Everyone has at least one scar. No? You’ve somehow miraculously lived an injury-free life? Newsflash! Your belly button is technically a scar, so there’s that little factette. Indeed, birth itself scars us for life on Day 1. There are people who receive many, many more scars throughout their lives; their umbilical cord getting severed in the delivery room is just the first one.
Some scars are small, like what you might get from nicking a finger with a sharp kitchen knife just after you sharpened it (coincidentally only a moment after you cautioned yourself not to cut your finger!), but the cut didn’t require any medical attention – only a band aid or maybe some duct tape. Other scars indicate that professional emergency medical attention was needed, and sutures or staples or surgical super glue were definitely required.
Oftentimes, the scars we accumulate are our own damn fault obtained from our foolish or occasionally reckless decisions. We can look back at these scars and maybe laugh a little bit because we knew better but engaged in idiotic behavior anyway. But sometimes a scar comes from an unexpected event that is completely out of our control and are no laughing matter whatsoever.
Some scars tell a story of great, almost unbelievable suffering and pain, resilience, and survival.
It’s easy to tell the minor scars from the major scars from a visual standpoint, however, it’s all but impossible to gauge the mental impact of any one of them. There’s no doubt that some of them required subsequent therapy. And maybe some strong pharmaceutical medication for a little while.
Everyone remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing then they got their scar as if it happened today.
When you look at your scars, you relive the events that precipitated the injury over and over. Some of the circumstances of the injury can be slightly humorous while others are far more serious or even disturbing in nature. Or sometimes the situation was just extremely reckless and you’re lucky that you survived. You remember those all too well.
I look in the mirror and see the scar on my chin that I got when I was about 7 years old. I got that one from wearing my dad’s old cowboy boots up the cinder block steps to the aluminum skinned Airstream trailer, catching a toe in one of the cinder block holes and tripping forward onto the shiny metal threshold. I couldn’t believe how much blood was coming out of my chin and it freaked my mom out a little bit. Four sutures later, and I was good as new. Summer of 1968, Zamora, CA.
There’s a scar on my right check from when I was about 9. I was playing kick the can with the kids in the neighborhood and while running full speed toward the can, I ran into the sharp end of a freshly pruned oleander hedge as I was trying to run through it. 1971, Sacramento, CA. A couple of inches higher and it would have been my eye.
There are the scars that tell the stories of our careless youth, for example, the scars on our knees and elbows from skateboarding. Mine are from approximately 1970 to 1982. The DNA from my skin is all over the streets and sidewalks of North Hollywood.
There’s a scar on my left temple from when I got pistol whipped when I was 21. The short version is that this is a cautionary tale of youthful hubris going wrong and making the mistake of letting a belligerent friend – who will remain anonymous – with nunchucks under his car seat (which, by the way, is highly illegal in California) engage with a drunk person with a revolver in his back pocket who turned out to be extremely dangerous. Summer of 1982, in the parking lot of the Star Lite Room / Henry’s Tacos at the corner of Tujunga Avenue and Moorpark Street, North Hollywood, CA. It took dozens of sutures to close up the two lacerations. I was slightly concussed and had a ringing headache for three days.
There are scars that tell a story of a life changing traumatic event like from a major surgery or from putting a person’s body back together after a godawful car accident, or from a fire, or from being in combat. I have a scar on the inside of my right forearm from a skin graft for a 3rd degree burn that was received after getting electrocuted with 277 volts. It was a near-death experience and seeing the white light was a life changing event. That happened on Monday, December 26, 1994, at the DIC Entertainment building, Burbank, CA. It took me seven months to recover from that accident. This only reinforced my disdain for Monday’s.
Decades after an injury, the scar will always remind us of the time and the place and the physical pain we endured when we think about them even though they have been long healed. Painful events always stick with you like that.
Granted, not all scars are physical; we all carry an unseen scar or two. These are the scars that run much deeper than human flesh and bone and go directly to our soul and are often more painful than their physical counterpart. We all have these. Life requires this of us.
Ultimately, our scars tell the authentic stories of our lives.
