BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

            We humans can be a very gullible group when we choose to be. If more than two people believe that something is true, it becomes a movement or at the very least, it warrants producing a reality  TV show.

            The other night, when my daughter Rachel was home from college, she wrangled my wife Stacey and I into watching a reality show called  "T.A.P.S. - Ghost Hunters". T.A.P.S. stands for The Atlantic Paranormal Society. Apparently it was a marathon, which initially I thought would be fun.

            Having always been a sucker for anything dealing with the paranormal, I bought the ticket and was in for the ride. All I could do was hope for the best. Who knows, maybe there would be some startling revelation or a way to get a message to the other side. There are a few folks over there that I wouldn't mind having a chat with if the possibility arose.

            The show follows the usual format of investigative shows. The investigation, the pursuit, the analysis, and the findings. The one thing I kept wondering about is all the very high tech equipment they were using. The biggest question being is where do they get all this stuff?

            During the show they broke one of their E.M.F. gages. (F.Y.I. : E.M.F. stands for Electro Magnetic Field, but don't ask.) Well, when it broke their reaction was one of "Oh well, we will just run out get another one."  Where? Target?  Kmart?  Best Buy? Ghosts 'R Us?

            Now "T.A.P.S.-Ghost Hunters" is not the only game in town and should not be confused with the other spirits haunting the television airwaves.  There are quite a few. You've got "Most Haunted", "Haunted America",  "Haunted Travel",  "Celebrity Ghost Story", "My Ghost Story", "Ghostly Graveyards"  and my son Alex's favorite "Ghost Adventures". Trust me this is nowhere near a complete list.

            As I discovered after a brief conversation with Alex, people have a tendency to become loyal to their paranormal shows. In his mind, Ghost Hunters couldn't rattle Ghost Adventures' chains.  Having watched both shows I wasn't exactly sure why his loyalty was based there, but to each his own.

            But back to the gullible part of this article. Granted, believing in ghosts, spirits, and the paranormal is a tough sell. It requires a giant leap of faith for most.  According to the latest poll, 78% of us don't buy into it. But that also means that there are 22% that think that it is true. Despite the number of shows on cable the ghost movement needs to get some hardcore press in order to move it to the front of the world wide consciousness.

            You know like the recent waste of everyone's time over the pending end of the world or "The Rapture" to those in the apocalyptic know.  I was absolutely stunned and annoyed by the amount of coverage it was receiving the week before our impending demise.

            It always mystifies me when the news media sets their sights on a given story regardless of its origins. In this case it was because an 89 year old ex-Sunday school teacher named Harold Egbert Camping, who  happens to have a radio show, said it would happen. He came to his revelation by taking a few passages from the bible and applying some good old fashion numerology mumbo jumbo to it.

            When it didn't happen on the date and time planned, which it obviously didn't, he did what every good con artist does, he changed the date. Until everyone loses interest and by everyone I mean the press, we will keep following his predictions blindly.

             Why anybody would listen to this guy's babbling in the first place is amazing to me. Since when does teaching Sunday school qualify somebody to predict anything except maybe what time the class will end?

            As much as I want to believe in ghosts, for me there needs to be more definitive proof.  So far all we have witnessed from any of these shows are blurry shadows, garbled disembodied voices, and goofy hosts running around like a bunch of giddy kindergarteners. Trust me, when there is something that is even close to proof, the news media will be all over it.

            Until then I will have to be stuck between two worlds. Somewhere between Ghost Hunters and  Adventures.

KEEP ON TRUCKIN'

            I am a fan of the latest culinary craze, the food truck. I have always been a fan of food trucks, even before they became the stop du jour for the young crowd and the terminally hip. The current version of food trucks, or roach coaches as they were once called,  are not the ones of my youth.

             Today, if you approached a food truck and it had the word roach in its name, it would probably be called  "Le Roach Coach" and offer up a gourmet variety of roaches on mini corn tortillas with 10 types of dipping sauces.

            While patient zero in this movement is said to be the Kogi Truck, which serves a Korean/Mexican hybrid taco, I believe that it really took off with the TV show "The Great Food Truck Race."  Regardless of which popularized it, the cork is out of the bottle and the genie has taken over.

