Union Station, Los Angeles

Props

1. Props to Carman for his "Plight of the Condor" in this week's CityBeat. Did you know they have nine-foot wingspans? You will know that and more if you read his fine story. Why does Carman think the state and federal government should be chucking $10s of millions at life support for 150 Jurassic birds? Not really sure. But Carman's is a smart and crisp piece, so the props remain.

2. Lou Grant is the awesome.


3. Kites are flown at the beach.

Griffith Fireworks

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Two years ago, Traci and I went to Dodger Stadium for July 4. Sure, there was a big fireworks show, but what was really cool was walking into the parking lot – which overlooks the basin and a decent part of the Valley – and seeing 100 other fireworks shows going at the same time.

This year we decided to take a similar tack, heading up to the Griffith Observatory. A few thousand others crowded the observation decks with us to overlook the city.

Around nine, big fireworks shows started at every civic landmark: Barnsdall Park, Highland Park, the Coliseum, somewhere in Hollywood. Depending on where you were standing, you heard a different group of "oohs" when different shows reached their climaxes.

But the really cool part is that fireworks pour out of the streets and alleys of Silver Lake, Echo Park, Los Feliz and the vast reaches of South L.A. If you blur your eyes, you pick up on dozens of pops and sparks and explosions every moment hemorrhaging from the distant streets – ten thousand kids and their dads lighting Tijuana fireworks, taking care not to get their fingers blown off.

A Great Eulogy for a Journalist

A Transvestite with a Gun

Last night, against the better judgment of my gas tank, Traci and I schlepped out to Westwood for the Los Angeles Film Festival to meet up with Alfred and his friend Howard.

After watching what Alfred correctly called "an aimless documentary about the Chinese garment industry," we headed down to an Italian place I knew to be mediocre. (I just really wanted pizza and forgot about the wonderful Pitfire up the street.)

We ate pizza and salad and were waiting on the check when a really tall dude in a pink shirt, long blond hair and a baseball cap came in the door and walked up to the counter.

A moment later, the manager bellowed, "Gun!"

Okay, I have to tell you, you have not truly lived until someone in a small and mostly empty Italian restaurant bellows, "Gun!" You do a lot of thinking in that three seconds of decision making time: "Do I run away? Or duck? Or pull out my wallet?

"And if I run, where do I go? And should I call the police now or later?"

Everybody climbed under their tables – Traci noted later that this would have been a good idea if the robber had brought an earthquake rather than a gun – and I skinned my knee. We sort of sat there for 10 seconds or so. I tried to shelter Traci.

Then the sprinklers went off because someone ran out the emergency exit. Alfred and Howard scrambled out the door and we did too. We ran to the Mobil station next door.

We told the clerk there was an armed robber next door. He thought it was funny. We called the police.

After the police got there, about 30 seconds later, we cautiously walked next door and told the cops what happened. Then we thanked the manager for alerting the restaurant that some dude had a gun.

The manager said the robber was "a tranny." Cool.

We offered to pay the check, but he said dinner was "on us."