Open Letter to California Congressman Howard L. Berman, (D-Calif)

I don't suppose anyone will actually show this letter to the Congressman, the Baron of the lands that include what I chortlingly (post KELO) call my house, home and castle, in view of his Democrat (ie, leftist) mindset, so I'll circulate it in other places as well.

Everyone who's read entries to this site over the months and years knows that I love cars and I love to drive. In fact, I took a twenty-odd mile drive around the Central Valley this afternoon--kroozin' along Ventura, Van Nuys and Sepulveda Boulevards, looking at the other cars, the buildings, the businesses, the girls and the other scenery.

Losing the ability to do this will seriously piss me off.

Hence, the first of (perhaps) a number of these missives:

Dear Congressman Berman:

Today, most gas stations are selling regular gasoline for around $4.50 a gallon. Diesel, for reasons I can't fathom, is even more. News stories are beginning to come out that gasoline and diesel are being stolen from cars, trucks, farms and construction sites. Yet, the federal government refuses, in the light of all this, to see reason, to get out of the way and allow oil companies to drill in US territory.

There will be alternative energy someday. It'll happen faster if government stays out of it and allows entrepreneurs and investors to allocate funds intelligently. But, it'll take some time.

In the meantime, the United States government holds billions and billions of barrels of oil off the market....for what? So that Americans will have to return to a hunter-gatherer society?

What's next? Americans shooting those they see siphoning gas from their cars? People unwilling to go to work because gas is too expensive to make their drive to expensive to be worth the effort? General strikes?

I ask you to reconsider your opposition to a prosperous America and lead an effort to free oil producers to drill and refine oil for the use of Americans. Voters like myself are watching America deteriorate, and we don't like it.

Thanks for your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

[Col. Hogan]
Sherman Oaks

We'll see whether he represents those of us who commute in cars, or whether he represents himself only.

People shouldn't be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

It's Easy to Hold Your Head High If There Ain't Nothin' In It!

Let me play a little game here. As a fairly recent Valley Rat, I'm getting to know the unusual sort of individual that inhabits this unique part of the Stalag. Gag me with a spoon!

No, they're good people, many of whom have never known want or real frustration, beyond the difficult but critical choice of the best gown for the Prom.

The woman of whom I speak is probably a beautiful woman. She's 31-years of age. She put in her time in the government's children's prison system and, I'm sure, earned a degree at (I'll make a wild guess) UCLA. She probably has a pretty lucrative career in a non-technical profession and she's married to a successful professional man, and they have two young sons.

She has never had to be responsible for any difficult personal decisions in her life. She's unable to put together a chain of probabilities to try to make a life-important decision. The connection between actions and their consequences is very tenuous with this person, as such teaching is very poorly carried out both by parents and the government's children's prisons, in recent years.

She never realized the following could happen (to her).

As detailed in Steve Lopez' column in the LA Times, she grew up in the Valley wishing she lived in Beverly Hills. Recently, she spent $3 million to buy a house in 90210.

In April, wildfires "came too close for comfort." In July, she heard about a burglary ring in the area. Last month, a coyote ate her miniature beagle.

Her home is on a hillside just below famed Mulholland Drive, abutting an undeveloped canyon with plenty of brush, grassy and wooded space between the multi-million dollar estates in the area. When asked whether she'd thought of the possibility of coyotes in the area, she said she'd have no problem with the occasional deer, "But we didn't know coyotes lived here."

I live on the flatlands less than a mile from the foot of that very same ridge, and I've seen coyotes, raccoons, possums, squirrels, hawks, and a fox in my yard, and in and near my street, for cryin' out loud. You don't leave your pets outside (unless they're big dogs).

This poor woman's taking a long time to grow up, and still has a ways to go.

To top it all off, and to add insult to injury, while she was complaining to the city of Beverly Hills about their shortcomings in their wild critter control department, she learned that her home isn't actually in Beverly Hills. It has the coveted 90210 zip code, but it's outside the Beverly Hills city limits in an area of El Pueblo de Los Angeles we fondly call Beverly Glen--still a posh and exclusive area but, alas, not Beverly Hills.

Into every life some rain must fall.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Kroozin'

Now that I no longer live in the OC, I find that I have a whole new kroozin' ground. Twice this week, I found time to travel the streets and boulevards of the San Fernando Valley. As I already knew, from time spent here in the past, SFV is a very interesting area, unlike any other.

