Part of my childhood involved hours and hours of Nickelodeon: Double Dare, hosted by Marc Summers. Family Double Dare, hosted by Marc Summers. Super Sloppy Double Dare, hosted by Marc Summers. What Would You Do?, hosted by Marc Summers. Make the Grade, hosted by Lew Schneider for a year, and then Robb Edward Morris for the final year. Legends of the Hidden Temple, hosted by Kirk Fogg. Figure It Out, hosted by Summer Sanders. Nickelodeon Guts, hosted by Mike O'Malley. And on PBS, there was Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?, hosted by Greg Lee, with a formidable force in Lynne Thigpen as the Chief.
They were all good hosts, enthusiastic, into the game, and Kirk Fogg was always game in swinging onto the set, but none of them could outmatch Marc Summers. He was having just as much fun as the kids, the families, and others in both Double Dare and What Would You Do? His sincerity was genuine, not staged for the benefit of filling time. When he asked questions about the families on Family Double Dare, he truly wanted to know. He thrives on people, while also making himself distinct.
I thought about this early this morning after watching an episode of How It's Made, Tivo'd from the Science Channel, and had a yen to watch Unwrapped on Food Network again. The same concept as How It's Made, but with food and drink. And there's Marc Summers again, with that same enthusiasm. It hasn't wavered all these years. He also appears as a correspondent on The Chew on ABC and insight into types of food is made more interesting because he's interested. I sometimes wish that he would host America's Funniest Home Videos, because Tom Bergeron strikes me as phony sometimes. However, Summers is best where he is with Unwrapped, The Next Food Network Star, and those occasional segments on The Chew. He's doing the same good in my adulthood that he did in my childhood.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
History Sailing Lazily in Palmdale
Mother's Day. Standing in front of the hand dryer in the restroom at McDonald's, hitting the button once more to get my hands fully dry. Riffling through DVDs at Office Depot, happily finding that Rodrigo Garcia's Mother and Child still matters enough to be sold, even at Office Depot. At an outdoor table at Sonic, quickly retrieving fluttering napkins under the spell of wind, Palmdale's chief import. Finding Crispix on the top shelf of the cereal aisle in Walmart, across from Sonic.
I felt it in all those places. In that McDonald's restroom, someone was there before me. Not immediately before, or 20 minutes before, but further back. Way further back. I felt it on the road to Palmdale and past patches of desert on the way to Petco, and then PetSmart, and then Office Depot, then Sonic, then Walmart. The farther you get from the frenetic nature of Los Angeles and the willful historical amnesia of that part of the region, the more room there is for land to breathe, there's a bigger sense of history. I'm still trying to believe that people in Baker are living there by choice, but it's easy to believe that people in Palmdale are. I imagine them as descendants of prospects, settlers, people comfortable with living in such a barren setting, who could make their lives out of the wide swaths of dirt and bleached-out ground. The little grass that's there has to have been there long before anyone even thought of establishing Palmdale.
History doesn't press upon Palmdale like it does in Buena Park. It has a lighter touch, like it does in Anaheim, but it's more of a hands-off approach. It sails lazily in the sky like crows circling and circling above the Walmart parking lot. They have wind turbines in that lot to provide power in the store so that not as much electrical power has to be used. And I wonder about the process of that, who decided on it, what meetings were held, how long the construction took. But then I look across the street from where I'm sitting at Sonic, and I wonder what had been there before that shopping center.
The difference between Buena Park and Palmdale is that there's not as much a need to know the history of Palmdale because the history is always there somewhere. It's right out in the open; you don't have to explore as much. It's quick, whereas the history of Buena Park takes time to know. That's not to say that Palmdale's history is shallow, but you can know it right away, the settlements that were there, the artifacts that possibly remain.
Walking into PetSmart, I said to Mom about being in Palmdale, "Consider it a dry run for parts of Las Vegas." Some areas are as wide-ranging as Palmdale, with that much desert showing. Even with how dense the Strip is with people and hotels and shops and restaurants, you go around the back and there's the desert, going further and further the other way. That history is always available, and there are so many resources to tap to find it. It doesn't feel like Palmdale has quite the same resources, but surely they've collected their history somewhere, and keep it close because what came before cannot be forgotten, otherwise that section of the desert has nothing.
Because it's not near Los Angeles and therefore doesn't have the same "Forward! Always forward!" attitude, there is time for reflection in Palmdale. History will always have room. I don't think I could ever thrive there, but it's nice to know that history is alive in another part of Southern California. I just hope it remains.
I felt it in all those places. In that McDonald's restroom, someone was there before me. Not immediately before, or 20 minutes before, but further back. Way further back. I felt it on the road to Palmdale and past patches of desert on the way to Petco, and then PetSmart, and then Office Depot, then Sonic, then Walmart. The farther you get from the frenetic nature of Los Angeles and the willful historical amnesia of that part of the region, the more room there is for land to breathe, there's a bigger sense of history. I'm still trying to believe that people in Baker are living there by choice, but it's easy to believe that people in Palmdale are. I imagine them as descendants of prospects, settlers, people comfortable with living in such a barren setting, who could make their lives out of the wide swaths of dirt and bleached-out ground. The little grass that's there has to have been there long before anyone even thought of establishing Palmdale.
History doesn't press upon Palmdale like it does in Buena Park. It has a lighter touch, like it does in Anaheim, but it's more of a hands-off approach. It sails lazily in the sky like crows circling and circling above the Walmart parking lot. They have wind turbines in that lot to provide power in the store so that not as much electrical power has to be used. And I wonder about the process of that, who decided on it, what meetings were held, how long the construction took. But then I look across the street from where I'm sitting at Sonic, and I wonder what had been there before that shopping center.
The difference between Buena Park and Palmdale is that there's not as much a need to know the history of Palmdale because the history is always there somewhere. It's right out in the open; you don't have to explore as much. It's quick, whereas the history of Buena Park takes time to know. That's not to say that Palmdale's history is shallow, but you can know it right away, the settlements that were there, the artifacts that possibly remain.
Walking into PetSmart, I said to Mom about being in Palmdale, "Consider it a dry run for parts of Las Vegas." Some areas are as wide-ranging as Palmdale, with that much desert showing. Even with how dense the Strip is with people and hotels and shops and restaurants, you go around the back and there's the desert, going further and further the other way. That history is always available, and there are so many resources to tap to find it. It doesn't feel like Palmdale has quite the same resources, but surely they've collected their history somewhere, and keep it close because what came before cannot be forgotten, otherwise that section of the desert has nothing.
Because it's not near Los Angeles and therefore doesn't have the same "Forward! Always forward!" attitude, there is time for reflection in Palmdale. History will always have room. I don't think I could ever thrive there, but it's nice to know that history is alive in another part of Southern California. I just hope it remains.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Which Las Vegas Do I Want First?
I'm not overwhelmed by what's to come. I'm curious. I'm fascinated. All this will belong to me. What do I want to do first?
First, settling in. Then a car. Then a job. Then a library card and total exploration. I'll have the rest of my life to do what I want in Las Vegas, Henderson, Boulder City, Summerlin, and everywhere else in Nevada, all those roads to see, those mountains (mountains to not have to live in like I do here), and all that nature scenery. Plus I want to see my favorite view again, from that rock ledge near the Hacienda Hotel and Casino on the way to Hoover Dam, looking out at that ocean of desert.
