The Roommate Problem or Part One Of A Review Of The Darwin Economy

It’s taken awhile, but I’ve finally finished reading it and suffice it to say that reading The Darwin Economy has been an enlightening experience.  It took so much time because it was a challenging book that required quite a bit of counter-intuitive(that is to say counter to normal human intuition)reasoning.  Much like other books I’ve read about the severe disconnect between the everyday human experience and an actual rational human existence, it required me to step outside of myself and try to consider things more objectively than normal.  Consider the Roommate Problem.

Robert Frank presents the problem very clearly and his conclusions appear true, but it took me some deep thought to actual resolve the problem in a way that I could understand it.  That is to say that my personal resolution of the Roommate Problem didn’t require advanced degrees in Economics, it just needed me to formulate a simple statement of the conclusion of the problem itself.  That would be this:

People who enjoy a benefit should pay a premium.  People who have to suffer a penalty should pay a discount.

Quick Bic Project

A Day At The Venice Meet or No Drum Circle No Hippies Is This Venice?

I don't get much email so I'm on the Thrillist. It's an email list with a bunch of usually bad suggestions of things to do or buy in Los Angeles. But this week they had a couple of interesting suggestions. There's the trampoline place that opened in Gardena/Torrance. My niece would get a kick out of that. And then there's The Venice Meet.

I didn't think much about it at first. It looked like another Farmer's Market/Tourist Trap like the kind they have in Eagle Rock or Montrose, but The Venice Meet said it was about the handmade crafts and such. I thought that might be cool to check out, so I considered it. Later on in the week I found out that they were going to have live music too, and that was enough to drag me out of my house at eight in the morning and hop on two buses to Venice.

A Drinking Game

This is a drinking card game to be played

at any private or semi-private event

with a cash bar and entry charge.

Step One

Create a set of cards like these:

IT'S ALREADY BEEN DONE in Eagle Rock or Hobo Circus Harvest Beauty From Chaos

Rebecca Totman brought her second show over to Eagle Rock this past weekend. You missed it? Be sad. Still interested? Be glad, I was there and I've got a few pictures to share with you.

The Other Guys Or More Cheap Shots At Oscar Gutierrez's Expense

I'm feeling confident about Luis Lopez, but I figure since I've come this far I might as well check out the other two candidates for the 51st assembly.  Unfortunately Oscar Gutierrez  isn't running any events, and Arturo Chavez only wants me to help him walk the precincts.  I do the only thing I can do short of calling each candidate directly for an interview/introduction; I go to the Glassell Park Improvement Association(GPIA) meeting where all four candidates will be having a forum.

I drag my cousin out of her house and take her along for company.  She doesn't have any interest in this process, but I think she should get out of her house more.  We arrive at the Glassell Park Senior And Community Center a few minutes before the event is set to begin and I have a cigarette and observe the people walking into the event.  I wave and greet Hans as he drives into the parking lot.  Most of the people I see walking inside are older and whiter.  I tell my cousin that she's likely the youngest person attending this forum.

We walk into the space and sign in with GPIA.  I'm not sure why they need all of this information from me; it's not like I'm a resident of Glassell Park or anything.  I'm here to hear the candidates and nothing more.  I lead my cousin to a pair of seats in the far corner of the room.  There we settle in and wait for the forum to begin.

QR TEST

QR TEST

A Conversation + With Luis Lopez or "You Go Luis!"

I leave the meet and greet I went to on March 3 feeling just a little bit unsatisfied.  The candidate I met while impressive didn’t quite connect with me.  So it only makes sense to explore the rest of the field.  A quick search online leads me to the names of three other candidates.  All three have websites, but only one has an event for me to attend on March 10.  One guy’s website looks like little more than an online solicitation for donations.  The other one has events, but his upcoming events involve precinct walking.  I’m not even sure if I support him and he expects me to volunteer for his campaign before I even meet him.  I find that just a tad bit odd.  The last candidate is Luis Lopez and he has a meet and greet in Echo Park.

New Business Profile: CIS Tobacco or Let's Make Some Smokes

I likes me my tobakkee, and I when I saw the flier for CIS International Tobacco I knew I would have to go to there.  I'm a smoker and I enjoy tobacco.  I make no apologies for it because tobacco is not only my addiction it's a hobby.  I've smoked pipes; all manner of cigarettes both foreign and domestic; cigars; and for about a five year period I made my own cigarettes using a machine that stuffed loose tobacco into empty cigarette tubes.  Someday I hope to grow my own tobacco.  I can talk about drags and draws; I know the difference between a creamy smoke and a bitter smoke.  I do warn anyone who thinks about taking up this hobby: “If it becomes more an addiction than hobby it might be best if you stopped.”  That said I am an aficionado of all things tobacco related.


When I walked into CIS International Tobacco I expected nothing more than the usual; I thought it must be like all the other area smoke shops.  From the flier, I thought there might be more varieties of loose tobacco for someone like me to taste and try.  They even advertised blends; I've made some interesting blends myself over the years tobacco blends and tobacco and mint/clove blends, but I've always had to make do with the small variety of loose tobacco the local smoke shops had to offer.  I was excited to see what new cigarettes I might make and taste.  Then I saw the machine:

Coffee And Pastries With Jimmy Gomez or My Breakfast With Jimmy Gomez

Like so much of what happens to me these days, this bit starts with something random.  I'm walking down to the first floor unit of my parents' duplex—It's empty, so we use it for storage because the city thinks my parents are slumlords or something.  I could go on and on about that situation, but I'll leave that for another time—and there's the flier for Jimmy Gomez for Assembly.  I'm not big about politics in particular but I try to keep up with local issues.  I know with redistricting they've made one big district of most of Northeast Los Angeles, and I'm curious to see how that turns out.  Jimmy Gomez made the first move by putting up a flier on the door of a vacant apartment, so I might as well check out Jimmy Gomez firsthand at a March 3, 2012 coffee meet and greet in a home out by the Southwest Museum.

I wake up and drive out there; it's a narrow winding road up to Rustic Drive and I pass by the house only noting in passing the smallish photo of  Jimmy Gomez taped up to the mailbox.  There's no room to turn around until I do a U-turn at the next intersection.  Swinging around back I find a space to park; I know I should have just walked to this event, but forgive me I really don't like walking up hills.  I smoke in front of the house admiring the general nature of the neighborhood; it's like a different world from the other side of the hill where I live.  There's even a new home under construction a few houses from where I stand; I don't know who can actually afford to build a home in the city.  My parents went for that years ago failing miserably when permits were not approved.

3 Pitches or Why You So Rude XXXXX?

I asked my ex-boss if he'd mind if I pitched a few ideas to him about promotions or events he can have at his bar.  He said he'd rather I prepare a presentation for him to review at his leisure.  It's been two weeks and I haven't heard back from him, so that's clearly a big NO.  I put them here now for anyone who wants some interesting ideas for events to promote.  You can have them; I'm moving on to other projects.


If you're interested in the sample press releases and fliers feel free to leave a comment and I'll mail you a PDF.

First off thank you for allowing me to make these pitches to you today.  Their construction was an amusing challenge.  That said let’s start off with NotTetris.

NotTetris is a live version of the console puzzle game Tetris.  On page 2 you can look at the design of the apparatus itself.  I have every confidence that it will be easy enough to construct if necessary.

If you are unfamiliar with the rules of Tetris then please take a moment and refer to this page for the basics of Tetris.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetris

NotTetris will have a different set of rules, but fundamentally it will be recognizable as a Tetris-like puzzle game.  I call it NotTetris simply because someone owns the intellectual property for Tetris.  A more suitable name can be brainstormed if necessary.  For the purpose of this slight and small project we can ignore the possible legal ramifications because the costs to pursue legal action will be much higher than any possible awards that can be won.  In the worst case scenario we will be able to run this promotion at least 6-10 times before we have to answer any cease and desist notice.  That said let’s consider the rules for NotTetris.

