Hair today...gone tomorrow

I am a fervent dreamer, I’ve mentioned it before in this here blog. My dreams are usually a perplexing collection of misadventures far from home...trying to find my way home...running from airplanes crashing...and an occasional, erotic flying dream (the latter not as often of late!) But last night, I had one of my many reoccurring dreams not involving my being lost in a strange land. I dreamed about my hair falling out...even moreso than it already has! Details in a moment.

One of my favorite TV shows of all time was The Dick Van Dyke Show. One of my favorite episodes from that was the one in which Dick was overly preoccupied with his concern about losing his hair. He perceived a noticeable loss of follicle one morning, and the rest of the show he “freaked” out...including having a wacky dream about it. Someone advised him to put salad oil in his hair, wrap a towel around his head, and sleep on it. In his dream, he wakes up in the morning with a head of cabbage for hair! It was a crack up. Laura is laughing at his predicament like a devil’s minion. He then supposedly wakes up again and tells Laura about it (Ah, Laura Petrie...another vibrant childhood fantasy of mine that just won’t go away...I digress). She comforts him in her usual, Mary Tyler Moore way, calming him down. He is still wearing the towel turban. He goes in the bathroom and screams...his head is now completely bald. The scene fades to Dick waking up for the third time, and all is well with his hair, he and Laura laugh about it from their p.c. twin beds...cue theme song to commercial.

My hair dream last night was not quite as humorous as the one written by Carl Reiner for The Dick Van Dyke Show, but it is mildly amusing that I continue to have these themed dreams. My follicle fairy tales have run the gamut...from me having Fabio hair to my hair falling out in large chunks and weird patterns. I guess that is why they call it pattern baldness. Anyway, my hair has been falling out for a number of years. My actual first notice of this came at the age of 25 (I’m 56 now). I had been talked into getting my hair permed. Yes, friggin’ permed! Losts of guys did it in the mid-70s...didn’t they? Well, I did. As a side note, it made me look so much like Gabriel Kaplan (remember Welcome Back Kotter?), that little kids would run up to me and say, “Mommy, mommy...it’s Kotter...it’s Mr. Kotter!” So for a few months, that is how I wore my hair, in a tight, almost Afro-like perm...until it started falling out. Each morning I would notice wods of my nice, curly dark brown hair stuck to my comb and in the sink. I thought this was caused by the perm, so I ceased this practice immediately. My hair grew out again, with the usual unmanageable waves, and all was well in Skip Hair Land...for a few years anyway.

Cut to five years ago. Soon after I turned fifty, I noticed my hair line had receded noticeably in front. And worse, there was a bald spot on back of my head where once was that swirl one has in that area. The hairless circle was smooth as a baby’s ass and about three inches across. Talk about screwing up how I combed my hair, it was disturbing at best. I found myself trying to rearrange what hair I had left on top to the extent that it now looked like one of those comb-over affairs. It looked like an old man’s hairdo! This ain’t happening to me, no way. So...that is when I decided to shave my head. And I did shave my head, every day for about five years. Afterall, I was riding a Harley and it was much more convenient for the helmet-hair issue. Life went on. Sure I looked a lot like Dr. Evil from Austine Powers movies, but everyone told me it looked “right” on me. My scalp still was somewhat prestine...no scars from splitting open my head in childhood bicycle incidents. It looked and felt O.K. Factor in the goatee, and I appeared to be a large, Harley-riding bad-ass. If I can’t look like Vinnie Barbarino, I’ll look like a professional wrestler...who knew?

Then, a few months ago...I simply decided that enough was enough. I decided to grow my hair out...just to see what was left. One of my hopeful theories was that while I was shaving my head bald, my hair had somehow restored itself, gotten thicker again (a scenario I had heard on a talk show about hair loss I think). So now after a few months...I got hair again. Not to the extent to which I had hoped...but hair. And thicker hair...where there still was hair! None of it had restored itself, but it has gotten thicker, more wirey, more wavey...and more grey. Although I still possess very, very dark brown (almost black in the winter) hair, it is now flecked with grey a bit. You see, evidently you inherit your hair gene from your paternal grandmother. And she had thick, wavey, grey-flecked hair until the end. Being a male, one must realize that the hair gene also contains the baldness gene...in most cases surfacing only in males. Voila...thick, dark, wavey hair with a pattern baldness effect near the back of my head...thinning on top...and a receded hairline. Might I still be able to grow a poneytail?

It still remains to be seen how far I will take this new found interest in the length of my hair. It is over my ears, and steadily creeping down the back of my neck. It is, indeed, very wavey and a touch thicker than my younger years. I simply comb it straight back out of the shower (no blow drying any longer, I don’t want to give it more reason to fall out more than it has).

Many of the people close to me have commented that I have nice hair, "Stop shaving your head...but you’re not growing a friggin’ poneytail...are you?" Don’t know yet...we’ll see.

Concerning my latest hair dream last night? While combing my hair in the morning, my newly grown, longer locks started falling out in chunks again...a lot. I had woke up nearly totally bald on top...with one difference. The image in the mirror looked like Fabio! Yes...I dreamed I was a balding Fabio last night...with long, wavey tresses on the side and back...and only a dozen or so long hairs left on top. It was disturbing (again) to say the least.