This past Monday, I took a drive in the Burbank area. I lived in Sun Valley (a small district of El Pueblo de Los Angeles) back in 1966-1967. 'Twas just north of what was then called Lockheed Airport--now Bob Hope Airport. Part of my drive ranged through the Sun Valley area, though most of it went back and forth in Burbank proper.

Burbank, home of Disney Studios and Warner Bros, not to mention the Pickwick Center, which includes the Pickwick Equestrian Center (now the LA Equestrian Center), the Pickwick Bowl, the Pickwick Ice Center and Pickwick Gardens. While driving around in Burbank, one finds dozens of independent small businesses of every kind lining the streets, and hundreds of well-maintained dwellings everywhere. If there's a slum in Burbank, I haven't found it.

Burbank calls itself the "Media Capital of the World."

Today, I drove around the western part of SFV. I went through Sherman Oaks, Van Nuys, North Hills, Northridge (center of the 1994 Earthquake), Winnetka, Reseda, Tarzana, Encino, then back to Sherman Oaks.

It was quite a drive. The weather was perfect: cool, sunny, a little windy with the streets full of Christmas shoppers in their BMWs and SUVs. This part of the Valley looks a little more like the OC, with more shopping centers with Mervyns, Targets and Ralphs. This part of the Valley has wider boulevards than the eastern part, and boasts more mature trees than does the OC. It also has a far wider variety of small businesses and ethnic eateries.

Another neat thing: Most of SFV is laid out on a rectangular grid. Most of the boulevards either run north-south or east-west and run arrow-straight for miles and miles. If I get lost and find, for example, Victory Boulevard, I can drive along it for ten miles or more until I find Woodman. Then it's a right turn for a couple of miles and I'm a few short blocks from home. You just can't get lost.

Most of the Valley is in El Pueblo de Los Angeles, unfortunately. There was an attempt by SFV to secede and form a separate city a few years ago, but they allowed the entire city to vote on it. Since a huge portion of the most productive Angelenos live in the Valley, and a large portion of the non-productive live in other parts of the city--all of whom got to vote on the proposition--the attempt failed.

The LA city's parasites couldn't keep up the degree of corruption without all that SFV tax money coming in.

Well, that's apparently the cost of living in SFV.

Large parts of SFV remain unexplored, and I plan to take more of these drives as often as I can. After all, I've only found two Mongolian BBQ joints in the Valley, and I'm still looking for the perfect pizza, a good indoor pistol range and a relaxing coffee shop.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Settling In

I never mowed lawns as a youth in my neighborhood; I was a newsie. 'Twas many years before I learned the joy of mowing. I've lived in apartments most of my life, and generally, my life has been lived more outside home than in it.

I did buy a house in Costa Mesa many years ago, but I was young, a biker and had spending money. I spent most of my non-working time riding up and down the length of California, and going to libertarian meetings, such as the many-years-defunct Libertarian Alternative, where a couple of dozen or so libertarians got together monthly to plot, plan and execute getting libertarian ideas into print and on the air.

The Libertarian Alternative was the brainchild of Charlie Barr, who moderated the proceedings and kept the group of very disparate individuals, who had only the then-somewhat-nebulous notion of libertarianism in common, on mission. Herding cats, as it were. No easy task, but Charlie handled it well. I hear he's escaped the Stalag and is now living in Las Vegas. Libertarian Alternative has been turned by party member Mark Selzer, into a publicity seeking arm of the California Libertarian Party. He produces a tv series for public access tv in several markets.

Back to the message, I spent a lot of my time in the kind of pastimes that kept me away from home , and regarded home as "a box in which to keep my stuff" (thanks for the line, George).

Debbie and I bought this house in 1993. We moved in, at the time, with Debbie's mom Maxine, having decided that this was a good place to live in the LA area. 'Twas more Debbie's decision than mine, but I soon decided it was a good one, for reasons I mentioned here.

We left in 1994, because of the quake, while awaiting repairs to the place. We decided we also liked Orange County (and, I was working there at the time) so we stayed and placed this house on the rental market. It worked out well.

A few weeks ago, when our not-so-conscientious property manager told us that our tenant was bailing, we made the decision to move back. Because of the evil tax code, it seems we're required to occupy the place for two years (to legally change the property from an income property back into a private residence) to avoid the theft of a goodly portion of the proceeds from the eventual sale of the house, by the despicable drones of the feral government.

