Learning experience? Is that what I had this year? But that is what life is about, experience. 2010 was the year of life on my own again, and it has been a very long time since I have been alone, 23 years. It was the year of Facebook, something that created an entire new part of life for myself. I found that I was really lousy with money, at first. Also that my body seems to really like to get surgery. Most of all, it was a year I found out that I am more normal than I thought.
When I was asked for a divorce, it should have come as no surprise. But complacency is what comes from too much happiness. No, I am not the type to think that life is suffering, that is bullshit. As little as I understand what changes people in their lives and choices, I know that life is experience. I was about to experience what over 50% of the country goes through and the only comforting thought was that over 50% of this country has gone through this crap.
At least in the beginning. The more I experienced, the more I realized that I was going to be okay. Not necessarily a bed of rose petals, but I am always the first person to think about putting myself in another's shoes....and right now, as much as I may not want to be alone, I know that things could be much much worse for me. And not in a, "Well, I could have been born in Haiti" kind of thing. I see people very close, people who are not the types to deserve to be struggling, scraping along with no security belt under them, and a country that you really have had some very good timing to be doing well right now.
I am right there in the middle, lucky to have my pension, not rich, not broke. Another thing I have learned: How to be frugal and not be totally without. This was tough at first, and now I am finally getting good at it. As I was very used to my DINK status, I started the year living more or less how I wanted. Living in San Francisco, it is easy to spend too much on food or anything. So it was hard to keep going to the Ferry Plaza or out to my favorite restaurants, knowing that I would easily blow 50 bucks on great food. But I could not afford a 20 dollar a pound organic rib-eye at Golden Gate Meats anymore. Fortunately for me, I am living in food paradise. The local farmer's markets are all good deals and are open year round. That was the easy part. The financial part is all up to me now. Getting my broken down (and fixed up!) ass out there again.
Which brings me to another lesson: I live in San Francisco, a city with one of the best transit systems anywhere. Why do I need to spend a lot of my income on paying for a (very nice 2007 Honda CRV) car? Time to give it up, at least for now. Makes for a few problems with acting auditions, but overall it's not a big deterrent. Big problem with that, though. I have had a foot problem, a neuroma, on my foot that prevented me from walking long distances. Giving up the car meant that I had to do what my Orthopedist told me what would have to be done. Foot surgery.
This was a total drag. I already had surgery this year on my left elbow in March. It was tough enough to have arm surgery while alone, but foot surgery without a car is damn hard alone, not to mention that I live on top of a very steep hill. I reluctantly had the foot surgery and it was very difficult. But I also found out, most important of all of my 2010 experiences, that I had some amazing friends, some who came almost out of nowhere, to help me through my toughest times. I am now a happy carless San Franciscan who can go anywhere with my Clipper pass and a taxi. So far, so good!
Now, all this time, I started to become a big Facebook user. Oh, holy moly, what can I say? For one, I renewed old friendships, started ones with people I knew but didn't know before, and people you thought you knew but saw them all growed up and what an eye-opener that is! Then I meet friends of friends, all fascinating, some are fellow actors, politics freaks, some get closer than I ever could imagine, some are gone.... What a variety of lives and experiences to share! The best thing is seeing how we are all different yet really, really, absolutely so much alike. Our loves and tragedies, our fears and anxieties, our sacrifice and happiness. That is very comforting to me. Facebook gives me a place to go, the social experiment that really works for me.
Which brings me back to the best things I learned in 2010, The Year of the Dragon, the year of Facebook, the great learning experience for me as a newly single man in my new life: 1- I am not alone! And, 2- there are an awful lot of very smart people out there! Oh...and, 3- I can't believe how much free porn there is on the internet (hey, newly single GUY here!).....!
Peace,
Happy New Year,
Ken
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Saving Elaine.......
Elaine was the building bulldog. She was there when the new owner took over the building in 1979, and she was there when I moved in in 1986. Short, maybe 4'11" max, feisty Italian San Franciscan tough talking woman. The kind that didn't take shit from anyone. I rarely saw her children, they never visited her and they just lived across the bridge in Berkeley. She had mainly one friend, the man she worked for, who would come over to her place and rendezvous for a tryst for years. He was also married, but I mainly thought why her?
You have to know about her. This woman was the manager of the building once upon a time, and even when I was the manager, she would still be driving me nuts trying to be the building bulldog. It was a love-hate relationship, more hate. Not really, but it seemed that every time I tried to be nice to Elaine, she would end up getting upset over something or try to bring me in to a drama and then she would yell, leave and we would not talk for a few months.
Here is a good way to explain what it was like to live with Elaine as a fellow tenant. If I would go dump the garbage, I would leave the door ajar with a rope and hook that is on the door. When I took the garbage to the dumpster, I had to go around a corner. Many times I would come back only to see that the door was closed, and I knew who closed it. I would usually try to ring and see if my wife was home, but if not, I had to ring Elaine's doorbell. Uh oh.
This is usually how it went when I rang her bell: She would poke her head out of the door, since she was on the entry level, she could see who was there. Then she would buzz me in. She would say something like, "did you just leave the door open?" and I would tell her that yes, I was taking out the garbage and left it open. She then would tell me that she didn't see me or anyone and she is alone and it can be dangerous and let me tell you!!!....Whoa, see what I mean? And let me tell you all that where I live is the top of a hill with essentially no crime other than the occasional car break in, because no criminal wants to try that hard climbing up this steep area of San Francisco! Really, totally SF hill.
This kind of relationship went on for many years, with some times better, where we actually had her over for a party, and most, where we barely spoke to her. As the years moved on, though, she had more and more physical problems. Surgery after surgery, to where she was walking with a colostomy bag and starting to act even stranger. Elaine really was alone most of the time. She collected stuffed toys and those supremely irritating singing fish and crap like that. Loved 'em! Probably owned the first fish that sang "take me to the river" and still showed it to me ten years later. Anytime that I tried to be nice to her, however, always turned into a debacle of some sort.
So it was hard to be sympathetic to her, she just was such a pain in the ass. And then I received a phone call from the owner of our building, Bill. He said, "Ken, I have to ask you this, just because she told us and we have to hear you say no." I wondered what the heck and Bill said, "Elaine called and said that she thinks you might have keys to her apartment." I told him that I do not and do not want her keys and why would I." Bill said, "She called us and said that you came in and put bananas in her refrigerator, Ken." Uh oh.
Ever since Elaine had gotten her surgeries, she had rapidly aged. And I had thought that she may need to be assisted more, after interacting with her over the years, I could see that she was even more strange, belligerent and moody than usual. I said to Bill, "Wow, she thinks I came in and put bananas in her fridge? Really, that is just totally out there, Bill." "I know, Ken, but she says she is fine." Well, I knew that she was not, but there isn't too much l could or really wanted to do about it, except that she brought me into it with a wild claim.
This went on for months. The owners would get a call from Elaine that she thought I was coming in and moving things around, leaving food in her fridge, and generally thinking I was coming in and mentally messing with her. I knew that dementia must be setting in. I asked Bill to contact her children and please let them know about what is going on with her. They told me that the children knew and didn't seem too concerned. Good for them, I was the one dealing with this situation that seemed to be getting worse. And I made sure to bring a key when ever I went out of the apartment, even for a minute!
One Sunday, around 10am, I was leaving with Jen and we saw that Elaine did not take her Sunday paper. I usually picked up the papers and put hers in front of her door, she was the only other one in the building to get the paper besides us. Elaine was always home, rarely went out, always got her paper. I looked at Jen and we just figured that she was sleeping in or out somewhere, I certainly did not want to knock, with all the grief she had given me. We left. When we got back at around 3pm, the paper was still there. Shit. I had no choice, since my inner "something is wrong" alarm was going off like crazy, actually all day, but I ignored it until.....
I knocked on the door. "Elaine?", I yelled. "Mumblefllnancntgtpoapp!!", I heard from the other side of the door. I yelled again, "Are you okay?" I hear, quite distinctly at that point, Elaine shout, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" I was in a commercial! No, this was too real. I told her that I would call the manager and the owners. I contacted Frank, and he came over. I left, mission done. I found out later that Elaine, in her paranoia, had so many locks on the door that the owners had to come over and cut through all the locks.
They found Elaine on the floor in her bedroom and she had been there for over 13 hours, evidently falling when going to the bathroom. Bill called me later and told me that I had saved Elaine's life. Really? Her? Well, that was interesting, considering everything. He said again, "Ken, you saved Elaine's life!" Ha! I did. Well, that was very good of me. I really just felt, as corny as it sounds, that it is my civic duty to be aware of my surroundings and take care of my fellow human, no matter how much I couldn't stand them. It's what true spirituality is to me.
Elaine was brought to a hospital. I was told that she was going to be observed and they would decide what to do with her in a week. I told Bill that she should not come back on her own, she can not take care of herself with out assistance, at least someone checking up on her. They said that all they can do is what the doctors say. I know that. And her kids? Where the hell were they? They seemed to like her less than I did. And then, 4 days later, I open the front door to the apartment building, and out pops...Elaine! She was BAAAACK! I stood there, stunned. I actually said, "What are you doing here?" She said that the doctors released her and she is fine. I said to her, "No, you are not!" and went down stairs and called the owners.
"Please, isn't there something we can do?", I pleaded. Nope. I asked about contacting senior services. I decided that I would call them. The response was okay. They came out and checked Elaine and said that they could come out every other day to check on her. She of course said that she was fine. And how could they argue? It was only one time, people fall, she seemed lucid. I knew better. The phone rang. It was Bill, "Ken, guess what? Elaine says that you put bananas in her refrigerator again. Oy.