GOOGLE Lies Or My First Show At The Glasshouse

GOOGLE lies.  I thought I could trust them.  I had faith that their directions would get me to where I was going, guess that explains how I find myself driving down the Pomona Freeway heading out to Riverside when where I want to go is miles and miles in the opposite direction.  The directions I wrote down were simple enough.  Pomona Freeway East to the San Bernardino Freeway East exit Garey/Orange Grove Right Right at W. 2nd Blvd.  If you have half a mind for directions you already know there’s a mistake somewhere in that and it completely explains why I had to stop at a Target in Eastvale to consult a map.

My first stop is the Santa Anita Racetrack for Law Enforcement Day.  My mother, who works at the Inmate Reception Center, gave me a ticket to get into the park for the day.  Friends of mine have said some good things about the place--I have been there before but I was little more than a child at the time--so I wanted to take the chance to check the place out.  Now I don’t need GOOGLE to get to the Santa Anita Racetrack; I’ve been down in the area a few times to eat at a great dumpling place nearby.  I’m relatively familiar with the area and I have confidence that I can find a giant thing like a racetrack without much trouble, but I use GOOGLE anyway.

Without the free admission and parking, going to Santa Anita would have been about ten bucks more expensive for me.  And since I’m no fan of gambling or horses--though I wouldn’t be against eating horsemeat--I really wouldn’t go to Santa Anita.  Still, I’m there and I want to explore the extent of the place.  I greet my mother, aunt, and cousin Ganda.  I have a $6.50 Pacifco to pass the time until my cousin is ready to head out into the park proper to try her hand at betting on the ponies.

When we get to walking about, I notice the sheer scope of the the racetrack.  Through a tunnel we come out to the grandstand where we catch the end of the first or second race.  There’s some dispute to the order of finish, and when the results are posted cheers and groans flow through the crowd around us.  With twenty minutes or so until the next race, I explain to Ganda the basic principles of parimutuel betting.  It’s a simple concept that she grasps readily, but when I try to explain the basics of odds, she’s a little bit lost.  I let it go because it’s not necessary for her to really understand if all she wants to do is make a couple of small bets.  

We head into the space underneath the grandstands and walk around all the betting windows.  I don’t get to walk all around the place, but I’m sure I’m not missing anything but more of the same crowds of people carousing and betting.  I do note how freely everyone here smokes.  That alone is something rather cool, there aren’t any designated smokers ghettos where we are forced to gather to enjoy a bit of tobacco.  I get the feeling we can smoke anywhere we please for the most part except in clearly designated areas where we cannot.  Still as I walk through those places I can still smell the scent of fresh tobacco smoke.

The next race is set to start so we head back to the rail where I challenge Ganda to pick a horse and see how she does.  We watch the horses strut awhile before they take their places and the race begins.  They race past us and through the turn and around the bend and somewhere to our left out of our sight the race ends.  Ganda’s pick places.  That’s more than enough of that for me, so we had back to the Law Enforcement Day area.

I pick up some Space Dots ice cream before we settle back to the table.  I’ve got a couple of hours to kill so I do some reading until more of my cousins and their kids arrive.  Now we are seven or eight at the table and I’m talking to another cousin Dartanyum who’s still in either grade school or early junior high.  He’s not much of a talker but I promise him Space Dots if he eats some chicken and mashed potatoes.

While I wait for Dartanyum to finish his food the next race is gearing up and Ganda wants to make a bet.  We head out to the betting windows right next to the picnic area.  She’s going to do a Pick Six.  I know it’s a sucker’s bet, but a mark has got be a mark I suppose.  She gets her ticket just as the race begins.  We watch the board to see how the race is progressing because we can’t get to the rail before the race ends.  It doesn’t take long before my cousin’s first pick is out of the running and by race’s end her pick comes in at seven or eight.  I wait for her to tear up her now worthless ticket.  She doesn’t but I figure she’s keeping it as a souvenir.  When I see her the following day she explains that she didn’t know that her ticket was worthless.  I guess I failed to properly explain how the Pick Six bet works.

Back at the table, Dartanyum is done eating and his sister wants to go out to the kid’s midway and playground.  We follow them out but head to the Space Dots stand before rejoining them.  I ask him if he wants to try any of these midway games, but he casually says that they’re all fixed anyway.  You know how jaded these young kids these days get; all worldly and knowing they are.  I challenge him a bit and ask him how each of these games are fixed.  He makes some correct and incorrect guesses.  Then I ask him what the actual chances that any of these games are fixed.  He says low and I ask him why would they be low.  He says because these are for kids.  It’s a well reasoned and well spoken conversation.  I leave him to spend the rest of the afternoon with the family and head back to the table because now it’s time for me to head out again.

I bid farewell to everyone and climb back into my car.  My next stop is Frank and Sons Collectible Show over in Industry.  I just need to pick up some sleeves and a box for my sister’s belated birthday present.  If you are at all interested in any thing geek/pop culture or sports memorabilia then you must plan to check this place out sometime.  You must go unless you are particularly weak and undisciplined.  This Frank and Sons will rob you of your hard earned money and you’ll thank them for every great deal you find.  This is where I pick up my boxes for MTG.  I save ten bucks off retail.

I’ve been to Frank and Sons so many times there’s little chance I’ll get lost, but I’m not sure which freeway to choose that connects the 210 to the 60 so I check Google and I find that it’s the 605.  It’s a lot easier for me and cheaper too to take the bus out to this place, but I’ve got one more stop to make after so driving makes more sense.  I arrive with about an hour or so before the whole show shuts down for the day.  Parking is a bit of hassle, but it’s late enough for there to be a few people leaving.  I walk through the side door and I grit my teeth preparing myself to ignore all the booths except for the one booth that sells sleeves.  I do pass by the booth that sells MTG boxes and I can’t help myself.  I stop to ask them if they have any packs of Mirrodin Besieged and New Phyrexia.  I’ve got a couple of packs of Scars of Mirrodin lying around my room gathering dust; I just need ten more packs to have two sealed sets.  Luckily they’re sold out and I get away without spending any money on that or five dollar packs of Time Spiral.  I may not let my eyes linger on the tables of graphic novels priced to move, but I know they’re there.  I just tell myself I can find things like that downtown at the Central Library.  I finally make it to where I’m going and make my purchase.  And with that I’m out the door and back in my car.

On the road again and I’ve got about an hour and half before I need to be at the Glasshouse.  If I’m early I plan to just hangout somewhere until my friends Tony and Kendrick arrive.  It’s nice to make plans on the off chance I arrive early; it’s not so nice to have to turn around and back track so many times before finally figuring out how to get where I’m going.  Suffice it say I don’t arrive early to the Glasshouse.  I get there, park, and just as I’m crossing the street I see Kendrick and Tony unloading their gear.

Tony’s at the show to document the band In Colour.  Kendrick is another set of hands for a second camera.  Me, I’m just happy to finally get out to the Glasshouse.  I do end up with a task though; I have to make sure the Macbook hooked into the soundboard doesn’t turn off.  It’s the least I could do for a free ticket to a show.

I walk into the Glasshouse expecting something like the Troubadour or The Roxy; I’m expecting a classic music venue along those lines except for the fact that it’s been mistakenly transported to Pomona.  For the most part my expectations are validated.  It’s nicely sized with a reasonably large stage.  High ceilings give the spot an airy feel; there’s no sense of crampedness.  I can imagine a big crowd in here; I might even still feel comfortable here unlike nights at the Troubadour where I felt suffocated by the sheer mass of bodies.  It reminds me most of the defunct Ruby formerly The World over in Hollywood.  It also has a balcony to explore.  After properly exploring the Glasshouse I pass the time with Kendrick and Tony until I decide I need some refreshment.  I check out the snack bar where I’m confronted by the fact that the Glasshouse is a dry establishment.  GASP.  I tell my friends I’m heading out to “explore” and that I’ll be back.

