My wife and I attended the Joe Bonamassa concert this past Thursday night at the Fox Theater in Bakersfield. I hadn't been inside this place since my college days in the 70's, and that was to see a movie because that's all the theater was used for back then. Wow! It's been refurbished and it's now a very nice venue for smaller, more intimate live concerts. And Bonamassa? I suspect he's as good a blues/rock guitarist as you'll find on this planet at this moment in time. I was a little disappointed that he didn't have his brass section with him, but all in all, it was a good concert, with the exception of some poor manners and behavior on the part of a few attendees. More on that later.
When I was younger, a lot younger, I attended live concerts fairly regularly. Back in the late 60's and early 70's, the Civic Auditorium put on some top acts. I saw Jimi Hendrix there, Ten Years After, Alice Cooper, Blood Sweat & Tears, and Vanilla Fudge just to name a few. I attended Cal Jam 1 at the Ontario Speedway in '74. That was something else. I think there were about 8 or 9 of the best bands around, and the thing went on all day. About 200,000 people were at that one. I guess back then, when I was younger, I was more tolerant of oddball behavior from some of the concert-goers. Most of us didn't really mind if someone got up and danced in front of us, because most of the time those someones were female, and many times they removed their tops during their dancing frenzy. I don't really remember seeing anything like that happening during an indoor show. It was at the big outdoor events like Cal Jam where the herb-induced mood seemed a lot looser.
Also, the phenomenon of matches and lighters being lit in unison at a nighttime concert started occurring during this time. I never thought much of those displays of flames. I guess I felt I was too cool or reserved or just plain embarrassed to let myself show that much emotion. Most of the attendees at the events in those days had full heads of hair as well. Obviously, that was an age variable. Rock bands hadn't been around that long by that time, maybe 10 years or so, so most of the people that bought tickets were from our generation. Our parents, when they did go out to some kind of event, usually went to see the opera, or a play, or just stayed at home and watched Lawrence Welk, like my parents did.
As I've aged, the frequency of my concert-going has diminished quite a bit, for several reasons. My taste in rock music is permanently log-jammed full of classic rock and oldies. I've been to a couple of concerts over the past ten years or so that featured groups that were popular several decades ago. Some of the acts I'd seen in their prime, and others I didn't get a chance to. But I won't do that anymore. They were similar to what you might experience watching an old-timers NFL tackle football game....familiar names and faces, but none of the speed or athleticism that made them super-stars. Just lots of snapping bones and naps. For the most part, the vocalists can't hit the high notes anymore, so the crew that does the mixing makes sure the music is so loud that you can't hear the vocals. The thought of the upcoming Black Sabbath reunion tour featuring Ozzie now scares me in an entirely different manner then the bands dark music did back in the 70's.
So back to last Thursday night at the Fox. My first impression as we walked into the lobby was that the median age was about 50. Lots of gray hair and sagging everything. I was really hoping that none of these old blisters would remove their tops during the concert. There were long lines at the beer bar in spite of the $5.00 per glass cost. All that beer drinking came back to haunt many of the imbibers later in the night. Getting older seems to have a profound effect on bladder capacity and frequency of urination. There was a steady stream of humanity heading up the aisles towards the restrooms for most of the concert. The only misbehavior tied to intoxication seemed to be from a few 20-something girls who insisted on standing up and dancing to the music, blocking every one's view behind them. They didn't take their tops off either. It's probably just as well. My wife would have punched me if she had caught me looking. Sheesh, I'm not dead yet!
The other thing that I found to be very annoying was all the miniature camcorders and cell phone cameras that were illuminating the auditorium. Good grief....were those people really going to take their video memories home with them and watch them at a later date? I absolutely don't get it. No more candles swaying to the music in the darkness. They've been replaced by electronic communication gadgets. And where was all the smoke coming from. I mean it was real smokey. And it didn't smell like the good stuff. Strange, I don't remember seeing anyone smoke. And my clothes didn't stink like smoke when I got home. Weird. Maybe some kind of special sensory effect to transport us back in time before there were restrictions on everything we do.
I don't see myself attending anymore of these types of shows. My tolerance level for certain types of behavior and live rock concerts in general has definitely decreased with time and age. Been there and done that. "Hey Linda, what time is that Lawrence Welk special on PBS tonight?"
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Why I Hate Technology (Sometimes)
My hi-def, big screen TV sucks! To be somewhat fair, it didn't always suck. The suckiness started about 2 1/2 years after I bought it. I've now owned it for nearly 4 years, and I'm not sure how much longer it will be living with me. I'm ready to contact TV hospice. I'm not ready, however, to plop down another $1000.00 or so to replace it. So I'm very pissed.
The technology to which I'm referring happens to be a Samsung 46" 1080 LCD Hi-Def TV. I bought it at Best Buy in Coeur d'Alene, Id. where I used to live, about 4 years ago. The retail figure on this beauty was around $2300.00 back then. I agreed to a 2 year commitment with Direct TV at the time of purchase which reduced the price to about $1600.00. I did not buy an extended service plan. You would think that a TV this expensive would last longer than a couple years or so. Especially a Samsung. The TV has a beautiful picture, so I have no complaints there. As I said, about 1 1/2 years ago, things started to go haywire. At first it was the on-off switch. It took 2-3 cycles to get the sound and picture to come on. Then it was 3-4 cycles....then 4-5 cycles....you get the picture, (no pun intended).
I guess part of me was in denial, and hoped it would somehow mysteriously fix itself. Well, that hasn't happened. It continues to deteriorate, and now there are other issues. The picture "tube", if there is such a thing on this beast, has multiple colored vertical lines running through it. I have to turn this turd on and off repeatedly and let it continue to cycle on it's own for nearly ten minutes now before I get sound and a decent picture. Let me repeat.....I'm really pissed!! I had a TV repair company come out a few weeks ago, and for $35.00, they told me what I already knew. This TV is almost kaput. It would cost several hundred dollars to repair it. I'm stupid sometimes, but not this time.
So what's been happening is this: As I sit on the couch fiddling with the remote trying to turn this piece of dung on, I have found myself daydreaming and wishing for simpler times. Like when I was a kid, with no computer, no cell phone, no navigation, nothing but AM radio to listen to, and simple black and white TVs with just 2 or 3 stations to watch. Hell, I remember going with my dad to the local drug store to test the various tubes which were easy to remove and replace on our Sylvania. And that set lasted years. And it was cheap. I even barfed all over the inside of it one time when my dad was taking it to the repair shop. It was in the back of our Chevy pickup and so was I. Man I got car sick easy when I was a kid. I don't remember who cleaned it out, but the point is, it worked fine again when we got it back home a few days later. Imagine trying that with one of these hi-def gadgets today.
