From A Bird's Eye View

Posted in travel

Senior Social Media Moments

September 16, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

First, I want to thank those who follow us here by subscribing to our blog and especially those who take the time to comment on the subject of the week. Second, I’d like to sincerely thank those who have been following my quest to become Jauntaroo’s first Chief World Explorer, which you know by now has consumed me. It has been an awesome experience, one that has helped me understand what I really want to do when I grow up. OK, I’m never growing up, just growing older.

But I must say, in many cases, it’s been a real challenge to get my peers to ‘Like’ my video. Not that they wouldn’t like it if they saw it, it’s just that they’re . . . how can I put this delicately, social media challenged. Following is a sample of what I mean.

Me: “Were you able to see my video and ‘Like’ it?”

Senior: “Didn’t see it so can’t tell you if I liked it. Where was it?”

Me: “You can pick up the URL on my Facebook page that will take you to the video link”

Senior: “Say what? I don’t have Faceplant”

Me: “That’s Facebook”

Senior: “Whatever”

Me: “I also tweeted it on Twitter”

Senior: “You did what?”

Me: “Never mind. What about LinkedIn?”

Senior: “What about him? I thought he was one of our greatest presidents”

Me: “Not Lincoln, LinkedIn. Did you see the blog?”

Senior: “The Blob, wasn’t that a ‘50s science fiction movie?”

Me: No, do you have an iPhone, iPad?”

Senior: “iRefuse”

Me: “Hey, I need your help here, I’m trying to get this thing to go viral”

Senior: “Sorry, don’t they have shots for that now?”

Me: “Yeah, thanks. What about Instagram?”

Senior: “Is that Billy Graham’s sister?”

Me: “Pinterest?”

Senior: “No, I’ve lost interest, mind if I go back to reading my newspaper?”

OK, it’s not quite that bad, but it’s based on true stories. To be fair, there are many of my peers who are very tech savvy, but risking their indignation, I’ve asked those over fifty to pass my ‘voting messages’ on to their children, and in some cases their grandchildren.

Here’s the paradoxical thing about all this – the demographic that is now in their peak earning years or retiring, the Baby Boomers, have the time, interest and wealth to travel, yet it is the group that seems antidotally at least, the hardest to reach electronically. The percentage of those 50 and older who get most of their news from the Internet drops significantly from the younger-than-50 group and the numbers for the 65+ group drop even more dramatically. So, how does a relatively new travel company like Jauntaroo get the attention of this critical demographic? I have some ideas, but they’re going to have to hire me in order to hear them.

If you’re reading this, you’re clearly not the people I’m talking about above, so as Jack Kennedy’s presidential campaign manager in Chicago said, “Vote early and vote often”.

At: http://www.bestjobaroundtheworld.com/submissions/view/4459

Thank you

Posted in blog updates • opinion

BEWARE THE FIGHTING ARTICHOKE

September 9, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

College Football in Simpler Times

September means only one thing around our household – college football season starts. We await the beginning of each season as a child might await Christmas. In July my husband buys the college football preview magazines and begins to plot out our weekends for the fall. He is a life-long USC fan (it’s going to be a long season) so every year he gives me their schedule to mark on our calendar with instructions not to plan anything silly when a game is on. “Silly” is defined as dinner with good friends, going to a play, or God forbid, a trip to the emergency room.

So every Saturday, from September through the bowl games in January, our day unfolds with military-like precision: we wake up and don our “Saturday pants” (which is anything with an elastic waistband), we cut out the sports schedule from the paper and circle all the games we want to catch, we watch ESPN “Game Day“, and then plunk ourselves down for a Bacchanalia of football. We finally rouse from our chairs around midnight, at which point we take our stupefied selves to bed. Some might suggest that the whole day has been stupefied, but we love our college football.

