This morning, as I bent over to get the pack I was confronted with this substantial slice of sweetness from our Ranger:

(click for the bigger picture)

What makes it all the more awwwwwwwwww-some is that the only thing keeping her seemingly gravity-defying ball from dropping to the floor is that it’s perfectly tucked in like a pillow between her oh-so-sleepy head and the blanket.

I managed to quietly extract my cam from my backpack and capture this preciousness without disturbing the scene. Then I whispered her name and she looked up me with those sleepy eyes and the ball fell with a thud to the hardwood. She didn’t even blink and went back to her nap, but I interrupted it further, helpless to prevent myself from smothering her with hugs and kisses.

And for the first time when it was a little too chilly for my taste this morning, instead of the usual bundling up in sweats and long sleeves against the the daybreak cold, I visited our new multi-programmable digital thermostat-o-matico and turned the heat on with a course set for 68 degrees (I didn’t wanna be greedy). Within moments warm air was pumping through the network of ducts and out of the plethora of freshly installed registers and within minutes the air temp inside had climbed upward from a chilly 64 degrees as pictured:

Had the light been green to cross Wilshire and continue southward I would’ve just kept on going, but it was red and so I pulled beyond him and stopped and even though he was out of my sight he stayed in my mind — especially the word “hungry” — and so I pulled up onto the sidewalk and retrieved the container of yogurt and the banana and the Luna bar out of my backpack. It was to have been my 400-calorie breakfast consumed later at my desk, but suddenly I didn’t need it because he needed it more.

As I drew beside him, he jumped a little at the sound of my voice when I said “It ain’t much sir, but you’re welcome to it,” and then he gratefully accepted the items and said “God bless you” and I said “And you” and he caught sight of my bike with a sidelong glance and added “Be careful out there!” and I said “Thank you, take care” and I got on my way.

Holy Moly! My company’s “Driving Traffic 2007″ contest concluded and I finished in third place for the month of December ($100), second place for the fourth quarter ($150), and second place for the year to date ($500).

I’d like to claim it’s because of the strength of my online knowledge sauce but the simple truth is the little blog I produced for my first trade show back in October is what gave my magazine’s site the boost in visitors and page views and subsequently my bank account to the tune of 750 surprise dollars! WOOOOOOT!

Seeing as it’s — ahem — that day, I figured why not regale anyone interested with what has to be the most spontaneously romantic thing I’ve ever ever seen happen in this city — or anywhere for that matter — and it all unfolded at the corner of Crescent Heights and Melrose back in either 1985 or ’86.

At the time I was the courier for a firm that obtained travel visas for its clientele. I had just had lunch at the old Sundance Cafe on Robertson just above Beverly and I was coming back to the company’s Cahuenga Pass offices having completed my afternoon westside run to the consulates of France, Kenya, and South Africa all on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills at that time. Grandmaster Flash blasted proudly from the speakers of my adored little Mazda GLC hatchback (not because I remember but because that’s pretty much all I listened to):

It’s like a jungle sometimes,
It makes me wondah,
How I keep from goin’ undah,
Huh huh-huh-huh huh huh.

Those lyrics may not do much to set the mood for love, but it totally captures the period. Anyway, I can’t be sure exactly where it began, but after leaving Sundance and turning onto Melrose from Robertson I found myself bringing up the rear of a little romantic intrigue that then continued to play out for several blocks to La Cienega Boulevard and beyond. Cruising along in front of me was a spotless convertible Jag driven by a bombshell blonde and beside her in the right lane doing his best to get her attention was a rather undistinguished looking but obviously lovestruck man in a less than showroom-ready Ford Mustang and way out of his league.

Obviously well-versed in how to ignore stalkers, gawkers and loud talkers Ms. Bombshell coolly kept her eyes and attention straight ahead, having little if any of Mr. Smitten despite his shameless and unabashedly nutty attempts to catch her eye and heart by honking at her in conjunction with gesticulating and yelling variations of “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!” Eventually the three of us approached Crescent Heights, slowing for the yellow light, and at the last moment, Smitten accelerated and yanked in front of her, slamming on his brakes so Bombshell had to stop short as his tires screeched against the asphalt, whereupon he threw open the door and jumped out almost before his car had come to a halt.