So for me, the question seems to be whether or not today's technology that we buy for ourselves really improves our lives and makes us happier. Yes and no. I don't like spending a gob of cash on anything, but I''ll admit, there is a brief ether cloud that seems to accompany these purchases. That would have to be the "YES" part of this equation. But it doesn't last long man. Having your $1600.00 TV take a dump on you in less than three years is the "NO" part of the equation. And it's a much more powerful and longer lasting feeling then the "YES" will ever be.
Most of us likely have similar stories, but I've got to say again, this really, really pisses me off. Enough of this rant. I've got to go online and start researching which hi-def TV I'm going to buy next. It's a technology thing. I can feel the ether taking effect......
The technology to which I'm referring happens to be a Samsung 46" 1080 LCD Hi-Def TV. I bought it at Best Buy in Coeur d'Alene, Id. where I used to live, about 4 years ago. The retail figure on this beauty was around $2300.00 back then. I agreed to a 2 year commitment with Direct TV at the time of purchase which reduced the price to about $1600.00. I did not buy an extended service plan. You would think that a TV this expensive would last longer than a couple years or so. Especially a Samsung. The TV has a beautiful picture, so I have no complaints there. As I said, about 1 1/2 years ago, things started to go haywire. At first it was the on-off switch. It took 2-3 cycles to get the sound and picture to come on. Then it was 3-4 cycles....then 4-5 cycles....you get the picture, (no pun intended).
I guess part of me was in denial, and hoped it would somehow mysteriously fix itself. Well, that hasn't happened. It continues to deteriorate, and now there are other issues. The picture "tube", if there is such a thing on this beast, has multiple colored vertical lines running through it. I have to turn this turd on and off repeatedly and let it continue to cycle on it's own for nearly ten minutes now before I get sound and a decent picture. Let me repeat.....I'm really pissed!! I had a TV repair company come out a few weeks ago, and for $35.00, they told me what I already knew. This TV is almost kaput. It would cost several hundred dollars to repair it. I'm stupid sometimes, but not this time.
So what's been happening is this: As I sit on the couch fiddling with the remote trying to turn this piece of dung on, I have found myself daydreaming and wishing for simpler times. Like when I was a kid, with no computer, no cell phone, no navigation, nothing but AM radio to listen to, and simple black and white TVs with just 2 or 3 stations to watch. Hell, I remember going with my dad to the local drug store to test the various tubes which were easy to remove and replace on our Sylvania. And that set lasted years. And it was cheap. I even barfed all over the inside of it one time when my dad was taking it to the repair shop. It was in the back of our Chevy pickup and so was I. Man I got car sick easy when I was a kid. I don't remember who cleaned it out, but the point is, it worked fine again when we got it back home a few days later. Imagine trying that with one of these hi-def gadgets today.
So for me, the question seems to be whether or not today's technology that we buy for ourselves really improves our lives and makes us happier. Yes and no. I don't like spending a gob of cash on anything, but I''ll admit, there is a brief ether cloud that seems to accompany these purchases. That would have to be the "YES" part of this equation. But it doesn't last long man. Having your $1600.00 TV take a dump on you in less than three years is the "NO" part of the equation. And it's a much more powerful and longer lasting feeling then the "YES" will ever be.
Most of us likely have similar stories, but I've got to say again, this really, really pisses me off. Enough of this rant. I've got to go online and start researching which hi-def TV I'm going to buy next. It's a technology thing. I can feel the ether taking effect......
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Canine Coincidental
Although I've been retired from law enforcement for nearly twenty years, some people occasionally ask me if I was ever involved in any shootings. Actually, the question is usually phrased like this: "Did you ever kill anyone?" The answer to that is thankfully, "No!" I did however get involved in "gun play" three times during my career. I seriously wounded a car in one of them, I scared a guy real bad, but missed in another, and the third incident involved one of "man's best friends".
I was working as a patrol officer for the Bakersfield Police at the time, and I was investigating a silent burglar alarm at a residence in an upscale neighborhood. When I arrived at the house, I could hear multiple large dogs barking in the back yard. "Oh great", I thought. I definitely wasn't going to try to go back there. While I was waiting for dispatch to give me an ETA on the owners, a neighbor from across the street approached me. He explained that he was good friends with the owner of the house, and said that he had already gone into the back yard to check things out. He was on friendly terms with the German Shepherd dogs that I heard barking, and he felt the home was secure. I told him I still needed to wait for either the owners or someone from the alarm company to ensure the home hadn't been burglarized. I had no sooner explained my intent to him when he suddenly went to the backyard gate and opened it, apparently wanting me to follow him into the rear yard. Out came two full-grown, snarling German Shepherds, and they charged me.
I also happened to own a German Shepherd named Turbo, and being familiar with his moods and mannerisms, I was quite sure that these two doggies weren't playing. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to draw my 9 mm for protection. I was able to pull my baton out of it's belt ring and I figured I was going to have to use it on these dogs. They both stopped only a couple of feet from me. They were barking ferociously, and the fur on their backs was standing up straight. Not a good omen for me. Then the neighbor started berating me and told me that I should put the baton away because it was just making the dogs angrier. That's about the same mentality our government had which helped lead to our defeat in Viet Nam. I couldn't believe it. I ordered this clown to get control of the dogs and put them back into their yard, and he continued to argue with me about my baton. The dogs slowly began to circle back towards the neighbor who was standing on the opposite side of the driveway, but they were still agitated. I put my baton back into the ring, pulled my pistol from it's holster, and repeated my order to get rid of the dogs or I may have to shoot them if they charged me again. More arguing. And that's when the female Shepherd came at me. And I shot her. And she pissed and bled and yelped and stumbled around in circles. The male Shepherd must have run back into it's yard because I never saw or heard it again.
The neighbor began screaming at me and making the usual "trigger happy cop" accusations, but fortunately, the owner of the home arrived a few minutes later and calmed him down. He was very apologetic about his well-meaning, but stupid neighbor. The happy news is that the Shepherd survived the gunshot to it's neck without any major ill effects and made a full recovery. The alarm was false, as most of them are. The shooting was ruled justifiable and I lived happily ever after. Well, not quite. This is where it gets a little weird.
