The ‘System’

by Bob Sparrow

It was necessary for me to post these Saturday prognostications early as it will tie into Monday’s blog:

Ohio State over Penn State giving 3.5 points, tied to

Oregon over Cal giving 2.5 points

 

USC over Arizona giving 5.5 points, tied to

Stanford over Notre Dame getting 3.5 points

 

Washington over Utah giving 1.5 points, tied to

Nebraska over Purdue getting 3.5 points

 

Bonus pick

Texas over Kansas State giving 9 points, tied to

Wyoming over Boise State getting 16.5

 

THE LAPDOG OF LUXURY IN VAIL

By Dash “The Wonder Dog” Watson

Beautiful Gore Creek in Vail

It’s been a long, hot summer here in Scottsdale.  My “people” have had one vacation shortened and one cancelled due to smoke.  They seem okay with it but do they think about me, having to wear a fur coat all summer.  No.  They are so selfish.  Really, they should be reported to the SPCA.  Last week, however, they made some attempt to humor me by throwing me in the car for 14 hours and driving to Vail, Colorado.  As most of you know, Vail is a beautiful ski town nestled in the Rocky Mountains.  What you may not know is that it was founded by Pete Vail and fellow members of the 10th Mountain Division after WWII.  Since then it has become not only one of the top ski slopes in the world but one of the wealthiest small towns in America.  Finally, my people were taking me someplace where I could be appreciated.

Me, at the bar!

In fact, when we arrived I discovered that I was more than appreciated – I was accepted.  Over the past several years my human has tantalized me with photos of  Facebook friends in England who take their Cavaliers to the local pub.  I’ve always thought the English were right-minded when it comes to dogs but the proof is in the pudding…or pub…as they say.  Clearly the British understand our royal heritage and refined breeding.  In their wisdom, they have concluded that a well-behaved dog is preferable to Alfie the Drunk who can’t hold his pints. There – in the middle of Lionshead Village – was Bart and Yeti’s, a bar that not only allows dogs but is NAMED after dogs!  There is even a Golden Retriever who serves as the hostess.  Bart and Yeti’s is not all plaid carpeting and walnut paneling like the pubs my English friends frequent.  In fact, my humans said that it is what is commonly known as a “dive bar”.  I don’t know what that is and I didn’t see anyone diving so I think, once again, my humans don’t know what they’re talking about.  All I know is that the nice bartender allowed me to belly up to the bar, order a beer, and enjoy some social sniffing after a long day on the road.

A bite at Garfinkel’s

After drinks we found a place to eat – Garfinkel’s – that also recognizes the superior nature of dogs.  It is located right at the edge of the village with views of the ski slopes.  Since there was no snow I watched people hike up the hill.  Some of them looked like they were in dire need of an iron lung.  Vail, after all, is at 8,000 feet altitude which provides spectacular views but a deep breath is hard to come by.  Especially if you’re old, like my masters.  Like many ski resorts this time of year, Vail is in “slack” season which means many of the shops have reduced hours and there are fewer people around to scratch my stomach and tell me how cute I am.  The upside is that it’s easy to get in anywhere and the trees are turning.  Some of you may think we dogs don’t notice such things but we are a lot more interested in molting leaves than you might realize.

The following day we drove around the area and marveled the the magnificent scenery.  After a summer in the desert breathing dust and looking at scorched earth, the greenery and lush vegetation seemed like Heaven.  I peed on lots of it – just because I could.   What wasn’t a welcome relief was the weather – the temperature hit 90 degrees when we were there.  90 degrees at 8,000 feet altitude is enough to make a guy pant uncontrollably.  Extra ice cube treats were in order.   We saw some beautiful golf courses (that my master lusted over) and some fancy boutiques that my mistress drooled over.  That’s pretty much what Vail has to offer in the off-season.  Unless you want to make that hike up the mountain and ruin the lining of your lungs.  Me, I’m happy just bellying up to the bar and quaffing a beer.  I can almost smell the fish and chips.

A Weekend in Mayberry

by Bob Sparrow

The Andy Griffith Show was one of my all-time favorite TV programs and last week I got a chance to spend some time on the set of that show. At least it seemed that way. All you need to do to confirm that ‘Mable-Hesper Steam Engine Days’ is something out of Mayberry RFD is to check out the agenda items for this year’s event:

  • Parade of Tractors and Steam Engines followed by a dance at the Legion Hall featuring the Buck Hollow Band and The Toe Tappers. Tractor pull tomorrow
  • Model Railroad Show followed by the Little Miss Mabel pageant
  • Bean Bag and Kickball Tournament followed by Bingo at the Dairy Barn
  • Pumpkin Contest Weigh In followed by the Quilt Show at the Fair Grounds

A Classy Class

Class of ’68 Steam Engine Days float

While this alone would have been enough to get us back to Minnesota, the real impetus was Linda’s 50th high school class reunion. There were a total of 48 members in the Mable-Canton Cougar class of ’68. The town of Mable had 780 people, Canton 342 in the 2010 census. In fact the towns are still so small that the reunion took place in a winery just across the border in Iowa; yes, a winery in Iowa – rows of grapes surrounded by rows of corn.

