Encore post: Bowled over

I'm sure you've heard by now this year's season at the Hollywood Bowl has been cancelled due to COVID-19. Not the band, the virus.

Four years ago I wrote this piece about the bowl. Having grown up in Los Angeles, it holds a special place in my heart for a few of the reasons you'll read about here. It makes me sad I won't be going there until at least next year.

But they made the right decision. Because when I go, the only thing I want to worry about is how good the seats are, not how fast the ambulance can get up the hill.

Anyway, I suggest you read this out on your porch or backyard patio, under the night sky just to set the mood.

Shhhh! The lights are going down, and the post is about to start. Please to enjoy.

I've played the Hollywood Bowl.

Ok, not exactly played. I've walked across the stage in front of an audience. My high school graduation was held at the Hollywood Bowl, and it might've been the most awesome part of high school except for the time I talked my Consumer Law and Economics teacher Mr. Blackman into thinking he'd lost my final term paper (if my kids are reading this, don't even think about it). He gave me an A, but I still feel bad about it.

Having grown up an L.A. kid, I've seen plenty of concerts at the Bowl, so many I can't remember them all.

I saw The Eagles take it easy. If you could read my mind you'd know I also saw Gordon Lightfoot. When school was out for summer I saw Alice Cooper.

I've seen Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne perform together (I know, I'm as shocked as you are) for Survival Sunday 4, an anti-nuke benefit concert.

It's getting to the point I remember Crosby Stills and Nash belting out Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. I can absolutely confirm the Go-Go's got the beat. I saw Laurie Andersen do whatever the hell it was she was doing. I've seen Steve Martin getting wild and crazy with Edie Brickell while fireworks were going off in the sky.

There have been many, many more, but you get my drift.

Not all my memories are happy ones. There was the night my pal David Weitz and I were driving in my 1965 Plymouth Fury. Highland Avenue was jammed because of the show at the Bowl, so we turned up into the surrounding hills to see if we could find a shortcut around it. Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us, lights flashing. The officers told us through the speakers to get out of the car slowly with our hands up. We were young, but we weren't stupid. We knew this was serious.

Once we were out of the car, hands up, they got out of their car with guns drawn and pointed right at us. They told me to open the trunk, which I did slowly and with my hands in sight at all times. They didn't find whatever they were looking for, and after checking our I.D.'s, they let us go. Apparently we fit the description of two guys who'd been robbing the hillside homes recently. I figured the description was brutally handsome and incredibly funny.

Anyway, the reason my mind's on the Bowl is because a week from tonight, I'll be there again, not on stage, but watching the first J.J. Abrams' Star Trek with the Los Angeles Philharmonic playing the score alongside the movie. It should be a great night.

If you've never been there, or it's been awhile, you owe it to yourself to go. It truly is one of the greatest venues, in one of the most beautiful settings, you'll ever see a show at.

Even if you don't get a diploma at the end of it.

Candid camera

A lost episode of COPS? An avant-garde student film? Nope. What your looking at is my driveway, as seen from one of our closed circuit security cameras.

You might be wondering why we've taken the extreme step of installing a security system at our house, especially since the TP'ing ended years ago.

Here's the story.

A few years ago, we started noticing some strange characters coming and going from a house across the street and four down from us. Which was strange because, as far as we could tell, the people who lived there looked like fine, upstanding citizens, perhaps public servants or business professionals.

I'm just funnin' ya. They were strung out meth tweakers. People who visited the house looked like the cast of Oz, without the warmth.

One day, my wife and daughter were driving home and saw one of the tweakers walking down our driveway. They drove slowly and watched him walk back to his house, then they called the police.

Initially the police didn't want to come out to warn the guy about trespassing, but once they did they realized they were dealing with some very bad people. They came back to our house, and let my wife know they had a very long rap sheet that included drug dealing and firearms charges. They also told us to call them anytime if we noticed anything odd going on over there.

The thing is, there was always something odd going on. And as a result, the cops were at the house about twice a week, at all times of the day and night, for over a year. Sometimes it was one police car, and other times it was four or five screaming up to the house, guns drawn. It was very entertaining, and we could almost set our clocks by it.

The house was owned by a sleazy lawyer. We figured out the deal was he got them out of jail when they got busted, and he got a cut of their drug money.

