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Spy Car

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Spy Car last won the day on March 31 2023

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About Spy Car

  • Birthday May 19

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  1. Yes, the Autogrille. Seems funny to recommend a "pit stop" as a ding sport in one of the world's great culinary hot-spots, but on a trip I planned out as an adventure in eating, the Autorill was a surprise favorite. Nice for a quick bite or drink. We liked their grilled vegetable panini sandwiches. Bill
  2. I am so sorry. Through all the grief, I hope your son's memory remains a blessing to you always. Bill
  3. Here is what I truly believe. The need for you to go "outside the box" as you create these arrangements is going to unleash your creative side and they are going to be the most amazing creations to enjoy, one's not only made with love (which is enough right there), but they will be something spectacular and unique. You will slay it!!! You are the best! Bill
  4. I know you will knock it out of the park. Especially as the bride likes a "wild look." This should play to your creative spirit. Forage. Bill
  5. Speaking of drinkable yogurt, there is a style of (homemade) yogurt drink that I really enjoy. It is a Persian-style drink that's called doogh in Farsi. I first had it at a hole-in-the-wall burger place in Berkeley called "Bonzo Burger" that was next to the famous "People's Park" (of 1960s student protest notoriety) when I was a university student. I had some friends who lived in a dumpy apartment above Bonzo Burger, that was at least cheap. Bonzo Burger was run by some some Persian intellectuals/political activists who'd fled Iran during the Shah's final days and opened a burger joint to survive (which is so very "Berkeley"). Bonzo Burger was unusual in that they served lamb burgers instead of beef, which must have been bad for the bottom line as lamb was/is typically more costly that beef and many Americans don't like lamb. But I liked Bonzo Burgers. But for me the big draw was "doogh." There are many styles of doogh, with flavoring variations (such as adding various ground spices and diced fresh herbs or even things like rose water) but the basic idea is to use a couple scoops of yogurt and then thin it with sparkling water (stir gently as it tends to foam up and can create a mess if one is too vigorous). To the drink one adds mint (fresh finely diced mint is best, but dried can suffice), and salt, and fresh ground black pepper. Yes, for real, black pepper is pretty essential. Should be a bit salty. By adding some curry powder on can riff on the recipe to create a nice Indian-style salty lassi. So many possible combinations. Bill
  6. I'll be very curious to see where his cooking goes. William is wildly creative. His artwork, especially in recent years, is very expressive. And while his traditional culinary skills can be honed a little, he is not afraid of making outlandish combinations. I think he will be an out-of-the-box type of cook. It will be fun to see how that develops. Next year--really for the first time--he will be cooking for himself every day, so it should be a time of growth. Nice that your sons have those skills. I said it before, but I believe being able to prepare healthful meals is one of the keys to enjoying a good and healthful life. Bill
  7. Good job with the frog! I personally think it takes more courage to do something you know is terrifying--like sticking one's arm into a suction hole to pull out a frog--that it is to do something that you later realize was crazy dangerous w/o thinking about it in the moment. But whatever gets the good deeds done works for me. Bill
  8. Thank you for your kind words. I feel that I have been very blessed. There have been moments in this life that--despite my being a lifelong secularist--when I wonder. For example, had I a driven past that alleyway just a split second later, or a minute earlier, I would not have seen that young woman get knocked down. Where she landed would have been out of my line of sight, and I barely caught it anyway. I literally caught the incident out of the corner of my eye as i was whizzing past. Almost felt like it was "guided." I shudder to think what might have happened otherwise. I suspect that (then young woman) who must be in her early 50s now must have replayed that surreal experience over in her mind more than once over the decades. Sometimes in one's life it's nice to know one has done something good. That day I got to do a mitzvah. Bill
  9. A good refinishing company (or perhaps you guys, if you have skills) can patch in areas of damage. Especially if you have any sections you can steal perfectly matching wood, such as the insides of closets, that can be replaced with other material that comes close. Bill
  10. The weirdest part of that incident for me was that--despite the obvious danger that I did have to admit after the fact was exceeding real--I quite honestly didn't not give it a thought in the moment. It was as if instinct took over. This young woman need to be saved, and that was it. No "thinking," all "action." Later, i've read stories about people who have done similar things, run into burning buildings or other crazily dangerous things without thinking about it. Seems like a common response. And I realize it isn't "courage."Courage, to my way of thinking, is doing something even when you are scared or terrified. I was not. Just going on instinct. Sometimes I guess it is better for people not to think too much. Bill