Fast forward about two years. I had divorced my first wife and I was casually dating a woman I had met. During a dinner date at my house one evening, she mentioned that her boss owned a female German Shepherd and that he was considering breeding some Shepherd puppies. As I mentioned earlier, my dog Turbo was a pure-bred, papered German Shepherd, and he was gorgeous. Bingo....it was a potential match made in doggie heaven. My lady friend talked to her boss about the possibilities the next day, and he agreed to bring the dog to my home and leave her with me to see if our dogs could start a family. A few days later, he arrived with his dog, and I immediately sensed I had met him somewhere before. I sure had. It was in the front yard of his home a couple years earlier while he was trying to calm down his asshole neighbor who almost got me attacked by two German Shepherds that didn't even belong to him. That's right. I was about to welcome into my yard the dog that I had to shoot at that burglar alarm call. Astronomical odds or canine Karma?
When the initial surprise of the situation wore off, my girlfriend's boss left the dog with me and I put her into my back yard with Turbo. Here's the thing though. Breeding dogs isn't as easy as it might seem on the surface. I'm not really sure why, but that female wouldn't let Turbo near her for three days. And he really tried his little heart out. He exhausted himself. It was pathetic. I'm really glad that I wasn't living vicariously through my dog. I just wanted to communicate to him somehow that "Hey man, she's no good for you anyway. She's a tramp, a slut, a whore. You don't know where this bitch has been. She's got a scar on neck from a bullet wound for cryin' out loud! There are plenty of fish in the sea, Turbo. You'll get over this. I'll help you. That's what buddies do for each other." Only Turbo didn't understand. Probably because I didn't think it in German. And while I was at work on day four, the female escaped the confines of my yard and ran away....with Turbo right on her tail. Luckily, I was able to get the dogs back after chasing them around my neighborhood in my patrol car while on-duty.
The female was returned to her owner later that afternoon, and that was the end of my dog-breeding career. My relationship with my lady friend didn't last much longer either. That's what happens when you go to Club Med for a week without your girlfriend. But that's another story.
I was working as a patrol officer for the Bakersfield Police at the time, and I was investigating a silent burglar alarm at a residence in an upscale neighborhood. When I arrived at the house, I could hear multiple large dogs barking in the back yard. "Oh great", I thought. I definitely wasn't going to try to go back there. While I was waiting for dispatch to give me an ETA on the owners, a neighbor from across the street approached me. He explained that he was good friends with the owner of the house, and said that he had already gone into the back yard to check things out. He was on friendly terms with the German Shepherd dogs that I heard barking, and he felt the home was secure. I told him I still needed to wait for either the owners or someone from the alarm company to ensure the home hadn't been burglarized. I had no sooner explained my intent to him when he suddenly went to the backyard gate and opened it, apparently wanting me to follow him into the rear yard. Out came two full-grown, snarling German Shepherds, and they charged me.
I also happened to own a German Shepherd named Turbo, and being familiar with his moods and mannerisms, I was quite sure that these two doggies weren't playing. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to draw my 9 mm for protection. I was able to pull my baton out of it's belt ring and I figured I was going to have to use it on these dogs. They both stopped only a couple of feet from me. They were barking ferociously, and the fur on their backs was standing up straight. Not a good omen for me. Then the neighbor started berating me and told me that I should put the baton away because it was just making the dogs angrier. That's about the same mentality our government had which helped lead to our defeat in Viet Nam. I couldn't believe it. I ordered this clown to get control of the dogs and put them back into their yard, and he continued to argue with me about my baton. The dogs slowly began to circle back towards the neighbor who was standing on the opposite side of the driveway, but they were still agitated. I put my baton back into the ring, pulled my pistol from it's holster, and repeated my order to get rid of the dogs or I may have to shoot them if they charged me again. More arguing. And that's when the female Shepherd came at me. And I shot her. And she pissed and bled and yelped and stumbled around in circles. The male Shepherd must have run back into it's yard because I never saw or heard it again.
The neighbor began screaming at me and making the usual "trigger happy cop" accusations, but fortunately, the owner of the home arrived a few minutes later and calmed him down. He was very apologetic about his well-meaning, but stupid neighbor. The happy news is that the Shepherd survived the gunshot to it's neck without any major ill effects and made a full recovery. The alarm was false, as most of them are. The shooting was ruled justifiable and I lived happily ever after. Well, not quite. This is where it gets a little weird.
Fast forward about two years. I had divorced my first wife and I was casually dating a woman I had met. During a dinner date at my house one evening, she mentioned that her boss owned a female German Shepherd and that he was considering breeding some Shepherd puppies. As I mentioned earlier, my dog Turbo was a pure-bred, papered German Shepherd, and he was gorgeous. Bingo....it was a potential match made in doggie heaven. My lady friend talked to her boss about the possibilities the next day, and he agreed to bring the dog to my home and leave her with me to see if our dogs could start a family. A few days later, he arrived with his dog, and I immediately sensed I had met him somewhere before. I sure had. It was in the front yard of his home a couple years earlier while he was trying to calm down his asshole neighbor who almost got me attacked by two German Shepherds that didn't even belong to him. That's right. I was about to welcome into my yard the dog that I had to shoot at that burglar alarm call. Astronomical odds or canine Karma?
When the initial surprise of the situation wore off, my girlfriend's boss left the dog with me and I put her into my back yard with Turbo. Here's the thing though. Breeding dogs isn't as easy as it might seem on the surface. I'm not really sure why, but that female wouldn't let Turbo near her for three days. And he really tried his little heart out. He exhausted himself. It was pathetic. I'm really glad that I wasn't living vicariously through my dog. I just wanted to communicate to him somehow that "Hey man, she's no good for you anyway. She's a tramp, a slut, a whore. You don't know where this bitch has been. She's got a scar on neck from a bullet wound for cryin' out loud! There are plenty of fish in the sea, Turbo. You'll get over this. I'll help you. That's what buddies do for each other." Only Turbo didn't understand. Probably because I didn't think it in German. And while I was at work on day four, the female escaped the confines of my yard and ran away....with Turbo right on her tail. Luckily, I was able to get the dogs back after chasing them around my neighborhood in my patrol car while on-duty.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tips For Visiting a Nudist Beach
The title on this post alone ought to get some attention, don't you think? I'm sure some readers may blush while others will laugh out loud. The following is a fairly accurate description of my brief foray into the misunderstood and overrated world of nude beaches....at least from my vantage point.
My experiences and observations occurred when I was in college back in the early 70's. That would be the 1970's. It was a different time and social attitude then, but I don't think that really matters a great deal. Since day 1 of our shared humanity, there have been individuals who find it to be great fun to frolic in the buff with people they don't even know. I guess it's supposed to be liberating or some such nonsense. More on that in a bit.
