having a luncheon today. My #25 bus is due to come at exactly 11:07, and pick me up where the #29 had dropped me off. I am getting good at using the bus schedules.
The bus drops me off on Orange and Main, two blocks from the library. I still don't know why there is no AC at the old library. It is not sizzling inside today so my mind is as quick as a wink.
I think of my Mom Edith who got me glasses, piano lessons and s "shrink" when younger. She gave me just what I needed to stay alive today and milk the rest of it so cream will pervade the top.
I usually have a book in hand and sit in a corridor that provides shade and a blissful view of the ocean. This last week, the lines have been out the door...and then some. Time flies as I enjoy the various colors and hue of the main attraction, the tourists. They come from around the world and I can understand a little French or Spanish.
This morning a tropical storm came in with fifteen foot waves. On the coast, nobody swam or sat. All looked at the pounding waves. But I bought the best view. With a bad case of bronchitis due to humid and hot weather, I left the bus at the Waterfront Hilton Hotel, the buses second stop.
I walked up some steps towards a fountain and the main door of the hotel. On the left was a little coffee shop. Is it becoming my favorite since inside, the AC is free. I put down my new back pack and grab a New York Times -- the best paper in the land. I also bought a two dollar and change drink.
The Norm's meal hit the spot earlier and why not? A steak, eggs, hash browns and pancakes for eight and change. The AC at Norms of course helped as I connected with a bus to take me to the Hilton Hotel.
Beside the coffee clutch I sat enjoying the view. A lot of white water splashed and danced over the sand as nary anybody took the change to ride these large bunking broncos. And my the coffee tasted real good. Yet the water did not thrill me as much as the Watergate on the front page. A text between a Russian business man and Donald Jr. made it appear that they had tried to place dirty tricks into the up and coming election.
I devoured the newspaper and almost cried when I read about one of the finest from the Bronx go down with a bullet in the head. The funeral brought four thousand to New York's finest. And why was one hospitalized with mental illness allowed on the street, and with a gun?
The next day finds me at the Waterfront Hilton Coffee Hole Again. The AC and great view are free...well almost. Again I buy a Starbucks regular coffee and a New York Times. Yes, one might say the hotel and I are a match made in heaven.
Outside, the palms sway in the light wind while the remnants of crashing waves hit the beach. It is a bit humid, but inside the hotel who cares. I can't afford the room rates and I know I must be discreet and blend in.
Today I wear a white, thin blue lined shirt my daughter bought for me on my last birthday. With my gray hair combed and new tennis shoes, the ladies all give me the eye. I make sure not to open my mouth until I get my top dentures.
In my crows nest inside the hotel, I view the crashing waves and a girls volleyball team doing a warm up routine. Like yesterday, I work on a short word puzzle on the third page and inside notice a good article about a new cancer drug called Novartis. Those with incurable blood cancer have had their blood sent to a research lab and somehow reprogrammed to fight the cancer. Their T-Cells are then returned into their body and the results have been promising for the new drug.
Buggy boards, pails, and beach attire come and go. The beach below beckons them and why not, Huntington Beach is a picture postcard today.
My years of teaching speed reading put me at a big advantage. Outside, the waves crash white wash while bikers, and skateboarders make up the boardwalk. I notice that a Kaiser convention is having a luncheon today. My #25 bus is due to come at exactly 11:07, and pick me up where the #29 had dropped me off. I am getting good at using the bus schedules.
The bus drops me off on Orange and Main, two blocks from the library. I still don't know why there is no AC at the old library. It is not sizzling inside today so my mind is as quick as a wink.
I think of my Mom Edith who got me glasses, piano lessons and s "shrink" when younger. She gave me just what I needed to stay alive today and milk the rest of it so cream will pervade the top.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Up the Coast to San Clemente
A couple of years ago, the stirring words of spoken by a visiting London Rabbi still ring in my ear. The speech by this long fingered Rabbi took place about four years ago at the Hebrew University outside the city of San Diego. Chabad members arrived from everywhere to hear and see this long fingered man dressed in black. On the podium his long fingers pointed to each of us.
