Not Your Average Trail of Breadcrumbs

A foggy morning last June, referred to as "June gloom" by witty weather personalities, forced me to wade through the maze of crippled sidewalks as I walked my eager dog. I remember wishing I had the ability to pluck out half his energy and throw it to the wolves so I wouldn't have to deal with it, but instead I just continued to let him tug me. 

Everything managed to look very mysterious, what with the low, thick marine layer blanketing the path. Garbage and forgotten dog poo were shrouded in mist making the place look damn near like a pristine fairy tale. Which is why it didn't strike me as odd when I saw the first bits of Fruit Loops sprinkled on the ground. 

As I continued on, the Fruit Loops were replaced by lollipops. Then gobstoppers.    

I was so intrigued I had to keep following to see what would come next. And I wasn't disappointed. There were Peeps, after the gobstoppers. And candy necklaces, after the Peeps. But what came next, stopped me in my tracks.

It was a teenager laying face down on the ground in a total sugar coma. 

I tried to revive him, but nothing but time was gonna bring him back. So, I retreated the way I came—grabbing a couple Peeps for myself on the way.

  

 

A New Use for Strollers

In Venice, and probably any other area in LA where poor latinos comingle with the more fortunate, you may see a person pushing a stroller, but I warn you, DO NOT assume it has a child in it. I made that assumption one day and I paid the consequences. 

It was the morning of our weekly trash pick up, and like usual, the passing garbage trucks woke me up, which put me in a shit mood. Bitter at the world and the creator of the combustible engine, I decided to get up and hit my local coffee shop (no, not a Starbucks) for a cup of cheer. On my way I spotted a woman with a stroller about 40 feet ahead of me. She was reaching into someone's garbage can, pulling out glass bottles. I watched her as I approached, and saw her tossing the bottles into her stroller like they were papier mache dolls. Now I didn't hear a cry or anything like that, but my core being just knew the whole thing was wrong, so I ran up to the stroller and ripped back the sun shade to save the innocent babe. 

Not only did I not save a helpless infant, my jerking of the stroller caused the bottles to tumble and fall one by one on to the cement, shattering into a million pieces. The woman, who I only then noticed was way past her child rearing years, started screaming profanities at me in Spanish, and I not knowing what she was saying, but knowing it wasn't good, decided I should get out of there quick. I ran across the street into an alley, and came head on into a garbage truck. Yes, the foul nuisance that caused this whole mess! Before I could starting throwing profanities of my own, the giant mechanical claw came down and grabbed me. The old woman came into the alley just in time to watch me get squeezed. And when I finally was let go, the garbage man winked at her—must have been his abuela.  

Roadkill

I need a job bad, because the unemployment checks based on my wages from Hot Dog on a Stick just aren't cutting it. (Who ever thought people would go unAmerican and eat less hot dogs and drink less lemonade during a recession?!) Luckily, an idea hit me for a new career when I was driving down HWY 5 back from a nudist nature hike over the July 4th weekend.  In between my gazing into people's cars to see what hand position they were using on their wheel and what tech gadget they were fingering, I would look at the road, and that's when I started to notice something: A lot of dead animals lingering on the highway pavement. There were so many really, that it was starting to gross me out, what with the matted fur, cold eyes, and dismembered body parts. But once I got over all that I thought, what a perfect job—picking up road kill.

So, I started looking into it, and it turns out getting this kinda job can be a bit more complicated than one might think. Figures! A person can't even start picking up dead animals without jumping through so many hoops it almost kills themselves. Depending on where you live it can be a freelance contracted job or a state government job. Here in California, we've got Caltrans (praise the almighty), which means I have to take a generic state test before I can even be considered for a position. And meanwhile, all the dead animals on the side of the road are just gonna be ignored, waiting for some last salvation that may never come. What's a worker to do?!

Life

If you want to get a double dose of life, let me tell you what you do. First, go to the grocery store and buy yourself 1 box of the Life cereal and 1 box of Cinnamon Life. Then get yourself home and rummage through your dusty, cobweb-filled game closet until you find the board game Life. No matter if you've lost all those tiny pink and blue stick figures claimed to be people, you can always break up a few toothpicks and stuff them into the car of your choice. Then, you simply spin the wheel and munch away—a guaranteed good time. 

Neighbors (Installment 1)

Apartment neighbors are like roommates, you get to see and hear way more about them than you ever wanted to.   

I've had countless neighbors over the years, and for each one of them I've postulated their life stories with the use of my keen senses. Sure, my time could have probably been better spent, but would I of had so much fun?!

When I lived in the heart of Hollywood two blocks from Chinese Mann theatre, I had the pleasure of living on the ground floor. My never-seen-in-the-daylight neighbor that lived above me would clomp up the cold stone stairs in her stilettos around 1 or 2 am (after finishing her night of turning tricks), and then spend the rest of the evening making, what else—crack cocaine. How did I know this? Well, the water would run off and on constantly throughout the night. This, combined with the sounds of cooking: pots banging, stirring, pacing, made my conclusion undeniable. But, I still wanted to prove it.

It took me a few weeks and no showers to build up some cred on the street, but then the info flowed in like actors to an open casting call, and it was all linked to my building. Even the innocent 12-year-old Juan who played soccer against the apartment's hallway walls was in on it. He'd open the front door for buyers. 

But what could I say, it's just a day in the life...of Hollywood.