This week, I stayed at a hotel in Long Beach while going to Adobe MAX at the LA Convention Center. Gina Patrina, the GPS system on my phone* told me to drive mostly surface streets to go from Long Beach to downtown in the morning in order to avoid traffic. I lived in LA for a while, but I'd never been in the industrial heart of it. Illuminating.
Obligatory snarky commentary about Los Angeles from a San Diegan aside, there were some interesting businesses. However, as I was driving alone, I was only able to get a photo of this one, Lunday-Thagard, a refinery. I liked the shot even though I can't tell you why.
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| I left it large so it might be worth a click. Enjoy! |
* - Oh come on, admit it. You named your GPS system, too, didn't you?
5 comments:
Our GPS is Gloria. Interesting, that's just the car one. No name for the phone's. That's just google.
My mother-in-law calls her's Sweetie.
Obligatory snark at Californians: dont refineries cause polution? should the gov't shut them down?
Does Gloria have a middle name?
I don't think the government knows the refinery exists. It's in a pretty impoverished section of town and hence it's a place where the elite progressives who run the state never visit.
I used to call the Voice of my Sync, Isis, for "Ignorant Slut In Sync," plus there was that while Egyptian goddess thing. Then the Islamic State came along... But I shut her off ages ago. She annoyed me too much.
When the airline stranded my daughter and me in LA a couple of years ago, we could see either this refinery, or one very like it, from our hotel window. It was actually quite scenic, rows and rows of storage tanks glistening in the sun, with occasional masses of complicated pipework.
It was quite a contrast from last December, when I got lost[*] looking for a steel plant in East Chicago and ended up accidentally driving right through the middle of the BP refinery. It was full of stacks flaring off natural gas, and there was soot everywhere. It looked like Mordor.
*I didn't have a GPS at the time. Now I do. She doesn't have a name, but when she tells me when to turn, the temptation to reply "Yes, Dear" is almost overwhelming.
I have named my GPS "Rabbit".
If you're not sure why, watch Twister.
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