"We have been sold a bill of goods...When we were young, we wished to grow older. When we arrived in our twenties, we wished for a good marriage, nice car, and enviable job. Yet when years gained on us, we wished to become younger. We died our hair had tummy tucks, removed out face for a newer one, and like the Wife of Winston Churchill, Jenny, we yearned for a younger mate"
"But we got it all wrong, Life does not stop as we get older, it gets richer...We learn to be come a Mozart and become wiser."
And so it was with me this morning. Tired of going to the nursing home to visit my brother Mel and the humdrum of Surf City, I decided to mount the number one bus down the coast beginning at Balboa Island. I said "Hello" at Newport Beach and looked over each beach city. In the horizon Laguna Beach came up and a sign said, "No smoking."
On Ocean Avenue, volleyball games were going and the bus now headed for Dana Point. My head began to clear. The hot muggy days inside of Surf City make it hard to breathe, hence difficult to think. As the bus crossed the 5 to San Juan Capistrano and then San Clemente, I knew that I had made a good decision to take the trip; but after one and a half hours, I needed a toilet break. So when the bus stopped and the driver told us he would return in a minute, I asked him if I could leave the bus and return.
"Yes but be quick about it," he demanded. He had stopped the bus earlier for the same problem.
I followed him into Starbucks and he entered the men's and locked the door. I made a quick decision to enter the ladies, but first knocked on the door. Quick as superman I unzipped my pants and removed my driver. I shook it and told it to hurry.
I ran to the bus and took my front seat. The bus driver entered and shook his head, probably wondering where I emptied my bladder. At the next stop, the Department of Motor Vehicles arrived inside a small strip mall.
I felt tired and stoked a conversation with a contractor who had known Mike Garrett, a U.S.C. football player at one time. He mentioned a Mexican restaurant that ex President Nixon frequented and how to get to their library.
The test I flunked since I was tired and studied an outdated book.But there is always good news. It felt good to escape to San Clemente, where the air is clearer and healthy to breathe than the overcast air of Surf City.
It took the bus two and one half hours to get to Huntington Beach. The traffic was at a stand still from Laguna Beach all the way to Surf City. And the good news is that I had been able to keep my driver in check.
"We have been sold a bill of goods...When we were young, we wished to grow older. When we arrived in our twenties, we wished for a good marriage, nice car, and enviable job. Yet when years gained on us, we wished to become younger. We died our hair had tummy tucks, removed out face for a newer one, and like the Wife of Winston Churchill, Jenny, we yearned for a younger mate"
"But we got it all wrong, Life does not stop as we get older, it gets richer...We learn to be come a Mozart and become wiser."
And so it was with me this morning. Tired of going to the nursing home to visit my brother Mel and the humdrum of Surf City, I decided to mount the number one bus down the coast beginning at Balboa Island. I said "Hello" at Newport Beach and looked over each beach city. In the horizon Laguna Beach came up and a sign said, "No smoking."
On Ocean Avenue, volleyball games were going and the bus now headed for Dana Point. My head began to clear. The hot muggy days inside of Surf City make it hard to breathe, hence difficult to think. As the bus crossed the 5 to San Juan Capistrano and then San Clemente, I knew that I had made a good decision to take the trip; but after one and a half hours, I needed a toilet break. So when the bus stopped and the driver told us he would return in a minute, I asked him if I could leave the bus and return.
"Yes but be quick about it," he demanded. He had stopped the bus earlier for the same problem.
I followed him into Starbucks and he entered the men's and locked the door. I made a quick decision to enter the ladies, but first knocked on the door. Quick as superman I unzipped my pants and removed my driver. I shook it and told it to hurry.
I ran to the bus and took my front seat. The bus driver entered and shook his head, probably wondering where I emptied my bladder. At the next stop, the Department of Motor Vehicles arrived inside a small strip mall.
I felt tired and stoked a conversation with a contractor who had known Mike Garrett, a U.S.C. football player at one time. He mentioned a Mexican restaurant that ex President Nixon frequented and how to get to their library.
The test I flunked since I was tired and studied an outdated book.But there is always good news. It felt good to escape to San Clemente, where the air is clearer and healthy to breathe than the overcast air of Surf City.
It took the bus two and one half hours to get to Huntington Beach. The traffic was at a stand still from Laguna Beach all the way to Surf City. And the good news is that I had been able to keep my driver in check.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)