Our own Artie the Artichoke

One aspect of the game that is getting more attention these days is the team mascot. It used to be that some poor sap put a paper mache head on and ran along the sidelines like an idiot. But like all else with college sports, the team mascot has become more sophisticated. They have races with the opposing mascot, they do push-ups after every touchdown, and their outfits often look like something out of a Tim Burton movie. There are, however, a few exceptions to this sophistication. The first one is right here in my own backyard: The Scottsdale Community College Fighting Artichoke. That’s right – our mascot is a vegetable. I don’t recall an artichoke being particularly fearsome, unless you count being stuck by those little prickly things at the end of the leaf. A couple of years ago Artie (as he is familiarly known) was #1 in the Top Ten Most Weird College Mascot contest. He beat out the Delta State Fighting Okra. We don’t even grow artichokes in Scottsdale but the story goes that a few years ago some computer science students were upset about the amount of money the school spent on the football team. So they managed to get a campaign going to find a new mascot for the team, plotting to suggest the artichoke since they thought it would be so embarrassing to the team. They drove a hard (and probably rigged) campaign and Artie won the day. Ironically, the students, including the football team, soon embraced the cute little vegetable and today Artie is a beloved member of the campus.

There are other examples of dumb mascots, most notably the Stanford tree. Or maybe I’m just not smart enough to “get it”. There is the UC Santa Cruz Banana Slugs and the Oglethorpe Stormy Petrels. My brother, Bob, attended Westminster College at a time when their mascot was the “Parson”. It will not surprise you to know that Bob wrote the sports column for the school newspaper. He often suggested that “Parson” didn’t really strike fear in their opponents, but to no avail. They since have changed it to the “Griffin” which at least gives them a fighting chance.

Uga in his official football uniform

On the other side of the ledger, perhaps the BEST mascot in college football is Uga, the Bulldog from the University of Georgia. It pains me to say that because I hate the SEC and everything about it. Except Uga. How can you not fall in love with that face? An English Bulldog has been the mascot for the university since 1956, all of them owned by the same family. To date, 9 dogs have carried the name “Uga”, each descended from the original Uga, and frequently the son of the predecessor. Talk about nepotism! The current Uga attends every home football game, many away games, and other University-related functions and sports events, and usually wears a spiked collar and red jersey with varsity letter. The red jersey is Uga’s typical “uniform,” though he wears a green jersey on St. Patrick’s Day. Other special appearances include 1982, when Uga IV attended the Heisman Trophy ceremony in New York City wearing a tuxedo, and 2007, when Uga VI wore a black jersey for the “blackout” game against Auburn. Shoot, this dog has more change of outfits than I do. He even has an official student identification card. He has a custom-built air-conditioned dog house and typically sits on or near bags of ice at games.

What does a guy have to do to cool off around here?

Here he is – trying to cool off after the half time show – overheated and prostate. I can so relate to his dilemma. Oftentimes as I’m running around in the midst of summer I’ve also felt like heaving myself onto a bag of ice. Granted, I’d need a considerably bigger bag than Uga, but I think he’s on to something.

So this season, pay special attention to the mascots. You never know when you might run into an Artichoke or a petrel. Or if you’re really lucky, a cute English Bulldog named Uga.

Posted in travel

Jauntaroo Who?

September 3, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

No, Jauntaroo Who is not the bon vivant brother of Cindy Lou Who, the wee tot in The Grinch That Stole Christmas, who espied the Grinch on Christmas Eve stuffing the family Christmas tree up the chimney. Rather it is a relatively new travel agency that has caught my eye and the eyes of several thousand other people recently with a unique employment opportunity.

They are offering a $100,000 salary to a person who will travel to some 50 destinations during the course of 2014, mingling with various cultures, helping those less fortunate and using social media to keep the rest of the world abreast of all the adventures that ensue.

How do I know about this? I was working in my office, which is a loft in our bedroom while my wife, Linda was getting ready for work in the bathroom, watching the Today show, where Jauntaroo was getting air time from Al Roker and Mel B about their ‘Best Job Around the World’ employment offer. Linda called my attention to the ad and said, “This job has your name all over it!” My uneasiness over my wife’s enthusiasm for me applying for a job that would put me on the road through most of 2014 should I win, was tempered by my excitement over the prospects of doing just that.

So, yes of course I’m applying! I am currently in the process of filling out the application, part of which requires a one-minute video on why I should be Jauntaroo’s first Chief World Explorer. That video is in the making as I write this and should be ‘in the can’ (that’s Hollywood talk for finished, not in the garbage can) by September 6^th, as the deadline for applications is September 15^th.

Once the video is posted, I will be bugging every person I know to go on line and ‘Like’ it – EVERYDAY, as you can ‘vote’ every 24 hours according to the Jauntaroo rules. As part of the ‘interview’ process, Jauntaroo is looking to see how much social media attention job candidates can generate – so I’ll need help from all of you to show these young wiper-snappers that there is still plenty of tread left on these tires.