The one thing I'm getting used to before we move over there is that nothing there is as split up as it is here, and as it was in Florida. Four hours to Walt Disney World from South Florida, which is understandable because that's where Walt Disney wanted it. To get to the Main library branch of the Broward County Library system, 25 minutes to downtown Fort Lauderdale, traffic or no traffic. Not so bad, but still time to take to get there. Different scenery was always welcome, but there was never a great connection because of that distance. I felt closer to the small gas station next to the entrance to Grand Palms Golf & Country Club in Pembroke Pines (where, after you pass through the security barrier lifted by a press of a button from the guardhouse, there's houses on both sides, and we had to drive two miles on the property to get to the Las Verdes condos, where we lived), but that was also because they made the best Cafe Cubano anywhere in South Florida. Even though I don't have caffeine anymore, I miss that.
I'm getting used to so much being available to me so closely in Las Vegas and Henderson and Summerlin and Boulder City. There's still a drive time to get anywhere, but it's not as disconnected, definitely not like driving freeways to get to Burbank, Pasadena, Beverly Hills, and Los Angeles from Santa Clarita. Getting to Ventura takes time too, and you never feel like a resident of California (not that I ever have anyway), just a tourist wherever you go. Depending on where we move to, I love possibly being able to drive to the Pinball Hall of Fame and come back to our residence and I feel as close to that as I did to that gas station. I may not see it all the time because of there being so much to do (although I would like to visit the Pinball Hall of Fame often; I think they also have Galaga), but it's there for me whenever I want it. It's always available and always welcoming. That's most important to me. If I go to the Cosmpolitan to see that art vending machine I've heard about (It looks like one of those old cigarette machines. You put $5 in, pull one of the handles, and someone's artwork comes out. It's a small piece, but still creative), there it is for me to look at. If I go to Caesars Palace to enjoy that wide open space on the casino floor, I can walk around as much as I want. I want to eventually find a slot machine that I can pinpoint as my favorite (I don't gamble anyway; I use them as a kind of meditation. A dollar in the machine and one line played every time, I just sit there and think about my life, about what I want to do, about what I've done, about what I want to write, etc.), and I know that every slot machine is open to me doing that. My dad's favorite is a video slot machine called Cops and Doughnuts, which is funny, but it's not my kind of machine. Nor are the ones that use "Q," "A," "K," "J," and "10" on its reels and aren't poker machines. There are so many of those with so many different themes, and it was disheartening to find that 80% of those at Fiesta Henderson were exactly that.
I can have all of Las Vegas, Henderson, Boulder City, and Summerlin. That's most important to me. Living here in Saugus, there's not as much access to the Valencia Town Center Mall as there was when we lived in one of the two apartment complexes behind the Pavilions and HomeGoods shopping center. Not that it's a mall worth going to now after Waldenbooks closed years ago and then Borders closed recently (though I've always liked Barnes & Noble better, but I'll take a bookstore here where I can get it), but at least it was there. In Las Vegas, malls will be there, casinos will be there, unique shops will be there, all those lights will be there, and I can have them whenever I want. If we move to Henderson, I can still have them. If we do move to Las Vegas, I can have them closer. I don't have to have them all the time if I don't want to, but the option is always there. Considering that I want to explore every inch of Southern Nevada, I'll want them all the time.
And after I'm settled in enough, I want to start planning my travels to New Mexico and all the presidential libraries in the nation, save for Nixon's and Reagan's. Already done, and I don't ever want to go back to Southern California. I won't have enough money right away to go, plus I want to establish my hoped-for career as a middle school campus supervisor first. I'm giving myself a year and a half to two years after we get there because there's so much in Southern Nevada that'll occupy me, and that sounds like enough time to squirrel away some money while also contributing to our household. But when I feel I have enough for whichever library will come first, I'll be ready. I'm very happy that I'll have a home base to come back to, one that I can actually call "home." I want my roots to be in the desert. We moved around Florida so much that I never could put my roots anywhere. Now it's time. I can split Southern Nevada into manageable chunks as necessary for what I want to visit, but I want all of it and I can have all of it. It's what I've always wanted, and I'm ready.
First, settling in. Then a car. Then a job. Then a library card and total exploration. I'll have the rest of my life to do what I want in Las Vegas, Henderson, Boulder City, Summerlin, and everywhere else in Nevada, all those roads to see, those mountains (mountains to not have to live in like I do here), and all that nature scenery. Plus I want to see my favorite view again, from that rock ledge near the Hacienda Hotel and Casino on the way to Hoover Dam, looking out at that ocean of desert.
The one thing I'm getting used to before we move over there is that nothing there is as split up as it is here, and as it was in Florida. Four hours to Walt Disney World from South Florida, which is understandable because that's where Walt Disney wanted it. To get to the Main library branch of the Broward County Library system, 25 minutes to downtown Fort Lauderdale, traffic or no traffic. Not so bad, but still time to take to get there. Different scenery was always welcome, but there was never a great connection because of that distance. I felt closer to the small gas station next to the entrance to Grand Palms Golf & Country Club in Pembroke Pines (where, after you pass through the security barrier lifted by a press of a button from the guardhouse, there's houses on both sides, and we had to drive two miles on the property to get to the Las Verdes condos, where we lived), but that was also because they made the best Cafe Cubano anywhere in South Florida. Even though I don't have caffeine anymore, I miss that.
I'm getting used to so much being available to me so closely in Las Vegas and Henderson and Summerlin and Boulder City. There's still a drive time to get anywhere, but it's not as disconnected, definitely not like driving freeways to get to Burbank, Pasadena, Beverly Hills, and Los Angeles from Santa Clarita. Getting to Ventura takes time too, and you never feel like a resident of California (not that I ever have anyway), just a tourist wherever you go. Depending on where we move to, I love possibly being able to drive to the Pinball Hall of Fame and come back to our residence and I feel as close to that as I did to that gas station. I may not see it all the time because of there being so much to do (although I would like to visit the Pinball Hall of Fame often; I think they also have Galaga), but it's there for me whenever I want it. It's always available and always welcoming. That's most important to me. If I go to the Cosmpolitan to see that art vending machine I've heard about (It looks like one of those old cigarette machines. You put $5 in, pull one of the handles, and someone's artwork comes out. It's a small piece, but still creative), there it is for me to look at. If I go to Caesars Palace to enjoy that wide open space on the casino floor, I can walk around as much as I want. I want to eventually find a slot machine that I can pinpoint as my favorite (I don't gamble anyway; I use them as a kind of meditation. A dollar in the machine and one line played every time, I just sit there and think about my life, about what I want to do, about what I've done, about what I want to write, etc.), and I know that every slot machine is open to me doing that. My dad's favorite is a video slot machine called Cops and Doughnuts, which is funny, but it's not my kind of machine. Nor are the ones that use "Q," "A," "K," "J," and "10" on its reels and aren't poker machines. There are so many of those with so many different themes, and it was disheartening to find that 80% of those at Fiesta Henderson were exactly that.
I can have all of Las Vegas, Henderson, Boulder City, and Summerlin. That's most important to me. Living here in Saugus, there's not as much access to the Valencia Town Center Mall as there was when we lived in one of the two apartment complexes behind the Pavilions and HomeGoods shopping center. Not that it's a mall worth going to now after Waldenbooks closed years ago and then Borders closed recently (though I've always liked Barnes & Noble better, but I'll take a bookstore here where I can get it), but at least it was there. In Las Vegas, malls will be there, casinos will be there, unique shops will be there, all those lights will be there, and I can have them whenever I want. If we move to Henderson, I can still have them. If we do move to Las Vegas, I can have them closer. I don't have to have them all the time if I don't want to, but the option is always there. Considering that I want to explore every inch of Southern Nevada, I'll want them all the time.
