February 23, 2003

Part VI - My SLO "Girlfriend" - Donny Laing 1952-1984

I'm not sure where Donny and Yvette actually first met, but I'm confident that she was immediately attracted to my old friend and  he saw that as a duel opportunity. 

He, of course, had Jules as a girlfriend, but she was conveniently in Santa Barbara at school during the week.  And with Jules, there was a zero-tolerance policy with any competition.  Don's perpetually bruised upper arm served as evidence that her policy was strictly enforced.  A simple glance in the wrong direction would evoke instant punishment.

Yvette was one of hundreds of Pacific Coast migrating kids who did whatever she had to merely to survive.  The migration along the Pacific was straightforward:  head south for the winter and maybe up to Seattle for the summer and have as much fun as you can in the process.

Mostly she worked as a waitress when she had to work.  But as I found out early, she did not care for structured work at all.  Her life was geared to "party."

She drove one of those VW "squarebacks" -- I can't recall what they were actually called and you just don't see them on the road anymore.  It was a faded rusty orange with a cracked windshield and bad muffler.  All her possessions were stuffed inside, sleeping bag included, with hardly room for a passenger.

She preferred not to drive anyway, as she claimed to have too many warrants out on her.  This proved to be true as Donny later bailed her out of SLO county jail.  He was there for her from start to finish. The VW was simply storage, housing if needed and a get-out-of-town vehicle if it was time to move on.

When I got the call in LA from Donny to get back to SLO right away, it was not so much for my sake as it was to get him out of a potential bind.  He had just both hired Yvette to work in his boatyard entourage AND invited her to stay at the bungalow.  Had Jules known this at the time, far more than his upper arm would have been bruised.

I left Palos Verdes late Sunday morning after reviewing the classifieds in the Times.  That newspaper was my only viable link to returning to a normal job -- something I'm not sure that I wanted, but knew I would eventually need.  I took the 405 through the South Bay and drove to the 101 in the Valley which was much faster than Pac Coast Highway.

I arrived about six that evening and the party of two was already in full swing.  There was no plan in Don's mind of an introduction, first and second date and maybe see if there's a mutual interest.  Don simply said, to my horror, " 'Vette, this is Mike, and he's my best friend.  While you're staying with us, he's going to take care of you and you're going to take care of him."  All Yvette had to say, as if she knew this was coming was "Cool -- Mike, what kind of beer do you drink?"

I'm sure in Don's mind, he had solved the "couple issue."  When Jules was around and Crazy Dan and Ralph were over with their girl friends, I could now be at ease -- like that even remotely bothered me.  Well Don's intentions were good --  he housed and hired a drifter, found his buddy a girl and brought his clients some cheap labor to handle a bunch of low-skilled jobs that would otherwise cost them far more.

By eleven that night and numerous beers later, I got to know 'Vette well enough to find, although streetwise and tough, she also had a brain and a plan.  She had been through hell as a kid and was going to do something great with her life in spite of her past.

 She sensed immediately that I was "no jerk" and although lacking the charismatic appeal of Donny, by late evening I was categorized as a "cool guy."  She was intrigued that I lived in LA and worked on the space shuttle  -- a claim none of the migrating coastal males could hardly make or even make up.

It proved to be a fun and relaxing evening until Don shut off the stereo and blurted out that he was going to bed.  A moment of panic struck us both.  I reassured her that she was "safe" here tonight.  Yet her initial attraction was to Donny and when I got back from the bathroom she had snuck into Donny's bedroom.  Don, of course, was instantly asleep -- after a night of drinking, he had that ability!

Just as well, I thought, as neither of us was ready for this -- although being male, I was disappointed.  Finally just drifting off to sleep myself, I am startled awake by a booming yell, "GET OUT OF HERE -- JULES MIGHT COME HOME!"

Like a young puppy caught being bad, the young blonde obediently drifts back into my room.  Nothing is said but I put my arms around her and it feels just wonderful.  Sure the thought of sex occurred to me, and perhaps both of us.  But a promise was made and I had already graduated from potential jerk to "cool guy" in just a few hours.  Why screw that up?  So we just drifted off to sleep together.

That morning I awoke restful and content, but with no Yvette by my side.  Did she sneak back to Donny's room?   A moment later I hear a call from the kitchen,  "Come on guys -- get up.  I made breakfast and I want to get to work." 

