Living in the Pacific Flyway, part deux

Earlier this week I visited the San Joaquin River Wildlife Refuge waterfowl observation site just a few miles from our neighborhood. My intent was to see the Sandhill Cranes that hang out here this time of year on their annual migration from points north to points south. Instead of the cranes, I was treated to a spectacle that I had never been witness to in person...huge numbers of the Aleutian Canada Goose. I went back there Thursday morning, this time dragging with me my somewhat reluctant wife Loretta.

I knew I wanted to get some sunrise photos of these birds, and that meant getting there before the sun came up. This time of year, just a few days before switching back to Pacific Standard Time, the sun doesn’t come up until after 7:00am. So why did we arrive there at 6:00am...in the middle of the night? I’m never late to anything, maybe that’s why.

It was pitch black out there in the countryside. The moving lights of a solid string of automobiles and trucks in the distance on Highway 132 could be seen, making their way to Highway 5 and the bay area on their morning commute. The distant orangish glow of the city of Modesto to the west was also visible in this surreallistic time of the day. There were some other single lights here and there, at the farms and ranches. But not much else.

We could hear the geese the moment we arrived. The honking of hundreds of these migratory birds at least confirmed they were in the area. We couldn’t see the birds or the field yet, the area where I photographed thousands of them just a few days before in the hour before sunset. It was still too dark. And, it was cold...colder than we had anticipated. For a couple of weather-wimpy Calfiornians, this was almost more than we had bargained for. That Fall morning chill began creeping into our bones through the flimsy sweatshirts and sweatpants we had chosen to wear. Hell, I was going to wear shorts! It was clear as a bell with no wind...and as yet no birds that we could see. Just the sound of them in the distance...honking out their morning anthem. We sipped our coffees, stuck our hands in the pockets of our flimsy sweatshirts, and waited. Loretta was shivering just a bit. Me...I was pacing on the redwood observation platform...occassionally snaping a long-exposure picture of the darkness, hoping to conjure up some sort of aesthetic dawn shot. It wasn’t working...it was still just too dark. And now, my hands were getting very cold holding the bulky Canon camera. Loretta was wise enough to bring gloves by the way...not yours truly.

Then, the sounds of the geese began to get louder...and louder. And it sounded not like hundreds, but like thousands. There were coming closer. In fact, they were right above us now. As we looked up into the dark gray morning sky, what we saw was almost scary at first. There was just enough light now. Enough light to see a near solid blanket of geese. Some flying in V-formations, others lined up in offset straight lines...just over our heads. They were everywhere in the sky, and all slowly moving at the same speed and in the same direction.
I would liken the vision similar to the giant spaceships in the movie Independence Day as they passed over, blocking out the sky. It was awesome. And it was just too dark and too immense to get a good photograph with my telephoto lens. They drifted over us, presumebly choosing to settle in some other field nearby. None of them ever choosing to land in the field by the observation platform where were waiting. The immense alien craft sailed by right over us. And in a few moments, was gone.

As the sun began to rise in the east, I was able to start shooting some shots of the flocks of geese as they continued to come into our immediate vicinity. Huge groups numbering in the hundreds continued to fly to and fro. They would pass over us from time to time...never stopping near our location. And some flew right across the image of the rising sun, off in the distance, framed by the clear morning sky and distant farm buildings and fields. I caught many in the viewfinder of the 400mm telephoto lens, only hoping there was enough light to capture a useable image or two. There was enough light now.

We did indeed see a few Sandhill Cranes winging their way past us in the distance, giving a wide birth on their journey to who knows where. The Aleutian Canada Geese themselves also opted not to land near where we were waiting to welcome them...and photograph them. At one point, I looked through my long lens at one of the fields well behind us, several hundred yards in the distance. And there they were. Hundreds upon hundreds of geese walking and grazing...and staying safe from us. The previously bright green, grassy field in which they had landed was now black with their numbers. On our way out, we stopped briefly on the road right next to their parking place. I crept slowly out of the Jeep with my camera and began snapping a few telephoto shots through the barbed wire fence surrounding the field. At the same time, the geese, as a group, turned their feathered backs on me and either walked away or took flight to the other side of the field. It was as if to say, "I'm affraid you are not worthy of our close presence on this day. Try again some other time". And so I will.



I will try again sometime soon. They fly in to this part of the valley in October and November, so I assume them may be around for a little while. I also assume they will not be present in that field next to the observation platform unless they are already there when I arrive. Wild birds like this are extremely wary and savvy of human presence. Afterall, one must hide in a goose "blind" when hunting them...not standing out in the open with a long-barreled camera pointed in their direction! I guess I just need to get a bigger telephoto lens for those long distance shots. And, be more patient.