And after I'm settled in enough, I want to start planning my travels to New Mexico and all the presidential libraries in the nation, save for Nixon's and Reagan's. Already done, and I don't ever want to go back to Southern California. I won't have enough money right away to go, plus I want to establish my hoped-for career as a middle school campus supervisor first. I'm giving myself a year and a half to two years after we get there because there's so much in Southern Nevada that'll occupy me, and that sounds like enough time to squirrel away some money while also contributing to our household. But when I feel I have enough for whichever library will come first, I'll be ready. I'm very happy that I'll have a home base to come back to, one that I can actually call "home." I want my roots to be in the desert. We moved around Florida so much that I never could put my roots anywhere. Now it's time. I can split Southern Nevada into manageable chunks as necessary for what I want to visit, but I want all of it and I can have all of it. It's what I've always wanted, and I'm ready.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
A Car Listing Translation
I've been reading Vol. 2, No. 8 of The Henderson Press, dated April 21-27, 2011, the first weekly issue. I think it will be a stronger newspaper by being weekly, more attention to city issues, driven to find more stories in order to fill the pages, stories that matter. I think those will be in future issues, just like they were in this issue. And much more of a community connection. The people make it so.
There's a listing in the car section for a 1997 Honda Accord, selling for $1,400. No picture. Meanwhile, there's a picture of a 2005 Winnebago for $49,800. For that size, there'd better be a view of it.
I want to translate this ad into likely reality because I laughed at a few of the words listed:
"Must sell, moving" - I have another, more reliable car, and I'm not taking this piece of shit with me.
"2d Honda Accord" - When I was young and poor, I bought this car just to have a car. Now I have four doors, which makes two doors look like a swing set does to a rollercoaster.
"se a/c" - I have no idea what "se" means. I Googled it and came up with "Service Experts," and also found out that car people don't make the terms easy to know on the Internet. If you're not part of the club, we'll snicker at you until you notice and then we'll quickly start talking about oil changes, looking askance at you until you leave. Considering the mileage, which I'll list in a minute, I think it's at-your-own-risk air conditioning.
"Clean" - Just washed it. I couldn't reach the chip crumbs under the seats, though.
"200k miles" - Just put your wallet and credit cards on that tree stump over there and I'll set them on fire.
"needs tlc" - Hope you don't plan to eat, or go to the doctor, or see a movie, or do anything fun ever again.
"call for info" - You can call, but I'm going to be cagey about what I tell you and the only straight answer I'll give you is how I want you to pay me. Pay no attention to the loosening hose under the hood.
I'm thinking about getting a used Toyota Corolla after we move, and I'm going to make damn sure I don't get the same vibe as this.
There's a listing in the car section for a 1997 Honda Accord, selling for $1,400. No picture. Meanwhile, there's a picture of a 2005 Winnebago for $49,800. For that size, there'd better be a view of it.
I want to translate this ad into likely reality because I laughed at a few of the words listed:
"Must sell, moving" - I have another, more reliable car, and I'm not taking this piece of shit with me.
"2d Honda Accord" - When I was young and poor, I bought this car just to have a car. Now I have four doors, which makes two doors look like a swing set does to a rollercoaster.
"se a/c" - I have no idea what "se" means. I Googled it and came up with "Service Experts," and also found out that car people don't make the terms easy to know on the Internet. If you're not part of the club, we'll snicker at you until you notice and then we'll quickly start talking about oil changes, looking askance at you until you leave. Considering the mileage, which I'll list in a minute, I think it's at-your-own-risk air conditioning.
"Clean" - Just washed it. I couldn't reach the chip crumbs under the seats, though.
"200k miles" - Just put your wallet and credit cards on that tree stump over there and I'll set them on fire.
"needs tlc" - Hope you don't plan to eat, or go to the doctor, or see a movie, or do anything fun ever again.
"call for info" - You can call, but I'm going to be cagey about what I tell you and the only straight answer I'll give you is how I want you to pay me. Pay no attention to the loosening hose under the hood.
I'm thinking about getting a used Toyota Corolla after we move, and I'm going to make damn sure I don't get the same vibe as this.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Tidbits from the 12th Issue of The Henderson Press
There's still a whole lot to do before we can loudly cheer the Santa Clarita Valley goodbye, but we're getting closer to moving. Mom's homing in on possible apartments, and even a mobile home park at the foot of the Strip, near what used to be the Sahara, which is a retirement community of sorts, with lots of activities, and bus service to various places. Mom's deciding if that's really where she wants to be since she's not at that age yet, but it could be convenient, and maybe to be surrounded by elderly people who are probably nicer than my paternal grandparents were, more receptive, more attentive. There's a lot to think about, whether Henderson or Las Vegas, but no matter where we end up, I will explore every single inch of Southern Nevada first and then the rest of Nevada. Nothing will be too far from me.
This issue of The Henderson Press, Vol. 2, No. 7, dated April 7-April 20, 2011, has as its big headline, "Night of the Incumbent." All incumbents running for re-election to the Henderson City Council won in the Primary Election, with only the Ward IV seat not being an outright win, sending it to the June 7 general election. Jeremy Twitchell's article is wonderfully detailed about the wins and comments from the winners, as well as noting that for the first time since Vote Centers were established in the city, ending precincts, turnout did not increase. I get the impression from this article that with how the economy was going at this time, people knew that the City Council was doing everything they can to help them, and didn't want to elect anyone new, because who knows what they would do? What guarantee would there be that their actions would be for the good of the city? If sincere efforts are being made, let them continue uninterrupted.
Twitchell says that only "12.24 percent of Henderson's registered voters cast a ballot, down from 14.65 percent in the 2009 General Municipal Election." Those who voted didn't want such a jolting change. He also says that "this year's turnout is the lowest in a municipal election since the 2007 Primary Election, which featured only one race." That's not an accurate measurement. People aren't going to come out in great numbers for just one race.
Let's see what else is going on:
- Don Logay has an article here about a BMW rolling into Lake Las Vegas. He starts it with, "Apparently, homes in Las Vegas aren't the only thing "underwater" these days." Cue the loud groans. That's a Leno line. What happened? With Logay, it's an anomaly, but he couldn't think of a better way to start this? He says that a 100-foot crane was used to lift the car out of the water? He should have asked the operator of the crane if this has been done before, and start with that. If it's unusual, start it with, "For a crane operator, Lake Las Vegas usually isn't a premier destination. But the siren song of a sunken BMW could not be ignored." Something like that. The rest of the article retains all the good I've come to expect from Logay, continual interest in Lake Las Vegas. And just like Fred Couzens, he's a whiz at photos.
- Couzens writes about a proactive community incensed by the proposed 660-kilovolt transmission line that a single block of homeowners between Foothills Drive and Thoroughbred Drive. Every time I proclaim Couzens' latest article to be his best one, as I did in reading the 11th issue, he writes another one that supersedes it. He's found a comfortable niche in The Henderson Press and I can easily say now that I look forward to his articles as much as Jeremy Twitchell's and Don Logay, quite a change from when I used to dread them in the early issues.
- Karen Y. Lu wrote about the Police Commendation Ceremony Awards, detailing every award given, in thick, small-type paragraphs that take up one and a half pages on pages 8 and 9. It's a surprise to see this kind of community outreach from eight years here in the disconnected Santa Clarita Valley, but very reassuring, hopeful that a genuine community exists there. I've felt it in various pockets of Henderson and in the people I've met, and in the actually healthy-looking people I've seen walking throughout the Galleria at Sunset mall, and can't wait to see the rest of Henderson for that.
- There's a photo of Officer Forest Shields presented with the award for Henderson Police Officer of the Year by Chief Jutta Chambers. Shields looks like an older Andy Samberg.