  11. I only have the one child. My son, William. The question is funny for me, because I love to cook and do think about food and healthful (and delicious) eating is a major life value, but have never really thought in terms of carb percentages, ot things like that. I guess my goal from the time my son was young was to to inculcate a taste for real food and to avoid the overy-processed products of "food scientists." We always fed him the same things that we ate. Although he was very sensitive to picante. "Too spicy for Momo" was a family catchphrase. At 18, he's outgrown that almost singular limitation. He was always an adventurous eater. He'd, for example, eat kale because we ate kale. He didn't know any better, and his palate wasn't warped by processed "kid stuff." I remember being a little shocked when he first went to a cute little nursery school coop in our neighborhood. I think we live in a fairly enlightened place. Where most families have the means to provide their children with healthful food, and not some "food desert." But seeing the children's lunches was a bit shocking. So much "crap," and so little real food. At nearly 19, I think that eating a diet that provided a rich balance whole foods has formed a taste for real food. Sodas, and chips, and candy, and other similar items that many young people struggle with, just have never been his thing. Today William is strong, healthy, and as lean as a person can be. I think he got a good start. Next year he will have an apt on campus. This summer I want to work expanding his cooking chops. He ate dorm food this year, at a university that aims to be conscious in what they serve, but he found it pretty underwhelming. I do think that having the ability to quickly prepare fresh, wholesome, delicious, and hopefully economical food, is one of the great life skills a young person (any person) can have. Bill
  12. That post alludes to a story I once told here, but I was never able to find the original post. I do recall the telling was so "cinematic" that perhaps some people where skeptical that it really happened. But it did. In the mid-90s I was living in West LA in a very cute little Spanish style house that I was renting from a nice old guy who'd grown up in the neighborhood and had acquired a bunch of properties over the decades, starting after WWII, when he purchased a corner lot on Santa Monica and Barrington and set up (and still ran) a business that rented out tools and trucks (U-Hauls and then Ryder trucks). In his own way, he'd done very well for himself, and was certainly a multi-millionaire based on the value of all his land holdings. He was also one of those people who resisted development and many (most) of his properties still have the original (and well kept) charming little homes and compounds on them from the pre-war era. I was so fortunate. The place was so cute, affordable, and had all the charm of hardwood floors and real plaster walls that speak to my soul. We were not yet married, but Mrs Spy Car was living with me in our little Casasita. Life was grand. Our neighborhood was bustling. We had nearby movie theatres, such as the arthouse Royal theater and another famous arthouse theatre NuArt a few blocks further. Great restaurants. I helped friends open a tiny cafe called "Cacao" that is still there. Many people might think it was Santa Monica, but we were just over the border, sandwiched between Santa Monica, Brentwood to the north and Westwood to the east. Not a "dangerous" place ordinarily. Then a gang of very scary guys took up residence in my landlord's trucks, sleeping in them at night in the storage lot. I asked him at the time why he didn't have the police clear them out? He said he was a afraid. I could see why. These were very bad guys. I grew up in LA. My experiences with Mexican migrants has been almost entirely positive. Good people, who work hard, and will, always help people in a jam. When I drove an old and unreliable car in my youth, I always knew that anyone who helped me push that car out of traffic was likely to be a Mexican migrant. Let's say, I greatly admire the people and the culture. This gang was the aberration. Dangerous men. Bad guys. Very scary. They sort of hassled my future wife one day while she was heading off to work in her top-down little Suzuki Samurai, which put them immediately on my radar. Then, as few days later, I was shopping at the local Von's market, where the "security guard" was a frail old man who reminded me a bit of Don Knott's character Barney Fife on the Andy Griffith television show, only much older. This guy wasn't in the right job for his physical gifts, but people need to work to survive and I always felt for him. So I'm checking out after making a small purchase, and I see the security guard try to stop the leader of this gang. The bad guy was sort of dashing, in his own way. A bit like a Mexican Elvis. Young (younger than I) and handsome. But had the look in his eyes of a killer. No joke. So "Barney Fife" tries to stop this guy, who had been shoplifting, and "Elvis" wallops him with a hard punch to the head. I'm within 15 feet, and my brain snaps. I charge toward the guy, who sees me coming and runs. I follow in hot pursuit. I resent his relative youth and athleticism, but my adrenaline is pumping and I'm neither gain or losing ground. We run blocks down Barrington, until he cuts onto a side street, and then into an alley and back towards the truck rental yard near where it all started. Just as we hit the rental yard alley, I finally overtake him. I locked him up in bearhug. I'm exhausted, but I've got him. There are people across the boulevard (where the supermarket was) who are taking in the scene, but no one crosses over to offer support. Just then "Elvis" calls out to his hombres, who start piling of the trucks. I start getting surrounded. I hold this guy tight, pinning him with my left arm, while preparing to fight using my right. But, there were enough of them (7 or 8), that my rational mind started telling myself that fighting them all at the same time was going to be tough. And still no one was crossing over the street to offer support. So I pushed Elvis away, and slowly backed out. I was none too happy about that. The precise time frame blurs, but a day or two later I took my machete to be sharpened by this crazy old coot who did such things. I'd planted a few banana trees in my little patio and they were wildly successful. We got great bunches of a delicious variety of bananas that tasted much more "tropical" than the supermarket types, and had an almost peach-like color. Anyway, they grew like crazy and my trusty machete was just the thing to keep them trimmed, if it was