Trader Joe’s , originally uploaded by studio4041.

What turns some drivers into monsters when they get into the Studio City Trader Joe’s parking lot?

Yesterday, I stopped off there, around 11 am, to pick up a few items.

As I waited for an older lady to pull out of a parking space, a “young” woman in a Mercedes had to stop behind me.

Looking in my rear view mirror, I could see the Mercedes lady making gestures and signs indicating that I was “crazy” and “what the fuck are you doing?” That’s right, she was incensed, angered and completely furious that she had to stop inside a parking lot to wait for me to park.

And I needed to back up a bit to allow the old lady in front of me to pull out. The Mercedes driver would not move. With an expressionless Botox face, eyes covered in sunglasses, she was not going to reverse.

I got out of my car and walked back to her. “Would you pull your car back?” I asked. Behind her closed window, she screamed, “You’re crazy. Look at your car! If you lay a hand on my car, I’ll call the police.” She pulled into reverse, maybe 2 feet back.

The old lady pulled out, I pulled in and the Mercedes drove into the lane that exited onto Ventura Boulevard. While she stopped there at the light, I walked up to her again.

“Why don’t you try to act human,” I screamed.

It seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever.

We went downtown, yesterday, to see the new Gold Line light rail line extension and to ride it into east L.A.

I was with my mother, who walks with difficulty after her hip operation last year.

We parked somewhere east of Little Tokyo, where art and commerce are slowly converting old factories into sunny communes of post-industrialism.

Along Alameda, a band played and friendly crowds stood along the light rail track waiting to board trains that ran to Pasadena (Northbound) or Atlantic Avenue (Southbound). Many yellow shirted Metro employees handed out brochures, maps and smiles answering any questions from excited and bewildered riders.

This is still new for Los Angeles, the idea that human beings might ride on trains to travel around this city. In Prague, Paris, Tokyo, Kuala Lumpur, Mumbai, Buenos Aires, Montreal, Vancouver and Boston people crowd unselfconsciously into those steel boxes on steel tracks, but here in a city that was last progressive 60 years ago, the light rail was ripped out along with our civic engagement.

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I had driven down the 405, yesterday, from Van Nuys to Marina Del Rey. The sun was brilliant, the air was cool, the wind was blowing, and I have lived here long enough to feel uneasy in these ideal conditions.

Somewhere in the left lane, near the Getty Center, I was traveling about 60 MPH in fairly heavy traffic, moving along. A BMW sped up behind me. I looked in the mirror and could see an impatient face on a young male driver. I pulled out of his lane and moved to the far right.

In the far right lane, I found space and accelerated. The BMW also pulled into my lane, behind me and began to tailgate me. I went into another lane, and he did too.

I was going 80 as I passed the 10 off-ramp, and he was right behind me. As I turned to go west on the Marina Freeway, he pulled up on my right, slamming his foot down on the accelerator and tore up the road to pass me fading fast into the 405 South.

Where did his aggression come from? I had moved out of his way. I gave him his road. I tried to escape.

But that was not enough. He was in the mood for a race, and overcome with the urge to beat me and to alpha guy fuck off another male driver.

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On the train, my mom and I met a young woman who told us to disembark at Mariachi Plaza in Boyle Heights where there was a street fair, with entertainment, food and other events.

One emerges from the underground into the unfiltered, concrete-baked sunlight of east LA.

A stained glass canopy covers the escalators. This is a cathedral of light, an ecclesiastical structure imbued with a Catholic message for this old Mexican-American neighborhood. Rays of gold, red, blue and green pour through the roof and illuminate riders as they pass through Mariachi Plaza. In an age where every new building in Los Angeles is stripped of meaning and constructed so obtusely and abstractly, this Metro station gently merges church and train.

We spent a little time walking around and ate some ceviche and stood next to the Lucha Reyes statue.

Then we got back in a long, outdoor line to wait for the train. As we waited there, an older woman walked up to us. She said she had lived in Boyle Heights her whole life, but was going to ride the train two stops to downtown. She was scared and wanted us to accompany her.

Her name was Rosalie, and she asked us if we were Jewish. I said yes, and she said, “the activist traditions of Boyle Heights came from the Jewish people”. She was 75-years-old and remembered the community when there were Jews living in it.

As we went down into the station, she panicked. “Maybe I shouldn’t ride the train,” she said. Over and over she asked how she would find her way back to Mariachi Plaza. I told her that many employees were around and she would not get lost. She was afraid of disorientation, suffocation, crowds, and unfamiliar surroundings.

“Your son is so sweet,” she told my mom. What Rosalie didn’t know is that I have had panic attacks. And, like Rosalie, one of my fears is claustrophobia and the other is getting lost. Her irrational worries were perfectly sane to me.

On the station platform, more old people introduced themselves. A gregarious man from Panorama City said he was born and raised in Chicago, and had graduated from Von Steuben High School in 1955, a few years after my mother.