By the way, I forgot to mention that neither our house or our neighbor's house (our former great neighbor and friend Sebastian - come back Sebastian!) was broken into when he was coming out our driveway. We figured the tweaker was probably window shopping both houses, but then heard Max - the world's greatest German Shepherd - start barking up a storm and high-tailed it out of there.

Right after the driveway incident, we got the closed circuit camera system for the house. We have several cameras covering the whole property, and can tune in and watch the show no matter where we are. We have a lot of footage of the FedEx guy delivering packages from Amazon, but so far no more meth heads.

Eventually, the police department called to tell us the sleazy lawyer couldn't afford the house anymore and had decided to sell it. Which, thankfully, turned out to be true.

Now, a nice family with two young kids live there. They've been renovating the house since they moved in over a year ago, and it's looking good. I'm not sure if the renovations included an exorcism, but I think it's worth considering.

As for the closed circuit camera system, together with Max and our alarm system it brings us a great deal of peace of mind.

I just have to remember not to take out the trash in my underwear.

Getting mugged

While my close friend and personal life coach Rich Siegel is busy over at Round Seventeen writing about issues of the day like Islamic clerics, Israel and Palestine, the Holocaust and the sorry state of advertising, I notice he has yet to tackle a vital subject that affects us all on a deeper, even more visceral level.

Of course I'm talking about celebrity mug shots.

It's always good, wholesome fun to have a laugh at someone else's expense. So let's start with one of the classics: Nick Nolte. Now the go-to choice would've been to contrast and compare a glamour boy shot of Nolte from the Rich Man Poor Man days with his now infamous Don King-esque, "Have you ever heard of conditioner?" hairstyle mug shot.

Instead, I chose an earlier mug shot of Nolte as a counterpoint to the one we all know and love. In fact, as you'll see, I've pretty much restricted all my choices to celebutards who have enjoyed the luxurious accommodations of an 8x6 holding cell more than once.

It's hard to know exactly what's more embarrassing about this early Tim Allen mug shot. The '70's stache? That he was busted in Kalamazoo (which coincidentally is the word magicians use when they forget "abracadabra"), or the fact people kept mistaking him for Geraldo Rivera?

Clearly his success from Home Improvement and voicing Buzz Lightyear is reflected in the more recent, more styled shot on the right. You can tell he's aware of the lighting, as well as his best angle. It could almost be the head shot his agent sends out for roles on shows like, you know, Oz or Prison Break.

Unfortunately for Tim, thanks to the interwebs these mug shots will be around to infinity and beyond. (See what I did there?)

                                        

Ladies and gentlemen, the man who's single-handedly putting the glamour back in anti-semitism, the one and only Mel Gibson.

This suitable-for-wallet-size mug shot on the left is from Mel's drunk driving episode a few years back on Pacific Coast Highway. Clearly, Mel still has plenty of alcohol in his bloodstream. You can see the sly smile, the sparkly eyes - the look that says "Hey, I know Jews run the business, but guess which ten-year old, independently financed film shot in a dead language grossed the most money in history?"

I'll give him this: it was a good film, even if I did know how it ended.

But see, you can't smack talk the people who run the business and still expect to have a career in it, as an older, paler and jowlier Mel knows judging by the photo on the right.

I suppose everybody's human and nobody's perfect. But sometimes stupidity just rules the day, and the mistakes we make have a way of sticking to our shoes.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I was going to post Lindsey Lohan's mug shots. But even on the internet, there just wasn't enough room.

Riding again with the 77th

Car thieves, kidnappers and prostitutes. No I'm not talking about ad agencies I've worked at. I'm talking about my second ride-along with the great professionals of the LAPD.

I've already written about my first ride-along experience here. But last Monday night, I had the privilege of being partnered with Sgt. Bland of the 77th Street Community Police Department. Located in the heart of South Central Los Angeles, it's a place officers gain the kind of experience in a very short time that they couldn't get at any other outpost.

I'd expected to ride with Sgt. Sandoz who I did my first ride-along with. But he was unexpectedly assigned Watch Commander for the night, and I wound up riding with the equally exceptional Sgt. Bland from 7p.m. to 4a.m.

We went to the parking lot to look for our assigned car, number 89140. Sgt. Bland handed me a spare set of keys to the car. I asked him what they were for, and he said, "In case you need them." I didn't ask anything else.

