I like whales as much as the next person, but enough is enough!
This story was even making the national news programs recently. You know, the mother whale and her calf that ventured miles up the Sacramento river delta all the way to the state capital?
For the past two and a half weeks, this has been the lead story on Sacramento television newscasts. More than that, this so-called "human interest" story dominated a good fifteen minutes of these programs. Well, apparently mom and baby leviathan made it back to the Pacific Ocean through San Francisco Bay...and now all is well in whale land.
One can only assume that the overkill coverage of this story can be attributed, in part, to slow news days. Possibly. But even after almost three weeks of continuing coverage, it dominated the top of the news on the ABC affiliate yesterday. The second story offering was the return of the remains of a Stockton resident from Iraq. What are these news directors thinking? How absurd placing the whale story ahead of the soldier's (and his family's) story.
The whales, named Delta and Dawn by the media, were indeed a story of survival and human interest. But after the better part of a month...we've had enough. If anything, especially now that they've found their way "home", this story might be used to close a newscast, ie, "By the way...those wayward whales are back where they belong...in the Pacific Ocean..."
Most often, Sacramento news is dominated by shootings and other heinous crimes. Despite being the capital of the most populous state with a budget and commerce that ranks it somewhere around seventh in the world, that's right, in the world...crime is usually the news of the day. So maybe the whales gave us a break from the police blotter stuff. Maybe the whales took our minds off all the nasty stuff in the news. Maybe the whale story gave us an excuse to be even more apathetic about what is going on in the world around us!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Memorial Day Nostalgia - Geeze, the coffee tasted good back then!
As a child growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the 50's and 60's, some of my most fond and vivid memories came from holiday weekends like this one, Memorial Day. My father worked in the fledgling corporate computer industry and always had weekends and holidays off. So, at times like this, our family headed to one of our favorite lakes, rivers, or beaches within a few hours of driving time from Canoga Park. These three day getaways were usually turned into four or five day affairs as we would leave for our destinations on Thursday and return late Monday or sometimes Tuesday, thus avoiding the worst of the traffic escaping and returning to gotham. Leaving a day early also afforded us the opportunity to find the best camp sites. Back in those days, it was first come first served, quite different from today's computerized reservation systems. Getting there early and leaving late was always the plan.
My dad would plan our camping trips down to the smallest detail, writing a long list of groceries and supplies on graph paper. More often than not, he would pack up the trusty old family truckster fun-wagon the night before. We would be ready to hit the road early the next morning...tents, coolers, boxes of food, and fishing gear tucked away nicely on the roof rack and in the back of the wagon.
Arriving at our much anticipated campground by early afternoon, the doors of the station wagon would burst open, disgorging myself, my two sisters, and, more often not, a couple of friends we got to invite along. From that moment on, us kids were just a cloud of dust until it was time for our first camp meal...leaving mom and dad to the chore of setting up the campsite. I will say that my dad insisted I help him set up the tent, one of those square-sided, cabin units from Sears. After having assembled it a few times, the set up time was only a few minutes...unless, of course, one of the frame pieces was missing. Then, a minor amount of trauma, accompanied by some judicious swearing would ensue until the problem was solved.
So, with our bright blue Sears cabin tent erected in just the right spot under the pine trees (now filled with sleeping bags and air mattresses), the Coleman camp stove perched conveniently on the end of the big wooden picnic table, the folding chairs and chaise lounges arranged around the fire pit, and sounds of the nearby stream or lake calling me...I was off on one of my many true childhood adventures: trout fishing in the Sierras.
Our family camped a lot in the 60's. Midway through that decade, we got a boat. So, we not only fished on the lake, we learned to water ski as well. My younger sisters were much better at skiing than I was. They would bug my dad constantly for another turn around the lake, until they were so tired they couldn't stand up on the skis any longer. As for me, I skied as well...but what I really wanted to do was fish. And that is what we did early in the morning, heading out just before sunrise most of the time. It was my dad and me and sometimes one of my buddies in tow, cranking up the old Evinrude outboard and looking for a good spot on the lake. Most of the time, I remember showing my buddies how to tie a hook or lure on the monofilament line. Sometimes, I would have to show them how to cast as well. More often than not, the friends I brought along weren't from camping families. It was all new to them. But for me, I'd done it all before...I was a seasoned 15 year old fisherman and camper.