I was furious. "Bill, it's going to happen again, you know!" And he said there really is nothing they can do. They called the kids. They started to check on her a little, but really obviously did not seem to like her at all. I kind of get it. I always though that Elaine was always more or less a jerk. Her children felt the same, evidently. Nothing was done. So, one Sunday, I was leaving with Jen and we saw the paper out. Deja Vu. This time, I knocked right away. I yelled, "Elaine, are you okay?" and she seemed to yell back, "Yes, don't worry", so I did not. We left.
Ah, but my hearing isn't what it used to be, I guess. We got back again, around 3 and saw the paper still out. Uh oh. I, this time, banged the hell out of the door and heard very weakly, "help, I fell down!"...shitdamn!!!!!!!! Here we go again. I call the owners. Bill answered and said that they were still in Novato, and the manager was on vacation, so could I call 911? The SFFD was here in about 3 minutes. I had just had finished my Neighborhood Emergency Response Training for earthquake preparedness that was taught...by half the people who were walking up to my building! I recognized them all. Very cool. I led them to her door.
They knocked. No answer. They firemen were about to knock the door down, but I told them to come in through my place and they could just break a window instead of a whole door. So, downstairs and through my apartment, bunnies watching in amazement, were four firemen and woman, all people I knew. Now this was very interesting, seeing how they actually do it with the heavy little tool. The window breaks, and the fireman looks at the rest of us and says, "oh, don't like that smell at all..."
He though she may be dead already. I said I don't think so, I had just talked to her a few minutes ago. And as he opened up the door and walked in to her room, he saw Elaine on the floor, she had fallen on her colostomy bag. Ew. But, she was alive. As they attended to her, I told them about how she should not be allowed to live alone, that this happened before. They agreed. They said that she would not be coming back. The last time I saw Elaine, she was being rolled out on a gurney, with a dazed look on her face. When she saw me as she was being wheeled out, she smiled a faint smile and said, "oh, hello!" and I said, "Bye!"
I learned later on that Elaine was going to a home. Her children finally showed up - to empty out her apartment. At least 28 years, she was there, alone. Bill told me that both times he told Elaine that it was me who called, me who saved her life. I don't feel like a hero. All I did was what I was supposed to do, right? I actually had to let it sink in a little, because the person who's life I saved twice was a person I truly could not stand. And I think I passed that test! Many tenants have since been in the apartment. But it will always be "Elaine's Apartment"
Peace,
Ken
You have to know about her. This woman was the manager of the building once upon a time, and even when I was the manager, she would still be driving me nuts trying to be the building bulldog. It was a love-hate relationship, more hate. Not really, but it seemed that every time I tried to be nice to Elaine, she would end up getting upset over something or try to bring me in to a drama and then she would yell, leave and we would not talk for a few months.
Here is a good way to explain what it was like to live with Elaine as a fellow tenant. If I would go dump the garbage, I would leave the door ajar with a rope and hook that is on the door. When I took the garbage to the dumpster, I had to go around a corner. Many times I would come back only to see that the door was closed, and I knew who closed it. I would usually try to ring and see if my wife was home, but if not, I had to ring Elaine's doorbell. Uh oh.
This is usually how it went when I rang her bell: She would poke her head out of the door, since she was on the entry level, she could see who was there. Then she would buzz me in. She would say something like, "did you just leave the door open?" and I would tell her that yes, I was taking out the garbage and left it open. She then would tell me that she didn't see me or anyone and she is alone and it can be dangerous and let me tell you!!!....Whoa, see what I mean? And let me tell you all that where I live is the top of a hill with essentially no crime other than the occasional car break in, because no criminal wants to try that hard climbing up this steep area of San Francisco! Really, totally SF hill.
This kind of relationship went on for many years, with some times better, where we actually had her over for a party, and most, where we barely spoke to her. As the years moved on, though, she had more and more physical problems. Surgery after surgery, to where she was walking with a colostomy bag and starting to act even stranger. Elaine really was alone most of the time. She collected stuffed toys and those supremely irritating singing fish and crap like that. Loved 'em! Probably owned the first fish that sang "take me to the river" and still showed it to me ten years later. Anytime that I tried to be nice to her, however, always turned into a debacle of some sort.
So it was hard to be sympathetic to her, she just was such a pain in the ass. And then I received a phone call from the owner of our building, Bill. He said, "Ken, I have to ask you this, just because she told us and we have to hear you say no." I wondered what the heck and Bill said, "Elaine called and said that she thinks you might have keys to her apartment." I told him that I do not and do not want her keys and why would I." Bill said, "She called us and said that you came in and put bananas in her refrigerator, Ken." Uh oh.
Ever since Elaine had gotten her surgeries, she had rapidly aged. And I had thought that she may need to be assisted more, after interacting with her over the years, I could see that she was even more strange, belligerent and moody than usual. I said to Bill, "Wow, she thinks I came in and put bananas in her fridge? Really, that is just totally out there, Bill." "I know, Ken, but she says she is fine." Well, I knew that she was not, but there isn't too much l could or really wanted to do about it, except that she brought me into it with a wild claim.
This went on for months. The owners would get a call from Elaine that she thought I was coming in and moving things around, leaving food in her fridge, and generally thinking I was coming in and mentally messing with her. I knew that dementia must be setting in. I asked Bill to contact her children and please let them know about what is going on with her. They told me that the children knew and didn't seem too concerned. Good for them, I was the one dealing with this situation that seemed to be getting worse. And I made sure to bring a key when ever I went out of the apartment, even for a minute!
One Sunday, around 10am, I was leaving with Jen and we saw that Elaine did not take her Sunday paper. I usually picked up the papers and put hers in front of her door, she was the only other one in the building to get the paper besides us. Elaine was always home, rarely went out, always got her paper. I looked at Jen and we just figured that she was sleeping in or out somewhere, I certainly did not want to knock, with all the grief she had given me. We left. When we got back at around 3pm, the paper was still there. Shit. I had no choice, since my inner "something is wrong" alarm was going off like crazy, actually all day, but I ignored it until.....
I knocked on the door. "Elaine?", I yelled. "Mumblefllnancntgtpoapp!!", I heard from the other side of the door. I yelled again, "Are you okay?" I hear, quite distinctly at that point, Elaine shout, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" I was in a commercial! No, this was too real. I told her that I would call the manager and the owners. I contacted Frank, and he came over. I left, mission done. I found out later that Elaine, in her paranoia, had so many locks on the door that the owners had to come over and cut through all the locks.
They found Elaine on the floor in her bedroom and she had been there for over 13 hours, evidently falling when going to the bathroom. Bill called me later and told me that I had saved Elaine's life. Really? Her? Well, that was interesting, considering everything. He said again, "Ken, you saved Elaine's life!" Ha! I did. Well, that was very good of me. I really just felt, as corny as it sounds, that it is my civic duty to be aware of my surroundings and take care of my fellow human, no matter how much I couldn't stand them. It's what true spirituality is to me.
Elaine was brought to a hospital. I was told that she was going to be observed and they would decide what to do with her in a week. I told Bill that she should not come back on her own, she can not take care of herself with out assistance, at least someone checking up on her. They said that all they can do is what the doctors say. I know that. And her kids? Where the hell were they? They seemed to like her less than I did. And then, 4 days later, I open the front door to the apartment building, and out pops...Elaine! She was BAAAACK! I stood there, stunned. I actually said, "What are you doing here?" She said that the doctors released her and she is fine. I said to her, "No, you are not!" and went down stairs and called the owners.
"Please, isn't there something we can do?", I pleaded. Nope. I asked about contacting senior services. I decided that I would call them. The response was okay. They came out and checked Elaine and said that they could come out every other day to check on her. She of course said that she was fine. And how could they argue? It was only one time, people fall, she seemed lucid. I knew better. The phone rang. It was Bill, "Ken, guess what? Elaine says that you put bananas in her refrigerator again. Oy.
I was furious. "Bill, it's going to happen again, you know!" And he said there really is nothing they can do. They called the kids. They started to check on her a little, but really obviously did not seem to like her at all. I kind of get it. I always though that Elaine was always more or less a jerk. Her children felt the same, evidently. Nothing was done. So, one Sunday, I was leaving with Jen and we saw the paper out. Deja Vu. This time, I knocked right away. I yelled, "Elaine, are you okay?" and she seemed to yell back, "Yes, don't worry", so I did not. We left.
Ah, but my hearing isn't what it used to be, I guess. We got back again, around 3 and saw the paper still out. Uh oh. I, this time, banged the hell out of the door and heard very weakly, "help, I fell down!"...shitdamn!!!!!!!! Here we go again. I call the owners. Bill answered and said that they were still in Novato, and the manager was on vacation, so could I call 911? The SFFD was here in about 3 minutes. I had just had finished my Neighborhood Emergency Response Training for earthquake preparedness that was taught...by half the people who were walking up to my building! I recognized them all. Very cool. I led them to her door.
They knocked. No answer. They firemen were about to knock the door down, but I told them to come in through my place and they could just break a window instead of a whole door. So, downstairs and through my apartment, bunnies watching in amazement, were four firemen and woman, all people I knew. Now this was very interesting, seeing how they actually do it with the heavy little tool. The window breaks, and the fireman looks at the rest of us and says, "oh, don't like that smell at all..."
He though she may be dead already. I said I don't think so, I had just talked to her a few minutes ago. And as he opened up the door and walked in to her room, he saw Elaine on the floor, she had fallen on her colostomy bag. Ew. But, she was alive. As they attended to her, I told them about how she should not be allowed to live alone, that this happened before. They agreed. They said that she would not be coming back. The last time I saw Elaine, she was being rolled out on a gurney, with a dazed look on her face. When she saw me as she was being wheeled out, she smiled a faint smile and said, "oh, hello!" and I said, "Bye!"