Like my previous ride-along, I fully expected the four words I'd hear most from Sgt. Bland would be, "Stay in the car." But also like before, he said I was riding as his partner and could get as close as I wanted with him to the action (with one exception).

Once the Jurassic Park-sized fortress doors from the garage of the 77th opened to let us out, the first call was a stolen van with five occupants. When we arrived, they were stopped on 76th Street, under a Harbor freeway overpass. I saw about 12 police cars with the officers out of them, standing behind their open car doors with guns drawn and aimed at the occupants coming out of the van to join the ones already on the ground, face down with arms and legs spread out as they'd been instructed.

The officers in the cars closest to the van had their shotguns drawn.

I asked Sgt. Bland why there was so much firepower for one stolen van. He said there were two reasons. First, while the officers could see five occupants, they didn't know if there were others hiding in the van and whether or not they were armed (or with what). Second was the message it sent. I asked what that was, and he told me, "You're not going to win."

It turned out there were five people in the van, and the only hidden occupant was a baby blue pit bull puppy.

There are a lot of pit bulls in South Central.

Next was a domestic violence call. When we arrived, the fire department was there as well. A woman had been pushed out of a truck, and was being treated at the scene and taken to the hospital. Her face had been badly banged up, her head was bandaged and she had blood all over her. It doesn't look anything like it does on television. We stayed until the paramedics took her away.

As we were driving off, we saw a gentleman stop his and car drop off a woman we believed to be a prostitute given the known prostitution activity in the area. He was driving down the street, except what he didn't know was that it was a dead end street.

Sgt. Bland had me run the plate on the patrol car's computer. What came up was all the information on the vehicle, as well as the owner, a Mr. Kang. Since the driver appeared to be a male Asian, we believed him to be the registered owner. We pulled around to the end of the street he'd have to come out of. When he did, we shone a light on him, and called out, "Mr. Kang. Go home Mr. Kang. Have a good night."

In case you didn't know, getting caught dropping off a prostitute by LAPD results in a very shocked expression. I thought I actually heard him pee his pants.

Oh Mr. Kang.

Next up was a liquor store robbery. We got there shortly after it happened. Two robbers had been able to gain access to the contents of a safe while they held the owner at gunpoint. The officers already at the scene had everything under control, so we left to continue patrolling the streets.

South Western and Figueroa are popular "tracks" for prostitutes. Every once in awhile we'd pull up to one, ask how she was doing and remind her to keep her eyes open and be safe. They'd say okay, then walk away quickly from the car. Nothing kills business more than talking to LAPD.

Back to the domestic violence call. When the officers followed up with the woman at the hospital, they learned who did it. It was a former relationship of hers. He had her in a truck, and when she asked him to stop so she could get out, he sped up then pushed her out into the alley.

Assault with a deadly weapon (ADW), kidnapping and domestic violence all in a matter of moments.

She told the officers where he lived, and that he kept a loaded shotgun at his front door.

We went back to the 77th, where Sgt. Bland and six other officers quickly planned a strategy for getting him. I could feel the atmosphere change and the tension ratchet up as they discussed where they'd be positioned around his house, and contingencies depending on how he reacted to the knock at the door.

A caravan of four police cars drove to his house. Remember earlier I said there was one call I couldn't get close to? This was it. I stayed in the car while the officers went to his door. From where I was positioned, I heard them knock on the door and tell him to come out. In that moment, for the first time all night, I was afraid because I didn't know what sound I was going to hear next.

Fortunately, the guy decided to not shoot it out, and was taken in without incident.

Turns out he was 5'8" and 140lbs. Seeing him escorted to the patrol car in front of me by two officers over 6' tall was pretty comical. One of them had the shotgun that was in his apartment, as well as another gun he kept in his bedroom.

And ladies, I understand he is single again. Just saying.

After that, we went back to the station. Sgt. Bland thanked me for keeping him safe out there (nice of him to say, but we both know it was the other way around).

Just like last time, each and every officer I met during the evening was exceptional. They have no idea what they're walking into from one call to the next. Yet they handle each one with professionalism, courtesy and a respect for the people they're dealing with regardless of their situation in life. It is inspiring to see, and reassuring to know.

The other thing that remains the same from my last ride-along is the resourcefulness of these officers given the limited resources due to budget cuts. These dedicated, overworked and underpaid officers are stretched almost to the breaking point.

But here's the secret: for them, there is no breaking point.

