By the people, for the people, screw the people: The shocking conclusion

A mere seven years after instituting a program that would eventually issue 180,000 traffic tickets to motorists who drove through red lights - outrageously expensive tickets that, in a hilarious little twist, it now turns out, weren't the kind of traffic tickets that you actually have to pay - the Los Angeles City Council voted unanimously today to discontinue the initiative.

After only seven years and 180,000 tickets. That L.A. City Council is one agile little decision-making legislative body, ain't it?

Here's the Los Angeles Times story about today's staggering development, complete with lots of photos of - well, what else? - red traffic lights.

Here's my previous blog post with more background. (And a photo of Jason Bateman, if you're into that kind of thing.)

By the people, for the people and screw the people

Whichever side of the political spectrum you're on, it's easy to get riled up about the government these days.

On the national scene, Democrats, Republicans and Tea Baggers all all hate Washington because - respectively - Congressional leadership, the president and space-aliens-from-god-knows-where are out to run our country into the ground. In case you haven't seen it yet, a #F---YouWashington hashtag has been lighting up Twitter for the past few weeks, prompted mostly by this debt ceiling fiasco, which seems mostly to be an excuse for the ultra-tan John Boehner to get some extra broadcast time for his apparently limitless collection of unabashedly green neckwear.

Here in California, the state is something like $600 trillion in debt (I might be exaggerating a bit), the public education system is one of the worst in the nation and ... I imagine there are lots of other nasty problems, too, but the weather is so nice, who can complain?

The point is: We're all used to bitching and moaning about getting taxed to hell and screwed over by the jerks in federal and state government. That's old news. Somehow it seems worse when you learn that you've been getting royally hosed by your local government. People who are your neighbors. But another wonderful - and very creative - example of that came to light today in Los Angeles.

The city is deciding whether to discontinue its controversial red-light traffic camera program - where motorists get their photos taken by automatic cameras when they run red lights, and then have to pay a whopping fine, on the order of $480. The main issue being that although they generate a lot of tickets, they're not actually an effective traffic safety mechanism, which should have been the point.
Now, it turns out, those "fines" for running red lights weren't actually fines so much as they were, um, suggested donations. Today, in an L.A. Times blog post, the esteemed* city councilman Bill Rosendahl explains:

"The consequence is somebody calling you from one of these collection agencies and saying 'pay up.' And that's it. There's no real penalty in terms of your driver's license or any other consequences if you don't pay."

Yep. Turns out that the tickets were actually part of a "voluntary payment program." As in optional. As in, keep that horrible black-and-white traffic-camera photo, keep your money and treat yourself to a weekend getaway instead.

Caught on camera.

Which I'm guessing wasn't exactly made clear on the violation notices. And, which I'm guessing is going to be news to all of those people who assumed that the traffic tickets they got in the mail from the City of Los Angeles and that huge Amount Due were - how do I put this? - real.
 
Wonder what other Los Angeles fines and fees I've been paying that are actually voluntary payment programs. Only one way to find out....
 
* "Esteemed" in the same sense that the tickets seemed "voluntary."

Preparing for Carmageddon

If you live in or near Los Angeles, or if you're Twittered or Facebooked or LinkedInned with someone in L.A. - or if know someone who knows someone who acted in a movie with Kevin Bacon - chances are you've heard that a big portion of the 405 freeway is going to be closed next weekend.

Which isn't that big of a deal, except that about half a million cars use the route each weekend, including, most importantly, mine. And that - even when every lane is open - you can usually count on getting stuck in traffic.

In other words, it's going to be a complete and utter nightmare. (Well, either that or I'll just go to the beach.)

This city being the creative capital of the world, we've come up with a catchy name for the event: Carmageddon.

The Los Angeles Times covered it this way a few months ago, which was fine, except that the reporter made one observation that I found rather odd: 

(Click to enlarge)

I don't play the lottery too much anymore. Do a lot of winning tickets have 11 picks? Or three-digit numbers? More to the point: Is there any possible way the writer could have made that potentially helpful information - alternate routes and bus lines for those who need to get around L.A. - any less useful? Thank you, L.A. Times. Thank you for nothing.

Which leads me to the main reason for this nugget of bloggy goodness. Despite the Times' best efforts, for those of us whose driving activity is going to be affected by the freeway closure, there really are only three ways to prepare. They are:

1) Leave Los Angeles for the weekend.

2) Stay extremely close to home for the weekend. (Which works for me, since "close to home" incorporates "beach.")