Will I be one of those past-middle-aged nearly bald guys with a poneytail and a beer gut, driving an old Porsche, and getting courtesy smiles from young girls? Who knows? But I do have control over the beer gut and the hair length. I’m working on the gut. I’m growing my hair to whatever length I desire. I drive an old Porsche. But there ain’t nothin’ I can do about my hair going bye bye. I pledged many years ago that I would never augment my hair in the form of a “rug” or surgery. Neither one of those ideas is a viable alternative to baldness in my book. Besides, guys who do that are not fooing anyone. And I certainly don’t want to have that God awlful looking doll hair that implants give you!

And they say that women are vain!

You Can't Take It With You...or can you?

You Can’t Take It With You was a Pulitzer Prize winning play by George Kauffman and Moss Hart in the 30s, made into movie in 1938 starring Jimmy Stewart, Lionel Barrymore, and Jean Arthur. And, traditionally, that line kind of referred to what you can’t do when you die.

It’s a timely saying that has withstood time and trends. It is still very relevant in today’s world. Although my twist on it goes something like this, “You Die...You’re Dead...You’re Done”.

One must go for the gusto whilst one is still able. Go for it! Do it while you still can. Why not...you might be gone tomorrow? And on and on.

For better or for worse, I think I have somewhat lead my life in that fashion...at least the last two years. Not to the extent that I have tried to do all the things that I truly want to do, but at least to the extent that I am trying to fullfill some of the things I have only dreamed of. I have posted a list on this blog, 100 things I have yet to do (and would really like to do).

Besides having a mindset that challenges me to even think about these adventures, I have accomplished a few. Many of which I did years ago...decades ago.

I guess I really am, and have been since I was a child, a restless soul. Some might call it A.A.D.D....others call it wanderlust. One of my long time mentors? Ernest Hemmingway. A few others are Christopher Columbus...John Steinbeck...Ansel Adams.

The latter, Ansel Adams, I can most relate to at this time in my life. In fact, he did have something akin to A.A.D.D. His father tried to nuture his restlessness with classical piano lessons and other schooling. He was eventually given a simple, Kodak Brownie camera by his father...and that birthday present changed his life forever. He spent the rest of his life after receiving that present roaming the country in search of the perfect photograph. Most of his work was done in Yosemite of course. But his unrelenting focus was taking that one photograph that would represent that one special moment he experienced in person. He struggled to put that emotion on film. Most people would say that he certainly accomplished that goal hundredfold. He would disagree. His own self-doubt and self-criticism is what kept him going...and going...striving to get better images each time he went out on those wilderness excursions.

I have moved my “home” several times in my life. More than any other person in my immediate family or peer group. At 19, I went in the Navy (in 1969). During that time, I experienced locations including San Diego (twice), Mountain View, CA, Millington (Memphis), TN, Hawaii, Alaska, Guam, Midway Island, the Philippines, Taiwan, Japan, Thailand, Hong Kong...and Vietnam.

After the service, I lived in L.A. (where I grew up), San Luis Obispo, Grover Beach, Arroyo Grande, Idaho (twice), Fresno, and now Modesto (Salida). All this time since being overseas in the Navy, I’ve wanted to live in many other places as well. I guess I am just not “there” yet.

One saying I have carried with over years though is, “No matter where you go...you’re still you”. That has kept me from moving around even more I suppose.

I truly believe my daughter Jenifer has this wanderlust bug as well. She is very adventurous, creative, and not affraid to search for new experiences. After having moved away from her “hometown” a year ago, it remains to be seen how long she will be satisfied with her new “hometown”: Seattle. Being a bit more pragmatic that I ever was (and being female), she will probably stay in one place longer than I did. Maybe not.

Her and Roth are coming to visit this weekend. They will stay with us a couple of days before driving with us to her “hometown” of San Luis Obispo/Arroyo Grande. It will be her first time back in over a year. She is very reflective in her latest blog entry concerning this visit...wondering what it will like, what has changed there, how she has changed, and so on. Her mother and brother still live on the Central Coast, as well as a few old friends...one of which is getting married this weekend, the initial reason for the journey from Seatlle. Jenifer will have the opportunity to visit them and maybe see a few of the places that were a big part of her growing up time.

In every instance when I moved away, I went through a period of anxiety after I got there. A period of self-doubt and remorse, “Should I have done this? I’m not sure I really like it here”. Jenifer has had those feelings as well concerning her move to Seatlle...with one big difference from me. She truly loves her new home! Her and Roth are really enjoying Seattle...at least outwardly they exhibit that emotion about their new-found home. They’ve recently purchased a house there. But I did that as well in Idaho...and hated it there! What she is feeling is something that I have not been able to say about my many moves. I guess I’m still looking for that certain “fit” that she has found in the northwest. Quite possibly, she is bit more self-actualized than I will ever be. Good for her...she’s lucky to have that. She is very strong-willed and appears to know what she wants...most of the time.

Wherever you go, the one thing that never changes...is you. No matter what job or profession you are in, the one thing that remains the same is that person called “you”. Maybe being a photographer now will fullfill this wanderlust I have. To actually grow as a photographer, I feel one must possess this wanderlust. That feeling of wanting to experience what is on the other side of that hill, around that bend...what tomorrow will hold. And, of course, capture it on film!

You can’t take it with you. When you die...you’re dead...you’re done. If you believe there is something more gracious and wonderful after you pass on...more power to you. I don’t know...and neither do you.

I just know that there are places and things to experience while we are here, while we still are able. My niece and nephew just got back from Europe. They are 19 and 21 respectively. “We needed to do this now, because who knows when we will be able to again”. You bet. Jenifer and Roth moved to their favorite city, now...while they can, because who knows when they will be able to again.

The last time we were in Monterey, I noted, “Why would anyone NOT want to live here?” Maybe that’s our next home. Who knows?