I said this in my last post, but I'll say it again: if you're so inclined, and you should be, sending a letter to Anthony Villaraigosa or Governor Brown asking them not to cut the budget where law enforcement is concerned can do nothing but help.

Once again, I want to give a huge thank you to Sgt. Bland and all the great people working at the 77th, not only for letting me have this incredible experience a second time, but for who they are and what they do each and every day for all of us.

Roger that.

Unseeing things

As a parent, you always wish you could control everything your children see. It's the part of you that wants to protect them from the images of ugliness and hurt in the world that once seen, will affect them deeply as they involuntarily replay them over and over.

My daughter saw a dog get hit by a car today. Not that there was anyway it could be good, but it was particularly bad in its violence and suddenness.

We'd just picked her up from winter camp. She'd had an awesome weekend, and was riding high on the fresh memory of it. The one thing she wanted to do when we picked her up was visit her grandmother, and her grandmother's new dog Buddy. (It's been a bad week for dogs: grandma had to put down her 14-year old Andrew earlier in the week. My daughter loved him and was with him at the end.)

After that visit, as we were leaving grandma's house, we saw a smaller - and we thought younger - German Shepherd wandering grandma's block. It had apparently been tied to something, because trailing behind it was a rope that had either been broken or chewed off. We tried to get the dog to come over to us, but it was scared and looked lost. We called grandma, and asked if the neighbors had a German Shepherd. Two of them did, but the dog we saw wasn't either of theirs.

The dog was heading towards a busy main street that borders grandma's neighborhood. We tried to head it off but couldn't.

It managed to cross the street, and we thought it would stay over there. We called Animal Control and the police department to let them know.

Unfortunately, the dog decided to go back across the street. As it walked to the other side, a car in the left lane slowed to let it pass. But a car in the right lane, that was going about 50, didn't. From the opposite side of the street where the dog had just come from, my daughter and I both saw it get hit and pinned under the car.

Many, many cars stopped to help, and the police received several calls. My daughter was hysterical, with full waterworks that would not be stopped.

I'd do anything to turn back time so she didn't have to have that image in her head.

It's times like these you come face to face with the adult hypocrisies you have no choice but to perpetrate. We told my daughter help was already on the way, explained how they would lift the car off the dog and then people who knew how to move injured animals would take him to be cared for.

Sadly and cruelly, the dog was still alive when we left. I have no doubt the first thing Animal Control did is put him down when they got there. Those weren't injuries he was coming back from.

Because we have a 7-year old German Shepherd we're beyond crazy about, we got emotionally invested in this lost dog almost instantly. I can't honestly say we would've made the same effort had it been a different breed (apologies to chihuahuas, but you're on your own).

So tonight, knowing this too shall pass, our daughter will sleep with us, feeling safe in the big bed while her mind works against her and her broken heart tries to mend.

And instead of celebrating her great weekend, we'll be saying prayers hoping the dog didn't suffer long and has found peace wherever he is. We'll also be saying prayers for the driver.

Although I have to admit I might be praying for something a little different for her.

Cut to the chase

You'd think I live in a rusty Airstream trailer, strewn with beer cans, yellowed newspapers and cigarette smoke stains on the fake wood-veneer cabinets and shag carpet.

But God help me, I loves me a good high-speed chase.

I have a system - what I like to call my personal HSC Alert Hotline. Several friends and relatives are in place near their phones at all times. When they happen to come upon a HSC as they're switching channels, they immediately call and let me know.

I take it from there. I immediately leap into action. By action, I mean drop everything I'm doing, grab the remote, switch to the station(s) covering the chase, plant my ever expanding derriere on the couch then sit back, settle in and watch the chase until it reaches it's inevitable conclusion no matter how long it takes. And know this: the really good ones can go on for hours, especially if it's an SUV with a spare gas tank.

Now you might say to yourself, "How sad he has to watch his high speed chases all alone." First, thank you for your concern. But you'll be happy to hear I don't.

The other person in my house, the only other person who appreciates the extremely high entertainment value of them as much as I do is my 12-year old daughter. The apple doesn't fall far from the police helicopter.

As we switch back and forth between channels covering the chase, looking to see which news chopper has the best overhead shot, we always ask the same question: how does the guy driving think this is going to end? Does he think the police chasing him will:

A) Run out of gas

B) Get tired and go home

C) Get lost and have to pull over for directions

D) Not drive nearly as well as he can when he's that high

And by the way, what exactly does he think that bright white light shining down on him from overhead no matter which neighborhood, on-ramp or back alley he turns on to is. The sun? The angel on his shoulder?