            The entrepreneurs who run these trucks have harnessed every bit of technology that is available out there in order to meet the increasing demands of their ravenous public. Foodies follow their every move on their web sites, Twitter, and of course Facebook, creating lines of fans waiting and wanting to buy every little tidbit they offer.

            This following, the sense of community, and the money that they generate is usually something that most cities want to court. That  is, unless you are the City of Monrovia. 

            As I read in this paper last week, Monrovia is being sued by a collective of food truck vendors over the City's ban of food trucks. The group is called SoCal Mobile Food Vendors Association or SoCalMFVA, a name that nobody seemed to put much thought into. If they wanted to be as innovative as the food they serve, they should have a name like Friendly Order of Outdoor Diners or FOOD for short, but what is done is done.

            Anyway, to put it in a nutshell, Monrovia's City Council, in its attempt to protect their favorite lunch & dinner haunts, has banned all mobile culinary eateries. Okay, I don't know where the city council eats, but they seem to be throwing out the baby with the bath water. That or the good food with what is more times than not mediocre.

            As was demonstrated in Rosemead and Arcadia a few weeks ago, the synergy between a city and the food truckers can be beneficial for both.

            In Rosemead's case, the two combined forces to raise funds for a planned Veterans' Memorial in that city. A percentage of the proceeds raised went to the city fund during the 2 day event. It was a win-win-win situation. The vendors, the City, and the public. Having gone to that one myself I can testify to the large number of people in attendance and to the quality of the food.

            Living in the nearby City of Temple, who has long suffered from Monrovia envy, as  recently  witnessed by the newly formed Farmer's Market on Sunday mornings next to TC City Hall, they may want to jump on the food truck band wagon.

            Maybe a couple of breakfast-esque type of trucks on Sunday mornings to go along with the Farmer's Market? Maybe throw some trucks around the "Concerts in the Park" series they do during the summer months with a percentage going to our schools? Why wait for summer? Start now and designate one Friday or Saturday night a month as a food in the park night.

            Hell they should take over the long dormant corner of Las Tunas Drive & Rosemead Boulevard and make it into a food truck park. It would be a vast improvement over what they have currently planned and  a whole lot cheaper, but they would have to do it now.

            I know that city councils never move fast and "now" usually doesn't happen unless they are saying "no" to something.  The only thing we can hope for is that somebody here in the SGV, besides the City of Rosemead, is smart enough to strike while the iron is hot. If not Temple City, how about San Gabriel? Alhambra?

            Move on it now before Monrovia figures out that they've made a mistake.

KILLING THE PAIN

For the last few weeks I have attempted to knock out an article, but I couldn’t hold on to my train of thought.  As my recovery from arterial bypass surgery continues, my battle with weaning myself off the numerous pain killers that I have been prescribed continues.

            I have finally won the war and with a clearer head I am now ready to give it another shot. On my last go around, while in the midst of a Percocet haze, I thought it would be a good idea to write about the biggest news story to ever grace mankind. Yes, that’s right, the “Charlie Sheen Saga”, as one media outlet has called it.

            Spending the majority of my time in bed, alone, the television has become my best friend. Well, that and Facebook.  Just kidding.

Actually my window to the world is the never ending parade of news programs that I watch. So trust me when I tell you that the Charlie Sheen saga, situation, drama, or whatever they are calling it this hour, is the most important news of our time.

            Well at least that’s what they want us to believe. 

            At first we all watched as though we had a vested interest, as the war of words between Charlie and his producers took off. I mean after all who didn’t like “Good Time Charlie”?  If you weren’t a fan of his television work, then there had to be at least one of his movies that you liked.  Maybe not. I’m just giving you and him the benefit of the doubt.

            But who are we kidding? He didn’t earn the moniker “Good Time Charlie” because he was such a kick to be around when he was on the set. I am also going to go out on a limb and say he didn’t get it from any of his ex wives.

            No. He got it because Charlie likes to party and party a lot. As he is proud of saying, his partying is “epic”.  So “epic” and well known were his indulgences that when his rants began he felt compelled to tell us all that he had a drug test to prove that he was clean and sober. High only on the drug called “Charlie Sheen”.

