Good
evening, 919 Gang. We'll be getting back to tipping in a minute, but first
we'll mention the unmentionable.
CARL
LARSEN writes:
I
don't know about you, but around the Larsen household we're getting ready for
the UNSPEAKABLE DAY (tm).
It's
the day of the annual BIG GAME (tm), something that goes without saying.
That's
because the NFL and a coterie of A-team advertisers have blitzed my right to
free speech. I can't refer to the BIG EVENT (tm) without fearing a rush of
lawyers will invade my home, accusing me of infringing on their turf.
And,
worse yet, if my neighborhood pizza parlor invites me down to enjoy S.... B...
SUNDAY(tm), they too may find their pepperoni fried, unless it's the local
Pizza Hut, which has bragging rights.
I
think Sunday should be called LOSS OF FREE SPEECH DAY.
Sunday
also can be called EUPHEMISM DAY: Walmart is "Game Day Central," a
place where you can get your "super (lowercase) buffet" supplies.
Others want me to stop by for the BIG GAME, TEAM PLEASERS, SUPER SPECIALS etc.
Actually,
on Sunday we also mourn the fact that "Sixty Minutes" is suspended
for a week.
But,
hey, if the BIG EVENT(tm) proves to be an early rout, we can fall back on the
best Madison Avenue has to offer.
I'm
looking forward to possibly seeing the latest from the AFLAC Duck, the Geico
Gecko, and the deep-voiced State Farm Insurance guy. I'm wondering if the
couple in the twin bathtubs shown in the Levitra ads will finally find out they
can save water by sharing one tub. Not to mention Bud Light, Coke and several
automakers (this year it'll be a German affair with a major presence from VW
and Mercedes). And, I'm hoping that, just maybe, my cousins on the Swedish
Bikini Team may make a command reappearance from their home in the Sexist
Museum. Here's hoping that Apple will unveil its latest -- an APP that lets me
download the entire Library of Congress.
Extra-point
question: What product did the Swedish Bikini Team pitch?
Then,
there's always those web-based companies that I have no clue as to what they
are selling. Monster.com, GoDaddy.com, Cisco and Oracle fall into this arena. I
know that after watching their ads, I still will have no idea what these
companies do.
But I
do know I can depend on seeing a cute 7-year-old girl from Zanesville, Ohio,
texting a kindred spirit in Guangzhou, China, who works in the factory where
her precious doll was made, proving that we're all connected, even if I haven't
heard from my next-door neighbor in over a year.
So,
we're stocking up on euphemisms here. Taking a page from "Downton Abbey,"
I'll be cheering one of the two teams, which I've called the Downton Downers
and the Plodding Footmen.
And,
yes, even though my tongue is tied, I'll be putting on my game face.
Answer
to quiz: Old Milwaukee beer.
------------------------------------------------
RON HAM writes:
I
hear that the Las Vegas Review-Journal has openings for four reporters, and
they want to fill the positions quickly.
My
brother, Don Ham, is still deputy city editor at the paper.
-----------------------------------------------
JOHN SWEENEY writes:
On
tipping: I have a story of which, upon reflection, I am not particularly proud.
Back
in the early to mid-nineties, I had some great summer gigs in the Sierras and
environs. I owned a Kenworth at the time, and every summer Caltrans needed trucks
to haul asphalt to various locations for repaving 395 and upper elevations
(they even paid travel time, 600 bucks). They reasoned that they could repave
every road over a 20-year span and then start over. Of course, that plan was
somewhat flawed due to the more severe weather and resulting road damage at
many of the higher elevations. Jack, you've likely seen and/or been stopped by
flag crews along 395 on some of your sojourns to Bridgeport. We normally hauled
out of Bishop and Lee Vining plants.
One
year, about 1994, my then new bride decided she wanted to come along for a
couple of weeks. So we caravaned up with her driving my pickup and our boy
Winston (four-legged variety). We were repaving all around June Lake, working
from the Lee Vining (on Mono Lake) plant, so we grabbed a cabin at the lake.
 |
| Winston |
Let's
see.....oh yeah, tipping. Restaurant choices were slim at that time, so
we hit them all during our visit. One of them appeared to be somewhat quaint,
so we gave it a shot for breakfast on Saturday. Our waitress seemed pleasant
enough, but she was quite chatty, as in we couldn't get a word in. She was
gushing about the (new) Internet and how she was drawing in business from all
over the world. We were the sole customers. It took 20 minutes to get a menu,
and 15 more to get our order in. I was suspecting that the cook was sleeping
one off somewhere, and she was stalling. By this time, Judy and I were
pondering whether to leave, but we were somehow compelled to see this to its
illogical conclusion.
We
finally got to order, had a lousy meal, and I was faced with what to do about a
tip. The elapsed time was one hour and 50 minutes. I briefly considered leaving
nothing, but Judy said "You have to leave something". I always tip about
12% for the rare substandard service and 20% or more for excellent service.