I’m a bit old, weathered, and rusty in a few spots. My engine leaks some oil, and my transmission leaks some fluid – but fortunately not enough to be considered an environmental hazard…yet. My windows and sunroof leak too and let some of the rain in which makes for a dank smell. I definitely need some air freshener. My gas gauge no longer works. I’m hard to start sometimes and even harder to push, so it’s best not to let me run out of gas or let my battery go dead. But back in the eighties, I was the ride that everyone wanted for their special occasion, and I fetched a princely sum for my services.
Back in 1988 I was purchased new as a Town Car but then I was stretched out at Krystal Koach Limousine in Anaheim Hills, CA. I still wear my oxidized badge with pride.
In my prime, I was complimented on my smooth ride and luxurious interior appointments complete with sunroof, crystal, leather, faux wood accents, cigarette lighter and ash tray, split air conditioning, blackout tinted windows, and an entertainment center that included a color television, VHS tape player, AM/FM radio, and a cassette player. That’s how I rolled.
I’ve been to all of the iconic locations in and around the greater Los Angeles area. People took lots of pictures of me too. I’m in the background of thousands of photographs, and behind me you’ll see places like the Santa Monica pier, Disneyland, the Hollywood sign, The Forum, the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, Disney Concert Hall, the Hollywood Bowl, the Greek Theater, and the Dolby Theater on Oscar night. I don’t like to boast, but I’ve had a few Hollywood A-listers and business VIP’s riding in the back. Politicians too, but they talk too much, don’t tip well, and their entourage leave trash, cigar butts, and used condoms all over the place. The politicians always brought alcohol, hookers, and drugs.
I’ve also been seen on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, the Miracle Mile, all up and down Pacific Coast Highway from Newport Beach to Malibu, the Sunset Strip, and Mulholland Drive.
I’ve been out on countless prom nights, weddings, mitzvah’s, girls night out, guys night out, bachelor and bachelorette parties, concerts, and movie premiers. My favorite ride was when a young couple hired me so they could bring their baby home from the hospital in style. Very classy, indeed!
I’ve also been hired many times to rendezvous with a love interest to take them out to a fancy dinner at many of the Beverly Hills and Los Angeles area hotspots of the era like Lawry’s The Prime Rib, Chasen’s, The Palm, and Spago.
There have been copious amounts of booze, cocaine, champagne, quaaludes, and weed consumed in the spacious seating area in the back over the years. There’s still an empty champagne bottle rolling around in the back somewhere that my owner hasn’t found yet. Makes him crazy.
Oh, did I forget to mention the vast amount of sexual activity in the back? I’m talking about steamy, fog-up-the-windows sex! Apparently, I make people quite horny. Heterosexual couples, homosexual couples, and sometimes even group sex. One night while I was driving down the Sunset Strip, a woman performed fellatio on a man while he was standing up through the sunroof taking in all of the city lights.
There was another crazy night when a bunch of porn stars from the various adult film studios in Chatsworth, CA, hired me for an event at the Los Angeles Convention Center. Talk about debauchery! Someone even brought a briefcase full of sex toys. There was so much sexual activity in the back that I thought I had a flat tire. Wild!
Facing the harsh reality of my future, I know I’ll eventually end up in a junk yard in the desert, or in a car crusher, or shredded to bits in a massive industrial shredding machine.
But I wouldn’t mind if my last drive was a jump across a river in a TV show or a nosedive fall from a high cliff in a Hollywood movie, you know, go out in style.
Maybe I’m not cool anymore, but back in the day I was the ride. It was a good life and I have zero regrets.
I was born at L.A. County General Hospital and have lived around the Los Angeles area for almost my entire life, mostly in the San Fernando Valley. I took my written exam and driving test at the DMV office at the corner of Vanowen Street and Kester Avenue in Van Nuys when I turned eighteen way back in 1979. In other words, most of my driving experience is in the greater Los Angeles area, so I’m writing about this from firsthand experience.
