Kitty Felde
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Dodger news mirrors fictional story
This morning's news that “certain state-owned investment institutions of the People's Republic of China'' are interested in spending money on the Dodgers sounds very familiar. Back in the '80's, David Ritz wrote a novel called "The Man Who Brought the Dodgers Back to Brooklyn." Back when he wrote it, the Dodgers were golden. But he imagined a team that fell on hard times. The stands were empty. And as I recall, a German investor offered to buy the team. A pair of die hard fans come up with a plan to bring the team back to Brooklyn, saving both the team and the borough.
There is one big difference between fiction and reality, though. In Ritz' novel, Brooklyn is at the bottom of the barrel. Today, of course, it's the hippest place to live in New York.
The book appears to be out of print, but I see there's a copy still circulating at the library.
You know you've been away from LA too long
I jaywalked. Without thinking about it, I crossed a busy street in the middle instead of walking 50 feet to the signal. What was I thinking?
It would be no problem if I was back in DC, where jaywalking is a right. I've had pedestrians swear at me and give me the finger as they dash in front of my car near the Jefferson Memorial. But here in LA, as it was me on foot, dashing in front of cars, they looked at me like I was mad. And perhaps I am.
There are other signs that my Angeleno-ness is fading away. My internal map is fuzzy. I can't remember the name of Playa del Rey. Is the Tujunga offramp off the 170 or the 101? I haven't heard of any of the hip restaurants in town. I even check the box scores for the Nats AND the Dodgers.
But jaywalking was the wakeup call. We locals have been warning out-of-towners for years about tickets handed out liberally for the offense. And yet, I didn't even notice I'd done it until an Angeleno pal pointed it out to me, shocked.
Give me a day or two and I'll remember where I am. Just in time to see you Tuesday, September 6th at 7pm in The Crawford Family Forum for KPCC's first in a series of Open Newsroom discussions: "Journalist or Vulture: covering disasters in the Southland." I'll be joined by colleagues Nick Roman, Managing Editor; and Cheryl Devall, Senior News Editor to talk about the delicate balance of covering this particular kind of news. Admission is free, but reservations are required. To RSVP, visit kpcc.org/events.
Goodnight, Irene
It was an amazing experience, this first hurricane. Or tropical storm, actually, by the time it got up here to New England. But the winds were strong enough to knock out power to a third of the state of Maine and wash out roads and bridges, isolating the communities near Rangeley Lake - an area we'd visited just Wednesday. The winds turned the placid lake outside our front door into an angry, grey-green monster with whitecaps and actual waves. Tree branches are everywhere.
But there was something thrilling about walking around in that kind of wind! Of having rain fly at you sideways. Of playing Crazy Eights by lantern. It was like a magnitude 4 earthquake - strong enough to get your heart racing, but not enough to tear your house down. Yes, there's damage and destruction in several states and more than a dozen people have died - mostly from falling tree branches. But, as one wag put it, "Like many girls before her, Irene went to NYC, hoping to be as big as she was in Carolina, only to be mocked by the locals." Or as Mainers say, "I guess fall came early."
Waiting for Irene
We've been in Maine the past two weeks on vacation. The plan was to drive south to DC on Saturday and Sunday via I-95. If that sounds familiar, it should. It's the path Hurricane Irene has been following as it travels up the east coast. And so tonight, the first rains from Irene are supposed to reach us here.
I'm a California girl. I know brush fires and mudslides and earthquakes. I don't know hurricanes. What are you supposed to do? First of all, it was impossible to think of venturing out on the road. We were told we could get a) blown off the road, b) washed away by a flash flood, c) felled by a tree or flying debri, or at the very least, d) find ourselves stranded when we run out of gas because all the gas stations are closed or without power.
So here we sit. My neighbors back in DC told me "they knew hurricanes." After all, they were from Mississippi. They promised to bring in the plants and furniture from our screened in balcony. I had visions of aluminium furniture raining down on the annoying neighbors across the way.
But I knew the most likely thing to happen both in Maine and DC was a prolonged power outage. So this afternoon, I got a new giant battery for the giant flashlight and one of those chargers that lets you uses your car's cigarette lighter spot to run the computer. Here at the cabin, the water pump runs on electricity, but if worse comes to worst, there's lake water available. We spent the afternoon helping our hosts store kayaks and securing plastic Adirondack chairs. We made soup. Our friends made muffins and pasta. We're packing up the car and driving it up to the main highway, just in case trees get blown down that would block our exit. And most all, we kept switching between CNN and The Weather Channel, just in case that massive swirl of clouds changed directions. Which doesn't look likely.
What does a hurricane feel like? Or even a tropical storm? Stay tuned.
That's where the President went
Usually, when the President leaves town, you can track his progress by the trio of large helicopters that leave the White House, travel down the Potomac, turn left at the Anacostia, and head out to Andrews Air Force Base.
Yesterday, a pair of much smaller choppers flew right over where I live. That's unusual because the airspace over Washington is off limits to most aircraft. It was also unusual because they left from Ft. McNair, two blocks down the street. And then they were followed by one of the large helicopters associated with the President. I couldn't figure out where he was going. It wasn't on the official schedule.
This morning, the mystery was solved. The President visited Dover, Delaware to meet the aircraft carrying the remains of the Navy Seals killed when their chopper went down in Afghanistan.
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