3) Outfit yourself properly, with one of the five following new t-shirts designed by S and J Market, the official apparel mart of SFTC. I give you: Carmageddon wear 2011, available for a limited time only!* 

(Subtle plug: Click images to visit the S and J Market store.)

Don't live in L.A.? Pick up one or a few anyway! They're the ultimate mid-summer gifts/conversation starters. And you'll make me feel better about having spent a really long time designing apocalyptic versions of the 405 freeway sign. Win-win.

* Not really. I'll probably keep them posted until I sell a whole bunch more.

Shine, the weather's fine

In the past two days, I've received emails and texts from East Coast friends, hoping to make sure I was OK. Well-meaning relatives have called to express their concern. My sister asked if I was thinking about moving back home. A colleague offered to cancel our lunch meeting yesterday so I wouldn't be put out by having to walk outside.

No, I'm not sick.

It is - as you might have heard on national newscasts - raining in Los Angeles.


"When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads"

In all seriousness, there are going to be real problems caused by the rain - mudslides and erosion and stuff like that - and there have been tornado warnings within a hundred miles of where I'm sitting. And apparently it hailed for a minute yesterday. But you would think that it's armageddon, the way the natives are reacting to this weather. (Also, you would think that more people would understand that hooded cotton sweatshirts don't really protect you from getting wet, even when the hood is in the upright position.)

But for the most part, it's rain.

So I just want to assure those of you west of San Bernardino that, yes, I am OK. Although if you want to send hot chocolate, feel free.

The second annual nothing-to-do-with-Christmas holiday post

Some people get bent out of shape about not being surrounded by snow during the winter holidays.

I am not one of those people.


Photo credit: Me

Palm trees with lights - even if they're located in someone's front yard next to a fountain that could generously be called tacky - are just fine with me.

Lawn ornaments representing the crew from Peanuts aren't bad, either.


Photo credit: Once again, Me

Whatever you're celebrating (or have already celebrated) this December, and whatever weather you're celebrating them in, happy holidays from snow-free Los Angeles.

Where there's smoke

I woke up this morning with a strange craving for Cool Ranch Doritos and Twinkies, and now I know why: This newsmaking event was taking place just a few minutes from our apartment.

I wonder how many people gathered around to, um, observe.

UPDATE/DEVELOPING STORY:* My observant and gorgeous wife read today's post and informs me that the fire actually occurred earlier this week. It was only "news" in the sense that today was the day that I found a three-day old article about it.

This leaves open the question of why I had a sudden taste for junky snack food earlier today. Suggestions?

* I mean "developing story" in the same, presumably ironic, way that CNN means it when they're covering an event that has already happened but label it on TV and online as "developing." Which is to say, it's not really a developing story.

... And you can't beat the traffic

If anyone asks, I still tell them that living in L.A. is great. And I believe it. I guess I'm easy, but to me - whatever obstacles your hometown might throw at you - if you can walk out of your home or office and see palm trees, you're pretty damn lucky. And if you can look up and see cerulean blue skies approximately 361 days a year, even better.

The problem is that L.A. is in California, which as of today, is starting to pay people with IOUs. Or, as the New York Times calls them - and I'm just pointing this out because I'm an editorgeek - i.o.u.'s.

I think I might look into doing that for my next major purchases. I never did get that HDTV I kept yammering on about during the 2008 winter holidays. Think Circuit City would take an IOU for one of those? Oh, right, I almost forgot.

California's budget woes also mean that I'm on my way to a salary reduction for the next 12 months, at least. To lower our pay, they're apparently considering using unpaid days, or as they're better known, furloughs. I'm sort of on board with the idea, although every time I hear the word furlough, I think of Michael Dukakis and Willie Horton. So, that's not so great.

Still: Palm trees.

Shaken, not stirred

I'm writing this because there's a good chance* my East Coast peeps will be awake before me tomorrow and there's also a good chance that while I'm still asleep with my cell phone off, one or more of those peeps will see news reports about an earthquake in Los Angeles. And they will wonder whether it did enough damage to prevent me from - at long last - adding something interesting or amusing to this blog.

On the contrary, mon frere: After a long blogging dry spell, the damn thing might have been just the tonic I needed to get me to swing back into action. (To the extent that typing messages that 10 people will ever read qualifies as "action.")

So, just to get the Q&A out of the way: Yep, I felt the quake. The floor shook for what felt like three or four seconds - enough time for me to remember that I should probably get underneath the desk I'm sitting in front of, but not enough time for me to actually do it. It was strong enough to freak me out a little bit, but not serious enough to rattle dishes or knock stuff off of walls. As of right now, it's being reported as a 5.0, which makes it the second biggest one I've felt so far.

