On McFadden
More here: http://flickr.com/photos/ch/
An Orange County energy drink launch party in the middle of a financial depression and a two-front war. It’s the Masque of the Tan Death.
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Ideally this van would disgorge actual bears on demand. However, it’s some kind of pre-failed service that brings mobile teddy bear parties to your location.
No, I don’t know either.
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I was a toddler, and my family had just moved into this neighborhood. I don’t think anything remains that you can see in this picture.
The Mesa Theatre is visible on the right at 19th street there.
To most people “Orange County” means my town: wealthy, white, beautiful, right-wing, vapid, with a great beach.
It’s a big place, though. There’s the most Mexican city outside Mexico itself, an entire Vietnamese town, hundreds of light industry and defense factories. There are also some very tough neighborhoods, gang wars, near-homeless poor in bad motels, skinheads, and lots of meth dealers.
Last night a 15-year-old girl was shotgunned in West Costa Mesa’s worst neighborhood. She was three miles from my house, which is in the safest reporting district in Newport. If that had happened here you’d all be seeing it on the news right now. There, it’s a squib buried in the Register.
We still have “the tracks” around here, even in Paradise. In Santa Ana it’s 17th street, and here it’s Newport Boulevard. Don’t live on the wrong side.
If you’ve protected your friend’s rapist son while you’re sheriff, given out guns to all your buddies, and got yourself indicted for corruption charges involving the same rapist’s dad, there’s nothing like a new tape showing you n-wording. Because that’s what we want in a Sheriff:
I mean, we’re bigots here, but you aren’t supposed to SAY IT LIKE THAT.
“You’re right, I’ve had a life that’s been absolutely blessed,” he tells Haidl. “I’ve met millionaires, billionaires, I’ve traveled on personal airplanes, and I never shook anybody down for any s***, so. … Not that I haven’t, you know, drank some great wine, and had great booze and … got some, you know, phenomenal (sex) along the way…”
Note the scary number in that table for the < $500K houses.
I was leaving the supermarket tonight, early, because they were about to have a power outage.
There was a teenaged kid working the door to keep people from entering, and we exchanged good nights.
There were two other young guys: one was another employee on a smoke break, and the other was a miscellaneous local kid in a hoodie and shorts. Maybe another employee, maybe note. This kid was telling jokes.
As I passed he said “Why are black people so tall? Because they’re Negroes.” I thought, well, that’s some dumb fifth grade humor.
Then, as I was walking to my car he said “How do you keep black guys out of your back yard? Hang one in the front.”
The door kid looked uncomfortable. “Hey, not when the store is open, okay.”
Hoodie Joker Kid said something I couldn’t hear. Door kid said again “Whatever when the store is closed, just you can’t do that stuff when we’re open, okay.”
Hoodie Joker says “You’re closed in five minutes. Anyway no one cares.”
I said “I care.”
The kids looked at me. Door kid was paralyzed. Smoke break kid just smoked. Hoodie said “Uh… sorry sir” in a tone that indicated a great lack of sorrow.
“Keep that shit inside of your house, dude.” I drove away.
I feel like I should have got up in the kid’s face and been loud, but I don’t know. I guess I communicated a combination of disapproval and advice. Maybe I just wanted to be loud and threatening because I was angry, and it would have been dumb.
I wonder if he’ll ever figure out that there’s a world outside Newport Beach where lynching jokes have consequences.
It put a shiver down my spine.