As I said, I was a young college student, full of piss and vinegar, when some buddies and I hatched a plan to check out a nude beach near Zuma Beach in southern California. I don't remember how we found out about this place or what it's name was, or if it even had a name, as some of the more popular nude beaches of the day did. It wasn't too far to drive there from Bakersfield where we lived at the time, so after several weeks of discussing the pros and cons of nude beach combing, we gave it a go. After all, we couldn't really think of any negatives. We figured the beach would be filled with smokin' hot chicks, except with no clothes on.
Back in those days, in high school and in college, all the guys and girls were required to shower after P.E. everyday, and of course the athletes also did after practice and games. So nudity in front of your buddies wasn't really any concern to any of us. Lets face it, the only reason we wanted to go to this place was to check out the plumbing on the opposite sex....for free. As I recall, the walk to this beach from the parking area was fairly difficult, with plenty of jagged rocks and narrow trails to walk on. As we neared our destination, we could look down from a steep hill onto the beach below, and I think we fully expected to see a beach party in full swing, one without bathing suits. Oh boy, were we in for a surprise.
There were a handful of other people down on the beach, and it was very apparent that most of them were of the male variety. Naked ones. Ugh!! Not at all what we were looking for. And I think, at least for me, some unease started to set in. We mustered up our final bit of courage, and traipsed down onto the sand to see if we were missing something, or looking in the wrong place. Ah, no. There were maybe 20-30 people scattered about on beach towels, mostly minding their own business. About 90% of them were guys, and they were the only ones looking back at us. Yikes! I wondered if this was how a turkey felt just before Thanksgiving. We really had the yips at this point, but what the hell, we stripped anyway. I'm not sure if the sensation of total nudity in front of strangers, outside in broad daylight, was a liberating feeling or not. It was definitely draftier. It sure didn't feel like this was a normal thing to do, but peer pressure prevailed.
Two of my friends immediately ran into the surf, acting like they had done this a million times. My other buddy and I opted to "hang out" on the beach, and laid stomach-down on our towels. You've got to keep some mystery in this, after all. We nervously looked around for a while, and I finally got up the nerve to walk around and check things out more carefully. There were a handful of lone, very tan, fairly unattractive, and much older naked females lying about, mostly just reading books and soaking up the U.V.'s. They weren't remotely interested in any of us, and I recall being too nervous to even care. The other fellows on the beach, however, sure seemed to have a keen interest in us though. "Crap", I thought, "I've got to get off of this beach and into the water".
So into the crashing surf I sprinted with a "devil may care" attitude....and I mean it was cold. Unseasonably cold. I was probably making more noises than a pregnant woman at Lamaze classes, and I quickly decided that I'd be more comfortable back on that warm beach laying on my towel. But there was one, very small problem that suddenly became quite obvious to me. As I stood there turning blue with kelp slithering up my butt crack, I realized that a vanishing act had occurred the moment I entered the frigid Pacific. Houdini would have been proud of this disappearing trick. A certain appendage of mine had shifted into reverse and buried itself somewhere deep in my loins. And I don't think it planned on shifting back into forward until I got out of the ice water and raised my core temperature about 20 degrees. So, back onto the beach I sprinted, hoping no one would notice my "shortcoming". Whew, that warm towel felt good, and before long, I was back in drive. Aahhh.
After we had regrouped and shared a few laughs, we decided we'd had enough of this action. Besides, certain areas of our bodies had already started to turn red. We hadn't had the foresight to apply tanning lotion to previously unexposed areas of our bodies before we arrived. It's certainly not something you'd want to do out in public either....even if it was a nude beach, especially if it was a nude beach. I actually visited this beach one more time about a year later with some classmates from the college I was attending in Thousand Oaks. Nothing really had changed. Same basic male to female ratio which was unacceptable to us. Same uncomfortable sunburn, and I could still perform that disappearing trick....right on cue. This was an experience that should have been left a fantasy. But if you insist on visiting one, here's a tip: Always wear some dark sunglasses.
My experiences and observations occurred when I was in college back in the early 70's. That would be the 1970's. It was a different time and social attitude then, but I don't think that really matters a great deal. Since day 1 of our shared humanity, there have been individuals who find it to be great fun to frolic in the buff with people they don't even know. I guess it's supposed to be liberating or some such nonsense. More on that in a bit.
As I said, I was a young college student, full of piss and vinegar, when some buddies and I hatched a plan to check out a nude beach near Zuma Beach in southern California. I don't remember how we found out about this place or what it's name was, or if it even had a name, as some of the more popular nude beaches of the day did. It wasn't too far to drive there from Bakersfield where we lived at the time, so after several weeks of discussing the pros and cons of nude beach combing, we gave it a go. After all, we couldn't really think of any negatives. We figured the beach would be filled with smokin' hot chicks, except with no clothes on.
Back in those days, in high school and in college, all the guys and girls were required to shower after P.E. everyday, and of course the athletes also did after practice and games. So nudity in front of your buddies wasn't really any concern to any of us. Lets face it, the only reason we wanted to go to this place was to check out the plumbing on the opposite sex....for free. As I recall, the walk to this beach from the parking area was fairly difficult, with plenty of jagged rocks and narrow trails to walk on. As we neared our destination, we could look down from a steep hill onto the beach below, and I think we fully expected to see a beach party in full swing, one without bathing suits. Oh boy, were we in for a surprise.
There were a handful of other people down on the beach, and it was very apparent that most of them were of the male variety. Naked ones. Ugh!! Not at all what we were looking for. And I think, at least for me, some unease started to set in. We mustered up our final bit of courage, and traipsed down onto the sand to see if we were missing something, or looking in the wrong place. Ah, no. There were maybe 20-30 people scattered about on beach towels, mostly minding their own business. About 90% of them were guys, and they were the only ones looking back at us. Yikes! I wondered if this was how a turkey felt just before Thanksgiving. We really had the yips at this point, but what the hell, we stripped anyway. I'm not sure if the sensation of total nudity in front of strangers, outside in broad daylight, was a liberating feeling or not. It was definitely draftier. It sure didn't feel like this was a normal thing to do, but peer pressure prevailed.