Except this once. I laid down a crisp one dollar bill, and we exited. As we
were getting set to drive away, I said, "Oh, great, I left my sweater in
there". I got out of the car to retrieve it as she was walking outside,
both arms outstretched, holding my sweater with her thumb and index finger in
her left hand, and the dollar bill, held the same way, in her right. She said,
"You left these". "To which I replied, "So I did, thank you
for the service," grabbed the sweater, left her with the dollar, and we
drove off.
The
place was gone when I went up the following summer.
PRESTON TUREGANO writes:
When
it comes to tipping a waiter/waitress, I like what Dr. Dick Solomon did on the
TV sitcom "3rd Rock From The Sun" (1996-2001). Played by John
Lithgow, Dr. S was an alien from another planet, who along with three
companions came to planet Earth and took the form of humans to learn human
behavior. In one episode, he took his girlfriend and fellow college professor,
Dr. Mary Albright (Jane Curtin), to dinner. At the outset of the meal, Solomon
put a stack of 20 one-dollar bills on the table and informed a waitress her tip
would be determined by service. Any time she did something that displeased
Solomon, he would take away $1. As I recall, by the time Dick and Mary were
finished, the waitress was left with very little. Which brings me to something
I once saw outside a New York City
restaurant. As a lunch bunch exited a Greenwich Village eatery, a waiter
infuriated by a 25-cent tip came after a tipper and forcefully threw the
quarter, saying (in thick Bronx or Brooklynese) "Here's your f---ing
quarter!"
JAY JOHNSON writes:
Unlike
Jimmy Thornton I do remember getting tips from my paper route customers when I
went around each week to collect. However, I never had a buxom blonde in the
buff meet me at the door either. I did have that fantasy though.
I
really raked in the tips at Christmas, when I wrapped each paper (The Palm Beach
Post) around a hand-signed Christmas card, and delivered it about two weeks
before Christmas. Then when I went to collect on the last Saturday before
Christmas ... the tips/gifts amounted to a big wad of cash. One hundred and
twenty customers (when my route in Riviera Beach, Fla., swelled in number
thanks tosnowbirds; it was about 80 in the summer) at $1 to $5 per customer =
about $250 each year in 1966 to 1969 dollars. According to an online inflation
calculator $250 in 1967 is the equivalent of about $1,700 now.
I
made $25 to $35 clear a week on my paper route, from age 12 to 15 or so. Had
more disposable income then than at any other time in my life. Bought my first
car in 1970, a yellow 1967 Dodge Dart with a 318 V-8, black vinyl top and interior
(not the best for South Florida!), and bucket seats for $2,000 cash. It looked
exactly like the car that Bill Murray jacks up in the middle of the street in
the movie "Groundhog Day." And, at age 14, as part of a syndicate
that included my uncle and mother, I invested $1,000 in a string of eight South
American racehorses that we ran at Calder Race Course in Miami. But that's a
story for another day.
MICHAEL GRANT writes:
I
guess these would qualify as tips. In college, during the summer, I was a sub
mail carrier. Residents on the routes, seeing me coming, would say, “Where’s
(the regular)?” “Vacation,” I would say, and sort of grudgingly they’d push the
screen door open and hand me the couple of figs or apricots they had selected
for the real carrier.
LESLIE WOLF BRANSCOMB writes:
On on
the "why do restaurants automatically add a 20% tip to the bills of large
parties" debate: I can tell you why, having waited tables through high
school and college. Because if one person is picking up the tab for the entire
group, they inevitably choke when they see the large dollar figure, and often
skimp on the tip in a panicked effort to make sure their credit card clears.
Because if everyone is supposed to toss in money to cover their meal, there are
always the cheapskates who don't tally tax and tip into their share, or who
forgot to go to the ATM on the way, or who take more than their fair share out
of the pot for "change." Sometimes the pile of cash left on the table
isn't even enough to cover the actual meals, let alone a tip.
DENNIS FOLEY writes:
I've
always been a little embarrassed about people serving me, so I tend to tip
toward the top end of the scale. I think it's rotten that restaurant and tavern
owners pay low wages and expect the customers to make up the difference toward
a "living wage," but I guess I shouldn't be surprised; the restaurant
business is a tough one.
My
best tipping story was embarrassing only to me. Thanks to Evelyn Kieran,
somewhere about 1983 I was booked on a cruise to Bermuda out of New York City.
As I'd never been to New York City, she also arranged the night before
debarkation at a nice hotel, one way beyond my means (the one containing Le
Cirque).
I
tipped everyone who moved, the doorman, the bellboy, the elevator operator, the
maids, the server who brought us our room-service cheeseburgers and beers, not
wanting to appear to be the rube from the Midwest I most certainly was.