- Couzens has another article about a 5-year-old girl with a "mysterious neuromuscular disorder" who was not expected to live past age 4, and the expenses involved in her life, heavy expenses, evenly detailed by him. He's getting much better at interviewing people about their lives.
- Karen Y. Lu's article about the then-upcoming 61st annual Henderson Heritage Parade perks me up more while waiting to move, because it's a strong reminder that Henderson has great use for its history. It never forgets when it started, and what it was. Lu writes that the parade began in 1950, three years before Henderson became a city. And this parade is led by Ethel M under the theme, "Chocolatiers for 30 Years," with 100 chocolate-themed entries.
- There's a fact box next to Lu's article, which includes this: "The state of Nevada purchased the entire townsite from the federal War Assets Administration in 1948 for $24 million." And: "When Henderson incorporated in 1953, it had a population of 7,410 and consisted of about 13 square miles. In January 2011, the city had an estimated population of 277,502 and an area of 103 square miles." The newspaper before The Henderson Press was the Henderson Home News, which ran from 1951 to 2009. The Henderson Libraries website has a vast archive of past issues, which I don't think I'll write about like I do for The Henderson Press because The Henderson Press was my first exposure to how news in Henderson is covered, and therefore means a great deal to me, though I'm sure to study more of Henderson's history, these Henderson Home News issues will be equally meaningful. It'll be incredible to read about Henderson from 1951, since I now found out that all the issues are available on the library website.
- There's a coupon from Johnnie Mac's for a $5.95 pasta lunch, "11am - 3pm Daily.", Sunday through Thursday only, expiring on the 15th. I wonder what kind of pasta they favor for it.
- The list of businesses that have The Henderson Press available (free, of course) is staggering. It's another example of how tight-knit Henderson is.
- Still nothing practical in the car ads. Nothing I would want, besides.
- On the right side of the car ads is a small ad for Lucky Star Super Buffet, mentioning a "valuable offer in the coupon section." It's at 617 Mall Ring Circle, south of Macy's. That's right in the Galleria at Sunset area. I haven't seen it yet, but I think it's still there.
That's the end of this issue. I'm debating whether to keep going with this because there's 44 issues total in Volume 2, and Volume 3 has 18 issues so far. Plus there's 5,432 issues of Henderson Home News for me to read. And I will read them all. Probably not all of them before we move, but some. Only when I write these entries do I read the Henderson Press issue featured and I don't read another issue until I feel like writing another entry. I can't do it that way anymore. I'm not really sure how to go about it yet; either an entry for every five issues, or something else, or maybe just keep a file of interesting things I learned and how Jeremy Twitchell, Don Logay, and Fred Couzens are faring, and then post some tidbits once in a while. My goal for The Henderson Press is to read up to the latest issue before we move. I'm sure of that. So maybe it's best to do this another way, because I still want to write about The Henderson Press. It's just becoming less feasible as a possible moving date gets closer. I'll figure it out. Plus I want to see Logay and Couzens evolve faster, because they are growing stronger. I used to think of Twitchell as the star of the paper, but Logay and Couzens have their own terrific skills to offer now, which makes it an evenly-shared paper, though I'm curious about if there are any proper replacements for Twitchell after he and his wife left. Plus, Couzens may not even be around in the current issues, and it'd be interesting to see what new reporters show up, because certainly there must be.
So that's what I think I'll do: I'll keep a file and post once in a while about the paper. I really want to see what happens next, especially since I just downloaded Vol. 2, No. 8, and there's the announcement on the front page that The Henderson Press is now a weekly newspaper. The pressure begins for the reporters, but hopefully it makes Twitchell, Logay, and Couzens even better, another reason for me to not write about it like this anymore. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
This issue of The Henderson Press, Vol. 2, No. 7, dated April 7-April 20, 2011, has as its big headline, "Night of the Incumbent." All incumbents running for re-election to the Henderson City Council won in the Primary Election, with only the Ward IV seat not being an outright win, sending it to the June 7 general election. Jeremy Twitchell's article is wonderfully detailed about the wins and comments from the winners, as well as noting that for the first time since Vote Centers were established in the city, ending precincts, turnout did not increase. I get the impression from this article that with how the economy was going at this time, people knew that the City Council was doing everything they can to help them, and didn't want to elect anyone new, because who knows what they would do? What guarantee would there be that their actions would be for the good of the city? If sincere efforts are being made, let them continue uninterrupted.
Twitchell says that only "12.24 percent of Henderson's registered voters cast a ballot, down from 14.65 percent in the 2009 General Municipal Election." Those who voted didn't want such a jolting change. He also says that "this year's turnout is the lowest in a municipal election since the 2007 Primary Election, which featured only one race." That's not an accurate measurement. People aren't going to come out in great numbers for just one race.
Let's see what else is going on:
- Don Logay has an article here about a BMW rolling into Lake Las Vegas. He starts it with, "Apparently, homes in Las Vegas aren't the only thing "underwater" these days." Cue the loud groans. That's a Leno line. What happened? With Logay, it's an anomaly, but he couldn't think of a better way to start this? He says that a 100-foot crane was used to lift the car out of the water? He should have asked the operator of the crane if this has been done before, and start with that. If it's unusual, start it with, "For a crane operator, Lake Las Vegas usually isn't a premier destination. But the siren song of a sunken BMW could not be ignored." Something like that. The rest of the article retains all the good I've come to expect from Logay, continual interest in Lake Las Vegas. And just like Fred Couzens, he's a whiz at photos.
- Couzens writes about a proactive community incensed by the proposed 660-kilovolt transmission line that a single block of homeowners between Foothills Drive and Thoroughbred Drive. Every time I proclaim Couzens' latest article to be his best one, as I did in reading the 11th issue, he writes another one that supersedes it. He's found a comfortable niche in The Henderson Press and I can easily say now that I look forward to his articles as much as Jeremy Twitchell's and Don Logay, quite a change from when I used to dread them in the early issues.
- Karen Y. Lu wrote about the Police Commendation Ceremony Awards, detailing every award given, in thick, small-type paragraphs that take up one and a half pages on pages 8 and 9. It's a surprise to see this kind of community outreach from eight years here in the disconnected Santa Clarita Valley, but very reassuring, hopeful that a genuine community exists there. I've felt it in various pockets of Henderson and in the people I've met, and in the actually healthy-looking people I've seen walking throughout the Galleria at Sunset mall, and can't wait to see the rest of Henderson for that.
- There's a photo of Officer Forest Shields presented with the award for Henderson Police Officer of the Year by Chief Jutta Chambers. Shields looks like an older Andy Samberg.
- Couzens has another article about a 5-year-old girl with a "mysterious neuromuscular disorder" who was not expected to live past age 4, and the expenses involved in her life, heavy expenses, evenly detailed by him. He's getting much better at interviewing people about their lives.
- Karen Y. Lu's article about the then-upcoming 61st annual Henderson Heritage Parade perks me up more while waiting to move, because it's a strong reminder that Henderson has great use for its history. It never forgets when it started, and what it was. Lu writes that the parade began in 1950, three years before Henderson became a city. And this parade is led by Ethel M under the theme, "Chocolatiers for 30 Years," with 100 chocolate-themed entries.
- There's a fact box next to Lu's article, which includes this: "The state of Nevada purchased the entire townsite from the federal War Assets Administration in 1948 for $24 million." And: "When Henderson incorporated in 1953, it had a population of 7,410 and consisted of about 13 square miles. In January 2011, the city had an estimated population of 277,502 and an area of 103 square miles." The newspaper before The Henderson Press was the Henderson Home News, which ran from 1951 to 2009. The Henderson Libraries website has a vast archive of past issues, which I don't think I'll write about like I do for The Henderson Press because The Henderson Press was my first exposure to how news in Henderson is covered, and therefore means a great deal to me, though I'm sure to study more of Henderson's history, these Henderson Home News issues will be equally meaningful. It'll be incredible to read about Henderson from 1951, since I now found out that all the issues are available on the library website.