Granted, I was guilty of doing all of the dumbass things that young new driver’s do like speeding, burnouts, racing on Mulholland Drive, and pulling a Rockford or two. But I grew out of it quickly after getting too many citations. It also didn’t help that I didn’t go to court on a couple of them because I knew I was going to have to pay a fine and didn’t have any money. Getting arrested for an FTA (failure to appear) after getting pulled over for another driving violation is not the way to impress your girlfriend passenger. After that, I decided that I’d rather keep my hard-earned money in my pocket as opposed to writing fat checks to the government for ridiculously high fines for moving violations.
Maybe I’m being foolish here, but it is assumed that everyone driving a car or riding a motorcycle in L.A. also possesses a valid California Class C driver’s license or a California M1 motorcycle license which means that they read and studied the CA Driver’s Handbook and passed both the written exam and the driving test or motorcycle skills test. This implies that they know what the actual rules of the road are. But alas, being a regular driver, walker, and cyclist here in L.A., I feel that my life is in constant danger because there are so many terrible, inattentive, discourteous, a-holes in cars and on motorcycles. You know who you are.
I’ve also spent countless hours being stuck in traffic so thick on the I-405 on the west side of Los Angeles, that I could walk to LAX over the roofs of the cars faster than driving to it. Ironically, slow, thick traffic like this does not discourage L.A. drivers from being incredibly rude, reckless, and absolutely dangerous even at snail’s pace speeds.
An Implied Mutual Trust Blown to Smithereens
The vehicle code was developed to make people aware of the law and what their personal responsibilities are as a driver or motorcyclist. So, it is assumed that if I have a driver’s license and you have a driver’s license that were both issued by the same state, we mutually know what the rules of the road are within that state and therefore there is a baked in default level of implied mutual trust in the system. For example, I trust that you know that it is illegal to run through a red stop light and you trust that I know the exact same thing. You cannot claim ignorance about this sort of thing because it is part and parcel of the driver’s handbook. The roads are much safer this way, right? Right! But here in L.A., I see drivers and motorcyclists constantly running red lights, and regularly speeding to do it – especially the left-hand arrow turns. This blatant disregard of the law obliterates the implied mutual trust, is extremely dangerous, and can have fatal consequences. Knock it off.
Lack of Turn Signals
These are used to inform other drivers around you of your intention of changing lanes or turning right or turning left. They have been mandatory on cars since 1967, so unless you’re driving a classic car that requires hand signals, your car has them. Turn signals are really easy to use too: You stick out a finger on your left hand and move the little lever sticking out of the steering column up to indicate a right-hand turn or move the little lever down to indicate a left-hand turn. So simple. As a fellow driver, I appreciate knowing which direction you are intending to go so that I can anticipate any directional changes that I may need to make or any braking that I may need to apply to prevent a collision with your presumably cherished Tesla, you know, all in the name of safety.
Unfortunately, the vast majority of you either find turn signals too difficult to operate, or aren’t aware of how they actually work, or entirely forgot about California Vehicle Code 22108, which requires all drivers to signal at least 100 feet prior to making a turn or changing lanes. Or maybe it’s really because you just don’t care about being a safe, courteous, and mindful driver and would rather live your life as a rude, selfish, asinine jerk who doesn’t mind it when people flip you the bird. Please, be nice and use the lever thingy. Thank you.
Incessant Speeding
Prima facie speed limit signs be damned – I’ll drive as fast as I f-ing want! This appears to be the default attitude of many L.A. drivers and motorcyclists. I’m not exactly sure why, but I’m thinking that this is because so many people here in L.A. have their heads up their rectum and can’t see the road signs. Or maybe they watched too many Fast and Furious movies and forgot that they were fiction. My experience is that if the posted speed limit is 45-MPH, everyone is driving 55-MPH…or faster. But there are always those drivers that must go faster than everyone else even when everyone else is already blatantly speeding. These are the drivers that are always involved in those horrific crashes that are covered on the local television news. People get hurt or killed because of them. Private and public property are damaged or destroyed because of them. Sometimes the speeding driver gets killed too which is maybe Darwinism at work and I’m actually okay with that because it’s better that they are off the road anyway. Please slow down for the sake of everyone around you – the life you save may be your own.
