Please ignore my last blog post.
That being said...today is a new day. I think my hallucinogenic episode from the previous day has ceased. New medication? Bad refried beans and rice? Sensory overload? Getting old? Who knows?
The second half of 2007 begins tomorrow. It has got to be better than the first half.
The year is half full. How's that for positive thinking?
Here is a positive thought: Spielberg and friends have actually started filming the Indiana Jones movie at a secret location, the fourth installment of one my favorite movie serials. Evidently, it is tentatively titled, Indian Jones in the Temple of Gods...or something to that effect. Yes, Mr. Ford is in it. Rumor is that he will be driving the souped up '56 Chevy hot rod from his American Graffiti role. Sorry...I must have been hallucinating again! Whatever the storyline, we are all looking forward to, what is said to be, the final and the best Indiana Jones movie yet, due out in May 2008.
Another positive note: I think I am getting pretty good at typing on the computer keyboard with my feet! Today, they have promised to loosen the restraints on the straight jacket just a bit.
peace.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
Funky is as funky does.
To quote a line from the John Hughes classic, Sixteen Candles..."I'm feelin' kinda funky!" And, I didn't get my "monthly bill" early.
Please note previous blog entry concerning new medication.
With that being said...I am home from work early today, and I may have to lay on the couch and watch cartoons or QVC. Apparently, this new prescription has kicked my ass good. So, alas, I have opted to scribble down some blog blather. Note to self: Re-read this blog tomorrow and see if it makes any sense.
Being home in the middle of the day (again) hasn't upset the dogs' routine. They had finally gotten used to both of us working (again). When I walked in the house at 2:15, they didn't even jump on me, run around in circles, or (in Sammy the Greyhound's case), stick his rather lengthy proboscis up my butt...slacks and all. All three spoiled-rotten-purebreds barely made an effort to rise from their 12 hour naps. I will tell you, I was more than a little hurt by this apathetic behavior. "Oh...it's just him. The female master won't return until later". To hell with you, I can take a hint.
So, I flipped on the A/C (it's in the 90's around here now), slipped on my nasty looking plaid wear-around-the house-shorts, and sidled up to the iBook G4. I thought about making myself something to eat, but that may indeed be cause of my "funkiness" problem in the first place. Maybe it isn't the new medication (yeah, right!). I ate some refried beans and Mexican rice at work shortly before coming down with this weird case of the blahs. Well, it's more than blahs...it's the funky headachy, nauseous, spacey, blahs. Geeze, if I could just throw up once really good...I might feel better. Not gonna happen.
Speaking of the Fourth of July...we are in this once every seven year thing when it falls on a Wednesday. How silly is that? Are people going away this weekend or next weekend? What did we do when I was a kid? I think my Dad just took the whole week off, including both weekends! Yeah, that's it. That's what normal people do. Being in the restaurant business, that is certainly not going to happen. In fact, this Sunday (July 1st) we are putting on an Irish wake for a recently departed citizen of note. The restaurant will be closed to the public. He will be attendance as well as about 100 plus guests. Since we made this announcement via email, I've received several inquires from people worried that he will be laid out in the bar area in all his splendor for all to see. Evidently, some of his long time acquaintances are aren't aware of the fact that he passed away more than a month ago...and was cremated. His urn will be on display. Hence, I won't be spending the weekend on a boat with friends and food and booze at the lake. I wouldn't have been doing that anyway...but it was a nice thought.
Let' see what is happening on QVC. Ah! Some chick all dolled up like a Century City hooker hawking fake faux diamond rings. What's a fake faux diamond ring you ask? It's a ring with "diamonds" made from old vodka bottles made in some third world sweat shop for about 27 cents and selling for 3 easy payments of $66. Marketing...'ya gotta love it! You know, I actually used to watch QVC years ago...back when they sold some cameras, stereos, and computers once in a while. The margin on these items is way too small, hence, the cheap costume jewelry and weight loss scams. That's where the money is! I'm just pissed I didn't think of it.
Maybe there is something to take a nap in front of on TCM.
Please note previous blog entry concerning new medication.
With that being said...I am home from work early today, and I may have to lay on the couch and watch cartoons or QVC. Apparently, this new prescription has kicked my ass good. So, alas, I have opted to scribble down some blog blather. Note to self: Re-read this blog tomorrow and see if it makes any sense.
Being home in the middle of the day (again) hasn't upset the dogs' routine. They had finally gotten used to both of us working (again). When I walked in the house at 2:15, they didn't even jump on me, run around in circles, or (in Sammy the Greyhound's case), stick his rather lengthy proboscis up my butt...slacks and all. All three spoiled-rotten-purebreds barely made an effort to rise from their 12 hour naps. I will tell you, I was more than a little hurt by this apathetic behavior. "Oh...it's just him. The female master won't return until later". To hell with you, I can take a hint.
So, I flipped on the A/C (it's in the 90's around here now), slipped on my nasty looking plaid wear-around-the house-shorts, and sidled up to the iBook G4. I thought about making myself something to eat, but that may indeed be cause of my "funkiness" problem in the first place. Maybe it isn't the new medication (yeah, right!). I ate some refried beans and Mexican rice at work shortly before coming down with this weird case of the blahs. Well, it's more than blahs...it's the funky headachy, nauseous, spacey, blahs. Geeze, if I could just throw up once really good...I might feel better. Not gonna happen.
Speaking of the Fourth of July...we are in this once every seven year thing when it falls on a Wednesday. How silly is that? Are people going away this weekend or next weekend? What did we do when I was a kid? I think my Dad just took the whole week off, including both weekends! Yeah, that's it. That's what normal people do. Being in the restaurant business, that is certainly not going to happen. In fact, this Sunday (July 1st) we are putting on an Irish wake for a recently departed citizen of note. The restaurant will be closed to the public. He will be attendance as well as about 100 plus guests. Since we made this announcement via email, I've received several inquires from people worried that he will be laid out in the bar area in all his splendor for all to see. Evidently, some of his long time acquaintances are aren't aware of the fact that he passed away more than a month ago...and was cremated. His urn will be on display. Hence, I won't be spending the weekend on a boat with friends and food and booze at the lake. I wouldn't have been doing that anyway...but it was a nice thought.
Let' see what is happening on QVC. Ah! Some chick all dolled up like a Century City hooker hawking fake faux diamond rings. What's a fake faux diamond ring you ask? It's a ring with "diamonds" made from old vodka bottles made in some third world sweat shop for about 27 cents and selling for 3 easy payments of $66. Marketing...'ya gotta love it! You know, I actually used to watch QVC years ago...back when they sold some cameras, stereos, and computers once in a while. The margin on these items is way too small, hence, the cheap costume jewelry and weight loss scams. That's where the money is! I'm just pissed I didn't think of it.
Maybe there is something to take a nap in front of on TCM.
Warning: Do not do anything after taking this medication!
Well, the doc put me on another medication the other day. This particular pill is designed to lower triglyceride levels. Fine! "You're the doc, doc".
This med has stickers all over the label just like several others I take...
"Take medication orally 1/2 hour before a meal twice a day." Fortunately for us they always mention that "orally" thing...I'm quite sure it may not be as effective if I stuck it up my ass!
There is another warning on 4 out of the 6 prescriptions I take that says, "This drug may impair your ability to drive or operate machinery. USE CARE until you become familiar with its effects."
Should I assume that these "effects" are cumulative? In other words, by taking 4 medications with this warning should the warning actually say,
"These drugs may impair your ability to do anything except stay home from work and remain in a prone position watching cartoons or QVC on television. It's recommended that you never attempt to watch The Discovery Channel, The National Geographic Channel, or the Sci-Fi Channel as these may cause hallucenogenic episodes. Do not attempt to answer the phone as the caller may not understand what you are saying. Keep a drool towel close at hand. You will be catatonic asshole!"
Like I said, "You're the doc...doc!"
This med has stickers all over the label just like several others I take...
"Take medication orally 1/2 hour before a meal twice a day." Fortunately for us they always mention that "orally" thing...I'm quite sure it may not be as effective if I stuck it up my ass!
There is another warning on 4 out of the 6 prescriptions I take that says, "This drug may impair your ability to drive or operate machinery. USE CARE until you become familiar with its effects."
Should I assume that these "effects" are cumulative? In other words, by taking 4 medications with this warning should the warning actually say,
"These drugs may impair your ability to do anything except stay home from work and remain in a prone position watching cartoons or QVC on television. It's recommended that you never attempt to watch The Discovery Channel, The National Geographic Channel, or the Sci-Fi Channel as these may cause hallucenogenic episodes. Do not attempt to answer the phone as the caller may not understand what you are saying. Keep a drool towel close at hand. You will be catatonic asshole!"
Like I said, "You're the doc...doc!"
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Just one more of life's little indescretions...
I have a few tattoos on my body. These vibrating needle administered blotches of ink weren't acquired until later in life, hence, the casual observer can still discern the details. If I had gotten tattooed while in the service (at the tender age of, say, 20), these permanent little works of skin art would have long since deteriorated into faded oblivion like unfocused photographs.
Not wanting to launch any kind of meaningless diatribe about art versus desecration of one's holy temple, I do believe I am ready to add to the collection. I've finally decided what my next two tattoos will be. First, I must also give credit where credit is due. One of my flickr and blog friends, Cindi, recently got some new "ink"...and this inspired me to plan a visit to one of our local parlors.
Admittedly, I am still not ready for elaborate dragons, or hog-riding skeletons, or portraitures of The Fab Four and their album covers. No, not yet anyway. And, my plan to have a large ship's anchor etched into my forearm with the saying, "I 'yam what I 'yam" will have to wait as well. Here is the basic design for now, still in need of considerable artistic tweaking. Details forthcoming.