If you like travel, their website at jauntaroo.com has some interesting features, like their unique ‘Vacation Finder’, ‘Travel With A Cause’ and their daily ‘Travel Tip’. They take a very personal approach to matching travelers with the right destinations. You can also click on ‘THE CANDIDATES’ and you’ll be able to see all the videos that have been submitted thus far for the ‘dream job’. Well, you won’t want to see ALL 1,000+ videos, but hopefully you’ll see one, mine.

I’m apologizing in advance for the ‘reminders’ to vote that I’ll be sending out to all of you and asking you to send them on to all your contacts. The video is short and you’ll hopefully be entertained . . . for 60 seconds.

Posted in opinion

EXTREME MAKEOVER: DRIVER’S LICENSE EDITION

August 26, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Trivia games on the screen at the MVD. Just like the movies – annoying.

I have a rather uneasy relationship with the Arizona Motor Vehicle Department. So when I got a letter from them last month I opened it with all the enthusiasm I usually reserve for the IRS. Turns out they wanted me to come in to their delightful establishment to have a new picture taken for my driver’s license. Again. This will be the fourth picture I have had on my license. It’s complicated.

Back in 1998 when we moved here from California I took one week off of work to get settled and attend to important things, like finding the closest donut shop and, naturally, getting an Arizona driver’s license. So on a very harried day, when the temperature was 108, I took my moist self and went to the MVD to pick up a driver’s handbook so I could study for the test. Well, much to my surprise, the clerk told me there was no test. All I had to do is hand over my California license, fill out a form, take a picture and – VOILA! – I would be issued an Arizona license. Valid, by the way, until 2015. Yep – no matter what age you are when you move to AZ, your license is good until you’re 65. This goes a very long way in explaining why there are so many horrible drivers here. No one knows what the rules are so we drive by the rules we learned in our former state with the fervent hope that “STOP” is a universal sign.

This looks better than my picture.

The “picture” part of this venture was the sticking point – I was harried and sweaty. Did I mention it was 108 that day? Anyway, pressed for time, I went ahead and had my picture taken and received my new license on the spot. The picture, to be kind, made me look like a deranged psychopath. I want to be clear: I understand that this was the MVD, not Annie Leibovitz’s studio. I didn’t expect air brushing and subtle lighting. But I also didn’t expect to end up looking like Nick Nolte’s mug shot. My eyes were bugged out, my hair looked like a goat ate it, and one half of my collar was up. How bad was the picture? Sales clerks who requested to look at my license when I cashed a check would squint down at the picture, look up at me, peruse the picture once more, and then say something akin to, “You must have been having a bad day.” And these were people who wanted my business. Finally, I could take it no more. I decided to lie to the MVD and tell them I had lost my license and needed a new one. I hoped that they didn’t have any sort of fancy technology that would allow them to simply re-issue it with the very same picture. I was in luck, I was asked to have a new photo taken – HUZZAH!! I made sure my hair was slicked down, eyes appropriately positioned and assumed a casual, carefree, I’m-on-vacation smile. Unfortunately, I forgot to take into account that I had just returned from a business trip to Charlotte the night before. So while my hair and smile looked okay, I pretty much looked like someone who was jet-lagged and had returned from Charlotte the night before. I lived with that picture for another two years, strategically placing my thumb over my picture whenever I had to present it to anyone.

I’m thinking she lost her license that night. Not by choice.

Finally, when I retired (and thus was well-rested), I decided to try one more time. I was 51 years old and figured that I would have to live with this license for another 14 years. It was well worth my time to get a new picture. Besides, I was retired, what else did I have to do? So I trudged into the MVD and, once again, told them that I had lost my purse and everything in it. I fully expected them to grill me. TWO licenses lost in three years? Lindsay Lohan was a paragon of dependability compared to me. But instead, the very nice clerk commiserated with me, agreeing that it was such a hassle to get everything replaced or re-issued. I felt just a little bit bad. But not that bad. And my efforts were rewarded. The picture turned out okay – no hair askew, no “crazy eyes”, no puffy face. I was satisfied, although I admit that my standards had gotten quite low by this point.