Not so much.

The police helicopter pilots are the unsung heroes of the high speed chase. Oh sure, we all love seeing the perp narrowly avoid crashing into pedestrians, trash cans, trees and other vehicles. And what viewer doesn't get tingly at the prospect of seeing one of the several police cars in pursuit deciding to do the PIT maneuver.

By the way, only hardcore chase fans know that PIT stands for Pursuit Intervention Technique. Go ahead, impress your friends. Win bar bets. You're welcome.

Earlier I mentioned the inevitable conclusion: here's what it is, although you've probably guessed by now. After the suspect runs out of gas, crashes the car, turns on to a dead end street, drives the tires that have been flattened by a spike strip down to the wheels - which now look like sparklers riding on the cement, loses his buzz or jumps out of the car and makes a run for it, the chopper pilot just shines the light on him as a guiding beacon for the police to come and get their man (or woman - seen a few of those too).

Occasionally they won't come out of the car when asked, and that's when it gets tense. The police surround the car, guns drawn and make it very clear what they want him to do. It gets really good sometimes when the police are distracting him on one side of the car, and then more police open the door on the other side and drag him out (sometimes they just pull him through the window if he's pissed them off enough).

I've never seen a suspect get shot, which is a good thing since my daughter is almost always next to me watching. I suppose there's always the chance that could happen, and if it does I'll try to use it as a teaching moment. You want to play, you have to pay.

When it's all over, the feeling is exactly like coming home from Vegas. Everything seems a lot slower and a little duller.

The good thing is that this is Los Angeles, so high speed chases are like buses - miss one, there'll be another along any minute.

Many people think the saddest words are "what might've been."

For me, they're "we now return you to our regular programming."

You have the right to remain in the car like a scared little girl

It's L.A. Money talks. And tonight it said I get to ride along with the L.A.P.D. on the night shift in South Los Angeles.

My kid's school has an annual fundraising auction. Every year, we spend a perfectly good Saturday night looking at baskets of shampoo and body washes, pictures of cabins in Mammoth, inflatable backyard movie screens and other items we can silently bid on. Usually there's not much I'm interested in.

Although don't get me wrong - I do love a nice body wash.

But this year, I saw this little item and for several reasons I knew I had to have it.

One is I grew up on the mean streets of West Los Angeles (north of Wilshire). The city is my beat (see what I did there?). Also, I love watching COPS. Every episode there's a drunk guy in a beer-stained, white tank top tripping over his tongue trying to explain to the incredibly patient officer why he's not the guy they're after.

Comedy at its finest.

I've always had tremendous respect and admiration for the job the police do. Sure, we all hear about the bad ones. But every day, in cities all over the country they're putting their lives on the line to protect us.

Over the years I've had a few occasions to call the police in our city in the middle of the night when we thought someone was on our property. They were here in less than 30 seconds. When it turned out to be nothing, I apologized for wasting their time, saying they probably had real crimes to solve. They insisted they'd rather I call and have it turn out to be nothing than not call and actually have some criminal to deal with.

While I'm sitting at my desk trying to think of some clever little tagline for a car or fast food company, they're on the streets wondering if the jacked up guy they're stopping for speeding is going to pull out a gun and make it their last day on the job. And on earth.

I think if I ever told a cop about how rough I thought my day was they'd double over laughing.

Besides being a fan of the police, I'm also a fan of high speed chases. If I catch one on the news, or if one of my friends calls me and tells me there's one on, I drop everything and sit glued to the television until it's over. Every time I ask the same question: how does this guy think it's going to end? Does he think the cops and helicopters will just get tired and let him go? My favorite part, besides when they stop and come out with their hands up, is when the cop car does that maneuver where they tap the bumper and the suspect's car goes spinning out of control. Very entertaining.

I'm sure my ride-along will be extremely interesting. And I'm sure since it's in one of the tougher parts of L.A. I'll see a few things I wouldn't normally get exposed to.

Right now I'm hoping we're in hot pursuit in a high speed chase.

But my guess is when I'm sitting in the police car, I'll be hoping for an uneventful night where we both return safely and I have a great story to tell my kids.