Stop Signs & Limit Lines
Stop. This is a word that we learn at a very early age. I won’t bore you with the multitude of dictionary definitions of the word itself, but everyone knows what stop actually means…that is, with the exception of L.A. drivers of course. I certainly do know that there is no other way to interpret the word stop: You either stop or you don’t. The lack of the stopping at the limit line is exceptionally dangerous for walkers and cyclists. For the sake of public safety, just take a few seconds to stop like you’re required to do. Thanks in advance.
Limit lines – also referred to as stop lines – are not optional. Per California Code, Vehicle Code – VEH § 22450:
(a) The driver of any vehicle approaching a stop sign at the entrance to, or within, an intersection shall stop at a limit line, if marked, otherwise before entering the crosswalk on the near side of the intersection.
Legally speaking, the word shall is an imperative command, usually indicating that certain actions are mandatory, and not permissive. Seems crystal clear to me. Then again, California invented the California Roll. I’m not writing about sushi here; I’m writing about a rolling “stop” when a driver does not come to a complete stop at a stop sign and rolls right through, so there’s that. As a regular walker in my neighborhood, why do I have to keep my head on a swivel to avoid getting run over in a crosswalk because nobody actually stops to save like 2-seconds of their time? Maybe they should keep in mind that a car is a deadly weapon, and they might hurt or kill someone by disregarding the law. Delivery drivers are the worst offenders of this – I’m talking to you DHL, Amazon, UPS, FedEX, DoorDash, UberEats and PostMates drivers. Try paying attention to the goddamn law for a change!
Mobile Phones & Other Electronic Distractions
The bane of all banes. Texting, Instagramming, Facebooking, watching cat videos, TV shows, full-length movies, and likely some pornography while driving a 2-ton vehicle is ludicrous. Eyes should be on the road in front of you – not on the screen of you darling iOS or Android powered handheld device you’re clutching in your hand. Aside from being an illegal activity while operating a motor vehicle, the distraction level is akin to that of a naked person walking in front of you: For whatever human psychological reason, you just can’t take your eyes off of them, warts, and all.
It used to be that the radio was the primary distraction while driving followed perhaps by lighting a cigarette. Nowadays, the radio has been replaced by streaming music on your phone via Bluetooth and cigarettes have been replaced with vaporizers, of which I am never certain if what is being vaporized is actually a tobacco or a cannabis product. As far as I’m concerned, smoking cannabis while driving is no different than cracking open a beer and drinking it while driving – either way, you are driving under the influence which makes you a far more dangerous driver. This also makes me wonder about how many people are driving under the influence of pharmaceutical drugs which may explain much of the problem. Regardless, your responsibility as a driver of a motor vehicle is to be safe, not high, so try focusing on that, please.
Tailgating
Why is tailgating even a thing? Unless you’re a NASCAR or F1 driver drafting the car in front of you to get an edge, there’s absolutely no point. Also, rear-end collisions are the most frequent type of car crash, so why would you want to increase the chances of crashing your presumably favorite, often expensive car into mine by decreasing the time to react? Also, I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to pay a $1,000 deductible so there is that little financial consideration. Tailgating is entirely reckless, extremely dangerous, and can easily be avoided; all you need to do is…back the hell off. Why not use the one car-length per 10-miles of speed rule or the 3-seconds behind the car in front of you rule? This is not a difficult thing to do. Try it!
If I’m stuck in thick traffic and can’t see the front license plate of your car in my rear-view mirror, you are maybe a little bit too close. If I can count the dead insects on your front grille, you are absolutely too close. But in L.A., this happens at 80-MPH. Being so close at that speed you might as well get in my car so we can use the carpool lane and save a little commute time. On the other hand, you may be the recipient of a random brake check which will evaluate your reflex time and put your bad little tailgating habit to the test and potentially give me the opportunity to call Larry H. Parker. Please be courteous and allow me and everyone else on the road some needed space. Thank you.
Car Clubs
Mulholland Drive, Pacific Coast Highway, Kanan Road, and Malibu Canyon are typical weekend car club takeovers where I live. It’s a collective circle jerk. They use the power of numbers to intimidate…and they know they’ll get away with it.