So, fast forward to last month when I got the letter that they wanted, yet again, a new picture of me. I find it fascinating that they still don’t care if I know the rules of the road but God forbid my picture is more than 12 years old. Anyway, I braced myself and went down there last Tuesday. I was told to show up right at 8 am or the wait could be over an hour. Which meant that at 7 a.m. I was flat-ironing my hair, curling my eyelashes, and telling myself that it was ridiculous to care this much about my driver’s license picture. After filling out forms and waiting a paltry 45 minutes, I stood before the camera as I might stand before an execution squad. The clerk snapped the picture and said, “Oh, that’s great” so my hopes were high. After all, he did this for a living. His judgement must be finely tuned for this sort of thing. Alas, it was not. But I think I’ve used up the “dog ate my homework” lost license excuse so I’m stuck with this license for now. Unlike everyone else in the Western World, I’m excited that I get to visit the MVD in just two years. I’m starting my picture prep now.

Posted in Family • travel

Prairie Home Companions

August 19, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:13 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Barney’s Jersey Farm

Pardon me if I seem a little jet-lagged, but last week my travels took me back in time to southern Minnesota. It’s not that southern Minnesota is behind the times, far from it, it’s just that the mid-west, and particularly Minnesota and particularly this family, embodies good old mid-western values that we on the coasts just don’t see much of anymore. It was refreshing to be surrounded by people who fervently hang on to the importance of family. The occasion was the 90^th birthday of Warren Barnes, my father-in-law, who admitted that he wasn’t going to be 90 until December, but December is not a time to ask people to come to Minnesota – that’s ‘hibernating’ season. So the party was held last week, when according to Warren he was “prettin’ear 90”.

While it was Warren’s birthday celebration, it was really a tribute to both Warren and wife, Phyllis, who is a young 87, for the wonderful life they’ve led and the incredible families that were created out of their marriage in 1945. The birthday celebration was held on Saturday in Rochester, MN, but the preliminary activities on Friday took us south on a tour of the Barnes’ hometown, Canton, MN. The photos below show 1) the parking lot of the Canton Coffee Shop; yes it is still a one-horse town, 2) a farmer driving the ‘company car’ through Lanesboro, and 3) traffic at Amish rush hour. We visited the old family spread and one could still barely make out the words ‘Barney’s Jersey Farm’ on the side of the barn.

1. 2. 3.

Cobb Residence

That evening, dinner was at the bucolic residence of Gene & Denise Cobb (granddaughter); he a 25-year IBMer and she a math whiz teaching ‘Advance Placement’ classes at the local high school. They bought 5 acres in the beautiful rolling hills outside of Rochester and built a house, planted fruit trees and a garden with almost every conceivable vegetable known to man, and some not known, at least to this man – like salsify; then added some chickens and goats and cats and a dog and probably by the time you’re reading this, who knows what species of flora and fauna have taken up residence?

The birthday event on Saturday mystically transported us to Lake Wobegon from ‘A Prairie Home Companion’. For those unfamiliar, A Prairie Home Companion is a radio program originating out of Minnesota that started in 1974 hosted by Garrison Keillor and featuring a variety of musical and comedic entertainment that typifies the mid-west. The show can still be heard every Saturday on public radio. Warren and Phyllis’s children, grand children and great grand children as well as in-laws and friends spoke and performed various acts from playing musical instruments, to singing and dancing, to a game of ‘Jeopardy’ based on the life and times of Warren. But the emotional highlight of the event was the reuniting of ‘The Barnes Trio’.

The Barnes Trio – back in the day

The Barnes Trio (Dale, Linda, Starlet) – reunited

Warren and Phyllis’s three children, Starlet (Barnes) Brummer, Dale Barnes and Linda (Barnes) Sparrow formed ‘The Barnes Trio’ and started singing together back on the farm when they were all in grade school; they were good enough to be sponsored by Purina Dog Chow and they performed all over the state from talent shows to county fairs. This evening they sang ‘Daddy’s Hands’ to a very emotional crowd, particularly the guest of honor.

Phyllis & Warren Barnes

Warren and Phyllis have truly been ‘prairie home companions’ for the last 68 years – a remarkable couple and a remarkable family. Their response to all the festivities? “This has been the best day of our lives”. Considering the number of good days in their collective lives, that’s saying quite a lot. Well-deserved!