From what I can see the majority of the businesses on 2nd Street are closed.  I do note an open bookstore and a bakery.  Also about a block away Social Distortion is playing to a packed house at the Fox Theater.  There’s the sound of light jazz music playing.  I follow it passing too many beauty schools to count--Why would any town especially Pomona need so many beauty schools?  It’s a mystery.--and discover a small Jazz thing happening.  I hang back there a spell just listening until I start to wandering again.  Before I left Tony had asked me if I had gum, I told him I’d try to find him some.  Unfortunately I don’t see anything remotely like a Rite Aid or CVS nearby.  Really Pomona?  Where’s the love for convenience stores where a guy can buy a pack of smokes and some gum.  I do remember passing a couple of gas stations on my way in on Garey.  I don’t have anything better to do so I decide to walk the three or four blocks or so to pick up smokes and gum.

I walk past Joey’s Barbecue; it’s well lit and relatively uncrowded for a bar.  I’ll stop there for a beer before I head back to the Glasshouse.  Unfortunately I pick the wrong side of Garey.  I walk under the train tracks and walk up a flight of stairs and find myself at the Metrolink Station.  I walk around some but can’t find a way out of the station that leads back to Garey without taking a wide circle detour.  Shrugging I start back to Joey’s Barbecue and order a Dubbel Fist; the name spoke to me.  I sip it all away and smoke a cigarette before returning to the Glasshouse.

There’s music playing now, but the first band is noisy and too hardcore for my taste.  They’re not particular good either, so I can’t even appreciate their musicianship.  I wait out their set outside chain smoking.  When I get back inside another band is playing.  This one’s just a little bit better or at the least not bad enough to drive me outside.  They sound a lot like 400 Blows, but with a better lead singer who’s ample stage presence is interesting enough to keep and hold my attention.  The band finishes their set and Tony finds me to tell me that the band he’s shooting is up next.  I watch them fuss with their gear and they talk about their plans to shoot the stage from both sides.  I tell Tony he should try to get some shots from the balcony.  It’s a run for him, but I think it should be worth it.

When In Colour takes the stage I’m surprised to find that they are all a bunch of fresh faced suburbanites.  They are not the regular hipsters and scenesters I’m used to seeing onstage.  I don’t see their lead singer before they begin playing a tight set of instrumental rock songs a la Explosions In The Sky.  It’s bluesy and groovy; it’s like listening to the best bar band you can imagine.  They’ve got some chops; even the veteran sound guy agreed that they showed potential.  I’m sure he’s not easy to impress.  After the set of instrumentals, I’m expecting them to start off on their other original material this time with vocals, but instead they give us something comforting: a cover song.  Bands with more experience and ego might hesitate to give the crowd a cover of Zeppelin’s Rock and Roll, but bands who truly care about the crowd will throw us a bone every once in a while.  It makes for a perfect transition to second half of their set.  Kiana, their lead singer,  puts out a fine effort on Rock and Roll, but she truly shines on In Colour’s other songs.  She has a fine stage presence that I find entrancing.  Someone compared her to Fergie, but I didn’t think that comparison apt.  It took me a while but I finally saw her similarities to other female vocalists like Benatar and Hynde of the Pretenders.  I can just imagine In Colour doing a cover of Brass in Pocket as Kiana struts defiantly around the stage.  Their instrumentals can be found at http://betweenthespent.bandcamp.com/album/initio.  Sadly I could not find their other material, but they are playing tonight on leap day http://www.facebook.com/events/216071401822869/.  I expect I’ll go to hear them again and firmly solidify my opinion of them.

In Colour’s set ends and both Tony and Kendrick are exhausted from their efforts.  They’ve been running around the Glasshouse while I was standing behind a computer enjoying the show.  They pack up and put away their gear.  I finally get a fresh pack of cigarettes and gum.  We have a couple of rounds in Pomona; sadly Joey’s Barbecue closed at the ridiculous hour of nine.  So we end up at the bar adjoining The Glasshouse.  It’s one of those postmodern deals with exposed brick everywhere.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they had exposed brick toilets in the bathroom.  We three wind down before heading back to the city for a well deserved--at least for Kendrick and Tony--rest.

The next day I double check the GOOGLE directions and I discover how badly I was mistaken when I wrote them down.  My bad...I just have to be more careful writing down directions.

Veronica Mars: The More Things Change

It looks like they’re serious about putting Mac and Buddy through the wringer.  They have them sitting in good old Interrogation Room 2.  It’s warmer in there than it should be making their faces sheeny.  The room is blank and impenetrable to contemplation; it’s not the place to be when you need think up a good alibi or excuse, and there Mac and Buddy sit.  Neither of them are really aware of what the sheriffs of Neptune County are really up to.  A uniformed sheriff enters the room.
“Would you like a coffee?” she asks Mac.  To Buddy, “How about a soda?”
Mac dismisses her with a shake of her head.
“Coke would be cool,” Buddy answers.
Veronica knows that if Mac had agreed to coffee it would either be ice cold or otherwise undrinkable. Even the coke Buddy may or may not receive will probably be warm; it will likely erupt violently upon opening.  This is a scene of a scripted story that she’s all too familiar with.  She lets the scene play out for ten more minutes before she asks, “Is this really necessary, guys?”
They won’t let her or Adam join Mac in the interrogation room.  They wouldn’t have let them stand in the observation room without a phone call from Leo.  She didn’t enjoy making that call, but it was worth it for her to make sure Mac and Buddy were treated fairly.  Who knows what kind of craziness they’d try to pull if she weren’t there watching?
“Are you really going to ice them like this?  What...you going to leave them hanging in there for an hour.  You think that’ll break them or something?  I’m going to Leo and telling him this amateur hour has got to stop.”
Veronica looks to Adam for some support but he’s in observation mode oblivious to the conversation.  His eyes are focused on his charges and any threat to them that might suddenly appear.  She has no doubt that should some threat make itself seen he would be jumping gun in hand through that one way mirror like a Hong Kong action hero.
A pair of suited detectives consider her words silently then consult with each other with looks.  One just shrugs and leaves the room.
“How about I get in there and help you guys out?”
“Now...now...Miz Mars, Sheriff Leo was especially clear on that point.  Under no circumstances are you to be allowed into the middle of the interrogation.  I hope you recall that.”
Sometimes it sucked not having that badge pinned to her hip anymore.
“You stay here,” he continues.  “You watch.  Nothing more.”
He leaves her alone in the observation room to watch his partner enter Interrogation Room 2.  A can of coke in his left hand and a manila folder in his right, he casually takes a chair opposite to  Mac and Buddy.  He slides the coke to Buddy who makes a sticky mess of opening the can.  To this Veronica can only sigh and shake her head.  Buddy is embarrassed and ashamed; he should have known better.  He looks at his mother for some kind of comfort, but she’s a little preoccupied with her own worries for him to care about spilled soda.
The second detective barges into the room; the door BANGS when it slams open.  And when the detective turns it BANGS when he slams it shut.  It startles both son and mother and each of them sit at the edge of their seats paying complete attention to the second detective.
“We got you kid!” the second detective booms.
The first detective waves his manila folder around.  Veronica suspects there’s nothing in it save for blank papers or maybe swimsuit shots from the last department trip to Mexico, but she can’t do anything about it but watch and wait.
“Eyewitness accounts put you at the scene of a burglary earlier around six.  We’ve got you, and you’re Mommy can’t do anything for you.”
The last sentence is directed at Mac.  Veronica can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.  She could usually count on Mac to sass the cops, but right now Mac’s feeling like her kid’s whole future is on the line.  It’s a vulnerability all mothers share, and these detectives are taking complete advantage of it.  She’s probably running through all the horrible possibilities and just as she’s winding down through the worst of them: Buddy in prison.  The detectives slow themselves.
“But we know it’s not true,” the first detective says sweetly then adds, “Your son is in trouble, but if he just helps us out with this then everything will be fine.  Your family won’t have anything to worry about.”
Mac, like any truly desperate person, knows a lifeline when it’s thrown to her.  Veronica can read it in her eyes, she’s ready to do anything and say anything to put this madness behind her.  Mac’s brain just isn’t working right now and the only thing that Veronica can think of to do is slam her open palm SMACK on the observation window.
She does that two more times in quick session.  SMACK.  SMACK.  The second and third times catch the attention of the room.  If she and her friend Mac could only just lock eyes that would snap Mac out of it.  Veronica is sure of that.  She’s just staring into her friend’s eyes and willing her to snap back to herself.  For some strange reason it works.
Veronica watches Mac turn her head back to the detectives and say one word softly but firmly, “Lawyer.”