Oh, also the U.S. Geological Survey web site says it took place about five miles from where I'm sitting.

Which I really don't like that much.

Anyway, how about a map? Here's how it looked on the USGS site shortly after the shaking was done:

I think the red makes it look a little more dramatic than it actually was - the colors just correspond to how recently the quake took place, though. It's the (huge!) size of the box that shows the relative strength of the quake compared with other recent ones in our area.

And now that I look at the map: Good lord, there have been a lot of earthquakes around here lately.

This is also a good excuse to tell you a short but touching** story about my family. When I first told my parents that I was planning to move to California and how happy I was about it, I knew they would share my excitement. Indeed, the first words out of my mother's mouth were these: "They have earthquakes there."

* a 100 percent chance, to be exact
** or whatever the opposite of touching is

Looks like I traded up

The palm trees and everything that goes with them tend to convince me that L.A. ain't too bad a place to live.

Having logged 13 years in Chicago, though, I was a pretty big fan of that city, too. I'd tell anyone who asked, and many who didn't, that among the best places to live, no big city on earth could top it. I'm not positive that I was correct - for one thing, I haven't been to every big city on earth - but I do know I was being enthusiastic, which should count for something.

Today, I noticed that the big city's biggest newspaper is running a ticker on its web site showing time elapsed since the temperature went below zero - and that this ticker seems to be going strong toward hour 13. Not sure how well the image will show up, but I put a handsome blue circle around the ticker for you:



Page image was shopped a bit so I could give you the ticker and the Tribune banner without the story about Roland Burris' swearing-in getting in the way.

Also, probably not a good sign when one of the site's top stories runs under the headline: "Why do you live here? 'My wife makes me,' and other excuses."

I'm a loyal person and I still remember Chicago very fondly. But I'm not sure there's any amount of civic pride that makes sub-sub-sub-freezing temperatures feel better. These palm trees are looking better every day.

Flipping you the Bird

OK, time to get this party started again.

It was around this time last year that I was reveling in the discovery - thanks to a "Best of 2007" recap on NPR's All Songs Considered - of a handful of CDs (or downloads or whatever we're calling them now) that would quickly go into frequent rotation on the ol' iPod. The latest releases by Ray LaMontagne, Arcade Fire and The National, none of whom I'd listened to before, were particular favorites. I liked The National's "Boxer" and Ray LaMontagne's "Till The Sun Turns Black" so much that I eventually also bought earlier albums by both of them.

Another disc I picked up last year was Armchair Apocrypha, the 2007 album by Andrew Bird. I had been a big Bird fan back in my wild-n-crazy Chicago days*, mostly on the strength of The Swimming Hour, which he recorded with his excellently named band, Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire. But the next few albums didn't really do it for me and I was nonplussed by his performance at Lollapalooza** in 2006 (although that might have been because I was wearing a cast on my foot and it was roughly 300 degrees), so when I finally heard Armchair last December, it was like a big sonic hug.

The point of all of this is that I was very pleased to learn that Mr. Bird is playing a show here in L.A. next month to support another new album... and even more pleased to learn that Ticketmaster let me pay them all sorts of ridiculous surcharges (seriously, why don't they also add 10 percent for the privilege of looking at their web site?) to secure two pretty decent seats to said show. And even more pleased, if that's even possible, that the world's most beautiful wife has agreed to attend said (said?) show with me. Because going to concerts on school nights isn't usually her thang.

In a very hackneyed sense - a hackneyed, musical recommenation sense - I guess you could say I just gave you the Bird. Which might not really be that funny, but for reasons that'll become clear in about five seconds, it reminds me of a strange thing I saw during our mini-vacation last week.

We were sitting at an outdoor table, waiting for our food at this ridiculously great roadside cafe in Big Sur, when we heard a car horn followed by the distinctive metal thud-crunch of two cars colliding. Being native East Coasters, we fully expected a nasty brouhaha, or a at least a kerfuffle or set-to. Certainly, someone could have - you saw this one coming, right? - flipped someone else the bird.

So we turned to watch the crashee, a twentysomething woman, jump out of her Hyundai. Realizing her car had sustained no noticeable damage, she broke into a huge grin and crowed to the crasher, a seventysomething man in a Jaguar: "It's all good! Noooo problem!"