Yes, for those of us old enough remember...these are the symbols that Sam Jaffe scribbled on the chalk board at the beginning of each Ben Casey episode. But, I just couldn't see myself getting a peace sign...yet!
Thanks, Cindi, for reminding me that I am long overdue for some new ink.
Not wanting to launch any kind of meaningless diatribe about art versus desecration of one's holy temple, I do believe I am ready to add to the collection. I've finally decided what my next two tattoos will be. First, I must also give credit where credit is due. One of my flickr and blog friends, Cindi, recently got some new "ink"...and this inspired me to plan a visit to one of our local parlors.
Admittedly, I am still not ready for elaborate dragons, or hog-riding skeletons, or portraitures of The Fab Four and their album covers. No, not yet anyway. And, my plan to have a large ship's anchor etched into my forearm with the saying, "I 'yam what I 'yam" will have to wait as well. Here is the basic design for now, still in need of considerable artistic tweaking. Details forthcoming.
Yes, for those of us old enough remember...these are the symbols that Sam Jaffe scribbled on the chalk board at the beginning of each Ben Casey episode. But, I just couldn't see myself getting a peace sign...yet!
Thanks, Cindi, for reminding me that I am long overdue for some new ink.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
My first night in Cam Rahn Bay...Viet Nam.
“Where’s Dave?”, I asked my buddy, poking my head outside our little room.
It was time once again for one of our almost nightly routines. Glancing at my watch in the light of a bare bulb in the hallway in the plywood walled barracks, I could barely make out that it said 2:35 am. I struggled to pull on my cut off jeans, they had gotten a little tight. Note to self: Cut back on the San Miguel beer.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”, my buddy growled back, “Do I look like the guy in charge of Dave?”
“Fuck you!”
“O.K., but no kissing”, his usual response to that tout.
“It’s just that he’s not in his bed. Did he make it back from town?”, I asked.
“All I know is that he wasn’t with us.”
Just then, a voice from the room down the hall said, “If you’re looking for Ensign Pulver, he’s locked in Crew Five’s room.”
“What? Why would he be locked in Crew Five’s room, they’re not even here right now. He came over with us this time”, I blurted back. “Is that you Wagner?”
“Listen...every time we come over, he asks one of us to lock him in the room at night. You know...so no one knows he’s in there”, the voice down the hall continued.
Just then, all the lights went out...as usual. The siren continued to wail in the early morning darkness. Funny...it was the same siren sound that we had known from grade school in the fifties. That air raid siren thing. The one that let us know our Early Warning System was being tested every other Friday. When we were in school, we had to get under our desks and pretend there was a nuclear attack coming. The Russians...you know? It was all kind of pretend back then. But, I guess, now, it was real.
Ensign Pulver was a actually Dave Pulver. The “ensign” moniker was acquired for obvious reasons to anyone old enough to have seen and appreciate the movie Mr. Roberts. Ensign Pulver was played in the movie by Jack Lemmon. Our Ensign Pulver was played by Dave Pulver.
Dave Pulver was a tall, lanky surfer kind of kid from the San Fernando Valley...the same place I was from. We hit it off immediately. During one of our home leaves, our families all got together and camped on the beach at Pismo. His family had a dune buggy. It was great fun in between deployments to this part of the world. So, we called him Ensign Pulver. He was a fun-loving, laid-back guy. He didn’t appear to care about anything. Hence, asking his crew to lock him in his room (from the outside with a pad lock) when he retired for the evening. Why, you ask?
I know it sounds like the script from a vampire movie. But, not quite. You see, if Dave’s room was locked from the outside, the MP’s thought that no one was in there. And when we had to evacuate the barracks during Red Alerts...Ensign Pulver could continue to “sleep it off”, ie, not evacuate the barracks...and go into the bunkers outside.
Myself and the rest of our crew stumbled out of the barracks into the sand, and trudged our way to the sandbagged bunker just outside.
You see, no one ever ventured into these bunkers between the barracks...during red alerts or any other time. These bunkers were full of sand fleas and scorpions. Why would you want to go in there?
So, during Red Alerts, we would all sit on the outside of the bunkers and watch the “show”. Most of the time, several guys lit up a joint or three...and we just waited it out.
The “show” was some sort of attack on the base. Usually staged from one of the steep hillsides next to the sprawling Air Force base. The V.C. would set up bamboo rocket launchers...and try to hit the fuel tanks on the other side of the runway. Occasionally, we could see a rocket take off from the distance, heading for the other side of the runway. Most of the time, it landed near the fuel tanks. Sometimes...it actually hit its intended target.
Tonight...everything fell short from the jungle hillsides next to Cam Rahn Bay. None of the rockets hit their targets that night. We watched from the relative safety of the huge compound that was once the largest military base in South Viet Nam.
Just after the attack, U.S. Army Huey helicopter gunships would speed off, just over our heads. A few seconds later, we could see their M-60 waist gunners spraying the hillsides with the tracers from their weapons. The enemy was probably already gone by then...retreated back into the jungle. As for us...we just sat there on the edge of the bunkers...smoking joints and talking about home.
As for Ensign Pulver? He just slept through the whole ordeal. As for me? When the “show” was over, I just climbed back into my “bunk”...and dreamed about home.
That was April 2nd, 1971. My first night in Cam Rahn Bay...Viet Nam.
It was time once again for one of our almost nightly routines. Glancing at my watch in the light of a bare bulb in the hallway in the plywood walled barracks, I could barely make out that it said 2:35 am. I struggled to pull on my cut off jeans, they had gotten a little tight. Note to self: Cut back on the San Miguel beer.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”, my buddy growled back, “Do I look like the guy in charge of Dave?”
“Fuck you!”
“O.K., but no kissing”, his usual response to that tout.
“It’s just that he’s not in his bed. Did he make it back from town?”, I asked.
“All I know is that he wasn’t with us.”
Just then, a voice from the room down the hall said, “If you’re looking for Ensign Pulver, he’s locked in Crew Five’s room.”
“What? Why would he be locked in Crew Five’s room, they’re not even here right now. He came over with us this time”, I blurted back. “Is that you Wagner?”
“Listen...every time we come over, he asks one of us to lock him in the room at night. You know...so no one knows he’s in there”, the voice down the hall continued.
Just then, all the lights went out...as usual. The siren continued to wail in the early morning darkness. Funny...it was the same siren sound that we had known from grade school in the fifties. That air raid siren thing. The one that let us know our Early Warning System was being tested every other Friday. When we were in school, we had to get under our desks and pretend there was a nuclear attack coming. The Russians...you know? It was all kind of pretend back then. But, I guess, now, it was real.
Ensign Pulver was a actually Dave Pulver. The “ensign” moniker was acquired for obvious reasons to anyone old enough to have seen and appreciate the movie Mr. Roberts. Ensign Pulver was played in the movie by Jack Lemmon. Our Ensign Pulver was played by Dave Pulver.
Dave Pulver was a tall, lanky surfer kind of kid from the San Fernando Valley...the same place I was from. We hit it off immediately. During one of our home leaves, our families all got together and camped on the beach at Pismo. His family had a dune buggy. It was great fun in between deployments to this part of the world. So, we called him Ensign Pulver. He was a fun-loving, laid-back guy. He didn’t appear to care about anything. Hence, asking his crew to lock him in his room (from the outside with a pad lock) when he retired for the evening. Why, you ask?
I know it sounds like the script from a vampire movie. But, not quite. You see, if Dave’s room was locked from the outside, the MP’s thought that no one was in there. And when we had to evacuate the barracks during Red Alerts...Ensign Pulver could continue to “sleep it off”, ie, not evacuate the barracks...and go into the bunkers outside.
Myself and the rest of our crew stumbled out of the barracks into the sand, and trudged our way to the sandbagged bunker just outside.
You see, no one ever ventured into these bunkers between the barracks...during red alerts or any other time. These bunkers were full of sand fleas and scorpions. Why would you want to go in there?
So, during Red Alerts, we would all sit on the outside of the bunkers and watch the “show”. Most of the time, several guys lit up a joint or three...and we just waited it out.
The “show” was some sort of attack on the base. Usually staged from one of the steep hillsides next to the sprawling Air Force base. The V.C. would set up bamboo rocket launchers...and try to hit the fuel tanks on the other side of the runway. Occasionally, we could see a rocket take off from the distance, heading for the other side of the runway. Most of the time, it landed near the fuel tanks. Sometimes...it actually hit its intended target.
Tonight...everything fell short from the jungle hillsides next to Cam Rahn Bay. None of the rockets hit their targets that night. We watched from the relative safety of the huge compound that was once the largest military base in South Viet Nam.
Just after the attack, U.S. Army Huey helicopter gunships would speed off, just over our heads. A few seconds later, we could see their M-60 waist gunners spraying the hillsides with the tracers from their weapons. The enemy was probably already gone by then...retreated back into the jungle. As for us...we just sat there on the edge of the bunkers...smoking joints and talking about home.
As for Ensign Pulver? He just slept through the whole ordeal. As for me? When the “show” was over, I just climbed back into my “bunk”...and dreamed about home.
That was April 2nd, 1971. My first night in Cam Rahn Bay...Viet Nam.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Still hoping to find the Land of Never Never
Is Neverland a metaphor for eternal childhood, immortality, or escapism? J.M. Barrie’s play suggests this.
Can you think back to every time someone told you “never”? Never run with scissors. Never cross the street without looking both ways. Never kill a ladybug. You will never amount to anything. Did you always accept this at face value? Did you question any of the nevers in your life?
Where would the world be if we didn’t question directives containing never?
In Peter Pan, Neverland was where you never aged. But you had to get there first. Children found Neverland when they flew onward for days. And the only way they ultimately found it was because the island of Neverland was always moving towards them. It was constantly heading in their direction.