One thing I do know? It ain’t here!

"What'll ya' have, pardner?"

What the hell is a mojito anyway?

Well, I happen to know what the hell a mojito is because of my tenure in the restaurant business. My last corporate management gig was at a faux-Mexican restaurant that made many futile attempts at pushing this old, Latin inspired cocktail on its unsuspecting patrons. For the uninitiated, a mojito is to rum what a mint julep is to bourbon. What it is not is a foo-foo drink for the alcohol faint at heart. More on these two embibements later.

We have some artwork hanging on our kitchen wall depicting six, old, traditional cocktails: White Velvet, Manhattan, French Twist, Sidecar, Cosmopolitan, and Margarita. The latter two most people might be able to identify with...the first four, good luck finding a person on the street with any knowlege of these concoctions. Seeing these framed, painted representations of famous drinks on a daily basis prompted me to write a few lines about the business of serving cocktails.

Having spent time, not only in the restaurant industry but, as a bartender as well...I have become familar with mixed drinks other than the Top 5 most popular...too familiar at times! In the early 80s, I applied for a second job (while my son was gestating) at a busy, western-style eatery in Twin Falls, Idaho called Rock Creek. It had a large, busy cocktail lounge. I walked in one quiet afternoon, sauntered up to the owner sitting at the end of the bar, and said, “I need a part time job”. “Can you bartend?’, he replied, “We need a bartender”. “Well,” I said, “I think so...I’ve never been one, other than pouring draught beer at a pizza parlor”. He then asked me if I knew what a screwdriver was and what was in it. I answered his quiry correctly. We chatted about the ingredients in a few other popular cocktails including martini, margarita, and daquiri. Two minutes later, I was shaking his hand and agreeing to come back in an hour to start my career as a bartender at Rock Creek. His only concern? My beard. In Idaho, in the early 80s, a beard was still considered to be a subversive, hippy-influenced grooming statement. I went home and shaved.

This restaurant owner informed me that 95% of the drinks I will have to mix are the Top 5 most popular. The other 5% are lessor known cocktails that can be found in the Bartender’s Companion, a thick paperback listing all drinks known to man and how to make them...always found stuck to the shelf under every bar. “Don’t worry”, he said with a slight smerky smile, “if you don’t know the drink, just look it up...or, just ask the customer what is in it!” Thus soothing some of my anxiety.

What are the Top 5 by the way? Argueably, they are Screwdriver, Margarita, Daquiri, Martini, and Scotch & Soda. Yes, there are people in the world who can not name the ingredients in that last drink...I think many of them have been on Jeopardy or worked at The Olive Garden. The other end of the popularity spectrum, ie, frequency of ordering? Grasshopper, Golden Cadillac, and Blowjob. Yes, there are people in the world who insist on ordering a Blowjob...close behind that is Slippery Nipple, Beaten Fetus, B-52, and the dreaded Purple-Pull-Your-Pants-Down. That goofy drink list is endless, especially when you factor in the crappy messes that Bobby the Lifetime College Student invented last week at a frat party.

By the way, what is the nastiest drink I have ever served up? The infamous 21st Birthday Drink. Traditionally given to the very willing, very intoxicated just-turned-21-that-day patron by his “friends” near the end of the evening...it contains the liquid found in the long rubber mat at the mix station on a bar. Considering there is quite a lot of overflow from drinks being poured by a busy bartender, this piece of essential bar equipment catches it all. Most times it is simply dumped into the nearby sink when it becomes too full. At other times, it contains the ingredients of The Birthday Drink. There usually is no charge for this mess...and should never be, don’t you agree?

Well, I worked as a bartender for a year or so...while maintaining my full time day job as a radio announcer. Both of these careers have since gone the way of the Do-Do bird...by choice. But I did learn a lot about customer service, about people, and about mixing cocktails. The old time, traditional bartender job used to be a noble profession. He or she not only mixed up good drinks with much pride involved, they also offered an ear to those patrons who were there to drown their sorrows. They needed to be amateur psychologists as well as professional mixologists. Bartenders leaned an elbow on the mahogony, looked the customer in the eye, and was genuinely interested in what he or she was saying...at least the good bartenders did that. They knew how to mix drinks for each regular patron. They remembered how they liked them to be made, how strong to make them, and when to ask if they wanted another. A Screwdriver consists of vodka and orange juice and ice. How much vodka, orange juice, and ice? That depended on the individual customer's preferrences. They provided a “service” to people. They, in most cases, actually enjoyed what they were doing.

Nowadays, most bartenders are simply assembly line clones of a since long extinct profession. Especially in the corporate chain restaurants, it is far from the noble endeavor it used to be. They just don’t get it any longer. They don’t care. And, to be fair, they are not given the latitude to be what a bartender was meant to be way back when. It is a “numbers” game. In many cases, bartenders squirt drinks out of a gun that is pre-calibrated to portion the alcohol. Margaritas are pre-mixed with everything, including the cheap-ass tequila they use, in 40 gallon plastic drums hooked to a pump and a hose. Any pride in how they perform their duties, maintain cleanliess, or present themselves rarely happens in today’s watering holes. They expect a tip rather than earn it. And they couldn’t mix a proper Long Island Ice Tea if their lives depended on it! Let alone be able to know the difference between a good Cosmopolitan and a tankerd of toxic swill in a taste test.