So, we're here. Death, where is thy sting? (thanks, Bill).

In spite of the oppressive heat of this part of the year, I'm enjoying being here. I'd partially forgotten the charms, and the negatives. The streets are more crowded than OC, they seem narrower and buildings in commercial areas are smaller and closer together. Parking lots are smaller, when they exist at all. The parking enforcement cops (meter maids) are neither lovely, nor compassionate.

Yet, in many ways, the Valley has many of the positives of New York City. Wonderful restaurants, including some near-New York quality delis. Little theaters. Funky shops along Ventura Boulevard. I could, at the risk of boring y'all to tears, go on.

I've been helping Debbie tear out the atrocious landscaping left (against the rules laid out in the lease) by our most recent tenant. Debbie's been finding stuff in boxes and setting up the kitchen and the bathrooms, etc, and I've been unpacking my books and VHS/DVD collection, and setting up my library/office.

Back when we originally bought the place, I acquired a reel mower, being more familiar with that kind than any other, and not desiring to deal with temperamental power mowers. Besides, being a poster child for the government's unreasonably intrusive, futile and stupid anti-obesity campaign, I can use the exercise.

I mowed the lawn several times with the mower, back in those days, and found it agreeable, and so I decided that I'd continue the method, now that we're back.

What better day to get out there and mow the lawn with a reel push mower than Labor Day! I got out there at about 8AM (to beat the heat) and got the job done in a little over an hour, including a short break to give a few peanuts to neighborhood tree squirrels.

It's good to be back!

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Going Full Circle

In the spring of 1992, I was laid off from a very good job in San Diego. After floundering about for a few months, I got what I thought was a reasonably good job in Huntington Beach. 'Twas a killer commute, that 90 mile-each-way drive, so Debbie and I resolved to move north.

Eliminating some details, we ended up buying a house in Sherman Oaks--about 50 miles north of Huntington Beach. Very nearly the worst fifty mile commute in the known solar system.

However, I loved Sherman Oaks! Our house was about two blocks from Ventura Boulevard, a major boulevard lined with dozens of hip restaurants, coffee shops, little theaters, cute shops and chain stores. It's a delightful area, great for walking, close to many cool San Fernando Valley hot spots.

In fact, it's even close to the Universal, Warner Bros and Disney studios and, more importantly, it's not far from the venerable Pickwick Ice Center!

Well, the fun ended on January 17, 1994 with the Northridge Quake. Now, the quake didn't do really serious damage to our house, but it fairly devastated the neighborhood. The opposite side of our street has several small 3-story apartment buildings, many of which were destroyed. Most of the single-occupant homes weren't seriously damaged. Part of our house was shifted slightly on its foundation. There was some stucco damage. A wooden property line fence fell over and worst of all, our water heater fell over--in spite of its restraints--and I had to shut off the gas.

A number of people were injured on our street, but none killed that I know about. I had to rescue an elderly lady from a third floor apartment, who couldn't get out because the stairs were damaged. It turned out that, though the stairs looked deadly, after a bit of empirical testing (I jumped up-and-down on 'em), they turned out to be better than they looked. I had to carry the lady out of her apartment, because she was a knick-knack collector. She had dozens of glass and crystal and ceramic items on and in glass cases. All of it lay in bits and shards on the floor and she couldn't even get to her shoes.

Well, we got down to the street before the next aftershock, and she was fine except for a few minor cuts, which which were handled by another neighbor who had medical experience.

We found out later that it would be days before we could get the water heater and the gas lines repaired and possibly weeks before the gas company could inspect it. They had to inspect everything for many miles around.

So since I was working in Huntington Beach, and our insurance paid for our displacement costs, we took an apartment here in Santa Ana, where we remain to this day.

After several difficult weeks of repair work, in which we also had some unrelated work done at the same time, we placed the house on the rental market. We were able to get rent about double what we've been paying here in the OC (for an apartment). This is why we've stayed. Well, Orange County has its fine points, too.

Our current tenant gave us notice she was moving a few days ago.

We've decided that the time was right to move back.

My writing might get a bit sporadic soon, as we get into the serious throes of packing and moving. Right now, we're involved in making the place habitable for our own fine selves. Paint, new carpets, a few repairs, etc.

The commute will still be bad, but I now work somewhat closer to Sherman Oaks than I used to. I think it's gonna be fun!

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California