Two of my friends immediately ran into the surf, acting like they had done this a million times. My other buddy and I opted to "hang out" on the beach, and laid stomach-down on our towels. You've got to keep some mystery in this, after all. We nervously looked around for a while, and I finally got up the nerve to walk around and check things out more carefully. There were a handful of lone, very tan, fairly unattractive, and much older naked females lying about, mostly just reading books and soaking up the U.V.'s. They weren't remotely interested in any of us, and I recall being too nervous to even care. The other fellows on the beach, however, sure seemed to have a keen interest in us though. "Crap", I thought, "I've got to get off of this beach and into the water".
So into the crashing surf I sprinted with a "devil may care" attitude....and I mean it was cold. Unseasonably cold. I was probably making more noises than a pregnant woman at Lamaze classes, and I quickly decided that I'd be more comfortable back on that warm beach laying on my towel. But there was one, very small problem that suddenly became quite obvious to me. As I stood there turning blue with kelp slithering up my butt crack, I realized that a vanishing act had occurred the moment I entered the frigid Pacific. Houdini would have been proud of this disappearing trick. A certain appendage of mine had shifted into reverse and buried itself somewhere deep in my loins. And I don't think it planned on shifting back into forward until I got out of the ice water and raised my core temperature about 20 degrees. So, back onto the beach I sprinted, hoping no one would notice my "shortcoming". Whew, that warm towel felt good, and before long, I was back in drive. Aahhh.
After we had regrouped and shared a few laughs, we decided we'd had enough of this action. Besides, certain areas of our bodies had already started to turn red. We hadn't had the foresight to apply tanning lotion to previously unexposed areas of our bodies before we arrived. It's certainly not something you'd want to do out in public either....even if it was a nude beach, especially if it was a nude beach. I actually visited this beach one more time about a year later with some classmates from the college I was attending in Thousand Oaks. Nothing really had changed. Same basic male to female ratio which was unacceptable to us. Same uncomfortable sunburn, and I could still perform that disappearing trick....right on cue. This was an experience that should have been left a fantasy. But if you insist on visiting one, here's a tip: Always wear some dark sunglasses.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Accidental Familiarity
I think most humans are hard wired to avoid situations that can possibly harm them physically or emotionally. Obviously we learn a great deal from our parents while we're growing up, like not to cross the street before looking both ways. You know, common sense stuff. Yet there are many other things we usually find out for ourselves through trial and error before mom and dad can warn us, or warnings that we are given, but totally ignore. Like not sticking metallic objects into power receptacles. I only did that once. I'm pretty sure that I was aware that the blade of my pocket knife was metallic and didn't really belong in that socket. Older people aren't the only ones that have "brain farts". Like I said, there was no sequel to that moment of brilliance. The only thing brilliant about it was probably me, lighting the sky up for a nanosecond.
Then there are the situations we try hard not to get into because, well, just because they're wrong. Not because anybody warned us, but because nobody had to. These are the situations that are too abhorrent, too disgusting to even consider. But sometimes they happen anyway, because well, accidents happen. An accident like this happened to me.
In late August 1995, my wife and son and I decided to move to north Idaho from Bakersfield. I had recently retired from the Bakersfield Police Dept. due to an injury, and I think we were all antsy to try something new. So off we went, in two vehicles. My wife and son were in the Olds Cutlass, and our full-grown German Shepherd, Blitz, and I manned the El Camino. It was probably hard for Blitz to get comfortable on that seat, but the bed was full of property that the movers wouldn't allow on their van, so it was the only alternative. We'd stop every few hours to stretch our legs or get a bite to eat, and then back onto I-5.
It was at the conclusion of one of these stops on travel day 2, in Oregon, that the unthinkable happened. We had finished eating at a fast food joint right off of I-5. Blitz and I were taking a short walk to let him stretch and pee. Linda and my son, John, were already back in the Olds, anxious to continue our trip, and the engine was running. As they began to pull out of the parking lot to get back onto the freeway, I was simultaneously trying to get Blitz back into the El Camino via the driver side door. And he wasn't cooperating. Not wanting to let Linda get on the freeway without me on her tail, I had to take swift and decisive action to get Blitz into the truck. He already had his front paws up on the seat right behind the steering wheel, but he didn't want to go any further. So I decided to give him a good, forceful push from behind. While doing so, I was focused on Linda driving towards the on-ramp and unfortunately, not focused on how close to Blitz's turd clipper my left hand was. In a flash, as Blitz began to jump up the rest of the way into the truck, I felt a hauntingly familiar digital insertion sensation on the middle finger of my left hand as I continued pushing him, and it was buried to the hilt. It only lasted a moment, but I knew what had happened, and was at once horrified and revolted. I withdrew my finger at about the same speed of light as I had withdrawn the pocket knife years earlier when I inserted it into the electrical socket.
Linda was well onto the on-ramp, and I hadn't even started the El Camino. My God, what was I going to do? I had no cell phone with me to notify Linda that I needed to wash my hand. I fearfully glanced at my defiled finger, mortified at what I may see. Thankfully, it was as clean as a whistle, but I wasn't going to put that whistle anywhere near my mouth. All I could do was try to catch up to Linda who was already on the freeway. Not wanting to even get the faintest of "aroma's" from that vile finger, I chose to drive with my left arm and hand out the window for the next couple hundred miles until our next stop. I eventually caught up with Linda, and she looked perplexed, staring at me from the Olds, as to why I appeared to be manually signalling a right turn on the freeway for such a long distance. At the next rest stop, I told her what had happened and then went and washed that finger....several times.
As for Blitz, I may have imagined it, but he seemed to kind of "smile" at me the rest of the trip to Coeur d'Alene. I wish I could have explained to him that it was all an unfortunate accident. Good boy Blitz. That's loyalty for you.
Then there are the situations we try hard not to get into because, well, just because they're wrong. Not because anybody warned us, but because nobody had to. These are the situations that are too abhorrent, too disgusting to even consider. But sometimes they happen anyway, because well, accidents happen. An accident like this happened to me.
In late August 1995, my wife and son and I decided to move to north Idaho from Bakersfield. I had recently retired from the Bakersfield Police Dept. due to an injury, and I think we were all antsy to try something new. So off we went, in two vehicles. My wife and son were in the Olds Cutlass, and our full-grown German Shepherd, Blitz, and I manned the El Camino. It was probably hard for Blitz to get comfortable on that seat, but the bed was full of property that the movers wouldn't allow on their van, so it was the only alternative. We'd stop every few hours to stretch our legs or get a bite to eat, and then back onto I-5.