If the expectation for the reunion was that I was going to be surround my a bunch of country bumpkins that I didn’t know or cared to know, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  This group, mostly women (there were only 3 men from the class in attendance) were not just friendly and ‘Minnesota nice’, they were a group of sophisticated, educated and accomplished women.  After supper (dinner is served at noon don’t cha know) there was an open discussion amongst the group as to whether they felt disadvantaged attending a small, rural school in southern Minnesota.  The response was an overwhelming ‘No!’  In fact they made it abundantly clear that they felt privileged to attend a school where they could not only participate in clubs, student government, band, athletics and virtually everything that went on at the school, but were encouraged to do so because the school was small.  A stark contrast to today’s students who, in order to succeed, typically do one thing all year long.

Buck Hollow (left) and his (geriatric) Band

After the reunion many of the classmates, including us, headed for the dance at the American Legion Hall in Mable, after all it was Steam Engine Days and everybody was in town and in a party mood. The Legion Hall is a large facility with two big rooms connected by a bar. One side had the Buck Hollow Band and a huge dance floor, filled with old and young alike, while the other side was a ‘sports bar’ with TVs, pool tables and folks just having a beer and shooting the breeze.  I wish I had a picture to show you how great this felt just being in this environment.

Take Me Home Country Roads . . . Please!

I drove Starlet’s, my sister-in-law, car to and from the reunion and Steam Engine Days, and I have to tell you, it was quite an experience. During the day the narrow roads lead you through a vast rolling pastoral landscape of corn fields dotted by pristine farm houses and silos – it is truly amazing. At night, a different story. There are no street lights, in fact there are not any lights, so driving these dare, narrow two-lane roads becomes a significant challenge. When was the last time you were constantly clicking your high beams on and off? While on one of these winding roads going from the reunion to the dance, I was suddenly confronted with a deer crossing the road. I slammed on the brakes and swerved as much as the narrow road would allow me and the deer turned slightly so I just grazed him as one of his antlers put a small scratch on the car door – Sorry Starlet! That doesn’t happen much in Orange County.

A special tender moment

One afternoon we sang at a Memory Care Center for Alzheimers and dementia in Rochester, MN.  There were about 20 senior residents sitting and listening, many singing along with us. When we were finished, an older gentleman wearing an Army Veteran ball cap, motioned to Linda to come over. She walked over to him and he looked her in the eye for a long time and finally said, “Is that you?” Linda, not wanting to ruin the man’s illusion, replied, “Yes”. He said, “How have you been?” Linda responded, “I’m good, how about you?” “Good now,” he said, with tears in his eyes. We assumed that he must of thought Linda was either his wife or daughter. Linda asked him if she could give him a hug. He happily agreed. We left with gladden in our hearts, smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes.

 

 

UN-DRESS FOR SUCCESS

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Me, my cousins and best friend in our ’60’s garb

In 1964, the night before my first day of high school, I spent hours agonizing over what I was going to wear on that inaugural day.  Back then we strived to look like the impossibly perfect girls we saw in Seventeen Magazine.  So when I realized I didn’t have a purse to match my shoes I went into panic mode.  Yes, it was that important.   Luckily, my cousin who lived around the corner came to the rescue and I was saved from the humiliation of mis-matched shoes and purse.  We lived with pretty strict rules back then.  Girls could not wear pants to school, not even culottes (I know because I was almost sent home one day for wearing them), and jeans were totally out of the question. Skirts could be no more than one inch above our knees.  Sleeveless dresses were about as risqué as it got.  Looking back, we were so covered up most of the year that we came darn close to resembling Mennonites.

 

The epitome of ’60’s cool

Towards the end of my high school career the “mod” era of fashion changed a lot of what was acceptable – or not – at our school.  Skirts inched up and up until it became dangerous to bend over.  Jeans, as long as they were clean, were allowed for boys.  Fabrics were brighter, white boots were the epitome of high style and hair grew longer on both sexes, although boys were still not allowed any sort of facial hair.  Still, with all the changes, there remained a norm of looking nice to go to school.  Over the years, of course, dress codes at schools have become looser and looser, almost to the point of seemingly having none at all.  Baggy pants with underwear showing, micro shorts, bare bellies – they’ve all become  de rigueur at our local high school.  Dress codes have been in the news a lot since school started up again this year.  Some principals are cracking down on sloppy and “barely there” attire, while others are going in the other direction – let the kids wear whatever they like.

          Would you hire these butts?

