Steve Jobs in Santa Monica

The alert bell jangled on October 5, 2011. The sound, I knew, was breaking news delivered to my iPhone via the New York Times app. The screen read, "Steve Jobs, Apple Co-Founder Dead". Like many millions of others, I read about the death of Steve Jobs on an Apple device. I gasped, "No..." and wept. I don't remember ever crying over the death of a CEO before.  I was caught off guard by my reaction.  I knew Steve Jobs was battling cancer but I was shocked, felt a deep sense of loss and cried. I wanted to visit the Santa Monica Apple store. I knew instinctively I'd find fellow mourners with whom I could cry and wonder aloud how such a brilliant man, leading innovator in personal computing, music and animated film industries could be beaten by cancer.  He just seemed bigger than a disease that so voraciously vanquishes the lives of less accomplished mortals.

I bought my first Apple product in 1984 and have been an unabashed Apple fan ever since. I admire the clean simplicity of Apple products even if I don't understand or utilize even half of any devices' capability.  Most of all I admired that Steve Jobs wanted to change the world and he did. I admired Steve Jobs unconditionally -- flaws and all.  I needed to find my own personal way to say thank you and goodbye. 


It took me four days to stop crying, gather myself and organize my day so I could take time away from work. On October 9th I printed the photo from the Apple web site and scribbled, "Thank you, Steve Jobs for the difference you made in my life through your life's work." Around 2 PM I began the nine-block walk to the Santa Monica Apple store, 5" x 7" note in hand, intending to leave it on the sidewalk in front of the store where I expected to find a spontaneous memorial of flowers, notes and apples.
  
What I didn't expect was this:

Santa Monica Apple Store tribute/memorial to Steve Jobs 

The Warhol-esque, three-panel vision of a larger-than-life Steve Jobs rested against the Apple store's front window.  Each panel was about four feet tall by three feet wide. The canvases were striking, poignant and quietly powerful. There was something so cathartic, so right about the art work -- I conjured the memory of John Lennon, Steve Jobs and Beatles' music.  There were flower bouquets, single roses, candles, cards and apples with a single bite taken from side like the iconic Apple logo. It was a magical memorial.  


I placed my note at the base of the left hand screen next to a generous bouquet. Many notes read simply, "Thank you."  Like me, several people in the quiet crowd around the memorial read the notes, stood in silent reverie, left something behind and took photos. I'm still moved by the show of affection for a man I'm sure none of us who visited the store that day ever met.  


After I placed my note, I entered the Apple store and asked the young man who'd helped me solve an ITunes problem, if one of the store employees painted the art work.  He said no, and none of the employees knew anything about it. It had been left anonymously and was there when the first employees arrived to open the store that morning, Oct. 9th.  


I haven't returned to the store since, so I don't know if the artist returned to reclaim the canvases or if the memorial is still there.  I may go visit the store again tomorrow, November 9, a month after my visit and ask if anyone knows any more about the art.  

Will Fins Ever Return?

I love classic cars.  Actually, I love cars even before they become classic or antique.  If I could figure out how to do it, I'd drive a different car ever week. I'd love to be involved in designing cars inside out.  Of course I rarely drive now because I can walk almost everywhere I need to go because I was so lucky to live where I live in Santa Monica -- less than a mile from the Santa Monica Pier, the Santa Monica Promenade, Santa Monica College, blocks from the city library, Farmer's Market, dry cleaners, art galleries, delicious restaurants, movies, groceries, dry cleaners, wine market -- but I digress.


I saw this car in an alley off Wilshire Blvd. and 11th (thereabouts) and had to stop to look at it.

The car was in the shadows so the photos aren't very good, but as I got closer to the car and my smile got wider and wider, I just had to whip out my iPhone to take pics.  The owner was just returning to the car as I took the second of a series of photos.  I told him I write a blog about (other things) things I see in Santa Monica and asked if it was okay to include photos of his car.  He sweetly agreed even though I was delaying his departure he patiently waited for me to finish taking photos.  I should have taken a photo of him in the car.  Dang.  Next time. Then he thanked ME for admiring his car!  Isn't that sweet?  I thanked him for maintaining this beauty so meticulously for others to admire and ogle.  It's history on wheels.

Is this what's known as a land shark?  I found myself wondering we'll ever see fins on cars again.  I'm not sure what they did -- other than look sleek and scary -- and I'll bet there are tons of reasons they'll never return because most cars today are about functionality and fuel consumption (nothing wrong with that).  This car, which I think is a 1960ish Plymouth Fury just delighted me.  It came from an era of cars with fins and I remember when they were new on the road.  In my pre-teen mind there seemed like a relationship between fin size and pocket book.  Nevertheless,  I love the gender bending design elements of pointy fins and curvy bits (especially the steering wheel) all in one car.  

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the steering wheel. I know, no air bags, no padded dash, no cd or cassette player, no GPS and no iPod connector. Still, there's a wonderful quality of elegant lines, angles.

The gauge display is awesome. When this car was new it must have felt like driving in a "Star Trek" episode. Note the absence of seat belts. I wonder how the engine does on unleaded gas.

 

They are irreplaceable.

Firefighters have always been heroes in my eyes. I don't have any friends who are firefighters but I've met a few and they have uniformly impressed me and not because of their well-pressed uniforms. The few I've met have been disciplined, fit, funny, professional and interesting. Every year California has wild fires and the lives of firefighters are lost while almost no human life is lost. Firefighters are called to gear up and run into a dragon's mouth of fire the size of some of this country's most modest-sized states. They may be scared or not -- I don't know -- but they don't hesitate. They go when called. I'm not sure my parents would run into a burning house to save me but I know a firefighter would and perhaps die in the effort. This is a small part of why I love and admire firefighters.

Of all the tax dollars I pay, what is spent to equip, protect, fund and otherwise support firefighters is worth EVERY single penny (I don't mean to omit peace officers but this blog isn't about them today). The return on the tax dollar is excellent value especially given that this state's government will not resolve the perpetual wildfire hazard that afflicts California.

I extend my deepest condolences to the families of Fire Capt. Ted Hall and Specialist Arnaldo Quinones, firefighters who lost their lives on their way to a raging conflagration. Bless the firefighters, and bless their families who bare the deepest brunt of the loss. It is so hard to lose these irreplaceable angels of the community.