Living in the Pacific Flyway

Quite often I manage to allow myself to fall into the nature photography mode. In fact, I would really like to do it more often. But it does require one action that I have always had a challenge with...getting off my butt and out where there is actually “nature”.

One such nature area located a mere 4 miles from my doorstep is the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. Although I have been there on one previous occassion, my visit yesterday provided me with quite an epiphany. Earlier this year we drove out to the site one time. It was not the time of year to see the “show”. There was nothing there, ie, no birds or other animals...the waterfowl had come and gone farther south...or back north for the Summer.

The public access is a rather small section of land just off Beckwith Rd outside Modesto. There is a gravel parking area right next to an elevated viewing platform...just adjacent to a huge tract of land set aside for this part of the refuge. This particular redwood structure enables folks like you and me to observe the migratory bird influx at a safe distance (for the birds). This visit provided me with a totally awesome and mind-blowing look at what goes on for a few weeks in the Fall in the Pacific Flyway.



By far, the predominant bird at this location this time of year is the (once-threatened) Aleutian Canada Goose. There were literally thousands and thousands of them hanging out in the fields surrounding this viewing platform. This smaller sub-species of the Canada Goose spends Spring and Summer nesting on a few windswept islands near the Alaskan coast and Washington, while wintering in Oregon and here in Central California. After more than three decades of conservation efforts, numbers of Aleutian Canada Goose has come back from a few hundred in the mid-70’s to over 32,000 today. It has been officially removed from the threat of extinction list.

While I was there for about an hour before sunset, these huge flocks of geese “grazed” on young alfalfa plants in the fields set aside for this purpose. Every once in a while, you could watch them take flights in large squardrons...honking, sqawking, and winging their way to another field nearby. Shortly thereafter, another flock would fly in from a different field to take their place. This went on the entire time I was there, until the sun set. Each time they moved, hundreds of them provided me with some great photo opportunities...especially as they flew between my camera and the setting sun.

Originally I had ventured out there to see the Sandhill Cranes who also inhabit this protected area in the Fall and early Winter. I only caught a few glimpses of the cranes flying by at a distance. But maybe I will see more next time. I have planned another visit sometime this week, at sunrise this time.

I took hundred of photos, so choosing this small handful here was quite a chore deciding which ones to use.

I also got to drive the Yellow Bomb out there. It actually made it there and back without any automotive trauma! It felt good watching and photographing the birds...and driving the 912.

Brainstorm #1017

Every once in a while I have a brainstorm. Wait. That's not an accurate statement. Every few minutes I have a brainstorm. Brainstorm #1017 is the one thousand and seventeenth brainstorm this year...not in my lifetime!

Not to be confused with brainfarts, brainstorms are ideas that pop into my head for making money. Keeping track of my brainfarts would be a senseless, if not impossible, undertaking. Oh, what is a brainfart you ask? As one gets up there in years, one's brainfarts become more and more frequent. Here's an example, "Why the f**k did I walk into the kitchen?". You with me?

Back to Brainstorm #1017. While playing around with my photo editing program the other day, I fiddled with a few of my recent food-styling photos. Actually, I was somewhat disappointed in the results of some recent food shots I attempted, they just didn't come out as I expected. But after a few keystrokes in Photoshop...voila! Pop Kitchen Art! Doesn't this shit look like something they might sell at BB&B, or Target, or Walmart? Hey...colors are back in style. So are photographs for home decor.

So now, just like the proverbial tree in the forest, here is my latest brainstorm for making a fortune. Well maybe not a fortune, but some sort of cash return. I'll even sign and number each one of the prints...what the hell!

My hard drive is filled to the brim with mediocre photographs of almost everything. Colorful images that would lend themselves well to this format.

Hey, how about calendars with this stuff on it?

Fruits, vegetables, pies, cakes, hot dogs, salads, jars of pickles...even kitchen appliances. This could be akin to the old Peter Max or Andy Warhol pop art from the 60's.

Yes, the photos are my originals...copyright Skip Hansen Photography. The name Pop Kitchen Art! has now been officially published, right here on blogspot!

If you're interested in helping market something like this, drop me a line. I am open to suggestions. If you think it is a stupid idea and more of brainfart than a brainstorm...keep it to yourself...I have enough self-esteem issues at this point in my life!

If you'd like to purchase a print similar to these, let me know. I will send you a link to my website where they will be published and available for sale. Get in on it while they are cheap. Once I sell the idea to Target...I'll be out of the sales picture for good...at least on this brainstorm.