CONGRATULATIONS OR BEST WISHES

Two Nights at xxxxxxx Studios or Party Hard in Private Spaces

You pass this space or a space much like it everyday if you drive up and around Highland Park, Glassell Park, or Eagle Rock.  They’re not public public, but if you’re a friend or a friend of a friend--as I am--then you can get an into some great events.  Entrepreneurs take a chance on a space like this converting them into commercial enterprises that are galleries or studios by day, but by night they host private parties and events.  Most won’t last more than a few years before either converting into a full fledged business or rotting on the vine due to poor planning and organization.  In the meantime people like me get to enjoy the heck out of them while they do last.

I end up here at random when a friend says our mutual friend’s space is putting up live music.  If you’ve read my bit about live local music recently then you know I’m reluctant to come out for random music.  I wouldn’t come out at all save for the fact that many of my friends--all two of them--will be there as well as other acquaintances.  Sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and roll the dice.  Besides that night I’m the one driving and if I needs an escape hatch I has it.

We roll up to the space with an an hour to kill so I say we walk up to a local bar just down the street.  It’s just down a ways really.  Of course five minutes into said walk, I realize I really don’t have a clear idea what I mean when I say “just down a ways.”  Apparently what I really meant was let’s walk halfway down to Figueroa grab a round and a taco then walk back to the party.  My two friends bear with me--god love them--and we do just that.  It’s not the best way to kill an hour, but it’s a lot better than standing around chain smoking cigarettes.

Back at the space, the event’s slowly building up.  The music’s set, but there are only a handful of people just arriving.  We meet the producer for the night’s headliner Dan and shortly after the headliner himself Cormac.  We get to riffing about things rather too vulgar and obscene for the page, but it’s amusing nonetheless.  They’re busy setting up their event.  Apparently it’s something like a record release for an album name Black Tie Affair.  Having not heard a note of it, I really couldn’t speak to them of it.  I didn’t even know that Cormac is a Hip-Hop act.

Into the space we go and after stopping for refreshments, we settle into the foyer.  The main room itself is too much filled with music to hear conversations and by far a comfy red sofa beats standing around the lights and loud noises.  No one else we know have arrived yet, so it’s still just the three of us.  Eventually two random women take a chance and sit nearby.  I’m perfectly happy to leave people alone, but I always want to take a shot and see what happens.  You never know what interesting stories and conversations might be shared with strangers.  My first attempt to start a dialogue ends in flames.  After a brief discussion about music--I swear it was like pulling teeth getting band names from her-- we agree that the Arctic Monkeys are pretty good, and then we disengage.

I follow my friends outside and then return inside to explore a part of the space I’ve never been in before.  Just above the main room where the performance happens, there is a small room.  We climb a spiral staircase with narrow treads.  Without the security of a safety rail I carefully climb up and down several times through the course of the evening.  There we find a couch, easy chair, and loft with comfy pillows.  I’ll call it the Lair.  From the Lair I can see out into the main room where more and more people are arriving.  Up in the Lair my friends can relax.  Me, I can feel the vibrations rattling through the floor and the chair I’m sitting in.  It unnerves me such that soon enough I leave the Lair and brave the narrow treads down to the main room.

Returning to the comfort and safety of the red couch in the foyer, I am happy enough to relax and observe the party evolve.  I enjoy my refreshment sharing the couch with the woman I spoke with earlier about the Arctic Monkeys.  Her and her friend--playing some sort of game on her phone--are likely doing exactly what I’m doing and I’d rather not distract them.  Maybe she’s bored because she lacks someone’s attention, but she starts a conversation with me this time.

I relish a second chance to interact and connect with people especially when my first attempt falls so flat.  I want to believe people are interesting and exciting.  She asks me the basics.  I give them to her.  She asks me to do the “pitch” I had to learn for my very brief telemarketing gig last week.  I comply.  I ask her the basics and she reveals she is a student at UC Pico or Santa Monica College.  It’s not intended to be insulting; it’s just one of those funny sayings you hear about like when you call USC the University of Spoiled Children.  She says she’s a dual major Psychology and English.  Both topics I’m familiar with.  I hope to connect on Psychology alone so I talk about some of the things I’ve read over the last year like The Invisible Gorilla and Predictably Irrational.  She hasn’t touched either book so I try to explain some basic ideas.  And somehow I fall into lecture mode and she’s really not having it.  Despite how interested she says she is, I know from her posture and tone she’s really not about it.  So I move onto English and we talk about books neither of us have read and one we both have.  She mentions Kundera and I’m like, “Yeah...I just don’t get it.  Couldn’t get into it.  Sorry.”  At least we both read Love in the Time of Cholera.  I name other works by Marquez that she hasn’t read.  I especially recommend the first volume of his memoirs.  Why won’t he finish the second volume already?  I’ve been waiting ages for it.  At this point I think I’ve put a good faith effort into it and disengage again.  I don’t think she enjoys this.  Later in the evening I find her again hoping to connect her to my friends who are up in the Lair; maybe one of them will have more patience than I.  But she Fake Boyfriends me and I walk away.  C’est la vie.

I wander about some.  Cormac is still some time away from taking the stage.  Everyone I know is up in the Lair and I’m just wandering seeing if I can find an interesting conversation.  I settle in front of a pass through window that looks into a kitchen and past that is the refreshment stand and the main room.  I’m closer to the action now, and I’m hunting for an opportunity to break into a conversation.  Ideally I’ll find one person, much like me, hanging back alone vulnerable.  I’ve had plenty of interesting conversations start off like that.  Just a few weeks ago I shared most of an evening with a local resident who just discovered his woman was pregnant with twins.  That was super fun times.

This might take some time and my patience is wearing.  I can’t quite find the right spot, but someone interesting comes up to me.  She’s not talking or starting the conversation, but she’s got a camera and she seems particularly interested in one gentleman.  His face fills her camera’s viewer, so I throw away a line like, “Should I warn him your stalking him?”  And she explains that she’s just documenting the night.  How attractive is that?  Professionalism and simple passion is so cool.  I would have loved to sit her down and chat about that for awhile, but who am I to distract someone who is focused and on the job.  After that I cut my losses and retreat to the Lair where me and my buddies wait for Cormac to take the stage.

When Cormac takes the stage I’m happy to say that they’re not too shabby.  They have a definite Tribe Called Quest vibe that I kind of enjoy.  Their beats are simple and very accessible.  Their rhymes flow well and are easy to follow along with.  It’s simple Hip Hop that many fans can easily connect with.  While in the Lair they were good background music to chill to while relaxing with my friends.  

