Tag Archives: Wilcox Police Station
Arrest? Who? Me?
This morning I heard a man yelling insults, obscenities and threats at 8 o’clock. I looked out the window and saw a tall African-American man with a shopping cart full of stuff garbage bags, and a small Hispanic man who was walking his little doggy. The man with the shopping cart, who I assume is homeless, was extremely upset about the man’s dog, which probably weighed all of one pound. The poor man with the dog couldn’t understand fully why the homeless man was upset. He was just trying to walk his dog. Just then a police car pulled up to a stop sign and the man with the dog flagged them down. The rest is history.
Well of course the cops spent a lot of time keeping him in handcuffs, and calling the Wilcox Station to see if he had any outstanding warrants. He must have had some kind of I.D. or they would have detained him and taken him back to the station for a fingerprint check, or whatnot. I ran downstairs to give a witness statement. I told them what I saw. Did they write it down? No. Did they ask me for my name or address or any contact info in case they arrested the detainee? No. That’s because they already knew that they weren’t going to arrest him for assaulting the poor guy and his dog. Luckily a passerby was able to translate between the victim and the cop. It makes me sick what goes on in this city, this town of Hollywood. There really is much to say. After everybody left, the cops let the guy go. I took some other photos and pics, so here you go:
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬ (below are videos)
As you can mostly hear, but partly see, Tammy is never one keep her feelings bottled up inside. Maybe we can all learn from Tammy and start yelling “Fuck you!” at whomever we like. Oh, but I already know “people” like that. Today is one of those days when your Hollywood reporter-at-large wished the world would hurry up and run out of resources, that the last oil well will run dry. I want to be here, in the desert when it happens. But maybe that’s just the Tammy in me talking right now.
While it may seem cruel not to give out the name of this weekend retreat, tough toenails. Life isn’t always fair. In fact, it rarely treats me fairly. So in that happy spirit let me share with you our weekend getaway. I won’t tell you how long it takes to get there, because that would help anyone with Google map find the joint in about five minutes. On the other hand, I will share the beauty of this getaway. It’s always nice to wake up with the sound of the surf breaking against the tidal rocks. I didn’t investigate any tide pools. Maybe next time. Robin thought she saw a starfish on one rock way in the distance. The tenacity of life is amazing!
Now here’s a chance for you to hear my impromptu review of the … oops! … almost said it! You can hear me review the place on this following video, plus I treat you to my non-professional singing voice. That’s the one most of you hear. Only a few of my closets friends and relatives have heard my professional singing voice. You know who you are.
Why must everything be marred by the unpleasant people who have no class? Robin was using a lounge chair at the very end, so that nobody could sit on her left side, and she had a table set up between the second and third chair; thereby, discouraging anybody to sit beside her. She got up to get a cup of coffee. In that brief period of time (30 seconds) so virago stole her spot by tossing a grubby sweatshirt material hoody on her chair. Once this harridan had gathered a pile of starchy, cold, over-warmed “Continental Breakfast,” she ran back to the chair and planted her broad, well-worn ass on Robin’s lawfully taken (first come, first serve) lounge chair. Robin went back because she was concerned that her vitamin had fallen out of her pocket. Robin tried looking about the chair discreetly, but she was forced to enquire of the woman if she’d seen aforementioned vitamin. “This chair was empty when I got here. I didn’t see anything. Clever bitch. She probably took Robin’s dirt contaminated vitamin and washed it down with coffee, as a sort of complete dominance thing, or she just threw it into the ocean. It’s two feet away as you can see.
Here’s another picture that I’d taken of the view, it was perfect except for one thing. See for yourself.
Now for something really different!
TAMMY REPORT JULY 5, 2010
The Queen of Curse Words is back and she’s in full force.
But don’t ask the Hollywood Police at the Wilcox station to do a darn thing about it because they have more important things to do like enjoy the cavalcade of hot chicks on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams by the Hollywood and Highland mall. I’ve got puh-lenty footage and photographs of them hanging out with their free lattes and chocolate chip scones from Starbucks. It’s hard to believe that they are in shape. Talk about Big Butts! As for Tammy, the tenacity of life is amazing.
A video from CBS.
Oh, how I hate them. How I hate cell phones! Just shut up and watch the game! I am really quite quite shocked that nobody kicked his ass before the ball came along and schmooshed his nose!
June 2010 – Day in and Day out!
What do they “plan” on doing in this amazing city of Hollywood? I’ll tell ya! a whole lot of nothing. The amazing city of Jollywood is really the happiest place on Earth. I will tell you why. Because in the United States of America we are blessed with a unique assembly of liberties and this is ground zero where the clash between liberties and personal freedoms occurs on a daily basis. For ten years I’ve watched it play out between skateboarders and city park staff. Between city employees who are really just trying to do their underpaid jobs, while at the same time, help these same kids develop some kind of personal growth with the backdrop of rampant, unbridled capitalism to misguide these under-parented children whose parents are simply struggling to put food in their mouths [period]. Sometimes I feel honored to be a witness to all this melodrama, while at other times I just feel like a victim!
Well the joke is on me. Neither the parents nor the kids give a hoot. In fact, most Americans don’t realize that this wee patch of land called Hollywood (zip code 90028) is a big microcosm; or is it a tiny macrocosm of America’s culture clash? Here is where races, genders, belief systems, morals and the kitchen sink, collide, bounce against one another and spew new perspectives, and ideas. The energy and the tension are palpable. Here is where rent controlled properties are being quietly squeezed out by new luxury condos and apartment complexes.
Social Services? Whu? Police Protection? Huh?