"If I only had a brain!"

At the intersection of Clusterf**k Ave and Fubar Drive

Now this is not an actual intersection near our home. There are no streets with those names in or near Modesto. It is the generic name I use for any number of cross streets in this misplanned community in which we live. My question to the so-called planners that manage this city, “What the hell were you thinking?”

In an area that has been growing by the proverbial “leaps and bounds” for at least 10 years or so, it appears there has been no thought put toward the traffic situation...specifically between Highway 99 and any other section of Modesto east. Thousands of new homes and still being built along with the infrastructure that goes with them...stores, shopping centers, Home Depots, Lowes, and Starbucks. Most of these new homes are being built to accomodate people who work in and around the bay area, some 50-70 miles west of here. Most of us can not afford the homes in San Francisco, Walnut Creek, Concord, or even Livermore. But we can still afford one in Modesto...or Tracy, Manteca, or Salida (where we live). So why are the roads the last thing improved around these new home areas? Why are they such an afterthought? As a child, my family moved from the extreme east San Fernando Valley to the extreme west San Fernando Valley. It was here that the housing boom of the 50’s and 60’s manifested itself in this once sprawling and prestine suburb of L.A. My first memories of these new housing tracks include getting there on brand new wide asphault thoroughfares constructed before the houses were built! Not after.

We now live in an area where there are still two-lane overpasses over Highway 99 that connect this auto artery to thousands and thousands of new home tracts. Streets with names likes Sisk, and Pelandale, and Kiernan that traverse acres of walnut orchards and dairy farms now carry gazillions of poor slobs in cars trying to get home from the bay area. These are two-lane farm roads with 4-way stop intersections every few hundred feet. Now factor in the scores of huge semi’s and small to medium trucks and vehicles that service the construction going on out there...and voila: the intersection(s) of Clusterf**k Ave and Fubar Drive! They’re everywhere. To add insult to injury (literally at times), no one seems to consider or know how to adjust the timing on what traffic lights there are.

Yes, the powers to be seem concerned, there are newspaper articles all the time on this very issue. There is construction going on all the time to widen these roads and modernize the intersections. Once again, hereby creating a further problem: constant road construction. Again, the point is...all of this is happening long after the new homes have been built and people have moved in.

My short take on why this occurs? Politics. Simple local politics involving developers and the corporate and government weasels that stand to gain something from these misplanned developmental adventures. “Shall we vote on Development #567 now?”, says the speaker. A squeaky little voice from the sidelines chimes in, “But what about traffic and support structures for these new areas?” “It’s all in the master plan...haven’t you read it? (gavel drops) “Next issue on the docket...”, demands the speaker. We move on.

So it continues here in Modesto. Skinny, two-lane orchard roads give way to wide-ass, 6-lane streets for a few hundred yards, then back to skinny, two-lane orchard roads...then back again. Long, choking lines of near-new SUVs, tractor-trailer trucks, and Cobalts traverse these passageways daily...all trying to get from Point A to Point B in a decent time frame. This once sleepy farm town, the childhood home of George Lucas and all his characters from American Graffitti, is growing fast...and the traffic is going slow. The corridor between Highway 99 and the eastern areas of Modesto (where most of the homes are being built) is only going to get worse. And from where we live in Salida (just west of Highway 99), we have to get in that long line of traffic just to get to our local grocery store...located at the intersection of Clusterf**k Ave and Fubar Drive.

My next rant concerning the traffic here? The drivers themselves. I had no idea that so many people in this world are colorblind...they cannot tell the different between a Red and a Green traffic light!

Mia Sarapoccielo

This blog entry is another of my Babe-A-Licious Awards.

From time to time, I am reminded that certain less-than-well-known celebrities and near celebrities deserve some recognition.

Yesterday, I surfed by a twenty year old movie on cable called Legend (1985) starring little Tommy Cruise. It was the “exciting” finale where our hero ofts a fairy tale type bad guy with horns and lots of prosethetic makeup...resembling the big “D”. Mr’ Cruise’s character was also saving a fairy tale princess whom the horned antogonist had kidnapped and dragged to his underworld lair. Upon closer scrutiny, the young vixen he was attempting to save closely resembled Sloane Peterson. She was wearing a lot of “period” makeup and a flowing chiffon dress, so realizing that this actress was also Matthew Broderick’s co-star in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) was no easy task. Yes...it was Mia Sara.

Mia has been around for a number of years and has done a few movies of note, one of which was Ferris...as Sloane Peterson, Bueller’s pretty high school girlfriend. So I googled her!