I learned later on that Elaine was going to a home. Her children finally showed up - to empty out her apartment. At least 28 years, she was there, alone. Bill told me that both times he told Elaine that it was me who called, me who saved her life. I don't feel like a hero. All I did was what I was supposed to do, right? I actually had to let it sink in a little, because the person who's life I saved twice was a person I truly could not stand. And I think I passed that test! Many tenants have since been in the apartment. But it will always be "Elaine's Apartment"
Peace,
Ken
Monday, May 31, 2010
Ken the Bugman, Part 7 - The Rat in the Dress Shop, or, Oh, my God, I am in a cartoon!!!
I was working the night shift. It was early, about 5pm when my pager went off, shit, not now! I didn't have a lot to do at the time, just some small restaurants and stores. I was looking forward to one of those great bugman nights: Easy stuff early, a few restaurants and then to the Big Luxury Hotel to kick back with my engineer and security buddies, smoking a nice joint of some local homegrown purple on the 44th floor rooftop garden, and then drive home and be showered and more stoned by 3:30. It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.
This was the times of pagers where all you did was call the number on the top, and usually at night it was the answering service that was calling me. This was one of those usual times. I called and got a message, a rat was in a store downtown. But...I don't have any accounts in that address. It was on Grant Street, "The Dress Store" or something generic like that. Well, we just don't go anywhere without the supervisor's permission. This was a strange one. I called my boss, Bill. He never heard of the account either. But, hey, they need help and we should check it out, what the hell. So off I go to the dress shop.
I pulled up, the store on the corner of Grant and Sutter, I had Doris Day parking, pulling right up in front of the store. The door was wide open. Oh, brilliant. Rats tend to come out at dusk and dawn to be safe, the term is 'crepuscular'. Now you learned something new! I knew right away how the rat got in. I walk in and the six women who were working there ran over to me as if I was Superman and they needed protection from Bizarro. "Save Me, Bugman!!!!!"
Glad to help, little ladies! Okay, I didn't say that, but I bet I could have gotten away with it. These women were really freaking out. There was one guy working there, the stock guy. He looked at me and just kind of shook his head. Hey, big man, why didn't you get this rat? The manager pointed to the front of the store, the last place she saw the rat. I walk over to the left side, by the front racks of clothes. Sure enough, a tail was sticking out from underneath. A long tail. This was a good king sized Norway or sewer rat. One that gets bigger each time someone looks at it..it was a foot long, no 18 inches...and them there is always the guy who saw one that was three feet long. Right.
I move closer to the rat and it takes off! I say, "okay, just don't move" and the women workers all scream and run. I chased the rodent under a circular rack of woman's slacks, trying to move slowly, and out the rat dashes, right through behind the main counter. As the rat runs by, the women who were right there jumped up on the counter, like pogo sticks, Boing boing boing!!. It was one of the funniest sites I ever saw, these women literally bouncing up on the counter. I felt like I was in a cartoon! I chased the rat in to the dressing room, it was cornered with no where to go!
There was a small office-size metal garbage can with a clear liner. I told the stock boy to hand it to me. After he did, I told him to go to the other side of the room and scare the rat. The rat did what rats do, he ran along the wall where I was waiting for him - Thud!- the rat ran in and bonked it's head on the bottom of the can. I quickly picked up the liner, and looked in to see the rats, it's eyes even bigger with that look of "I am going to die, now, aren't I?" and I looked back. The clerks were relieved, and one yelled, "smash it! Kill it now!"
This was 1994, I was going to be leaving at the end of the year, to finish my degree. I was very tired of killing things. I had my share of issues with this, but now, looking in the eyes of this sewer rat, this disgusting disease carrying creature..kinda cute.....well, this was one lucky rat. I told the woman that I can't just smash it, it would not be professional. I would take care of it. I went out to my truck and put the rat, in the bag, with a little opening for air, in the back. Since I have to go back in for the signature, I had to tell the people something. Going inside, with my receipt in hand, I told them that I "took care of it". Let them figure it out.
Getting in my truck, the thought of what to do next just occurred to me. Um, well, now what? I thought about areas where I could just release it with out it coming back to bite me in the ass. Not the rat, but releasing it! I also could not be seen doing this. I mean, really. Fortunately, it was already night. I called Bill from a phone booth, 1994, remember. "Mission accomplished, got the rat, all taken care of." I hung up and drove down across Market out towards the the what is now known as South Beach. Back then it was just the China Basin area, near the outlet for an underground creek. Nothing else much was out there.
After I parked the truck by a field on 4th street, near the China Basin Building, I thought about what I was going to do. This was a first for me. Usually, I would have done something quick and painless (ha!) to end the critter's life. I could not do it. That I had guinea pigs as pets at the time, also did not help. I went to the back of the truck and opened it up. The rat was looking right at me, waiting for the death blow. I took him out and placed the bag on the ground. I looked at her (yes, started anthropomorphizing the cute eyes) and opened the bag up. I stepped away.
She looked right up at me, as if to say, "really?" I said, "yes, really" and she slowly started to move out of the bag and looked back at me once more. Yes!! Really, go!! I thought..and she started to mosey ever so slowly away, not a care in the world. Across the street. As I look at the rat, I look to my right and see a bus coming right towards the now free and very much alive rat! I thought to myself, "I let you go, and, you dumb-ass rat, you are going to get squished by a MUNI bus!" As I watched the bus get closer, the rat just kept moseying.....and right over the rat, the bus went...completely missing the amazingly lucky rodent!! Run, you stupid rat, RUN!!! And she disappeared into the lot........
The next day was typical, busy, with school, and I didn't talk to Bill until late afternoon. When I told him about catching the rat (NOT about letting her go!) he then told me that they were not even a client. They called the wrong pest control company, I was not even supposed to be there. That is one very very lucky rat, would you say?! The next week, I had some time to do overtime, and was told by Bill that there was a problem over at the China Basin Building, someone saw a rat. Well, now you do this to me, little rat girl? This time, let's see if you are so lucky!!!!!
Peace,
Ken
Next Blog - True Confessions of a Bugman!!
This was the times of pagers where all you did was call the number on the top, and usually at night it was the answering service that was calling me. This was one of those usual times. I called and got a message, a rat was in a store downtown. But...I don't have any accounts in that address. It was on Grant Street, "The Dress Store" or something generic like that. Well, we just don't go anywhere without the supervisor's permission. This was a strange one. I called my boss, Bill. He never heard of the account either. But, hey, they need help and we should check it out, what the hell. So off I go to the dress shop.
I pulled up, the store on the corner of Grant and Sutter, I had Doris Day parking, pulling right up in front of the store. The door was wide open. Oh, brilliant. Rats tend to come out at dusk and dawn to be safe, the term is 'crepuscular'. Now you learned something new! I knew right away how the rat got in. I walk in and the six women who were working there ran over to me as if I was Superman and they needed protection from Bizarro. "Save Me, Bugman!!!!!"
Glad to help, little ladies! Okay, I didn't say that, but I bet I could have gotten away with it. These women were really freaking out. There was one guy working there, the stock guy. He looked at me and just kind of shook his head. Hey, big man, why didn't you get this rat? The manager pointed to the front of the store, the last place she saw the rat. I walk over to the left side, by the front racks of clothes. Sure enough, a tail was sticking out from underneath. A long tail. This was a good king sized Norway or sewer rat. One that gets bigger each time someone looks at it..it was a foot long, no 18 inches...and them there is always the guy who saw one that was three feet long. Right.
I move closer to the rat and it takes off! I say, "okay, just don't move" and the women workers all scream and run. I chased the rodent under a circular rack of woman's slacks, trying to move slowly, and out the rat dashes, right through behind the main counter. As the rat runs by, the women who were right there jumped up on the counter, like pogo sticks, Boing boing boing!!. It was one of the funniest sites I ever saw, these women literally bouncing up on the counter. I felt like I was in a cartoon! I chased the rat in to the dressing room, it was cornered with no where to go!
There was a small office-size metal garbage can with a clear liner. I told the stock boy to hand it to me. After he did, I told him to go to the other side of the room and scare the rat. The rat did what rats do, he ran along the wall where I was waiting for him - Thud!- the rat ran in and bonked it's head on the bottom of the can. I quickly picked up the liner, and looked in to see the rats, it's eyes even bigger with that look of "I am going to die, now, aren't I?" and I looked back. The clerks were relieved, and one yelled, "smash it! Kill it now!"
This was 1994, I was going to be leaving at the end of the year, to finish my degree. I was very tired of killing things. I had my share of issues with this, but now, looking in the eyes of this sewer rat, this disgusting disease carrying creature..kinda cute.....well, this was one lucky rat. I told the woman that I can't just smash it, it would not be professional. I would take care of it. I went out to my truck and put the rat, in the bag, with a little opening for air, in the back. Since I have to go back in for the signature, I had to tell the people something. Going inside, with my receipt in hand, I told them that I "took care of it". Let them figure it out.
Getting in my truck, the thought of what to do next just occurred to me. Um, well, now what? I thought about areas where I could just release it with out it coming back to bite me in the ass. Not the rat, but releasing it! I also could not be seen doing this. I mean, really. Fortunately, it was already night. I called Bill from a phone booth, 1994, remember. "Mission accomplished, got the rat, all taken care of." I hung up and drove down across Market out towards the the what is now known as South Beach. Back then it was just the China Basin area, near the outlet for an underground creek. Nothing else much was out there.
