When we launched the Newport Beach Independent some two months ago, one nagging issue that we couldn’t get around was the fact that we didn’t have an office in Newport Beach.

We’d get Letters to the Editor with comments like this one: “I find it odd that I have to send this letter to an office in Laguna Beach to comment on issues in our local newspaper.”

But, to remind everyone, our plan from day one has always been to situate the Independent office in the city we cover.

The first question however was where, followed then by the process of getting permits in to and out of the city’s planning office, ordering furniture, getting the telephones in … well, you know the drill.

The wait is over. Today, as you’re reading this, assuming it’s Friday, we are moving into our new digs in Corona del Mar.

If you know where the Port Theater is, we’re just across Heliotrope in the Port Plaza building. Curves is a first-floor tenant, and the building has a red electronic clock, that incidentally has been running an hour behind.

We’ll get that fixed.

The address is: 2865 East Coast Highway, suite #320, CdM, 92625. The other numbers of importance are the office telephone number, (949) 675-INDY (4639), and the fax is (949) 675-4655.

I’m a big believer in having an office in the community.

In my old days at the other paper, following the closure of our Bay Street location, I opened an office up on 17^th Street

I wanted the community to know we were close, that we cared. It was important to let them know we also wanted to do business in the community we covered.

Unfortunately for the community, that office was one of the cost-cutting measures of the next regime.

Oh well.

Here’s why I think you’ll like our new office. First, we become easily accessible to our community, so if you’re looking for current or past issues, we’ll stock them. We’ll even house our sister publication, Newport Beach magazine.

            You want to drop in and tell us about an upcoming event, tip us off to a story, drop off a press release, or, rat out someone that’s doing something wrong, we’re there, with our ears wide open.

Say you want to just drop in and have a cup of coffee with the publisher or editor, we’ll be there, and you won’t have to get past a guard gate to see us. We’ll even have the coffee.

Another thing that I also believe sets us apart is that a majority of our staff lives locally, so in addition to having our ears to the ground, we’re with you day in and day out.

And the commute won’t kill us.

In essence, we’re all part of the same neighborhood, so if you face traffic issues, we face traffic issues, don’t like an issue, we might not like an issue, but most importantly, we’ll be right there with you.

So, as a good neighbor would say, drop by any time.

I remember filing my income tax this past April and realizing that I was entitled to a refund for the first time in years.

Hip, hip, hooray.

As you can tell, I was excited.

Trying to remember back, I can’t think of the exact amount, but if I recall right, it was several thousand dollars.

When the refund electronically hit my bank account, I have to tell you I took notice. But, on a journalist’s salary, a couple thousand dollars will do that for you.

Flash forward to this past week.

News broke that some guy somehow intercepted a tax refund check intended for Donald Bren in the amount of $1,389,524.61.

That’s right, one-million, three-hundred and eighty-nine thousand.

Now, I don’t know about you, but if I were expecting a refund check of $1,389,524.61, I’d be waiting at the mailbox every day and would probably kiss the mailman upon its delivery.

And my mailman doesn’t even look like the kissable type. But that’s another story.

So I called my tax guy, Chris Wynkoop, and asked him first of all what was the bigger story: 1) that Bren had overpaid his taxes by $1.4 million, or 2) that someone had stolen the mone

Wynkoop, who works with a lot of wealthy local people, tried to put it gently in perspective for me.

“An overpayment/refund of a million-four for Donald Bren is like an overpayment/refund of $339 for you, so, the bigger story would be the theft.”

Wow, thanks for the humbling explanation.

Several hours later, when I had moved past the self-deprecation, I got back to thinking about the Bren theft.

First of all, how did it all happen? How did this guy get his hands on the check?

After all, I’m certain Bren’s mail would have to be tightly guarded.

And then, how does a bank open an account for someone for that amount of money without some solid proof of identification?

I can only imagine: I drive up to my ATM, insert my debit card, press deposit. It then asks for the amount: I press 1, press 3, press 8, press 9, well you get the idea, there are a lot of numbers. I would then somehow expect the machine to begin laughing when I finally pressed the button confirming that the amount as correct.