- There's a coupon from Johnnie Mac's for a $5.95 pasta lunch, "11am - 3pm Daily.", Sunday through Thursday only, expiring on the 15th. I wonder what kind of pasta they favor for it.
- The list of businesses that have The Henderson Press available (free, of course) is staggering. It's another example of how tight-knit Henderson is.
- Still nothing practical in the car ads. Nothing I would want, besides.
- On the right side of the car ads is a small ad for Lucky Star Super Buffet, mentioning a "valuable offer in the coupon section." It's at 617 Mall Ring Circle, south of Macy's. That's right in the Galleria at Sunset area. I haven't seen it yet, but I think it's still there.
That's the end of this issue. I'm debating whether to keep going with this because there's 44 issues total in Volume 2, and Volume 3 has 18 issues so far. Plus there's 5,432 issues of Henderson Home News for me to read. And I will read them all. Probably not all of them before we move, but some. Only when I write these entries do I read the Henderson Press issue featured and I don't read another issue until I feel like writing another entry. I can't do it that way anymore. I'm not really sure how to go about it yet; either an entry for every five issues, or something else, or maybe just keep a file of interesting things I learned and how Jeremy Twitchell, Don Logay, and Fred Couzens are faring, and then post some tidbits once in a while. My goal for The Henderson Press is to read up to the latest issue before we move. I'm sure of that. So maybe it's best to do this another way, because I still want to write about The Henderson Press. It's just becoming less feasible as a possible moving date gets closer. I'll figure it out. Plus I want to see Logay and Couzens evolve faster, because they are growing stronger. I used to think of Twitchell as the star of the paper, but Logay and Couzens have their own terrific skills to offer now, which makes it an evenly-shared paper, though I'm curious about if there are any proper replacements for Twitchell after he and his wife left. Plus, Couzens may not even be around in the current issues, and it'd be interesting to see what new reporters show up, because certainly there must be.
So that's what I think I'll do: I'll keep a file and post once in a while about the paper. I really want to see what happens next, especially since I just downloaded Vol. 2, No. 8, and there's the announcement on the front page that The Henderson Press is now a weekly newspaper. The pressure begins for the reporters, but hopefully it makes Twitchell, Logay, and Couzens even better, another reason for me to not write about it like this anymore. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
History Erased
Three weeks ago, I learned from The Coaster Guy that the Six Flags Magic Mountain memorabilia in the Sky Tower had been completely removed, including the framed awards on two walls, bringing it back to its original form of people just riding the elevator up and looking at the view from all sides. I'm disappointed, because this was the one place in the Santa Clarita Valley where history was alive. History here is usually sad and decrepit. It has meaning, but it's not quite there because it always feels like regret. I know that people have history that they're not too proud of, but if we're talking the history of a place, the history of a valley, there should be more. And the Sky Tower Museum did have more. I agree with Kurt, the proprietor of the site, that it "was a great idea, but I don’t think it was executed very well." He's right on that count. The memorabilia was there, and so was that feeling of history being necessary. There were costumes and props and decommissioned seats from rollercoasters that didn't need those seats anymore, or didn't need to be a rollercoaster anymore. It was a random assortment, though. No chronological order, no theme. No section for rollercoasters, and then stage shows or outdoor shows, and then the overall park, such as it would be with maps from the 1970s. What Six Flags Magic Mountain should have done is train the employees in the history of the park. No tests or anything like that; just make sure that they can speak confidently enough about the history and answer any questions. In fact, they should have had a few sheets detailing questions most likely to be asked in the Sky Tower Museum.
If Six Flags Magic Mountain was run by a company that still cared about its history like Knotts Berry Farm is in Buena Park (a town heavy with the ghosts of its history, but not as gloomy as that sounds), they could consult former employees who might still be in touch with others throughout that division of the company, or known historians, and create exhibits that give people a full view of what the park was like back then. Have those former employees from long ago and those historians come up with a program that's palatable to the average visitor, and still detailed enough for the devoted fan. This is how the Sky Tower could have been best used, and with the benefit of that panoramic view, docents (as in paid employees that wanted this position) could point out where certain areas used to be and where the dolphin shows had been, and whatever else visitors might have wanted to know.
But would it have worked? Would there have been enough visitors to justify such a venture? Idealistically, I would hope so. But realistically, I'm not sure. Visitors who live in Santa Clarita just want the rides, and to get out of the heat for a little while during those months. Tourists want to see the park, and try to understand how in the heck people could simply walk up that huge frickin' Samurai Summit without either pulling something or collapsing from exhaustion, but on a not-too-steep incline so they don't roll down the hill. I would hope, even realistically, that mixed into those crowds are those interested enough in the history of place, to wonder what the park had been before its current incarnation, to try to imagine the park from the Sky Tower without all those rides, without those shows, without those food stands, and without the Sky Tower, imagining all that emptiness before it began to be filled in.
In the comments section of Kurt's post, he says that the artifacts were moved to Level P1, which is the "floor of the tower under the museum," now meaning under the panoramic view. It's amazing what's actually contained within the tower, as Kurt wrote in the early days of his blog:
"It stands 385 feet tall, has two observation decks around the 300 foot mark, and is serviced by two elevators. It can even be configured as a restaurant with the dining area on one floor and the kitchen on the other. Magic Mountain uses it as merely an observation deck, however they did furnish it with some historical park memorabilia in 2008 after a park employee suggested they create some sort of a museum."
Configured as a restaurant. Is the kitchen even up to code anymore? If they were to go that way, would they have to upgrade the equipment? This is what I'd want to know and also want to know if the dining configuration was ever used for any events. I'm sure it was, but these are the details that could have kept the Sky Tower Museum going.
Today, we four went to the Walmart on Kelly Johnson Parkway, the one that overlooks Six Flags Magic Mountain from a distance. Through willowy trees that have grown tall and bend airily in the wind, you can see the Superman: Escape from Krypton tower, as well as the Sky Tower. Superman: Escape from Krypton is having Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom added to it, which means clamping two separate tracks on each side of the tower, as a freefall kind of ride, or a drop tower ride, as they say. Who's they? Rollercoaster and theme park enthusiasts. I trust their word.
After we parked, I looked out at Six Flags Magic Mountain, at the Sky Tower and thought about that post with great regret. This is not a valley that's known for its history because it constantly presses on. We have to keep moving, we have to embrace the future, and then we have to discard that part of the future that has become the past and chase after the new future. Then the new new future. And, oh look! The new new new future!
One of the worst things happening to the Santa Clarita Valley, though few notice since it's financially in the crapper and wouldn't be if more people subscribed (though there's nothing worth subscribing for), is that the weekend Escape section of The Signal, the exclusive newspaper of this valley, has been cut down to 7 pages, which is basically nothing. I know. I worked with 16 pages when I was the interim editor and there was a lot more to play with. 7 pages in this edition is movie listings, an AP movie review of The Avengers by Christy Lemire (or at least I think it was The Avengers, though it doesn't matter), a few paragraphs from Chuck Shepard's News of the Weird, which is also part of the AP wire service for newspapers to use, and that's it. Nothing else. Nothing about this valley, and nothing about what's going on in this valley. Nothing to tell about its history, nothing to tell about anyone who might be doing something with its history, like a lecture or something. It's sadly a reflection on this valley because it is that shallow. Most who live here work in Los Angeles, and don't want to live in Los Angeles, so they come back here after work. This valley is the true definition of a bedroom community, minus "community," because there's no sense of one anywhere in here. Some people try, and I admire them for it, but it seems like a futile effort. How can it be done when L.A. is only half an hour south? L.A.'s not so great with its history either, as I learned from Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America by Gustavo Arellano. A lot of whitewashing of history on Olvera Street, and a harkening back to the good old pueblo days, which didn't actually exist. History is only useful there if it's beneficial. Otherwise, what history?
