GARGOZO MANUSCRIPT

Another January and there I was,  once again queued up on the  sidewalk in front of  Aldama  Elementary, vying for a kindergarten spot for my grandson.  A year ago I arrived 19 hours prior to registration, this year it was 22 hours but I split the time with my son Michael.  As difficult as it may be to describe the set of circumstances that could bring anyone to do such a thing once, let alone twice, I’m going to take a crack at it nonetheless. Over several decades the combined efforts of the LAUSD and the UTLA have driven the parents of hundreds of thousands of kids to desperation.  Parents have turned their backs on a free but inferior public school in their own neighborhood to find an alternative that offers some hope for their children’s education.  The rush to secure a spot at a private, charter or out-of-area school, has parents participating in lotteries, camping out prior to registration, and if successful, possibly adding up to 10 hours a week to an already brutal commu

I drove around with my dad’s ashes under the front seat of my car for six months.   It  took me that long to drum up the courage to carry out his wish to have his ashes dumped in the  Pacific Ocean .   My parents regarded funerals as pagan rituals but at some point they evidently walked down to where Norwalk Avenue meets Eagle Rock Blvd and made arrangements for cremation.   A week or so after my dad passed away I was summoned by the mortuary to drop by and pick up his ashes.  When I walked through the front door I was engulfed by the morose and ominous environment typical of mortuaries.  All of the  windows had been rendered useless by impenetrable layers of drapery left over from  Gone With The Wind .       I presumed the somber, poorly-lit interior was intended to promote gloom and discourage conversation. Should anyone ever have the balls to actually speak, such as "I'm having a heart attack", you can be well assured it would be in a low whisper.  I was greet