Freeway Rescue in the Slow Lane

A colleague spotted a young man with a gas can who was heading toward a disabled car on the Foothill Freeway--on a skateboard. I presume it was the owner of the car and not someone from the Auto Club.

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OOPS! A local physician tipped me to a survey form for an allergy medicine from Pfizer Inc. that included a phone number for patients to call. The problem is, if patients dialed that number, they would reach someone who began, “You like your women hot. . . .” It’s a porn line--more concerned with bare than itchy skin.

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DINING GUIDE FOR THE ADVENTUROUS: Vivian Krug-Hotchkiss of Manhattan Beach came upon a restaurant that has a $100 split plate charge (especially odd considering that its most expensive item seems to be a $10.95 grilled shrimp).

Andrea Calhoun of Santa Monica found what must be a salty dessert--”tripe-dipped” macadamia nuts. Joan Kraus of Rancho Palos Verdes noticed some “candys” that may have been bourbon-dipped. And Shatto Light of L.A. photographed a “Pez” dispenser that bragged about its non-sale (see accompanying).

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NO TIME FOR STATUS SYMBOLS: Ken Zimmerman of Huntington Beach couldn’t work up much sympathy for the 30-ish panhandler he encountered the other day. Explained Zimmerman: “He was wearing a USC sweatshirt.”

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RARE RECITAL: I was sad to hear of the death in Long Beach of singer Will (Dub) Jones of the Coasters. When I read that it was Jones who intoned the most memorable line on the hit, “Charlie Brown” (1959), I thought back to that period of my life at Palms Junior High in West L.A.

One of my classmates was Jerry something, a mysterious character who wore bell-bottom pants as well as a perpetual sneer and hung out with nobody. I’d never heard him speak. Then, one morning in homeroom, Jerry stood up and broke the silence by reciting Dub Jones’ line: “Why’s everybody always pickin’ on me?”

Our teacher looked up from his reading, momentarily stunned. But, seeing Jerry fall back into his seat (and his usual lethargy), he let it pass.

Jerry was no Dub Jones, but I gave him credit for having the nerve to perform a cappella. It was the only contribution I ever heard him make in class.

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SASSING THE SOUTHLAND: The Super Bowl telecast was in many ways a trying experience for Southern California. There were the ungracious words from Rams owner Georgia Frontiere about how the victory proved “that we did the right thing in going to St. Louis.”

And, before that, there were the hostile commercials.

A Britannica.com ad posed several questions on the screen, including one referring to the former homes of the Rams and Tennessee Titans: “How do L.A. and Houston fans feel now?” (Not sure how Anaheim should feel about being left out of the question.)

And an ad for what appeared to be hot pepper sauce--with Super Bowl ads it isn’t always easy to identify the sponsor--showed a meteor crashing into downtown L.A.

There they go again, everybody pickin’ on L.A.

miscelLAny:

“My daughter, Maia, was driving as we passed the misspelled sign,” wrote Fred Heiss of Malibu, referring to an entrance sign to Pacific Coast Highway that warns traffic is “conjested.”

Continued Heiss: “She didn’t see it and I asked her how to spell ‘congested.’ Without missing a beat she replied, ‘PCH.’ ”

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Steve Harvey can be reached at (800) LATIMES, Ext. 77083, by fax at (213) 237-4712, by mail at Metro, L.A. Times, Times Mirror Square, L.A. 90053 and by e-mail at steve.harvey@latimes.com