I wasn’t able to stay for the whole show.  It was midnight or so when I Ieft because I had a job to go to the next morning.  From what I heard I sort of wished they were more ambitious.  Their hooks weren’t as catchy as they could have been likely because they wanted to avoid risk.  I say take a leap and see if a beat or hook flies in front of an audience.  I also wonder how connected they are to the Underground Hip Hop community in Los Angeles.  I myself, save for a Project Blowed 10yr Anniversary show, have never been able to connect to that local music scene the way I’ve connected to the Silverlake indie rock community.

And that’s that for this night at an amazing space you’ll never get to go to and on to Shotspeare.

The first time I rolled into this place I was with one of my friends and Shotspeare had just finished up.  I could see from the debris that littered the floor that some good time had been had just recently.  There were cups and empty shot glasses just lying about.  Everyone was in good spirits and happily conversing with each other despite the slightest hint of slurry speech.  It seemed like something worth checking out.

It rolled around this past Valentine’s Day and though I’m not about that particular holiday I wanted to see what was there to be seen.  Both my two friends were unavailable for this event so I roll up to the space solo.  I greet the two guys who run the space.  They’re both so smart and cool.  Some time after that a couple of other acquaintances arrive, but they look like they’re on dates and I happy enough to leave them to that.

I pass the time chewing gum and looking about the crowd of fifty people or so.  It’s a mixed one that pleases me.  I hate going somewhere and just seeing the usual scenesters and hipsters.  It’s always so cool to see the older folk come out to play.  I direct you to www.shotspeare.com for an accurate description of the format of this event.

This is not for any of you Shakespeare snobs.  I imagine the market for this event are fans of Rocky Horror Picture Show; if you’ve been to that before you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.  Shotspeare is one part improvisation and one part Romeo & Juliet shaken with two parts of Jack Daniels.  Audience participation is expected and even demanded.  A fearless soul was required to join the cast for the play’s duration.  I do not envy him that task, but he did prove himself worthy of the honor.  That sort of “on the spot” stress would break a lesser person like me.

Two noteworthy highlights of the evening include a shadow play performed during the “love scene” from Romeo & Juliet with Reznor’s song Closer playing in the background.  I myself did not care for the vulgarity of it all--I imagine Shakespeare himself would disagree with me--but I do appreciate the care and detail of setting up that complete sequence.  The other highlight of the evening was Juliet taking direction from another cast member.  It was pure outrageous improvisation.   Juliet suffering the loss of Romeo is directed to motorboat an audience member in the first row; wet willie someone else in the third row; and scissor a woman in the last row.  I do not envy them their experience, but it was rather amusing and entertaining to watch.

After an hour or so the performance ends and I head out for some fresh air only stopping to be greeted and to greet the lovely woman who was documenting the evening on video.  Outside I meet a remarkably familiar man.  He’s quite well spoken and easy to converse with.  A relatively new resident of the area we discussed various local eateries.  Eventually I learned he was an actor.  I asked him what I might have seen of him.  “True Blood.”  I know of it, but I don’t follow that show.  “Gilmore Girls.”  Suddenly struck by how I knew him, I was much more impressed by his casual accessibility.  Todd Lowe, of “Zach and Lane’s three weddings in one day”, is a really cool guy.  He plays guitar and mandolin in a band called LA Hootenanny that’s just about to finish a series of gigs at Villains Tavern in downtown.  I’ve seen I See Hawks In  L.A. and that was worth checking out a couple of times; I’ll likely check out his band in a couple of weeks if they’re still playing at Villains.

Anyway the night quickly wears on me and I head out again into it soon after.

Veronica Mars Fan Fic 1 or Bitch From The Future

    Sitting in her nondescript beater--a car she drives only when she needs to not be noticed--Veronica Mars eyes the doors of an underground bar not far from the 90 just outside Englewood.  It’s the place every cop and crook knows about, but  V would never think about busting the place down.  Why would she ever make it harder for herself to find the bad guys especially when they were silly enough to gather together all the time in the same place?
    She stifles a yawn as the doors open yet again.  It’s been a late night now, slowly easing into early morning, for her waiting for that special someone to leave that nameless place.  A couple stumble out the open doors.  He’s a archetypical loser in his thirties who looks like a man in his fifties.  She’s the exact same save for gender; too many years of hard drinking has etched a monument to bad choices over both their faces.  But they’re not the one she’s looking for.
    He’s in there she knows that.  She may not be at the top of the law enforcement food chain anymore, but her snitches still sing when she pays them to.  Her people told her that Bobby, a “loser’s loser” if his mother can be believed, is in that place drinking himself to oblivion again.  Maybe she should just walk into the joint and pull him out--it’s a thought she’s considered--but that would just leave witnesses and hassles she doesn’t need right now.  Doing that might make it more difficult to leave this godforsaken city of Chicago.
    Veronica considered the possibility that her target would have smartened up since that last time she spoke with him.  It might have occurred to him that V would be looking for him again after he started doing what he’s been doing.  But it’s never good to bet on the intelligence and foresight of a crook like that.  Still it was a good idea just in case for her to park where she could see the other exit that no one ever uses because a moment later the doors pop open.  A crowd of three or four guys vomit out the.  It’s hard to tell just what’s happening but when they start punching each other the story tells itself.
    She focuses her eyes on the faces of each brawler, and the third one is exactly the face she’s been waiting for.  Climbing out of her car she strides quickly over to the group.  Her hand rests loosely on the handle of her piece tucked into a holster clipped to her waist.  It will likely not be necessary.  Everyone knows better than to pull a gun on her, but on the off chance that one or more of them are from out of town it never hurts to take a few precautions.
    “Hey guys!” she calls out to them when she’s in earshot.  “Having some fun tonight I see.”
    One of them, not her mark, turns to look at the source of those words and is promptly punched in the face.  He’s down and out for now.  The guy doing the punching won’t let the poor guy alone though, he lands a few more punches before V catches up to him.
    “C’mon man.  I think you’ve won this argument.”
    The guy looks at her and takes a swing that V easily dodges.  She steps into him and lands a heavy blow to his solar plexus; she follows that up with an elbow strike and a leg sweep.  The guy lands next to his erstwhile opponent; both are out cold and resting peacefully now.  She’s finally gotten the attention of her mark.  The other guy left standing raises his hands and edges backward out of the scene.  With a wave of her head she dismisses him and he takes off running into the early morning light.
    “As for you Bobby we need...” she starts.  He doesn’t hear her finish because he takes off running.  V finds that rather amusing.  She gives hims a count to three headstart; it’s not like Bobby could outrun a toddler in the shape he’s in.

When she starts the chase, Bobby’s about ten paces in front of her heading over to a junkheap that makes her beater look like a Rolls.  He stops to try to escape into the car.

“Bobby.  Bobby.  Bobby.  Can’t we talk like civilized people do?” she asks him.

The chase begins again; it won’t last much longer.  Bobby’s lead slowly dwindles; V isn’t even really trying.  She paces him just a few steps behind.

“I’m really glad you’re concerned I don’t get enough exercise, but really I just want to have a little word with you Bobby.”

