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Steve Lopez |
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It's almost 8 a.m. on 111th Street in Watts, and here's a scene that could make a cynic faint:
Escondido City Councilman Sam Abed said sure, he'd be happy to meet with me and explain how an immigrant became such an immigration hard-liner.
Way back in my cub days at the Oakland Tribune, the paper I read growing up, I learned to check the bulletin board every day to see who the owner was. We had four of them in six years, and a wise man would have known then to leave journalism for dry-cleaning, embalming, clam-digging, anything with a brighter future.
The first half of the season has been a yawn, and some of the biggest sluggers in the lineup have holes in their bats. But one time-tested veteran swings for the fences and hits a home run every night at Dodger Stadium.
History is not on his side.
The sun cast golden light across the metropolis, flowers overflowed baskets hanging from every post, people by the thousand strolled through massive parks or sunbathed on sandy beaches, enjoying public spaces with little or no trash, graffiti or homeless encampments.
The sun cast golden light across the metropolis, flowers overflowed baskets hanging from every post, people by the thousands strolled through massive parks or sunbathed on sandy beaches, enjoying public spaces with little or no trash, graffiti or homeless encampments.
I'm not going to claim otherwise. I'm angry.
On occasion and for no particular reason, I break into song. But my crooning has been considerably less enjoyable for me and my family since we met Jamie Offenbach, a Juilliard-trained opera singer who often marches into our house in mid-performance.
Readers send me handwritten letters, and lots of e-mails, too, about a cruel reality none of us wants to think about: our inescapable mortality.