The
next morning, my wife and I made our way to the docks via cab. As soon as we
pulled to the docks and I tipped the cabbie, a luggage handler loaded our bags
onto a dolly and started toward the pier. I realized, to my horror, that all I
had were $20 bills. He dropped the bags by the berth and extended his hand. I
extended mine and shook his, thanking him profusely, my face burning a bright
red. I turned to beat a retreat, humiliated at the first time I had ever
stiffed someone, when I heard a voice shout, "Hey, ya gotta take care-a
dat guy!"
Spinning
around, I spotted a beefy fellow in a leather jacket who, from my experiences
as a Guild member in Michigan, was the baggage handlers' union shop steward or
business agent. "But all I have are twenties!" I sputtered.
"C'mere," says he, whipping out a wad of bills and quickly breaking
mine. I handed the baggage handler $5, apologized and thanked him again and
hurried on my way.
The
mind-boggling list of people to tip on a cruise ship is a story for another
time. However, my rattled nerves were soothed by the knock on the cabin door of
the deputy chief purser, who acknowledged my presence as a journalist by
handing me a card good for free drinks at every onboard bar and restaurant. I
used that card often – and tipped liberally.
------------------------------------
DICK BARNES writes:
To
answer Welton Jones’s question, neither Tony Perry or Don Bartletti worked in
the old 919 building. Over the 14 years The Times was in town, a number of
folks moved from the Union and the Trib to The Times. But that was long after
the U-T had moved to Mission Valley.
Speaking
of which, one of my favorite Bill Parry quips was “It’ll be better in the new
building.” And this was in the late 1960s, well before any move was in the
works.
Other
restaurants in the 919 neighborhood were Hamiltons, on the corner of Broadway
and Second, and Harvey’s, also on Second across Broadway, where the Westgate
stands. And here’s a quip from Ed Hutshing on that place: “I eschew Harvey’s
coffee since I had to chew Harvey’s coffee.”
RICK
SMITH writes:
How
about T.J. Simers as a two-fer?
--------------------------------------
JOE BROWN writes:
Two
items in today’s newsletter hit home.
(1)
Chuck Boyd mentioned that the name “Pinckney” or “Pinkney” could be traced back
to an ancestor of his. As I recall, the middle name of former U-T staffer Joe
McCain (younger brother of Senator John McCain) was Pinckney or Pinkney. Maybe
Chuck and Joe are distantly related.
(2)
Jimmy Thornton mentioned that when collecting on a newspaper route, a women who
answered the door was let’s say modestly dressed. As a teenager, I once had a
route for the pre-Copley Burbank Review. One day a woman I was trying to
collect from answered the door, bare to the waist to accommodate the baby she
was nursing. I don’t remember whether she ever paid her bill or not, but that
wasn’t the main thing on my mind.
--------------------------------------
LISA
PETRILLO writes:
Another
query for the well-traveled group
Anybody
been to Saudi Arabia lately and can you contact me offline to get travel info?
Do we wear veils, what kind of veils, do women need sponsors, etc.?
Thanks
--------------------------------------
BOB RODRIGUEZ writes:
Ah, it was a
bit like "the good ol' days" this week, as I covered a special
meeting of the Byron Town Council Tuesday night; shot the new mayor being
sworn; and got the story and pic to the Lovell Chronicle by 8 a.m. Wednesday.
Would have written the piece and sent the photo Tuesday night, but it's an 86-mile
round-trip from my cabin to Byron, and now that I'm 69 I just don't have as
much energy as I used to. But it reminded me of covering meetings of the boards
of Poway Unified SD, Palomar Community College, city of San Marcos, etc. and
filing the stories anywhere from 10 or so to midnight from the Escondido bureau
on Valley Parkway. Thank goodness there was a Winchell's just down the street
so I could get huge cups of coffee. Writing part time for a weekly newspaper is
a kick. Oh, and the Chronicle just won the Best Weekly Newspaper award from the
Wyoming Publishers Association. Not that my submissions amounted to much in the
way of garnering the trophy, but it's cool to be associated with such a good
publication. Chronicle also scored a large number of other awards in various
categories.
------------------------------------
LISA
PETRILLO writes:
Can
you put in a plug please for our worthy nonprofit that will benefit all
mankind?
Prove
them wrong! The old line goes that all journalists have a book in them and
that's where it should stay. But we have proof that journalists make great
authors, beyond Hemingway. And San Diego Press Club is offering a panel on
Cracking the Books, authorship in the 21st century and what you need to know
and need to get to get inspired. It's Feb. 5 in Serra Mesa. Here's the link:
We'll
have agents and a variety of writers including 919ers Arthur Salm and Lynn
O'Shaughnessy.