Also in Arellano's fascinating history tour, I learned about San Bernardino, "about sixty miles east of Los Angeles," which was starting to become "America's fast-food incubator." Taco Bell began in the L.A. suburb of Downey in 1962. I read something about Anaheim in here, but I can't find it. While reading that section, I thought about Anaheim and Buena Park, and how both retain their history in many forms. They may not pay a great deal of attention to it, but they don't ignore it, they don't shun it, and they aren't ashamed of it. In the years before we began to be set on Las Vegas as our next and final residence (once I'm there, I'm not moving. It's where I belong and I don't think any other city in America would fit me so comfortably as Las Vegas does), I think I would not have been so angry toward the vapidity of the Santa Clarita Valley if I had studied Anaheim and Buena Park closely. I wrote about Buena Park in late January 2010, and I still feel the same about it. It's there for those who seek its history. It's not trying to be something it never was. Anaheim fascinates me because even though it would seem that there's nothing else outside of Disneyland, it feels like it has its pockets of history. All those past lives and past dates and past events are part of its fabric. It absorbed them and gained character from them. Whenever we went to the now-unfortunately-closed Po Folks in Buena Park, I always got a copy of the Orange County Register. The paper has always covered Orange County extremely well, but what interested me the most was Jonathan Lansner, the Register's real estate writer. How could anyone be interested enough in real estate to write about it? I can't understand it, but people are interested in it, and Lansner always writes about it so well, making such clear sense out of all the numbers. I wondered who Lansner is when he's away from the Orange County Register, what got him interested in real estate. History has always been accessible in Orange County. It takes some time to find, I'm sure, but it's there. There's no fear of being seen as old, as seems to be the mentality in Los Angeles and Santa Clarita. Perhaps that's why history is hidden or erased, as it felt upon seeing the photos of that empty Sky Tower floor and walls.
Then on Saturday, while Mom, Dad, and Meridith were out, remembering that Escape section, I thought about what I would have done to revive the section, if there was management willing to make it vibrant again, getting rid of the monotony that has poisoned it. I thought about more stories of community events, profiles of people with different hobbies, including gardening because that's always been interesting to me as an observer. Articles about Santa Clarita's history that include interviews with those who have lived that history or have studied it well. As much as I loathe this valley and will happily never go back to it once I'm gone, it needs this. It needs this attention. The entire area always looks so dry, and that's not because of the weather. It's because no one wants to try to prop it up, to give it life. It's the bedroom community mentality. The major flaw in my "plan," is finding writers who can write and are passionate about this valley, who don't mind being paid the pittance that The Signal barely offers. A new owner would be an improvement, but only if it was someone first rich enough, and secondly who has lived in this valley for decades who actually loves it and wants to see it made better, more active. This shouldn't just be a bedroom community. This is where people live, and I've heard that there are people who live here who have never left this valley. I take it to mean that they've never driven out to L.A. or Burbank or Pasadena or Anaheim or Buena Park, but I find that absolutely impossible. Considering what's offered here, how could they find anything to do? The library only goes so far.
I wish for more for this valley. As awful as it has been to me, I really do. But whereas Buena Park's ghosts remain, and its history is always there, Santa Clarita is heavy with apathy. It's there. People just want to do their necessary errands, eat wherever the booze is good, go to a movie, get out of this valley on a Friday night, and that's it. They get what they put into it. Maybe Anaheim and Buena Park are just more interesting because they're removed from Los Angeles and Hollywood by extension. They have their own distinct identities because of that. They're not clawing and yowling for the power of media. They are who they are, in all that they offer. At least history exists somewhere in Southern California.
If Six Flags Magic Mountain was run by a company that still cared about its history like Knotts Berry Farm is in Buena Park (a town heavy with the ghosts of its history, but not as gloomy as that sounds), they could consult former employees who might still be in touch with others throughout that division of the company, or known historians, and create exhibits that give people a full view of what the park was like back then. Have those former employees from long ago and those historians come up with a program that's palatable to the average visitor, and still detailed enough for the devoted fan. This is how the Sky Tower could have been best used, and with the benefit of that panoramic view, docents (as in paid employees that wanted this position) could point out where certain areas used to be and where the dolphin shows had been, and whatever else visitors might have wanted to know.
But would it have worked? Would there have been enough visitors to justify such a venture? Idealistically, I would hope so. But realistically, I'm not sure. Visitors who live in Santa Clarita just want the rides, and to get out of the heat for a little while during those months. Tourists want to see the park, and try to understand how in the heck people could simply walk up that huge frickin' Samurai Summit without either pulling something or collapsing from exhaustion, but on a not-too-steep incline so they don't roll down the hill. I would hope, even realistically, that mixed into those crowds are those interested enough in the history of place, to wonder what the park had been before its current incarnation, to try to imagine the park from the Sky Tower without all those rides, without those shows, without those food stands, and without the Sky Tower, imagining all that emptiness before it began to be filled in.
In the comments section of Kurt's post, he says that the artifacts were moved to Level P1, which is the "floor of the tower under the museum," now meaning under the panoramic view. It's amazing what's actually contained within the tower, as Kurt wrote in the early days of his blog:
"It stands 385 feet tall, has two observation decks around the 300 foot mark, and is serviced by two elevators. It can even be configured as a restaurant with the dining area on one floor and the kitchen on the other. Magic Mountain uses it as merely an observation deck, however they did furnish it with some historical park memorabilia in 2008 after a park employee suggested they create some sort of a museum."
Configured as a restaurant. Is the kitchen even up to code anymore? If they were to go that way, would they have to upgrade the equipment? This is what I'd want to know and also want to know if the dining configuration was ever used for any events. I'm sure it was, but these are the details that could have kept the Sky Tower Museum going.
Today, we four went to the Walmart on Kelly Johnson Parkway, the one that overlooks Six Flags Magic Mountain from a distance. Through willowy trees that have grown tall and bend airily in the wind, you can see the Superman: Escape from Krypton tower, as well as the Sky Tower. Superman: Escape from Krypton is having Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom added to it, which means clamping two separate tracks on each side of the tower, as a freefall kind of ride, or a drop tower ride, as they say. Who's they? Rollercoaster and theme park enthusiasts. I trust their word.
After we parked, I looked out at Six Flags Magic Mountain, at the Sky Tower and thought about that post with great regret. This is not a valley that's known for its history because it constantly presses on. We have to keep moving, we have to embrace the future, and then we have to discard that part of the future that has become the past and chase after the new future. Then the new new future. And, oh look! The new new new future!
