Militant Update: Oh Crap! It's Finally Ready...

Over a year since he first blogged about it, and
some eight months since he wrote about the last visible activity on it, the long-awaited JCDecaux automatic pay toilet at the (M) Vermont/Santa Monica Metro Red Line station is finally operational.

The Militant saw it while passing through the East Hollywood area en route to his compound this afternoon. In fact, he asked the maintenance dude on the right, "Is it ready?" and halfway through the Militant's question, he said, "Yeah, it's ready."

Let's face it, it's been a looong time since the Militant first leaked this out. He's sure that the more than 10,000 commuters who use that station daily will no longer have to hold in their enthusiasm and will no longer be as pissed-off. This thing is finally in the can, and you know when urine you're in for a treat when an urban transit amenity like that is finally ready for use. Especially people who just got off their bus or train after their daily toil. Let them have something to use that's a leg up over having no option at all. Finally the commuters who pass through the area will have room to rest. Perhaps there will be more of these in the City! It's like a movement, that's finally pushing through!

The Militant caught the rear end of the pay toilet (pictured left). Looks like a tardis of Dr. Who fame. Or rather, Dr. Loo?

So what's it like inside?

Stay tuned, loyal readers of militancy. The Militant's gonna TOFTT!

Go Retro: From Fishbeck to Fish Heads

A snippet of an Eyewitness News broadcast from 2/2/80

Oftentimes, the Militant will be up to his usual militant business, walking down the street or attending some community meeting when a sudden, a random Ghost of Los Angeles Past will haunt him, like shopping at Zody's or going on a family trip to Busch Gardens in Van Nuys. The Militant is certainly not alone, as fellow native and blogger Will Campbell (whom I may or may not have met in person) has referenced The Akron in a recent post. Nothing strikes up nostalgic joy from the natives (and confusion or disinterest from the transplants) like retro Los Angeles references. Go Retro!

Before Doppler Radar, before chroma-key and even before Dallas Raines' eternal tan, was Channel 7's colorful meteorologist Dr. George Fishbeck. He was part of KABC's all-star Eyewitness News lineup of Jerry Dunphy, Christine Lund and Dr. George Fishbeck in the '70s/early '80s -- which was the local news equivalent of the Garvey-Lopes-Russell-Cey Dodger infield. Fishbeck, wearing his trademark spectacles and bow tie, was like everybody's teacher/papa/grandpa, eloquently and passionately working in normally-dull terms like "marine layer" and "westerly winds" into our consciousness like a suspense-filled good-old campfire story. When this Militant first heard of the word "drought," Dr. George told us what it was, how it affected us and how we should conserve water, and everyone listened to him. Today, no one even comes close, not even Fritz Coleman's quasi-standup schtick.

The YouTube clip above shows an Eyewitness News broadcast from a rainy Southern California day back on February 2, 1980.

Demented Angelenos: Barnes & Barnes
This Militant's favorite Sunday night pastime back in the early-mid '80s was to tune to 94.7 KMET and listen to the Dr. Demento Show, which moved to the old 97.1 KLSX (back when they played music...) after KMET's demise into the realm of New Age and Smooth Jazz that is KTWV, which occupies that frequency today. Dr. D's show was definitely born in SoCal, having originated at KPCC-FM out of Pasadena City College before moving to the Mighty Met. The show also featured some very demented Angelenos, from the classic Felix Figueroa and His Orchestra's "Pico and Sepulveda" to Barett Hansen's gift to the world, Lynwood's own "Weird Al" Yankovic. But perhaps the most well-known and heavily played song on Dr. D's show was the abstract and absurd "Fish Heads" from Los Angeles' own Barnes and Barnes. The duo of Art and Artie Barnes (a.k.a. Robert Haimer and Bill Mumy; the latter played Will Robinson on TV's Lost In Space) who still exist today, were not only novelty music legends, but multimedia pioneers as well, having directed their own music videos years before MTV even began plotting the murder of the radio star. Their video to "Fish Heads" also features a younger Bill Paxton. Interestingly, now that fish heads are a common delicacy in various ethnic restaurants around the Southland and that cappuccino is no longer found exclusively at Italian restaurants (not to mention the word "Oriental" has since fallen out of favor when referring to a group of people), neither this song nor its video is as abstractly weird as it was back in 1979 when it was released. But it's still cool anyway.

To a world more familiar with Barnes and Noble, the Militant presents Barnes and Barnes' classic, "Fish Heads" (note the old Pan Pacific Auditorium and the Downtown Industrial District playing cameo roles):


Eat them up, yum!

Militant Update: Metro Toilet at VSM: Still Waiting
Upon learning of the new automatic pay toilet in the vicinity of the Militant's compound at Vermont Avenue and Santa Monica Boulevard, The Militant was all set with a quarter and his digital camera to leak the process of using such a contraption in the name of blogdom. But alas, some three weeks after first mentioning it on this blog, the toilet remains pretty much in the same state as it was back then, with no work crew in sight. What's holding it up? That just pisses this Militant off. To the wiz who's responsible for such a delay, you're in trouble.

The Bike Path To Summer

Although Memorial Day weekend was over a month ago, and the Summer Solstice came and went last week, for this Militant, it's not Summer until I visit the beach. Having some work responsibilities wrapped up by early afternoon, I found a unique window of opportunity to hit the coast on Thursday.

Since 1993, I've inaugurated the arrival of Summer with a ride down the 22-mile South Bay Bike Path.