After I parked the truck by a field on 4th street, near the China Basin Building, I thought about what I was going to do. This was a first for me. Usually, I would have done something quick and painless (ha!) to end the critter's life. I could not do it. That I had guinea pigs as pets at the time, also did not help. I went to the back of the truck and opened it up. The rat was looking right at me, waiting for the death blow. I took him out and placed the bag on the ground. I looked at her (yes, started anthropomorphizing the cute eyes) and opened the bag up. I stepped away.
She looked right up at me, as if to say, "really?" I said, "yes, really" and she slowly started to move out of the bag and looked back at me once more. Yes!! Really, go!! I thought..and she started to mosey ever so slowly away, not a care in the world. Across the street. As I look at the rat, I look to my right and see a bus coming right towards the now free and very much alive rat! I thought to myself, "I let you go, and, you dumb-ass rat, you are going to get squished by a MUNI bus!" As I watched the bus get closer, the rat just kept moseying.....and right over the rat, the bus went...completely missing the amazingly lucky rodent!! Run, you stupid rat, RUN!!! And she disappeared into the lot........
The next day was typical, busy, with school, and I didn't talk to Bill until late afternoon. When I told him about catching the rat (NOT about letting her go!) he then told me that they were not even a client. They called the wrong pest control company, I was not even supposed to be there. That is one very very lucky rat, would you say?! The next week, I had some time to do overtime, and was told by Bill that there was a problem over at the China Basin Building, someone saw a rat. Well, now you do this to me, little rat girl? This time, let's see if you are so lucky!!!!!
Peace,
Ken
Next Blog - True Confessions of a Bugman!!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Ken The Bugman Part 6 - Life and Death in San Francisco in the 80s
When I started working for Crane, I worked day hours. Most of my accounts were apartment buildings, bars that were not opened yet, schools, mom and pop stores. I had a few restaurants, but not too many until I started to work the night shift. I would set up my route, early to Lucca Ravioli, to smell and look at the wonderful deli food and bullshit with the guys. Safeway was an account. The grocery stores usually got done early also. None of these place that I mention, for the record, ever had any problems. You can feel good about no bugs at your local Safeway!
This was a company that expected you to take your time and do the proper job. So much different than the first job in pest control. At Crane, they want you to be honest. I like that! I enjoyed most of my accounts. Pest control is really a lot of PR. You will rarely find an inarticulate field rep. Companies knew who to hire. Still the same today, if you have you own "bugman" I am betting that he is a very nice and funny guy. Hopefully, he is actually doing the job. I say 'he', because I also know that none of you have had a woman pest control rep. Maybe, but I doubt it. It is dominated totally by men. People like seeing a man come to kill their insects and rodents. It's so manly to kill! Crane did occasionally hire a woman tech, and there were always complaints because people felt uncomfortable with a woman killer. A very testosterone laden job!
Apartment buildings were some of my coolest accounts. I met a lot of people, and most of the buildings were in good shape. The problem with apartments is the way that a problem can spread. One person brings a TV or microwave or old box with roaches and, voila, instant problems. Or there are the tenants who just don't want us in their apartment for health reasons. The worst problem apartments were the obvious ones, the filthy tenants! They kept us on our toes! I had a lot of apartment buildings on my route. In the Mission, Castro, and Haight areas, the building I have been living in in Noe Valley since I first came here to service, in 1986. Fringe benefits, you bet! I met many good people, found out where the best deli (Lucca Ravioli) and bagels (Holy Bagel), best Chinese, and most of all, found the best place to live.
I really enjoyed servicing one building in particular. It was on Page street, in the Haight/Ashbury district. The manager there was a good guy, as most were, and the apartments were clean and problem-free. He would give me keys to whoever wanted service, and I would knock on doors for the rest. Yes, I was given keys (with tenant's wishes) to apartments. Which was sometimes quite interesting. I never felt bad about how I kept my home after doing this job. Evidently, I am a clean freak, compared to most apartments I have seen. And I have seen thousands!
In this building was a very nice man who worked nights and was home when ever I knocked for service. He always let me come in, I think he had a little crush on me, and he would fill a bong and ask me to join him for a minute. Although I would NEVER smoke on the job....I did. I would hang out there for ten minutes or so. That was it. Great guy, on to the next apartment, and the next building. I would see him next month. I knew him this way for over a year.
And here it was, another service day. I knocked on his door, and he came and said that he has a lousy cold, or something, but to come in relax, have a hit. I didn't want to get a cold, though. He understood and we chatted for a few minutes. I left, thinking that I will just see him next month and we will party a little then. Next month, I knock on his door, but I don't hear him. Then I hear a yell, "come in", and the "door is open!" I came in and he was in bed, in front of his television. He told me that his cold seemed to turn worse, he can't shake it and it may be pneumonia. He was more tired and had lost some weight, since he had not been eating. We talked and he said that he can't really smoke anything, so I can take his pot. "Nah", I said, "you will be fine soon, keep it, you will want it soon", and I left.
It was early 1983. No one really understood what was going on, yet. There was talk about a weird disease that is killing young gay men. It was a very new, very deadly disease. It was panic time in the US. Kaposi's Sarcoma? What the hell was that? A rare cancer that is now not so rare and seems to be spreading through the gay community very fast. It was such a fast disease, that men were dying off and no one had any idea of what to do.
As I pull up to the Page street apartment, I look at the windows of the apartment of my nameless friend. I went to the manager. He had a very serious look on his face. The manager knew the man very well, as he was a partner of his once and they are still good friends. They were good friends. He died last week. This new AIDS or gay cancer or whatever, killed him. He was very healthy just two months ago. Going to Gold's Gym, partying in the Castro clubs, very funny and nice guy. Gone in what seemed like an instant. The first of many in this most horrible of times. Over 50% of the tenants in several buildings died over a very short amount of time.
About two years later, when the AIDS crisis was in full swing, Crane signed up a new account, The Shanty Project. This was the first HIV/AIDS clinic that became the standard for treatment of the disease. Randy Shilts worked there, I believe he ran it for a while. He wrote, among other books, " The Life and Times of Harvey Milk" ( the movie Milk was based on) and "And the Band Played On". I had the pleasure of meeting Randy, and telling him that he is one of my heroes. Randy Shilts died of complications from AIDS in 1994. Soon after that, many better, more effective treatments were found that have done excellent work at keeping HIV at bay.
I was a straight man in the middle of the HIV/AIDS crisis, and since I was the only tech who worked in the areas hit most hard, it was very difficult to see this. Mentioning it at work, well, it was a macho company, so the comments were sometimes upsetting. I didn't mention it much. It was very hard, watching as friends and lovers died, apartments suddenly empty from the previous month, everyone of them way too young. It changed many lives. It changed mine. Seeing so many young people dying. Very scary. Most people in San Francisco knew someone who had died of AIDS. Praise be to the scientists and chemists! They are wonderful people. Thank you all!
Peace,
Ken
Next blog, The Rat in the Dress Shop!
This was a company that expected you to take your time and do the proper job. So much different than the first job in pest control. At Crane, they want you to be honest. I like that! I enjoyed most of my accounts. Pest control is really a lot of PR. You will rarely find an inarticulate field rep. Companies knew who to hire. Still the same today, if you have you own "bugman" I am betting that he is a very nice and funny guy. Hopefully, he is actually doing the job. I say 'he', because I also know that none of you have had a woman pest control rep. Maybe, but I doubt it. It is dominated totally by men. People like seeing a man come to kill their insects and rodents. It's so manly to kill! Crane did occasionally hire a woman tech, and there were always complaints because people felt uncomfortable with a woman killer. A very testosterone laden job!
Apartment buildings were some of my coolest accounts. I met a lot of people, and most of the buildings were in good shape. The problem with apartments is the way that a problem can spread. One person brings a TV or microwave or old box with roaches and, voila, instant problems. Or there are the tenants who just don't want us in their apartment for health reasons. The worst problem apartments were the obvious ones, the filthy tenants! They kept us on our toes! I had a lot of apartment buildings on my route. In the Mission, Castro, and Haight areas, the building I have been living in in Noe Valley since I first came here to service, in 1986. Fringe benefits, you bet! I met many good people, found out where the best deli (Lucca Ravioli) and bagels (Holy Bagel), best Chinese, and most of all, found the best place to live.
I really enjoyed servicing one building in particular. It was on Page street, in the Haight/Ashbury district. The manager there was a good guy, as most were, and the apartments were clean and problem-free. He would give me keys to whoever wanted service, and I would knock on doors for the rest. Yes, I was given keys (with tenant's wishes) to apartments. Which was sometimes quite interesting. I never felt bad about how I kept my home after doing this job. Evidently, I am a clean freak, compared to most apartments I have seen. And I have seen thousands!
In this building was a very nice man who worked nights and was home when ever I knocked for service. He always let me come in, I think he had a little crush on me, and he would fill a bong and ask me to join him for a minute. Although I would NEVER smoke on the job....I did. I would hang out there for ten minutes or so. That was it. Great guy, on to the next apartment, and the next building. I would see him next month. I knew him this way for over a year.
And here it was, another service day. I knocked on his door, and he came and said that he has a lousy cold, or something, but to come in relax, have a hit. I didn't want to get a cold, though. He understood and we chatted for a few minutes. I left, thinking that I will just see him next month and we will party a little then. Next month, I knock on his door, but I don't hear him. Then I hear a yell, "come in", and the "door is open!" I came in and he was in bed, in front of his television. He told me that his cold seemed to turn worse, he can't shake it and it may be pneumonia. He was more tired and had lost some weight, since he had not been eating. We talked and he said that he can't really smoke anything, so I can take his pot. "Nah", I said, "you will be fine soon, keep it, you will want it soon", and I left.