She is a very appealing actress, now nearing her 40’s and married to Jason Connery, son of Sean. Her filmography includes a lot of TV (CSI:NY & Nightmares and Dreamscapes) and quite a few films, Ferris being the most notable. But she also starred as Claude VanDamme’s wife in the movie Timecop (1996) where I was also reminded of how Babe-A-Licious Mia is. I think she was romping around in a mini-skirt and knee-high boots if I’m not mistaken (I’m a sucker for that getup).

Her real last name is Sarapoccielo. It’s Mia Sara...very Babe-A-Licious...and much more than just Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend.

Happy Birthday Jenifer

I'm not at all sure there is even a Young Seattle Today magazine. But if there is..."Any resemblance to the existance of this publication is purely coincidental"...I just made it up for my daugher's 27th birthday. Please don't sue me!!!

Happy Birthday Jenifer. I hope you have a wonderful day in Seattle with your very loving husband, Roth. I wish we could be there with you.

Don't step on a crack. Avoid black cats. Don't walk under any ladders. And, above all else...don't be superstitious on this Friday the 13th.

Dad

Jenifer

Shortly after midnight on October 13th 1979, Jenifer was born in San Luis Obispo General Hospital.

It wasn't long after that moment I realized what a lucky person I was.

Yes, my first child had just been born...a daughter. But I realized that my life and future had changed.

No matter what else I would experience in my life, I would always be a father to this little girl.

I remember my very first feelings that early Fall morning. They were feelings of pride...an emotion that I strongly feel to this day, twenty seven years later.

Jenifer has grown up into an independent, strong-willed, young lady.

And even though we have been through many a rough road in these twenty seven years, we have always remained close. Geographically, we have a few miles between us. Emotionally, she is still that little baby in my arms, wrapped in a new-born's hospital blanket.

The feeling of pride I experienced on that early Fall morning is still there. I only hope she has half the love for me that I have for her.

Jen...you know that I will always be "right here".

Dad.

Smooth Jazz...is it jazz or elevator music for baby boomers?

Mindy Abair...Peter White...Euge Groove...Boney James...The Rippingtons...Michael Linkton...David Benoit. Have you heard of these names? They are at the top of their profession in today’s world.

If I said Miles Davis...John Coltrane...Dizzy Gillespie...Bill Evans...Ella Fitzgerald...would these names be more familiar? Probably so.

All the names listed here so far are top jazz artists. Some have been around forever, and some for only a few years. But they are all jazz musicians.

Artists like Mindy Abair and Euge Groove are what some call Smooth Jazz musicians...Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie: Traditional Jazz. But the lines separating these two musical genres has been blurred of late. In fact, the music you hear on so-called Smooth Jazz stations is not what is was just a few years ago.

True traditional jazz purists still do not accept this new, and still evolving, direction of jazz music...a distinctly American invention that now spans the globe. Jazz was born in America. So, is Smooth Jazz its own genre? I think so.

Smooth Jazz station playlists now include recent and, at times, older R&B types tunes from Al Green, Earth, Wind and Fire, and DeBarge...yes, DeBarge! It seems to have evolved into a truly listener-driven format. But which listeners? Who are they?

Being a dyed-in-the-wool typical baby-boomer (at 56), I almost exclusively listen to Smooth Jazz stations. This coming from an ex-radio announcer who, for the most part, can’t stand to listen to any radio station these days. In fact, on recent trips to our old stomping grounds, San Luis Obispo, my disdain for “local” radio there has been elevated to new levels. It’s worse than it ever was. The formats, the playlists, the incessant, annoying commercials...and, the announcers. Wow...it’s like this area I lived and worked in for 25 years is in a time warp of sorts. On most any station where there are actual “live” D.J.s, the same people are on the air from 25 years ago...and they haven’t improved one bit. They all still sound like they are still working at the college radio station (Cal Poly’s KCPR).

I apologize if I offended anyone, since many of these people used to be in our social circle back in the day. I can only assume that, like me, they enjoy being on the air...because there most certainly is no money to be made in small town radio. They are probably working for minimum wage. Herein lies one of the reasons I exited the radio biz some 15 years ago. Radio station owners simply do not care about what the announcers sound like. The business is now solely music and commercial driven. Yes, there are some local, live, morning shows...and they are annoying at best to listen to. They are not funny...they are not clever...and they simply blather about nothing and continually laugh at each other as if there was actually something funny going on! The rule of thumb now? Continue to beat the Morning Zoo format into the ground, ie, load up the morning show with six or seven voices on the air saying nothing worthwhile. Someone is bound to upchuck something of interest by sheer volume of prattle.