Something has been heading in my direction all my life. Some point of contact. Some point of change. Up to this point, it has alluded me. It’s vagueness has been confusing. It has been hiding. Over the years, I’ve been afforded clues to what it is, but seldom any real answers or road map to its location.
I may be stairing it right in the face now. But I am still not certain that it isn’t another red herring in my life. An escapist’s dream. A fantasy. Another journey toward Never Neverland, the Neverwood, Fort Pan, the Grief Reef and Maze of Regrets.
Second to the right and straight on till morning. Those are still the directions to that place. I hope I never lose them.
Can you think back to every time someone told you “never”? Never run with scissors. Never cross the street without looking both ways. Never kill a ladybug. You will never amount to anything. Did you always accept this at face value? Did you question any of the nevers in your life?
Where would the world be if we didn’t question directives containing never?
In Peter Pan, Neverland was where you never aged. But you had to get there first. Children found Neverland when they flew onward for days. And the only way they ultimately found it was because the island of Neverland was always moving towards them. It was constantly heading in their direction.
Something has been heading in my direction all my life. Some point of contact. Some point of change. Up to this point, it has alluded me. It’s vagueness has been confusing. It has been hiding. Over the years, I’ve been afforded clues to what it is, but seldom any real answers or road map to its location.
I may be stairing it right in the face now. But I am still not certain that it isn’t another red herring in my life. An escapist’s dream. A fantasy. Another journey toward Never Neverland, the Neverwood, Fort Pan, the Grief Reef and Maze of Regrets.
Second to the right and straight on till morning. Those are still the directions to that place. I hope I never lose them.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
In My Dreams
In my dreams...
I run with ease for long distances.
I often find myself in strange, unfamiliar places far from home and can’t find my way back.
The image in the mirror looks like me, but much younger.
I am often making a movie.
I am often frustrated and overwhelmed by my “job”.
I sometimes meet former wives and girlfriends. Sometimes, they don’t remember me.
I can’t find my luggage.
I am in great physical condition.
I often have lots of long hair.
I often used to find myself running from a crashing airplane.
I am still in the Navy at times.
I wake up and find myself in a different dream.
I am “on the air” at a radio station and can’t find my next record.
I am managing a restaurant and most of the employees don’t show up for work on a busy day.
I play lead guitar well in a great rock band.
The colors are extremely vivid.
I have no pain.
I still want more out of life.
I run with ease for long distances.
I often find myself in strange, unfamiliar places far from home and can’t find my way back.
The image in the mirror looks like me, but much younger.
I am often making a movie.
I am often frustrated and overwhelmed by my “job”.
I sometimes meet former wives and girlfriends. Sometimes, they don’t remember me.
I can’t find my luggage.
I am in great physical condition.
I often have lots of long hair.
I often used to find myself running from a crashing airplane.
I am still in the Navy at times.
I wake up and find myself in a different dream.
I am “on the air” at a radio station and can’t find my next record.
I am managing a restaurant and most of the employees don’t show up for work on a busy day.
I play lead guitar well in a great rock band.
The colors are extremely vivid.
I have no pain.
I still want more out of life.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Lemurology 5
Raptor #1: Check out those two lemurs down there.
Raptor #2: Sweet. Let's eat 'em!
Raptor #1: Naw, I just ate a snake...they're a bit filling.
Raptor #2: Well, then let's just mess with the lemurs.
Raptor #1: Hey down there. You know, we are so far above you on the food chain it isn't even silly!
Lemur: Oh yeah! Show us your opposable thumbs!
Raptor #2: Showoff!
Raptor #2: Sweet. Let's eat 'em!
Raptor #1: Naw, I just ate a snake...they're a bit filling.
Raptor #2: Well, then let's just mess with the lemurs.
Raptor #1: Hey down there. You know, we are so far above you on the food chain it isn't even silly!
Lemur: Oh yeah! Show us your opposable thumbs!
Raptor #2: Showoff!
Lemurology 4
Lemur #1: For the most part, I really like being a lemur.
lemur #2: Yeah, me too. We get to hang out anytime we want. We eat anytime we want. We mate anytime we want. The life of a lemur ain't that bad.
Lemur #1: And...we can see in the dark. We're nocturnal creatures.
Lemur #2: Come to think of it...I'm not too crazy about one thing.
Lemur #1: These big old bulging eyes of ours! We look kind of silly.
Lemur #2: I concur. But that's the trade out for seeing in the dark my friend.
Lemur #1: True. Living a functional existence in pitch black primordial conditions does have its advantages.
Lemur #2: Nice rationalization dude!
lemur #2: Yeah, me too. We get to hang out anytime we want. We eat anytime we want. We mate anytime we want. The life of a lemur ain't that bad.
Lemur #1: And...we can see in the dark. We're nocturnal creatures.
Lemur #2: Come to think of it...I'm not too crazy about one thing.
Lemur #1: These big old bulging eyes of ours! We look kind of silly.
Lemur #2: I concur. But that's the trade out for seeing in the dark my friend.
Lemur #1: True. Living a functional existence in pitch black primordial conditions does have its advantages.
Lemur #2: Nice rationalization dude!
Lemurology 3
Lemur #1: Ever think about moving somewhere else?
Lemur #2: Sure. Why do you ask?
Lemur #1: I'm kind of tired of this place. Same food. Same weather. Same friends. Same everything every day. I'm bored. I think I have "island-itis".
Lemur #2: I not sure it is possible for lemurs to be bored...but I feel your pain, man!
Lemur #1: So let's do it. Let's move somewhere else.
Lemur #2: Only one problem. Lemurs only live on the island of Madagascar, and a few other small neighboring islands. We'd just be moving to another, smaller island.
Lemur #1: I hate being a lemur!
Lemur #2: Sure. Why do you ask?
Lemur #1: I'm kind of tired of this place. Same food. Same weather. Same friends. Same everything every day. I'm bored. I think I have "island-itis".
Lemur #2: I not sure it is possible for lemurs to be bored...but I feel your pain, man!
Lemur #1: So let's do it. Let's move somewhere else.
Lemur #2: Only one problem. Lemurs only live on the island of Madagascar, and a few other small neighboring islands. We'd just be moving to another, smaller island.
Lemur #1: I hate being a lemur!
Lemurology 2
Lemur Child: Hey, Dad?
Lemur Dad: Yes, son.
Lemur Child: I'm kind of worried.
Lemur Dad: Well, I would be worried about the fact that you're worried, save for the fact that lemurs don't worry. Only humans do that...and we are sub-humans, you know...prosimians.
Lemur Child: Really? Then what is this strange feeling I have?
Lemur Dad: Go on...
Lemur Child: What about that big eagle circling overhead?
Lemur Dad: Hmmm...you may be on to something here!
Lemur Dad: Yes, son.
Lemur Child: I'm kind of worried.
Lemur Dad: Well, I would be worried about the fact that you're worried, save for the fact that lemurs don't worry. Only humans do that...and we are sub-humans, you know...prosimians.
Lemur Child: Really? Then what is this strange feeling I have?
Lemur Dad: Go on...
Lemur Child: What about that big eagle circling overhead?
Lemur Dad: Hmmm...you may be on to something here!
Lemurology
Lemur #1: I've been thinking about this whole primate thing.
Lemur #2: Yeah, what do you mean?
Lemur #1: Well, they say we are supposed to be related to humans and monkeys...you know...prosimians.
Lemur #2: What's your point?
Lemur #1: I hate being compared to a monkey. Monkeys are so...human-like.
Lemur #2: Point taken!
Lemur #2: Yeah, what do you mean?
Lemur #1: Well, they say we are supposed to be related to humans and monkeys...you know...prosimians.
Lemur #2: What's your point?
Lemur #1: I hate being compared to a monkey. Monkeys are so...human-like.
Lemur #2: Point taken!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Favorite lines from a movie...the answers.
"C'mon Clark. I'm freezing my baguettes off!" Christmas Vacation
"We're gonna need a bigger boat." Jaws
"What we have here...is failure to communicate." Cool Hand Luke
"We'll always have Paris." Casablanca
"There are no feesh...in theese lake." Grand Prix
"Well...there are a lot of now now people in there...I'll tell you that!" Return of the Pink Panther
"At least you're not yellow anymore." Revenge of the Pink Panther
"Num num...birdie num num." The Party
"Elaine! Elaine!" "Ben!!!" The Graduate
"It ain't the years, honey. It's the mileage!" Raiders of the Lost Ark
"No...No, not whatever...you fucking derelict." Sideways
"Mine's bigger than yours!" Animal House
"George...you're a swine!" Hard Days Night
"Kato...it appears the Hornet is in need of a service." Pink Panther Strikes Again
"The problem is...you let someone see you do it!" Dirty Dozen
"Say my name!!!" Neverending Story
She's getting married! Married! "Sheese!!!" Sixteen Candles
"We're gonna need a bigger boat." Jaws
"What we have here...is failure to communicate." Cool Hand Luke
"We'll always have Paris." Casablanca
"There are no feesh...in theese lake." Grand Prix
"Well...there are a lot of now now people in there...I'll tell you that!" Return of the Pink Panther
"At least you're not yellow anymore." Revenge of the Pink Panther
"Num num...birdie num num." The Party
"Elaine! Elaine!" "Ben!!!" The Graduate
"It ain't the years, honey. It's the mileage!" Raiders of the Lost Ark
"No...No, not whatever...you fucking derelict." Sideways
"Mine's bigger than yours!" Animal House
"George...you're a swine!" Hard Days Night
"Kato...it appears the Hornet is in need of a service." Pink Panther Strikes Again
"The problem is...you let someone see you do it!" Dirty Dozen
"Say my name!!!" Neverending Story
She's getting married! Married! "Sheese!!!" Sixteen Candles
Was that a compliment!
