Sunday
San
Francisco, like New York, is a three-airport ecosystem, with San Jose,
Oakland and San Francisco all interacting with each other. Thus, the
fact that a runway was closed at SFO meant that, when the wind changed,
the takeoff direction at Oakland had to be delayed, making my flight to
LAX an hour late.
Fortunately, I did not have a bus to catch,
although it did cut into my nap time. I got to Su Casa, a vacation
condo building on Oceanfront Walk in Venice, just in time park, with
difficulty, in the tiny four-car lot, to check into my oceanview
third-floor room, shower and to leave. On my way out, I noticed a lot
of very tough looking men smoking outside the building next door.
Tattoos, the whole nine yards. The sign on the building says "Phoenix
House." It took me a while to realize that this is a community rehab
facility of some sort. Oh well, that's Venice Beach for you.
A
mere hour later, I was in Manhattan Beach where, after a trifling
decade, I finally turned the correct way on Manhattan Beach Blvd to get
to the U's house. We had some snacks, then headed out to dinner at the
oceanside Strand House, which had one entire wall open to the pleasant
outside salt sea air. I always enjoy their company, as does my family.
It's too bad I'm the only one who travels to LA anymore.
Although
famed for its fish, it had neither sand dabs (my favorite) or scallops,
so I went with the short ribs, which were OK, albeit a little dry. I
had resolved to get to bed early each night this year. I failed. To bed
at midnight, an hour later than usual at home.
Monday
A
45 minute walk on the beach in the morning, followed by eggs prepared
on the two-burner gas stove in my room. I sautéed the onions without
oil, which was interesting. An hour drive got me to Palos Verdes, where
JS lives. Every year, we talk, walk, have lunch and get driven home by
his wife of 52 years, B.
This year, because of the heat (it was
in the 80s at the beach!) we walked 2.5 miles to a Japanese place in
lieu of our usual 4 mile walk to a brew pub. We spoke of cabbages and
kings, and I watched him keep his database up to date. He spends a lot
of time each day taping movies and tv shows, and had done 14 before
lunch on four recorders in three rooms.
I asked about my
favorite silent film, Frank Capra's Power of the Press, which until
recently could only be viewed at the UCLA film library. It has been
released on DVD he told me. Huzzah! I ordered it.
I chose not to
take the freeway to my next appointment. Surface street advantage: no
major traffic jams. Disadvantage: Palos Verdes to Century City in 90
minutes. Would the freeway have been faster? Maybe. Duller? Certainly.
The AMC Century City 16 is in the Westfield Mall. Despite the long
ride, I got there early, nodded off waiting for N.
We watched
World War Z (reviewed below). Reserved seats. Neal has decided the rush
to seats is something he no longer wishes to participate in. He also
does not take Southwest Airline to SFO from LAX for the same reason. I
ordered a regular soda instead of a diet soda, after a lecture from my
MD about the cancerous effects of aspartame. I only drank half of it.
That was an act of will.
Then we went to a restaurant called
Craft, a block away, next to the CAA talent agency. It is the pricy LA
outpost of a pricy New York restaurant. Grilled octopus, heirloom
Caprese salad, scallops in vermouth butter, brocollini and corn with a
Moroccan spice to die for. Hazelnut and chocolate ice cream for desert.
Yum. The decor was lovely, the conversation lively.
The
only thing I can rely upon about the technology in my home is that it
will fail in my absence. During dinner, my wife called to say that her
Internet was down. I did troubleshooting by phone and, blessedly, was
able to nail down the problem. Someday, I'd like to be out of town for
four days where nothing went wrong. To bed at midnight. Again. :-(
Tuesday
Up
to early. Like people before the invention of the electric light, I
awoke at 4:30, couldn't go back to sleep, did email for an hour, then
back to bed for an hour. Pheh. Not very satisfying.
Tuesday
morning at 10, I showed up in Studio City for my annual walk/political
discussion with famed science fiction writer, and a former columnist
for me at Byte.com, Jerry Pournelle. It was nearly 100 degrees out, so
we skipped our usual hike up the back side of the Hollywood Hills and
did 90 minutes on the flats instead, being alternatively led and
followed by his beautiful husky, Sable. Lunch, as is our tradition, at
The Good Earth a few blocks from his house. A rollicking session, as
always. For Jerry's take, see his blog post, A
visit from a teacher; and a disturbing trend.