And then, as if to remind everyone watching that we were squarely in the middle of the land of the supremely laid-back - and I'm not making this up - she hopped over to the guy who had just backed into her car and gave him an emphatic high-five. "It's totally OK," she gushed. "Plus, it's a rental car anyway! I don't care."

A little hard to imagine the situation going down the same way back home. Kumbaya, my lord. Kumbaya.

* Not actually very wild-n-crazy.
** See? A tiny bit wild-n-crazy.

In which 57 < 57

Turns out I’m big into using incorrect equations for blog post titles this week. You, the SFTC reader, might find that sort of lame, but hey: You get what you pay for.

The 57 to which our headline refers is the current air temperature, in degrees Fahrenheit, in Los Angeles, according to the thermometer that was included for free when I acquired my trusty sidekick, Al.

Now, if I were in the City by the Lake - the town I called home for the better part of 13 years - and the temperature was 57 degrees, I would be wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I just might be sitting outside on my balcony, pondering the evils of global warming and, perhaps, deciding what kind of animal to barbecue for dinner.

But I’m not in Chicago, and the imperviousness to cold temperatures that I gained from a dozen-plus years there, preceded by four long winters in Rochester, New York - I was there for four full years; it’s just that it was winter the whole time - well, that imperviousness is all gone. I am now completely... um, maybe... pervious to cold temperatures. Cold, apparently, being anything less than 63 degrees.

So when it’s 57 in L.A., I am most certainly not wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Today, it’s chinos, a long-sleeve shirt, a sweater, and when I’m outdoors, a light jacket. And gloves. (Yes, seriously.) I am decidedly not sunning myself on a deck. And I’m sure as hell not pondering global warming; I’m pondering whether long-johns and wool socks might have been a good call for today.

I’m disappointed. I thought I’d be able to resist the annoying "thinner blood" thing. At least for more than two winters. No such luck.

Oh, and, considering my temperature wussiness, the heater in our apartment picked a really excellent week to give out.

All about the Benjamin

I've been lax in my blogging duties lately. I apologize. I think it's partly because I knew this post would be my 200th - would it look more momentous if I spelled it out: my two-hundredth post? No, I guess not.

The point is, I was trying to save up for a high-quality update worthy of this mini landmark in blogging. But it turns out this is the best I could come up with:

Yeah, it's expensive as all get out to live in L.A. But it's worth it because (1) the weather is close to perfect and (2) free movie screenings, baby!

Last year, somehow, I got myself onto a list to receive email invites to screenings, and for whatever reason, those invites are picking up heading into the end of 2008. Last night, my indescribably beautiful wife and caught a sneak preview of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (high-def trailer here), which doesn't even open until Christmas! Now that's a preview. Next up is a freebie of Defiance, later this week. Don't worry, I'll report back on that one.

(Last night's screening was held at the Directors Guild of America's headquarters on Sunset Blvd. We'd driven by the building about 100 times before and never noticed it, which is strange because it looks like this.)

As you may know by now, TCCBB follows the life of Pitt's character, who is born a tiny old man and ages in reverse.

The title of the film comes from an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story on which it's based - well, very very loosely based (really the only leftovers from the original text were the character named Benjamin Button and the idea that he grows younger). So the title made sense. But I kept wondering if they considered renaming it to something like "In Which Brad Pitt Just Keeps Getting Better Looking For The Better Part of Three Hours."

At one point, when Pitt comes on screen having un-aged a few more years, appearing now to be in his early 20s, two women sitting behind me just laughed. I'm postive that what made them laugh was the absurdity of watching Brad Pitt's rugged good looks improve right before their very eyes. Unquestionably, they figured they'd already seen the guy at his most movie-star handsome: How much gorgeouser could he get? This isn't like a weird male crush observation - I'm just giving you the cold hard facts, people.

As the movie went on, I kept thinking that it reminded me an awful lot of Forrest Gump, and when the movie was over and the screenwriter came out for Q&A, I figured out why. Said screenwriter was Eric Roth, who also wrote Gump, and a few other pretty memorable flicks. Gump and Button are definitely not the same movie, but they share several major elements - the short moment-in-time episodes, the way they use a narrator and flashbacks, a star-crossed love story and, in the background, the evolution of American culture throughout the 20th century. (Or twentieth century, if, again, you find that kind of thing more momentous-sounding.) Which is to say that if you liked Forrest Gump, I think you'd probably be safe with a trip to see the Button.

Two more quick asides before I get to my patented Six-word Movie Review.