When we found find our fishing spot, usually in a cove somewhere, I would crawl out onto the bow before our boat came to a stop and drop the anchor into the deep, greenish blue water. The glaring sound of the outboard motor now silent, the smell of oil and gasoline in my nose. The only sounds were the caw-caws of a crow, or the screech of a hawk circling overhead, the lapping of the water on the side of the boat...the distant drone of another boat in the distance, cruising across the morning mist-shrouded, glass-like surface in search of its favorite fishing spot. The sun was not yet up, but there was enough light to see our fishing poles and tackle boxes. Sometimes it was cold as well, making the task of tying a hook or sticking a worm all the more difficult. But I managed. We were fishing!
My dad was usually first to get a line in the water. I can remember seeing him sitting on the bow of the boat, leaning back again the plexiglass windshield, one leg crossed over the other. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette tucked between his fingers on the same hand, fishing line with a red and white bobber in the water a few feet from the boat. This was his time to relax. The days of helping me with my fishing gear were long gone...but that was the way I wanted it at 15.
I finally managed to get mine and my buddy's lines in the water...a little split shot sinker, a hook, and a worm in place. Now it was time for coffee and a doughnut. I think this was when I developed my taste for caffein. There was nothing better than pouring a steaming cup of coffee from a thermos, already laden with plenty of cream and sugar, grabbing a sticky, glazed doughnut out of the box and taking a big old bite, washing it down with the hot coffee. My fingers smelled of worms or salmon eggs we used for bait...and glazed doughnuts. Now, we would wait for the fish to bite. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. Sure, I always wanted to catch a fish...but it didn't seem to matter if we didn't. We were fishing!
The crows continued to caw and chatter in the nearby trees. The hawk circled overhead. The water lapped at the side of our boat. Other boats droned by in the distance. Our little red and white bobbers sat motionless on the smooth surface of the water. The smoke from my dad's cigarette wafted up and into the cool morning air. There was no traffic, no music, no television, no school, and no worries. That was Memorial Day weekend...1965. Geeze, the coffee tasted good back then!
My dad would plan our camping trips down to the smallest detail, writing a long list of groceries and supplies on graph paper. More often than not, he would pack up the trusty old family truckster fun-wagon the night before. We would be ready to hit the road early the next morning...tents, coolers, boxes of food, and fishing gear tucked away nicely on the roof rack and in the back of the wagon.
Arriving at our much anticipated campground by early afternoon, the doors of the station wagon would burst open, disgorging myself, my two sisters, and, more often not, a couple of friends we got to invite along. From that moment on, us kids were just a cloud of dust until it was time for our first camp meal...leaving mom and dad to the chore of setting up the campsite. I will say that my dad insisted I help him set up the tent, one of those square-sided, cabin units from Sears. After having assembled it a few times, the set up time was only a few minutes...unless, of course, one of the frame pieces was missing. Then, a minor amount of trauma, accompanied by some judicious swearing would ensue until the problem was solved.
So, with our bright blue Sears cabin tent erected in just the right spot under the pine trees (now filled with sleeping bags and air mattresses), the Coleman camp stove perched conveniently on the end of the big wooden picnic table, the folding chairs and chaise lounges arranged around the fire pit, and sounds of the nearby stream or lake calling me...I was off on one of my many true childhood adventures: trout fishing in the Sierras.
Our family camped a lot in the 60's. Midway through that decade, we got a boat. So, we not only fished on the lake, we learned to water ski as well. My younger sisters were much better at skiing than I was. They would bug my dad constantly for another turn around the lake, until they were so tired they couldn't stand up on the skis any longer. As for me, I skied as well...but what I really wanted to do was fish. And that is what we did early in the morning, heading out just before sunrise most of the time. It was my dad and me and sometimes one of my buddies in tow, cranking up the old Evinrude outboard and looking for a good spot on the lake. Most of the time, I remember showing my buddies how to tie a hook or lure on the monofilament line. Sometimes, I would have to show them how to cast as well. More often than not, the friends I brought along weren't from camping families. It was all new to them. But for me, I'd done it all before...I was a seasoned 15 year old fisherman and camper.