Despite the beach being outside my driving ban territory, I still decided to save some gas anyway by taking advantage of Metro's new Rapid Line 704, which supposedly gets me to Santa Monica in an hour. To my dismay, the bus wasn't on time (or maybe I missed the last one?) and it wasn't a fancy red-colored bus, but rather a regular poppy-orange Metro Local with a "704 Santa Monica" headsign. Nevertheless, the bike went on the front rack, the iPod went in my ears, and I was on my way.

It did take about an hour to reach the beach, not bad. I disembarked at Colorado and started pedaling, passing the throngs of digital camera-snapping summer tourists outside iconic Santa Monica Pier sign, crossing the curiously-named Moomat Ahiko Way -- which is native American Chumash for "Breath of the Ocean" and not after some Arab-Japanese fellow as I had previously thought. Within a few minutes, I was finally on The Path.

My destination, the end of the path at Torrance County Beach was a virtually-unseen point in the distance, past the slight haze created by coastal moisture. Riding on the path during the summer is a unique experience; the sum beats down on your back and arms yet your face is cooled by the moist sea air, rewarded frequently by the delicate coastal breezes. The experience is just not the same during the winter, where it's considerably colder, and the flat, spanning aesthetic of the beach is dramatically altered by storm berms bulldozed in the sand. Yes, I can always come here in the winter, but I don't like to.

Having breezed past the Venice Boardwalk on my summer bike rides on The Path, I decided to play "tourist" and simply walk my bike along the Boardwalk (a misnomer since it's simply pavement). It was my first time on the actual Boardwalk since helping a friend visiting from Philadelphia realize her dream of rollerblading in Venice Beach a decade ago (for my newbie rollerblading ass though, it was a muscle-aching nightmare). Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be a tourist. If all I saw of Angelenos were stoned-out smelly dudes strumming guitars while selling ersatz paintings or hawking henna designs, I might not like this town all that much. Although I must report that I spotted the Silver Lake Walking Dude of all people, in all his sunburned glory, here on the Venice Boardwalk, well outside his home environs.

After Venice Beach, I got back on the bike and rode through the "street" segment of The Path, crossing one of Abbot Kinney's few surviving canals and navigating the perimeter of Marina Del Rey, finally reaching a dedicated bike path again where it junctions with the Ballona Creek Path. I think I'll shut up for now and let the pictures speak for themselves:

Gigantic crane birds (center) hang out in the Ballona Wetlands --

the last piece of land untouched since the native Tongva tribe roamed the area.

The Del Rey Lagoon, just south of Ballona Creek,
is the last vestige of a large span of marshland
that would eventually be dredged to create The Marina.

Looking back north, The El Segundo Power Plant hums and churns
while surfers ride the waves just yards away.

The surfer's monument at Hermosa Beach Pier.

The path ends here, next to the fortress-like cliffs of the Palos Verdes Peninsula.

Looking back, to think I came all this way.
Santa Monica can hardly be seen in the distance.

The sand, the surf, the foam, the kelp, the easy feeling of a
summer evening in Southern California.

When the sun sets over the Pacific...

My Summer initiation ritual is not complete without baptizing myself in the waters of the Pacific (okay, just a knee-deep wade would suffice this time), reminding me that I've completed my journey, and forming a connection to my ancestors who have similarly waded the other side. As the sun set, some music provided by the iPod orchestra completed the mood, of a day finishing off its business in this part of the world.

Now time for the journey back.

With night approaching, the environment suddenly changes, and it's not necessarily for the worse. The moist sea air embraced me like an invisible blanket, keeping me relatively warm as I speed through the cold of night. Pier lights served as decorative strings jutting out into the dark, unknown expanse of the ocean. As I raced back towards Santa Monica and the receding layer of remaining post-dusk sunlight fades into bands of orange and purple, the bonfires of Doheny State Beach formed seemed to form their own runway perpendicular to the paths of jet planes roaring above.

Come 9 p.m., in the dark, unlit expanses of Playa Del Rey, I felt like a western Pioneer navigating towards unknown territory, with only a small bike light guiding my way. Daunting, yes, but really very exciting. The full moon also provided quite a sight with its light reflecting on the waters of Ballona Creek (photo right).

But once I reached Santa Monica, the quiet solace of the beach at night ended suddenly, with the lights of the Pacific Park blaring on the Pier and throngs of people walking around both on the Path and on the sand. The energy of this beach continued as if the sun had never set. A free valet service was set up to accommodate people's bikes next to the path, and the lot was mostly full.

Navigating the Santa Monica streets by the 3rd Street Promenade, I had long left the dark, silent solitude of the beach at night and was back in the city again, waiting for the 4 bus to take my bike and my tired Militant self back home.

Yes. Summer is finally here.

When Ya Gotta Go, Go Metro!

Looks like the automatic pay toilets have hit my hood. A brand new Metro Latrine is being installed at the Metro Rail Vermont/Santa Monica station. About time, I say. Maybe the Metro Bus stop across the street won't reek of urine anymore. A week ago, the news racks were removed from the site, a rectangular hole dug out of the pavement and a large concrete base installed. When a water main was spotted protruding from the base, I knew it was Potty Time. The toilet, an off-the-shelf model by international street advertising company JCDecaux is identical to ones seen in Downtown, as well as in Frisco, Chicago and Paris.
A closer look at the pay toilet gave way to a definite nod to Los Angeles' rich diversity. Instructions on how to use the toilets are also given in German and French (pictured left), because, we all know that Los Angeles is famous for its large Deutsch- and Français- speaking immigrant communities. Oh well, it doesn't matter what race, ethnicity or nationality you are. You might be an American outside the toilet, but inside... You're-A-Peein.'