Hedging my bet

Bruce Springsteen, this up and coming singer I listen to occasionally, put it best: There are nice guys and assholes on every block in America.

Let me put it this way, my neighbors are not the nice guys. I'm not talking about every neighbor on the block, many of whom we have varying degrees of friendly relationships with. I'm talking about my immediate neighbors who live next to us in the very same direction the Wicked Witch was from.

Coincidence? I think not.

There's a long list of intrusions and offenses we've been the recipients of ever since they bought the house next door. Things like them building their deck onto the side of our garage facing their yard. And without asking or mentioning it, painting said garage wall to match the color of their house.

Permission? That's just crazy talk.

I won't bother you with the details of how we found out about it all, but suffice it to say that since we did, lawyers, phone calls, texts and fragile agreements have all been called, made and followed so far.

After two property surveys showing the property lines along our garage were right where we said they were, we've settled for a long term truce and absolutely no relationship with them.

Which is fine by me. Because they're assh...not nice guys.

What makes it so very frustrating, besides the obvious, is before they bought the place we had the best neighbor ever. We loved him, my kids loved him, the American people loved him. Sebastian, if you're reading this, seriously, it's time to buy the house back. Don't make me beg, it's so undignified. But I'll do it if that's what it takes.

I only wish the layout of my house were such that I could trim hedges on my property (if I had them) the way it is in the picture.

It may be a character flaw, but I tend to hold on to things like this. I'm not forgiving when it comes to my garage wall. Ask anyone who knows me.

I'll never understand the point of deliberately doing something you know will result in eliminating any chance of having a neighborly relationship. After all, the only thing separating our house from theirs is a driveway. If they ever needed something done like picking up newspapers or packages while they were away from home, or just wanted someone to keep an eye on the place, we'd be the natural choice as well the closest people to lend a hand.

But after their transgressions and aggression towards us, I can't put into words how badly I'm waiting for the day they come knocking at my door asking for help. Because, you know, being the forgiving, benefit-of-the-doubt-giving, understanding, sensitive to other people's dilemas individual anyone who knows me will tell you I am, I'll be ready with the most charitable answer I can muster in their time of need.

Kiss my hedge.

The stupidest thing I've ever done

Sadly, there was about a fifty-way tie for the answer to the title of this post. What can I tell ya? Some lessons you have to keep learning.

But I'm pretty sure I've narrowed it down to the right one.

For almost twenty years, I had the very good fortune to live in a 17th-floor corner apartment in the South Tower of Santa Monica Shores (now called The Shores).

This being Santa Monica, the apartment was rent controlled. When I moved in, it was $450 a month for the top floor, 1000 sq. ft., two-bedroom, corner apartment that was about a hundred yards from the beach. When I moved out almost two decades later, it was $900 a month.

The reason I moved was because my son was two years old, and very mobile. See those windows just to the left of the patio? Those were almost floor-to-ceiling, and they were sliding windows. Once my son was mobile, we had to have window locks on them that only let us keep them open an inch or two. Plus we were getting crowded out with all his baby gear. I desperately wanted to stay in Santa Monica, but it was at the height of the market and tear-downs were selling for $850K. So that wasn't happening.

Anyway, in what was clearly a design flaw, all the patios slanted towards the patio door. Which meant when it rained, or storms would come in off the ocean, the water just seeped right under the patio door and flooded the living room. And while the wife and I both enjoyed splashing in puddles, not so much when they were in our living room. The building had a maintenance staff and a fleet of wet-vacs to clean up the water after, but I thought there had to be a better solution.

Well, a solution anyway.

So I had the bright idea of putting giant sheets of clear, thick plastic on the front and side of the patio. I measured the space, then went to Fastsigns and had them made, grommets and all.

Here comes the stupid part.

To hang them, I had to straddle the railing on the patio, screw hooks into the patio ceiling, all while my wife was hanging on to me by the belt of my jeans. I was stretching and leaning to reach the hooks, while below me was a 17-story drop. The only thing between me as tenant and me as roadkill was my belt.

And the wife. Fortunately she kind of liked me.

When we think back on it now, both our stomachs churn thinking about how unbelievably stupid it was. We'd complained to the building for years, as did all the tenants who had the same problem (the water, not my stupidity), and they finally did something about it. After we'd moved out.

The complex has since been sold, and a lot of money was spent modernizing and updating the units. It feels more like a luxury, seaside hotel now and even stood in for one on a recent episode of Mad Men.

I still know a few people there who are enjoying the restaurants on Main Street, the short walk to the Third Street Promenade, the beach bike path and their rent controlled view of the ocean. A view I desperately miss.

Still, looking back, and down, I'm glad I'm around to miss it.

The Perfect Storm

Looking east

Looking west

Not usually one to post about the weather, but I must admit the way the sky looked on my block at sunset yesterday has brought out my inner Al Roker (yes, all of you who thought I was actually a bald, black man with glasses were right).

As you can see, the contrast between clear skies to the east, and the gathering, nuclear-glow looking storm to the west was quite spectacular. It was hard to tell whether to break out the deck chairs or the lead shields.

While the family and I were having dinner on our patio, it started to rain. Warm weather, crisp, fresh rain.

Not only the perfect storm. The perfect dessert.