Back to the Mojito and the Mint Julep. Ordering a Mojito may sound good as it is a very trendy cocktail of late. But even if the bartkeep knows how to make a proper one, be aware of what to expect. It is, in it’s traditional form, mostly alcohol. Just like a real Martini, a real Cosmo, and a real Margarita.

A Mojito is as follows: Lime juice, sugar, and mint leaves “muddled” in an Old Fashion type glass (a small, squat, thick glass). The glass is then filled with crushed ice, a jigger of good rum, and sometimes a spritz of soda. A Mint Julep is nearly the same, but with bourbon instead of rum.

A traditional Margarita is as follows: In a Old Fashion type glass, add crushed ice, a jigger of good tequila, a splash of Cointreau or Triple Sec (orange liquor), and lime juice. Sometimes the rim of the glass is dipped in lime juice then coated with Kosher salt. A blended version of this drink is not a real Margarita. By the way, a Perfect Margarita is the same as just mentioned, but with a “float” of Gran Marnier...tastes even better, but your bartender will add $4 or $5 to the price of the drink!

A traditional Cosmopolitan is as follows: Made by shaking together vodka, Cointreau, cranberry juice, lime juice, and ice. Then straining it into either an Old Fashion type glass or a Martini glass, which may be rimmed with sugar.

Whenever someone suggests ordering a Kamikaze, just remind them “Oh, you mean a Cosmoplitan”. But instead of sipping it, you “shoot” it! You’ll get quizzical stares from the younger crowd...but it’s always fun messing with them.

Drink and be merry. But when you are shelling out those astronomical prices for “nice” drinks...send it back if it sucks. I always do. I almost always send back Long Island Ice Teas, as I have rarely found one made properly. Besides, they usually run about $8.00.

I am almost never disappointed with a Miller Genuine and a shot of Cuervo Gold...except when they don’t pour three fingers of tequila. Cheap bastards!

Bottoms up!

A quick SLO turnaround...

This weekend I drove to the Central Coast on Saturday morning, spent the night, then headed back to Modesto early the next morning. It was another solo trip for me, as Loretta had to work. My mission: visit my son Jimmy, visit my mom Betty...and, of course, take a few pictures. Mission(s) accomplished.Going there without Loretta always makes it bittersweet, as I miss her the moment I leave. She tells me, as well, that the feeling is mutual...I believe her! We are planning a weekend on the coast in two weeks for a wedding. This particular wedding is for an old friend's daughter, so I won't officially be "working"...although I do plan on taking photos for them as part of our wedding gift. We'll have time to do some other things as well, including see my mom again, hang out at the ocean, and relax a bit.

On the way in to Pismo, I stopped in SLO for a short while. I wanted to snap a few photos in the mission plaza area. There was a street fair going on, the annual Italian Street Painting Fair. They don't actually use paint, it's a painting-with- chalk thing. It looked like 25-30 squares were taped out in the plaza for artists to ply their talent on the plaza in pastel chalks...each individual area set aside was sponsored by local businesses. Everyone was busily etching out their creations under the bright morning sun. The weather was perfect, and it appeared to be a nice turnout.

They do a lot of things like this in SLO, unlike here in Modesto where you're lucky to find something like this at all. Of course, SLO is somewhat of an artist colony in its own rite. Sure it's a college town (Cal Poly) and tourist stop, but it has always been a bit of a mini-Carmel. I lived on the Central Coast for 25 years before migrating to the San Joaquin Valley. I don't make a single trip down there without becoming extremely nostalgic about my time spent there...a lot happened in my life during those years. Besides, the weather is superb and my immediate family still resides there. The drive from Modesto to the C.C. sucks, although not a deterrant to taking that drive at least a half dozen times a year.

Jenifer was born there. Went to school there. Graduated from college there. And got married there (last year). She and Roth set out on a leap-of-faith adventure to their "next S.L.O."...to Seattle last summer. They do miss S.L.O., but have discovered a much larger and more diverse version of their home town in Seattle. Hence, I no longer have that "excuse" to make the trip to the C.C., ie, visit my daughter. It still seems a little weird coming down the Cuesta grade on 101 into San Luis, and not taking that exit that leads to Jenifer's place.

Saturday afternoon, Betty and I set out for our usual trek to the ocean, this time to Avila Beach. It was beautiful there, the weather was clear and mild and even a little warm for that area. I took pictures and got to see the town of Avila since it was plowed under a few years ago from toxic contamination. They've done a good job resurrecting that little beach "town". Loretta and I will try to get there in two weeks.

By the way, Cal Poly's WOW week was in full swing, the week set aside for new students and their families. Pismo was the usual nuthouse on a busy weekend! Wall to wall people, assholes and elbows downtown. After this week, everything will settle down a bit, reverting back to the sleepy little tourist area that it is off season. Go there in the fall or winter and have the place to yourself...almost anyway!

After the sun set and I had taken several hundred photos of Shell Beach leading up to that event, we had dinner at Finn's...a seafood style restaurant at the Grover Beach ramp. It wasn't busy at all as most of the WOW week people stick close to SLO or the other big "name" Pismo eateries like McLintocks or The Cliffs or Alex BBQ. All of the aforementioned restaurants were packed to the gills. My mom and I ate fish and chips...me feeling extremely guilty about downing that kind of faire as it is not a part of the Sonoma Diet! But, I'll get back on track this week...making up for the McD "driving breakfasts" I ate as well.

