Yesterday I attended a Civil Rights Demonstration

There was a civil rights demonstration in my town yesterday. It was a short distance from where I live and was organized to be a walk and a trash pickup as part of a community service theme. I feel very strongly about the issue, I support it deeply (it's the only issue that I'll cross party voting lines for), and I knew several of the participants. I wanted to participate in at least some small way to begin to conquer my fear of the state on this issue.

Instead I felt the corrosive effect of intimidation from the state first hand. I was at the beginning with the speeches and the tv cameras, but I didn't walk with them. I was intimidated. I let the fear of "being out of line" intimidate me. I think that means the state won through intimidation. That makes me feel inferior -- and a little ashamed.

Nothing happened during the walk. It was all very pastoral. There were no confrontations with counter-protesters. There was no intimidating police presence. No firehouses, no police dogs, no riots. They didn't do anything as severe as closing the Edmund Pettus bridge to stop us like they did to the Freedom Marchers in '65 outside of Montgomery. It was just an eight or ten block walk, then everyone went for coffee. In hindsight, it was very low key.

Oh, there were parts of town that the Chief of Police told us were "off limits": schools, government offices -- and parks. I think keeping civil rights protesters out of parks under the pretense of some new-fangled "Jim Crow" law is corrosive to the exercise of the right and intimidating. It limits our freedom of movement only because of the particular civil right we supported. However, our current City Council seems to lack the courage to support this particular civil right. (Income here is 50% higher than the county average and White, Asian and Latino make up 96.5% of the population, so you can draw your own conclusions about the 'Have Gots' in the homeland.)

The fear of some yahoo attacking the marchers because he thinks "it is wrong" and that the state's position gives him moral authority -- is also corrosive and intimidating. Let me be clear -- that didn't happen. But I was afraid it would happen to me. I was afraid, because if I would have defended myself, I would have been arrested. That's how the intimidating effect of the state becomes corrosive.

This is really where the erosion of a civil right hits home. Civil rights are inherent in people. They are inherent in each of us. When you are intimidated from exercising a civil right, you are not defending yourself. When you are afraid to defend your self or your family by exercising a civil right, you have been intimidated. If you have been intimidated into not voting by some thug with a baton standing in front of the Polling Place, you haven't defended yourself.

The heroes in this civil rights movement will come from the early days. The ones who are there at the beginning when the crowds are small and the stakes are high -- those are the brave ones. No lawyers by your side. Shunned by the politicians who are actively legislating against you. No celebrities by your side. You may be outnumbered. You may be reviled. You won't know what you're getting into until it is over. You may end having coffee with friends. You may not.

This is going to be a new journey for me. I have to create a new comfort zone and learn to live in it. I don't want to be intimidated. I don't want to be ashamed, I want to walk with them. I want to be brave. I want to think of myself as a hero. I want my civil rights. Next time, I want to be one of them. To do that, I am going to have to oppose the wishes of the state and put myself at risk for something I should be able to take for granted. Instead it is the wish and intention of the state to reserve it for the agents of the state.

Join me or not. Pass this note along, if you like. I can pretty much guarantee that no matter how many protesters there are, at some point you will feel alone. I can also pretty much guarantee you that those who oppose you will not be reasonable. You won't be able to "talk them down". You won't have the luxury of letting yourself be afraid of the consequences of lawful protest.

I can also guarantee you that YOU WILL understand HOW HARD it is to defend your civil rights when the state is opposed to them.

"May God give us the courage."

4th of July Boob Tour 2010

Hermosa Beach is a small community in Los Angeles about five miles from LAX. It's a quiet town with a drinking problem. When I was on the city commission to revitalize the community, I suggested Jewelry stores, a diamond exchange. Instead -- and with my full approval -- they went for bars. People come here to drink. Some stay. Some stay and quit drinking (Hi!).*

It turns out that in Los Angeles (city pop. 4,094,764, county pop. 9,848,011), that there are A LOT of people who like to come to the beach and drink on the 4th of July. It's a zoo.

There's a Strand alongside the beach for people and bicycles that's runs the length of town (and about 20 mi outside of town). It's 20 feet wide. It gets so packed you can't ride a bike on it. You can sit on the bike and push yourself around, but there are places where you can't even do that.

In the morning, until about 1pm there is some incredible talent out there, let me tell you. Great weather, beach, bikinis, young beauties. It's a perfect storm. They've been drinking, giddy, haven't got the surly beginning of the hangover or vaguely upset stomach that starts after 4 hours of drinking.

Then between 1 and 2pm there's a shift change. The liquor kicks in. The good looking women know to leave or cover up -- or they'll get groped. Many don't mind. There's just too many people around to enforce infractions. They po-po got bigger fish to fry than these drunken boobs (big electric sign in the bar district says, "Alcohol fines are tripled on the 4th of July"). From then on, it's a festival of Ignorance.