A recent conversation with a rather young (22), female employee who works for me...
Me: ...and at 57, I still feel much younger than that.
She: Wow! You're 57?
Me: Ah huh
She: I wouldn't have guessed you were that old.
Me: Really? How old do I appear to be?
She: Not more than 54 or 55!
True story.
Me: ...and at 57, I still feel much younger than that.
She: Wow! You're 57?
Me: Ah huh
She: I wouldn't have guessed you were that old.
Me: Really? How old do I appear to be?
She: Not more than 54 or 55!
True story.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Favorite lines from a movie...guess the movie.
Guess the movies...
"C'mon Clark. I'm freezing my baguettes off!"
"We're gonna need a bigger boat."
"What we have here...is failure to communicate."
"We'll always have Paris."
"There are no feesh...in theese lake."
"Well...there are a lot of now now people in there...I'll tell you that!"
"At least you're not yellow anymore."
"Num num...birdie num num."
"Elaine! Elaine!" "Ben!!!"
"It ain't the years, honey. It's the mileage!"
"No...No, not whatever...you fucking derelict."
"Mine's bigger than yours!"
"George...you're a swine!"
"Kato...it appears the Hornet is in need of a service."
"The problem is...you let someone see you do it!"
"Say my name!!!"
She's getting married! Married! "Sheese!!!"
No prizes for correct answers. But, I would certainly entertain any other challenges...forthwit.
"C'mon Clark. I'm freezing my baguettes off!"
"We're gonna need a bigger boat."
"What we have here...is failure to communicate."
"We'll always have Paris."
"There are no feesh...in theese lake."
"Well...there are a lot of now now people in there...I'll tell you that!"
"At least you're not yellow anymore."
"Num num...birdie num num."
"Elaine! Elaine!" "Ben!!!"
"It ain't the years, honey. It's the mileage!"
"No...No, not whatever...you fucking derelict."
"Mine's bigger than yours!"
"George...you're a swine!"
"Kato...it appears the Hornet is in need of a service."
"The problem is...you let someone see you do it!"
"Say my name!!!"
She's getting married! Married! "Sheese!!!"
No prizes for correct answers. But, I would certainly entertain any other challenges...forthwit.
Average and averager
I was recently asked (by someone very close to me) if #1: Is everything going OK? #2: You've been posting more on the blog lately - does this mean you're working less? #3: Or just making time for it? Anyway, I worry about you, Dad.
My responses to these questions: Yes...No...Yes! It seems the brevity of my answers may have elicited even more concern for my demeanor. It also seems that I am not exhibiting past "average" behavior of late. With that in mind, here is a more detailed explanation to those three questions.
#1: Is everything OK? Yes, I've never been better! Of course, that's a lie. But there is nothing ominous or nefarious going on in my life right now...for the most part. I do have another doctor's appointment this Friday to go over blood test results, ie, triglyceride and cholesterol stuff. Since the doc told me two weeks ago (for the 100th time in 25 years), "You realize that you are a walking "time bomb", don't you?"...I expect the same this Friday. Hopefully, I won't explode before the end of the week!
#2: You've been posting more on your blog lately...does this mean you're working less? No, quite the contrary. Of course, that's a lie. It's not that I am working more hours, but I am putting in more "mental mileage". Work is beginning to wear me down again, ie, stress, taking it home, losing hope that taking this new position was the right decision.
#3: Or, just making more time for it (blog writing)? Yeah...that must be it! This is not a lie. I have been making a concerted effort to write more lately. It's great therapy for a border line manic depressive who is attempting to stay between those magic lines on the looney graph. But isn't that what life is all about...staying between the lines?
Am I not exhibiting A.S.B. (Average Skip-like Behavior)? Or, from another viewpoint, A.D.B. (Average Dad-like Behavior)?
Here's the dictionary definition of averageness (non-math model): indicating a middle position on a scale of evaluation. Average and medium apply to what is midway between extremes and imply both sufficiency and lack of distinction. I love that "lack of distinction" part, that does so much for my unstable ego!
I received an email today from another individual (on a photo sharing site) asking me why I rated his photo "Below Average". The way it was worded implied that he was whimpering a bit while writing it. I responded with a rather lengthy explanation of photo site rating systems, some photo-technical babble about his image, and a disclaimer that it was only "my opinion". His photo was indeed below average based on all the other pictures I have stored in my mental data base. Take a pill...then take more pictures, dude!
For most of us, we spend the majority of our lives doing average things. Even acclaimed artists and writers do not hit those home runs every time. It's all based on averages and medians. And those average and medians are relative to cultural moments in time and relative to past personal levels. Right?
The best we can hope for is to stay between the lines most of the time. If we stray a bit or up or down on occasion...so be it. Upward movement may be perceived as good days, downward movement bad days. We must simply attempt to stay in control of the magnitude of those "swings".
Just another average day in paradise!
My responses to these questions: Yes...No...Yes! It seems the brevity of my answers may have elicited even more concern for my demeanor. It also seems that I am not exhibiting past "average" behavior of late. With that in mind, here is a more detailed explanation to those three questions.
#1: Is everything OK? Yes, I've never been better! Of course, that's a lie. But there is nothing ominous or nefarious going on in my life right now...for the most part. I do have another doctor's appointment this Friday to go over blood test results, ie, triglyceride and cholesterol stuff. Since the doc told me two weeks ago (for the 100th time in 25 years), "You realize that you are a walking "time bomb", don't you?"...I expect the same this Friday. Hopefully, I won't explode before the end of the week!
#2: You've been posting more on your blog lately...does this mean you're working less? No, quite the contrary. Of course, that's a lie. It's not that I am working more hours, but I am putting in more "mental mileage". Work is beginning to wear me down again, ie, stress, taking it home, losing hope that taking this new position was the right decision.
#3: Or, just making more time for it (blog writing)? Yeah...that must be it! This is not a lie. I have been making a concerted effort to write more lately. It's great therapy for a border line manic depressive who is attempting to stay between those magic lines on the looney graph. But isn't that what life is all about...staying between the lines?
Am I not exhibiting A.S.B. (Average Skip-like Behavior)? Or, from another viewpoint, A.D.B. (Average Dad-like Behavior)?
Here's the dictionary definition of averageness (non-math model): indicating a middle position on a scale of evaluation. Average and medium apply to what is midway between extremes and imply both sufficiency and lack of distinction. I love that "lack of distinction" part, that does so much for my unstable ego!
I received an email today from another individual (on a photo sharing site) asking me why I rated his photo "Below Average". The way it was worded implied that he was whimpering a bit while writing it. I responded with a rather lengthy explanation of photo site rating systems, some photo-technical babble about his image, and a disclaimer that it was only "my opinion". His photo was indeed below average based on all the other pictures I have stored in my mental data base. Take a pill...then take more pictures, dude!
For most of us, we spend the majority of our lives doing average things. Even acclaimed artists and writers do not hit those home runs every time. It's all based on averages and medians. And those average and medians are relative to cultural moments in time and relative to past personal levels. Right?
The best we can hope for is to stay between the lines most of the time. If we stray a bit or up or down on occasion...so be it. Upward movement may be perceived as good days, downward movement bad days. We must simply attempt to stay in control of the magnitude of those "swings".
Just another average day in paradise!
Monday, June 18, 2007
The mundane and the mundaner
Woody Allen once said, "Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable".
The older I get, the more I resemble a gentile West Coast pseudo-Liberal version of Mr. Allen. But since I tend not to be quite as cynical (as in distrustful) or sarcastic (as in mocking), it looks like The World of the Mundane will have to be my milieu for now. Of course, my levels of sarcasm and cynicism are open for debate by friends and relatives.
Most people think that mundane means boring. That really is not the case. It means of the world, or relating to the world, or...simply ordinary. Not that there is anything wrong with being ordinary. Most of us are just that...average, ordinary people doing average, ordinary things in life and at work.
So, perhaps in my photography and writing efforts, I need to stretch out a bit more. Perhaps I need to be more cynical and sarcastic with what I write and with my images. Picasso was far from mundane. Richard Avedon is not mundane. Writers like Arthur Clarke, Ray Bradbury, and Rod Serling were not mundane. Are Normal Rockwell's paintings of every day life mundane? And are they so precisely ordinary as to make them unique? The same could be said for one of my favorite writers, John Steinbeck.
But maybe Woody Allen was mundane. Speaking about the most day-to-day things, he managed to turn them into the absurd...thus transcending the mundane of the ordinary. Thus putting himself into his own category of artist.
As a photographer, I think I could be considered a realist. I enjoy capturing images of people and things as they are and as they happen. Photo-portrait journalistic...with a flair for the ordinary. Too much of a contradiction in terms? Certainly seems that way. So be it.
That great fictional pop philosopher, Popeye, once said, "I 'yam what I 'yam!". Maybe he said it best. You do what you do...we are what we are. And the best we can hope for is that we strive to do it better all the time. But Popeye had a magical transforming elixir. Popeye had spinach. What is my spinach?
As I mention in my blog profile, "I know I'm here for a reason. We just haven't quite figured out what that reason is". I hate spinach. But perhaps, therein lies a clue to finding my own personal muse.
For sure, I'm not particularly fond of another thing...myself.
Ah hah! I may be on to something here!
The older I get, the more I resemble a gentile West Coast pseudo-Liberal version of Mr. Allen. But since I tend not to be quite as cynical (as in distrustful) or sarcastic (as in mocking), it looks like The World of the Mundane will have to be my milieu for now. Of course, my levels of sarcasm and cynicism are open for debate by friends and relatives.
