Scott Pearce.com

Carmel Valley is in North County San Diego. Mostly it is a horrid plastic suburb, but there are enough open spaces left to allow air balloons to thrive. I love watching them. See the fire? You’d be surprised how loud it is.

Do you want to ride in a balloon? That’s great. Not me. They’re beautiful - but I feel gravity is a force not to be toyed with. I’m pleased that other people like to climb into these fine examples of 18th century technology and pose for pictures.

Chrysler and GM are in US Bankruptcy Court. That’s not a surprise to anybody who has been following the industry during the last few years. Last year I published a video on the car industry, called “A Bridge Loan to Nowhere.”

Here I am in my 2005 Chrysler Sebring Limited. I was pleased to read that President Obama is going to stand behind Chrysler warranties, until I read the fine print. It turns out that the President’s promise only goes to people who buy new cars from the company starting this month. Fine.  Maybe it serves me right for voting for Cynthia McKinney.

Oh well, with luck and proper maintenance my car will enjoy a long and comparatively trouble-free life and won’t require any service under the warranty. At least this car isn’t rolling probable cause like my big black Camaro. I still can’t understand why the po-po had to pull me over, as opposed to the thousands of other drivers doing 90 mph on the Hollywood Freeway. Probably it was some kind of invidious discrimination. 

OK, whatever. Wait! It turns out that Fiat has been given the go-ahead to purchase Chrysler. Could it be that one of the few car makers with an even lower reputation for quality than Chrysler is going to be the new owner?

Let’s just take a step back and examine the situation from a So Cal perspective. Everything is cool. The car is luxurious and attractive. Why not take the top down and go to Sunset Cliffs for the latest sunset? Right.

That’s better. What’s not to like?

Nevada is experiencing a dramatic budget crisis. Some have suggested balancing the budget with nuclear waste. Others have noted that there is a similar financial crisis on the Las Vegas strip. Job security is a thing of the past. At the same time, if present trends continue, Nevada’s prison population will increase by 61% by 2017.

In a solution being described as “win-win” by a unique partnership among Egyptian and Israeli gaming interests, Nevada’s financial problems will be ended in one night of pay-per-view TV. Nevada prisoners will be allowed the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bet their lives with freedom or death as the possible outcomes. Twin towers will be built in the Vegas desert, modeled on the Stratosphere Hotel.  Inmates will be placed in one or the other tower, based on a random lottery.

Inmates in each tower will report to the world as they savor a plush Vegas-style buffet that will be either their last meal or their first taste of freedom. At the set time, with the whole world watching, one of the towers will be destroyed by a missile strike designed to sever the top of the tower. Cameras inside the stricken tower will run until the moment the rooftop restaurant strikes the pavement. A separate lottery is proposed to select the person who pushes the red button triggering the air-to-ground missile strike.

“Academic Auschwitz”

That’s how I used to refer to the USC Law Center. My three years there neatly coincided with Reagan’s first term in office. They were relentlessly miserable. With each passing day I became more class-conscious and more appalled at the intellectual and moral bankruptcy of the American professional demographic. Each day was filled with political and interpersonal torment.

I remember going to a social gathering for new law students a week or two before classes started. Somebody mentioned that I drove an old Mustang. One of the more attractive young women present looked at me with a smile and said, “Is it a convertible?”

Never, not for one minute, did I buy into the Reagan-Thatcher ideology. Fortunately, I also did not buy into their investment strategy. When Reagan was riding high and his chief economic adviser was from the USC business school next door, I argued that borrowing billions from the Japanese to build nuclear weapons was not conservative - or wise.

Why did I go there? If I was so miserable, why didn’t I transfer? I figured one top-tier law school probably was as good as the next. Looking back, I’m glad I stayed. A few days before graduation, one of my classmates, a quiet young woman whom I didn’t really know, spoke to me. “I’m glad you were in our class. You’re more like some kind of artist. More people like you should study law.” She was a nice person but I’m not sure what she meant.

On our graduation day, 25 years ago today, one of my plaid-shorts-wearing, right-wing classmates tossed an object in my direction while we were in the student lounge. It was a vial of cocaine. The guy showed me another perfect Republican smile. “Get a good job and you’ll be able to afford it, too.”

If I could travel back in time and sit with young Scott, I’d tell him this: Don’t take it seriously. Don’t come to class often, and when you do, don’t come sober. Don’t argue politics or the law in law school unless it improves your buzz. Get a nice left-handed acoustic guitar and hang out on Venice Beach. Learn the law from the bar review people, not your professors. Practice for exams as much as possible and study as little as possible. You’ll be a big scholar and you’ll be an even better mediocre musician.

I can’t say I care if dandelions are popular or not, really, though I hope they’re not an environmental scourge. I’ve always thought they were beautiful, and it’s nice to have a camera that lets us get good and close.

Bright little visual gifts are available just about everywhere I look these days.

Even the weeds are sporting magnificent flowers.

Diane Webber was one of the most gifted artists I have had the honor to know. She founded Perfumes of Araby, one of the first American belly dancing companies. My dad took this photograph of Diane at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire in May, 1972.

Believe it or not, the Renaissance Pleasure Faire used to be spectacular fun, especially from about 1968-1973. Those were the years after the LA Sheriff’s department stopped surrounding the venue with mounted cavalry and before the people who ran the Faire started taking themselves too seriously. Back then it was a gathering of counterculture types from the beatnik and hippie eras.

I had the fantastic good fortune to spend many hours on stage with Perfumes of Araby, unobtrusively on the side or in back with the musicians, except for my star turn helping one dancer get her giant snake back in its basket. I remember one afternoon as if it happened yesterday, although it was almost 37 years ago.  We were on the small stage at a corner of the Faire for an early afternoon show. The lead drummer yelled out to the audience, “baksheesh,” which throughout the Arab world means charitable giving.  Some guy in the audience threw about half a dozen fat joints of dope onto the stage, wrapped together with a couple of rubber bands.  My eyes popped out so far the pupils thought it was recess.

The joints landed a few feet in front of me. I thought to myself, “I’m 13. I spend hours every day at the Faire on stage with beautiful, athletic, dancing women. And the audience throws drugs on stage! Am I living one of the best lives a teenager can hope to have, or what?” While I was entertaining myself with these grandiose thoughts about my own splendid good fortune, the drummer glided across the carpet and the felonious cigarettes disappeared into his vest pocket without his missing a beat. Right then, another thought came to my mind. “I’m an idiot teenager who doesn’t know anything, but that drummer has got a pretty soft racket going…”

From 1969 through 1972, Diane and Perfumes of Araby had the big stage for the last hour of the Faire. Her show was so wonderful that anybody who was left at the Faire would come watch her. It’s worth noting that although Diane’s shows were extremely sensual, they didn’t pander to the audience.  Lots of women and children enjoyed the shows.

OK - you might find yourself asking this: just exactly what does belly dancing have to do with the Renaissance in Europe? Who cares? Use your imagination! Or go sit under a tree and have somebody play “Greensleeves” for you on a hammer dulcimer, and let the rest of us have our fun.

Diane Webber was a fine artist and a successful businesswoman.