After dinner, we had an interesting visit at my mom's place with sister Kris. I downloaded my photos on the iBook, then hit the couch. I had planned on getting up very early and making the drive back via Highway One...didn't happen. I had just been that route a few weeks prior and wanted to get back in a shorter amount of time. Loretta, Jen, Roth, and I will drive back that way in two weeks. I did have an opportunity to stop at Shell Beach and take a few rare morning photos of the rocks, the pelicans, and the ocean. Then, back on that sucky drive back to Modesto...101 to 46 to 41 to the dreaded 5...and home. All in all it is a 500 mile trip there and back. With the iPod blasting through the radio, I managed to make it home without too much anguish...or sweating this time.

We really do miss the Central Coast. Whenever we make the trip down there, we never miss an opportunity to visit one of the beaches...if not just to drive by and look at it out the window of the car.

Loretta and I moved away from there 10 years ago for reasons of advancing my job position. That position and others have long since evaporated. But we did buy a nice house in Salida and are very happy...when we are actually in the house!

Modesto has always been and still is a hick town without much to offer in the way of art, culture, or job opportunities. We've met some nice people, made some friends, and have had some fun. But it may be time to move on...again. Seattle has quite often been a sore topic of this discussion. Loretta usual points out that she can't live where there is that much precipitation and fog. As for me, that doesn't bother me...I sort of enjoy dreary weather.

The likelihood of us moving anytime soon? Fairly remote, for financial reasons. Seattle would most likely be a fertile area to cultivate my style of photography versus what one finds acceptable in Modesto.

Time will tell...

Some Short Takes...

We saw The Illusionist. I was very hopeful of this film after viewing the trailer, afterall...Paul Giamatti is in it. It presented an intriguing story of a 19th century magician, political power struggles, a love story, and a murder mystery. It dragged a bit at times, but had a satisfying ending. I just couldn’t buy into Giamatti’s faux Austrian/English accent, nor Edward Norton’s high, nasal, lispy voice as a charismatic stage illusionist...remember how creepy he was in Primal Fear (1996)? We should have saved our money, waited one more day, and saw The Black Dahlia...there is always next week. BTW...anyone see Hollywoodland, is it worth the $6.50 (bargain matinee price of course)?

************************************

Reality shows...wow, will it ever end? Hardly, they represent a huge new boom in TV ad sales, evidently based on fan popularity. Someone must be watching them. The latest offering: Survivor, Cook Islands pits various ethnic groups against one another? They’re serious...it is not a skit from SNL. I guess I am not an objective critic of this genre. I have not now and have never had any interest in these shows. Did I say the word “not” enough yet? Soon, look for reality show offerings like Survivor Compton: The Crips and the Bloods, Survivor Omaha: The Farmers and the Ranchers, Euro-Survivor: The Rude versus the Bad Teeth, or Survivor Hollywood: the Asskissers and the Backstabbers. I don’t get it.

***********************************

The weather...what’s up with that? There was no Spring this year, at least in California. It went from rainy and cold to very hot and dry in one weekend. Those 105+ days in July were literally a killer. We’ve been near 100 again for a week or so, and the forecast today is for a high of 81! It was 97 yesterday and it is supposed to be 81 today! The weather geeks tell us that one of the reasons for our weird weather of late is because the Earth is a couple of degree warmer since 100 years ago. How the hell can they accurately say that? How accurate were the thermometers 100 years ago, let alone the record-keeping? Now they tell us that the Hole-In-The-Ozone-Scare (scam) the past 20 years was probably a natural, cyclical thing...it is closing up again...naturally! Another in a long line of town cryer, attention-getting ploys by geek scientist types with way too much time on their hands. I suggest that these technical scientific people should be made to wear stiff plastic pocket protectors in their short sleeve white shirts with clip-on ties, a holster on their belt for their slide rule, and a big white piece of tape on one corner of their thick black glasses just to idenify the source of this dribble...like in the olden days. At least back then...you knew who the nerds were.

***********************************

Meredish Viera (yes, I said Mere-dish) will be a welcome breath of fresh air to The Today Show. I have always thought she was intelligent and very appealing, back from her days on West 57th (the 60 Minutes clone from 1985). I hope Katie does well on the CBS evening news, but she looked like a deer in the headlights her first show. Back to Meredith...btw, I never watched The View...sorry, she just didn’t seem to fit on a stage with a bunch of trite bitches who had nothing worthwhile to contribute, especially Star Jones and that old bat comedienne they had.

***********************************

Does anyone truly give a damn about the recent rash of celebrity couple out of wedllock babies (especially the so-called TomCat creation)? More specifically, seeing the first pictures of them! My gosh, I am more entralled with pictures of a baby panda squirting out of Ling Ling, or Ping Ping, or Ping Pong...whatever their names are.

**********************************

Some stores have their Christmas stuff out already...some for a month or more. That’s just not right!

*********************************

Jim Carrey fired his long-time management team recently. Apparently the string of clinkers he offered us the past few years didn’t jive with his $20 million dollar per movie fee. It remains to be seen if he can “make a comeback”. Just like many others, Carrey has become a parody of himself in every flick.

*******************************

Ludivine Sagnier

I was going to do a mini-review of the movie Swimming Pool (2003). But truthfully, in reality, this is a mini-tribute to one of the sexiest young actresses working today.

Before I begin my gush-fest, you must know that my daughter Jenifer just wrote a review for the movie The Last Kiss. She did a great writing job, presenting a comprehensive look at a new movie starring and about people in the 20-something age bracket...a genre that Hollywood (and movie-goers) never seem to tire of, no matter what year it is at present. Though Jen tried to be subjective about the merits of the movie, she was apparently overwhelmed by the movie’s star: Zach Braff. So, I believe my motivation for this “review” is based on similar, carnal reactions to a person in a movie...and not necessarily the film itself. With that disclaimer on the table, here goes another actress infatuation piece from yours truly.