Most people think that mundane means boring. That really is not the case. It means of the world, or relating to the world, or...simply ordinary. Not that there is anything wrong with being ordinary. Most of us are just that...average, ordinary people doing average, ordinary things in life and at work.
So, perhaps in my photography and writing efforts, I need to stretch out a bit more. Perhaps I need to be more cynical and sarcastic with what I write and with my images. Picasso was far from mundane. Richard Avedon is not mundane. Writers like Arthur Clarke, Ray Bradbury, and Rod Serling were not mundane. Are Normal Rockwell's paintings of every day life mundane? And are they so precisely ordinary as to make them unique? The same could be said for one of my favorite writers, John Steinbeck.
But maybe Woody Allen was mundane. Speaking about the most day-to-day things, he managed to turn them into the absurd...thus transcending the mundane of the ordinary. Thus putting himself into his own category of artist.
As a photographer, I think I could be considered a realist. I enjoy capturing images of people and things as they are and as they happen. Photo-portrait journalistic...with a flair for the ordinary. Too much of a contradiction in terms? Certainly seems that way. So be it.
That great fictional pop philosopher, Popeye, once said, "I 'yam what I 'yam!". Maybe he said it best. You do what you do...we are what we are. And the best we can hope for is that we strive to do it better all the time. But Popeye had a magical transforming elixir. Popeye had spinach. What is my spinach?
As I mention in my blog profile, "I know I'm here for a reason. We just haven't quite figured out what that reason is". I hate spinach. But perhaps, therein lies a clue to finding my own personal muse.
For sure, I'm not particularly fond of another thing...myself.
Ah hah! I may be on to something here!
The Day After Yesterday
Wasn't that the title of Miles Raymond's book in the movie Sideways? Or, as Maya responded: "You mean today!"
As each new day begins, we as humans aren't the only organisms on this earth "burdened" by memories. Our paciderm friends have centuries of data stored in their brains. And not just information about the day before. They supposedly carry around thoughts about distant relatives, far off places, and evolutionary history. What a burden that must be. No wonder elephants have trunks!
We need memories, no doubt about it. Without memories, we would not be able to learn...one of the characteristics once thought to be exclusive to homo sapiens. We know differently now. Even flatworms have some sort of learning curve. But do flatworms, or any other living organism other than humans, use memories like we do? Are we the sole animal that uses memories from yesterday to worry the day after yesterday?
Chimpanzee #1: You know, yesterday I found this wonderful fruit tree down by the river.
Chimpanzee #2: Really? You may remember that I was there with you.
Chimpanzee #1: Oh, that's right. Now I remember.
Chimpanzee #2: What's your point?
Chimpanzee #1: Well, you may recall that we couldn't reach the fruit. It was too high in that tree. For us to eat today, we need to find a way to get that fruit.
Chimpanzee #2: True. But are you going to sit there and worry about it all day...or shall we just go down there and figure out a way to get the fruit?
Chimpanzee #1: What's your point?
Chimpanzee #2: I do worry about you sometimes! Follow me.
What's my point you may ask? I even seem to worry about the amount of time I spend worrying. How about you?
Note to self: Today, go down to the river and figure out how to get that fruit.
As each new day begins, we as humans aren't the only organisms on this earth "burdened" by memories. Our paciderm friends have centuries of data stored in their brains. And not just information about the day before. They supposedly carry around thoughts about distant relatives, far off places, and evolutionary history. What a burden that must be. No wonder elephants have trunks!
We need memories, no doubt about it. Without memories, we would not be able to learn...one of the characteristics once thought to be exclusive to homo sapiens. We know differently now. Even flatworms have some sort of learning curve. But do flatworms, or any other living organism other than humans, use memories like we do? Are we the sole animal that uses memories from yesterday to worry the day after yesterday?
Chimpanzee #1: You know, yesterday I found this wonderful fruit tree down by the river.
Chimpanzee #2: Really? You may remember that I was there with you.
Chimpanzee #1: Oh, that's right. Now I remember.
Chimpanzee #2: What's your point?
Chimpanzee #1: Well, you may recall that we couldn't reach the fruit. It was too high in that tree. For us to eat today, we need to find a way to get that fruit.
Chimpanzee #2: True. But are you going to sit there and worry about it all day...or shall we just go down there and figure out a way to get the fruit?
Chimpanzee #1: What's your point?
Chimpanzee #2: I do worry about you sometimes! Follow me.
What's my point you may ask? I even seem to worry about the amount of time I spend worrying. How about you?
Note to self: Today, go down to the river and figure out how to get that fruit.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
10 Things About My Dad
1. My Dad would let us ride on his back in the swimming pool.
2. My Dad liked to eat sardine, mustard, and onion sandwiches on weekends.
3. My Dad could grow the best mustache.
4. My Dad taught me how to fish.
5. My Dad taught me how to drive a car.
6. My Dad fixed things around the house.
7. My Dad took me to the home and garden store on Saturday mornings...and to the toy store, the aquarium store, and the sporting goods store.
8. My Dad took me for haircuts. Then we went to the little bar next door. He drank a beer, I had a Coke. We both ate peanuts and played that table top shuffle board game until he thought my Mom expected us home.
9. My Dad took us out to dinner most every Friday night. On Saturday nights, he cooked us T-Bone steaks at home. On Sunday mornings, he made us the best breakfasts.
10. My Dad loved his family very much.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Early morning Monterey
I couldn’t get back to sleep. Waking up around 4:00 am, my mind was just too busy with thoughts about bills, work, photography, and my writing. My head ached just a bit from too much wine at dinner the night before. So I just laid there in our motel room bed in the dark for an hour or so, listening to the occasional gull’s cry just outside the window...thinking I should just get up and go for a walk.
Around 5:00 am, I sat on the edge of the bed and gazed out the second story window. It was still mostly dark, no cars or other traffic on the street below. Just the sounds of the gulls. One yellowish streetlight lit up the entrance to the motel parking lot, casting an ethereal light through the morning mist and onto the pavement below. One lone passerby strolled into the light as he made his way down Wave St toward Cannery Row in the distance. His hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, he walked with a purpose as if on his way to an early morning job. Or maybe his purpose was getting back home after a long night’s work somewhere in the other direction. He disappeared into the dark gray morning as quickly as he appeared. I decided to go for that walk.
Throwing on a pair of khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt...I gathered up my camera and an extra lens and quietly existed the motel room, trying not to disturb my wife. I gently pulled the door closed and headed downstairs through the dimly lit stairwell. Making my way out through the lobby, I offered a nod toward the man at the front desk as I walked by. He appeared to be Indian or Pakistani. He nodded back with a sleepy gaze on his face.
It wasn’t foggy at all this morning, only remnants of an evening mist remained. The sky was still dark gray with a few clouds in the distance over the ocean. You could see just a hint of pink in the sky. I started walking south down Wave St and then on the bike path that parallels that thoroughfare. Cannery Row is just one street over. Crossing through an empty parking lot that was once the foundation of one of the many cannery related businesses here, I reached Cannery Row in couple minutes.
It was eerily quiet on this Monday morning. Most of the tourists from the weekend had probably headed home the previous afternoon or were still slumbering in their motel rooms, planning to get an early start back to their weekday lives. It was late September, the busy travel season had ended a few weeks before. I gazed up the Row toward the aquarium a half mile or so in the distance. The street lights were still on. I headed toward McAbee Beach a few hundred yards away. The gulls continued to circle overhead, looking for something to eat. Without their cackles and screeches you would not even know they were there.
I was going to take some photos of the sunrise near The Spindrift Inn, located right on the sand at McAbee Beach. Heading in that direction, I stopped to take a few shots of some old cannery foundations, long since abandoned, waiting for someone to build a hotel or restaurant on them. It seemed funny that this had not been done yet. Who owns these properties? They must be worth millions I thought.
As I continued to point and shoot my digital camera northward on Cannery Row, I restaurant worker was taking out the garbage to one of the many dumpsters now lining the street waiting for pickup. Another worker hosed down the sidewalk nearby.
It was a very peaceful morning. I was happy I got up and went for that walk. I had Cannery Row almost to myself. It was starting get light now.
As I gazed out to sea, a couple appeared from one of the side streets, a man and a woman. They made their way down to the sea wall overlooking McAbee, stopped, and leaned against the old structure on their elbows. It looked as though they were simply on a morning walk, enjoying the sunrise. Maybe it was Doc and Hazel I mused with a slight smile on my face.
I raised my camera to take a shot of the couple and I couldn't find them in the viewfinder. I lowered my camera to get a better look...and they were gone.
Around 5:00 am, I sat on the edge of the bed and gazed out the second story window. It was still mostly dark, no cars or other traffic on the street below. Just the sounds of the gulls. One yellowish streetlight lit up the entrance to the motel parking lot, casting an ethereal light through the morning mist and onto the pavement below. One lone passerby strolled into the light as he made his way down Wave St toward Cannery Row in the distance. His hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, he walked with a purpose as if on his way to an early morning job. Or maybe his purpose was getting back home after a long night’s work somewhere in the other direction. He disappeared into the dark gray morning as quickly as he appeared. I decided to go for that walk.
Throwing on a pair of khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt...I gathered up my camera and an extra lens and quietly existed the motel room, trying not to disturb my wife. I gently pulled the door closed and headed downstairs through the dimly lit stairwell. Making my way out through the lobby, I offered a nod toward the man at the front desk as I walked by. He appeared to be Indian or Pakistani. He nodded back with a sleepy gaze on his face.
It wasn’t foggy at all this morning, only remnants of an evening mist remained. The sky was still dark gray with a few clouds in the distance over the ocean. You could see just a hint of pink in the sky. I started walking south down Wave St and then on the bike path that parallels that thoroughfare. Cannery Row is just one street over. Crossing through an empty parking lot that was once the foundation of one of the many cannery related businesses here, I reached Cannery Row in couple minutes.