So...back to us baby boomers and what we would like to hear on the radio...and that brings us back to Smooth Jazz. Some people have called it Prosac Radio or Pablum Radio. It is not produced to incite enthusiasm, or elicit thoughtful conversation, or motivate anyone to do anything. It is there for a relaxed listening experience...and nothing more. It really is our Elevator Music. Elevator Music, btw, is still around and is still the most listened to radio format...believe it not. Even E.M. comes in a plethora of fragmented formats from which to choose. For the uninitiated, E.M. is composed of a selection of lushly orchestrated cover versions of long popular songs. Percy Faith, Montovani, even the likes of Yanni and John Tesh are some of the names that come to mind. And, typically, it was the music played in hotel lobbies, department stores, and elevators...background music.

Is Smooth Jazz background music? To some extent. But a good majority of it is cutting edge, state of the art, groovin’ music for us old folk! Listen to any CD from L.A. jazz group The Rippingtons with Russ Freeman and you won’t come away with the feeling you just took a double dose of Zoloft. Russ Freeman, for one, is a premier guitar player whose production style and electric (and acoustic) guitar riffs put some of younger “ax masters” to shame. He’s a smokin’ musician. And he’s not the only one...there are many others...masters of the tenor sax, keyboard, and brass.

Give your local Smooth Jazz station a try sometime. Around here we have The River (KOVR, 105.5). I don’t always agree with every song on their playlist, but it’s the only radio station I listen to right now. Of course, I have yet to purchase a satellite radio rig. At least the XM radio thing (and its clones) provide a wide source of listening choices that include AM type stations with teams of idiots blathering away about nothing.

When I first got into radio in the early-70s, there were only a small handful of radio stations allowed in any given area. Now...most every available frequency on the dial is occupied by some sort of broadcast fodder. It’s a whole different game out there now. Sure, we have more choices...but in this case, more is not necessarily better. We old radio personality dogs are not a dying breed...we are already dead...and gone.

Some Short Takes...2

RV

I wouldn’t go so far as to say, “Don’t bother seeing the movie R.V.”. Not many people actually bought tickets for it when it was in the theatres a few months ago anyway. But I would suggest that you give it a chance...rent it, Netflix it, borrow it from a friend, wait until it comes to HBO or Showtime or Cinemax. In a nutshell, it is kind of a resurrection of the old Vacation flicks with Chevy Chase. Only this time, it stars Robin Williams and is set in a Class-A RV.

Other main characters are played by Cheryl Hines (Curb Your Enthusiasm), Joanna ‘Jo Jo’ Levesque (a recording “star”), and Jeff Daniels (whose film credits are too numerous to mention here). But the main “character” in this movie is not the parts portrayed on the screen, it is the director. For nothing else, watch this movie because it is directed by Barry Sonnenfeld (Men in Black, Get Shorty, the Addams Family). RV really has his signature “touch” so to speak, and it carrys the film. Personally, I feel it was the writing that fell short. Even with Robin Williams, there weren’t very many truly funny moments.

In brief, Williams plays an advertising executive who tricks his family into taking an RV vacation to Colorado (replacing their long-anticipated Hawaii trip). The family is unaware of the fact that Williams’ character is also on a mission for his nasty boss to meet a big client in hopes of saving the account. As I said, it really is a re-hash of the Vacation scenarios that ran its course over 20 years ago. It has the harried husband, the somewhat sympathetic wife, and two extremely bratty sarcastic children who don’t want to be on this trip (sound familiar?). There is a lot of physical comedy involving the RV of course, as well as many opportunities for Williams to utilize his rapier wit...but it all usually falls a bit short. The ending is a happy, predictable one...and you just may like this flick...keep an open mind.

School for Scoundrels

In between going to see the high profile, digital action adventures movie...I try to take Loretta to see a comedy on occassion. I say “take her” since she always the defers the choice of movie to yours truly...and she enjoys this type of light comedy fair. So, we saw School for Scoundrels.

Reason number one and two for us paying money to see this? Billy Bob Thornton and John Heder. Billy Bob because of Slingblade...John Heder because of Napolean Dynamite. First, we are big fans of Billy Bob...but are getting a little weary of watching his recent movies just to see if we can gleen any resemblance to Carl. As far a John Heder is concerned...the same goes for Napolean Dynamite. Thornton’s character in School for Scoundrels is miles away from Carl. But Heder’s character is still...well, a nerd! He’s a dork in this one as well. But wait. Heder has succeded in slowly making his way down the dufus scale since N.D. He is only half-dorky in this one, and his character actually displays a slight bit of intelligence and, yes, balls.