When you get a moment, go to your favorite browser and type in the search box: Ludivine Sagnier. Chances are, this is first time you have ever heard of that name. In fact, I hadn’t heard that name until the day I stumbled upon the movie Swimming Pool (2003)...I think it was on Cinemax late one night.


Swimming Pool is a movie written and directed by French moviemakers (Francoise Ozon & Emmanuelle Bernheim). It’s officially listed as a Drama/Mystery/Thriller. It is true to that form, but let me add Erotic Thriller as well, since there is much of that in the movie...though not extremely graphic or overlydone. Nudity? Why, yes! More on that later.

There is a notable co-star in the form of English actress Charlotte Rampling, who, by the way, is not too shabby in her own right in the sexy department. Rampling is 60 years old now, but still has that speccial something that made her a pretty busy actress in the seventies and eighties...a lot of TV, a lot of French and British productions, and so on. Charlotte, by the way, takes it all off as well in one scene in Swimming Pool.

Back to this Ludivine Sagnier. In the movie, she plays the wild-child, French daughter of Rampling’s boss. Rampling is a mystery writer vacationing (and writing her next mystery novel) at her boss’ house in France when the wild-child, Julie (Sagnier) shows up unexpectedly. Julie is an 18 year old party animal who drags local Euro-creeps home with her at night...cavorting sexually and very audibly around the house...much to the dismay of Rampling’s stodgy character Sarah.

Eventually, the two become buddies of sort. Sarah also begins to assume the roll of Julie’s long lost mother at one point.

Well, Julie supposedly bashes in the skull of one of her suitors one night after he refuses to have sex with her in the swimming pool...are we getting the title’s connection yet? Said swimming pool is also the locale for many of the exchanges between Julie and Sara, Julie and the Euro-creeps, and an old fart who lives there and takes care of the gardening...and the swimming pool. Now, Sarah helps Julie dispose of the guy whose skull she bashed in. They bury him in the backyard...by the swimming pool of course. In the meantime, Sarah has been using Julie’s exploits as fodder for her book...busily writing on her laptop all day and into the night.

If I tell you any more, it will spoil a very interesting plot twist at the end. Suffice to say, Swimming Pool is an interesting, albeit low key movie that does hold your attention, especially if you are a guy! You see, Ludivine Sagnier is one of the sexiest little actresses I have ever seen in a movie. Sure, she plays a nasty girl-gone-wild character in this, but she is genuinely appealing...in a strange, thick French accent, barely-legal sort of way.

Julie (Sagnier) does romp around the swimming pool in her bikini quite a bit. Not to mention several nude scenes in the pool, her bedroom, the living room, the stairs...did I leave anywhere out? To put it arcanely, she is built like a brick shit house!

Sagnier’s appeal also lies in her uninhibited acting style as the character Julie. Fancy free, doesn’t give a shit about anything, and loves to smoke pot, drink, and party...not to mention fool around with whomever she pleases. It kind of brings back memories of the seventies for me. But maybe that is the way Europeans are now and have always been, especially the French.


Ludivine Sagnier was seen more recently as Tink(erbell) in Peter Pan...a decidely sexier rendition of that character than Disney envisioned...or Mary Martin. Of course, Mary Martin’s tinkerbell from the fifties was played by a flashlight...remember? Sagnier has been in a number of French films and European television productions. She is touted as being one who is “on the verge” (of stardom). It will be interesting to watch and see if that indeed does happen. My recommendation to her agent? She needs to be the next Bond Girl! And since we have a new James Bond coming very soon, her not-fitting-the-mold demeanor will be a breath of fresh air...and a look into the future of movie sexpots.

Ludivine Sagnier is a total hottie! And so are you Virginia Madsen...just bit more mature than Ludivine.

The Monster From Cable Internet Hell

For someone who spends a decent amount of time on the internet, I’ve been going through Cable Internet Hell the past month. In fact, I should send a rough draft of some sort to Wes Craven or Clive Barker for the screenplay of this story. Some other working titles I’m considering: Nightmare on the Internet, Cable Mayhem: Apolcalyse, Firewall Frustration, or Snakes on a Browser.

I have been so frustrated for these past weeks, it’s a wonder I haven’t gained back the recent weight I lost on The Sonoma Diet, fallen off the bourbon wagon, or thrown all my computer equipment in the pool. Fortunately, I didn’t do any of that...but certainly felt like it at times.

It all started one quiet afternoon after we returned home from two days in Monterey.

I went to log on my usual browser, on my usual Apple Mac laptop, in the usual way. I have been on a cable modem for several years now, so this task has always been a very timely process. Anyone familiar with high speed internet will know that it only takes a few seconds to “fire up”...and you’re there...surfing away without much delay. But for some unknown reason (unknown to me at the time), it didn’t go anywhere...fast!

By the way, there is a new message that my brain has registered as reason to disengage from rationality: “Browser not found. Check your internet connection or retype the browser address.” After a few days of seeing this message many times, I had become The Lost Connection Monster From Cable Internet Hell. Poor Loretta...but that’s another story for now.

But wait...the next morning, I logged on and everything worked just fine...for about five minutes. Then, in the middle of uploading photos to my website, reading an email, or just trying to load a web page...it “takes a crap”...again. Re-log onto the browser...same message...over, and over, and over again. It continued this process, ie, on, then off, on, then off until I couldn’t get a connection at all...all day...during many days.