If you’re some poor soul driving along one of these roads and minding the speed limit and a Subaru WRX car club comes up behind you, you will get tailgated, flashing lights, and as-close-as-possible illegal passing over a double solid yellow line often on a curve. If you’re a cyclist, this is the most terrifying and dangerous situation that you can imagine. C’mon, people; you know that public roads are not for racing – how about maybe taking your car club to the track instead of endangering everyone else on the road? Cool it with the juvenile Ricky Road Racer attitude and stop pretending you are a professional race driver (you’re not even close) on public roads and take it to the track where you can really test your mettle while also keeping other motorists safe.
Motorcycle Clubs
These guys have a similar attitude to the car clubs with the takeovers and intimidation tactics but zip by at even higher speeds.
Generally speaking, the motorcycle clubs break out into two distinct groups: Imported and domestic.
The two groups have very different riding styles too. The import guys are always going as fast as possible, usually in single file, often sliding out and crashing when they push the envelope too far. One day while I was climbing Glendora Mountain Road (GMR) on my road bike with my wife and some friends, a guy on a Yamaha YZF was coming down much too fast and slid out across lanes on a hard right turn directly in front of us – almost taking out the front cyclists in our group – and hit the concrete K-Rail on the opposite side which stopped him from descending a hundred feet off a cliff edge which would likely have been fatal. His riding bros all stopped and blocked traffic going up and down GMR, including us cyclists which was completely unnecessary. Fortunately, the rider limped away, but his Yamaha was unrideable. SLOW THE HELL DOWN, BOYS!
And now we come to the Harley Bros, the most obnoxious motorcycle riding group of them all. Typically, these are a bunch of fattish middle-aged men with graying pedophile goatees clad in black leather vests with a club name on the back like Sofa King Phat, or Weasels on Wheels, wearing those stupid ugly black Nazi-light (or is it Darth Vader-light?) looking helmets, and riding side-by-side on a narrow two-lane road and making as much noise as possible with their garish BarcaLounger sized $50K V-twin noise making machines complete with cup holders for their skinny organic milk fair trade lattes or Bud Light beer cans. It’s a let’s pretend we’re one-percenters kind of thing, and these guys apparently really hate cyclists. I say this from personal experience.
Maybe the Harley Bros don’t know this, but per California Vehicle Code 2176 – effective since September 16, 2014 mind you:
California law requires at least three feet of clearance when passing a bicyclist on the road. When three feet is not possible, the driver of the motor vehicle shall slow to a reasonable and prudent speed and pass only when doing so would not endanger the safety of the bicyclists, taking into account the size and speed of the motor vehicle and bicycle, traffic conditions, weather, visibility, and surface and width of roadway. Failing to do so can incur a fine, regardless of a collision or not.
Then again, maybe I’m wrong to assume the Harley Bros can actually read or can approximate three feet of clearance. Bros, here’s a clue; it is approximately the distance from the center of your chest to your fingertips, give or take a little for the girth of the individual, who is often expanded due to how much beer the Harley Bro guzzled down that morning.
This law also seems crystal clear to me, but three feet of clearance is apparently lost on the Bros. I’ve been run off the road too many times. I’ve been intentionally passed within inches of a Harley handlebar striking the left-hand side of my road bike drop bars. The Harley Bro specialty is cracking their throttles wide-open (to a noise level definitely far above the CA legal maximum decibel level of 80dbA) when they are right next to you as they speed by, making you flinch by reflex while also making your ears ring. I would think that a cyclist would get a little bit more respect than that being that we are also on two wheels and don’t have any significant protection other than our helmets. Nope. We’re apparently intentional targets of the Bros.
Oh, and most of these drivers and motorcycle riders I’m referring to here are male. Guys: You can do better than this. Harley Bros: Knock it off with the land pirate cosplay caca del toro already and behave yourselves. Car club drivers: Take it to the track. Thanks a lot. Kisses!
A Special Mention Goes Out to the Arrogant Prius and Tesla Drivers
I’m just going to come right out and ask; why are you all a bunch of arrogant, self-righteous jerks? Driving one of these car models does not give you license to drive like an a-hole.