It was eerily quiet on this Monday morning. Most of the tourists from the weekend had probably headed home the previous afternoon or were still slumbering in their motel rooms, planning to get an early start back to their weekday lives. It was late September, the busy travel season had ended a few weeks before. I gazed up the Row toward the aquarium a half mile or so in the distance. The street lights were still on. I headed toward McAbee Beach a few hundred yards away. The gulls continued to circle overhead, looking for something to eat. Without their cackles and screeches you would not even know they were there.
I was going to take some photos of the sunrise near The Spindrift Inn, located right on the sand at McAbee Beach. Heading in that direction, I stopped to take a few shots of some old cannery foundations, long since abandoned, waiting for someone to build a hotel or restaurant on them. It seemed funny that this had not been done yet. Who owns these properties? They must be worth millions I thought.
As I continued to point and shoot my digital camera northward on Cannery Row, I restaurant worker was taking out the garbage to one of the many dumpsters now lining the street waiting for pickup. Another worker hosed down the sidewalk nearby.
It was a very peaceful morning. I was happy I got up and went for that walk. I had Cannery Row almost to myself. It was starting get light now.
As I gazed out to sea, a couple appeared from one of the side streets, a man and a woman. They made their way down to the sea wall overlooking McAbee, stopped, and leaned against the old structure on their elbows. It looked as though they were simply on a morning walk, enjoying the sunrise. Maybe it was Doc and Hazel I mused with a slight smile on my face.
I raised my camera to take a shot of the couple and I couldn't find them in the viewfinder. I lowered my camera to get a better look...and they were gone.
Friday, June 15, 2007
He taught us science on T.V.
Before there was Nickleodeon, or the National Geographic Channel, The Discovery Channel, or the internet...there was Mr. Wizard.
From 1951 to 1964 Watch Mr. Wizard taught many of us baby-boomers about the wonders of science and nature on television. The star of this iconic t.v. show, Don Herbert, passed away the other day at the age of 89.
Through most of my childhood years, I dreamed of being a biologist. I was always fascinated with science, animals, and nature. My aspirations to pursue this field changed a bit in my early teen years to oceanography. I even knew what school I wanted to attend, San Diego State. But, later on, other interests and forces acted upon me and I gave up the biologist dream...perhaps I just grew out of my obsession with fish, frogs, microscopes, and test tubes. I wanted to get into film making instead.
Don Herbert was a soft spoken, easy to understand science mentor. He always seemed to have a couple of kids on the simple set he occupied for the 14 years that Watch Mr. Wizard was broadcast...live, and in black and white for most of its run.
For those who don’t remember, here’s the website. For those of us who do remember...thanks Don Herbert...we’ll miss you.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Public hot tubs
Being raised in a home with a swimming pool was wonderful. Our family enjoyed the middle-class luxury of a San Fernando Valley neighborhood from the late 50's through the early 70's. Most of us had pools. And since that bastian of L.A. suburbia is technically in a semi-arid or Mediterranean climate, the weather stays warm to hot from Spring through Fall. We got to swim 8 months out of the year.
One of the downsides to growing up with a pool is that I have always had somewhat of an aversion to public water/bathing venues. Sure, we had to shower in school after gym class, but we didn't have to take a bath with a bunch of filthy adolescents. So now, in adulthood, I have a problem with taking a bath with filthy, disgusting adults! Public hot tubs...gah! We have a pool and a hot tub in our backyard now.
On our little Monterey overnight trip this past weekend, we stayed at our favorite cheapy motel (HI Express on Cannery Row). Cheap this time of year means $165 a night...but cheaper than the Monterey Plaza located a hundred feet up the road. Our little motel is neat, clean, has a continental breakfast, is situated halfway between the wharf and the aquarium (a ten minute walk in either direction), and, it has a small hot tub. We look forward to spending a hour or so languishing in the well-kept public bath, usually in the afternoon after a day of walking around.
But this time out, our plans changed. We got back to the motel room around 4:00 and discovered our private spa was filled with people...four to be exact. Two large adults and their two very large pre-teen children. Fine. It's their motel too. After 30 minutes or so, they were still flopping around in the little hot tub. They frolicked, jumped around, splashed, and seemed to be having a good ol' time. Oh...and they were also doing something else. No, not that! After all, there were children in it, adult-sized 10 year olds, but children nonetheless. No...the male parent was sitting behind the female parent...and squeezing zits on her back! Yup...like two overweight aquatic chimpanzees in a grooming ritual, the male was popping pimples on his mate's back.
This revolting display went on for at least half an hour as we stood looking down from our third story window...our mouths agape with disgust. This was the epitome of public rudeness in my book. I realize people do things in spas when no one is looking, we try not to think about that when we partake in communal hot tubbing. But geeze, I don't want to know about it first hand! I don't want to see it happening, knowing that various globules of puss, blackhead spew, and other muscousal materials are being deposited in the same water that other people (non-family members) must wallow in. Our conversation went something like this...
Loretta: Oh shit, check this out!
Me: (looking out the window) Holy shit...are they doing what I think they are doing?
Loretta: I'm complaining to the manager!
Me: And just what do you think he is going to do about it?
Loretta: I don't know.
Me: Like Mr. Gupta is going to tell them to stop popping pimples in the public pool?
Loretta: I guess.
Me: Well, that about wraps up any chance of us going in the spa...now, or anytime soon.
Loretta: Shit!
Me: Shit! Wanna drink?
Loretta: Make mine kind of weak.
Me: Fine...I'm having a double. Maybe several.
Heck, in our backyard spa, we hesitate letting people we know go in it. In a public hot tub, fahgeddaboutit! Forget the pimple popping...every child under the age of 15 takes a leak in them the moment they get in!
There must a Seinfeldism in here somewhere.
One of the downsides to growing up with a pool is that I have always had somewhat of an aversion to public water/bathing venues. Sure, we had to shower in school after gym class, but we didn't have to take a bath with a bunch of filthy adolescents. So now, in adulthood, I have a problem with taking a bath with filthy, disgusting adults! Public hot tubs...gah! We have a pool and a hot tub in our backyard now.
On our little Monterey overnight trip this past weekend, we stayed at our favorite cheapy motel (HI Express on Cannery Row). Cheap this time of year means $165 a night...but cheaper than the Monterey Plaza located a hundred feet up the road. Our little motel is neat, clean, has a continental breakfast, is situated halfway between the wharf and the aquarium (a ten minute walk in either direction), and, it has a small hot tub. We look forward to spending a hour or so languishing in the well-kept public bath, usually in the afternoon after a day of walking around.
But this time out, our plans changed. We got back to the motel room around 4:00 and discovered our private spa was filled with people...four to be exact. Two large adults and their two very large pre-teen children. Fine. It's their motel too. After 30 minutes or so, they were still flopping around in the little hot tub. They frolicked, jumped around, splashed, and seemed to be having a good ol' time. Oh...and they were also doing something else. No, not that! After all, there were children in it, adult-sized 10 year olds, but children nonetheless. No...the male parent was sitting behind the female parent...and squeezing zits on her back! Yup...like two overweight aquatic chimpanzees in a grooming ritual, the male was popping pimples on his mate's back.
This revolting display went on for at least half an hour as we stood looking down from our third story window...our mouths agape with disgust. This was the epitome of public rudeness in my book. I realize people do things in spas when no one is looking, we try not to think about that when we partake in communal hot tubbing. But geeze, I don't want to know about it first hand! I don't want to see it happening, knowing that various globules of puss, blackhead spew, and other muscousal materials are being deposited in the same water that other people (non-family members) must wallow in. Our conversation went something like this...
Loretta: Oh shit, check this out!
Me: (looking out the window) Holy shit...are they doing what I think they are doing?
Loretta: I'm complaining to the manager!
Me: And just what do you think he is going to do about it?
Loretta: I don't know.
Me: Like Mr. Gupta is going to tell them to stop popping pimples in the public pool?
Loretta: I guess.
Me: Well, that about wraps up any chance of us going in the spa...now, or anytime soon.
Loretta: Shit!
Me: Shit! Wanna drink?
Loretta: Make mine kind of weak.
Me: Fine...I'm having a double. Maybe several.
Heck, in our backyard spa, we hesitate letting people we know go in it. In a public hot tub, fahgeddaboutit! Forget the pimple popping...every child under the age of 15 takes a leak in them the moment they get in!
There must a Seinfeldism in here somewhere.
Rather and Couric feud
Apparently Big Dan made an off-handed comment about Katie Couric recently. It was something along the lines that she was "tarting" up the news.
My take on this? If Katie is "tarting" it up...then Dan would be "dinosauring" it down. What's the point? Dan used a descriptive word that hasn't been heard since the Jurassic period. At least he didn't say "ho-ing" it up or he would be out of a job like Imus is.
On one of the internet browser news pages, they gave us a choice: Would you rather see Dan or Katie do the news? I enthusiastically scrolled down to vote and was disappointed the editors were remiss in providing a third voting choice: Neither.
I still miss Walter Cronkite!
And that's the way it is...
My take on this? If Katie is "tarting" it up...then Dan would be "dinosauring" it down. What's the point? Dan used a descriptive word that hasn't been heard since the Jurassic period. At least he didn't say "ho-ing" it up or he would be out of a job like Imus is.
On one of the internet browser news pages, they gave us a choice: Would you rather see Dan or Katie do the news? I enthusiastically scrolled down to vote and was disappointed the editors were remiss in providing a third voting choice: Neither.
I still miss Walter Cronkite!
And that's the way it is...
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Sopranos last
The biggest kick I get out of the last Sopranos episode is from the fan response. To the Soprano's followers who insist on complaining about the non-ending ending: You sound more like whiney-ass-bitches than A.J. did!