It was at the conclusion of one of these stops on travel day 2, in Oregon, that the unthinkable happened. We had finished eating at a fast food joint right off of I-5. Blitz and I were taking a short walk to let him stretch and pee. Linda and my son, John, were already back in the Olds, anxious to continue our trip, and the engine was running. As they began to pull out of the parking lot to get back onto the freeway, I was simultaneously trying to get Blitz back into the El Camino via the driver side door. And he wasn't cooperating. Not wanting to let Linda get on the freeway without me on her tail, I had to take swift and decisive action to get Blitz into the truck. He already had his front paws up on the seat right behind the steering wheel, but he didn't want to go any further. So I decided to give him a good, forceful push from behind. While doing so, I was focused on Linda driving towards the on-ramp and unfortunately, not focused on how close to Blitz's turd clipper my left hand was. In a flash, as Blitz began to jump up the rest of the way into the truck, I felt a hauntingly familiar digital insertion sensation on the middle finger of my left hand as I continued pushing him, and it was buried to the hilt. It only lasted a moment, but I knew what had happened, and was at once horrified and revolted. I withdrew my finger at about the same speed of light as I had withdrawn the pocket knife years earlier when I inserted it into the electrical socket.
Linda was well onto the on-ramp, and I hadn't even started the El Camino. My God, what was I going to do? I had no cell phone with me to notify Linda that I needed to wash my hand. I fearfully glanced at my defiled finger, mortified at what I may see. Thankfully, it was as clean as a whistle, but I wasn't going to put that whistle anywhere near my mouth. All I could do was try to catch up to Linda who was already on the freeway. Not wanting to even get the faintest of "aroma's" from that vile finger, I chose to drive with my left arm and hand out the window for the next couple hundred miles until our next stop. I eventually caught up with Linda, and she looked perplexed, staring at me from the Olds, as to why I appeared to be manually signalling a right turn on the freeway for such a long distance. At the next rest stop, I told her what had happened and then went and washed that finger....several times.
As for Blitz, I may have imagined it, but he seemed to kind of "smile" at me the rest of the trip to Coeur d'Alene. I wish I could have explained to him that it was all an unfortunate accident. Good boy Blitz. That's loyalty for you.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Why is it Called "Los Osos?
I think this post could get me in a heap of trouble with my big sister....if she ever reads it. I'm going to write it anyway because man, I live for danger. I've also been known to go swimming right after I eat.
My older sister and brother-in-law live in Los Osos, Ca. on the central California coast. For those not familiar with this area, it's situated between Pismo Beach and Morro Bay which are two very scenic, small town tourist traps. This area of the central California coastline is very popular with folks from the central and southern San Joaquin Valley, mainly Fresno and Bakersfield and everything in between. It's a relatively short drive, (2 1/2 hours), there's lots of fun stuff to do, it's gorgeous, uncrowded compared to southern California beaches, and it's way cooler than the valley during the summer. So people from where I live flock there to play and cool off. Many, including my sister have purchased residences of one kind or another and live there full or part-time.
My wife and I are pretty familiar with the area. In high school, it was already a popular destination for students and their families during spring break and summer vacation. I have some great, and not so great memories of those beaches. Like driving my '67 Camaro along the the beach near the Oceano Dunes. Idiotic, but fun. Night time beach bonfires with friends and free-flowing beer. And getting caught by my minister father while smoking cigarettes with a buddy one night as we walked around town in Pismo acting cool. Boy, did I get the crap slapped out of me that time....in front of my friend....in the back seat of my dad's Mercury. Funny, I didn't feel too cool with my ears ringing and snot running down my upper lip. As we got older and realized we weren't surfers or lovers of sand in our butts anymore, the beach became less of an attraction and we started deep-sea fishing out of several landings in the area. There's not much on this planet that's better tasting than deep fried rock fish, and we caught a bunch over the years. During our 15 years living in north Idaho, one of the things we missed the most about California was the central coast and those fishing trips. Second place would probably be our families. Well, maybe that's just me.
After having been back in Bakersfield for the past year, we decided to take a trip over to the coast this past weekend to visit my sister and her husband and attend the Clam Festival in Pismo Beach. As I mentioned previously, my sister has a place in Los Osos. It's a very small community which is the norm for most of the beach towns in this area. The only time I'd ever been there was was back in 1991 for a week-long camping trip at a place called Camp K.E.E.P. with a group of at-risk juveniles. I did this when I was a D.A.R.E. Officer with the Bakersfield P.D. During that stay, I never really saw any of the town. We took the kids on a walk to the beach one day, but the place is a nature preserve, so basically you can't touch or step on anything. Great fun for the kids.
Fast forward to last weekend. I suppose due to ignorance and the passage of time, I envisioned Los Osos as being a stereotypical beach town.....older, tidy homes and yards, built in very close proximity to one another, and many of them being either right on the beach or very close....close enough to walk to or ride a bike to. And plenty of spendy town homes and condo complexes in the mix. And some strip malls and trendy tourist shops. And a beach. Duh, why wouldn't you expect one there? You're at the beach, right? Boy, was I in for a surprise when we drove into town and started looking for my sister's place. I mean it's a shock. You pass through San Luis Obispo, a great little college town, on the way there, and then WHAM! You're in Los Osos. Oh, it had homes that are older and close together all right, but frankly, there was nothing neat or tidy about any of them. The place is run down and shabby. At least the parts that we saw. Unkempt yards and cars up on blocks on some of the front yards. And the streets were almost all in horrible condition. Driving around there is like trying to navigate around one of those Halloween corn mazes. We got a little lost later that day trying to figure out how to get to Morro Bay, and we asked a USPS letter carrier for directions. Even she had a hard time trying to explain how to escape this grungy little neighborhood. Oh, and the Schwan's salesman in the big yellow truck kept driving in circles like he was lost too. Could this be the real location of the infamous "Devil's Triangle"? I almost expected to see Rod Serling of "Twilight Zone" fame standing on a street corner staring eerily at me, like I was the putz that was going to "get screwed" by some paranormal phenomenon at the end of the episode.
On the positive side, we finally made it to my sister's place which is in in one of those 55 and older communities with modular and manufactured homes. It's pretty nice, at least what we saw. A lot nicer than the rest of what passed for homes in that town. But there's no visible business area. No stores or shops, very few places to eat, and almost no tourists, which I guess is a good thing if you want total peace and quiet. She's living very near the preserve I mentioned....it looked more like a prehistoric swamp to me. And as for the beach, well, there isn't one in Los Osos. At least not the kind you find in every other beach community in the area. Because it's a preserve dummy! Like jelly! At night, if you hold your breath, you can sort of hear surf breaking on a beach somewhere in the distance. There's a walking path near her home that will take you through the swamp, I mean preserve, but as I mentioned earlier, you're not supposed to touch anything. You probably wouldn't want to anyway. I think most of the native plant's names begin with "Poison" this or that.