            According to the complaint filed in US District Court, the as-yet unidentified suspect somehow got a hold of a US Treasury check made payable to Bren and deposited it at East West Bank’s Cerritos branch. There, he broke it out in four separate accounts.

            The suspect, then, through a series of transaction removed more than $1.1 million. Also listed were the man’s address in South Los Angeles and his occupation as “smoke shop.”

            Why does “blowing smoke” come to mind?

            Anyway, the Secret Service is investigating. And for those of you worrying about Bren’s hardship, he’ll still get his money to add to his estimated $12 billion. The news is not as good for the bank.

By Sophie Pickle Johnson/Special to the NB Indy

First of all, let me introduce myself: my name is Sophie Pickle; I’m a 4- year-old (28 in dog years) golden retriever who resides in Newport Beach.

Two weeks ago, I opened my own Facebook account to get a better feel for what’s going on in the world outside my fenced-in backyard.

Lo and behold, to my surprise, there’s a lot happening.

The biggest issues that directly affect me aren’t the war in Afghanistan, or the over-spending of our state and federal governments. My issues are fairly simple: I’d like to get some kibble with a little chicken and rice in the morning, a cold bowl of water and a nice walk or run in the afternoon; and an occasional pet or belly-rub from one of my loved ones is a bonus.

Simple.

However, lately I’ve become concerned that in this dog-eat-dog-world, rules and regulations have continued to keep me and my other four-legged friends from having any decent access to the beach.

Now, I can understand not wanting us there during the summer months. There are a lot of people there, and I’m not always good in crowds. I’m the last one that wants to get run-over by a bicyclist or skateboarder moving down the boardwalk.

So, if we do decide to go, we go early or late in accordance to the rules: before 9 a.m. or after 5 p.m.

But my gripe is that when everyone stops going to the beach after Labor Day, there seems to be no reason at all why we, too, can’t enjoy the beach and boardwalk anytime.

Now, if you’re not a dog-lover, I know what you’re saying, “I don’t want some dog #@%*ing on the beach and their owner not cleaning it up.”

Don’t think you’re alone.

Two things I don’t leave home without: my American Express card and a good plastic bag, for any unplanned accidents.

OK, you got me; I don’t have a credit card.

But that’s beside the point.

Last night I was Facebooked that City Councilwoman Nancy Gardner got the ball rolling on getting this law changed.

By the way, did I tell you I love rolling balls?

Anyway.

Councilwoman Gardner motioned to keep the summer times in place, calling for dogs off the beach and boardwalk from 9-5. However, she moved to allow dogs there anytime during the off-season, defined as Sept. 15 through May 15.

The motion was seconded and passed 5-2, with Councilmembers Ed Selich and Don Webb dissenting. So now I have a bone to pick with these two.

Did I tell you I like bones?

Anyway, the item will come up at the next council meeting for a secondm reading and then, after 30 days, would go into effect unless there was a motion otherwise.

I have to tell you, I’m so happy that my tail is wagging almost uncontrollably.

Did I tell you I love it when my tail wags?

            It’s a four-letter word that has never, ever been a part of my vocabulary. Come to think of it, it’s probably the only four-letter word that hasn’t been a part of my vocabulary, but that’s a discussion for a different day.

            D-I-E-T.

            That’s right, I said it. And, I’m here to admit I’m now on the first diet of my life.

            Some people will certainly ask the age-old question, “Why did you wait so long?”

            As a teenager, standing probably 6’3”-6’4”, I weighed a collective 140 lbs. Someone once told me that standing sideways, I looked like an “oil dipstick.”

            Wow, thanks for the compliment.

            I remember making myself a milkshake or an eggnog, then getting in bed and trying to go to sleep without moving. It was my way of trying to gain weight.

            It didn’t work.

            In college I had moved to 165 lbs. It didn’t matter what I ate or how much, nothing happened.