For a split second I was ready to hop out of my car to come to Bombshell’s aid in case the overzealous romeo wouldn’t take no for an answer, but there was no need for me to give up my front row seat and play hero. Instead of approaching her he set to pleading for her not to move, his clasped hands unclenching into a halt gesture and then reclasping as he bolted across the street in front of the oncoming eastbound traffic and practically dove into the Conroy’s flower shop on the northwest corner of the intersection. Right away it dawned on me that there was a method to his madness.

Seconds ticked by and my attention turned to Bombshell who had done nothing more than turn her head in the direction of the florist’s doorway into which Smitten had disappeared. I wondered what she was thinking and I wondered what kind of lovehungry chaos was ensuing inside.

“Hurry up, buddy!” I said out loud as the cross light turned yellow and then red. Bombshell gave it a few more seconds, but the heavy horn of someone a few cars behind us diverted her attention away from Conroy’s and she glanced back at me in her rearview mirror. I held up my hands in the international signal of Wasn’t Me! as she put the car in reverse to go around Smitten’s ride, but she wasn’t looking for the noise polluter so much as she was looking to get a move on.

At that same moment from the door came an explosion of color and movement as Smitten bounded out. In one arm he had several species of as many flowers as he could carry and in the other were several bills of unknown denomination.

“Here!” he yelled and flung the money behind him to the surprised shop attendant who appeared in the doorway a moment after he fled through it. But instead of bending down to pick up the cash off the sidewalk, like me she was riveted to the action unfolding before her.

“No, waaaaaaaaait!” he yelled as loud as he could as he saw Bombshell putting the car into drive after backing up, but she just ignored him and hit her turn signal and looked over her right shoulder to see if she could merge into that lane’s traffic.

Barely hesitating, Smitten lunged across the sidewalk and into the street with flowers trailing behind him as he went. Like a matador brave beside the close pass of a charging bull, he somehow managed to freeze into a full leaning stop to avoid getting gored by a speeding car, then he deftly dodged to his right and with good speed crossed the lanes moving back to his left until he was standing beside Bombshell’s Jag. Surprised by his sudden appearance next to her, Bombshell wheeled her head around and faced him.

Again, there was that readiness in me to come to her defense, and again it wasn’t required.

Dropping down to one knee, with traffic whizzing past him and much more insistent horns being honked behind me he said something to her that I couldn’t make out. With Bombshell shaking her head, clearly she hadn’t caught it either. So he stood up and presesented the mixed bouquet of flowers at arm’s length and said it again, this time for the whole intersection to hear.

“A woman of your grace and beauty,” he said, “should never be without flowers.”

It took a couple beats, but then all of Bombshell’s cool calm and detached composure disconnected and disintegrated. Her hands flew to her face and I heard her start to cry and exclaim to Smitten how that’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said and done for her.

“Well it’s true,” he offered and Bombshell’s face went into her hands again.

Smitten continued to stand there with the flowers held out while she cried until the light finally turned yellow and then red and the traffic stilled and the honking stopped. I glanced over at Conroy’s door to find the worker still there wide-eyed with a hand covering her mouth and the money still sitting on the sidewalk.

Then the door was opening and Bombshell was out of the Jag and taking Smitten’s surprised face in her perfectly manicured hands (of which the ring finger of her left bore a massive piece of ice) and she planted a lasting kiss right on his lips before wrapping him in a huge embrace that crushed the flowers between them and sent them cascading to the street as dropped them to hug her back. With Smitten’s head turned in my direction his expression was of the purest bliss and sweetest happiness I’ve ever seen. It was utter fulfillment, as if his entire existence was the preface to achieving that moment in the arms of a woman he hadn’t known existed five minutes before but whom he genuinely adored.

I admit I was both awed and envious.

Bombshell and Smitten stayed there in each other’s arms until the light turned green again and the traffic got moving and now even more horns sounded from the back. With that they broke apart and Smitten knelt down and retreived a single red rose as Bombshell got back into her car. Handing it to her, she accepted it, shaking her head perhaps telling him she didn’t know what to say. He responded by stepping back slightly from the Jag before making a gentlemanly bow from the waist and saying goodbye before blowing her a kiss.

She blew him one back then put her car in gear then blew him another then slipped across into the right lane and blew him one more before accelerating away. And one more about a block down.