Posted in travel

SLO: GEEKS, GOD AND GARGOYLES

August 12, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:1 Comment

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

We’ve been spending a lot of time this past month in the historic city of San Luis Obispo – a city of many dichotomies. Where else can you visit a historic religious site and be solicited by Greenpeace crusaders on the same block? Or mingle with whiz kids at the coffee house and then potentially sleep in a room dedicated to one of the biggest pop stars in the world? San Luis Obispo (or “SLO” as it’s known here), that’s where!

San Luis Obispo Mission and the statue of Father Serra before he took off.

Our first visit on this trip was to the beautiful San Luis Obispo mission. It was fifth in the succession of missions established by Father Junipero Serra, built in 1772. Yes, that’s right. He founded the mission before the first tea bag was even dumped in Boston Harbor. Father Serra had traveled through SLO some years before and remembered it as a place of abundant flora and fauna, in addition to almost perfect weather. And bears. Yep – here on the central coast of California apparently the area was rife with bears.

He quickly made friends with the local Chumash Indian tribe and engaged them to help build the mission. But shortly after the cornerstone of the building was set, Father Serra said a quick mass and hightailed it back to San Diego. The history is unclear as to what sent him running back to civilization before the building was complete. My guess is it was the bears. In any event, the mission was completed two years later and is still thriving today. It remains an active Catholic parish and its plaza is considered the town center where on any given weekend you’ll find a wide array of concerts, fairs and festivals.

After leaving the Mission we decided to grab a quick cup of coffee before visiting our next stop. A few steps later I was approached by a

A typical Cal Poly geek

rather scraggly young man who told me that I looked like a nice person. So right away I knew he was no judge of character. He then proceeded to follow me down the street, talking about the rain forests and whales. He gave up on me when I showed no interest but at the next corner I ran across one of his counterparts who made no attempt to assess my personality but gave me pretty much the same pitch. Turns out they were students at Cal Poly-SLO and worked for Greenpeace in their spare time. Cal Poly-SLO is a school for high tech geeks. Think of the characters on “The Big Bang Theory” and you’ve pretty much nailed the average Cal Poly student. Still, I hadn’t been solicited by Greenpeace (or anyone else for that matter) in 10 years. I felt as if I’d been transported to another time and space. But actually, that phenomenon was awaiting me at our next stop – the Madonna Inn.

The Madonna Inn

The last time I had been to the Madonna Inn was in 1971 when I was a college student traveling between San Diego and Marin County. It was a good mid-way stop for coffee, food and bathroom breaks. I still remember the pink flocked wallpaper and gold fixtures in the restrooms. I assumed that the Inn would have gone under lots of modernization since then. I was wrong.

The Madonna Inn opened in 1956 and specializes in “theme” rooms. Their website offers 110 such rooms, from the “Caveman” to “Oriental Fantasy”. I think for my next job I want to be the room namer at the Madonna Inn. In any event, I wanted to see what modern-day changes they had made so I looked up the Madonna Room. I assumed it might be adorned with pointy bras and maybe some Vogue magazines or posters of Sean Penn or Warren Beatty. Nope.

Madonna Inn suite

This is a picture of the suite – named for the wife of Alex Madonna, the founder of the hotel. Apparently Mrs. Madonna was quite find of pink. I didn’t even want to see what the “Barrel of Fun” or “Jungle Rock” rooms looked like. I did get a glimpse of a room that had a safari theme with a huge buffalo head mounted on the wall staring down on the bed. It’s things like that that made Father Serra run for the hills.

All on all, SLO is a fabulous little town, well worth visiting. But unless you’re into gargoyles and pink, you might want to stay at the Marriott.

Posted in travel

Missed Saigon

August 5, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:1 Comment

by Bob Sparrow

Preface Back when the earth was still cooling and I was in the Navy (Yes, ours), I was stationed in Japan at Atsugi Navel Air Station and was an Ensign (Yes, and officer and a gentleman by an ACT of CONGRESS) on the staff of COMFAIRWESTPAC, which was ‘Navy-speak’ for, Commander, Fleet Air, Western Pacific. My duties, aside from getting the Admiral’s coffee and newspaper to him in a timely manner each morning, eventually included arranging for the shipping of damaged helicopters out of Viet Nam to a repair facility in Japan and then shipping the repaired aircraft back into Viet Nam. I had three seamen working for me at the time who took turns ‘escorting’ the repaired aircraft on the ships going back to the port of Da Nang, in South Viet Nam.