We made it to Pismo for the Clam Festival on Saturday. It was OK I guess, and at least it smelled good due to all the food vendors. It was a beautiful day too. And it has a real beach with a pier, and waves and surfers, and it gives you that "beachy" feel. But Los Osos? I'll pass I think. However, I may know how they came up with it's name. Whichever explorers or settlers found the place, they probably thought that compared to the other "excellent" beaches in the area, it was merely "so so". That's not the basis for a good Latino name though, (they were probably Spanish explorers), but guess what sounds sort of Spanishy themed? Yup, Osos....so so, spelled backwards. Just add a "Los" for that authentic sound and voila! Los Osos! And that concludes your history lesson for today, children. There'll be a quiz tomorrow.
My older sister and brother-in-law live in Los Osos, Ca. on the central California coast. For those not familiar with this area, it's situated between Pismo Beach and Morro Bay which are two very scenic, small town tourist traps. This area of the central California coastline is very popular with folks from the central and southern San Joaquin Valley, mainly Fresno and Bakersfield and everything in between. It's a relatively short drive, (2 1/2 hours), there's lots of fun stuff to do, it's gorgeous, uncrowded compared to southern California beaches, and it's way cooler than the valley during the summer. So people from where I live flock there to play and cool off. Many, including my sister have purchased residences of one kind or another and live there full or part-time.
My wife and I are pretty familiar with the area. In high school, it was already a popular destination for students and their families during spring break and summer vacation. I have some great, and not so great memories of those beaches. Like driving my '67 Camaro along the the beach near the Oceano Dunes. Idiotic, but fun. Night time beach bonfires with friends and free-flowing beer. And getting caught by my minister father while smoking cigarettes with a buddy one night as we walked around town in Pismo acting cool. Boy, did I get the crap slapped out of me that time....in front of my friend....in the back seat of my dad's Mercury. Funny, I didn't feel too cool with my ears ringing and snot running down my upper lip. As we got older and realized we weren't surfers or lovers of sand in our butts anymore, the beach became less of an attraction and we started deep-sea fishing out of several landings in the area. There's not much on this planet that's better tasting than deep fried rock fish, and we caught a bunch over the years. During our 15 years living in north Idaho, one of the things we missed the most about California was the central coast and those fishing trips. Second place would probably be our families. Well, maybe that's just me.
After having been back in Bakersfield for the past year, we decided to take a trip over to the coast this past weekend to visit my sister and her husband and attend the Clam Festival in Pismo Beach. As I mentioned previously, my sister has a place in Los Osos. It's a very small community which is the norm for most of the beach towns in this area. The only time I'd ever been there was was back in 1991 for a week-long camping trip at a place called Camp K.E.E.P. with a group of at-risk juveniles. I did this when I was a D.A.R.E. Officer with the Bakersfield P.D. During that stay, I never really saw any of the town. We took the kids on a walk to the beach one day, but the place is a nature preserve, so basically you can't touch or step on anything. Great fun for the kids.
Fast forward to last weekend. I suppose due to ignorance and the passage of time, I envisioned Los Osos as being a stereotypical beach town.....older, tidy homes and yards, built in very close proximity to one another, and many of them being either right on the beach or very close....close enough to walk to or ride a bike to. And plenty of spendy town homes and condo complexes in the mix. And some strip malls and trendy tourist shops. And a beach. Duh, why wouldn't you expect one there? You're at the beach, right? Boy, was I in for a surprise when we drove into town and started looking for my sister's place. I mean it's a shock. You pass through San Luis Obispo, a great little college town, on the way there, and then WHAM! You're in Los Osos. Oh, it had homes that are older and close together all right, but frankly, there was nothing neat or tidy about any of them. The place is run down and shabby. At least the parts that we saw. Unkempt yards and cars up on blocks on some of the front yards. And the streets were almost all in horrible condition. Driving around there is like trying to navigate around one of those Halloween corn mazes. We got a little lost later that day trying to figure out how to get to Morro Bay, and we asked a USPS letter carrier for directions. Even she had a hard time trying to explain how to escape this grungy little neighborhood. Oh, and the Schwan's salesman in the big yellow truck kept driving in circles like he was lost too. Could this be the real location of the infamous "Devil's Triangle"? I almost expected to see Rod Serling of "Twilight Zone" fame standing on a street corner staring eerily at me, like I was the putz that was going to "get screwed" by some paranormal phenomenon at the end of the episode.
On the positive side, we finally made it to my sister's place which is in in one of those 55 and older communities with modular and manufactured homes. It's pretty nice, at least what we saw. A lot nicer than the rest of what passed for homes in that town. But there's no visible business area. No stores or shops, very few places to eat, and almost no tourists, which I guess is a good thing if you want total peace and quiet. She's living very near the preserve I mentioned....it looked more like a prehistoric swamp to me. And as for the beach, well, there isn't one in Los Osos. At least not the kind you find in every other beach community in the area. Because it's a preserve dummy! Like jelly! At night, if you hold your breath, you can sort of hear surf breaking on a beach somewhere in the distance. There's a walking path near her home that will take you through the swamp, I mean preserve, but as I mentioned earlier, you're not supposed to touch anything. You probably wouldn't want to anyway. I think most of the native plant's names begin with "Poison" this or that.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Flies, Sparrows, and No-Shows
I've got a few observations I'd like to share. Let's start with the flies. I hate flies. I would like to think that most humans, and probably a lot of animals hate them too. I suppose they've got their place on the planet, I just wish it wasn't at my place. I'm astounded by the number of flies that apparently live within "flying distance" of my home. I don't know where they're breeding or hanging out, but I suspect it has something to do with the nearby agriculture and accompanying truckloads of human and animal excrement being used as fertilizer. I haven't actually seen these fecal accumulations, but based on the fly population, they must be substantial. The smell of dung of some kind frequently permeates the late evening and early morning air in my neighborhood. It's very hard to get used to it after living in the forests of North Idaho the past 15 years. There was an older, sickly deer that used to hang around our property for a time, and it was covered in its own waste. Boy did that thing smell. It could have benefited from some "Doepends". Back to the flies.
