Mid-Winter Reflections
Random thoughts while cleaning the flower beds and stirring the stewp:
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
I prefer my winter nights cozy and quiet.
If you can’t decide if it’s a stew or a soup, it’s a “stewp.”
In L.A., everyone loves a good comeback story.
In L.A., everyone IS a good comeback story.
“I was born when she kissed me.” —Humphrey Bogart, “In a Lonely Place”
FYI, I drive in iambic pentameter.
And I kiss in three-quarter time.
You can tell a lot by someone’s fridge.
You can tell a lot by someone’s lack of regrets.
Like Bogey, I harbor no regrets (though several lawsuits are still pending).
My secret spot: Dupar’s for breakfast.
Do you have secret spots?
What about those freckles no one knows about?
Quart of oil, 14 bucks?
Hot coffee on a cold morning is the answer to a minor prayer.
I am molded out of minor prayers.
But remember, no regrets.
Remember when goal posts were white?
Remember when game balls were called “The Duke?”
Props to NFL Films for 63 years of brilliant work.
Its co-founder, Ed Sabol, was the Steven Spielberg of sports.
Confession: I go into a minor funk the day football season ends.
An antidote to minor funks: Paris Baguette, the new corner bakery in Montrose.
Heaven must be full of bookstores and corner bakeries.
“Misery loves company, but so does joy. And joy throws much better parties.” —Bill Ivey
Another antidote to a post-football funk: a long, lazy hike.
A dive worth trying: The 1881, Pasadena’s neighborhood jazz joint.
FYI, the title to my new novel: “Creme de la Crime,” featuring a femme fatale named Jenny Because. And her wise and sexy pastor, Church Osburn.
No, it’s not done. True art is never done.
Besides, I prefer stuff that goes on and on: hockey season, dark steakhouses, creaky old stadiums.
Another secret spot: Mt. Wilson.
And another: Chevalier’s Books in Larchmont Village.
Hey, shouldn’t Tilly Norwood (the AI hottie) have a Valentine’s boyfriend?
“The sky is low, the wind is gray, the radiator purrs all day.” —John Updike on mid-winter.
Trivia time: Who was the inspiration for “Tiny Dancer,” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin?
Please note: Icing the kicker never works.
But icing writers always does.
Favorite reader reaction to my writing: “I had a friend talk like this recently…she was on Halcion for a dental procedure.”
Why thank you!
“Cinderella story…out of nowhere…former humorist…about to win his first Master’s…”
Best winter lunch: cup of soup, grilled-cheese sandwich.
In a perfect world, See’s Candies would serve chocolate malts.
In a perfect world, so would bars.
Despite white-tailed bucks, despite bald eagles, we still celebrate the lowly groundhog.
Take a bow, Pennsylvania!
Pennsylvania might be my favorite state.
OK, it’s still California.
And Chicago remains my favorite tavern.
Take a bow, Chicago!
FYI, only about 150 days till quarterbacks and receivers report.
Sending a big sloppy kiss to my secret crush: Griffith Observatory
My public crush: The Rose Bowl
I also like the zoo, though I seldom go.
Guess I see enough wild behavior on the 405?
Scariest stat: CHP gives out 1,600 speeding tickets a month to idiots topping 100 mph (per L.A. Times).
L.A. is no longer a city, it’s a giant speedway.
“Being a writer requires an intoxication with language.” — Jim Harrison
My favorite typeface: Helvetica con carne.
Did you know? After the epic 2006 Rose Bowl, Reggie Bush and Matt Leinart stopped by the Longhorns’ locker room to congratulate Coach Mack Brown.
Always beware of generalizations.
And random thoughts.
Hey, let’s go to the horse track!
Remember, Fridays are free.
We could never put a price on all the good things our pets do for us.
Same with hometown friends.
Wish I could sing like B.J. Thomas.
Wish I could howl like Robert Plant.
Favorite primary physician: Dr. Steve.
Favorite specialist: Dr Pepper.
Till I hit 60, I never even thought about knees.
Till I fell in love, I never thought about my heart.
Trivia answer: “Tiny Dancer” was inspired by Maxine Feibelman, seamstress for the band (obviously). And Bernie Taupin’s future wife.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all you L.A. “smoke shows,” young and old.
To me, women don’t peak till 85-100. Really. I swear.
Love how they twinkle.
Happy Valentine’s to football, baseball, chicken wings, Ray Charles and timeless San Marino girls.
Cheers to new loves, old loves and the loves yet to come.
In need of a spring hike? Stay tuned, we’re working on something. Watch these end notes for more information. The Happy Hour Hiking Club will be back in action soon.
Captions: Most of these are the grandkids or White Fang. The winter scene is from the 395 coming out of Mammoth Lakes. The person in the lower right isn’t a person at all, actually; it’s AI creation Tilly Norwood, who needs an AI boyfriend. The neon joint is 1881, the cozy and beloved Pasadena jazz joint.