I hate these ‘magnificent ceramic elephants’!

I eventually wanted to have a better understanding of what these escorts actually did and since I was in the Navy and had never set foot aboard a ship, I asked my commanding officer permission to be out of the office for a while and escort the next batch of helicopters headed ‘in country’. Permission was granted. I had a buddy, who was flying supply missions in a C-130 transport aircraft between Da Nang and Saigon, who told me he could throw me in with the cargo anytime if I wanted to tag along. So I requested and was granted a couple of extra days for my trip. This was 1969 and the war was in full swing and I wasn’t looking for a vacation, but rather wanted to see first hand, from a relatively safe distance, what was really going on. Three days before my ship sailed out of Yokohama for Da Nang, my commanding officer had an opportunity to go to Bangkok, Thailand to pick up some ‘magnificent ceramic elephants’ for his wife and told me I needed to stay and man the office, that I could be an escort another time. A ‘Reduction In Forces’ memo came out not too long after that and there was not ‘another time’, I was soon on my way home and out of the Navy (Yes, honorably).

So I never got to Da Nang and subsequently Missed Saigon, but I live in Orange County, which I’ve come to find out, has the largest Vietnamese population in the world, outside of Vietnam, some 200,000. So my ‘in country’ plan evolved, after 44 years, into my ‘in county’ plan and eventually permission was granted by my commanding officer – my wife.

The Beginning of ‘Little Saigon’ After the Fall of Saigon in 1975 many Vietnamese refugees migrated to Southern California because, well, why anyone else would migrate to Southern California, the weather. More and more gathered in the City of Westminster and eventually in 1988, then Governor George Deukmejian officially designated part of Westminster as ‘Little Saigon’.

Most of the literature I read about ‘Little Saigon’ prior to driving the 15 miles over there, described the food, the jewelry, the food, some temples and the food. I learned that Pho (pronounced ‘Faa’), which is a noodle soup consisting of rice noodles, broth, meat and some spices, was the most popular Vietnamese dish.

The Trip – My son, Jeff is a lover of all food foreign, so I asked if he wanted to meet me for some Pho and an exploration of ‘Little Saigon’ – he obliged.

We met at the HA NOI restaurant (Must have been in the northern part of town) and had a wonderful meal served by an older gentleman who didn’t speak one word of English, but recommended several dishes by pointing to some pictures on the menu and making some sort of cooking gestures – what ever we ordered, it was delicious. Jeff likes his food spicy, so he added some contents from a container on the table to his food; from his reaction, it might have been a bit too spicy, but it said it was good . . . through watering eyes.

Unfortunately that was the highlight of our trip. I checked to see if there were any tours of ‘Little Saigon’ available – there are none. ‘Little Saigon’ is a place of contradictions; it is of course East meeting West, so we shouldn’t have been surprised to see the Sun Moon Bakery or the sign in the jewelry mart reading, ‘Lien Phat’ (Lean Fat?), which was more confusing albeit less disturbing than ‘Dai Phat’.

But for me there was too much West and not enough East. I expected narrow streets lined with colorful garments hanging from two-story wooden buildings, the smell of spicy food offered by traditionally dressed street vendors, Asian music playing – basically some Far East atmosphere. What we got was a series of strip malls on a busy Southern California street. It was sort of like Barstow with strip mall storefront signs you could only partly read.

The Conclusion – For my money, if you want some good Vietnamese food, visit ‘Little Saigon’, if you want to get the feel of old Viet Nam, see ‘Miss Saigon’ or go to old Viet Nam.

Posted in Family • travel

JOCKO’S AND THE GREAT CHEAT-OFF

July 29, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:1 Comment

by Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Normally we are healthy eaters, if one can overlook the occasional foray to   Dairy Queen and In 'n Out. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I'm the only reason  the local kale farmer is in the black this year. Butwhen we are in Nipomo, as we are now, we throw caution and our cholesterol to the wind and eat at       Jocko's. Jocko's has put Nipomo on the map. Okay, that might be a slight      exaggeration since most people still don't know where Nipomo is. Nevertheless,it is likely that for those who do know where it is it's because they've been to Jocko's.

