You find a different beach here each time it rains, whether from waves that wash sand out and in, or from the creek that, swollen and potent, cuts straight to the sea.

We had a few rainbows here in Malibu as winds shredded clouds and sun seeped through:

On the beach below one of our local mega-mansions, a rock slide rumbled down as the bluff continues to slowly (and now, not so slowly) give way:

And in the back seat of the car sat a very small, very damp Labrador. Lean closer for the unmistakable whiff of wet dog.

I love how the NYT staffer who wrote this correction just couldn't keep an edge of exasperation out of his/her voice. Public spanking, a novel approach for the Gray Lady.

We here in Malibu are used to the fly-over, whether by the blimp, the guy with the propeller strapped to his back, or the vintage bi-plane, cruising the coast on a sunny afternoon.

And have I mentioned the flying dogs?

Have I mentioned that golf carts are the preferred mode of transport in the Cove? (No, I don't have one. I'm a hold-out and so I walk.)

Meanwhile, the sky is gray, the seas are choppy and rain is definitely on the way.

Mere moments after our morning walk, the Lido Deck is restless.

So we've left the Malibu theater, where a grief-crazed Mel Gibson just offed a bunch of bad guys and unraveled a dark conspiracy, and we're headed for the frozen yogurt place, when a set of headlights appears in the rear view mirror. They're big enough and bright enough to belong to a car, but the chassis they're attached to looks more like a Christmas tree ball on steroids.

It's a Mini Cooper chopped down to the size of a riding lawn mower. There's a sheet of glass that's not so much a windshield as a hood ornament, front seats pulled from a John Deere tractor, and a license plate from Canada. Turns out it belongs to Jeff Gardner (Miniguy on Facebook) who says he's making a documentary about the economic downturn.

Tough times to be an indy film maker. And sleeping in his car to save cash? Not an option.

Virgin sand, not a mark on it. How I love the tides.

I love the art on pulp novels and, seeing as how I live in Paradise Cove which is, despite all the gentrification, a trailer park, I'm particularly fond of this sub-genre.

Remember this?

Well now it's this:

Just days after the post about all three card catalog computers at the library being on the fritz, someone found an electrical short and fixed it and voila! Working card catalogs, always in use. Thank you, LA County library!

Meanwhile, if you were looking to browse a bit of JD Salinger