He stood there amidst the carpet of flowers looking after her. After she was out of sight he turned and asked the Conroy’s girl if everything was square. She took her hand away from her mouth without bothering to look at how much he’d left and nodded vigorously. Back in his car he signaled and made a left onto Crescent Heights and I watched from the red until he disappeared out of view.

Well said coworker Mark, upset that the bossman had decide  he wasn’t handing out bonuses one season, cut the headline out from a Pic ‘N Save newspaper ad and mounted “It’s Gonna Be A Pic ‘N Save Christmas!” in big 72-point festive red lettering right to the front of his desk.

That was funny enough to me, but he’d always follow it up with kind of a midwesternish matter-of-fact way of turning the phrase that was both biting and reverent that can still make me chuckle just thinking about it oh these 20-plus years later — especially since that’s what this Christmas is going to be for me.

Certainly I’m happy and thankful to be working presently and for many other things such as my health and that of my wife and our families and our animals, and even though we’ve elected not to go crazy with the gift-getting, that didn’t stop us yesterday from spiriting up the foyer with a fine and fragrant and noble noble fir:

Merry Christmas!

With the exception off using the latter to store our digital photos on vacation in Africa in ’05 and on our roadtrip vacation last month, both units pretty much spend their time in my desk drawer because frankly the prime time for me to utilize them in the music delivery realm is while riding my bike or walking the dog… nd as space and weight are at something of a premium on my bike (plus iWorry about dropping or jarring them), most of the time they stay put.

Thus iWent and iGot me me this new one. No hard drive surfaces to damage, no screens to scratch and a reported 12 hours of battery functionality. At an almost ridiculous few ounces and less than the size of a pack of gum I just drop it in my pocket like of gum and ride. Plus the minimal instrumentation means it’s operable sight unseen through the fabric of my clothes. No muss, no fuss.

It went for its inaugural spin during the trip to last night’s bike ride and it worked great… but clearly my desk is another venue for its use and iAm obviously too capable making a fool of myself with it there:

So I’m all set to brave the heat and the madding crowds of Costco just now and I bust out the front door to find a DHL box on the steps. At first I figure it’s something for my wife since I certainly wasn’t expecting any deliveries, but when I pick it up nah, it’s got my name on it. Full of curiosity I see it’s come from an M. McGuire at KFWB-AM and immediately I’m all “no frickin’ way!” loud enough that the old unneighborly neighbor examining his overly manicured front lawn across the street looks up at me dourly as if I’ve just confirmed to him that indeed I am a raving loon.

I give him a half wave and bust back inside, practically giddy. In fact I was entirely giddy because I knew that inside the yellow box was the prize for a contest I had entered around the middle of June, and one that I had figured I hadn’t won since there’d been neither a personal notification sent nor nothing I could find on the KFWB website.

The contest? I can’t remember the exact title but it was something like “Super Shooter” and the station was looking for photo submissions that focused on “favorite moments at Dodger Stadium.” And while I have plenty of fave moments from the many games I’ve watched there over my lifetime, there’s only one that I captured digitally, and that was this one taken Sept. 17, 2001, from the top deck prior to the start of the first baseball game to be played there after 9/11 terrorist attacks.

So I dug it out of the archives and sent it in:

Shot with a dinosaur of a two-megapixel camera I just happened to be in the right place at the right time as the young man in front of me with flag in one hand and Dodger dog in the other did all the work. I just triggered the shutter. And almost six years later it garners me one of these guys somewhere in the neighborhood of $300 retail:

Can’t wait until the batteries charge so I can see what this baby can do!

July 17, 2006

The Coconino County Sheriff’s Office
Attn: Officer Woolbright / Dist. 3 No. 34
P.O. Box 39
Flagstaff, AZ 86002-0039

Dear Officer Woolbright,

I just wanted to take a moment and thank you for the courtesy you showed in issuing me a warning after we met on Highway 64 the morning of July 14. Had you instead cited me it would have brought a disappointing (and expensive!) end to what had been an incredible 16-day and 4,500-mile vacation through California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Canada, Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Arizona — including our first-ever visit to your Grand Canyon.

Please be assured that I was very conscientious about my traveling speed from the moment we parted through the remainder of our 500-mile trek that day and my wife and I (and the four discarded pups we rescued off Highway 163 in Monument Valley July 11) arrived home safely and soundly and in deep appreciation of your consideration and understanding.

Regards,

Will Campbell
Los Angeles, Calif.