As you can see from the picture Jocko’s has all the atmosphere of a cattle barn. I think the last remodel was done sometime in the 50’s. The 1850’s. But people come from far and wide to eat here so they must be doing something right. That something is their beef. It is grilled over an oak BBQ, with just the right amount of charring on the outside and tenderness on this inside. We went there last week with my brother, Jack, and his wife Sharon. It was a Tuesday night and we had a reservation for 6:30. We were not seated until almost 7. For those who didn’t have a reservation the wait is closer to an hour and a half. Let’s just say that the bar business at Jocko’s is quite brisk.

It’s the type of place that serves drinks in those old-fashioned jelly jar glasses but that’s just what you’d expect at joint that has paper place mats. The wait staff is cheerful, which is astounding given that they serve over 300 dinners a night – every night. The menu has a wide array of beef dishes but their chicken is also out of this world. The steak sandwich is HUGE and comes with a salad, antipasto dish, beans, potato, and then, as if your veins aren’t already coursing with enough fat, vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.

The price of all this? $17.00. Or, to put it in perspective, $1 less than Bob paid for two beers at Del Mar.

Speaking of Bob, we just had our annual family golf tournament here in Nipomo.
There was a lot of pre-tournament revelry, as you can see from the picture of us three.

I think Bob had just said something about winning the golf tournament. Or some such foolishness. In any event, there was much revelry on Friday night. By Saturday morning there was some talk of needing resuscitation but the group rallied in time to take a stroll through the quaint town of Arroyo Grande. As it turns out, there was a vintage car show on the Main Street and we had a ball walking around looking at all the old cherry cars. Until we realized that we had either owned or ridden in most of them. It is a sad day indeed when you realize that you are “vintage”. Jack decided to sit in front of a local winery with our dog,Dash, and just watch the world go by.

He always was the smart one.

In any event, our golf tournament later that day was a bit of a bust. We played the 12 hole Challenge Course at Monarch Dunes. Some of us were more challenged than others. It is a prickly little track with greens that defy the normal logic of putting. To make matters worse, I was in charge of scoring but I completely forgot to record one of the holes. Which on a 12 hole course is pretty pathetic. And tells you everything you need to know about my short term memory these days. But since I was in charge and had the scorecard I just declared that the girls won the tournament and the guys were no wiser. Until they read this.

But never let it be said that a little cheating at golf got in the way of a good time with our family. We all know that we are so lucky to be related…and better yet, good friends.

Posted in travel

Opening Day at Del Mar (Part 2)

July 25, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:

by Bob Sparrow

On the way to my seat I pass the ‘Cross Over’ – a path through the bleachers where all the horses and jockeys travel on their way from the paddock to the racetrack – I stop to watch the parade for the first race. To my amazement even the horses are wearing little silk hats on their saddles in the shape of a joc . . ., no wait, that is a jockey, my gosh they are small. I’ve seen a jockey bigger than that on my neighbor’s lawn.

I finally make my way to my seat. When I bought my ticket over the phone, I was told that my seat was in the ‘pole position’; I thought the pole position in racing was a good thing – not so much. Fortunately, my poor pole position seat was minimized by my lack of betting acumen, so I never really needed to see the finish line at the end of the race, as my horses were in no particular hurry to get there. The picture to the right shows that long after the race was finished, I was still waiting for my horse to round the club house turn.

“Another beer?”

“No, think I’ll have one of those Mint Julep things, you know, kind of get into the spirit of things?”

“You’re not at Churchill Downs.”

“Where?”

“Do you want some fruit and an umbrella with that?”

“Hey, are you saying that it’s kind of a girlie drink? I thought it was a ‘racing drink’.”

“Sir, there’s a line behind you?”

“Fine, I’ll take one . . . and a shot of tequila!”

Guess I showed her who’s a man!

Aside from a few pre-historic creatures with faces you could bounce a trifecta ticket off of, the crowd was generally very young – I kept wondering, ‘Do their parents know they’re here . . . dressed like that?’ And I found that most of these 20 and 30-somethings paid, even for a single drink, with a card, not cash. I understand that that generation really doesn’t use a lot of cash, but I’m just hoping they were using debit cards and not credit cards; otherwise those $9 beers, with interest, were costing them about $10.75.