Police from 10-20 jurisdictions come here for the overtime. They ride cars, motorcycles, SUVs, horses, Blart-mobiles, bicycles, foot patrol, helicopters, you name it. The lifeguards estimate 5,000 - 10,000 people come to Hermosa Beach every day on a typical summer weekend. On the 4th of July it's 50,000 to 75,000. The bars switch to plastic cups. People fill their Snapple bottles directly from the keg at private parties. Every block has a band, some of them fairly famous (Pennywise started around here if that means anything to anyone over 30).

My goddaughter showed up with a friend about noon. We found parking (unbelievable). Went to Hennessey's for a burger, right at the corner of Pier and Strand. Had a hard time talking from all the screaming in the bar. Walked out and the shift change had taken place. Whole new crowed, 2x people. An electric rock band on a large pull wagon was being manually towed down the strand by 10 guys. A couple of the women had bikini tops that were just painted on. Jenny was standing 20 feet from me and I couldn't see her from all the confusion.

People have told me that on their way home from work on the holiday, that the freeways are wide open and free flowing. Traffic on the surface streets is moderate. Make the turn into Hermosa Beach west of Pacific Coast Highway (a strip about 10 blocks wide) and there's congestion. Walk across Hermosa Avenue, the last major street before the beach and it becomes one huge party.

Most people eat from 3 to 7pm, so there's a lull. Then they reload, re-arm and fuel up. Fireworks are illegal in Los Angeles County. About 8pm, they come out. I talked to one guy who for years would come back from Mexico with 50,000 firecrackers in strings. He'd tape them to two 4'x8' sheets of plywood. They would haul them on the beach, light them off, then run back and sit down. The police would show up -- and watch. What else are they going to do? "Save" the plywood?

Naw, they pick up the passed out bodies, stop fights, talk to the pretty girls, confiscate liquor, break up parties, talk to the pretty girls. arrest the drunk drivers, respond to traffic collisions. Their patience is sorely tested. Over and over and over. I'll give them the chat with the pretty girls as a perk.

In the middle of all this, as my goddaughter and here friend and I are walking down to the Redondo Pier (about 2mi) we see a Crackberry lying in the Strand. She picks up up, she dials the last call - busy. I dial the one before that - Jackpot! "Omigod you are soooo nice! it's my friend's. I'm in Redondo - I CAN'T come pick it up" I give her my number. The next morning the owner calls. Where are you? I asked. "I'm in Palos Verdes (5mi away). I'm coming to Redondo to pick up my car. I can pick up my phone after I get back from the Emergency Room. I think I broke my arm." Now, THAT'S a party, I said. She got it about 2pm, but she hadn't been to the ER yet. Priorities, you know.

Feel free to come by next year. Parking's a bitch, but you gotta see the show at least once.

* I drink, but not like I used to. If I ever made a list of the reasons I should be dead, that would be top ten easy, maybe even top five. I'll have to think about what would be ahead of it though. Feel free to send me suggestions.

2010 U.S. Open - A Personal Perspective

First off, I really did have a great time! Chuck Hanson was the host and was fantastically generous with the accommodations and tickets.

The venue, Pebble Beach, was incredible. What a great place for a "walk spoiled" as Mark Twain said. Saturday and Sunday were overcast and a little coolish, but it was much better than being baked in the sun all day. Chuck's house is a 1/2 mile from the Lodge. The worst part of the whole walking around thing was going up and down the small hill behind the house to get to and from the venue. Chuck provided Lodge Premier tickets, which meant nothing for watching the golf (first come, first served), but allowed us into the Lodge and Tavern for a break. On Saturday, we had a table in the Pavillion -- that was the schitzel. Open bar, all you can eat, tvs everywhere. Great place for a break and to re-group and try to figure out what you wanted to do and see.

The Main Gate funneled you right past the Merchandise tent -- huge doesn't really describe it. It was more like a portable CostCo than anything else. If it had a golf logo on it you could buy it there. From there it was all downhill to the course. We ended up not using the main entrance, but using a smaller one by the Lodge that dumped us right out onto the 1st Hole. That's where things get interesting.

There were grandstands at every tee and green. First come, first serve. Once you were in, there was a separate line to get back in if you needed a bio break or something to eat/drink/make merry. The only place I saw trouble was when some young punk like I used to be tried to force his way into the stands to an empty seat that was reserved for someone who left temporarily. He had four beers in his hands and was giving the Marshall grief, but because drinking was obviously more important, he ended up fading back into the crowd.

Everything at the concession stands starts close to $10 -- hot dogs, burgers, beers. Maybe not quite that but the $8 beers seemed to keep a lid on things. It would have been a completely different event if beers were $2 each, but I digress...

The golf itself was, well, interesting. Wed/Thurs/Fri there were some decent spots where you could park and watch them off the tee and actually see where the ball landed. Getting a spot to do both of those things on Sat/Sun wasn't really possible. Standing around all day in one spot was necessary. That's why I posted about watching the landing zone on the 1st Hole. There were other spots like that available, but how often can you watch these guys smash a long drive dead center into the fairway, or spank a short iron 230yds onto the green? They're amazing athletes and can do it every time, but after watching 20 of them do it...

