As lifelong residents of Southern California, my wife and I have had our share of out-of-town guests who come to visit, see the sights, warm themselves in our year-round sunshine and immerse themselves in the renowned “Southern California experience”, whatever that is. Like most people, I would think, who have lived in the same community seemingly forever, we love experiencing all-too-familiar sights through the eyes of another.
While it’s always a kick to show these guests around and visit the usual destinations like Disneyland, Sea World, Knott’s and other must-see-but-only-visit-when-company-is-in-town spots, I had a realization this past week that most, if not all of our guests over the years have been So Cal transplants who once lived here but eventually escaped to someplace with more seasons and less traffic. In other words, most of our guests are already quite familiar with all of our usual attractions, crowds, shirt-sleeve weather, etc. Their biggest “surprises” during a visit typically involve what buildings or businesses are gone, or – impossible as it seems – how our roads have become even more congested and how much longer it takes to get from point Azusa to point Burbank and beyond.
A couple of weeks ago, however, our Montana-transplanted son returned briefly for a delayed holiday visit home. He brought along, “Kris” (who arrived as his girlfriend and left as his fiancé, but that’s another column for another time). Having been born and raised amidst the soggy, but beautifully green environs of the Pacific Northwest, Kris had somehow managed to live to young adulthood without ever visiting any part of California farther south than San Francisco. No Disneyland. No Hollywood and Vine. No Venice Beach. Talk about your underprivileged childhood, right?
Kris arrived in Southern California with firm expectations of what she’d see – gleaned from watching countless movies and television shows supposedly set here.
During their visit, our son was eager to show off his home-town “highlights.” Over the course of nearly a week, by car and Metro line (again, another column for another time!) they managed to explore downtown Los Angeles, Union Station, Olvera Street, the Rose Bowl and Rose Parade Route, the Griffith Observatory, Old Town Pasadena, the Santa Monica Pier, Hollyweird and the Hollywood Sign (yawn!) along with various other points of interest, spectacle, shock, awe and enlightenment.
Kris’s first and overwhelming reaction to seeing our immense county up close and personal was to marvel at how far apart everything is here. Upon returning to our home after yet another day of sightseeing and traffic dodging, she commented repeatedly that the media “lie” about everything being nearby. She had no idea that “the beach” is nowhere near a majority of local Southern California communities. Work your way from Knott’s in Buena Park to Six Flags in Valencia? Sure, if you’ve got a few extra days to kill. “TV makes it look like you leave downtown L.A., go a couple of blocks and you’re in the middle of Hollywood!” she exclaimed. “It’s not true at all!”
Not surprisingly, Kris wasn’t often impressed upon seeing many landmarks with her own eyes that she had previously only seen through the skilled (and skewed) editing of the various media. On her last night in Southern California, in fact, we watched the first episode of the new season of American Idol, during which the contestants who make it past the judging panel are told with great fanfare and feigned enthusiasm, “You’re going to Hollywood!” When the first talented contestant of the show that evening was given the good news, I heard Kris comment under her breath, “Don’t get all excited. It’s not that big a deal!”
On the other hand, while she visited our dear Southland, we did manage to treat her to not one, but two of our infamous hours-long freeway police chases and one SWAT hostage/standoff.
Now I just have to figure out how to arrange a minor earthquake for her next visit. I’ll see you ‘round town.
I remember studying something in a history or social studies class (do they even teach that subject anymore?) back in the day about couples begetting many multiples of children so that their immediate family would have a plentiful source of laborers for its farms, or whatever industry the parents were involved in. It’s sort of like the old adage about raising your own baseball team. Keep it all in the family, right? Not that Jon & Kate’s eight or the Duggar’s dozens will ever be employed to operate the family farm, but I can see how this practice once was a valid reason to give birth to your very own demographic group.
With that in mind, and on a much smaller scale, I’ll admit that my wife and I have shamelessly benefited from the labor of our kids, too. Most notably, two of our offspring have worked as Starbucks baristas first during their high school careers and then through their college years. Combined, I’m fairly certain we’ve had a kid working at Starbucks for the past ten or possibly even twelve years. Not that brewing spendy coffee drinks pays all that well. It doesn’t. The shared weekly tips help add to the baristas’ overall income, but for a student who can work only 20 to 30 hours any given week at most, their paychecks are quickly spent for gas, textbooks and the occasional night out with friends.