Then
to Simi Valley for a tour of Air Force One at the Ronald Reagan
Presidential Museum. Alas, you can’t get straight to the plane, you
have to walk through all the other rooms first, and pay $16 for the
privilege. I already know way more about Ronald Reagan that I want/need
to, including all about his radio, movie, liberal democrat, union
leader, GE spokesman, California Governer, president and
post-presidential years. Next to Richard Nixon, he’s been the most
omnipresent and obnoxious politician in my lifetime.
Back to the
Los Feliz section of LA for dinner with BG, whom I call “Johnny
Stockmarketseed,” for all the stock exchanges he has set up around the
world. An autodidact, he is fascinating company. I met him when I did a
profile of him for InformationWEEK magazine, and we’ve been friends
ever since. For the first time, we spent much of our time talking about
information systems, and our early programming jobs. I was delighted.
His usual Italian place is now closed on Tuesday nights, so we had
prime rib a few doors up the street on Vermont Avenue, a hotbed of
tattooed hipsters. Dresden restaurant where we ate, had a lovely retro
feel. 50s music, white banquettes, low lights and prime rib. I loved it!
Wednesday
How
much do I love trains? I can finally quantify it. I was staying in
Venice Beach. I wanted to visit with my friend in Escondido. To drive
would, according to Google Maps, take two hours in each direction.
Given that I would be in rush hour both ways, call it three hours each
way. Door to door, the day lasted 15 hours (with a bonus hour at the
end which I will explain later), five of which I spent with Jim Forbes.
Thus six hours of travel time became 10 hours of travel time. I love
trains four hours worth.
I actually love them more than that,
because I would have been exhausted and infuriated by the drive, while
the bus and train ride left me relaxed, mellow, and, actually, quite
happy.
The day started at 5:30am, with a departure for downtown
Santa Monica. I parked and caught the 6:15 Big Blue Bus Rapid 10 line
to Los Angeles’ beautiful 1939 Union Station in the heart of downtown.
This part of the trip was not so exciting. Some people thrill to bus
watching. I do not. A bus is a bus. But I was damned if I was going to
drive downtown from Venice Beach during rush hour.
Union Station
was where the fun began. Large train stations, here and abroad, are
largely about tunnels, since passengers have to go under the tracks to
get to their trains. The Union Station tunnel is grand.
I caught
Amtrak’s Surfliner to Oceanside. For 10 or 15 miles, it runs directly
next to the beach, providing the second-best scenery I have ever seen
on Amtrak. It is second only to the southern Cascade mountains on the
Coast Starlight. Between K-Falls and Eugene in 6 in the morning, with
several feet of snow, the view is amazing. Admittedly, I’ve never taken
the train from Oakland to Reno; I hear the Sierra Nevada are pretty
impressive too, especially in winter.
At Oceanside, I grabbed a
Sprinter to Escondido. It runs on a 20 mile spur of old ATSF track,
devoid of passengers from 1940 to 2007, but, fortunately, not sold off.
It has been completely revamped with—concrete ties! Only 10% of U.S.
ties are concrete, and I have now seen them on two of the country’s
newest lines, the Sprinter and the Roadrunner in New Mexico. And, of
course, BART. The equipment is a bus on tracks (I am sure
electrification would be scary expensive), but it was clean,
comfortable and quiet.
Once in Escondido, I got to spend five hours with
former colleague J. We had lunch, talked, drove around and went to a
produce stand. Five hours later, it was time for the return trip. Just
as nice as the trip out, but in reverse.
About that extra hour…
I got back to Su Casa, only to discover the five-space lot behind the
condos was full. There is a lot four doors down in which we guests are
entitle to park… unless it is full of service trucks for a night shoot
on the beach. Gotta keep those jobs in LA. I weaved my way through the
trucks to what appeared to be an open space. The guards did not chase
me out. We’ll see if my car is towed in the morning. [It wasn't] But
that wasn’t
the whole extra hour. I went to my room, inserted the card key, and…
nothing. Tried again. The desk agent tried. Finally, we called the
manager, who used his mechanical key, then said to me, “Batteries in
the door are dead.” “How do I do my walk on the beach in the morning?”
“Take my key.”
I had hoped to be in bed by 10 for a full 8
hours. The lost hour means it is 11 now. But when I finish writing this
sentence, it is off to the land of nod. Then home on Thursday, after an
early morning walk on the beach.