It was early 1983. No one really understood what was going on, yet. There was talk about a weird disease that is killing young gay men. It was a very new, very deadly disease. It was panic time in the US. Kaposi's Sarcoma? What the hell was that? A rare cancer that is now not so rare and seems to be spreading through the gay community very fast. It was such a fast disease, that men were dying off and no one had any idea of what to do.
As I pull up to the Page street apartment, I look at the windows of the apartment of my nameless friend. I went to the manager. He had a very serious look on his face. The manager knew the man very well, as he was a partner of his once and they are still good friends. They were good friends. He died last week. This new AIDS or gay cancer or whatever, killed him. He was very healthy just two months ago. Going to Gold's Gym, partying in the Castro clubs, very funny and nice guy. Gone in what seemed like an instant. The first of many in this most horrible of times. Over 50% of the tenants in several buildings died over a very short amount of time.
About two years later, when the AIDS crisis was in full swing, Crane signed up a new account, The Shanty Project. This was the first HIV/AIDS clinic that became the standard for treatment of the disease. Randy Shilts worked there, I believe he ran it for a while. He wrote, among other books, " The Life and Times of Harvey Milk" ( the movie Milk was based on) and "And the Band Played On". I had the pleasure of meeting Randy, and telling him that he is one of my heroes. Randy Shilts died of complications from AIDS in 1994. Soon after that, many better, more effective treatments were found that have done excellent work at keeping HIV at bay.
I was a straight man in the middle of the HIV/AIDS crisis, and since I was the only tech who worked in the areas hit most hard, it was very difficult to see this. Mentioning it at work, well, it was a macho company, so the comments were sometimes upsetting. I didn't mention it much. It was very hard, watching as friends and lovers died, apartments suddenly empty from the previous month, everyone of them way too young. It changed many lives. It changed mine. Seeing so many young people dying. Very scary. Most people in San Francisco knew someone who had died of AIDS. Praise be to the scientists and chemists! They are wonderful people. Thank you all!
Peace,
Ken
Next blog, The Rat in the Dress Shop!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Ken the Bugman part 5 - !Dead Nude Roaches! Part II
Continued:
Let me explain a little bit of pest control for you. The fogger we were using was called Vaponite. A very strong fogger. But the magical ingredient in the fogger, along with the now-banned pesticide, was pyrethrum. This was a substance that is naturally derived from African Chrysanthemums. That is reason that every gardener knows that they can repel pests by planting chrysanthemums. As the chemical pyrethrum, it is a repellent that drives insects out of hiding places, irritating their breathing tubes and their exoskeleton. It can bother human skin also, but almost impossible to kill something with just pyrethrum, as it has no residual effect. Science lesson over!
As we set off the foggers and waited, Jim and I just stood there in the dark, it was very quiet. With our masks on and our hard hats covering our heads, we were not worried at all about the pesticide. So dark, so quiet. And then.....plink! Huh? What the hell was that? Plink! plink! on my hard hat, like pebbles being tossed at me. Plink plink plink plink plink!!! I turn on my light as did Jim, and we looked at the floor and each other. Uh oh. Yeah, they had a little problem here!
We were in a situation I call, "Raining Roaches", only with holy-shit truck-sized roaches, now coming out, climbing up us and falling all over us by the hundreds! "Get out, get the hell out of here!",, Jim yelled. I was with him there. We both dash up the stairs, schlepping our equipment and as I got to the top, I stopped. It occurred to me that there may be women on the other side of the door and we can't just burst in, can we? Mind you, this is with Mack Truck roaches falling all over us. Jim says, "What the hell are you stopping for?" I told him. He looks at me, "just go, to hell with 'em, they saw us before, anyway!" I burst open the door!
At first we got the same bored look we got before from the dancers. But they saw that we had masks on and were, well moving a little faster. I said, "You have to leave, there may be a smell iin here," and they left. We closed the basement door, checking to see if any straggler roach trucks were still on us. Nope, clean! That pyrethrum is great shit! Yee-haaa! But...what do we do now? Well, first, take off the full-face masks so we don't scare anyone.
We had to go back through the club, right passed the hook-umm-dancers. As we walk out, I see another dancer on the stage, maybe four people in the audience, enjoying their near-beer. And there, on the stage, were a few of the 3 inch long roaches running (dancing?) across the stage in a various stages of respiratory attacks. Oh, crap. We were carrying the traditional spray cans that most know of, the B&G, as it is known in the industry. They make them...that's why. The pesticide we were using was odorless, a powder in water, Ficam.
Jim and I both sneaked behind the curtain in the rear that hid the other dancers, trying to step on them with our big bugman boots, or give them a direct shot of Ficam, not really a great idea and not really legal use of the stuff. We chased the scurrying little trucks all over the stage, trying (ha!) to be discreet, but really, no fucking way! We wondered if we were going to hear or see any reaction of some kind from anyone. Nada. After a half hour of stomping (discreetly) and spritzing, it slowed and we decided that was enough for now, I mean, they were open! Not one of the patrons seemed to notice anything other than what was on the stage wearing a g-string. We went and got our signature and got the heck out of there. Bye, ladies and roaches!
Two weeks later, I go to do the first regular service. I walk in at 10am, and it's deja vu. A bored skinny, sorta cute and worn woman slowly moving on the stage like she was just warming up. Two Japanese tourists were in the audience, the bus outside. I guess only a couple wanted to go out that early. The owner told me what a great job we did and they haven't seen anything since the day we were there. That Vaponite is good stuff! The account was fairly easy after the first time. No real problems. I did once open the door to the basement and looked down in the dark....looked good to me! Not going down there again!
Peace,
Ken
Next Blog- Soon!
Let me explain a little bit of pest control for you. The fogger we were using was called Vaponite. A very strong fogger. But the magical ingredient in the fogger, along with the now-banned pesticide, was pyrethrum. This was a substance that is naturally derived from African Chrysanthemums. That is reason that every gardener knows that they can repel pests by planting chrysanthemums. As the chemical pyrethrum, it is a repellent that drives insects out of hiding places, irritating their breathing tubes and their exoskeleton. It can bother human skin also, but almost impossible to kill something with just pyrethrum, as it has no residual effect. Science lesson over!
As we set off the foggers and waited, Jim and I just stood there in the dark, it was very quiet. With our masks on and our hard hats covering our heads, we were not worried at all about the pesticide. So dark, so quiet. And then.....plink! Huh? What the hell was that? Plink! plink! on my hard hat, like pebbles being tossed at me. Plink plink plink plink plink!!! I turn on my light as did Jim, and we looked at the floor and each other. Uh oh. Yeah, they had a little problem here!
We were in a situation I call, "Raining Roaches", only with holy-shit truck-sized roaches, now coming out, climbing up us and falling all over us by the hundreds! "Get out, get the hell out of here!",, Jim yelled. I was with him there. We both dash up the stairs, schlepping our equipment and as I got to the top, I stopped. It occurred to me that there may be women on the other side of the door and we can't just burst in, can we? Mind you, this is with Mack Truck roaches falling all over us. Jim says, "What the hell are you stopping for?" I told him. He looks at me, "just go, to hell with 'em, they saw us before, anyway!" I burst open the door!
At first we got the same bored look we got before from the dancers. But they saw that we had masks on and were, well moving a little faster. I said, "You have to leave, there may be a smell iin here," and they left. We closed the basement door, checking to see if any straggler roach trucks were still on us. Nope, clean! That pyrethrum is great shit! Yee-haaa! But...what do we do now? Well, first, take off the full-face masks so we don't scare anyone.
We had to go back through the club, right passed the hook-umm-dancers. As we walk out, I see another dancer on the stage, maybe four people in the audience, enjoying their near-beer. And there, on the stage, were a few of the 3 inch long roaches running (dancing?) across the stage in a various stages of respiratory attacks. Oh, crap. We were carrying the traditional spray cans that most know of, the B&G, as it is known in the industry. They make them...that's why. The pesticide we were using was odorless, a powder in water, Ficam.
Jim and I both sneaked behind the curtain in the rear that hid the other dancers, trying to step on them with our big bugman boots, or give them a direct shot of Ficam, not really a great idea and not really legal use of the stuff. We chased the scurrying little trucks all over the stage, trying (ha!) to be discreet, but really, no fucking way! We wondered if we were going to hear or see any reaction of some kind from anyone. Nada. After a half hour of stomping (discreetly) and spritzing, it slowed and we decided that was enough for now, I mean, they were open! Not one of the patrons seemed to notice anything other than what was on the stage wearing a g-string. We went and got our signature and got the heck out of there. Bye, ladies and roaches!
Two weeks later, I go to do the first regular service. I walk in at 10am, and it's deja vu. A bored skinny, sorta cute and worn woman slowly moving on the stage like she was just warming up. Two Japanese tourists were in the audience, the bus outside. I guess only a couple wanted to go out that early. The owner told me what a great job we did and they haven't seen anything since the day we were there. That Vaponite is good stuff! The account was fairly easy after the first time. No real problems. I did once open the door to the basement and looked down in the dark....looked good to me! Not going down there again!
Peace,
Ken
Next Blog- Soon!
Dead Nude Roaches!
One of the cool things about Crane being a commercial and industrial company was that I had an amazing variety of accounts. From Stars, "THE" restaurant of the '80s, to the SF School district cafeterias. But one of the more different and unique accounts was the City of Paris Dance Club. It was one of those places where on the outside the usually yellow sign said, !Live Nude Women!, the exclamations on both sides, and thank the gods that they were alive!
It was a typical tourist trap near the hotels, fake beer and wine for 10 bucks a drink, where Japanese tour buses would pull up and let off 50 tourists who would go in and sit down and I guess they enjoyed watching the fading bored dancers and drinking overpriced crap. But they had one thing that needed Crane: American roaches! What in the South is known as "Palmetto bugs", and are the big suckers that fly and scare the shit out of people. Funny to watch reactions! Hey, c'mon, I was working this job, so I kinda didn't mind little critters.