Of course, at this point, I am reinventing the wheel with my computer network configurations, hypotheszing why it has happened, re-wiring every cable connection, disconnecting all the TV’s in the house, buying cable boosters, and sweating like a farm animal. Not to mention...becoming The Lost Connection Monster From Cable Internet Hell. I was pissed off to say the least....and very frustrated...and this was before I called the cable company!

So...after a couple days of this mayhem, I called the cable company...Charter F***ing Cable. Of course, that’s not their real name. It’s simply what they will be referred to by yours truly from here on out, the remainder of my days on this Earth. I’ll just use the abbreviation CFC for brevity and decorum the rest of this blog entry.

The first call to CFC, I spent 20 minutes “talking” to Mr. Automation, “Let’s see if we can find out what is wrong with your connection before sending you to an (live) agent”. Yes, a full 20 minutes answering automated questions like, “Is your computer plugged in?”, “Is your cable plugged in to your modem?”, “Did you purchase your computer before 1968?”, “Is your head currently up your ass?” All of which I had checked many times before making this call...of course, I was only reasonably sure that my head was not up my ass. After waiting another 20 minutes for a live agent, “Linda” comes on the line. Linda, by the way, may not have been her real name since I believe she was calling from Sri Lanka. In her best broken English, Linda commenced to ask me the same questions as Mr. Automation just did. And I am answering these questions again to the best of my ability through tightly clenched teeth. Try talking sometime with your mouth clamped shut and your lips pursed so tight that every word sounds the same. Occassionally, Linda would say to me, “Mr. Hansen, are you still there?” Apparently, the response “Ah huh” in growl mode doesn’t come across clearly on a phone conversation to the Far East.

Here is the semi-short version of the next 21 days. Linda set me up with a “tech appointment”. CFC tech comes out one week later and replaces antique cable modem and a couple of cable wires. CFC tech notes: “Wow, this is taking a long time to come up (on his laptop)”. CFC tech leaves. My internet connection works fine...then takes a crap as the CFC tech truck is pulling away from my driveway! I get a “priority” return appointment 2 days later. Same CFC tech comes out and tells me that their system won’t work connected to a router (the system I have been using without change for 2 years). CFC tech spills the beans, “CFC has made some technical changes in their signal of late. Some people have had to rewire their entire house...at their expense. Oh look, your connection is working now”. CFC tech leaves. My connection "takes a crap" as CFC tech truck is driving away from my house. I find out that our next door neighbor has had the exact same problems for exactly the same amount of time (they have not had the patience to schedule a visit from CFC tech, remember those 20 minute conversations with Mr. Automation and “Linda” from Sri Lanka?) I see a TV ad for A.T.T/SBC/Yahoo High Speed Internet. I managed to get on line for 10 minutes and check it out...$12.99 a month. I speak to the A.T.T. booth girl at the fair. Yes, DSL is now available in your neighborhood (a few years ago, it wasn’t...hence the cable modem fiasco). A.T.T. booth girl at the fair also informs me that high speed DSL does not tie up your phone line any longer. Ureka! A solution. Booth girl says she will call me on Tuesday after Labor Day and set everything up for me. No call from booth girl. I manage to get on line for 10 minutes...quick, order the DSL! A week later (Monday), the modem and self-installation kit arrives (saving me $200 in hook up fees by a tech). A.T.T. email says it will be configured and connected to your house by Monday. I stick in the installation CD, following all the instructions to the letter, hit “connect”...nothing. I get the message, “Browser not found. Check your internet connection...blah, blah, blah”. Only this time, the message is in a pretty, more graphically pleasing, colored font from SBC. I try the CD procedure again (twice). I call A.T.T. They check my order...”It won’t be active unti 8:00 pm (it is now 7:45). I wait until 8:30 and try again. Nothing. I call A.T.T. back. The nice lady (sounds like the call is from Shanghai this time) talks me through “manual registration” procedures. Nothing. Informs me that my browser (Firefox) won’t let me register the account (something about Flash), she must pass me along to a “Level 2” phone tech who can do it. Andy comes on the line (also sounds like a resident of Shanghai). Andy talks me through some other technical stuff, various websites, and keystrokes and...voila! It works. Flamethrowing, firebreathing, Formula One internet connection! I ask Andy, “May I ask from where you are calling?” Andy responds, “California...San Ramone”. “Oh...I’m in Modesto”. “Yes, I know that”, Andy replies in his best, polite broken English. “Hmmm...how’s the weather in San Ramone?” That blew my Shanghai Conspiracy Theory.

I remained civil to all with whom I spoke during this whole process. The only un-civility I exhibited was to the cable modem itself one night. I won’t go into details at this juncture..but let’s just say that it got “bitch slapped”.

You must realize that I am in the middle of taking my photography business marketing efforts to some new levels. These new levels fully involve the internet...specifically uploading photos to my website portfolio and answering new email inquires about wedding dates and portrait sittings.

My demeanor over the past 30 days of this internet nighmare likened to Steve Martin’s character in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Similar to the scene in the airport after he was stranded in a distant, snow-covered rent-a-car parking lot where their was no rental car to be found...walking miles across freeways and runways back to the terminal and confronting a very non-caring, unattentive counter person. My parody on his conversation: “I f***ing want a f***ing internet f***ing connection right f***ing now!”