Aside from being guilty of all of the bad driving habits listed above, weaving in and out of lanes and cutting people off, passing cars from the right-hand turn lane, driving 65 in a 35, and driving in the HOV lane with a single passenger and no CAV (clean air vehicle) tags from the CA DMV on your bumper is how you raise the ire of the law-abiding drivers around you that are flipping you off.
You Prius drivers regularly going exactly 65-MPH in the fast lane while all of the other traffic is zipping around you at 75-MPH is an obvious sign that you are both a road hazard and possess zero situational awareness. Either move over to the slow lane with the cement trucks where you belong or get off the freeway and take the side streets. Or maybe just sell your super ugly car and get a bus pass and take public transportation instead.
I don’t know what’s going on with the Tesla drivers, but you are either driving 65-MPH like the idiotic Prius drivers or you’re driving 95-MPH like the boneheads in the car clubs. I don’t understand the reason for this, but you are dangerous either way. Why don’t you just go with the flow? I mean, with all of those fancy electronics and sensors and sonar and radar installed in your Tesla it can probably drive itself better than you can, so maybe try autopilot. On the other hand, one just has to be somewhat reasonable and possess a modicum of situational awareness to be a safe, courteous driver that doesn’t want to make fellow drivers angry or endanger anyone with their assortment of bad driving habits. Why don’t you give that courteous thing a try?
And no, Barney, you really are not special; you are just one the many sheeple living and driving in Los Angeles that think you are cool in your HEV, PHEV or flashy BEV car when you’re actually not.
Try something new: How about trying not to drive like an a-hole for a day or two or maybe even forever?
Has anyone noticed the overuse of hand gestures when people are speaking in public these days? I personally find them a major distraction and it has really gotten out of control.
CEO’s, politicians, people in academia, vloggers, and law enforcement spokespersons all come to mind. Some gestures are subtle, for example, people who put their fingertips together as if they are contemplating something serious and they generally move their hands in tandem while they are talking. Less subtle are the ones that wave their hands around and move their arms about like a classical music conductor from Budapest.
The worst offenders are the ones that look as if they are holding an invisible basketball between their hands and move their hands at the same syllabic cadence as their speaking pattern. It is as if eve·ry sin·gle syl·la·ble that spills out of their mouths are of utmost importance and MUST be emphasized. They don’t. It’s silly and looks like it’s a modern-day riff of follow the bouncing ball from Sing Along with Mitch circa 1961. So, am I supposed to follow along with the hand gestures and get seasick or am I to look at the face of the speaker? It can’t be both.
Maybe the speakers do it because there isn’t much content in their speeches, so they feel the need to make it more of a visual performance. Maybe it’s because the speaker has ADHD and needs to do something with their hands because they can’t use their fidget spinner while speaking to the general public which, coincidentally, would also signal to the audience that they are very uncomfortable and potentially untrustworthy. Or maybe it’s because some psychologist du-jour wrote a book about how hand gestures can indicate a level of confidence, passion, or expertise, or that the lack thereof indicates that you are not trustworthy or are indifferent. And since hand gestures fall under the larger category of body language, there’s just too much to unpack there.
Is it not okay to just not flail around when speaking in public these days? My opinion is that speaking in public does not need to be a form of visual entertainment; it just needs to be clear messaging whether it be a press conference or a commencement speech or a quarterly sales report in front of shareholders.
I do think I have a solution: Make lecterns and podiums mandatory for public speaking. Think about it. At the very least, they give the speaker somewhere to put their hands instead of waving them around like they are conjuring up a spell from the underworld. They are also useful for hard copies of the speech, you know, in case your i-something electronics fail, and they are also a handy place to slap on a logo because branding is so important these days! Remember to include the QR code to your organization and the Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter – er, make that X – accounts too! You don’t want to miss out on picking up a bunch of new trolls, um, followers, right? Right!
Now, I’m not asking public speakers to put their hands in their pockets either, that would definitely look ridiculous. I’m just asking for a little bit less emphasis of the moving of the hands all of the time and a little more emphasis on the content – just be honest to your audience.
On the other hand, universal hand gestures (including the offensive ones!) are always welcome because they speak truth.
msnarky 