So, lucky me, it was going to be my account. Ahem! Just what I needed at 10am, when they wanted me to treat. Okayyyyyyy......But they needed what is called a 'clean out', a first big shot to get the problem reduced quickly (hopefully, so many factors involved). So, my partner, "Jim" and I show up at 10am to start the initial job. Because it is the slow time. When they were open. Interesting, how are we going to do this?
Well, the primary problem was in the basement, where a very old and very warm old, cracked sewer line kept the warmth like a Florida Summer day...Ugh! Jim and I walk in to the place, Jim knew the people and the owner (Madam?) told us to go through to the rear door, through the dressing room and down to the basement. I walked through with Jim, wearing a full face mask, holding all the equipment, passing two (Japanese) men watching a very bored and worn woman, attractive in a sad way.
We both looked like we were dressed for bear, but not a blink from anyone at us. Jim stared as we passed the stage, hey, she wasn't that bad. But I was not a customer, felt kinda weird. This is not my idea of sexy! What kind of guy wants to sit in a sleazy smelly theater drinking fake beer and watching women they will never have, not with out a lot more money? Their customers! Hey, to each his own, but I just can't see getting excited when a bunch of other men are sitting around me. Kinda like my bachelor party!
We went over to the door that says, "dressing room". I looked at Jim and he said, "Go!" I looked and went it. Oops, sorry, ladies! Like we were just a couple of.....bugmen, they looked and let us through, finishing their makeup as we shuffled by with our equipment of death. This was interesting. I mean, there are people here. How are we going to do a clean out? Jim said only the basement today, that is where the problem is. So down the stairs we go.......
If ever there was a time where I felt like I was in a strange movie, this is one time I really did! The basement was DARK. Even with our manly 3D cell Maglites, it was pretty damn dark. We could feel the heat and humidity like a piss-hot Everglades Summer day. The big old sewer line, gigantic, at least 5 feet in diameter, had warmth coming from it...but we could not really see many American roaches. (The most common pest roach is the German roach. Hey, I didn't name them! Big lesson on critters later on!) Actually, we could barely see anything.
We saw a couple running across the floor, no big. We decided that since they were open up stairs, we could only really hit the basement hard. The foggers that Jim and I took out were very, very strong. They had the same chemical that used to be in the Shell No Pest Strips that used to give people headaches all the time. Before that chemical was banned as too toxic! We set them off and waited..........
Let me explain a little bit of pest control for you. The fogger we were using was called Vaponite. A very strong fogger. But the magical ingredient in the fogger, along with the now-banned pesticide, was pyrethrum. This was a substance that is naturally derived from African Chrysanthemums. That is reason that every gardener knows that they can repel pests by planting chrysanthemums. As the chemical pyrethrum, it is a repellent that drives insects out of hiding places, irritating their breathing tubes and their exoskeleton. It can bother human skin also, but almost impossible to kill something with just pyrethrum, as it has no residual effect. Science lesson over!
As we set off the foggers and waited, Jim and I just stood there in the dark, it was very quiet. With our masks on and our hard hats covering our heads, we were not worried at all about the pesticide. So dark, so quiet. And then.....plink! Huh? What the hell was that? Plink! plink! on my hard hat, like pebbles being tossed at me. Plink plink plink plink plink!!! I turn on my light as did Jim, and we looked at the floor and each other. Uh oh. Yeah, they had a little problem here!
We were in a situation I call, "Raining Roaches", only with holy-shit truck-sized roaches, now coming out, climbing up us and falling all over us by the hundreds! "Get out, get the hell out of here!",, Jim yelled. I was with him there. We both dash up the stairs, schlepping our equipment and as I got to the top, I stopped. It occurred to me that there may be women on the other side of the door and we can't just burst in, can we? Mind you, this is with Mack Truck roaches falling all over us. Jim says, "What the hell are you stopping for?" I told him. He looks at me, "just go, to hell with 'em, they saw us before, anyway!" I burst open the door!
At first we got the same bored look we got before from the dancers. But they saw that we had masks on and were, well moving a little faster. I said, "You have to leave, there may be a smell iin here," and they left. We closed the basement door, checking to see if any straggler roach trucks were still on us. Nope, clean! That pyrethrum is great shit! Yee-haaa! But...what do we do now? Well, first, take off the full-face masks so we don't scare anyone.
We had to go back through the club, right passed the hook-umm-dancers. As we walk out, I see another dancer on the stage, maybe four people in the audience, enjoying their near-beer. And there, on the stage, were a few of the 3 inch long roaches running (dancing?) across the stage in a various stages of respiratory attacks. Oh, crap. We were carrying the traditional spray cans that most know of, the B&G, as it is known in the industry. They make them...that's why. The pesticide we were using was odorless, a powder in water, Ficam.
Jim and I both sneaked behind the curtain in the rear that hid the other dancers, trying to step on them with our big bugman boots, or give them a direct shot of Ficam, not really a great idea and not really legal use of the stuff. We chased the scurrying little trucks all over the stage, trying (ha!) to be discreet, but really, no fucking way! We wondered if we were going to hear or see any reaction of some kind from anyone. Nada. After a half hour of stomping (discreetly) and spritzing, it slowed and we decided that was enough for now, I mean, they were open! Not one of the patrons seemed to notice anything other than what was on the stage wearing a g-string. We went and got our signature and got the heck out of there. Bye, ladies and roaches!
Two weeks later, I go to do the first regular service. I walk in at 10am, and it's deja vu. A bored skinny, sorta cute and worn woman slowly moving on the stage like she was just warming up. Two Japanese tourists were in the audience, the bus outside. I guess only a couple wanted to go out that early. The owner told me what a great job we did and they haven't seen anything since the day we were there. That Vaponite is good stuff! The account was fairly easy after the first time. No real problems. I did once open the door to the basement and looked down in the dark....looked good to me! Not going down there again!
Peace,
Ken
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Ken the Bugman, Part three - Becoming the Bugman
Coming home from a thee week vacation in Florida, I had to get a job fast! I decided that I should try to get into pest control, as that was the best paying work that I had so far in SF. I first called Rose, anther local company that I had heard was a union place. Nope. Then, I saw Crane Pest Control, and remembered that weirdo Todd said they were the best. I called and I vividly recall the conversation. I remember saying, "I wanted to know if you are looking for any help. I have some experience." The woman answered, "well, actually, we do need someone in the Mission District, we just released someone yesterday."
Okay, the stars were aligned, I guess. I mean, I wouldn't have called this what I do if it didn't have a profound influence on my life. I never knew, but, really, I am no different than most of us when we stumble into a career. This just happened to be very cool, very interesting and so often very strange. And so very funny. And led directly to where I am and who I am today!
I was hired by Crane Pest Control in January, 1982. I remember sitting in the President/Owner's office. He asked me what I want to be doing in 5 years. Me, being typical talky honest Ken, said that I wanted to be acting in LA. Hey, I couldn't help it. He said that if I give him 5 good years, he will give me a good job for 5 years. It turned into 13........
The best thing about working for Crane, was taking the truck home at night and going to your first stop in the morning. It meant that I could, since I didn't own a car yet, stop at the Safeway after work and get groceries. That was nice. The second best, though, maybe really what made Crane a great company, was that they only did commercial and industrial properties, not private homes.
The somewhat new philosophy was based on honesty: Once you solved the problem in a home, there is not much to do, and to charge 50 - 100 bucks a month for basically a once over and, since the owner is paying for it, a little spray jock crap, just "because." You can guess my thinking on companies who prey on the public and sell them a load of crap and spraying useless indoor/outdoor pesticides that usually are only killing the beneficial insects more than anything like a "pest" on their property.
The owner of Crane saw that as a losing business deal in the long term. I know that it was also because he felt that it was basically a rip-off. He was right. It was a great business move. Me? I was so happy to make $9.72 an hour, I was leaping for joy in the middle of Geary and Masonic like a friggin' happy fool. I WAS a friggin' happy fool! I took the bus home. Wasn't gonna be taken the bus for too much longer...Yay!
Next, the fun begins!
Okay, the stars were aligned, I guess. I mean, I wouldn't have called this what I do if it didn't have a profound influence on my life. I never knew, but, really, I am no different than most of us when we stumble into a career. This just happened to be very cool, very interesting and so often very strange. And so very funny. And led directly to where I am and who I am today!
I was hired by Crane Pest Control in January, 1982. I remember sitting in the President/Owner's office. He asked me what I want to be doing in 5 years. Me, being typical talky honest Ken, said that I wanted to be acting in LA. Hey, I couldn't help it. He said that if I give him 5 good years, he will give me a good job for 5 years. It turned into 13........
The best thing about working for Crane, was taking the truck home at night and going to your first stop in the morning. It meant that I could, since I didn't own a car yet, stop at the Safeway after work and get groceries. That was nice. The second best, though, maybe really what made Crane a great company, was that they only did commercial and industrial properties, not private homes.
The somewhat new philosophy was based on honesty: Once you solved the problem in a home, there is not much to do, and to charge 50 - 100 bucks a month for basically a once over and, since the owner is paying for it, a little spray jock crap, just "because." You can guess my thinking on companies who prey on the public and sell them a load of crap and spraying useless indoor/outdoor pesticides that usually are only killing the beneficial insects more than anything like a "pest" on their property.
The owner of Crane saw that as a losing business deal in the long term. I know that it was also because he felt that it was basically a rip-off. He was right. It was a great business move. Me? I was so happy to make $9.72 an hour, I was leaping for joy in the middle of Geary and Masonic like a friggin' happy fool. I WAS a friggin' happy fool! I took the bus home. Wasn't gonna be taken the bus for too much longer...Yay!