The train pulled up, we all stuffed ourselves in. Rosalie was smiling, happy, laughing. She had found friends in strangers just by talking, riding and moving on light rail.

We got off at Little Tokyo. Rosalie shook our hands and crossed to the other side of the platform where she met some other people who were going back to East LA.

One afternoon, in the new Los Angeles, where a normal urban venture suddenly opens up a new avenue of hope.

We live in a time where acts that were once considered harmless and innocent, such as photographing children at play, are now judged by some to be prurient and perverted. The same is true now for shooting pictures in certain public locations.

Photographing people in public has been part of the photographer’s arsenal for over 125 years. The “terrorism” bug that has been up this nation’s ass since 9/11 has provided an excuse to employ thousands of security badge wearing goons to enforce a sense of security in every location from public libraries to train stations. Most of these very bored officers have nothing to do all day, and they seem to relish the excitement of exerting their authority and making innocent people feel powerless. In the end, nobody is actually any safer, and our civil liberties and right to freely roam and create pictures is hampered and harassed.

In reality, photography is one of the best ways to defuse terror because it opens up understanding and communications between people all over the world. Flickr is where the Israeli photographer befriends the Pakistani photographer. Photography only puts fear at risk.

We finally came around, after ten years, to correct an irrigation defect on our property.

One side of the driveway has never had working sprinklers. When our 100-year-old Oak tree fell down and collapsed two months ago, it seemed to open up a new sense of possibility in how the front yard might look. But we needed water for planting.

Norberto Miguel offered the most economical estimate. He started work today, and surprisingly, he worked alone.

This was a dirty, wet, muddy, filthy, sweaty, exhausting job of shoveling, digging, and trenching. Grabbing with one hand, PVC piping, and attaching it to a garden hose, he threaded the pipe underneath the 20-foot wide concrete driveway and basically soldered the plastic pipes into one connected and fused line. He laid out sprinklers and ripped up ornamental grasses that had stood in the way of the new plan.

Tomorrow, he will return to replace aging valves and install new siphons in place of those that had leaked water.

He did all this work smiling, covered in dirt. His jeans, hands and face were soaked and stained in mud and dust. He left in moonlit darkness.

Travel around Los Angeles these days, and you might come in contact with those sullen, skinny, banana-spined brats who work in boutiques on Abbot Kinney or sit in coffeehouses twittering texts all day. And then you encounter Spanish-speaking gardeners, day laborers, carpenters, painters and tree trimmers who work like slaves, seven days a week.

Can you guess who are the happiest and least complaining?

Historic Home Demoltion., originally uploaded by Here in Van Nuys.

On June 20, 2007, the Daily News printed an article about the efforts of preservationists to save the oldest home in Van Nuys from destruction.

On the morning of June 21, 2007 I went to the site of the Whisett Home to take photos and found that a bulldozer had already done its work.

Here is an interesting comment I received today on this blog from the developer. The spelling is his:

“That is not true. Merabi & Sons was waiting for the permit to built 18 units APT building, with three affordable units for the elderly people.
The comment the writer has made on the above artic about Merabi and sons is unfair.We help comminutes, and bring prosperity to Van Nuys we would never abandon it .”

Kami A. Merabi

Mad Men’s Don Draper and Suzanne Farrell
Photo courtesy of AMC

A story in the NY Times today reports that British courts sentenced a young woman to prison for texting while driving, an act that unintentionally caused the death of another young woman, whose car had broken down by the side of the road.

Driving in Los Angeles, I am acutely aware of how many drivers continue to talk on hand-held phones and may also be texting. On the freeway, I estimate about 1 out of 2 are talking.

Dazed and Confused on Magnolia

The other day, I was driving west on Magnolia near Van Nuys Boulevard. A woman in an SUV, with a car full of dogs, was plodding along in the right lane, at about 20 MPH. As I passed her, I could see she was texting.

When my car reached the red light at Van Nuys Boulevard, I tried a little experiment with the SUV texting woman behind me.

I did not accelerate when the light turned green. She was right behind me, and completely absorbed in her texting. In my rear view mirror, I watched as this utterly self-absorbed driver did not honk or care that the light had turned green. Her only reference as to whether it was time to accelerate was my bumper. She had no compelling need to drive, because she was texting.

For years, I have wondered why the LAPD allows drivers to speed through red lights. The only intersection where the law is enforced is at Van Nuys Boulevard and Burbank, and the mustached motorcycle cop who writes tickets here, at the least crowded time of day, has an easy job, pulling over motorists who make a right turn on red without stopping. (I was one of these last year). It is an easy way to boost revenue. But in terms of danger, it does not measure up with the 60 MPH red light runners who run through Chandler at Woodman.

I’m still waiting for the real enforcement of the motoring laws. We all drive in safer cars these days, but in terms of our safety, it is as dangerous on the roads now as it was when a gin soaked Don Draper got into his ’62 Cadillac and headed up the Taconic State Parkway.

