Locals and other admirers of BOB may wish to get some of the genuine valid useful attractive amusing and collectible BOB IS LOVE U.S. 39 CENT STAMPS which I have made available at Zazzle:
Tag: costamesa
The Love Van
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This vehicle loves you. In the Borders parking lot on 19th in Costa Mesa. Unfortunately the other stuff on the van was just conventional religious ranting.
Area City Totally Like Manhattan Now
A reliable source has revealed to me the following facts about the Costa Mesa City Planning Commission:
- The area around the Lab and Camp nouveau malls is now known as SOBECA for the “South on Bristol Entertainment, Culture, and Arts” district. I’m sorry if you just spewed your coffee. I’ll wait a sec here while you mop up. Okay, ready? The website for this conceit is http://www.sobeca.net/ and you’re welcome!
- West 19th Street, home to numerous carnicerias, a lawnmower repair shop, a Smart & Final,
onetwo rock ‘n’ roll bars, and a few good restaurants is now to be known as the “19 West District”. I think this weekend I’ll stop by Alejandro’s drive through and hand out corsages and/or cummerbunds to the customers that say “19 West” on them in Swarowski Crystal.
Get back in the wagon, kids, we’re going to Farrell’s
About 30% of my childhood was spent riding around in shitty beat-up station wagons going from one parking lot to another in a yellowish haze of smog. I got to relive a bit of that today because the nearby brushfires have once again turned everything yellow and a bit toxic, and I found a craptastic Chrysler Reliant K “woody” wagon in the Borders parking lot. It’s similar to the one I shot in Santa Ana before. Something about the way that smoky light hit the veneering and the frayed upholstery and the dirty glass caused me to have a Central Orange County Proustian Experience.
The rest of the shots are in this Flickr set.
West Side Story
So, the city next door to me has a half-assed thing going on where they want their police department to enforce immigration law. This is a terrible idea. It means more work for the cops, more risk to them from freaked-out illegals, and near total loss of any leads they might otherwise get from people with bad immigration status and good information. Plus, any illegal pulled over for a minor traffic violation is going to floor it and run now. And so on. This is right on the heels of the city closing the job center for day labor, as though by removing the official and clean and regulated place for workers to find work they can make the “problem” go away. Have they been to the parking lot of the Home Depot lately? Now, as they voted in the new rule for local policing, they had a demonstration and disruption at the council meeting.
Costa Mesa is a divided city. The east side is wealthy and mostly white, and the west side is poorer and mostly brown. It’s not as poor as Santa Ana, but it’s not an episode of “The O.C.” either. To put it in street terms, you can buy pot and coke in Costa Mesa but you need to go to Santa Ana for heroin. White Costa Mesa mostly dislikes the Hispanic immigrants on racial grounds and tries to hold them down and away. Brown Costa Mesa mostly just tries to hold down a job and get the kids through school.
The po’folks I know from West Costa Mesa are mostly upwardly mobile, hard-working, conservative family people. They’re in Costa Mesa because it’s the best ghetto in the county and their kids go to better schools and have less risk than in Santa Ana or points north. The only reason they’re shat on by the city government is race. In every other way they’re what that city has always been: lower middle class workers, small businesses, and middle-of-the-road Babbitt conservatism.
I noticed that the protester who was arrested calls himself “Coyoti Tezcatlipoca”. Nice. One problem I’ve noticed with the hardcore Mexican-American protest crowd is their in-your-face Mexican patriotism. When there were demonstrations near my job in L.A. about the Belmont school issue, for example, the marchers had a huge Mexican flag and waved little ones, and the Mexican national colors were everywhere. One small problem: the neighborhood was almost entirely Salvadoran, Honduran, and Guatemalan. The locals didn’t appreciate the Mexican invasion, and there were some minor dustups and a few ripped-up flags. It’s strange to see the activists making the same mistake that those in power do and equating “spanish-speaking immigrant” with “Mexican”. The best part was the (local) Salvadoran activist council walking carrying the huge Mexican flag banner. A coworker of mine at the time who was a Mexican citizen told me that story and spat in the wastebasket next to her each time she said “Salvadoran”. No love lost there.
