Glendale Foliage Season

Very few things make me nostalgic for New England as much as images of the reds, oranges, and yellows of foliage season.  The visuals conjure memories of other senses: the slight nip in the air, the crunch of fallen dead leaves, the smell of cloves and pumpkin pie.  In the mid-1980's, I worked a job as an assistant cameraman that found me and a few other crew members flying in a helicopter over pretty much the entire length of Vermont at the height of fall color.  The whole state was a carpet of crimson, tangerine and flaming gold.  Not only was it beautiful, but also gave a sense of perspective about the relatively rural state: it sure looked like nobody lived there.

Ellen and I have talked about going back east for foliage season every year for years now, but somehow it never happens.  Someday, though, it will.

We've had cold weather here in LA for a few weeks now (including, as could be predicted, the week we had no gas and ergo no heat).  The nights have been in the 40's and maybe even dipped down into the 30's.  I know, I can hear you northeasterners snark, "that's t-shirt weather!"  Shaddap.

As evidenced by the photo above, it was cold enough for long enough for some of LA's deciduous trees to actually turn.  As far as I can remember, this is the first time this has happened in my twenty years here.  Or at least, the most colorful.  I point out the trees to Ellen, and she acknowledges that they are beautiful.  Now imagine, I tell her, trees like that as far as the eye can see...

Rain in LA

It rained all over Los Angeles today, that kind of rain that goes all day and never really stops, the kind you get in Seattle or New England or probably a lot of other places.  Extremely rare here, usually we just get a few hours at best.

I have a cold, so I stayed home and just enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, today was the dogs' bath day. Bad choice.

The Bird

Yesterday, driving around, I got flipped off three times!

I admit I  have a tendency to honk when I feel someone is driving poorly.  I'm just letting them know -- hey you may want to improve your skills behind the wheel!

The first was someone who was a bit asleep when the light turned green, and I was behind them.  I assure you I gave them plenty of time!

The second and third were people driving recklessly, too fast, changing lanes in front of me, coming too close to my car for safety, in my view.  The third guy zoomed past me, then stopped in the right-hand lane at a stop light.  A little concerned about him, I slowed and stopped a few car lengths behind him, not excited about pulling up right next to him.  He shoved his arm out his driver side window and gave me a very energetic, enthusiastic Bird.  Then he turned right!  He actually stopped, just so he could flip me off!

Do you think it's the economy?

Belated Thanksgiving Report

Because we had no gas, Ellen made a reservation for Thanksgiving dinner at the Smoke House, a venerable old somewhat-above-mediocre 40's restaurant in Burbank, right next to Warner Bros. Studios.  Maybe Bogie ate here.

When we arrived, Grandma rounding out our party of four, we realized we'd be having dinner with 1,000 of our closest friends.  There was a line of about 50 people ahead of us just to check in!  (See photo.)  The line featured Eric McCormack of Will & Grace -- proof that there are no favorites at the Smoke House.  Patience hanging by a thread, I went to the bar to get us drinks and dragged Hunter with me.  After waiting for a few minutes I found myself yelling at the bartender, "Hey I was here before them!"  Again, modeling excellent behavior for young Master Hunter.

Drink in hand, I decided to loosen up and just enjoy the experience.  Our reservation was for 7:00 PM, and we got seated at 7:45.  It proved to be a little difficult to get napkins, but otherwise it was pleasant and festive.  Lots of big parties.  I've had better prime rib, but Ellen and Hunter seemed to enjoy their traditional turkey dinner.

I decided this year that I just don't love the traditional turkey dinner.  The meat is often cold, and I don't really favor yams.  I'd rather have steak, or creamy pasta.  That's what I'd give thanks for.  But really, the lesson learned is that the best part of Thanksgiving is the adult beverages.  Serve early and often.

The Joys of Gas

The above photo is the ceiling of our laundry area, right off the kitchen.

For about a year, we'd been smelling gas occasionally in our garage.  We had a guy from the gas company come out maybe six months ago.  Maybe two different guys.  Anyway they waved a little wand-like thing around that made high-pitched sound if it detected gas.  I could use one of those when the dogs are having digestive issues.  But nothing.

But now the house has been on the market for a while and our crack realtor mentioned to us in passing that several prospective buyers has smelled gas.  Hey quit being so negative, I demanded, find us someone who wants to make an offer on a house with an undetermined gas leak!

Well time to call the gas co again, I guess.  So the guy comes out with his magic gas sniffer and points it at an exposed pipe in a hole at the bottom of the wall of the garage, and sure enough it immediately emits a high-pitched whine.  The whole process took about fifteen seconds.  He seemed a bit disgusted that the previous guy hadn't found the leak.

Anyway gas company policy is, when there's a leak, to turn off your gas and PUT A LOCK ON THE VALVE.  Suddenly faced with the prospect of no gas -- no hot water, no cooking, no dryer -- I asked the guy, what if I just break that lock and turn my gas back on?  After all, we'd been living with the leak for so long.  He responded, well, it's a felony.  Go ahead John Dillinger! I declined.

That was ten days ago.  The job of finding and fixing the leak is mine and my plumber's.  They jackhammered a few holes in the garage floor and capped the gas pipe (it supplied a gas heater in the office above the garage, a heater that hasn't been there for years).  But that didn't work.  The gas guy came back but the meter still showed there was a slow leak somewhere, so no gas for you!  Boy was I mad.

But it was off to the Y for showers, a trip to the laundromat for Ellen, and cooking on one hotplate for us.

Ultimately the plumbers were unable to find the leak, and had to assume it was somewhere in the concrete slab that sits not only under our garage but also extends to under most of the kitchen.

So that meant going to DefCon 5: running new gas lines from the meter in the basement to the kitchen and dryer (near the kitchen).  Through the walls and ceilings.  See above.

Thankfully, after ten full days, we got our gas back yesterday.