One of the worst things happening to the Santa Clarita Valley, though few notice since it's financially in the crapper and wouldn't be if more people subscribed (though there's nothing worth subscribing for), is that the weekend Escape section of The Signal, the exclusive newspaper of this valley, has been cut down to 7 pages, which is basically nothing. I know. I worked with 16 pages when I was the interim editor and there was a lot more to play with. 7 pages in this edition is movie listings, an AP movie review of The Avengers by Christy Lemire (or at least I think it was The Avengers, though it doesn't matter), a few paragraphs from Chuck Shepard's News of the Weird, which is also part of the AP wire service for newspapers to use, and that's it. Nothing else. Nothing about this valley, and nothing about what's going on in this valley. Nothing to tell about its history, nothing to tell about anyone who might be doing something with its history, like a lecture or something. It's sadly a reflection on this valley because it is that shallow. Most who live here work in Los Angeles, and don't want to live in Los Angeles, so they come back here after work. This valley is the true definition of a bedroom community, minus "community," because there's no sense of one anywhere in here. Some people try, and I admire them for it, but it seems like a futile effort. How can it be done when L.A. is only half an hour south? L.A.'s not so great with its history either, as I learned from Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America by Gustavo Arellano. A lot of whitewashing of history on Olvera Street, and a harkening back to the good old pueblo days, which didn't actually exist. History is only useful there if it's beneficial. Otherwise, what history?
Also in Arellano's fascinating history tour, I learned about San Bernardino, "about sixty miles east of Los Angeles," which was starting to become "America's fast-food incubator." Taco Bell began in the L.A. suburb of Downey in 1962. I read something about Anaheim in here, but I can't find it. While reading that section, I thought about Anaheim and Buena Park, and how both retain their history in many forms. They may not pay a great deal of attention to it, but they don't ignore it, they don't shun it, and they aren't ashamed of it. In the years before we began to be set on Las Vegas as our next and final residence (once I'm there, I'm not moving. It's where I belong and I don't think any other city in America would fit me so comfortably as Las Vegas does), I think I would not have been so angry toward the vapidity of the Santa Clarita Valley if I had studied Anaheim and Buena Park closely. I wrote about Buena Park in late January 2010, and I still feel the same about it. It's there for those who seek its history. It's not trying to be something it never was. Anaheim fascinates me because even though it would seem that there's nothing else outside of Disneyland, it feels like it has its pockets of history. All those past lives and past dates and past events are part of its fabric. It absorbed them and gained character from them. Whenever we went to the now-unfortunately-closed Po Folks in Buena Park, I always got a copy of the Orange County Register. The paper has always covered Orange County extremely well, but what interested me the most was Jonathan Lansner, the Register's real estate writer. How could anyone be interested enough in real estate to write about it? I can't understand it, but people are interested in it, and Lansner always writes about it so well, making such clear sense out of all the numbers. I wondered who Lansner is when he's away from the Orange County Register, what got him interested in real estate. History has always been accessible in Orange County. It takes some time to find, I'm sure, but it's there. There's no fear of being seen as old, as seems to be the mentality in Los Angeles and Santa Clarita. Perhaps that's why history is hidden or erased, as it felt upon seeing the photos of that empty Sky Tower floor and walls.
Then on Saturday, while Mom, Dad, and Meridith were out, remembering that Escape section, I thought about what I would have done to revive the section, if there was management willing to make it vibrant again, getting rid of the monotony that has poisoned it. I thought about more stories of community events, profiles of people with different hobbies, including gardening because that's always been interesting to me as an observer. Articles about Santa Clarita's history that include interviews with those who have lived that history or have studied it well. As much as I loathe this valley and will happily never go back to it once I'm gone, it needs this. It needs this attention. The entire area always looks so dry, and that's not because of the weather. It's because no one wants to try to prop it up, to give it life. It's the bedroom community mentality. The major flaw in my "plan," is finding writers who can write and are passionate about this valley, who don't mind being paid the pittance that The Signal barely offers. A new owner would be an improvement, but only if it was someone first rich enough, and secondly who has lived in this valley for decades who actually loves it and wants to see it made better, more active. This shouldn't just be a bedroom community. This is where people live, and I've heard that there are people who live here who have never left this valley. I take it to mean that they've never driven out to L.A. or Burbank or Pasadena or Anaheim or Buena Park, but I find that absolutely impossible. Considering what's offered here, how could they find anything to do? The library only goes so far.
I wish for more for this valley. As awful as it has been to me, I really do. But whereas Buena Park's ghosts remain, and its history is always there, Santa Clarita is heavy with apathy. It's there. People just want to do their necessary errands, eat wherever the booze is good, go to a movie, get out of this valley on a Friday night, and that's it. They get what they put into it. Maybe Anaheim and Buena Park are just more interesting because they're removed from Los Angeles and Hollywood by extension. They have their own distinct identities because of that. They're not clawing and yowling for the power of media. They are who they are, in all that they offer. At least history exists somewhere in Southern California.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Thursday: The True Peaceful Day in the Santa Clarita Valley?
Late Thursday afternoon. Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive. McDonald's first there, and then some shopping, all with Mom and Meridith while Dad went to the 6th grade barbecue at La Mesa for incoming 6th graders, showing off his classroom and answering any questions.
Only when Dad has something going on in his school do Mom, Meridith and I have the nicest time in this valley. At the beginning of last September, when there was an open house at La Mesa, Mom, Meridith and I went to eat at Souplantation. Dad dropped us off there and then went to the school. The dining room was mostly empty, pleasant, soft music of an indeterminate sort playing throughout, and pasta and soup and breads continually available. I prefer empty places because of that peace, though I don't mind it so much in Las Vegas, because more people there means more money pumped into the local economy. In Baker, at the Grewal Travel Center, I prefer an empty men's restroom. More time to look at the bathroom graffiti, made with pen and marker, and scratched into the walls of the stalls. Country music, as is played there, sounds better when you're traveling. It's part of the moving soundscape.
At that McDonald's just slightly ahead of the entrance into Walmart Supercenter, but behind the racks of packaged breads and cake slices as you walk toward produce and next to the deli department, Meridith and I had grilled chicken Caesar salads, Mom had a Filet-O-Fish, and I also had large fries, while Mom and Meridith shared a medium size. Medium iced coffee for Mom, large sweet tea for Meridith, and a small cup for me that I filled with sweet tea. I didn't want as much as Meridith had. Dessert was a medium strawberry shake for me, a small strawberry shake for Mom (from a McMeal we got of 4 chicken nuggets and small fries, three chicken nuggets among us, and half a chicken nugget and four fries each for Tigger and Kitty after we got home), and their new Strawberry & Creme Pie that we split between the three of us, and learned that it's McDonald's take on a blintz, right down to the creme filling tasting close to sour cream.
We sat there in an, again, mostly empty dining room, which gradually filled up and was at its most crowded by the time we were getting ready to leave, to start shopping in Walmart. On a flatscreen TV on the left-side wall near the ceiling played the McDonald's Channel, which included some local stories from KABC, brief things from Reelz Channel, and other things I didn't pay any attention to. This visit had the exact same feeling as Souplantation. Just as peaceful, just as pleasant.
I know that Fridays in the Santa Clarita Valley feel like the universe is completely aligned, and also very empty, since many residents want to do something outside this valley. Even though it's probably not as big a number that leave as I believe, it still feels like a mass exodus, like I could do anything in this valley as a result and would not be bothered by anyone. I could pretend to be a member of the Ministry of Silly Walks on the paseos, or just spin around on the sidewalks of Valencia, or any number of other things within legal reason. I'm sure the mall is a little more crowded than it usually is on a Friday, but even so, it's not worth staying here on a Friday night when there's so much else to do in Los Angeles proper or Burbank or Santa Monica or other cities. I still find it ridiculous to have to navigate the freeways, go through so many mountain passes just to do what you want to do, which is why I'm never part of that exodus. Also because I don't drive here and won't. I don't like the roads, I don't like the tight turns, I don't like having to use the freeway system if I want something truly different from what the Santa Clarita Valley offers. I always had accessibility in Florida and it's what I will have again in Nevada.