C'mon...it's over. Chase ended the iconic soap opera the way he wanted, leaving us thinking. And, no, it wasn't a cop-out. It was like so many other well-written, well-conceived movies that closed with a "smirk". The smirk wasn't on the face of Tony...it was on the face of David Chase. Another funkier ending would have been with Tony turning his eyes to the camera, smirk on his face, fade to black. And THAT would have been a true "piss-off" to the fans.
Anyone hoping for the Gunfight at O.K. Corral would have been disappointed with that conclusion as well. As as far as leaving it open for a mega-bucks movie, theatrical or otherwise, what's the point? I don't believe that will ever happen. No one associated with The Sopranos is in need of more money, least not Chase or Gandolfini!
We, the fans, had our fun...now it's done. All of us armchair writers and directors can speculate all we want now. How fun is that? And that is what was intended with the final episode. The Sopranos was not a theatrical trilogy like The Godfather. The Sopranos was an 86 episode roller coaster ride over eight years that provided us with entertainment. It provided us with shock, with laughter, with disappointment, with speculation...just like life does.
The Sopranos. What an interesting journey. It will be fun to take that journey again sometime...from the beginning...to the end.
Stop your whining!
Fin.
C'mon...it's over. Chase ended the iconic soap opera the way he wanted, leaving us thinking. And, no, it wasn't a cop-out. It was like so many other well-written, well-conceived movies that closed with a "smirk". The smirk wasn't on the face of Tony...it was on the face of David Chase. Another funkier ending would have been with Tony turning his eyes to the camera, smirk on his face, fade to black. And THAT would have been a true "piss-off" to the fans.
Anyone hoping for the Gunfight at O.K. Corral would have been disappointed with that conclusion as well. As as far as leaving it open for a mega-bucks movie, theatrical or otherwise, what's the point? I don't believe that will ever happen. No one associated with The Sopranos is in need of more money, least not Chase or Gandolfini!
We, the fans, had our fun...now it's done. All of us armchair writers and directors can speculate all we want now. How fun is that? And that is what was intended with the final episode. The Sopranos was not a theatrical trilogy like The Godfather. The Sopranos was an 86 episode roller coaster ride over eight years that provided us with entertainment. It provided us with shock, with laughter, with disappointment, with speculation...just like life does.
The Sopranos. What an interesting journey. It will be fun to take that journey again sometime...from the beginning...to the end.
Stop your whining!
Fin.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Monterey. Quick Quip
Our 24 hour turnaround to Monterey has come and gone. We had fun going to the aquarium (though it was totally infested with throngs of rude children and foreign tourists), gotta go in mid-week next time. We saw otters and seals in the harbor. Drank a few $3 margaritas on the wharf. Ate a nice dinner at Fish Hoppers and a great breakfast at First Awakenings. The clouds and fog actually cleared for the first time in weeks (they tell us) both days we were there. 
The waves were crashing on the rocks at Pacific Grove and we breathed a lot of fresh sea air. Cannery Row is under some major renovations, so it was not as quaint as usual. Maybe all that construction will be finished in the Fall. It's the busy time of the year there (and everywhere else in California)...but we had a good time.
It's always all too short.
The waves were crashing on the rocks at Pacific Grove and we breathed a lot of fresh sea air. Cannery Row is under some major renovations, so it was not as quaint as usual. Maybe all that construction will be finished in the Fall. It's the busy time of the year there (and everywhere else in California)...but we had a good time.It's always all too short.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Monterey...here we come!
We are off on one of our weekend jaunts to the land of otters, John Steinbeck, Cannery Row, ocean breezes, and $3.00 margaritas on Fisherman's Wharf. It's only an overnighter...but we're not complaining. Hope the the Holiday Inn Express has HBO...Sopranos finale is Sunday night. If not, thank goodness for DVR's!
New photos to come (of course) on Monday!
New photos to come (of course) on Monday!
Friday, June 8, 2007
10 Things about me: inaugural edition
My daughter Jenifer does this on her blog regularly. So, why not? Here goes...
1. Extreme insect fear...always had it, always will! That goes for all spiders, most creepy crawlies, and some flying insects...magnitude of fear in that order.
2. I'm pretty sure I have a latent authority issue. I can't think of a boss that I didn't end of despising. Oh hell, honestly, my authority issue isn't latent at all!
3. I didn't actually do "it" until I was 18 years old. At the time, I figured I was last person in my peer group to make that leap. Details of this incident will not be divulged until my book is published.
4. While I was getting some blood drawn the other day, I asked the lab tech if I had gravy instead of blood in my veins. She chuckled slightly. I then said, I'm not worried though...the Jack Daniels keeps the gravy thin enough to flow freely. Yes, I love gravy!
5. My all time favorite celebrity boy/girl thing fantasy: I'm afraid it's still a toss up between Claudia Cardinale, Raquel Welsh, or Hayley Mills. Since it is a fantasy, why not all three at the same time?
6. I'm pretty convinced that I was either born too late, or had a former life in another part of the 20th century. The adventurer/writer born in 1900 (who was then reincarnated as me) led a very exciting, fulfilling life compared to mine. He was a self-actualized individual who followed his dreams, took many risks, died young (at age 49), and had no regrets. Whew! Glad I got that off my chest (again).
7. I'm wondering...at what age does eating chocolate become better than having sex?
8. Leg-man? Breast-man? Ass-man? As for me...I gradually transitioned from being a Breast-boy to a Leg-man somewhere in my mid-20's. A great set of gams is hard to come by (pardon the pun)...but breasts are a dime-a-dozen in this day and age. A great ass is even more of a rarity.
9. Sitting in the sand, watching an ocean sunset is better than Prosac...or any other mind-altering substance. Taking in a deep breath of sea air has the effect of being released from earthly bounds.
10. Do birds enjoy flying? Do they look forward to spreading their wings and taking off? Are they tired when they land? If I had one wish I had to use on myself, I would want to be able to fly.
Looks like about half of the 10 things are about sex or flying. Maybe I should have included more food things, pet peeves, and bodily function revelations. Probably good I didn't!
1. Extreme insect fear...always had it, always will! That goes for all spiders, most creepy crawlies, and some flying insects...magnitude of fear in that order.
2. I'm pretty sure I have a latent authority issue. I can't think of a boss that I didn't end of despising. Oh hell, honestly, my authority issue isn't latent at all!
3. I didn't actually do "it" until I was 18 years old. At the time, I figured I was last person in my peer group to make that leap. Details of this incident will not be divulged until my book is published.
4. While I was getting some blood drawn the other day, I asked the lab tech if I had gravy instead of blood in my veins. She chuckled slightly. I then said, I'm not worried though...the Jack Daniels keeps the gravy thin enough to flow freely. Yes, I love gravy!
5. My all time favorite celebrity boy/girl thing fantasy: I'm afraid it's still a toss up between Claudia Cardinale, Raquel Welsh, or Hayley Mills. Since it is a fantasy, why not all three at the same time?
6. I'm pretty convinced that I was either born too late, or had a former life in another part of the 20th century. The adventurer/writer born in 1900 (who was then reincarnated as me) led a very exciting, fulfilling life compared to mine. He was a self-actualized individual who followed his dreams, took many risks, died young (at age 49), and had no regrets. Whew! Glad I got that off my chest (again).
7. I'm wondering...at what age does eating chocolate become better than having sex?
8. Leg-man? Breast-man? Ass-man? As for me...I gradually transitioned from being a Breast-boy to a Leg-man somewhere in my mid-20's. A great set of gams is hard to come by (pardon the pun)...but breasts are a dime-a-dozen in this day and age. A great ass is even more of a rarity.
9. Sitting in the sand, watching an ocean sunset is better than Prosac...or any other mind-altering substance. Taking in a deep breath of sea air has the effect of being released from earthly bounds.
10. Do birds enjoy flying? Do they look forward to spreading their wings and taking off? Are they tired when they land? If I had one wish I had to use on myself, I would want to be able to fly.
Looks like about half of the 10 things are about sex or flying. Maybe I should have included more food things, pet peeves, and bodily function revelations. Probably good I didn't!
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
My baby girl survived another trip to NYC!
My "little" girl, Jenifer, just returned from another trip to New York City. She and hubby Roth were there last weekend (and then some) on a business trip for Jenifer's work, a Seattle-based publishing company.
Here's a link to her blog...and a few New York stories.
The agenda was mostly taken up by work-related things (a book fair), but they did get to see a few New Yawk sites, mostly culinary related of course!
Here's a link to her blog...and a few New York stories.
The agenda was mostly taken up by work-related things (a book fair), but they did get to see a few New Yawk sites, mostly culinary related of course!
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Egg Salad and other food musings...
A good egg salad is hard to come by. I keep trying different recipes. But one thing is for sure, egg salad was not made to eat in a sandwich environment, especially with hard bread. Take one bite and it just squirts out all over your clothes. Same goes for guacamole as well. Guac sounds good on the sandwich menu, but doesn't cut the mustard when attempting to eat it between two slices of bread, especially on a greasy burger!
Speaking of avocados. Always buy Hass, the ones with the rough surface. The smooth ones don't even taste like avocados. And forget trying to get a flavorful avocado in the winter!
Never order Buffalo wings or BBQ Ribs on a date.
Never walk away from a pan of milk you're heating on the stove. Especially milk and sugar. If it overflows, you'll get a great coating of epoxy on the stove surface.
Never put fresh tomatoes in the refrigerator, they won't ripen. Try a paper bag at room temperature, same goes for most fruits...especially peaches.
Who buys that canned chunk tuna packed in oil anyway? The only canned tuna worth it's weight for human consumption is Solid White Albacore packed in water. All the rest is not even fit for your cat!