For the balance of my stay in San Luis Obispo, Yvette was mine.  Why, I still can't figure out.  Donny's "couple situation" was solved and she fit in with our odd crowd and proved to be a great worker.   Jules was not even upset with Yvette staying at the house, although they never became close friends.

We were certainly not in love but had great fun being together.  I recall thinking that she was a bit too wild as potential wife material anyway.  It didn't matter -- we were living for the moment and Don had fixed both of our current life problems.  That's a role he loved to play.

The guys at the boatyard loved having her around and were quite vocal in there regrets that she went home with me every night.  She could handle any crude comment from them with a jaw-dropping comeback if so required.

My concerns over my aerospace career melted away.  It was proving to be the perfect summer.

Coming next . . .  Heading south to Far Niente, The "Big" Project in Ventura.

My Sailing Days

Special - President's Day Blizzard 2003

I was home safe, in my 2nd home anyway, and I had plenty of food -- no need to go out.  But I figured as I'm stuck here and it could be for a while, why not make one quick trip to pick up a few special supplies to enjoy the blizzard.

I had a back door route to avoid that steep little hill on Amity Street.  I never took it but figured in a small town I could always find my way to Broad & Main.  No problem until I actually get to Broad & Main where a small fender-bender diverts me down the hill on Main.  With no driveways or side streets safe to turn around I do a loop that I know and head back up that long curvy hill with my truck tires spinning and close to burning rubber.

I get back on course but the light changes to red just before I get there.  I can stop and be stuck or run the red with a cop in plain view at the intersection.  I opt for ticket as all opposing traffic has yet to move.  He sees me as an easy kill.  I motion him of my intent to get into a parking lot before stopping.

This short Italian cop tells me that it wasn't even close -- like I had blatantly intended to run a light at 3 mph with him in close view.  I tell him that if I had stopped, I be stuck there and just create another incident like the one that he just cleared up. 

I was right, but he can no way acknowledge that -- he says there's too much going on to bother with the paper work and drives off.  I was right in running the red light.

I get my supplies and drive back to Broad Street thinking that the Amity Street hill going back is doable.  My truck stops dead in the snow dike that the plow did but my back tires are still on freshly plowed payment and I get out.  I don't panic knowing that the worse case is I have to walk a bit and leave my truck to be buried in the subsequent plowings.  I like my truck so that's not my first option.

I head back to the back door of Amity Street only to find a small hill just as steep and just as buried in snow.  I planned for this -- I brought a shovel and a five gallon bucket of sand!

The folks living on that intersection must have thought I was nuts.   I start shoveling two paths up the hill just wide enough for the truck.  I shovel frantically for twenty minutes and I'm just about to spread some sand on the hill for extra measure when a massive plow truck comes down the adjacent street.  I'm sure his plan was to keep going straight down that somewhat major route which would really  lock my truck into a major pile of snow.

But to my surprise he sees me with my shovel and slows to make a right on to Amity.  I wave my appreciation and head home behind him. 

I had shoveled about eight inches of snow just to get out of the driveway and about the same to get back in.  I expect there will be eight more when I finally choose to leave again.

So -- a lucky series of events after a stupid decision.  I wonder if there are snow angels?  Californian's don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about. 

February 17, 2003

I spent 11 hours getting from Piney Point on the Potomac to New Haven on the I-95 corridor during the President's Day Blizzard.  I got through New York City before the snow hit -- thank God.  Boy do I miss California!

Carbonboy’s 2nd Favorite List – Part 1

        Tufte is a professor at Yale and I would guess he once smoked a pipe.  Too bad he wasn’t teaching when George W. was there.

Given I am now spending my week-days about twenty-five miles from Yale, I should probably give him a visit.  I best first email him to let him know that I’m telling the world that he’s Carbonboy’s 2nd FAV author.  Maybe he’ll autograph my books.  I’d gladly spring for lunch.

From 1983 to 1997 he wrote the following trilogy of works: The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, Envisioning Information and Visual Explanations.  Each volume is wonderfully illustrated.  Yet instead of using hi-tech digital-age type stuff, he uses illustrations and images that were crafted from all ages.

These books are not for everyone.  Yet each time a pick up a book of his, I gain a bit of new insight into the magic of effectively creating information that flows to the brain seamlessly.