    Wheeze.  Cough.  “Stay...away.”
    “Looks like you need a breather; let me help you out with that.”
    Veronica sprints for a beat or two and catches up to him and kicks hard at his left foot just as he picks it up.  Bobby tumbles to the ground in a heap winded and insensible.  She’s strong for her size but she can’t pick up the lout, so she slaps the senses back into him and walks him back to whatever that is that passes for his car.
    There she props him on his hood and stares him down.  Bobby’s eyes knows there’s no escape; the only hopes he has is that whatever happens next won’t hurt too much or otherwise leave a permanent injury.
    “I know you’ve been asking around about Mary.”
    “Whatever.  You heard wrong.”
    Veronica pops him one aiming for nerves to maximize the pain without leaving serious injury.
    “Okay.  Okay,” he says.
    “You’ve been talking to Mary’s family again haven’t you?”
    “She stole my last paycheck.”
    Veronica doesn’t have to hit him again; she just stares at him and he breaks.
    “Fine.  I promise not to do it again.  Are we done yet?  I got a job to get to.”
    “I really wish I could believe you Bobby.  I really do, but your word’s just not going to cut it.  I know I’ve been fair.  I only asked one thing from you and you disappointed me Bobby.  We’re going to have to think of a way for me to help you truly understand why you should never disappoint me.”
    “You’re not even a Fed any more man.  You can’t do shit to me.”
    “Really Bobby?  I didn’t think you scumbag like you could ever surprise me like that.  Tell me Bobby do you really think I can’t do shit to you?  Am I more dangerous with a badge or without.”
    Bobby’s brain really tries to parse Veronica’s words, but the best it can come up with falls far short of the snuff.
    “Hey isn’t that a line from Shaft?”
    Veronica sighs before proceeding to beat the shit out of Bobby.  It’s a beating he’ll walk away from but not a beating he’ll soon forget.  He rolls to the asphalt.
    “I really don’t think this is the time to note pop culture references Bobby,” she says as she gets her daily workout  by dragging the limp bastard about hundred feet away from his junker.  Before Bobby gets propped up by a wall she tears his jacket off of him then walks back to the junker.
    “Okay.  Here’s what I’ll do,” she yells.  From out of a pocket she finds a multi-tool and pries off the junker’s gas lid then cap.  She cuts several narrow strips of cloth from the jacket and twines them around each other before she stuffs them into the junker’s gas tank.
    “If I ever hear how you’re anything but the model example of an ex-husband that is one who is silent and ever far removed from their ex-spouse, I will do to you what I’m about to do to this miserable excuse of Korean engineering.”
    Veronica pulls a zippo out and lights the fabric up.  She walks back to stand next to Bobby.
    “You ever see a car go up Bobby?  It can be a very beautiful thing.”
    They watch silently as flames engulf the junker.  There’ really isn’t much of an explosion; Bobby must not be able to to afford much of a tank of gas.  Still it’s a pretty sight all reds, oranges, and smoky grays.  It’s kind of pretty when the fire’s going full on and the sun’s just above the horizon, but it’s really only the shadow of a fire that Veronica remembers.

    It’s cave dark and silent when Veronica awakes.  The sweet smell of gasoline or some other volatile chemical is the very first sensation she has.  The first thing she hears is Logan.
    “Veronica.  You there?  Where are we?  What the fuck have you gotten us into?”
    “If I apologize can we just move along and try to figure out how to get out of this fucking thing I’ve gotten us into.  Follow my voice.”
    He does and when they’re close enough they smother each other in an embrace.  It’s a kind of intimacy they haven’t shared in a long time, but they’ve never forgotten it.  They are each others warm and comfortable blankies, just what the other needs in a situation as perilous as this.  Hand in hand they explore the darkness and come across a wall.  Wherever they are it’s as cavernous as a real cave, but more likely it’s just some sort of vacant warehouse.
    “This wall just goes on and on...” Logan remarks.
    “Let’s just wait a bit and see if anything else happens.”
    They don’t have to wait very long before a voice in the darkness begins to speak.
    “I may be dead Mr. Logan and Miss Mars, but that doesn’t mean I’m done with either of you,” booms the disembodied voice of Gory Sorokin.
    If only they could see the look of shock and surprise on each other’s face, that would be a comfort.  It would be something they could share before the darkness erupts into flames.
    “I know.  I know.  I could have just killed the both of you.   I could have killed that sexy intern you’ve been seeing Logan or that firefighter Veronica’s been booty calling three times a month.  It would have been easy and simple, but that just doesn’t work for me.”
    These revelations are no betrayals.  Both know how much a failure they’ve been as a couple.  Regardless these truths do wound them both.  Simultaneously they squeeze each other’s hand and whisper apologies.
    “Let me be clear then.  Only one of you will leave this place alive.  I hope whoever survives remembers the other fondly whenever they see a sight like this.”
    On cue small flames erupt all around them.  At least they shed some light on their surroundings.  Small flames dance together and form large flames until there is a wall of fire all around them.
    “I’d say you have ten minutes to escape this place.  Good luck and as always my fondest regards.”