I like to cook outside. I've got a charcoal and a gas grill, as well as a smoker which I don't use all that often. My favorite is the charcoal grill. I like the flavor of the meat better and apparently the flies do as well. July through September were terrible this summer. Moments after lighting my charcoal grill, I am absolutely inundated with fly swarms of Biblical proportions. I've never seen anything like it as far as flies go, although with the onset of cooler weather, they're not quite as bad. I wonder if this is how the Egyptian Pharaoh felt during some of those plagues in Biblical times? Enjoy a grilled dinner outside? Not likely at our house during the summer. Unless of course you don't mind looking like one of those fly-covered, hollow-eyed, starving African kids you see in fund-raising commercials, or you're willing to wait until about 11:30 P.M. to eat. That must be fly bedtime.
I don't think much can be done to combat the flies. My wife bought me some of those sticky fly strips at the Dollar Store a couple of months ago, but most of the nasty glue on the strips wound up on my hands, arms, and even in my hair. There was lots of yelling but that's another story. The flies are simply very unwanted and uninvited, and only show up to get a good meal....or at least fly around the patio fantasizing about one.
Now for the sparrows. I don't hate them like I do flies, at least I didn't used to. I had my lawn thatched and seeded with winter rye a couple of weeks ago. It took about two days for the sparrows to discover the new bounty of seed scattered on my front and back lawn. And when they did....well, remember the aforementioned Biblical plague reference? Ditto for the sparrows. Now I hate them too. They were at times like hordes of locusts, completely covering the lawn, and engaged in an orgy of seed consumption. Whoever coined the phrase, "Eats like a bird", must have never seen a spectacle like this.
The neighbors who saw and heard me running from front to back, repeatedly clapping my hands or sandals together to scare the birds, probably thought I was nuts. I actually started believing that myself for a couple of days. I even put out two of those fake owls thinking that might keep them away. Not so. A sparrow was standing on one of the dummy owl heads one morning while his buddies were gorging on seed. I pretty much gave up at that point. Well, the seed has finally started to grow, but there are several bare spots which will have to be reseeded, and I've probably lost a considerable amount of hair worrying about this stupid situation. Unfortunately, my scalp can't be reseeded. Another example of unwanted critters coming around for a free and easy meal.
So what are no-shows, and how do they fit into this equation? No-shows are usually friends or acquaintances who HAVE been invited to, and accepted an invitation to some event. Then they bail, usually at the last minute. And the excuses aren't usually very believable. So what's the big deal about that? Who really cares if someone doesn't come to the scheduled event as they had promised? I suppose if it's not your event, and you didn't really have to go to any trouble to host the event, the whole concept probably seems insignificant. But for the hosts, and even for some of the attendees, it's disappointing. Most likely they really like the no-show, unlike flies and sparrows, and really wanted them to attend. Many times, there is ample food and drink at the event, for the guests, but not for the flies and sparrows. It's usually purchased by the hosts in anticipation of a certain amount of attendees who promised to be there. That forces those who did attend to eat and drink the surplus which was intended for the no-shows. Or it just gets discarded. Or eaten by flies and sparrows, which weren't invited, but probably came anyway.
Here's the point, if there is one to all of this. I think I realize now why I don't like to host parties. With all the flies, sparrows, and no-shows, it's all just too confusing, and not worth the trouble. I'll probably still grill in the backyard and have my lawn seeded every fall. The flies and sparrows will most likely be there too....they don't know any better.
I like to cook outside. I've got a charcoal and a gas grill, as well as a smoker which I don't use all that often. My favorite is the charcoal grill. I like the flavor of the meat better and apparently the flies do as well. July through September were terrible this summer. Moments after lighting my charcoal grill, I am absolutely inundated with fly swarms of Biblical proportions. I've never seen anything like it as far as flies go, although with the onset of cooler weather, they're not quite as bad. I wonder if this is how the Egyptian Pharaoh felt during some of those plagues in Biblical times? Enjoy a grilled dinner outside? Not likely at our house during the summer. Unless of course you don't mind looking like one of those fly-covered, hollow-eyed, starving African kids you see in fund-raising commercials, or you're willing to wait until about 11:30 P.M. to eat. That must be fly bedtime.
I don't think much can be done to combat the flies. My wife bought me some of those sticky fly strips at the Dollar Store a couple of months ago, but most of the nasty glue on the strips wound up on my hands, arms, and even in my hair. There was lots of yelling but that's another story. The flies are simply very unwanted and uninvited, and only show up to get a good meal....or at least fly around the patio fantasizing about one.
Now for the sparrows. I don't hate them like I do flies, at least I didn't used to. I had my lawn thatched and seeded with winter rye a couple of weeks ago. It took about two days for the sparrows to discover the new bounty of seed scattered on my front and back lawn. And when they did....well, remember the aforementioned Biblical plague reference? Ditto for the sparrows. Now I hate them too. They were at times like hordes of locusts, completely covering the lawn, and engaged in an orgy of seed consumption. Whoever coined the phrase, "Eats like a bird", must have never seen a spectacle like this.
The neighbors who saw and heard me running from front to back, repeatedly clapping my hands or sandals together to scare the birds, probably thought I was nuts. I actually started believing that myself for a couple of days. I even put out two of those fake owls thinking that might keep them away. Not so. A sparrow was standing on one of the dummy owl heads one morning while his buddies were gorging on seed. I pretty much gave up at that point. Well, the seed has finally started to grow, but there are several bare spots which will have to be reseeded, and I've probably lost a considerable amount of hair worrying about this stupid situation. Unfortunately, my scalp can't be reseeded. Another example of unwanted critters coming around for a free and easy meal.
So what are no-shows, and how do they fit into this equation? No-shows are usually friends or acquaintances who HAVE been invited to, and accepted an invitation to some event. Then they bail, usually at the last minute. And the excuses aren't usually very believable. So what's the big deal about that? Who really cares if someone doesn't come to the scheduled event as they had promised? I suppose if it's not your event, and you didn't really have to go to any trouble to host the event, the whole concept probably seems insignificant. But for the hosts, and even for some of the attendees, it's disappointing. Most likely they really like the no-show, unlike flies and sparrows, and really wanted them to attend. Many times, there is ample food and drink at the event, for the guests, but not for the flies and sparrows. It's usually purchased by the hosts in anticipation of a certain amount of attendees who promised to be there. That forces those who did attend to eat and drink the surplus which was intended for the no-shows. Or it just gets discarded. Or eaten by flies and sparrows, which weren't invited, but probably came anyway.
Here's the point, if there is one to all of this. I think I realize now why I don't like to host parties. With all the flies, sparrows, and no-shows, it's all just too confusing, and not worth the trouble. I'll probably still grill in the backyard and have my lawn seeded every fall. The flies and sparrows will most likely be there too....they don't know any better.
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