Photo Credit: http://www.you-are-here.com/building/fire_department.html

A burning desire to save Van Nuys’ Station 39

Los Angeles’ oldest operating fire station is outmoded for today’s equipment and needs, officials say. Its fans seek to rescue the classy, Depression-era building.

By Catherine Saillant

October 27, 2009

Station 39 is cramped and outdated. It’s a tight squeeze getting the trucks in, and there’s not enough room for the larger rescue ambulances that have become standard over the decades. There isn’t any on-site parking, forcing firefighters to walk three blocks from another city lot.

But the firefighters at the oldest operating station in Los Angeles could soon be moving to new digs, sparking concern about what will happen to the Depression-era building in Van Nuys and raising questions over whether a new location is even needed.

Critics worry that the edifice, built as a public works project in 1939 and now adding a touch of elegance in an otherwise tired neighborhood, could wind up as little-used business offices, another drug rehab facility or — even worse — torn down.

Ron Hay, who is on the local neighborhood council, wonders whether it doesn’t make more sense to modernize and enlarge the station rather than relocate it.

“It’s a densely populated area. There are a lot of apartments,” Hay said of Station 39’s current location. “When you get a lot of people packed in and sleeping together, there is always the possibility of increased incendiary events.”

Dr. Robert Fields, whose dental office has operated half a block from the station for 38 years, thinks Van Nuys has grown so much that Station 39 should stay put and another firehouse should be added somewhere else.

“We’ve gotten to the point where we need a second location,” Fields said.

Los Angeles Fire Department officials say relocation is necessary because Station 39 is too small and outdated to accommodate modern firefighting equipment and resources. An internal analysis of the department’s aging firehouses placed it at the top of the list for replacement.

Services to the community would be enhanced by a move, fire officials say, because a larger building would allow the station to expand its emergency medical response. The current quarters on busy Sylvan Street sometimes make it difficult for trucks just to get in and out.

“It’s the oldest operating station in the city,” said Battalion Chief Jose Cronenbold, who oversees department facilities. “It’s too cramped for the apparatus there.”

Across the street from another Valley landmark, the Art Deco-style Valley Municipal Building, Station 39 cuts a graceful profile on a street otherwise filled with bail bond offices, insurance outlets and low-budget attorneys’ offices.

From the start, it was a busy station. During its dedication July 29, 1939, fire wagons screamed out of the building three times to put out flames, according to an account in the Los Angeles Times.

A city advisory committee last summer recommended that the station be moved to a new building to provide needed space for emergency medical squads, more parking for firefighters and upgraded truck bays, storage and kitchen facilities.

“It’s operational 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. That takes a toll on infrastructure that’s already old,” Cronenbold said. “You’ve got 14 to 16 guys in there every single day.”

Councilman Tony Cardenas said he expected the mayor and the City Council to authorize a new station based on the fire committee’s recommendation. The cost of the project, estimated at $37.1 million, would come out of the Proposition F fire facilities bond issue approved by voters in 1998.

Cardenas said fire officials are looking for land close to Station 39’s current location near the Civic Center. Land that faces Van Nuys Boulevard would be ideal, he said, because trucks could easily pull in and out of traffic.

“We have some car lots within two to three blocks that are vacant,” Cardenas said. “There are a lot of buildings that are for lease. There is more opportunity today because of the economy.”

The city has replaced 19 other fire stations using bond money but had enough cash and interest left to build one more, the councilman said.

“We have the bond funds and the ability to improve the station, and it’s the lucky winner,” Cardenas said.

Residents say that if Station 39 does move, the city should preserve the building and perhaps convert it into a restaurant, or even a museum. Joel Horowitz, whose family has run a bail bond operation next to the firehouse for 60 years, thinks a Valley museum would be great.

Valley College and Cal State Northridge have collections of historical photographs and documents, but there is no central location where visitors can learn about the Valley’s agricultural past, its epic battles over water rights and its distinction as the nation’s first hub of suburban living, he said.

“We need our own cultural identity,” said Horowitz, whose shop includes large black-and-white historical photographs of the fire station, the municipal building and his bail bond business.

Cardenas, a former real estate broker, said the city probably would put conditions on the original property to ensure that its historical value is not destroyed. After a new station is built, in about two years, the old building would be declared surplus property by the city.

The city could then convert it into public offices or some other public facility. Or it could opt to sell the property to a third party, Cardenas said. Other retired firehouses have successfully been converted into restaurants and offices while preserving historical character, he noted.

Fields, the dentist, is among the local residents who say preservation is vital.

“It’s something we really can’t replace,” said Fields, who brought his children, and now brings his grandkids, to the station open house each year. “It would be very sad to lose a lovely old building to something that is cold and austere.”

catherine.saillant@latimes.com

Copyright © 2009, The Los Angeles Times