The California Files

One Weird Concert

I had an odd, not-exactly-bluegrass experience last night that I thought it might be worth mentioning. I trekked over to Disney Hall here in Lost Angeles to witness a concert entitled, “Charlie Haden, family and friends: Ramblin’ Boy.”

Never heard of Charlie Haden. A vaunted jazz bassist, apparently. So I was totally uninterested when fliers about this event showed up in the mail. Then I learned that the “friends” included Jerry Douglas (Dobro), Sam Bush (mandolin), Bryan Sutton (guitar), Dan Tyminski (guitar), Mark Fain (guitar), Stuart Duncan (fiddle) and Jim Mills (banjo). Naturally, these names, belonging to the most acclaimed and talented vocalists and pickers in the business, got my attention. We don’t get much serious bluegrass here in L.A., and I’d never had the pleasure of seeing Bush, in particular, in concert. So awash with trepidation, I bought a ticket. Got a great seat, 10 rows back, dead-center. Reason: The concert was, at best, lightly attended. I’ve never seen Disney Hall, a fabulous venue, so empty.

Last Post? Maybe Not: The Glendale Fire

Hey, I know I said was going to let CalFiles die off. Well, maybe not. We shall see.

 

In any case, several of you have called to check up on us – we continue to be OK, and as we will have told you, the fire remains confined to the mountains to the north of us, right at the margin between development and national forest.

 

The fire line now is said to be 110 miles long, extending north all the way to the 14 freeway, nearly up to Palmdale. It’s 4 to 5 miles north of us and, I think, poses no immediate danger to us.

 

The atmosphere is unusual. In the mornings, the air is incredibly smoky, with ash all over everything. In the afternoons, it clears off a bit as the winds change direction. It doesn’t help that temps are so high – it’s been 100 here today. What we see then are huge smoke plumes. The picture I’ve attached, shot from our back yard looking north,  gives you an idea of what I’m talking about.

 

Looks like clouds, maybe, but it’s smoke. You have to know that a lot of animals – deer, bear and mountain lions, as well as smaller ones – have died up there in the flames. Heartbreaking.

 

So far it appears that just a few homes are lost, but no human lives. Who knows what the next hours will bring?

- JFT

 

Marty, and More

This is tough for me to write. Laura and I have lost a friend. Marty, our wonderful old Maine Coon cat, was taken by a coyote about two weeks ago.

He’s just a cat, right? Right. But he was much more than that. He was curious, amazingly intelligent, swaggering, big and muscular (at least in his prime – at nearly 18, he’d dropped to about 12 pounds, just a bit more than half his weight in his prime, so he was becoming frail), friendly, social, vocal and full of attitude.

He was a wonderful companion that loved attention, and loved to provide attention. And now he’s gone, and the house and yard are incredibly empty without him strolling around surveying his kingdom.

Marty came to us in 1993 at about six months of age. The vet told us he’d been a very expensive kitten – he’d escaped whomever bought him and turned up in our back yard, half wild. He bit, hard. Even to the end, he’d bite me – he’d take a finger in his teeth and look at me, as if to tell me that he could hurt me, but he wasn’t going to do that. This time.

He pretty much owned the neighborhood in his prime, ranging blocks away. We worried about him, but since he was an outdoor animal, it seemed cruel to lock him inside the house. When we tried to keep him in, he wouldn’t tolerate that.

Occasionally he’d go walkabout. Days would pass and I’d be sure we’d seen the last of him when he’d suddenly show up, hungry and glad to be home, but ready to roam again. I dearly wish that was the case this time, but it isn’t.

He was very careful, we thought, and would refuse to go outside if something worried him. But one morning he did go outside, and now he’s gone.

Replace him? Pretty tough to do that. We’ve always had cats, and so we adopted a trio of them a few days back. They’re fitting in nicely, most especially a tiny thing with just one eye – it’s blue – who has taken over the place.

I’m thinking that eventually, if I can find a Maine Coon kitten that seems to possess the qualities that make this breed so interesting, and which were so evident in Marty, I might acquire that cat. Later.

California Files Goes Dark

I’ve been wondering why I’m maintaining this blog. In truth, I’ve not been maintaining it very well. As some of you know, I started it when I became editor of Toyota’s corporate blog, Open Road. A corporate blogger without a personal blog seemed to me to be an anomaly. As some of you also know, Toyota has fallen on hard times and laid off a whole bunch of people, including me. Open Road is gone, too.

