"ON THE MOVE AGAIN" (sung to the tune of: "on the road again"

WE are moving on. We moved in to this old house in B.A. (Bel Air and I'm no Fresh Prince), and we were only going to be here for a only a few months, but as chance would have it four years have gone by. But now, finally we are moving to the beach, Marina Del Rey beach, next to gritty, grimey, quirky, artsy, "I'm not richy rich" Venice Beach. Marina Del Rey is the tacky condo capital of the world. I think "tacky condos" is a polite way of saying crappy little sh*t boxes occupied by upwardly social wanna be's with upitty, snooty attitudes.

The number of dwelling units and human density of the place is overwhelming. There are run down condos, slouchy stucco apartments, overfilled garbage dumpsters and dogs everywhere. Everybody has a dog. The smaller the apt. the bigger the dog. There are loads of rusting, hulking, deteriorating buildings built to fall down after a few years of heavy use. Romans and Greeks used large stones and some goop as mortar and their edifices last thousands and thousands of years. I don't get it. The builders of today must pay off the politicos with bribes or something. In ancient times I guess the builders had to build stuff to stand the test of time or they were thrown to the lions for sport.


We are moving to the Marina because the house we live in is falling down and needs to be rennovated. We bought it to tear down four years ago and build a new one, but with the recession/depression, I lost the taste for spending a ton of dough on a new place. All of our furniture is gone for a long time now. Our living room set consists of one worn out slip covered love seat that has been mauled and clawed to pieces by the cats, one folding camp lounge chair and one actually fairly nice ottoman. My daughter would not take the love seat. Hmmm, note to self find someone to pawn it off on. Perhaps a deceptive description of it on Craig's list. There's got to be a sucker somewhere.

My wife is so embarrased about the way we live that she won't let anyone in the house. She greets people at the door and only opens it about two inches. It's like a brush salesman going up to a crack house and asking to see the lady of the house. "Would you like to buy some cleansers, mam?" Lady says"No"!!! Door slams, Gun Barrel comes out of peep hole, "get lost or die, chump!!!". Beware if you come to our old house.


I hate moving. I have to sit and watch my poor wife do all the packing. I have to tape up the boxes. Taping boxes is a lot of responsibility. It's a proven fact that poorly taped box bottoms cause broken heirlooms and lots of arguments about who is going to clean up the mess. But that's just me, I'm made to take on important responsibility. They call me the pointer. My left index finger gets a huge workout by pointing out obvious and not so obvious things that need to get done by the workers (the "WORKERS" are usually my wife, because I like to save money and not hire real packers and movers who make a living at it). But, low and behold we moved some stuff in yesterday, Sunday. One load of boxes in the HOOOOMAIR (rhymes with hair) dang near filled the place. I don't know where the rest of our things are going to fit(the garage, or rent some storage I guess).

Am I missing something or is all of L.A. falling apart? Water mains breaking after only 100 years of service( is water ok to drink out of 100 year old pipes?), pot holes in the street everywhere wiping out $6,000 low profile rims and tires, City Workers standing around and not fixing anything (I guess they are waiting and practicing for furlough day).


We are getting further South in our quest for nirvana. Fifteen years ago we started out in a dusty, meth infested, prison town in the desert. It seems like we are inching our way to move and live in Newport Beach in the O.C. where everything is new and bright and fresh. Where the air is crisp, humming birds hummm, children sing and O.C. wives do their thing. It's a place where homelessness and trash and filth is something you read about happening somewhere else, like Iraq or Kenya or West L.A. . Ah, someday we'll make it to the O.C. For now though Marina Del Rey will do. My new home sweet home.