This is where the venue falls a little short. It was never designed to provide a couple hundred thousand spectators a view of every tee, green, and landing zone. The landscaping would have had to be more stadium in design with wide hillsides supporting those views. That's not what a golf course is designed for. And following a Name Player was out of the question. Without doubt, the grandstand seats at 18 were where you wanted to be, but you had to get there at 8am for the 3pm finish. And getting in and out was a 30 minute wait AFTER you waited a couple hours to get seats.

So we had great tickets, stayed as close to the venue as was possible, could go anywhere we wanted to -- and ended up watching the leaders finish on tv back at the house.

I did see Tom Watson finish 17 (well, I saw his head and shoulders, anyway), then saw him tee off on 18 -- just tee off not where the ball went, then walked up 18 with him while he waited for the green to clear for his approach. Me and 10,000 of his closest friends that is. At that point, it struck me more as idol worship (OMG! Grass from Phil Mickelson's divot caught me in the FACE! I'll never wash my face again!), because golf -- for all its frustrations and rewards -- is meant to be played. A smaller tournament, following the players during a Pro/Am kinda thing, definitely. Arnie's Army is a thing of the past, too many people to move.

This gets back to my problem with the local courses in LA. I'd pay more for fewer tee times (10 minutes instead of 7 1/2, maybe?) or even limit it to fours instead of fives just to get a five our round instead of the 6-7 hours it is now (if you tee off after 8:30am). It's hard to believe the PGA could charge more for a ticket, and it WAS the U.S. Open, so fans really should be able to come to it. In the end, it was more about the spectacle and the crowd than the game.

I did pick up some nice tips just watching, though. "Ohh, they go under the trees!" and "Thaat's why you want to be in the fairway..." and the idea of driving the green on the 420-yd. 3rd Hole was absolutely brilliant. I'm going to have to try that one myself.

The cameras were set up to point away from the crowd, to prevent that young-guy-I-used-to-be-lik

e from crashing the tee box, I guess -- not that I was ever that disrespectful. The closest I came was standing five feet away from the drop zone on 17 where Phil Mickelson hit on after hitting into the camera cages a half hour before it actually happened. I know this because I was at the house watching on tv when Phil hit from there. So if you want to see the wrecks in person, you gotta be in the right place AND be patient.

Of course, if I would have been at the right spot, I would have found Dustin Johnson's ball. But, it wasn't meant to be.

True Story

Honest. Would I make up something this embarrassing?

I was working remotely for a company in San Diego and had to drive down for an "all hands" departmental meeting. Tuesday night the whole group is out to dinner, three tables worth. We're in a back room and the restaurant is waiting for the kitchen to clear so they can serve us as a group. I'm sitting there after two hours of appetizers and a few drinks, zoning out and pushing around the bread crumbs on my plate because chasing that dang crumb was a lot more interesting than the table conversation about movies that we've seen and liked.

Just when I almost had the last bread crumb on my fork (no hands!), I hear one woman say, "You know my husband likes to watch porn movies." Well, needless to say my ears perk up.

Man, I thought. Get a few drinks in this group and they'll venture waaay off-road.

Now everybody knows that porn movies tell the story in the title. I mean, if you hear about a porn movie titled "Through the Back Door," you pretty much know everything about it except for the hats they're wearing. So now the conversation has my full attention again. "And," this woman continues, "he was watching 'Through the Rabbit Fence' last night."

My mind started racing. Wow, I thought, is she going to tell us the story from her husband's porn movie? What the heck is 'rabbit fencing', anyway? I've never even heard of that. Is it like with the gerbils? Do you need special pants?

"It was a story about these three aboriginal women in Australia," this woman says, "who walk across the outback to get home after being separated by the state from their families and how they got across the rabbit fence that divides the continent in half."

There was a very loud CLICK in my mind as the light went on. I swear the woman sitting next to me heard it. "Oh!", I said out loud to her. "She said 'FOREIGN movies'..."

Turns out I'd seen it. Good movie.

D'oh!

Several weeks ago a woman in our department had a birthday. As part of the celebration we were told to surprise her when she was in a meeting with our manager. About eight of us did and as her present was brought in, I could see it was a clear plastic package with just a bow on it. As it went by me I looked at it and thought, "That looks like a fuzzy hemorrhoid cushion! Ah, a gag gift!"

We sang Happy Birthday and handed it to her. "Oh!", she said. "I can use this!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

"I can wear it around my neck when I sleep to keep from getting a stiff neck!" Then I looked at the package again and realized that next to the fuzzy hemorrhoid cushion was a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers and a fuzzy sleep mask.

'D'oh!' I thought and slapped my forehead. 'It's a neck pillow!' The woman standing next to me got it.

She didn't stop laughing for five minutes. This is not the first time something like this has happened to me.