1) For no apparent reason, the movie had a weird scene that involved Teddy Roosevelt watching some blind clockmaker (the guy was blind, not the clocks) install a big clock in a train station. The clock worked backwards, which matched the theme of the movie, but the whole storyline, which set up the movie, seemed pretty extraneous. Why am I telling you this? Because Ed Metzger, the dude who played President Roosevelt, has apparently carved out an interesting career playing dead famous guys, including Einstein (at least five times in different TV shows and movies!) and George Washington. Weird, I know, but cool.

2) Most of the movie takes place in New Orleans. But Fitzgerald's story and - according to Roth himself - the original screenplay were set in Baltimore. The Cajuns offered the filmmakers a better financial deal, so they took the production down to the bayou. Nice goin', Charm City: You could've had Brangelina and Cate Blanchett hanging out at Bertha's Mussels and Ravens games! Opportunity missed.

Good god, this post is almost as long as the movie itself. Before I overdo it, ladies and gentlemen, your Six-word Movie Review!

The film: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
The six-word review: Reverse in story love Gump-like melancholy.

A rockin' good time

I'm not sure that this is how I want to spend even a few minutes of my birthday tomorrow*. Maybe if I think of it as a geology festival, rather than a disaster drill, it'll seem a little better.

On the other hand, the ... uh ... geology festival comes with fun games and activities like this one, so I guess it can't be all bad. I got 10 out of 14 on my first try. Would have done better but the room started shaking and I got distracted.

Give it a shot and post your score in the comments. I want to know if you actually think you'd duct tape your remote control to the furniture to prevent it from smacking you in the head in case of a quake.


* Subtle, right?

A brief rumination on geology and meteorology in Southern California

Apparently it rained overnight here in the city of angels.

Which means that since Memorial Day, I have seen puddles on sidewalks as many times (two) as I have experienced an earthquake.

So I've got that going for me.

Quake 2

Just because I like keeping you posted on this stuff, I sat through another earthquake this evening. My second one. Yay!

It was minor - just a 3.0 - so it kind of felt like something bumped into the apartment, and it was over in less than a second. I actually had to look it up here to confirm it was for real; this was probably the kind of quake that, if you're a native, doesn't even count. Oh, the other big plus was that it was centered less than 2 miles from where we were sitting, so it was very convenient - definitely within walking distance.

In related news, I really don't like the word temblor. Really seems like there should be another "r" in there somewhere.

Quake! update

A few random thoughts, post-quake:

1) In some weird way, it's nice that this at least made top-of-the-page news all over the place. Here's the New York Times story, which downgrades it to a somewhat less sexy 5.4 quake. And for posterity, here's a shot of the CNN home page, which gives us the exciting, but still ridiculous "Live breaking news" banner. Repeated memo to CNN: It's not breaking news anymore. It's already been broken. Get over yourself.

And, also for posterity, I guess, here's a shot of the L.A. Times home page, which illustrated the magnitude of the quake by showing that a lot of paper towels fell. Oh, the humanity!

2) First person who contacted me after the shaking stopped was the ultrawonderful Loree (holla!), who heard about it within minutes thanks to Twitter. I'll have to get into this subject more another time, but other than notifying friends about natural disasters - for which it apparently works beautifully - I don't get the attraction of Twitter. But it was still good to hear from Loree - let's not lose sight of that fact.

3) The quake was another reminder of how much Sprint blows. I don't know if it's really fair to blame Sprint for this, but I will anyway: It was 32 minutes before I was able to make a call on my cell phone. And nothing bad actually happened in my part of town.

4) Apparently this was nothing to the natives. I walked through town during my lunch break, and it was if nothing had happened - nobody was talking about it. Well, maybe these suckers are laid back out here.

OK, back to work.

Quake!

Well, kids, just felt my first earthquake.

It sort of felt like the floor was rolling under me a little - only lasted about 5 seconds, but I didn't care for it very much. I know we're supposed to get under our desks when that happens, but it didn't occur to me to actually do that until officemate reminded me, by which time the whole thing was over.

Luckily, we have our I-can't-imagine-it'd actually-be-useful employer-supplied earthquake emergency kits. They have boxes of water and, like, flashlights or some crap. And they come in a cute little blue backpack. But I seriously think they're missing something, like helmets.

The details are here, but apparently it was a 5.8 magnitude quake near Chino Hills, which is about 45 miles from here.

Great. Some dude from across the hall just came over and told us about all the seismic activity happening on the Pacific Rim lately. Thanks, jackass.

Well, at least the weather here still rocks.