So how have my kids’ Starbucks jobs contributed to our family’s quality of life? In addition to taking advantage of generous employee discounts on espresso machines, mugs, thermal cups and other coffee-related goodies – the primary perq of having a son or daughter work at Starbucks has been the free weekly pound of coffee employees are able to “mark out” and bring home. Oh heavenly caffeinated nectar of life! For more than a decade, our home has been regularly stocked with freshly roasted one-pound bags of coffee beans of all blends and varieties. Yes, even the coveted seasonal Thanksgiving and Christmas blends have been stacked in our pantry like gold bars in Ft. Knox for the past many years.
Alas, all good things must come to an end and there’s no such thing as a coffee pot that doesn’t eventually run dry. (Cue the violins.) As of this month – sadly, tragically, devastatingly – we no longer have even one immediate family member who is employed at Starbucks. There is no joy in java-ville.
When our current cache of caffeine is quite literally liquidated (most likely in the late spring at the rate I down the stuff), we will be forced to purchase coffee like the rest of the civilized world around us. You think Congress has a looming budget crises? Ha. There are dark, dark times ahead, people.
On the other hand, coffee isn’t the only perq we’ve enjoyed due to our kids’ various part-time jobs over the years. Our oldest son was once employed in high school at a nationally known ice cream chain and would supply yours truly with massive tubs of hard-to-find, special-order root beer float ice cream, procured with his impressive employee discount, or course. Those were the days, indeed.
That son is now pastoring a small start-up church in Hawaii and the perqs he can provide are of the spiritual nature, but no less appreciated. Our daughter (the family’s first barista) is now a charge nurse at a major hospital in the San Fernando Valley and her days of no-foam lattes and free beans are long gone.
Even so, I may yet be able to take advantage of perqs from our kids’ careers. After all – once our stash of free coffee runs out and I face the stark reality of how much a pound of coffee actually costs – my daughter can use her CPR skills to bring me back from the brink. And if she fails, my pastor son can always send a some prayers heavenward on my behalf.
I’ll see you ‘round town.
With each new calendar year come a slew of new laws regulating an already over-legislated populace. Last year I incurred the wrath of more than a few readers by merely mentioning a handful of the thousands of new laws that had just been enacted. So heck, let’s have some fun and do it again. With more than 800 new laws taking effect in California alone, it ought to be a wild ride. Ready?
Beginning this month, health insurers, pharmaceutical companies and medical device manufacturers (think pacemakers, stents, artificial hips, knees, etc.) across the country will pay an additional 2.3 percent tax on their sales, expected to total $1.7 billion this year alone. How many of those dollars do you think will get passed right along to the American consumer? You got it. Which, ironically, may increase the sales of pacemakers. And in a related development, the state of Illinois has a new 2013 law requiring middle-schoolers to learn how to use a defibrillator. Coincidence?
Here in the Golden state, drivers can now apply for “legacy license plates” – California plates like they made decades ago. Maybe if I drove a ’65 Mustang or ’55 Nomad, but I’m not sure why anyone would want an old all-blue or black plate with yellow lettering on their late model car. Oh, and it’ll cost you an extra $50 for the retro-privilege. Talk about getting rear-ended.
Unbelievably, foolishly, Californians can now legally text and drive – provided we use a “voice-activated” smart phone to do it. This just proves that the lobbyists for the mobile phone industry are at least as powerful as the ones for the NRA. And I would bet that more people die from the wireless phone lobby efforts than those of the NRA. Maybe we should outlaw phones with high-capacity batteries.
Another new law aimed at California drivers allows our CHP to issue “silver alerts” to alert motorists when senior citizens go missing. Not kidding.
One state law for 2013 raises registration fees for all California boat owners, ostensibly to fight the infestation of Quagga and Zebra mussels in our state’s lakes and waterways. Being the proud skipper of an ancient 14-foot aluminum boat that gets its hull wet maybe twice in a good fishing year, I’m not happy about having to pay more to the state for the privilege. I don’t even eat mussels, much less let them stowaway on my boat.
