Huell Howser is a California institution. His series "California's Gold" is an excellent travelogue of the world's fifth-largest economy. He's like Rex Trailer and Charles Kuralt.
The above is someone else's video of a Huell Howser interview at the U.S./Mexican border, and the interstitial commentary is clearly anti-Huell, who is a little softer on immigration.
But Howser's folksy enthusiasm about his adopted state (he's from Tennessee) makes his programs about California fascinating and devoid of smarmy Hollywood chatter. This weekend we watched his trip to the proposed State of Jefferson, which looked a little like a Vermont on the border of California and Oregon.
I wrote him a fan letter today. He seems like the type of dude who would appreciate a fan letter.
UPDATE: It almost looks like he responded ...
I would like to personally thank you for contacting us. As you can imagine our office is literally swamped with communications every day from all over our state and our staff does its best to process all of the information.
Unfortunately, we are not able to personally respond to everyone, but I can assure you that I do eventually read every single email and letter that we get. If you do not hear back from us -- other than this "form" letter -- it doesn't mean your story idea wasn't a good one, we simply receive many, many more good ideas than we could ever shoot or edit. I hope you understand and do not take it personally. We try very hard to be considerate and polite to every single person who sends us a request or story idea, but the truth is we are just not able to personally respond.
In closing, I'd like to thank you for your support over the years and for being thoughtful enough to contact our office.
For years I have cringed upon hearing the word "grasses." I feel that grass, like sheep and moose, should be both plural and singular. I believe it has earned that right.
This grass lives in Malibu Lake, near some gooses.
Last week I needed to renew my registration, walked into a California Department of Motor Vehicles office carrying prepared paperwork I'd downloaded, took a number, and 16 minutes later I was done. I thought of calling an ambulance to meet me and my aneurysm outside, but I survived.
Once, in Massachusetts, I spent seven hours at a DMV. Once, in New York, I spent six hours at a DMV, doing the same thing that took me 16 minutes last week.
This morning I went to a gas station with three banks of double-sided filling islands. Only the island I'd parked near (x) had no number. I quickly looked at the visible numbers as I approached the cashier. It looked like this: I asked the cashier if I could have $20 on (x=Pump 7).
In seventh grade I was confident that I would never use algebra in everyday life. And I am still correct; if that were an algebra problem, I would be credited $20 at the nonexistent Pump 6 and 1/9.
Instead, I used analogies. Thanks again, tenth grade English teacher Sheila Hallissy! First you taught me Antony's Funeral Oration, now you're saving me cash on gas!
I was in San Francisco this weekend and encountered Simon Bolivar, liberator of Venezuela, Panama, Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia astride his horse in front of City Hall.
"Hey, Simon," I said. He kept looking the other way.
Are churros sold at Florida's Disney World, or is that treat strictly a Disney Land option?
I could research this, maybe even visit the Disney World website, but that would seem intellectually lazy. A far more vigorous thing to do would be to wait for people to respond to this post.
For TAARG's umpteenth birthday this week we traveled to Disneyland. I like to think I am not a cheap bastard, but I made sure we packed a lunch rather than pay $11 for a child-size peanut butter sandwich at Minnie's Crust Hollow in New Orleans Square.
As TAARG got in free because she got a gift pass for her birthday, here are our expenses:
Parking: $11 Adult admission (with $5 Southern California resident discount): $78 Child under three admission: Free A hat, a keychain, some lollipops: $34 A churro and a small bottle of Aquafina water: $5.75
Cost of the same churro and water at Costco: $2.75 Cost of the same churro and water at 7-11: $3.25
Non-Disney expenses:
Two Subway foot-long subs, with chips: $14.75 Four bottles of stupid Vitamin Water, from Ralph's: $4 Two Hostess pies (Ralph's again): $3.75
If we had purchased those items at Disneyland, based on the 103 percent over-Costco markup: $50
I can only imagine how much Disney would charge for gas if it could be worked into the narrative that Goofy owned a Chevron.
I love Disneyland. It is more of a local attraction for California residents than Disney World is for Floridians. It is just run-down enough to get away with being charming, even if the ridiculous prices do a good job of sucking the charm out of the place.
The American Girl (she has graduated from ACI status) spent over an hour in Disneyland's various splash parks, outlasting successive waves of children. Her mother and I were both strangely proud of this, even as our daughter looked like a waterlogged piece of bread by the end of it.
I took a wrong turn the other day and wound up deep in the Angeles Forest, Meth Lab Capital of Southern California (I'd call it Methlabia, but that's something else entirely).
It was a pretty drive, save for the feeling that things might burst into flame at any moment. Still, I felt I was being watched.
This weekend the family and I drove to San Francisco, where I had some bidness (I am in the Slapping Fools business).
Driving to San Francisco from L.A. is preferable to us over flying, because it allows us to stop at various pea and meat resturants along Interstate 5, and pack for three days what other people might pack for world cruises. We spent $160 on gas.
Above is the Poetry Room of City Lights Books, which I've wanted to visit for over twenty years, ever since I first read a Jack Kerouac biography. That makes me 23.
Here is City Lights' Beat Literature section. I bought a book of Jack Kerouac's haikus. The cashier treated me with disdain. "Tourist," he thought. How dare someone be so on the nose as to go to City Lights and buy a Jack Kerouac book? I didn't even buy "A Coney Island of the Mind". That I then bought a postcard and a poster only increased the cashier's contempt, and I must say I don't blame him.
Still, I was forced to punch him in the teeth. "That's how we do things in Lowell," I said.
I once had a pair of leather pants stolen from me in unusual circumstances. As San Francisco stands between the rich cattle land of Central California and the Sea, cows will often stop here in their long march to oblivion. Cows are exactly like the Elves in that way; their Sea-longing is pervasive.
While being fitted for a new pair of pants, I was heartened to see the brand still on the hide.
The woman who is making them said, "I know that hurt."
She also told me that Levis and other brands lie to their customers, using measurements that reduce waist size and increase leg size, fooling people into believing that they are slimmer and taller. Once thinking I was perfectly symmetrical, I was horrified to find that my waist size exceeds my inseam by three inches.