    There’s always about a half an hour of peace and quiet at LAX.  Sometime between one and six in the morning something random clicks and a hush falls everywhere.  All that can be heard is the soft snores of the stranded and canceled passengers that litter the lounges and terminals.  A nameless maintenance guy enjoys this period of time; it’s the best part of his shift, but it always ends too soon.
    A plane lands and the terminals come alive again.  Veronica Mars arrives in Southern California fragile but ready to face the next part of her life.  Unlike the last time she came by for a visit her father, who would abuse his sheriff’s privilege to get past security to greet her, is no where to be seen.  If she gave herself any amount of time to consider that significance she would not be able to function at all.  Instead she pushes it out of mind and looks at the people waiting in the terminal.
    “Veronica!  Hey V!” a deep but still feminine voice calls out to her.
    Apparently her father wasn’t the only one to be above abusing the privileges that come from being a person of substance.  Mac stands there a few feet away from the  jetway.  Veronica comes up to her and Mac takes her into a deep embrace.  Having kids has definitely improved her sense of warmth and kindness.
    “C’mon V!  Let’s go and get your luggage and we’ll take you back to the guesthouse.”
    “We?”
    “You remember little Rebecca?” Mac says pointing to a nearby stroller.  “We’ll just get your bags and be on our way.  I’m so excited you’re going to be staying with us.  Max is away so often it’s going to be so good to have another adult to talk to.”
    Veronica examines the contents of the stroller smiling approval at the toddler.  Here was something that was missing from her life in Chicago: family.
    “No luggage.  Everything I wanted to keep I had shipped; it’ll arrrive tomorrow afternoon.  Everything else is either in storage or Goodwill by now.”
    “Great then let’s get moving.”
    They make their way through LAX quickly.  Mac pushes her child’s stroller with an ease that Veronica finds comforting.  She knows she could not help feel fear and worry for something so precious traveling through the uncertainty of the airport.  They exit the airport.
    “We’re outside,” Mac says to thin air.
    Veronica gives her friend and odd look.
    “It’s a bit of tech Max found in the Philippines.  I’m wired for sound and it’s automatically heard by my driver who should be just about pulling up right now.”
    A minivan comes to a stop in the loading zone, and a man who presumably is a driver exits.  Mac picks her baby up and the driver loads the stroller and V’s carry-on into the back.  Something about the driver piques Veronica’s sense of danger.  By the cut of his suit and the way he moves, this driver is more than a driver.
    When they’re both belted and seated inside Mac explains, “Max insisted that we have a driver/bodyguard.  Adam here is ex-Israeli Military Intelligence.  Adam this is my best friend in the world Veronica.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” a voice comes out of a speaker.
    “Me too you,” Veronica answers before continuing, “He’s not here for me, is he?”
    Mac shoots her a funny look before saying, “Please V.  You’re not the only one in the world who’s a target in somebody’s sights.  I’ll have you know that Max and I have about as many powerful enemies as you do.”
    “Okay.  Didn’t mean to offend.”
    “Not at all.”
    The conversation lapses into silence for minutes as Mac fusses with Rebecca who just won’t settle down into her car seat for the long drive south to Neptune.
    “Is it okay if I nap a bit; I just couldn’t get a bit of rest on the plane.”
    “Not at all V.  We’ll have tons of time to catch up later.”
    Veronica shuts her eyes and starts to let her mind wander.  It’s a trick she learned from one her of Quantico classmates.  It’s a sort of meditation that blanks the mind and let’s time just flow and flow.  Minutes pass like seconds when she’s in this state.  Usually she can ignore any distractions that bother her when she’s under, but the faint sound of a police siren drags her back to reality.
    “Everything’s fine V.  Just got pulled over.  Adam will take care of it.”
    “I’m sure.”
    Some time has passed now they’re far from Los Angeles.  In fact they’re on PCH just inside the borders of Neptune.  She can see the ocean from here and the sight of it brings her some small comfort.  This ain’t no Lake Michigan she’s looking at; it’s the mighty Pacific that stretches out before her.  Somewhere there at the other end of the water is another world not just Canada.
    Whoever pulled them over is taking their time walking up to them.  From the uniform Veronica can’t tell who it is, but from the walk she knows exactly who to expect.  Leo D’Amato appears to be more confident now; a couple of years of being Sheriff has seasoned him somewhat.
    “I’d like to speak to your passengers for a moment Adam,” he says through the driver’s open window.
    “Open the door Adam, let’s hear what the Sheriff has to say,” Mac whispers before the door opens.
    Leo stands before them with a strange unsure expression on his face.
    “Sheriff,” Mac begins.
    “Mac.  How’s everything?”
    “‘Bout the same.  Anything I can help you with today?”
    “Just wanted to welcome Veronica back to Neptune and tell her she has the full support of her father’s Department.”
    The way he says that is just insulting to Veronica.  Rage fills her for a moment before she regains her composure.  To everybody else it’s just a blink of her eyes.
    “Thanks Sheriff.  I appreciate that.  I’m sure my father would have been proud to see his number-one-go-to-guy succeed him,” she says these words the best she can, but she can’t help but inject some small amount of venom into them.
    “I...Your father,” Leo sputters.  “He was a great guy.  I miss him everyday.”
    “Me too!” V snaps back a tad too harshly then she had intended to.
    “I also wanted to let you know that I don’t believe a single word of what anybody says about what happened in Chicago.  I knew your father; I know you, and I can’t imagine that what they’re saying can be true.  I’d loved to hear the whole story from you sometime.”
    “I’ll pencil you in after I get settled in.  Is there anything else?”
    “Nope.”
    “If that’s all then,” Mac says before whispering to Adam.  The doors slide shut, and Adam drives them away from the Sheriff who’s still standing there as their cloud of dust swallows him.
    “The nerve of that guy,” Mac starts.  Veronica only has enough self control to shrug.
    “Well I’m going to talk to someone about this.  I will.”
    “Don’t bother let’s just move it along.”
    The drive continues in silence, until Rebecca falls asleep.
    “Thank god,” Mac says.  “Now if we talk quietly we can actually have an adult conversation.”
    “So that’s what with the act?”
    “You know me good old Mac.  Same old same old underneath the mommy mask.”
    “You had me going there awhile.”
    “Whatever.  I know I didn’t have you fooled for a sec,” Mac says before continuing, “I don’t know if you want to but Dick wanted to host at thing for you if your up for it.”
    “Good old Dick never lets any opportunity to party pass him by.”
    “I could tell you it’s not like that, but I don’t think you’d believe me.  He’s been a very different person since Logan...” she coughs to hide the awkwardness.
    “It’s fine,” Veronica says.
    “He’s been very good for us finishing some of the things that Logan left behind.  He’s not the idiot you remember and he’s not talking about a party.  It’s just a small dinner thing he wants to do.  You, me, the kids maybe Cliff if he’s around.”
    “Something like that sounds fine.”
    “One more thing...”
    “Yeah.”
    “Charlie Stone called us up the other week.”
    Veronica doesn’t know how to respond to that.
    “He and Logan got pretty close,” Mac continues.  “He just wants to know what happened.”
    “Now we’re talking about something I just can’t deal with right now.  I’m sorry about it.  That’s just too much.”
    “No problem.  There’s no rush.  Look we’re almost home.  We’ll talk more later.”
    “Sure.”
    Veronica’s eyes drifts to the streets and buildings around her.  So much has changed here but so much has not.  There are still the same class divisions that have existed for as long as she can remember, but it just doesn’t seem so bad right now.  Maybe someone’s been working on fixing that problem lately.  Considering all the recent Occupy hostility she’s surprised that Neptune hasn’t erupted in violent protests.  The more things change and all that, she thinks.
    Her mind drifts back to that conversation with Sheriff D’Amato.  So much of that reminds her of her father.  It can’t be helped.  The uniform alone is enough to trigger her memories.

    “You have got to stop this!” her father tells her.  This isn’t exactly the warm reception she was expecting for her first trip to Neptune in three years.  She had imagined something more cozy and comfortable than Interrogation Room Two.
    “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
    “You know damn well what we’re talking about,” he says pointing at his deputy Leo D’Amato who’s standing in behind him.  “You’re in town checking into Gory Sorokin’s background.  Everybody knows it.  Gory himself called me to tell me he knows about it.”
    “Are we really on a first name basis with monsters like Gory now?  When did that happen?  I thought our job was to put away monsters like Gory.”
    Keith Mars takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax.  Getting upset is not the way to convince his stubborn daughter of anything.

“I’m sure you know that Gory clipped a whole cartel crew, right?”

V nods.

“You know why,” he asks.  She shakes her head.  “Because they didn’t return his phone call.  He clipped a fucking cartel crew for not returning his phone call.”

“So he’s a crazy monster.  We’ve put away people like that before.”

    “And you know what the cartel did to retaliate?” Keith continues.  His daughter shrugs.  “They did nothing.  They did nothing because if they knew that if they tried anything Gory Sorokin would have just hooked up with one of their rivals and kill every last one of them.”
    “So he’s a crazy, influential monster.”
    “I don’t know how else to explain it.  Gory Sorokin is just a businessman as far as the rest of the world cares.  He’s a developer.  He’s a corporate executive.  No one knows he’s one of the most influential mobsters on the West Coast.  To the likes of us in law enforcement, he’s virtually untouchable.
    “He snaps his fingers and people disappear.  But his hands are clean.  He nods his head and lives are ruined.  I’ve looked at some of the books, and you can’t tell where Gory’s legitimate businesses end and where his mob ties begin.  You look at him the wrong way and you’re happy if the worst thing he does is break your legs.  He’s done far worse things to people for far less rational reasons.”
    “We’ve covered that with crazy, but don’t you see that’s exactly why I have to take him down.”
    Keith takes a moment before he tries a different tack.
    “He called me a couple of years ago, you know,” Keith admits.  “I knew who his father was, but I hadn’t heard a thing about him before.  But he calls me and tells me that he’s willing to overlook certain insults to his sensibilities that you and Logan are responsible for.  He’s willing to do this as long as you leave him alone to do his work in peace.”
    “You can’t possibly believe that’s a good offer.”
    “I don’t know,” Keith says softly.  This whole conversation has left him exhausted.
    “And if I don’t leave him alone?  What’s he going to do?”
    “I don’t know.  But you better be prepared to live with whatever happens if you don’t.  That’s all I got to say.”
    Before she can form a witty response to that, he kisses her on her forehead.  Her father continues, “C’mon Leo.  We’ve some real work to do before I meet my lovely daughter for dinner later.  Let’s go.”  Deputy Leo stands alone for a moment.
    “See you’re still single there Leo,” Veronica ventures.
    “Can’t quite quit thinking about the one who got away and all.”
    “Flirt!  You’ve got my dad’s back, right?”
    “Absolutely, I’m his number-one-go-to-guy.  I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to him.”
    “Good to know.  You better catch up with dad before he starts yelling for you.”
    He nods and exits the interrogration room.