            Five years ago I faced a kidney transplant, weighing in at 170 lbs. at the time.           

            Now, either I received an extra-large kidney from my brother, or my weight finally began catching up with me.

            At my worst, I reached 218. That’s right, a 48-upside. That’s what good health and good living will do to you.

            I knew I was in trouble when I had to use a mirror to buckle my belt in the morning.           

            Friends in passing would pat me on the stomach and say, “looks like you’re puttin’ on a little weight there, Tommy.”

            Well, I started looking at diets. South Beach, Atkins, Jenny Craig. Everyone I talked to had a different opinion.

            My buddy, Bob McDaniel, eats salad with no dressing. He then tops it with mustard.

            I tried it. But in reality, I like mustard on a good hotdog or hamburger with fries and maybe even a little chili - and that, friends, is my problem.

            Add to the list Häagen-Dazs White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle ice cream and  a good slice or two of pizza and you can see where my troubled waist has come from.

            So a week ago, standing on the scales at 212, I decided it was time.

            I’ve made it very simple: avoid the carbs. Not all, but some.

            Monday was lunch a one of my favorite spots, Wahoo’s. Instead of the usual No. 2, regular fish tacos, white beans and white rice, it now was just two fish tacos. They looked lonely sitting on the plate. I even skipped the oatmeal-raisin cookie on the way out.

            On Tuesday, I went to The Counter, the new burger place in Westcliff that, incidentally, is very good. And, speaking of good, I was, ordering a 2/3 lb. hamburger, skipping the bun, loading it up with veggies and passing on the sweet-potato fries.

            I’ve also been avoiding that pastry with my morning cup of coffee.

            This morning I stepped on the scale and there it was, 2-0-3.                                                Wow, it’s working.

Week No. 7. We think we’re on our way.

 But let’s be honest. We love providing you with this new community newspaper, but, in the long run, we all know that advertising is what pays the freight.

So, we need to make certain that our advertisers are happy. Happy advertisers mean more ads. More ads mean more space for articles, photos and opinions, so then you, our reader, can be satisfied.

So where do you come in?

Well, it’s simple. When someone advertises in the Newport Beach Independent, I need you to let ’em know you support them because of it.

Now, I don’t want you to buy something you don’t want. But if you see something you do want, and decide to buy it, tell them where you saw it.

And if there’s a store out there that’s not advertising, tell them what you read and where you look for your deals.

Here’s why my request is important.

Newspapers nationwide are, well, in the dumper.

Despite that, we’ve decided that this community needs and deserves its own paper.

You see, a newspaper keeps tabs on your elected officials. We make certain that they’re living up to their promises, that they’re spending your money carefully and properly and that they’re making the right decisions to ensure our desired lifestyle.

If not, we will tell you about it.

We also provide a weekly forum about issues concerning this community. It’s a place where your letters and opinions run, where you can chime in with what’s on your mind.

Problems with our bay or in our schools? You should be able to express your views, thoughts or concerns. We commit space for it in every issue.

Next, we want to provide a complete look at all of Newport Beach. That’s why we’re committed to just one city. We want to be your complete reservoir of information. Calendars, lists, local home-shot photos, police blotters, non-profit events, sports, religion, green ideas, and … well, you get the picture.

Lastly, we are truly community cheerleaders.

We want to partner and support community events - whether it’s a Taste, a golf tournament, a concert or an art faire, we want to be a part of it.

And if there’s a story we need to tell of someone or some group that needs help, we want to be there to provide it.

Some of my best memories from my newspaper career have been those times when we rallied the community to provide Christmas for a family with nothing, or financial help to overcome a life challenging issue.

It is, in the long run, what it’s all about.

Well, I think you probably get it.

The response you’ve given us in just this first month and a half has been truly overwhelming.

But you should expect more.

I’m pushing Roger Bloom, my editor, and his wonderfully talented staff to continue to raise the bar.

We’re all easy to reach. Put us on your speed-dial and when something happens, let us know.

Thank you for the opportunity.