We can’t all get along. Sorry, Rodney.
Do you bite your thumb at me, sir? (Costa Mesa mix)
There’s this Del Taco in Costa Mesa, California at Newport Boulevard and 17th Street. It’s open 24 hours a day. It’s near a couple of record stores, some bars, and CafĂ© Ruba, which is the coffee joint for unhappy teenagers.
So a lot of kids and young adults hang around this Del Taco and raise heck. It used to be a big straightedge hangout. For some reason it’s where fights happen in this town.
The drunk bro dudes at shorescrew.com have documented one pretty good Del Taco brawl for us: Del Taco Fight (page with embedded Quicktime video).
It’s almost identical to a fight I saw in fourth grade except everyone’s in their 20s and a vintage car is vandalized. Special attention to the really cool ape noises the guy in grey makes near the end of the barely visible second half of the battle.
No joy in guyville tonight
After having my fourth conversation in a week about the provincial pathos of the local music scene, I agreed tonight with Movie Dan that someone needs to make a “Waiting for Guffman”/”Spinal Tap”/”American Movie” film about the South Coast scene around Detroit Bar. What a cast: The skinny, fashionable boys in the mediocre bands, the pretty girls who sleep with them, and the armies of not-quites who end up sleeping with each other instead after the insiders reject them. What a scene: The sadness of an elite hierarchy of rock gods fifty miles south of the real thing. What a golden phrase for the whole mess: “The Costa Mesa 500”. What a lot of beer Detroit sells with this genius marketing strategy.
And of course, the people who don’t give a fuck, or as Dan said don’t even give a fuck about giving a fuck, who are just cranking out music on their own terms.
I imagine it set as the last gig of some local hot-boys-in-tight-pants band, hair dripping into their eyes. They’d lost their clothing company sponsorship maybe, or one of them got in a real band in L.A., so this was their last big hometown hurrah. They think it’s “The Last Waltz”, but you know it’s “A Mighty Wind”.
That scene deserves a good long hard sarcastic razor-born look. Some of the music is good, but every time I’m in with that bunch again I keep thinking “What the HELL are you guys going on about? You’re not all that! If you are, what the fuck are you doing in Costa Mesa?”
Missile launch
Fascinating, frightening missile launch trail I shot tonight outside D’s. When Vandenberg AFB shoots off a big rocket we get these, usually in the early evening. As a child I was terrified of them because I thought it was the beginning of a nuclear war. Now I’m just pissed off because they’re testing a dumb expensive antimissile system.
In any case, it stops everyone in their tracks for a bit to consider the huge thing in the sky we just made.
The Legend of Aquaman
He arrives in an old Suzuki Sidekick,white with pink and blue pinstripes, and strides in resplendent in a mane of dyed and teased Male Pattern Doofus, plucked eyebrows, and one of an assortment of costumes including but not limited to: captain’s hat with corncob pipe and blazer; medieval/druidic tunic and Roman strap sandals; loud blue-green aloha shirt with slacks and espadrilles; or New Age t-shirt covered in Native American imagery and/or crystal faeries.
His life is mysterious. Before Bree snapped and robbed a bank he used to talk to her a lot, but even a freaked-out Crowleyan transgendered blues singer found him too outrĂ© and would sink back into her studies of Left Hand Magick with an apologetic smile. A particular exchange I overheard one day became legendary. They were discussing movie actors and their pay, and that female stars were paid less, and he said: “Well, of course, there’s one business where the women get paid more, and that’s… [pause for effect]… [slowly and deliberately licks top teeth] poooornography.”
His nickname comes from the blue-green aloha shirt outfit, which looks like an aquarium just exploded on him.
I present to you a genuine California eccentric:
DEVELOPING… (the freeway suicide story gets weirder)
Okay, so. CORRECTION! It wasn’t Jessica Roe from “Les Hell on Heels”. It was Jessica Rowe, of Irvine. And she and her boyfriend claimed to be in Rammstein but their connection to the band is “unknown”. OC Register story below.

Camphone pic from the limo driver.