The story? Heder is a wimp who is always taken advantage of. In this, he plays a NY City meter maid guy who loses his job. Even his involvement in the Big Brother program fails as none of the kids want him as a Big Brother (got the picture?). Thornton plays a faux-psycholgist who runs a class for wimps...the School for Scoundrels...a bizarre, short course to re-instill confidence in losers. Heder’s character begins to do well in the class, Thornton’s character goes after Heder’s new-found girlfriend (Jacinda Barrett...very babe-a-licious Australian girl btw)...and the “game” is on.

This movie is more of a dark comedy at times, but bounces back and forth from cute romantic comedy and back to dark. It’s a little confusing to watch because of this script enigma. All in all, there is a happy ending, of sorts. John Heder does succeed in bringing down his dufus image a notch or two. If anyone saw Benchwarmers (as we did), you’ll agree that there seems to be a plan with his career moves. I’m not sure he will ever pull off a totally serious character...but stranger things have happened. Give School for Scoundrels a try when it becomes available to rent in a few months.

Fall, time to start the P.T.

Needless to say, we just came off of a brutal summer here in the valley and most other places. We’re completely fed up with the 100+ temps we saw for three straight weeks in July. It cooled down a bit for a month or two, then heated up again a couple of weeks ago...then rained like hell this week. But, for what its worth...it is Fall. And Fall is always a good weather time, while it lasts.

Fall in the valley usually means tule fog...that thick, nasty, valley ground fog that occasionally burns off in the afternoon to white-out haze. But when it’s not foggy, it’s half-way pleasant around these parts. Time to get out and walk. Today...I will walk the greyhound for the first time in a frigging year or so. Sammy has always been a good walker, he was raised that way at the track. After about 30 seconds of chaos when I reveal the leash, he settles down and just tools right along beside me. Greyhounds are walked regularly as part of their racing training, and he has never forgotten that. At some point in time, I will kick things up to a jog...but not for a while. When I have jogged with Sammy beside me, he only has to walk a bit faster...no big deal to a retired racing greyhound. I'm sure he finds it amusing when I jog.

So, for now...the neighborhood Sammy walk will kick off the P.T. for me. Maybe by next Spring, I will be able to attempt a 5k or a 10k run. No...really! Stop laughing! I mean it! Serious!

Do not touch that door handle! Jerry was right.

I recently read some statistics from a survey about handwashing in this country. I believe the survey was taken by the Soap and Detergent Association in 2005. I know that sounds like I made up that association for comic relief, but I didn’t. It sounds like a private group, although it wouldn’t surprise me if it was a government-funded deal. Why not, huh?

The story lead read something like this, “Americans are washing their hands less”. According to the survey, generally speaking, Americans wash their hands after using the restroom 83% of the time...down a few percentage points from the last survey I assume. Before I move on in the survey, let me say this first: What a crock of shit!

Since the stats in this article were gleened from a voluntary survey, possibly from some cross-section of the American public, does it make them accurate? Hardly.

Over the years, I have done my own survey of sorts in men’s restrooms. And I can tell you confidently that men do not wash their hands after using the restroom more than 50% of the time...or less!

First of all, my observations only include the men that finished their “business” while someone else was in the restroom, right? This fact alone even scues this percentage model even further into the Twilight Zone of survey inaccuracy. Even in a annoymous survey with personal questions like this...people friggin’ lie through their teeth! That’s akin to cheating at solataire, isn’t it? Only you are aware of the cheating...or the lying.

The reason for this blogular diatribe stems from my recent obsession with keeping my hands somewhat germ free...not necessarily clean, but free of strange, alien, foreign, disease and sickness-causing germs. I’m not obsessed with it, but I am now (and have been for the few years) concerned, shall we say?

Getting back to men’s restrooms. Here is a typical scenario. A male walks into a public restroom to “take a leak”. After having touched the door handle on his way in, he sidles up to the selected urinal. If the room is somewhat busy (and there are no dividers between the fixtures), he taxis in really close so the pervert next to him can’t see his weiner while he is peeing. The male now unzips his fly and places his hand on said weiner...removes it, and begins the voiding process into the urinal. Shortly thereafter, he shakes it the appropriate amount of times...this is certainly a personal preferrence area better left alone at this point. I’ll just say this. What male child was not told by his father the quaint little saying, “Remember...if you shake it more than three times, you’re jerking off!” I guess appearing to jack off at a public urinal is not better than walking out with a huge urine stain on the leg of your tan Dockers.