The cost of maintaining The California Files isn’t great, but it does exist. That’s money I think I’d rather spend on books. And frankly, I’ve not been finding much to write about lately. So when it’s time to make next month’s payment, I think I won’t do that.

So, it’s been fun while it lasted. But adios.

-JFT

"The Crow," and Other Music

OK, now look, these are difficult and troubling times, so like almost everyone else, I'm not spending a nickel unless I absolutely have to. You know, gas. Food. Books, every now and again. Stuff like that. Oh, and dinner tonight with my youngest son, Matt, at the local Mexican joint. But I bent a little last week and ordered Steve Martin's new record, "The Crow."

It's playing now. I'm instructed to make a copy for Laura.

Critique? Highly recommended. Mostly original tunes written by this noted comedian, with help from others - and some really fine playing, both in Scruggs three-finger style and old-timey frailing style. Opening tune, "Daddy played the banjo," is a frailed one, sung by Tim O'Brian - can't do better than that. Just great stuff. Not your typical bluegrass music, just as Martin is not a typical musician.

The other record I bought, and the reason I was shopping on Amazon to begin with, is a double album by a long-defunct band called Country Gazette. The thing is, this band's picker was banjo-monster Alan Munde, long a favorite. My old friend Hal's all-time favorite picker, at that, and our mentor when it comes to banjo selection - he's always played a Stelling, and so did Hal, and so do I.

But here's the deal - I took a lesson last week. The tune this teacher wants me to learn is one called "Deputy Dalton." I heard my friend Ernie play it and thought, "Hey, I need to know that one."

Well, it's a lot tougher than I thought, especially when all I have is the tabulature - kind of a non-musician's version of notation of the tune, one which shows the player when and where to put one's fangers. Sort of.

Anyway, this is a double record titled, "Traitor In Our Midst/Don't Give Up Your Day Job," and it comprises this band's first two records, made back in the early '70s. I actually had 'em on vinyl. It's available only as an import, for some reason, but if you care about this style of music at all, it's worth owning.

So I've spent a good part of today on "Deputy Dalton," and I've figured out that I am not Alan Munde. But the tune is coming. By next lesson, I think I'll have the first half figured out, at least somewhat. Some trouble spots, but I'll get them figured out. Maybe. I've got some time on my hands, so I. Will. Learn. To. Play. Banjo. Better! Dammit!

-JFT

Déjà vu and Premonitions

I damn nearly cut a finger off t’other day. Again. Kind of annoyed me.

A few of you with really long memories might remember that back at the end of my freshman year in college, I whacked off part of my left thumb and the tip of the middle finger on my left hand.

Workin’ in the woodshop makin’ furniture, I was, got in a hurry. There’s an important lesson here: One does not ever hurry around power tools. Should one do that, one stands to lose pieces of himself. In one quick, messy hurry.

No power tools this time. Just a hatchet – an old Estwing. Got left outside by the woodpile, so it was pretty rusty. I’d brought it in, put it on my workbench and was working some oil into the leather-wrapped handle. Went off to do something else.

Consumables

You've no-doubt noticed that the price of gas has risen again. I certainly have.

And as I've written here previously, because of that, I drive very gently, to the point of hypermiling.

Basically, what that means is, I am very aware of the elements that my car uses that are consumed during that use. The biggies? Gas, brakes, tires.

This has been paying off because I routinely clock better mpg figures than the EPA established for my car, which is, of course, the definition of hypermiling. I usually beat those numbers by at least one mpg, and sometimes more. Not much, but worth something.

But driving gently has other payoffs. My car came due for a service this week, so I took it in - it's got 32,000 miles showing on the clock. I did so with some trepidation, especially as regards the brakes. Brakes on these things are expensive - last time we renewed the brakes on Laura's 5-series, it set us back 1200 bucks.

So I asked the guy about the brakes on my 3-series. As it happens, the sensors on the car look at this and send the info to the car's computers, which record it on the tricky electronic key fob. My brakes still have enough meat on them to be good for another 35,000 miles, according to that data.

Plenty of incentive to continue hypermiling, sez I.