Lest you think California has a lock on strange new laws, however, read on.
In Kentucky, you can no longer release feral hogs into the wild. In Illinois, you can’t pop a wheelie while speeding on your motorcycle. (But is it okay to pop a wheelie while riding a wild pig?)
Although I shudder to even imagine why such a law is necessary, as of last week it’s illegal in Illinois to make whoopee with a dead person. Seriously. In Kansas, a new law limits each household to no more than four cats each. In North Carolina, stealing any unused cooking oil worth more than $1,000 is now a felony. And it’s about time.
In Concord, Massachusetts, the sale of plastic bottles is now illegal. Yes, plastic bottles. (Sacramento Democrats must be drooling with legislative envy.) In New York, minors can no longer purchase electric cigarettes and I’ll bet the entire state is breathing a sigh of relief. In Florida, it’s no longer against the law to warn other drivers of a police speed trap ahead by flashing your headlights. All those Florida retirees speeding to their early dinners to get the senior rate must love this new law. And last but certainly not least, convicted sex offenders in Illinois (what ‘s going on in Illinois, anyway?) can no longer get a job as a Santa, pass out Halloween candy or even dress up as the Easter Bunny.
I already feel a whole lot safer this year, don’t you? I’ll see you ‘round town.
Since the Mayan calendar makers were prophetically dead wrong about 2012 (the Republican National Committee and conservative talk radio blew the call too, but I have no desire to pick at that scab), it seems as though we’ve all been given the blank slate of a new year on which to write.
That being the case, we might as well look ahead to things we’d like to do differently over the next 12 months. In other words, it’s time for resolutions. I’ve seen research showing that only 8% of people actually follow through with their New Year’s Resolutions. I resolve to be in that number. No, really. And in case you’re curious, here are but a few of my other resolutions for 2013:
I resolve to learn how to tweet. But not to tweet like a twit. And to tweet only when necessary – which, I have a strong suspicion, will be almost never. But in case you’re so inclined, feel free to tweet yours twuly at #JAlanChase.
I resolve to never again think that anyone’s opinion will be changed even the slightest by a Facebook post. Reasoned debate is rare among the social network’s millions of users – or even informed discussion, for that matter.
I resolve to memorize at least one verse of scripture each week this year. I’ve tried other techniques to memorize Bible passages before, but the past Father’s Day my son gave me a wonderful daily devotional that has inspired me to learn a new verse each week since then. Such profound joy, comfort and wisdom can be found in those sacred pages, indeed.
I resolve to play my guitar(s) much, much more than I have for far too many years now. Oh, and to get back to writing songs.
I resolve to continue my streak of having not watched a single episode of “Housewives of (fill in the city of your choice here)” or “the X Factor.”
Which reminds me to resolve to never watch even a single minute more of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.” This shameless train wreck of a show is depressingly sad on so many levels. Speaking of which, I also resolve not to waste a minute of my life watching any broadcast in which that buffoonish British blowhard, Piers Morgan, makes an appearance.
I resolve to lift more iron weights and less emotional ones.
I resolve to break tradition and buy those illusive replacement Christmas light bulbs and/or extra strings of lighting when OSH, and Home Depot and Do-It Center still have them stock – between July 4th and Labor Day.
I resolve to take longer hikes to higher places and take more time to enjoy the views when I arrive.
I resolve to NOT make more than $250k this year so my government doesn’t demonize me as a millionaire or “wealthy.” (For the record, this could be the easiest resolution to keep of all time.)
Speaking of low incomes, I resolve to finally, at long last, write that novel that has been taking up space in my head for the past several years. And for good measure, I resolve to write a couple or three short stories, too, just to warm up. Or cool down.
I resolve to not to beat myself up too terribly when I’ve given up on some or all of the above resolutions by about ... oh, say ... Valentine’s Day.
Someone once said that an optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in, and a pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. I can relate to both of those sentiments, so I’m not sure what that makes me.
Finally, there’s one resolution I can already check off my list – to wish you all a happy and healthy New Year. In 2013, may your troubles disappear even sooner than your resolutions. I’ll see you ‘round town.