Moving on. When said male has finished peeing and shaking, the unit is placed back into the shorts...pants are zipped back up...and now he is done...and headed for the door! Again, this is the case more than 50% of the time...closer to 80% of time if he is alone in the restroom.

I refer now to the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is in the restaurant restroom with Poppi, the father of one of his girlfriends...and the owner of the restaurant. Not only does Poppi make no attempt to wash his hands after going to the bathroom, he informs Jerry that he is now headed straight to the kitchen to make Jerry a special pizza by hand just for him. Of course, Jerry freaks out...won’t eat the pizza...breaks up with the girl, etc, etc. This scene is not far from the norm...believe me.

Not...cut back to the public restroom where I am observing the guy leaving without washing his hands. The guy walks to the door, grasps the handle, opens the door, and leaves. Now...you tell me. The next person (or series of people) who touch that door handle may as well be touching the guy’s penis! I ask you...is that something you would want to do? He just had his weiner in his hand. Not only that...after various amounts of shaking, he probably has urine on his hands! So, me touching that door handle with bare hands? Not gonna happen! Ever again. I use a paper towel or my shirt tail...or my foot. In fact, I haven't flushed a public toilet or urinal with my hands for a number years. A clothed elbow on the urinal handle works well...a well-placed shoe sole on the commode handle does the trick.

And believe me when I say this...in most cases, the guys who don’t wash their hands are disgusting looking individuals to boot. They’re not wearing Armani suits, nicely pressed pants, and are well-groomed. They’re pigs! They’re smelly old men, and dirty-looking individuals and non-bathers. They’re public nose-pickers, butt and crotch scratchers, and ear diggers. This really isn't an accurate statement, but one must assume this. Guys in Armani suits don't wash their hands either.

After spending many years in the restaurant business, seven of which with a large buffet firm, I realized the extent of filth I was being exposed to. I was certified by the NSF and California Restaurant Association in several sanitation courses, not to mention each individual restaurant’s requirements for management. There are nasty, nasty germs out there...and the majority of which don’t come from the food itself. They come from people...the workers and the customers. I can’t tell you how many times a customer would come up to me at the buffet restaurant and inform me about another customer not washing their hands in the restroom...then, picked up a spoon or tongs at the buffet line...or worse, fondled several dinner rolls with his bare hands. “What are you going to do about that?!”, they would complain.

There are laws and regulations requiring employees to wash their hands after visiting the restroom, eating, smoking, sneezing, or even touching their face. All we could do was educate them and then follow up when we caught them not doing it. That’s all. But what about the public at large?

So with that in mind, one must themselves be aware of what is out there. Not only on restroom handles, but on any public door handle, or chair arm, or supermarket basket. Yes! The supermarket basket...what a festering, filthy, breeding ground for germs. And that is why Loretta and I always carry that little bottle of sanitizer gel...wherever we go. It’s not an obsession...it’s simply common sense these days.

Many restaurants now require food-handling employees to wear disposable, latex gloves at all times. That’s well and good. But when these employees don’t change the gloves often, especially after taking out the trash or touching something not sanitary...what good is that? The latex gloves thing is not affective. Washing your hands often, and properly, is.

What is proper handwashing? We were always taught by the NSF that this required hot water, an anti-bacterial soap, and washing for at least 30 seconds. The old rule of thumb was to wash your hand the length of time it takes to sing Happy Birthday.

Back to the survey. People washing their hands 83% of the time after using the restroom...hardly. Washing for 30 seconds...very unlikely. Washing their hands more than 10 times per day (43% said they did)...what fantasy world did these numbers come from?

It’s not that the general public is comprised of dirty, unsanitary people...it’s just the nature of the world. It is full of germs. Remember the story in War of the Worlds? It was germs that saved the world. We need germs. They serve a very useful purpose, not only protecting us against alien invasions, but against other germs.

But, germs can be deadly. Recent e-Coli contamination in spinach for one. At the very least, they can make you sick and uncomfortable. And chances are, they came from another person...not from the food itself. And the number one transmitter of those germs is hands...yours and theirs.

Seinfeld’s Poppi epsidode was funny...but true to life. Howard Hughes? Now he was a bit obsessed.

Siss Boom Bah!

This past weekend was a busy one for Loretta and I. Not only did my daughter Jenifer and hubby Roth fly down from Seattle, but we all piled in the Grand Cherokee and motored our way south some 240 miles (one way) to the Central Coast. Before we left for our old stomping grounds, we had the opportunity to spend some time with Jen and Roth...cooking and photographing a nice dinner on Friday night for one thing. That time was precious to me.