But if Friday, including today, feels like a mass exodus has taken place and there's only the bare shell of this valley, then why does Thursday feel like the only truly peaceful day in this valley, like it's not worth being miffed at what always galls me in this valley in order to retain that good feeling? Is it because Thursday evening is that easy transition into the Friday that I know so well? Is it because with the weekend arriving soon, there's no reason to try hard at any venture, that relaxation will come and so we should start before it comes?
I don't remember a structure like this in Florida, where a Thursday felt like this. Perhaps that's because nearly all my years in Florida were spent in school, and then summers came, and after that was school again. I knew that Fridays were the best days because it meant I was done with school for the week. I never hated school, but picked out only specific things that made it worth it, and discarded the rest. I'll have that school structure again as a middle school campus supervisor in Nevada, but it'll be different because there's nothing at stake in the way of grades. I just want to do the best job possible, to know my campus intimately, to observe necessary safety measures, to make sure that the kids behave, and, in a way, to help foster peace among the campus. The best day at my job is one in which nothing much happens, or even nothing at all. And that's because the job's been done right.
But for now, here in Southern California, I wonder what makes Thursday feel peaceful. Shouldn't that be Friday? Friday should be a catch-all, especially with that mass exodus feeling. Or is it even because of these rare times in which Dad is at La Mesa and it's just me, Mom, and Meridith? It's certainly easier because Dad doesn't like to be at Walmart that long, and so shopping trips soon turn unpleasant. His displeasure is easy to ignore because we need a few things from there, and yet it hangs on the periphery. Not dark clouds, but not always easy to deal with.
So maybe because Dad had that open house in September and then the 6th grade barbecue last night is why Thursdays feel peaceful. Yet, we don't do that all the time, so maybe it's because, in a way, it feels like the valley is breathing easier because it knows it doesn't have to shoulder so many people on the Friday night to come. It doesn't feel like there's as much at stake. I've always gotten the feeling that people here live to win, in whatever they do. It's now how I like to live. I live to enjoy.
So now it's late Friday afternoon (the time stamp says differently, but it's 4:07 as I finish this), and there's that feeling of the universe having aligned, of the valley soon to be empty. I have to go to the Chase ATM later to deposit a check, and I know that when I get out of the car to go in, I'll look around and despite all the houses and apartments around, the area will feel barren. Always does. Fascinating to me, but not an ideal living condition. For now, though, Thursday will always be peace, and Friday will always be empty ground.
Only when Dad has something going on in his school do Mom, Meridith and I have the nicest time in this valley. At the beginning of last September, when there was an open house at La Mesa, Mom, Meridith and I went to eat at Souplantation. Dad dropped us off there and then went to the school. The dining room was mostly empty, pleasant, soft music of an indeterminate sort playing throughout, and pasta and soup and breads continually available. I prefer empty places because of that peace, though I don't mind it so much in Las Vegas, because more people there means more money pumped into the local economy. In Baker, at the Grewal Travel Center, I prefer an empty men's restroom. More time to look at the bathroom graffiti, made with pen and marker, and scratched into the walls of the stalls. Country music, as is played there, sounds better when you're traveling. It's part of the moving soundscape.
At that McDonald's just slightly ahead of the entrance into Walmart Supercenter, but behind the racks of packaged breads and cake slices as you walk toward produce and next to the deli department, Meridith and I had grilled chicken Caesar salads, Mom had a Filet-O-Fish, and I also had large fries, while Mom and Meridith shared a medium size. Medium iced coffee for Mom, large sweet tea for Meridith, and a small cup for me that I filled with sweet tea. I didn't want as much as Meridith had. Dessert was a medium strawberry shake for me, a small strawberry shake for Mom (from a McMeal we got of 4 chicken nuggets and small fries, three chicken nuggets among us, and half a chicken nugget and four fries each for Tigger and Kitty after we got home), and their new Strawberry & Creme Pie that we split between the three of us, and learned that it's McDonald's take on a blintz, right down to the creme filling tasting close to sour cream.
We sat there in an, again, mostly empty dining room, which gradually filled up and was at its most crowded by the time we were getting ready to leave, to start shopping in Walmart. On a flatscreen TV on the left-side wall near the ceiling played the McDonald's Channel, which included some local stories from KABC, brief things from Reelz Channel, and other things I didn't pay any attention to. This visit had the exact same feeling as Souplantation. Just as peaceful, just as pleasant.
I know that Fridays in the Santa Clarita Valley feel like the universe is completely aligned, and also very empty, since many residents want to do something outside this valley. Even though it's probably not as big a number that leave as I believe, it still feels like a mass exodus, like I could do anything in this valley as a result and would not be bothered by anyone. I could pretend to be a member of the Ministry of Silly Walks on the paseos, or just spin around on the sidewalks of Valencia, or any number of other things within legal reason. I'm sure the mall is a little more crowded than it usually is on a Friday, but even so, it's not worth staying here on a Friday night when there's so much else to do in Los Angeles proper or Burbank or Santa Monica or other cities. I still find it ridiculous to have to navigate the freeways, go through so many mountain passes just to do what you want to do, which is why I'm never part of that exodus. Also because I don't drive here and won't. I don't like the roads, I don't like the tight turns, I don't like having to use the freeway system if I want something truly different from what the Santa Clarita Valley offers. I always had accessibility in Florida and it's what I will have again in Nevada.
But if Friday, including today, feels like a mass exodus has taken place and there's only the bare shell of this valley, then why does Thursday feel like the only truly peaceful day in this valley, like it's not worth being miffed at what always galls me in this valley in order to retain that good feeling? Is it because Thursday evening is that easy transition into the Friday that I know so well? Is it because with the weekend arriving soon, there's no reason to try hard at any venture, that relaxation will come and so we should start before it comes?
I don't remember a structure like this in Florida, where a Thursday felt like this. Perhaps that's because nearly all my years in Florida were spent in school, and then summers came, and after that was school again. I knew that Fridays were the best days because it meant I was done with school for the week. I never hated school, but picked out only specific things that made it worth it, and discarded the rest. I'll have that school structure again as a middle school campus supervisor in Nevada, but it'll be different because there's nothing at stake in the way of grades. I just want to do the best job possible, to know my campus intimately, to observe necessary safety measures, to make sure that the kids behave, and, in a way, to help foster peace among the campus. The best day at my job is one in which nothing much happens, or even nothing at all. And that's because the job's been done right.
But for now, here in Southern California, I wonder what makes Thursday feel peaceful. Shouldn't that be Friday? Friday should be a catch-all, especially with that mass exodus feeling. Or is it even because of these rare times in which Dad is at La Mesa and it's just me, Mom, and Meridith? It's certainly easier because Dad doesn't like to be at Walmart that long, and so shopping trips soon turn unpleasant. His displeasure is easy to ignore because we need a few things from there, and yet it hangs on the periphery. Not dark clouds, but not always easy to deal with.
So maybe because Dad had that open house in September and then the 6th grade barbecue last night is why Thursdays feel peaceful. Yet, we don't do that all the time, so maybe it's because, in a way, it feels like the valley is breathing easier because it knows it doesn't have to shoulder so many people on the Friday night to come. It doesn't feel like there's as much at stake. I've always gotten the feeling that people here live to win, in whatever they do. It's now how I like to live. I live to enjoy.
So now it's late Friday afternoon (the time stamp says differently, but it's 4:07 as I finish this), and there's that feeling of the universe having aligned, of the valley soon to be empty. I have to go to the Chase ATM later to deposit a check, and I know that when I get out of the car to go in, I'll look around and despite all the houses and apartments around, the area will feel barren. Always does. Fascinating to me, but not an ideal living condition. For now, though, Thursday will always be peace, and Friday will always be empty ground.
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