As an
added enticement ALL AUTHORS can display their books for sale at the event at
the Serra Mesa Library, as long as they're Press Club members. Let your
membership lapse? Then join now or even the night of the event, and show your
good work for fun and profit. More info? Call Lisa Petrillo at (858) 382-1252
or contact the Press Club at (619) 231-4340.
----------------------------------------
CARL
LARSEN writes:
Upon
returning home from Chicago after last St. Patrick's Day, I wrote an
impassioned piece for this newsletter about the unchecked series of murders
taking place in my hometown. Some of the hardest hit neighborhoods are just
blocks away from President's Obama's Chicago home in Kenwood.
The
situation today is no better, although the national media has caught up with
the story at long last, particularly CBS News and Scott Pelley and Dean
Reynolds, who had to wear a flak jacket on a police ride-along where gunfire
erupted minutes after he started cruising in a patrol car.
Now,
one of the latest victims -- a young girl -- has a direct connection to the
White House, and pressure is growing for Obama to attend her funeral. Also this
week, CBS News told of a mother who had lost all of her three sons to this
violence. The mayor, of course, is former top Obama aide Rahm Emanuel, whose
most publicized action about this has been an outcry to the murderers of
"Who raised you?" Meanwhile, the issue is being politicized by those
pointing out that Chicago has some of the toughest gun laws in the nation.
Here's
what the Chicago Tribune, in an editorial headlined "Hadiya's Promise and
Chicago's Shame," had to say about the girl. Had she lived, she could have
been one of us.
"A
lifetime of promise was beginning to unfold. At 15, Hadiya Pendleton was a
sophomore at one of Chicago's most selective high schools, a majorette and a
volleyball player, looking ahead to college. She was contemplating a double
major because she couldn't decide between journalism and pharmacy. Only a week
ago, she performed with the school band at President Barack Obama's inaugural
festivities. Her summer agenda included trips to Dublin and Paris.
"In
the words of her godmother: 'She was the kid who you had to say, "Slow
down, you can't do everything."
"But
Hadiya was killed in a spray of gunfire Tuesday while relaxing with friends at
a South Side park, three blocks from King College Prep, where she'd just
finished taking exams. She was the third homicide victim in Chicago that day,
the 42nd in January 2013."
I've
been asked to help downtrodden refugees from Syria, victims of drug wars in
Mexico and the oppressed in Africa. But no one is asking to help Chicago and
those like Hadiya caught in a war where strolling outside is enough to get you
killed.
----------------------------------------------
LESLIE WOLF BRANSCOMB writes:
I
have to weigh in on the broken roof tiles... there is another possibility
(other than Santa): exterminators. When we bought our house 17 years ago, we
were told it would have to be fumigated for termites. Apparently this is a rule
in California instigated by a well-funded exterminators' lobby, because I can't
imagine why else you HAVE to do it, but there was no way out of it. Every
exterminator we called said they'd have to walk on the roof to put up the tent,
and that tiles would be broken as a result. They wanted us to sign a paper
saying we understood that, and it was ok. It was not ok... this was a brand-new
roof put on by the previous owner, and one of the selling points of the house,
as many in the neighborhood still had the old flammable wooden shingle roofs.
Plus, I was six months pregnant, having pre-term labor already, and we had a
toddler under two (and you know how they put everything in their mouths). We
needed to get moved and settled asap, into a house without a layer of poisonous
chemicals coating the counters and floors, so we opted for some crazy-sounding
"heat" method of extermination (which I'm not convinced really
worked... I mean, to heat a structure hot enough to kill termites, wouldn't the
paint be bubbled and wooden cabinets ruined?) Anyway, we managed to avoid both
the poison gas and a roof repair bill. Needless to say, we have not fumigated
the house since. I'm sure we do have termites. We also occasionally get ants,
earwigs and moths inside. That's life.
BOB
HAWKINS writes:
Regarding
cracked tiles on your roof .... have you noticed any large yellow feathers on
the ground around your house? (See attached.)
Glad
to help!
---------------------------------------
REBER: Tonight the 919 Gang sends Happy Birthday
(Jan. 31) wishes to Nancee Lewis and Valerie Scher.
---------------------------------------
JOE GANDELMAN forwards:
Very
sad news. My father used to do printing for Time-Life in the 50s, 60s and 70s
when it was a huge enterprise. Now we see this:
Time Inc. Cuts Some 500 Jobs, Biggest Layoffs in
Years
TIM
WILSON forwards:
Below
is a link to the 2012 top 100 photos of birds from Audubon Magazine.
View
the show in full screen. The photos are stunning (give it a moment to load).
Beauty
Takes Flight:
GENE
CIECHANOWSKI forwards:
Greatest
Illusion Ever: Copperfield will blow you away, and just when you figure how he
has wires to assist, he shoots that idea down.
P.O.
Box 2239
Ramona,
CA 92065
U.S.A.