The woman who is the subject of the two videos is a neighborhood fixture. It’s sad because she needs help. Serious help. And so does our neighborhood. In my make-believe world, one would call the police and report that a women is in severe distress and needs psychiatric and social services support. The police would come, and put her in restraints with the help of some kind of Emergency Medical Transport. From there she would be brought in front of a judge. Clearly the woman is incompetent and unable to make rational decisions on her own behalf. The judge would send her to the Los Angeles County Hospital. There she would be admitted for observation and treatment. After about two weeks of psychopharmacological intervention, as well as two or three interviews a week, she would be reassessed and sent to a half-way house transitional care to prepare her for life as productive member of society, or released to her family, in a worst case scenario- hospitalized for a longer period of time and put in the care of the State of California.
Here is what really happens:
- I call the cops four times on June 25, 2010 (give or take a day).
- They can’t find the tree she is living under, despite detailed instructions, descriptions and the fact that I am not the only person who has called the police on her.
- After the second call, I am asked to meet the police in front of my building in order to show them where she is.
- For one thing, you can hear her from the front of our building.
- When I hobble down there with my cane, they’ve already left.
- I call a third time. The dispatcher keeps telling me “Hold on, hold on, hold on” in some weird mantra-like fashion.
- I ask him, “Why do you keep telling me to “hold on?”
- Angrily, he replies, “Well, then hang up if you want to.”
- I want to hang up and I do so.
- After waiting another 15 to 20 minutes to see if the police are going to respond to my complaint, I conclude that they will not, so I call them again.
- Again I am asked to meet them in front of my building.
- This time they are actually in front of the building!
- I pulled my So-Happy-To-See-You face out of my pocket and insert it in front of my I-Really-Am-Sick-Of-This face.
- I am then subjected to the kind of creepy and humiliating treatment that borders on the Bad Lieutenant behavior.
- The passenger says my name three times, “Are you blah blah blah?”
- I affirm that I am blah blah blah.
- He responds, “My partner is gonna love this.”
- They are intrigued that I know her name. I tell them that we’ve both lived here for over ten years.
- I try to bolster my reputation and standing in the community when I tell them that I operate a blog – ta dah! thehollyblog!
- While the passenger laughs and repeats the name like it’s a stupid joke. The driver says, “I don’t know what a blog is.”
- I just laugh and respond, “She’s around the corner, underneath the big tree on your left. Just follow her screaming.”
- They pull off. I watch from my window as they simply run her off of the property.
After I go to bed, my sleep is interrupted by her screaming and usual carrying on. To quote Shakespeare’s As You Like It, “All the world’s a stage.” Or even more glum, Macbeth’s soliloquy when he states,
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Man commits suicide at Hollywood & Highland
Two days ago (Thursday, February 11 before the hour of Noon) a man committed suicide at the Hollywood & Highland mall by jumping off the overlook across from the El Capitan Theater. He landed in front of the Louis Vuitton store. According to a worker at the mall, the sound of the impact was so loud that passers-by thought it was a gun shot and began to run in all directions. I called the Wilcox Police Station to see if I could get more information on the victim, but they don’t take calls from the public. I tried calling the News Desk at L.A. Times and the gentleman who answered told me that unless it’s someone like Mr. McQueen, they don’t usually report on suicides. Fair enough. They’ve got a lot of ground to cover. The man who answered even suggested I call the Coroner’s Office. Unfortunately, the famous L.A. Coroner only works business hours and nobody will answer the phone on Monday, President’s Day. The cops on the scene were typical Hollywood cops. Rude and arrogant, not to mention tight-lipped. A curious passer-by asked if they’d beat someone up again, one of them twisted up his face and barked, “That’s not funny.” No, it’s not funny because it happens all the time. And if you get robbed, assaulted or anything else in Hollywood, don’t expect the police to help you. They are fat-assed, Starbucks latté swilling and coffee cake gobbling civil servants who just want to collect a paycheck and go home.
If you live in Hollywood and want to feel safe, buy a gun. As for the poor soul who found nirvana by jumping off the top of the Hollywood and Highland complex, all the information that I’ve been able to able to glean thus far from the twittersphere is that he was an elderly black man. Uncorroborated details of this sad event relate that the man’s death was not an easy one. Reports say that he coughed blood and began to seize before departing this earthly plane. Reports also relate that the police tried to talk him down. From my experiences with the Hollywood police, I’d be more inclined to believe that one of them pushed him, just so he could call it a day. There! I said it!
What’s up with the Hollywood Sign?
Tom LaBonge and his greedy developer friends are planning to develop Griffith Park. Is nothing sacred? Apparently not, especially in Los Angeles, which on a corruption scale of one to ten, ten being Bangladeshi corrupt, would undoubtedly score a ten. While fresh-face UCLA students, armed with clipboards and petitions, scour Hollywood Boulevard asking for signatures to protest this outrage, others with a bit more moxey are putting these letters up on the age-old symbol as their form of protest. The ridge that these money-grubbing bastards want to develop is dangerously close to the sign and will probably block the sign from even more viewers. Soon nobody except for the ultra-rich who live around the actual sign will be able to see it. And the parkland that is supposed to be sacrosanct? A quick drive along Mulholland Drive will tell you how safe from development park land is in this town; it ain’t!
Sorry that today’s entry is such a downer folks, but if you’ve lived in Hollywood as long as I have, you understand that this place is the purest center piece of capitalism, where money talks and everybody else can take a walk. Have you no shame at all, Tom (I want a piece of the action) LaBonge? God help us if this man ever wins the mayorship. Even the squirrels will have to pack their bags and move to the furthest reaches of the San Fernando Valley to find an affordable place to live.