Next, the fun begins!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Gotta Get Some Stuff Off My Big Hairy Chest!
Yes, Bugman will return, but right now, I have a few things to get off my (actually kinda smooth and silky) chest.
Random thoughts:
I shoulda been a lawyer. Had a chance and was talked out of it. It was easy at the time, I had just finished San Francisco State U and getting my Bachelor's (Magna cum laude, by the way) and hated the idea of more school. But right now, I would be able to hire myself..........what is the matter with everyone? Okay, those of you who have been divorced all tell me how the other person turned into someone they never knew, Is that always the friggin' case?.........I would have been in Australia right now had my soon-to-be-ex agreed to taking this apartment, but do I have to thank her for that? Nahhh, that was just a hound-dog response from me, you know, "honey, at the time to what rarely happens, a friendly divorce.........especially since I needed the surgery, I could see myself right now out in the Aussie Outback, please, sir, would you carry my backpack? Would not have been good...........I wonder if Comcast is FREAKING OUT right about now with everyone cutting back and discovering Netflix streaming and Magic Jack and the fact that cable and regular phone service are pretty much obsolete?.............enjoying the streaming Buffy re-runs on Netflix. Sarah Gellar never should have left the show. The only thing she did well...........learning how to eat a single man's diet is a real process. Almost cheaper to eat a burrito at Taco Loco and a bowl of Oatmeal and I am good for the day, sorta............I love baseball for the same reasons the great George Carlin did, mainly, NO CLOCK which makes baseball totally unique among the big sports. Golf is a game, not a sport and don't even try to argue that crap with me!................thinking of maybe going car-less here in SF since I first moved here. I don't know if I can do that again, but I know I would be in good shape walking all over the place. And, what the hell is my hurry, anyway?...............my point about the greatness of San Francisco is always proven when anyone comes here to visit. Especially when I show them around. They know why it is the most expensive place to live in almost the entire World...........gorgeous, non-stop breathtaking views, the best locavore organic food, absolutely perfect weather, we who live here are VERY spoiled and me most of all, in my rent-controlled apartment for 24 years..............in many many ways, I am wonderfully, happily spoiled and, as my long gone Mother, Kate, would say, "Ken, I never saw anyone who could step in so much shit and still come out smelling like a rose!"............I love you, Mom. And Dad. Still miss you.
peace,
Ken
Bugman will be back soon!
Random thoughts:
I shoulda been a lawyer. Had a chance and was talked out of it. It was easy at the time, I had just finished San Francisco State U and getting my Bachelor's (Magna cum laude, by the way) and hated the idea of more school. But right now, I would be able to hire myself..........what is the matter with everyone? Okay, those of you who have been divorced all tell me how the other person turned into someone they never knew, Is that always the friggin' case?.........I would have been in Australia right now had my soon-to-be-ex agreed to taking this apartment, but do I have to thank her for that? Nahhh, that was just a hound-dog response from me, you know, "honey, at the time to what rarely happens, a friendly divorce.........especially since I needed the surgery, I could see myself right now out in the Aussie Outback, please, sir, would you carry my backpack? Would not have been good...........I wonder if Comcast is FREAKING OUT right about now with everyone cutting back and discovering Netflix streaming and Magic Jack and the fact that cable and regular phone service are pretty much obsolete?.............enjoying the streaming Buffy re-runs on Netflix. Sarah Gellar never should have left the show. The only thing she did well...........learning how to eat a single man's diet is a real process. Almost cheaper to eat a burrito at Taco Loco and a bowl of Oatmeal and I am good for the day, sorta............I love baseball for the same reasons the great George Carlin did, mainly, NO CLOCK which makes baseball totally unique among the big sports. Golf is a game, not a sport and don't even try to argue that crap with me!................thinking of maybe going car-less here in SF since I first moved here. I don't know if I can do that again, but I know I would be in good shape walking all over the place. And, what the hell is my hurry, anyway?...............my point about the greatness of San Francisco is always proven when anyone comes here to visit. Especially when I show them around. They know why it is the most expensive place to live in almost the entire World...........gorgeous, non-stop breathtaking views, the best locavore organic food, absolutely perfect weather, we who live here are VERY spoiled and me most of all, in my rent-controlled apartment for 24 years..............in many many ways, I am wonderfully, happily spoiled and, as my long gone Mother, Kate, would say, "Ken, I never saw anyone who could step in so much shit and still come out smelling like a rose!"............I love you, Mom. And Dad. Still miss you.
peace,
Ken
Bugman will be back soon!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Adventures of a Bugman Part 2
First, apologies for the long delay. I have been busy with visitors and drama that has had me...busy! Yay, a good thing! So, I am getting this out as fast as I can. This is my book, my life and I am doing it right. So patience will be rewarded!
Working for AAA Pest Control meant that I had a job! In only two weeks, I got a job in supposedly tough times. 850/month was also decent for a no-experience job. The commute was my introduction to the MUNI transit system of San Francisco, where I would take two buses to go to the North end of San Francisco. It took over an hour for an approximately 5 mile ride. But since AAA didn't let me take the truck home so I could smell like malathion night and day, and no wheels yet, MUNI! I also wanted to get in to acting, so I auditioned for a play and got it. Best of all, it was close to my office, so after work, I would take my stinky self over to the theater in the Presidio and then go home on the bus at 10 at night. Hey, at 24, I better be able to do that!
Now for a little primer about the pest control industry. Right now, I will tell you that if you have a guy coming around your home monthly to "spray" for ants roaches rats mice (standard contract), you are paying for absolutely NOTHING. Nada. Wasting your money and time and you are getting ripped off. I know many people from the industry and in 21 years of being in either pest control or environmental health, we all know what is BS and what is real pest control.
99% of pest control is sanitation and environmental modification. I did not know this when I first was "trained" by Todd the weirdo. The mantra for AAA was "Did you get 20 stops today?" That is what mattered. I remember when the owner, Mr. Killar, hired me, I was told that if I work for him for one year, I can work for any company. I get it now. Any shyster company with spray jocks who go in and out of buildings and houses blowing a few gallons of some chlorofluorocarbon that for all intensive purposes, was useless. My training was mostly not a good view of pest control.
One thing I did learn is that there are a lot of bugmen that love to party. Drink, smoke cigarettes, smoke pot, and lots of them did it during the day while working. Ouch! Todd the weirdo likes pot as much as I did (and still do!) and he would ask if I wanted something and we would park in a lot on Franklin Street in SF and he would go to a storefront and five minutes later come back with some Thai weed or some other kind of smoke. That's about the only real "training" that I learned at AAA.
The good thing is that I quit after 6 months. This was a very good job in that I learned the streets of San Francisco very quickly, not the easiest place to get around at first. I also had my applicator's certificate, which I earned by taking tests from picture books on roaches, rodents, applicators and pesticides. Oh, a little about sanitation. It was very easy and at least I left AAA with a potential for more work and a great pot connection!
The bad news is, of course, that I quit, so I needed the bucks asap. So, I got a funky security job with Pinkerton, checking smiling and waving the automatons who worked for PG&E in to their daily grind. It was not too fun. Minimum wage, so minimum I was eating bologna sandwiches, which for a Jew, is like ham. Ugh! I quit that fun job after 4 months, on Christmas day, when I volunteered to make overtime. I remember telling the 'sergeant', the big wannabe cop type guy that it was my last day. He told me I could come back anytime. I said thank you and knew that I never would want this craptacular job ever again!
Next: Ken Learns REAL Pest Control - And LOVES IT!!!
Working for AAA Pest Control meant that I had a job! In only two weeks, I got a job in supposedly tough times. 850/month was also decent for a no-experience job. The commute was my introduction to the MUNI transit system of San Francisco, where I would take two buses to go to the North end of San Francisco. It took over an hour for an approximately 5 mile ride. But since AAA didn't let me take the truck home so I could smell like malathion night and day, and no wheels yet, MUNI! I also wanted to get in to acting, so I auditioned for a play and got it. Best of all, it was close to my office, so after work, I would take my stinky self over to the theater in the Presidio and then go home on the bus at 10 at night. Hey, at 24, I better be able to do that!
Now for a little primer about the pest control industry. Right now, I will tell you that if you have a guy coming around your home monthly to "spray" for ants roaches rats mice (standard contract), you are paying for absolutely NOTHING. Nada. Wasting your money and time and you are getting ripped off. I know many people from the industry and in 21 years of being in either pest control or environmental health, we all know what is BS and what is real pest control.
99% of pest control is sanitation and environmental modification. I did not know this when I first was "trained" by Todd the weirdo. The mantra for AAA was "Did you get 20 stops today?" That is what mattered. I remember when the owner, Mr. Killar, hired me, I was told that if I work for him for one year, I can work for any company. I get it now. Any shyster company with spray jocks who go in and out of buildings and houses blowing a few gallons of some chlorofluorocarbon that for all intensive purposes, was useless. My training was mostly not a good view of pest control.
One thing I did learn is that there are a lot of bugmen that love to party. Drink, smoke cigarettes, smoke pot, and lots of them did it during the day while working. Ouch! Todd the weirdo likes pot as much as I did (and still do!) and he would ask if I wanted something and we would park in a lot on Franklin Street in SF and he would go to a storefront and five minutes later come back with some Thai weed or some other kind of smoke. That's about the only real "training" that I learned at AAA.