-JFT

 

 

General Motors and Bankruptcy

I've thought a lot about the inevitable General Motors bankruptcy in the last week or so. I thought I’d provide a sample of what I've been thinking:

I'm pretty sure that the GM bankruptcy, as unfortunate as it is, is not the result of meddling by pointy-headed busybodies, bureaucrats, greenies or anyone else, as claimed by that pinhead P.J. O’Rourke in a column in the Wall Street Journal Monday. What it is, is the result of idiot execs at the company who haven't, since the late '60s, made a decent decision. It’s the result of consumers rightly voting with their wallets. And it’s also because society has changed.

Just cast your mind back to the point when innovation and quality seemed to stop at the Big3 – it was along about the mid-‘60s, about the same time for all three. No more Chrysler pushbutton transmissions or Hemis (until the latest “Hemi,” which in spite of its marketing pitch doesn’t have hemispherical heads), no more Rocket 88s, no more roll-down rear windows ala Mercury, no more fuelie Chevies. The manufacturers all came to believe that they were in business not to make cars, but to make money. They completely abandoned the notion that if they made great cars, they'd make money automatically. BMW works that way. So does Toyota, so does Honda.

Catching Up

OK, OK, I know I've been remiss in posting. Just trying to get used to a new reality, is all.

That new reality has me working different hours than I've ever worked before - I go in at 10 am and come home, supposedly, at 7 pm. Depends, though, on the work load. Sometimes I'm a good bit later than that.

That's completely scrambled my usual writing schedule, including the time I'd set aside to write. Get home too late, and too drained, to write; to early in the morning to do it.

That's my excuse, at least. I'll figure something out. I'd hate to just drop the CalFiles.

Truth be told, working as city editor is a challenging job with a much higher workload than I'm used to. Lots of stuff going on, and news to break just as we get close to the closing of deadline. Needless to say, the days rush by very quickly indeed. And I'm (mostly) having a blast.

I also know that I'm damned lucky to have a job. Many, many folks who practice the same craft that I do are unemployed, and the prospects don't look good.

So, fingers crossed.

More TK (to come, in newspaperese).

JFT

 

 

The Shopper

I'm a guy, right? (At least I was last time I checked.) So I'm supposed to be indifferent, at best, to shopping, right? 

And I usually am. Until it comes to shoes. I, uh, and don't tell anyone this, it's a little embarrassing, love shoes. I buy good ones, they last me a long time. Like, a decade or more. Makes it worthwhile to buy good ones. I probably have too many, but hey, so does Laura. Don't tell her I said that, OK?

Anyway, about a year ago I bought a nice pair of black slip-ons. Bought 'em at Nordstrom. Mezlans, they were, made in Spain. Very stylish. Very soft. Very comfortable. Very expensive.

Haven't worn them much - they're a bit on the dressy side, and usually I slouch around in a comfortable old pair of Cole-Hahn kiltie tassle loafers. But I wear these nice Mezlans every now and again.

I got them out yesterday to put a coat of polish on them and I found, to my horror, that the leather from which they're constructed is cracking. Caramba!

Took them down to Nordie's this morning expecting at least a bit of aggro. The guy in the shoe department looked 'em over, took 'em back, no questions asked. They're sending me a new pair. That's why I adore Nordstrom. Good stuff, good service. I'm not indifferent to either of those.

- JFT 

Back to Work!

I got word last night that this 60-day period of inactivity (professional inactivity, at least) is about to end. I've landed a spot as city editor at a mid-size daily not far from here.

What's a "city editor?" Well, the job can change a bit from paper to paper, but basically, that's the person who hands local news - "city" news, as opposed to regional or national news. It's the person who works closely with reporters to make sure that everyone is following assignments and that the resulting stories contain what they need to contain, and that those stories read in a reasonably literate fashion.

As you may know, these are difficult times for print media.  Lots of people have been laid off, papers are closing and the damage is far from over. So during this time of contraction, I consider myself incredibly lucky to have landed this gig. Especially since this is basically a day job. Some newspaper jobs - such as the editing gig I had a few years back at LA Times Community News - are night gigs. Swing shift, I guess you'd call it, with hours that can run from 2pm to 11 pm Tuesday through Saturday. Hard.

Newspapers constitute an incredibly satisfying way of making a living. So I'm thrilled and am anxious to bet started.

- JFT