When we found find our fishing spot, usually in a cove somewhere, I would crawl out onto the bow before our boat came to a stop and drop the anchor into the deep, greenish blue water. The glaring sound of the outboard motor now silent, the smell of oil and gasoline in my nose. The only sounds were the caw-caws of a crow, or the screech of a hawk circling overhead, the lapping of the water on the side of the boat...the distant drone of another boat in the distance, cruising across the morning mist-shrouded, glass-like surface in search of its favorite fishing spot. The sun was not yet up, but there was enough light to see our fishing poles and tackle boxes. Sometimes it was cold as well, making the task of tying a hook or sticking a worm all the more difficult. But I managed. We were fishing!
My dad was usually first to get a line in the water. I can remember seeing him sitting on the bow of the boat, leaning back again the plexiglass windshield, one leg crossed over the other. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette tucked between his fingers on the same hand, fishing line with a red and white bobber in the water a few feet from the boat. This was his time to relax. The days of helping me with my fishing gear were long gone...but that was the way I wanted it at 15.
I finally managed to get mine and my buddy's lines in the water...a little split shot sinker, a hook, and a worm in place. Now it was time for coffee and a doughnut. I think this was when I developed my taste for caffein. There was nothing better than pouring a steaming cup of coffee from a thermos, already laden with plenty of cream and sugar, grabbing a sticky, glazed doughnut out of the box and taking a big old bite, washing it down with the hot coffee. My fingers smelled of worms or salmon eggs we used for bait...and glazed doughnuts. Now, we would wait for the fish to bite. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. Sure, I always wanted to catch a fish...but it didn't seem to matter if we didn't. We were fishing!
The crows continued to caw and chatter in the nearby trees. The hawk circled overhead. The water lapped at the side of our boat. Other boats droned by in the distance. Our little red and white bobbers sat motionless on the smooth surface of the water. The smoke from my dad's cigarette wafted up and into the cool morning air. There was no traffic, no music, no television, no school, and no worries. That was Memorial Day weekend...1965. Geeze, the coffee tasted good back then!
Friday, May 25, 2007
I am Blankman!
I am Blankman! Even though I am reasonably confident there was a forgettable movie made with that title, it is how I feel blogwise right now. WTF...over!
Heck, we're heading into Memorial Day Weekend, and I'm not the least bit excited about Pirates of the Caribbean: The End of the World. Great scott, I didn't even work up enough gumption to go see Spiderman 3 a few weeks ago...I'm waiting for its release on Netlfix.
I certainly don't gauge my demeanor by my enthusiasm (or lack thereof) for recent movies, but some sort of spark would be nice.
I do have some very interesting challenges at work of late. Creative challenges. Things to get the old wheels turning so to speak. I am thankful for that. But when one of my "professional" avenues gets fired up, it tends to detract from another, ie, my photography. I just haven't been very inspired in that department of late. No biggee. It will come back.
This weekend, we have guests arriving Saturday morning, two of Loretta's sisters will be visiting from Red Bluff. They have never been here, and Loretta is anxious for them to see her home (for the first time). We'll cook some fun food, drink some fun beverages, watch some fun DVD's, and just have some...fun (the operative word this weekend). Our swimming pool is ready for swimming. Well, let's put it this way...our swimming pool is ready for someone to swim in, not necessarily yours truly. I still have extreme cold water fear, even when the water temperature is 78 degrees. That and extreme insect fear are the two worst fears and phobias I possess. You'll notice I didn't say only fears and phobias...just the worst ones.
The weather here in Northern San Joaquin Valley is expected to be in the mid-80's, just right for this time of year. Last year at this time it was kissing the century mark already...yuk! It should be a nice Memorial Day Weekend. Nice to stay home and avoid the crowds of crazies who will be invading the nearby lakes and rivers. Funny...valley dwellers head to the ocean on these holidays...coastal inhabitants head to the valley. Maybe everyone should just stay home for a change!