    “You have quite a reputation here at Neptune High Miss Mars.”
    Veronica’s a little bit lost in her conversation with Ella Borys the principal of Neptune High.  Walking these halls again is a bit of a distraction.  There are some memories here.  Not all of them good, but the good ones are the ones that do standout.
    “I’m sorry what was that?”
    “I said that you have a quite a reputation.  Some of your former teachers remember you quite fondly.  And some of your former classmates...let’s just say that they don’t share the same opinion.”
    “You’re talking about Madison right?”
    “For one I suppose, but I really shouldn’t gossip.  Regardless of what people have to say I must admit I’m very excited to have someone with your background teaching here.”
    “You’re in dire need of a ex-FBI agent I suppose?”
    “No, not that part of you background.  I’m referring to your Journalism Awards that you received while attending Neptune High--we still have those on display in the office--and those other awards you received while you attended Hearst College.  I’ve seen those on display in the O’Dell Admissions Hall.”
    “Oh.”
    “Don’t get me wrong that other background of yours is also exciting, but I have to wonder why you never tried to pursue a career journalism.”
    “Let’s just say I had a different calling.”
    “Sure.  Well here’s the room.  Before we go in and introduce you to your class, let me make some demands of you if I can.”
    Veronica stares at the petite woman before wondering if she was for real or not.  It wouldn’t surprise her if she were to show her her pointed elfin ears.  She shakes this distractions off and nods to acknowledge the Principal's words.
    “I would like you to take this newspaper back to the top.  We were once the envy of every district for hundreds of miles in every direction, but we didn’t quite figure out the Internet and all very well.  So we’ve got issues, no pun intended.”
    “Well I promise I’ll do my best to make that happen.”
    “That’s all I can ask for.  Shall we?”
    Veronica nods and Ella Borys opens the door and shows her inside.  The class is just a little bit out of control.  Borys calls for their attention and the rooms quiets.
    “Let me introduce all of you to Miss Mars.  She will be taking over as your journalism advisor.  Be sure to pay her the same attention and respect you would to Mr. Sauzig,” she says in her authority voice.  To Veronica she adds in an aside, “We’ll find you more classes to sub just as soon as we see how this is working out for you, okay?”
    Veronica nods and Boryz leaves to do whatever Principals do, probably administrate.  She takes her place behind the podium and eyes the kids.  Reading the room is something she’s used to doing as a Fed, but she’s not exactly looking to see if any of these kids are going to pull a gun or a knife on her.  There’s Buddy, Mac’s eldest son.  These high school years won’t be kind to a child of nerds.  That blond sitting in the back corner must be Madison’s daughter.  She doesn’t quite have that vacant stare she remembers Madison having; that must be Dick’s genes.  In the opposite corner is a Hispanic girl.  She’s has a face that reminds her of someone but she can’t recall who.  Maybe it’s all that make up--eye shadow and mascara--and teased hair that confuses her.
    “Let’s get started then with attendance.”
    She reads off the names in alphabetical order.
    “Cassidy Casablancas.”
    There’s an odd expression on her face when Veronica says her name.
    “Here.”
    “Is everything alright,” Veronica asks.
    “Everything’s fine,” Cassidy responds.  “It’s just that I though you’d be taller.  From what my Mom said I thought you’d be tall and more angry than you are.  You seem normal to me.”

“Well thank you then Cassidy.  Tell your Mom that I’ll make sure that you’re well taken care of.  Let’s continue then.”

The names continue on.

“Lily Navarro.”

The Hispanic girl raises her hand.  Before she can read off the next name one of the boys on the other side of room says, “Ladybug.  She’s called Ladybug.”

Lily Navarro rolls her eyes.

“Is Ladybug what you would prefer to be called?”

Lily shrugs.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a related to Eli Navarro?”

“He’s my father.”

“Weevil is your father?”

Lily shoots her the nastiest look.  It’s enough for Veronica to backtrack some.

“Eli was a friend of mine.”

“I know.  I really thought you’d be taller and maybe tougher looking.”

“Anyway then, I’m glad to see Eli has such a precocious child.”

“Whatever.”

She continues with the names again until she reads Buddy’s name.

“Max Walther-MacKenzie.”

“Here.”

“I’m happy to be here with you too Buddy.”

Something about what she says makes the whole room laugh.  It takes a second for her settle it out and she reads more names until she comes to the last name.  Her Fed skills are buzzing a little because she hasn’t figured out who this last name belongs to.  She must be sitting behind that tall kid.

“Melody York,” Veronica repeats.

From somewhere behind that tall kid a girl says, “Present.”

“Can you stand up please, I can’t quite see you.”

When she stands up, V is almost knocked to the floor.  Melody York is the spitting image of her friend Lily Kane.  She has the exact same wide eyed face and full mouth.  Her long blondish hair hangs from her shoulders the same way Lily’s hair did.  She has the same shade of blue eyes.  The moment is leaving her feeling strangely feverish.  It’s been years since this ghost has haunted her, but if there were ever a good time for it to return then now would be perfect.  She’s feeling more crazy than sane anyway these days.

“Miss Mars,” Melody says.

That voice isn’t Lily’s voice.  That one difference is enough for her mind to reel itself back into place.  Suddenly she sees the differences.  Melody is not quite as short as Lily was.  She carries herself a little more formally, more rigid than the way Lily loosely did.  There’s something a little different in her eyebrows too.  Veronica notices now that despite their shared hair color Melody’s hair is not naturally that tint.  She can see a few of her brown roots.

“Miss Mars,” Melody says again.  “May I return to my seat please?”

“Sure.  Sure.”

The spell is broken and Veronica settles back to her class.

“That’s taken care of.  Let’s talk about what we’re working on then.  Who’s in charge of what?  Who writes what and all that, but let’s also talk about what your interests are.  If we can’t connect what you care about to what you write about, no matter what we do this paper won’t work.  Who wants to go first?”

    It’s evening now and Buddy’s riding his bike home.  He’s just been riding around Neptune going to places he probably shouldn’t, but he feels the need to explore every part of this place he calls home.  He’s seen some strange things on these bike rides of his.  Maybe he’ll talk to Miss Mars about writing a column.  It could be call Riding Around With Max or something.
    Ahead of him something out of the ordinary is happening.  It’s obviously some kind of burglary or robbery.  He’s particularly oblivious to this because he stops to watch the action.  There’s crowd of five or six guys in front of a biggish house; it’s not a mansion or anything but it has at least three bedrooms.  There’s a white truck parked in front of the place.
    The crowd of guys walk into the house empty handed and exit the house carrying big white boxes.  They stash these boxes in the back of the truck then head back into the house.  Even if Buddy thought this might be fishy, he’d dismiss it.  If something like that were happening wouldn’t these guys be wearing masks or something?  He can see their faces and clearly identify them.  When it starts to get boring, Buddy continues to bike home.
    Hours pass and Buddy is reading in the study when the doorbell rings.  He goes to answer it and sees that it’s a couple of Sheriff deputies.  He opens the door and tells them he’s going to find his mother.
    “Max Walther-MacKenzie?”
    “You’re looking for my dad?  He’s out of town.”
    “Max Walther-MacKenzie, we have an eyewitness that puts you at the scene of a burglary.  We’d like you to come down to the station with us to answer a few questions.”
    Mac walks into the situation only hearing the Deputies last few sentences.
She steps between the Deputies and her son and says, “No!  You tell us what’s going on right now or leave my son alone.  Adam!”
    Adam rushes into the middle of this,but he can’t interfere with the police.  He says, “I will be accompanying you to the station until Max has proper representation.”  To Mac he says, “Call Max.  Call a lawyer.  Then call for a babysitter and meet us down at the station.  We’ll work it out there.”
    Mac doesn’t understand why Adam would let this happen, but it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.  The deputies agree to Adam’s suggestion.  When they are gone Mac calls her husband, who will call Dick Casablancas, then she calls for someone to watch her other two kids while she’s taking care of this nonsense.  As she waits for her babysitter to arrive she realizes there is one perfect person she can call in a situation like this and as luck would happen she is sitting in her guest house right now.
    “Veronica!” she calls out.