So...I got my internet connection back, without displaying that sort of verbage to anyone...rare for me. How many brain cells did I lose during this month long interlude? No telling...irrelevant at this point in my life anyway. Evidently, I still have enough cells left to take photographs and write and blog or two on occasion. Loretta was very sympathetic to my plight...very supportive. She is very sensitive to my anguish in these areas, during these times. She’s a jewel...a peach...and breath of fresh air when things get stale. She’s happier now as well.

As far as CFC goes? They are history to me. I have had it with the B.S. of this whole situation and with the B.S. that they dole out. You have no choice as to which cable company you use in your house...one cable company per neighborhood is how it is set up. CFC only gives you choices on how much money they are able to gouge from your pocketbook in forms of upgrades and so-called premium services. What choice you have now is the choice I am making. There is phone company DSL service almost everywhere now. There is satellite service for TV viewing everywhere...and several companies from which to choose. My internet cable service problem was never resolved. During this past 30 days, the ratio of success versus failure: 50% of the time I could never get on line. During the other 50% of the time the connection was slow, slower than any dial up connection 90% of the time...leaving 10% of that 50% in which I had a working connection...for 10 minutes at a time at best. That can not in any shape of the word be considered: cable service. It is not anything but shameful and sad. Sad that CFC has changed things technically...shameful that they don’t care and they are doing nothing about it. By the way, all new connections and home construction is set up to accomodate the new system. Retrofitting older homes for any kind of digital internet will be at a cost to the homeowner, so I am told by Johnny CFC tech (his named changed to protect...me!)

If you are having similar problems, don’t let them try to convince you that it because you have a router or a wireles system in your home. That is complete and utter bullshit!

As far as my intentions for television service, I will probably go with Dishnet (again)...evidently they are part of the ATT/SBC conglomerate. The cost for these changes will be simlar to what I have been paying for cable non-service. Plus, we just recently bought a HD plasma television...we may as well have a good, clean HD signal from a satellite dish (and maybe TiVo too, huh?).

So, just like Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde...I have transformed back into regular Mr Skip after a few weeks as The Monster From Cable Internet Hell. A character that I am not at all proud of or comfortable with...as per usual, I am working on it!

Captain Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters

This is Captain Geech. His buddies, The Shrimp Shack Shooters, are still in the fridge...waiting for their photo opp...and for dinner. They may get a reprieve today, as Loretta and I have had an urge to make Carne Asada tacos instead tonight.

I have been very remiss with my food styling photo projects. I love to take pictures of both prepared and unprepared food items, it’s one of the things a photographer must do on a regular basis. Well...it is not a must-do thing, but for me...I should be doing it more often. It all goes into a huge file called Stock Photography. Someday, those images will begin to sell to Stock Photography “houses”. Each individual photo isn’t worth much, but as a collection, they can bring in steady source of income.

Back to food styling. Jenifer and Roth are coming here the end of this month, flying down from Seattle. They’ll spend Thursday and Friday nights with us here in Salida, then we will all load up and drive down to Pismo (actually Nipomo I think) for the wedding of a long-time family friend. While speaking with Jenifer and Roth on the phone last night, we talked of making a "bitchen" dinner on Friday night. Roth, my chef son-in-law, will do most of the cooking this time (I think Jen has revealed this little ditty to him already). And I, Mr. Skip Hansen, photographer, will set up the food styling studio.

Of course, one of the fun parts to entertaining and cooking is the planning of the meal. We have almost a full month to do that. The other fun part (at the other end of the process) is actually eating it! But that is only a small, almost anti-climatic step in the scheme of things. Since I have been doing relatively well on my Sonoma Diet effort, things have changed quite a bit in this area. I not only don’t eat as much, but what I fix has changed dramatically. Geeze I miss the cream sauces, bacon double cheeseburgers, fried foods, and Jack Daniels. No big deal...at least I am seeing some results.

Back to Captain Geech. A couple of weeks ago I was on a mission to find some large shrimp “still looking at you”. Good luck. Since we don’t live in Seattle, finding shrimp that are still intact with all their parts was not easy. I went to several markets to no avail. Most of the people just gave me a mystic stare when I said, “I need some shrimp that are still looking at you”. No sense of humor for the most part I guess. A couple minimum wage meat and seafood counter types may not even have known that shrimp have eyes...or that they possess body parts beyond a meaty tail.

So, I finally found a friendly and helpful person at O’brien’s Market in Modesto...an upscale, somewhat expensive supermarket that has an extensive meat and seafood department, closely resembling a butcher shop. The seafood counter girl managed to find a box or two of frozen, large shrimp. In the business, they are called 3-4’s...those numbers representing the number of shrimp per pound. The scampi-type shrimp are usually 25-30. The small shrimp cocktail shrimp: 50-60...that I affectionately call Sea Monkey Shrimp.

She brought out the box (that she had torn open for me), and presented me with my choice of eight, large, frozen, completely intact shrimp...at $9.99 a pound. I opted for three “good ones”, ie, antennae not broken off, legs still attached, and all “still looking at you”. Voila...Captain Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters, a referrence to a scene in one of our favorite movies, That Thing You Do. To explain: the 60’s musical group in the movie (written by and starring Tom Hanks btw), The Wonders, got to play Captain Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters in a beach party style movie. Yes, both groups are mythical and only resemble musical groups from that bygone era. My Captain Geech? He is much more than mythical, he's a real crustacean...waiting to headline our Labor Day BBQ!

Anyway, Captain Geech sat very still for an hour or so of studio shots. His buddies eventually made in into the spotlight, accompanied by The Cilantros, the Gilroy Garlic Boys (a jazz ensemble), and The Limeliters (I couldn’t resist that one) for a photo jam session.

The rest is photo history.