With a bratwurst, a beer (Oh yeah, I got another $9 beer) and my racing form, I sit down in my pole position seat and watch the people parade. I must admit that the ladies do a great job at ‘dress up’ – I guess that’s in their DNA; most of them look great. The guys? Not so much, although a couple of ‘dandies’ (left) did stop and pose as well as a guy (right) in a seersucker jacket – Sears made it, a sucker bought it.

There were a few party fouls perpetrated by ladies who tried to pour their 12-gallon bodies into an 8-gallon dress and top it off with cheesy chapeau; consequently ‘Where the Turf Meets the Surf’, became ‘Where the Hat Meets the Fat’. Thankfully, no pictures are available.

Here’s me ‘tearing it up’ – my ticket that is, on some nag with a catchy name that ran like she was headed to the glue factory. You can see that the guy sitting next to me was less-than-amused with my racetrack antics.

Surprisingly, I didn’t win a race all day, but with great weather, great refreshments and great scenery, I managed to eke out a good time.

For those worried that I may have been driving under the influence on my way home, worry not; I took the train; not that I was being so responsible, I just couldn’t remember where I had parked my car and OK, I accidentally got on the bus to the train station. It was just as well, I couldn’t find my keys.

Disclaimers: The Del Mar Opening Day experience was wonderful, my seat wasn’t as bad as it looked, the horses were awesome animals (just not the ones I bet on), the jockeys are courageous athletes, I did see a few over-weight people there, but they all seemed very jolly and, the beers were in fact $9 each, but I only had two of them (honest, Officer).

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Opening Day at Del Mar (Part 1)

July 22, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:7 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

I can count the number of horse races I’ve been to by scratching the ground with my hoof three times, and the number of Opening Days I’ve been to without scratching the ground at all. But I live about an hour-and-a-half’s drive from Del Mar where Bing Crosby, Gary Cooper, Jimmy Durante, Pat O’Brien and Oliver Hardy, all part owners, celebrated Del Mar’s first Opening Day back in 1937, so I felt it was time for me to join some 43,000 other fans and open up this year’s racing season at the Del Mar Race Track.

I was told to get there early and use the entrance by the ‘Turf Club’ – that’s where all the Hollywood stars go in. As I’m waiting for the gates to open there, I did see a couple that was trying very hard to look like Scarlett Johansson and Bradley Cooper, but came off looking more like Rosie O’Donnell and Alice Cooper, in stupid hats. It seemed as if Silicon Valley had moved a little south for the day, but this day was not about nipping and tucking, in fact it wasn’t even really about horse racing . . . it was mostly about hats! One could find hats of every shape, color and description, and some that were beyond description – some elegant, some hideous.

The ‘show’ had started and I wasn’t even inside yet, and it became painfully obvious that I was not going to be let in at the ‘Turf Club’ entrance (I think my skin was too loose), so I meandered down to the ‘Steerage’ gate and was herded through.

“I’d like to buy a . . . schedule . . . a list of the races . . . a program, a . . . ” “Racing Form?” “Yes, that’s it, thank you” “Good luck buddy!”

With racing form in hand, I pretend to study it, or do whatever it is one does with a racing form. It makes me thirsty and son of a gun if they don’t have plenty of places to buy a drink.

“That’ll be nine dollars” “I’m sorry I just wanted one beer” “That’s all you’re getting for nine dollars” “But it’s only 10 ounces, that’s almost a dollar an ounce!” “Sir, there’s a line behind you” “Fine!”

The beer went down too quickly (Hey, it was only 10 ounces!) and I soon find myself back in the $9 beer line reading the racing form and having a little trouble understanding some of the jargon therein. I asked another $9 beer line-stander for the definition of a ‘furlong’; he said, “Let me put it this way, with your racing knowledge and proclivity for drinking, your money won’t last furlong.” I didn’t like his answer, so I turned to another line-stander and ask him to explain what the ‘odds’ meant. He said, “All you need to know is that they’re always against you”. I quit asking, but continued to study the racing form and found out that horses in a ‘Maiden Race’ and I have a lot in common, neither of us have ever won a race.

But today the horses and racing are really secondary to the festivities, and I don’t want to bury my head in racing form statistics while all the ‘festivities’ walk by in short skirts, high heels and bodacious . . . hats.

I asked a group of young ladies if they wouldn’t mind posing for me for a picture. The picture below shows their response.

Thursday: Opening Day at Del Mar (Part 2) My ‘pole position’ seat