It was with this in mind that I read with interest in USA Today that one high school district in the Bay Area is doing away with dress codes and have replaced them with general guidelines.   Here’s what is listed as what students MUST WEAR:  bottoms, tops, shoes, clothing that covers genitals, buttocks and nipples.  Seems like that’s a mighty low bar.  The policy goes on to say that they CAN wear midriff-baring shirts, pajamas and tube tops.  The only items forbidden are those that contain hate speech, profanity, pornography, etc.  The intent of the policy is to prevent shaming, specifically for girls.  In fact, the school district has said they reject the notion that bodies are distracting and therefore must be monitored and covered up.  Really?  They work all day around teenagers with raging hormones and they don’t think bodies are distracting?

I’m not suggesting we go back to the early ’60’s but I’m sure there is a middle ground to be reached.  Clothes can take on way more importance than they warrant at that age so relaxing standards a bit seems logical.  But I will say this:  as a former HR executive I can attest that appearances do matter.  Teaching our kids that they can wear whatever they want, whenever they want, does them a disservice.  Even at the high tech companies there are standards – no pajamas, for example.  The real world requires some amount of “dressing for the occasion” and, further, there are studies that show there is merit to the “dress for success” mantra.  Unless a kid’s ultimate career involves working in their parents’ basement, in which case all they’ll need is their pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

I Love L.A.?

by Bob Sparrow

Nah, not really, in fact as a northern California native I was conditioned from an early age to hate L.A. It’s as if those from northern California get a ‘Hate L.A.’ gene at birth. We quickly are made aware that L.A. freeways are parking lots, that there are too many people there and the air is brown and you can actually sink your teeth into it. When I moved to southern California over 45 years ago, I heard my northern California friends say things like, “Can you believe he went to the dark side?” and “Don’t worry, he’ll be back!” I tried to tell them I was moving to Orange County, not L.A., but to someone in northern California all of southern California is L.A., except San Diego, which seems to get a pass. I found myself fairly welcome in Orange County as they also hate L.A. and are constantly trying to tell people who don’t know, that they are from ‘The O.C.’ not L.A., so I felt somewhat ‘back home’ in that regard.

Owens Valley Aqueduct

After a few years of living in southern California I guess I became ambivalent towards L.A., I didn’t hate it, but I also didn’t spend too much time there, since getting to and from the ‘City of Angels’ is usually a nightmare. But I’ve visited and enjoyed a good number of L.A. area sites, some recorded here in the blog, like Venice Beach, Watts, Rodeo Drive, Chinatown, Old Italy, Griffith Park and Malibu to name a few. But I just finished reading a book about how L.A. came to be, it’s entitled, The Mirage Factory, by Gary Krist and I was fascinated by the story of how L.A. was invented; yes, that’s the word he uses for the origin of Los Angeles.

From around 1900 to 1930, Los Angeles went from a dusty hinterland town surrounded by deserts and mountains to a burgeoning city of 1.2 million on the shoulders of three ambitious and restless outsiders – civil engineer William Mulholland, filmmaker D.W. Griffith and evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson.

William Mulholland

You’re only recollection of Mulholland may be of Mulholland Drive, a famous road carved through the Santa Monica mountains, where early teenage Angelino boys took their girlfriends to park and ‘watch the submarine races’. It is now the road on which some of the most expensive homes in the U.S. are built, as it affords a magnificent view of the Los Angeles Basin, the San Fernando Valley and the Hollywood sign. Los Angeles would just not be, were it not for Mulholland, who understood that there was no way L.A. could grow significantly, because it was essentially in a desert with no potable water supply. Mulholland solved that problem by heading up the building of a 233-mile aqueduct that brought water from the Owens Valley, which stretches from Lone Pine to Bishop on the Eastern side of the Sierra Nevada mountains, to Los Angeles. The building of the aqueduct was not without its share of contentiousness between the builders and the Owens valley residents, who saw their water being redirected to the south. Shootings and lynchings were not unusual.

D. W. Griffith

I’m not necessarily a big fan of Hollywood, but I found the story of how L.A. became the movie-making capital of the world fascinating. You may think of Cecil B. DeMille as the premier movie pioneer, but D.W. Griffith was his mentor. Griffith’s story of transplanting the movie industry from New York to Hollywood recalls lots of names you might be familiar with like Fatty Arbuckle, Mack Sennett, Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin, all silent movie stars.

Aimee Semple McPherson

I was at least vaguely familiar with the previous two men’s name, but I’d never heard of Aimee Semple McPherson, but she was one heck of a evangelist, literally bringing thousands of people to her sermons every week. She was a determined juggernaut who dealt with much controversy in her teachings, sermons, healings and even a kidnapping, or was it fake? Using radio for the first time, she almost singlehandedly brought religion to this bustling and growing metropolis that would soon take its place as a world class city.

So, while I don’t love L.A., I now have a greater respect for how the city was built, or invented; and how it has become one of the most diverse and interesting cities in the world.

Just read the book!