Going Hollywood

This is a picture Ann took of Samantha while in Minnesota in mid-January.

While on our last trip to California, we bought some things for the grand kids, and I did find Anna a great pair of shades.

Joni Mitchell sang about Foster Grant and ZZ Top did the same about "Cheap Sun Glasses." I guess everyone loves to get a bit obscure at times.

In my case, I added tint to most of my glasses, and even when I was young, I loved a pair of shades. The 60's and early 70's were the best time to buy them, and although they came in all shapes and styles, I preferred round, but I did have some triangular ones with dark blue lenses. The coach we all idolized brought me back to reality one afternoon in the fall of '69.

"Hey Jonie, where'd ya get those pimp glasses," he said. I almost pulled off both my ears removing those wire contraptions, and at the time, I didn't even know what a pimp was. That was before Starsky and Hutch. After that show with Huggy Bear the pimp and snitch--wearing a pink boa, purple suit, and large hat with an ostrich feather--I never wore anything reminiscent of Janis Joplin again.

I think I may have been wearing those pimp glasses during this trip, the last one I would do with our family. My dad took it for me, since I was just a short three or four weeks from going away for college.

During that four or five days, I was a royal pain in the gluteus maximus. I teased my sisters, tormented my parents, and in spite of everything, my dad still played some of my music: Who's Next by the Who and Fireball by Deep Purple.

"If you don't bother your sisters, I'll play your music." I was excited, but I was the only ecstatic one in the car. After one of my sisters would squawk or even make a peep, my dad would press eject on the cassette stereo, and silence filled the car. "Look at the beautiful trees," dad would say. The thought of one more desperate whine was what my sisters savored. The car would stop, and dad would have me sit in the front. Jill would pinch my ears and cheeks with her damn toes. I'd glance over my shoulder and throw a threatening look their way, but Jill knew there wasn't time for me to pound them, because I was just about on my way to school.

After ten miles, dad would stop, have mom retake her seat, and he'd let me listen to one of my cassettes again. He loved Neil Diamond, but he'd put in anything in the stereo, except for Grand Funk Railroad. The thunder of base guitar, thump of drum and screech of guitar drove everyone in the car crazy, except for me of course.

The trip will be another topic of an eventual blog. The people we met in Southern Alberta would be the seed that grew into my bias about Canadians. I am sort of like Will Rogers. I never met a Canadian I liked.