A Wonder-Fall Season

Everywhere I go lately, more people (myself included) are commenting on how fast time seems to be going by – this year more than any other. For example, how could it already be almost six months since I “wondered” in this space? Better fix that right now. Ready?

I wonder ... how many irate letters were written to Capital One about their new Quicksilver credit card commercial where celebrity endorser, Samuel L. Jackson, looked straight at the camera and used a swear word. It only took about a week before they felt the wrath of viewers and replaced the offensive spot with a tamer, more civilized version I’m sure they had in the can just for that purpose. Mr. Jackson now says, “ ... every single day.”

I wonder ... how long it will be until nobody notices such language from primetime network advertisers?

I wonder … how many times I’ll be suckered into buying the latest Paul McCartney album? Let the 71-year-old man retire, for crying out loud. He only transformed the world of music and pop culture for multiple generations and will forever be remembered as one of the greatest songwriters of all time. But seriously, if anyone other than Sir Paul had produced such boring, repetitive albums as his last couple of dozen, they would be insignificant bottom-dwellers of the iTunes sales charts.

I wonder … if advertisers are really using more sound effects of door bells in their commercials? Or am I’m just noticing because I have a hyper-active, 90-pound maniac of a Labradoodle puppy in the house who will knock down chairs, leap over couches and move his four furry legs faster than Fred Flintstone at quitting time in the quarry every time he mistakenly thinks there’s somebody at our door. The other morning I counted no less than 8 different commercials using a door bell sound effect in the span of two hours. My poor dog.

I wonder ... if women will ever participate in the national “No-Shave November” event like more and more men do each year? I mean, if our longsuffering lady folk have to put up with our bristly, scratchy faces, it’s only fair that we should have to do the same with their legs, right?

I wonder … if anyone in management at LAX realizes the instant negative reaction their airport receives wherever one travels around the world? This past summer I took one of those shared airport shuttle vans to Dallas-Fort Worth airport from my hotel about 40 minutes away. Two of the passengers crowded into our van began comparing airport horror stories and nominating which one they would least want to travel through. The other travelers soon joined in and eventually, there was a consensus that either Pittsburg or Sao Paula were the absolute worst – until I mentioned LAX. Immediately, there was a unanimous groan of acknowledgement that LAX was the place no one wanted to see on their itinerary due to a combination of rude, unhelpful employees and overused, poorly designed facilities. Other than that, we got it goin’ on, Angelinos!

I wonder … why more entrepreneurs for whom English is a second language don’t have their business signage looked at by someone a little more familiar with the mother tongue before hang it up for all to see? Along Foothill Blvd alone, there are many storefront signs that are, to say the least, confusing. For example, what does “Building your healthy place” mean for a pizza parlor? Beats me. At one time (it’s closed now) there was a Chinese restaurant on Foothill in Tujunga with a deliciously terrible name, the “Poo Ping Palace.” Not surpisingly, I could never get up the nerve to try their food.

I wonder ... if we’ll all be wearing coats or cut-offs for this year’s Montrose Christmas parade? Only the Doppler Nine Thousand Mega Radar Dookickey knows for sure.

I’ll see you ‘round town.

My Not-So-Small Town

My son has lived in Montana for the past two years and came home to Southern California for a long-awaited visit this past week. This is a guy who was born and raised right here in the sleepy Crescenta Valley, although he has always felt like a misplaced soul – having a personality and passion for pursuits much better suited for wilderness and woodlands, lakes and rivers, wide open spaces and wild, wooly creatures.

God bless him, the boy has found his personal paradise in Western Montana.

That said, like most local teens, however, he learned to drive years ago on the uniquely congested surface streets and nearly-impossible-to-navigate freeways of Los Angeles County. (I still say Driver’s Ed classes should be reinstated as a vital part of the high school experience, but that’s a topic for another column.) I would bet there are some Indy car drivers who would stress out trying to get from point A to B on our stupidly complex and confusing streets and highways.

As a native driver, let’s just say my son was well practiced in the fine art of vehicular survival. He was so comfortable driving here, he would often park his small pickup truck and ride a motorcycle through the local labyrinth of near-misses, uninsured motorists, distracted drivers and motorized morons. For two years, in fact, his primary transportation to Pasadena City College about 20 tricky miles away was by motorcycle. (And yes, somehow his mother survived this phase.)

Beyond that, the boy was very much at home and comfortable living in “the big city,” even if that city is our so-called “small town” of the Crescenta Valley. So, imagine our surprise when – after being home for only a few days last week – he told us that he couldn’t believe how hectic and hurried it seemed coming back home this time. With a surprised and somewhat shaken demeanor, he said that this place he knew for twenty-some-odd-years as home, suddenly seemed depressingly crowded and stressful.

I’ve seen this same thing happen to other transplanted CV residents. A good friend and former neighbor of mine (a born and raised Southern Californian who was also on the coaching staff at CV High School) moved his family many years ago to the foothills of Southwest Colorado. After a couple of years away, he returned for a visit and was blown away at how seemingly congested our streets were, how aggressive are drivers had become, how crowded with storefronts and signage along Foothill Blvd. seemed and how utterly confusing our freeway system now was to navigate. It seemed hard to imagine that he had ever lived here.

When my oldest son moved his family from the Northern Los Angeles bedroom community of Santa Clarita to the island of Oahu more than six years ago, his first trip home to the mainland was a real eye opener. In spite of having thrived in the daily nightmare of traffic that is a hallmark of Saugus/Valencia area, after being away from it for only a year or so, even the once-routine 30 mile drive from LAX to La Crescenta left him in shock and awe at the pace of traffic and the high-caliber angst of the drivers around us.

So, what changed? Did our streets suddenly get busier since my son moved to Montana? Did local drivers turn into NASCAR knuckleheads as soon as my former neighbor left for the Rockies?

I think it’s primarily a matter of perspective. When you’re immersed in our environment every day, you become used to (or numb to?) to streets and parking lots overflowing with cars, trucks and motorcycles, crowded restaurants and the overall busy-ness of living here. But get away from the size and scope of our surroundings for even a little while and it all looks different somehow.  

As I took my son back to LAX for a ridiculously early flight back to Montana last Friday, we drove along an eerily empty Foothill Blvd. in the predawn darkness. My son said, “Dad, even the main highway through Missoula isn’t this huge!”

While we may be a “sleepy” by Los Angeles suburb standards, in comparison to true small towns a great majority of other places in the U.S., there’s simply no denying that we’re a big city.

I’ll see you ‘round (the big) town.