The drive was also a 4 1/2 hour segment of time where were all captive audience to each other...a time to chat, catch up some more, and make fun of people! No...that wasn’t all we conversed about, just part of the time. Jen and I argued and scoffed about each other’s iPod playlists (I won out since I was relagated to all driving duties), and Roth and Loretta just rolled their eyes at the father/daughter verbal jousting. Nothing serious, mind you...just the usual.

We stayed in the Holiday Inn Express in Pismo (or is it in A.G.?) and Jen and Roth went on to stay with her mother in Nipomo after the Saturday wedding we attended. I got to visit my mom for a few hours on Sunday...then we all piled back in the Family Jeepster Monday morning and headed back to Modesto...then on to Sacramento airport. All in all, it was quite a whirlwind weekend.

One of the primary reasons we went on this soiree was to attend the wedding of Megan McManus, the daughter of my buddy Peter Hill and his wife Rosie. Megan is about the same age as Jen...they grew up together, Peter and I have been the best of friends for over 30 years. Of late, Pete and I haven’t spent much time together. Loretta and I moved away from the C.C. over 8 years ago. So it was nice seeing him again.

Pete and I met while working at Shakee’s Pizza Parlor in Arroyo Grande. It was 1975 or so...we were both in our mid-twenties at the time. Me...recently divorced from my first wife. Pete...soon to be divorced from his first wife. We had a lot of fun working there. As I remember, my cousin Dennis also worked there for a while (he lived with us for a time). We made pizzas, poured draught beer, smoked some stuff on occassion, and lived the life of somewhat carefree bachelors. Many a time after work, we would sit around the pizza parlor drinking beer with the general manager (Tom was his name) until three or four in the morning...or until the keg ran out, whichever came first. We’d smoke cigarettes...(Pete smoked a pipe)...shoot the shit...and just hang out.

Over the years, Pete Hill and I went through many changes, both personally and professionally. I eventually got married again and had a couple of kids. So did Peter. I also moved away to Idaho for a time (twice). But we always seemed to stay close while I lived there. Our families did a lot of socializing together...we both had kids near the same age. We would get together for family BBQ’s, holiday get-togethers, cocktail parties, Halloween parties, and more. Pete’s wife Rosie and my ex-wife Anna are still very close.


Peter and I worked in radio broadcasting together as well as the pizza business. He worked as DJ on and off for a number of years as did I in the San Luis Obispo area. Neither one of us is doing that now. We had a lot in common.

Pete and I would laugh and laugh at Johnny Carson’s jokes. We both lived the life of a standup comic vicariously through Johnny. We even had the opportunity on a number of occassions to emcee big parties and other events that involved a microphone. At these affairs is where we would actually stand up in front of large crowds and tell jokes...it was a blast...always.

We learned to golf together, if you could call what we did “golfing”. Peter and I were consummate duffers...but we had fun. We’d get up very early on Sunday morning and hit the “links” of the Pismo Gold Course while there was still frost on the greens. I can still remember the sound of the golf balls rolling across the frozen grass...and we just laughed about it. We drank our coffees, smoked our cigarettes in the morning Pismo fog, and kept trying to be good golfers. It didn’t really matter how good or bad we were...or what the score was.

Pete and I talked about starting businesses together many times. Nothing really ever came of it...except once. We actually had a wholesale sock business at the swap meet in Nipomo for a few months. There isn’t enough room in this particular blog to tell you that whole story...it was fun...and even funnier when he and I talk about it. Needless to say, it didn’t make either of us rich. I know it made us “richer” in many ways though.

So, Pete and Rosie’s daughter Megan got hitched this past weekend, to a nice guy called Frank Porcho. It was a really nice wedding at a very nice golf club in Nipomo. Everything was done with class, and all went well. That was the main reason for our visit to the Central Coast...to attend the wedding of Pete’s daughter.

I got to see my old best friend Peter Hill again. We had a few stolen laughs, told a few bad jokes, and pledged to get together again real soon. We pledged that the next time we see each other, it will be time set aside for this old friendship of ours.


When you talk about old friends like Pete, and you talk about things that happened over thirty years ago...you’re a lucky person. And I feel extremely fortunate, and lucky, to have known Peter Hill for that long. We endured many things over the years...and we’re still alive and kicking to talk about it. Some of those things we can cry about...but most we laugh about. We had fun together. And after seeing him again this weekend, I am quite confident that there are many more laughs to come between us.

So, Peter Hill...here’s to you. I know I can make you laugh with just a punchline to two from some old, bad joke. And when I make you laugh...it makes me happy.

Siss Boom Bah!!!