            As the next week progressed, and his web casts and interviews came at us like bullets from a machine gun, it became evident that his statement was not what most of us would call the truth.

            For those of us who have known anyone or been around anyone who was doing cocaine, it was pretty damn evident what the real name of the drug that Charlie was high on.

            He has gone so far over the edge at this point that it is no longer interesting to watch him do any type of interview, web cast, or tweet. It actually makes me queasy.  At this point he is making Lindsay Lohan’s existence seem normal.

            He has left the entertainment realm and has planted himself directly in the car, train, or bus wreck arena.  Most everyone now is watching for the same reason that most people watch car races. For the wrecks.

It is time for someone close to him to slam the brakes on his little exhibitions before he has the mother of all crashes. At the rate he is going he will never see a checkered flag, only a red one.

And at that point, it will be too late.

NOT ALL CANES ARE CANDY

           Since my last visit to Huntington Memorial Hospital’s Surgical Unit for vascular bypass surgery in my right leg, I have been pushing myself to regain the use of that leg. I have made my way through the “walker” days and I am now onto using a cane.

            While the fashion options on the walker are non-existent, with the exception of with or without tennis balls on the bottom, I was surprised at the array of designs and colors available in the cane arena. The choice was tough, but I opted for a black and fatigue camouflage model. My hope was that it would be invisible or at least not as noticeable. I don’t exactly know what I was thinking, but I really need to talk to my surgeon about the meds he’s prescribing me. I think they are causing me to be a tad delusional. 

            In the last week or so, I have progressed to the point of being able to hobble around the house on my own.  At this rate, I think I should be able to walk “normally” by next week, just in time to have my left leg done and then I will be back to square one again. Yeah, I am so digging 2010. I wish it would just go on forever.

            When I venture out in public and have to walk any distance, like going to Sam’s Club for example, my little aluminum and rubber friend goes with me. It slows me down and is a pain in the ass for me to use, but the alternative, lying around doing nothing, is worse.

            My wife Stacey and I have ventured out a couple of times over the last couple of weeks and during one of our last trips she came up with the following epiphany, “People seem to treat you better when you are using a cane.”

            I hadn’t noticed. To be honest, at that point my focus was on just maneuvering, but she had planted the seed. On subsequent jaunts I started paying more attention and began to think that her assessment was right.

            I personally have always been one of those people who relinquish the right of way and hold open the door for others, regardless of the hardware they may or may not be sporting. I have never been the type that felt compelled to push and rush my way around people when out and about. My train of thought has always been that my time is not any more valuable than the next guy. Sadly, this sentiment is not universally shared.

            As a matter of fact, as the holidays have drawn closer, the shiny star at the top of the tree of courtesy towards the “poor guy” with the cane has tarnished. The need to get those presents as fast as possible took precedence over manners and my camouflaged cane achieved my delusional fantasy of being invisible.

            My vision of my fellow man, during what is supposed to be “the season of caring and good will towards man”, has blurred.  My irritation has me imagining different scenarios of how to use my cane as a weapon.  I want to punish the rude and obnoxious evil elves that are sucking out all of my holiday cheer. I even started composing a letter to Santa asking him for a new cane that had a sword or a dagger attached to the handle and concealed inside the body.

Then it struck me. Why should I sink to their level? I would not allow any group of people, especially the rude, to deprive me of my favorite time of year. My holiday spirit was too hard to reach this year to have it extinguished by people I wouldn’t give a broken ornament to.

Without knowing it, these holiday hooligans have given me a gift. They have inadvertently strengthened my resolve to make this holiday the best one yet. They did this despite the fact that all indications point to me waking up on Christmas morning in a hospital room instead of my own bed for the first time, and hopefully the last time, in my life.

If you haven’t already, I hope you too can find the joy of the season even if you have to do it one step at a time.  Happy Holidays to all!

SOME THINGS AREN'T PURRFECT

Whenever I am in need of an auto repair shop I always feel as though I am entering a carny shell game. You know, the game where you have to keep your eye on the little ball under the cup or shell that is being rapidly moved. If you lose sight of it, you might as well just hand over your wallet to the hustler running the game. The same logic applies to the auto repair  business.  Blink and you will be taken to the cleaners.