If we were going to the Pismo area, they have their annual Strawberry Festival in nearby Arroyo Grande. I used to manage a restaurant/saloon right downtown. What a zoo! Hundred of booths selling everything from cows carved out of wood to rubber moneys on a stick to fried bananas. My restaurant was where the true alcoholics hung out...the professional drinkers who can embide from sunrise to midnight and beyond. And some of these boozers with their glazed-over faces would become walking zombies by 10:00 at night. If you've ever seen any zombie movie, you can visualize the scene. Unfortunately, we weren't able to shoot any of them in head when they got out of hand...we just threw them out into the parking lot...sometimes head first! The next morning, they would show up for breakfast, apologizing for their behavior the night before, order a Bloody Mary, and start all over again. Ahhhh...the joys of managing a restaurant/saloon. Especially on Memorial Day Weekend.
This weekend will be much more subdued around the Skip & Loretta Estate. We'll do a little barbecue, have a few Coronas, and introduce the movie Sideways to Loretta's sisters. Times have changed.
Heck, we're heading into Memorial Day Weekend, and I'm not the least bit excited about Pirates of the Caribbean: The End of the World. Great scott, I didn't even work up enough gumption to go see Spiderman 3 a few weeks ago...I'm waiting for its release on Netlfix.
I certainly don't gauge my demeanor by my enthusiasm (or lack thereof) for recent movies, but some sort of spark would be nice.
I do have some very interesting challenges at work of late. Creative challenges. Things to get the old wheels turning so to speak. I am thankful for that. But when one of my "professional" avenues gets fired up, it tends to detract from another, ie, my photography. I just haven't been very inspired in that department of late. No biggee. It will come back.
This weekend, we have guests arriving Saturday morning, two of Loretta's sisters will be visiting from Red Bluff. They have never been here, and Loretta is anxious for them to see her home (for the first time). We'll cook some fun food, drink some fun beverages, watch some fun DVD's, and just have some...fun (the operative word this weekend). Our swimming pool is ready for swimming. Well, let's put it this way...our swimming pool is ready for someone to swim in, not necessarily yours truly. I still have extreme cold water fear, even when the water temperature is 78 degrees. That and extreme insect fear are the two worst fears and phobias I possess. You'll notice I didn't say only fears and phobias...just the worst ones.
The weather here in Northern San Joaquin Valley is expected to be in the mid-80's, just right for this time of year. Last year at this time it was kissing the century mark already...yuk! It should be a nice Memorial Day Weekend. Nice to stay home and avoid the crowds of crazies who will be invading the nearby lakes and rivers. Funny...valley dwellers head to the ocean on these holidays...coastal inhabitants head to the valley. Maybe everyone should just stay home for a change!
If we were going to the Pismo area, they have their annual Strawberry Festival in nearby Arroyo Grande. I used to manage a restaurant/saloon right downtown. What a zoo! Hundred of booths selling everything from cows carved out of wood to rubber moneys on a stick to fried bananas. My restaurant was where the true alcoholics hung out...the professional drinkers who can embide from sunrise to midnight and beyond. And some of these boozers with their glazed-over faces would become walking zombies by 10:00 at night. If you've ever seen any zombie movie, you can visualize the scene. Unfortunately, we weren't able to shoot any of them in head when they got out of hand...we just threw them out into the parking lot...sometimes head first! The next morning, they would show up for breakfast, apologizing for their behavior the night before, order a Bloody Mary, and start all over again. Ahhhh...the joys of managing a restaurant/saloon. Especially on Memorial Day Weekend.
This weekend will be much more subdued around the Skip & Loretta Estate. We'll do a little barbecue, have a few Coronas, and introduce the movie Sideways to Loretta's sisters. Times have changed.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
BeadforLife
We watched a touching story on the Saturday morning Today Show. It was about a group of American women reaching out to women in a Ugandan slum, many of whom have lost their husbands in the civil war there. It's called BeadforLife.