sharp. Cleaning up this grove dulled the blade. I can't remember in all honesty if I was most driven to have the machete sharpened to clean up the banana trees, which need it, or the previous day's incident, or a combination of both (which is most likely). Anyway, I'm in my Isuzu Trooper (a lightweight four-door Jeep-like vehicle) driving home from having that machete sharpened, when I drive past the alley where things had gone down the day (or two) before. Out of the corner of my eye I see a young woman walking down that alley and in the split second I see the gang jump her and knock her to the ground. My mind once again snaps. "Oh no you don't," is what I'm thinking. I look at the "traffic" on this ordinarily very busy street and here is none, so I put the Trooper into a powerslide 180, slam the accelerator,and then do a hard turn into the alley. The Trooper was so light and had leaf-spring suspension (which are very "bouncy) so when I hit the driveway doing into that alley the truck launched up into the air. It truly looked (and felt like a "movie stunt"). When the Trooper landed I see the gang all looking slack jawed, like "what the hell is going on here?" I jumped up of the Trooper with machete in hand. Ready to use it is need be, but my main goal was to extricate this young woman. She is in a state of shock. I yell at her, "get in the car!" She is paralyzed with fear and can't move. The gang (once again) tries to start surrounding me, but I must have seemed certifiably insane in that moment and I wasn't fucking around. I was (again) outnumbered 7 or 8 to one, but they were the ones who seemed scared. I was not. Again, I told her to get in the car, that I was getting her out of there. This time she complied. I held the bad guys off with my machete until she was inside, then I sped out of there. Turned out she was a college student at UCLA. Our neighborhood was popular with university students and was on an easy bus route to campus. She was quite pretty. Jet black skin. African American. Had a look of nobility. I'm fairly certain they would have raped her if they'd had the time, but mercifully they did not. This poor girl was shaking like a leaf. In my life I've never seen a person tremble like that. Seeing her shaking in terror was the most upsetting part of the whole thing. I said, "we are going to the police department" (which was close by). She said, " I can't, they know where I live and I'm afraid." I did mention that these were scary people? I said I would take her home (and did), but I informed her that I would be going to see the police myself. She said "Okay." Met with higher ups at the police department after telling the story several times. Was advised by the police (on the downlow) that I ought to consider an aluminum baseball bat for purposes of "plausible deniability" rather than a machete, in case I needed to use it. Less likely to result in felony charges, while at the same time receiving kudos for my quick actions. Over the next short period I worked with the police, all the local merchants, security people and neighbors to drop a dime on these guys if/when they were spotted and things became so hot for this gang that they moved on. I was one of those moments were--in retrospect--I understood how crazily dangerous it was. I could easily have died in that alley, I suppose. But not acting was never a consideration. Had to do it. Not a moment of hesitation. And glad of it. I never saw or heard from that young woman again. I don't even know her name. I suppose she's never forgotten that day? I certainly have not. Bill
  13. Sending healing thoughts your way. Bill
  14. Blessed indeed. They have been somewhere between very good friends and nearly surrogate parents. People I consider family. Kind, and decent, and ethical. Good people. I miss just being able to wander over and saying hello. My friend was always a good eater, and has proud Mexican ancestry (family from Guadalajara), while her husband is a secular Jewish former professor of Psychiatry at UCLA, and whenever my wife took vacations with our son (while I held down the fort and looked after the animals) I'd cook up a big batch of tripe (in some form, from menudo to North African style), which is about the only culinary item my adventurous family of eaters would not touch, and she and I would have a "tripe festival." LOL Bill
  15. Wow, the story of helping my dear sweet neighbor when she was choking brought back a flood of memories. In more recent years she developed Parkinson's. And she started falling. Especially in the middle of the night, when she hoped to use the restroom without disturbing her elderly husband. If/when she fell, they were not physically able to get her up. I may be getting old, and everything else (especially my mind) is going, but I'm still unnaturally strong. One of my greatest joys--if one can call it that--over recent years has been being "on call" to go over any time to get my dear friend up if she'd fallen. They hated to call me, but I always insisted that helping her was one of my greatest pleasures that I had in my life. And that was something I meant. She was probably the most vital person I ever knew. She kept her home beautifully and her garden was an inspiration for me (and a constant source of cuttings and "babies" that I propagated for my own garden). Some months back, she once again fell in the middle of the night. This time she had a small fracture in her hip. Not bad enough to require a hip replacement, but bad enough that they decided it was time to sell the home that they'd live in for 50 years, and one that served as a hub for their large family and our circle of friends. They recently moved out to a very nice assisted living situation. Their house, which is gorgeous, will be bulldozed and a much (much) larger home will be built in its place. Breaks my heart. I've been working on salvaging as many of her plants as I can. A way to keep her spirit and gardening efforts alive. I saw her a couple days ago at her daughter's home. Again helping her do some transfers from bed to wheelchair. Damn Parkinson's! Bill
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