The Burrow

It's not the prettiest part of the desert, nor the pretties part of the Golden State. Still, it had its moments. The road is straight and flat, even as it goes up and down for miles  The crags of Arizona give way to softer hills in California. The scale of the roads expand, too.  The trucks are lost in the immenseness and closeness of the hills. The road steepens, and the Runaway Truck Ramp signs begin to appear.  They are on both sides of the road, with blockades where there isn't enough room to slow down.  I'm not sure how effective those metal barrels would be. There wasn't anything on the other side of that ramp, either.   The San Joaquin Valley feeds America. The greenery is an overwhelming contrast once you come down into the valley. Trees and more vines   and more trees line the roadside.   So does James Dean.   There are also oil rigs, dipping and raising and dipping a...

Back in 2003, my liberal friends were appalled that I could find good in Arnold Schwarzenneger and that I intended to vote for him in California's gubernatorial recall election. He was a Republican, for crying out loud, didn't I realize that he was, therefore, the spawn of the devil? There was no room for discussion - I had strayed from the path of righteousness and deserved to be flogged. I remember standing on the Bill Williams Trail on Mt. Tamalpais, hands on my hips and fury blazing from my eyes.  "Girls, he's a pro-choice, pro-gun control, pro-gay rights Republican. Maybe there are three of them left in the world.  We have to support him.  He's an endangered species."   They were unmovable, unshakable, adamant in their conviction that he was nothing more than The Terminator, a groping, muscle bound idiot without the credentials or the gravitas to lead the Golden State. Here we are, 7 years later, and he's term-limited out of a job.  In the inter...

There's comfortable free fun in the heart of Beverly Hills. Inside the Paley Center for Media are nearly 150,000 media experiences and all you have to do is walk in the door. They asked for a donation, but, this being Beverly Hills and all, my wallet contained only one lonely $50 bill nestled behind my plastic. The volunteer at the desk smiled and waved me inside, with vague instructions about going up the steps. There are lots of steps on several different staircases. I was having a Zero Mostel moment, humming " one long staircase just going up, and one even longer coming down" when I honestly came to "one more going nowhere, just for show". Just a little freaked out, I found the front desk and started all over again. Walter Cronkite had just died, and the tv in the big front window was running loops of him being famous and fatherly. The walls had Hirschfeld drawings and I spent more than a little time feeling nostalgic for Sunday mornings with the Arts...