They make beads from scraps of paper that are then turned into necklaces, bracelets, and other jewelery. The money collected from sales goes directly back to the women in Uganda who made them.
I bought a few bracelets for Loretta...$5.00 each. You can pay with a secure credit card or through Paypal.
Just thought you may want to check it out!
They make beads from scraps of paper that are then turned into necklaces, bracelets, and other jewelery. The money collected from sales goes directly back to the women in Uganda who made them.
I bought a few bracelets for Loretta...$5.00 each. You can pay with a secure credit card or through Paypal.
Just thought you may want to check it out!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Why?
The most correct answer to that question is: Because. You get an "A".
The next most correct answer to that questions is: Why not? You get a "C".
Any answers beyond that...you get an "F".
The next most correct answer to that questions is: Why not? You get a "C".
Any answers beyond that...you get an "F".
Monday, May 14, 2007
Swine parakeet!
You know what I love? I love when the neighbor gets a new parakeet and puts the cage outside on their patio so we can hear it tweeting all morning long!
To our neighbor: Thanks so much for the new bird!
I guess it's time for us to get a cat.
To our neighbor: Thanks so much for the new bird!
I guess it's time for us to get a cat.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Jeopardy - another of my love/hate relationships
I’ve blogged *blathered* about it before, but here goes again...
Love: Vicariously answering mundane, outrageously academic questions without the embarrassment of losing large sums of money with a stupid answer.
Hate: The Elementary School Week: Discovering that most 7 years olds are smarter than I am...and the embarrassment of losing large sums of money because I don’t know the answer to the question, “What is the color of Barney?”
Love: Discovering that I know so much about so much worthless shit.
Hate: College Week Tournament: I assume they have to come up with questions even Jeopardy writers have no idea what the answer is.
Love: Watching a scholarly geek attempt to answer question after question about the Beatles White Album...and getting every answer wrong.
Hate: Watching a 42 year old professional student who lives with his mother go into Final Jeopardy with $27,000...the closest competitor: $872.
Love: Watching Alex Trebek trying to elicit some sort of semblance of personality from the contestants during the interview section. To a 28 year old law student living at home: “It says here that you once stayed out way past midnight...and your mother called the police to find where you were...tell us about that."
Hate: I still miss Art Flemming and the mechanical question squares.
Love: When the Jeopardy production and audition staff makes a really bad choice of contestants...and they end up with minus $6700 and cannot participate in Final Jeopardy. I would pay money to see the production assistants reactions.
Hate: That Wheel of Fortune comes on right after Jeopardy...and has survived for 20 years because of that. The contestants on Wheel of Fortune probably couldn’t pass a “color” test, let alone make it on Jeopardy!
God, I love/hate Jeopardy!
Love: Vicariously answering mundane, outrageously academic questions without the embarrassment of losing large sums of money with a stupid answer.
Hate: The Elementary School Week: Discovering that most 7 years olds are smarter than I am...and the embarrassment of losing large sums of money because I don’t know the answer to the question, “What is the color of Barney?”
Love: Discovering that I know so much about so much worthless shit.
Hate: College Week Tournament: I assume they have to come up with questions even Jeopardy writers have no idea what the answer is.
Love: Watching a scholarly geek attempt to answer question after question about the Beatles White Album...and getting every answer wrong.
Hate: Watching a 42 year old professional student who lives with his mother go into Final Jeopardy with $27,000...the closest competitor: $872.
Love: Watching Alex Trebek trying to elicit some sort of semblance of personality from the contestants during the interview section. To a 28 year old law student living at home: “It says here that you once stayed out way past midnight...and your mother called the police to find where you were...tell us about that."
Hate: I still miss Art Flemming and the mechanical question squares.
Love: When the Jeopardy production and audition staff makes a really bad choice of contestants...and they end up with minus $6700 and cannot participate in Final Jeopardy. I would pay money to see the production assistants reactions.
Hate: That Wheel of Fortune comes on right after Jeopardy...and has survived for 20 years because of that. The contestants on Wheel of Fortune probably couldn’t pass a “color” test, let alone make it on Jeopardy!
God, I love/hate Jeopardy!
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