            I have learned that the first thing you need to keep in mind is that most places, that are of the chain variety, will price match their competitors.  So if you have the time to get a second price, do it. You will be one step closer to getting your car fixed without having to sell the kids.

            This was the scenario I was faced with recently and it truly helped. It also helps if you have a service associate or manager who is familiar with you and your vehicles. In the case of Pep Boys & Purrfect Auto I had, or thought I had, such a relationship. As we all know, in this world, the only constant is change.

            The first change came when calling Pep Boys to get a quote on my repair and my "go to guy" Jose, wasn't there and the price I was quoted seemed unusually high. Next I called Purrfect Auto and my "guy" Lloyd wasn’t there. In fact he was permanently not there as the place was under the dreaded “New Management” mantle. As I held my breath, I decided to give them a chance and asked them for a quote.

            To my surprise, not only was their price lower, it was substantially lower. So off to Purrfect to meet Jesse, the new management. Once I got there I soon found out that the hurdles I had cleared with Lloyd in the past were back in place with Jesse. With Jesse, and from what I have found out since about the entire Purrfect Auto family of franchises, nothing is ever simple. The words “sell up” are tattooed on every person who works there.

            Shortly after dropping my car off to them I got a call from Jesse. It wasn’t just the one thing. No, it was numerous things that needed to be addressed. If not repaired immediately automotive Armageddon was headed my way.

 Purrfect is really into scare tactics. Especially if they think you are a first timer. Unfortunately for Jesse this wasn’t my first time at their circus. “Please just fix what I brought it in for” I instructed him.

            When I picked up my car my invoice listed all of the scary things he told me I needed to do, with even scarier prices to go along with them. I didn’t drive the car again for a few days, but when I did, Jesse’s prophecy came true. Armageddon came with a vengeance. How could I have been so foolish not to believe him?

            When my AAA tow truck driver, Paul, arrived to take me back to Jesse’s lair my hood was up. He took a quick look and immediately noticed missing parts. Parts, which in his estimation were partly to blame for the recent catastrophe. He being a mechanic as well as a tow truck driver, I took his word for it and changed my destination from Purrfect to Pep Boys.

            I tried to call my guy Jose at Pep Boys, but again he was off. Jesus, I want his hours. I did get Roland on the line and discovered he was cut of the same cloth as Jose. They both understood the value of repeat, long time customers and how hard it is to keep them. One glance at his computer told him how much money I had spent at their joint.

            Roland listened to my tale of woe and welcomed me with open arms. I felt like a cheating husband being welcomed back home by a forgiving wife. Once there I showed him the scary receipt with the costs from Purrfect. He did his best to keep his eyes from popping out of his head and said that while the initial service was less than they usually charge, the rest of the prices for the apocalyptic repairs were way out of line.

Roland gave it his best shot but the problem persisted. The next day my boy Jose was back at work and he and his crew dove in and tried to solve the mystery, but the following day, on my way to work, the problem returned and back I went.

Next up to bat was the service manager Charles. Now to be honest, when Charles first came on board at my Pep Boys over on Rosemead Blvd & Broadway in Temple City, we butted heads. I’m sure he didn’t remember, but it was after we had our little altercation that I ended up at Purrfect for the first time. I didn't have the luxury of waiting for my "go to guys" to return. This was a desperate time and it called for desperate measures. I decided to play nice and see if Charles would do the same.

Fortunately for me this time Charles stepped up and he and his mechanic Edward found the true root of the problem and my automotive nightmare came to an end. It took a village to solve the mystery, but the boys at Pep didn’t give up until the job was done. They also did it, despite the extra parts and labor needed to do the job right, for far less than Purrfect Auto wanted.

I guess it’s my fault for taking my car to a place that can’t even spell perfect in the first place.

ABOUT THE FIVE COLUMNS LISTED BELOW

       The dates on the five (5) columns listed below, that comprise the "Serious As A Heart Attack" series, do not have the actual dates of the original publication, aside from Part 1. They are set up the way they are so that they can be read in order.
.....Bill