If that fresh fish you bought smells like fish, take it back. It should smell like the ocean. If it's a whole fish, make sure he's looking back at you...eyes clear, not cloudy. And never, ever buy clams or mussels or oysters that are already open...unless, of course, it closes up when you touch it!
You can find excellent deals on steaks if you look for the "Reduced for Quick Sale" items. The general public is in love with bright red beef. The most flavorful steaks are aged and have a more brownish color. It shouldn't be stinky, just a bit musky smelling. Real steakhouses age their meat at least three weeks (whole) in the proper environment. The aging releases acids that break down the fibers and make it tender. Marinating does that in a much shorter amount of time.
If your county health department has adopted the posted rating system, always look for a big "A" in the window. A "B" means they have had health inspection issues and are working on them. A "C" means they should be closed! Coming soon to most restaurants near you.
If you want to make rice that doesn't stick and is extremely flavorful right out of the pan...saute your rice first in a little olive oil, just enough to make it golden brown. Then use chicken or beef broth for the liquid, add a little salt and pepper. For most varieties, it's two to one (liquid to rice). Don't over cook it. After sauteeing, add the broth, bring to a slow boil for about 5 minutes, then cover and turn the heat to the lowest setting. Crack the top after 20 minutes and it will stay nice and tender until serving without getting soggy. Wild rice and brown rice always take longer to cook and may require more liquid. Fluff with a fork just before serving. Try mixing in some fresh parsley, basil, thyme, or cilantro at this point...adds incredible flavor profiles. I use Basmati rice most of the time now...just has more flavor. Never, ever buy that Uncle Ben's instant junk!
That's enough rambling about food for now. Oh, one more thing...never order fish in a restaurant on Sunday or Monday. They get their fresh fish orders on Friday and Tuesday.
Bon Appetit
Speaking of avocados. Always buy Hass, the ones with the rough surface. The smooth ones don't even taste like avocados. And forget trying to get a flavorful avocado in the winter!
Never order Buffalo wings or BBQ Ribs on a date.
Never walk away from a pan of milk you're heating on the stove. Especially milk and sugar. If it overflows, you'll get a great coating of epoxy on the stove surface.
Never put fresh tomatoes in the refrigerator, they won't ripen. Try a paper bag at room temperature, same goes for most fruits...especially peaches.
Who buys that canned chunk tuna packed in oil anyway? The only canned tuna worth it's weight for human consumption is Solid White Albacore packed in water. All the rest is not even fit for your cat!
If that fresh fish you bought smells like fish, take it back. It should smell like the ocean. If it's a whole fish, make sure he's looking back at you...eyes clear, not cloudy. And never, ever buy clams or mussels or oysters that are already open...unless, of course, it closes up when you touch it!
You can find excellent deals on steaks if you look for the "Reduced for Quick Sale" items. The general public is in love with bright red beef. The most flavorful steaks are aged and have a more brownish color. It shouldn't be stinky, just a bit musky smelling. Real steakhouses age their meat at least three weeks (whole) in the proper environment. The aging releases acids that break down the fibers and make it tender. Marinating does that in a much shorter amount of time.
If your county health department has adopted the posted rating system, always look for a big "A" in the window. A "B" means they have had health inspection issues and are working on them. A "C" means they should be closed! Coming soon to most restaurants near you.
If you want to make rice that doesn't stick and is extremely flavorful right out of the pan...saute your rice first in a little olive oil, just enough to make it golden brown. Then use chicken or beef broth for the liquid, add a little salt and pepper. For most varieties, it's two to one (liquid to rice). Don't over cook it. After sauteeing, add the broth, bring to a slow boil for about 5 minutes, then cover and turn the heat to the lowest setting. Crack the top after 20 minutes and it will stay nice and tender until serving without getting soggy. Wild rice and brown rice always take longer to cook and may require more liquid. Fluff with a fork just before serving. Try mixing in some fresh parsley, basil, thyme, or cilantro at this point...adds incredible flavor profiles. I use Basmati rice most of the time now...just has more flavor. Never, ever buy that Uncle Ben's instant junk!
That's enough rambling about food for now. Oh, one more thing...never order fish in a restaurant on Sunday or Monday. They get their fresh fish orders on Friday and Tuesday.
Bon Appetit
Friday, June 1, 2007
Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair...
It was a hit Broadway play. Then a hit song on the radio. Then a movie. And now for me, it's a long lost friend! We're talking hair, of course, that follicular substance humans now only have in select areas of their bodies.
When I was a teenager in the mid-60's, my parents pretty much insisted that I keep my hair well-trimmed. After all, I was still living at home and my father did not want his male child running around looking like a "hippy". Besides, at that point in time, most of my peers locks were well-cropped as well. Hell, in those days the High School Gestapo still managed our grooming and dress standards. No long hair, no sideburns, no mustaches, no beards...it just wasn't allowed. Geeze, they even made us tuck in our shirts, we couldn't wear jeans, and ballcaps (or hats of any kind) weren't tolerated either! Ah, memories of living in a true police state. Times have changed.
After graduation from high school in 1967, I spent two years farting around in college. After that, I lived four glorious years in the armed forces where, among other things, I learned to light farts with a match...but that's fodder for a whole other story in itself. Don't try this a home...I was a trained professional. During my stint in the U.S. Navy, hair regulations were not much stricter than my father's rules. In fact, it was while I was in the service I actually grew my first beard. Well, at 19, it was kind of a beard...a bit scraggly and not completely filled in yet. I longed for the volume of facial hair only seen on Neandrathals and lycanthropes.
After being released from active duty, the hair growing race was on...it was 1973. I let it grow. Although it never reached the middle of my back, my hair was shoulder length or longer (another line from the song), thick, black, and relatively manageable. I could swing my head from side to side and my locks would strike me in the face. I could smell my hair, thus determining if it was in need of a shampoo (even though I washed it every day anyway). My hair was wavy...it still is what's left of it. Having wavy long hair, I spent inordinate amounts of time trying to blow dry it straighter, never having much luck. It didn't matter though. It was long beautiful hair! And that brings me to the line Billy Crystal used in some of his monologues, "When you're young, you have lots of hair on your head. As you get older, you start losing that hair...and start growing it where you don't want it! Like in your ears and your nose. For the ladies...the upper lip".
I fantasize about having a long, full, thick head of hair. I even have dreams about it. Although I am certainly not obsessed about it, this thing about my hair is like pining over a long, lost love. It's gone forever...poof! It can never return, despite the claims from hair restoration clinics, chemical applications, or toupee farms. I pledged long ago to never attempt any type of hair augmentation. A rug looks like a rug. Hair implants look like a plastic doll's head. And one of those Trumpesque comb-overs? Fahgeddaboutit.
So, as I gazed into the bathroom mirror this morning, searching for errant follicles sprouting from my inside my nose, on the outside of my nose, my eyebrows (yes, they have managed to propagate thicker hair over the years), and my ears (a particularly difficult area to detect), I waxed nostalgic once again. "Oh, gimme a head with hair...long beautiful hair...don't ever have to cut it 'cause it stops by itself..."
Where did I put those tweezers?
When I was a teenager in the mid-60's, my parents pretty much insisted that I keep my hair well-trimmed. After all, I was still living at home and my father did not want his male child running around looking like a "hippy". Besides, at that point in time, most of my peers locks were well-cropped as well. Hell, in those days the High School Gestapo still managed our grooming and dress standards. No long hair, no sideburns, no mustaches, no beards...it just wasn't allowed. Geeze, they even made us tuck in our shirts, we couldn't wear jeans, and ballcaps (or hats of any kind) weren't tolerated either! Ah, memories of living in a true police state. Times have changed.
After graduation from high school in 1967, I spent two years farting around in college. After that, I lived four glorious years in the armed forces where, among other things, I learned to light farts with a match...but that's fodder for a whole other story in itself. Don't try this a home...I was a trained professional. During my stint in the U.S. Navy, hair regulations were not much stricter than my father's rules. In fact, it was while I was in the service I actually grew my first beard. Well, at 19, it was kind of a beard...a bit scraggly and not completely filled in yet. I longed for the volume of facial hair only seen on Neandrathals and lycanthropes.
After being released from active duty, the hair growing race was on...it was 1973. I let it grow. Although it never reached the middle of my back, my hair was shoulder length or longer (another line from the song), thick, black, and relatively manageable. I could swing my head from side to side and my locks would strike me in the face. I could smell my hair, thus determining if it was in need of a shampoo (even though I washed it every day anyway). My hair was wavy...it still is what's left of it. Having wavy long hair, I spent inordinate amounts of time trying to blow dry it straighter, never having much luck. It didn't matter though. It was long beautiful hair! And that brings me to the line Billy Crystal used in some of his monologues, "When you're young, you have lots of hair on your head. As you get older, you start losing that hair...and start growing it where you don't want it! Like in your ears and your nose. For the ladies...the upper lip".
I fantasize about having a long, full, thick head of hair. I even have dreams about it. Although I am certainly not obsessed about it, this thing about my hair is like pining over a long, lost love. It's gone forever...poof! It can never return, despite the claims from hair restoration clinics, chemical applications, or toupee farms. I pledged long ago to never attempt any type of hair augmentation. A rug looks like a rug. Hair implants look like a plastic doll's head. And one of those Trumpesque comb-overs? Fahgeddaboutit.
So, as I gazed into the bathroom mirror this morning, searching for errant follicles sprouting from my inside my nose, on the outside of my nose, my eyebrows (yes, they have managed to propagate thicker hair over the years), and my ears (a particularly difficult area to detect), I waxed nostalgic once again. "Oh, gimme a head with hair...long beautiful hair...don't ever have to cut it 'cause it stops by itself..."
Where did I put those tweezers?
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