The good thing is that I quit after 6 months. This was a very good job in that I learned the streets of San Francisco very quickly, not the easiest place to get around at first. I also had my applicator's certificate, which I earned by taking tests from picture books on roaches, rodents, applicators and pesticides. Oh, a little about sanitation. It was very easy and at least I left AAA with a potential for more work and a great pot connection!
The bad news is, of course, that I quit, so I needed the bucks asap. So, I got a funky security job with Pinkerton, checking smiling and waving the automatons who worked for PG&E in to their daily grind. It was not too fun. Minimum wage, so minimum I was eating bologna sandwiches, which for a Jew, is like ham. Ugh! I quit that fun job after 4 months, on Christmas day, when I volunteered to make overtime. I remember telling the 'sergeant', the big wannabe cop type guy that it was my last day. He told me I could come back anytime. I said thank you and knew that I never would want this craptacular job ever again!
Next: Ken Learns REAL Pest Control - And LOVES IT!!!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Adventures of a Bugman - Chapter 1
In the next few months, I will tell stories of my life in pest control and afterward as a Vector Control officer. But first, how the hell did I, a crazed acting Hippie, end up as a Bugman? For one of the great common reasons of all: I needed a job.
For over 20 years of my life, I had a license to kill. I was allowed to use toxic nerve gas and other poisons in an effort to keep diseases from invading and destroying society. I was a Pest Control Field Representative. Bugman. Exterminator. Roach Killer. Low See Low. That last one means "Rat Man" in Mandarin. I learned that and a decent amount of Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese and Spanish on the job. And you thought we just killed innocent creatures?
When I hitchhiked out to San Francisco in 1980, my brother Dave was living here with his first wife. I left from Miami, where I essentially just wanted to get the hell out, and hitched up to visit a friend in Chicago and then over to San Francisco. I decided that I finally wanted to move to LA and try to become rich and famous. I had hitched out there once before, but only stopped in LA and went totally by San Francisco. Since my brother and wife offered to put me up for a while, I thought that at least getting to SF would get me one step closer. I didn't know then just how big a step it is between San Francisco and Los Angeles!
Oh, did I mention that I left Florida with 20 bucks and arrived with 1.50? I still don't know how. The day Ia arrived in San Francisco, it was September of 1980, the beginning of the Indian Summer for SF. It was 75 when I got off the bus in Bernal Heights and hugged my bro! Kisses hugs all around! Okay, I am in SF. So far, so good. Now, I needed a job.
Two weeks. That's all it took. I took the bus all over SF looking for anything, gas station attendant, construction. Nada. When I was going around looking, I did notice that I had 'the look", short hair, mustache, hmmmmm, the guys in the Castro District have the same look. So naive? I looked in the SF Chronicle want ads (when they were very important and you could actually get jobs from the newspaper want ads!) and saw an ad for a Pest Control man wanted, no experience necessary, will train. Hmmmmmm.
AAA Pest Control. They were first in the phone book! I walked in to the little office, a weird, sweet smell of malathion hit my nose. Only one person was in the office, a funny little man named Fred Killar. Really. He asked me about myself, the usual crap, and he liked me because I was a lansman. I went out with one of his two employees, Todd. Todd was a sleazy guy who was the perfect stereotype of a bugman, smoking cigarettes without washing his hands between being a spray jockey doing "pest control".
He was, though, a guy who I knew how to play. He was okay in that if I kept the conversation to chicks and weed and "stuff", I think I had a job. A job that definitely was one of my interesting and financially decent choices in life. One of the first places we went to was a Chinese tenement in Chinatown. O, boy, did I get an eye opener. These are the things that never leave the mind, so fresh!
We entered the building, Todd with his B&G sprayer, the Beemer of applicators!!! I also had one, pumping up too high as I followed Todd's basic instructions. He knocked on the first door. "CHIT KAP CHAT!! CHIT KAP CHAT!", he yelled. WTF? Todd looks at me and says that means, "cockroach kill" in Cantonese (and sorta in Mandarin. San Francisco's Chinatown was primarily founded by the minority Cantonese, so many people here speak it. Most speak Mandarin).
The door flies open and, "Kap Chat Low!", the man says happily, meaning "cockroach man"! Well, here I am on my first day of being a bugman and already I am learning Cantonese! Whoulda thought, especially with Todd. This was gonna be good. We entered the apartment? Room with a few corners with stacks of items and the intense smell of Chinese food mixed with very close living with hundreds of other poor people in the building. Wow, even a major social eye opener for me. Todd squirts here and there, totally useless and very stinky malathion, the nice man saying with a very heavy accent, "splay more!, splay more!"
I learned a lot on my first day. That is an understatement. But the day was not complete until Todd and I drove back at 5 and he told the boss that he thinks I would be great for the company. Right there on the spot! Thanks, Todd. You wierdo. The boss, Fred, sat me down and said that I will be getting $850 a month, that if I get hurt on the job I am insured and he will see me tomorrow. That was just the first day. I had no idea........
Till next time, Peace!
Ken
For over 20 years of my life, I had a license to kill. I was allowed to use toxic nerve gas and other poisons in an effort to keep diseases from invading and destroying society. I was a Pest Control Field Representative. Bugman. Exterminator. Roach Killer. Low See Low. That last one means "Rat Man" in Mandarin. I learned that and a decent amount of Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese and Spanish on the job. And you thought we just killed innocent creatures?
When I hitchhiked out to San Francisco in 1980, my brother Dave was living here with his first wife. I left from Miami, where I essentially just wanted to get the hell out, and hitched up to visit a friend in Chicago and then over to San Francisco. I decided that I finally wanted to move to LA and try to become rich and famous. I had hitched out there once before, but only stopped in LA and went totally by San Francisco. Since my brother and wife offered to put me up for a while, I thought that at least getting to SF would get me one step closer. I didn't know then just how big a step it is between San Francisco and Los Angeles!
Oh, did I mention that I left Florida with 20 bucks and arrived with 1.50? I still don't know how. The day Ia arrived in San Francisco, it was September of 1980, the beginning of the Indian Summer for SF. It was 75 when I got off the bus in Bernal Heights and hugged my bro! Kisses hugs all around! Okay, I am in SF. So far, so good. Now, I needed a job.
Two weeks. That's all it took. I took the bus all over SF looking for anything, gas station attendant, construction. Nada. When I was going around looking, I did notice that I had 'the look", short hair, mustache, hmmmmm, the guys in the Castro District have the same look. So naive? I looked in the SF Chronicle want ads (when they were very important and you could actually get jobs from the newspaper want ads!) and saw an ad for a Pest Control man wanted, no experience necessary, will train. Hmmmmmm.
AAA Pest Control. They were first in the phone book! I walked in to the little office, a weird, sweet smell of malathion hit my nose. Only one person was in the office, a funny little man named Fred Killar. Really. He asked me about myself, the usual crap, and he liked me because I was a lansman. I went out with one of his two employees, Todd. Todd was a sleazy guy who was the perfect stereotype of a bugman, smoking cigarettes without washing his hands between being a spray jockey doing "pest control".
He was, though, a guy who I knew how to play. He was okay in that if I kept the conversation to chicks and weed and "stuff", I think I had a job. A job that definitely was one of my interesting and financially decent choices in life. One of the first places we went to was a Chinese tenement in Chinatown. O, boy, did I get an eye opener. These are the things that never leave the mind, so fresh!
We entered the building, Todd with his B&G sprayer, the Beemer of applicators!!! I also had one, pumping up too high as I followed Todd's basic instructions. He knocked on the first door. "CHIT KAP CHAT!! CHIT KAP CHAT!", he yelled. WTF? Todd looks at me and says that means, "cockroach kill" in Cantonese (and sorta in Mandarin. San Francisco's Chinatown was primarily founded by the minority Cantonese, so many people here speak it. Most speak Mandarin).
The door flies open and, "Kap Chat Low!", the man says happily, meaning "cockroach man"! Well, here I am on my first day of being a bugman and already I am learning Cantonese! Whoulda thought, especially with Todd. This was gonna be good. We entered the apartment? Room with a few corners with stacks of items and the intense smell of Chinese food mixed with very close living with hundreds of other poor people in the building. Wow, even a major social eye opener for me. Todd squirts here and there, totally useless and very stinky malathion, the nice man saying with a very heavy accent, "splay more!, splay more!"
I learned a lot on my first day. That is an understatement. But the day was not complete until Todd and I drove back at 5 and he told the boss that he thinks I would be great for the company. Right there on the spot! Thanks, Todd. You wierdo. The boss, Fred, sat me down and said that I will be getting $850 a month, that if I get hurt on the job I am insured and he will see me tomorrow. That was just the first day. I had no idea........
Till next time, Peace!
Ken
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
My Porn is Better than Your Porn!
Mmmmmmm, lubricant! Alright, ladies, this is straight talk about porn. That is why I put in this link, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/louann-brizendine/the-male-brain-ladies-hes_b_510532.html?just_reloaded=1 , so that if you want more insights, there is a book out. I did not read it. But I do know that, WOW, are we in a nice time for porn, eh, guys? I mean, free porn all over! GOOD porn, not for the squeamish (maybe there is a category for 'squeamish sex?), but FREE. All the guys who get their girlfriends to make a movie and then upload it. Thank you, guys, your girlfriend is HOT!
I remember in 1974 or so, I finally worked up the courage to go into a 25 cent porn movie store. It was in Cutler Ridge, south of Miami, the place teased me for years with the promise of 25 cent porn. About time. I went in and discovered the wonderful world of porn. I went in a booth, not knowing what those funny holes drilled out on either side were for. Not for me, I found out later! I put my quarter in and, wow, I still can see it now.........and so, I was welcomed to the exciting 25 cent minute movie. I won't say whether I needed more than one quarter, but I was only 17.
Now the only reason for those quarter porn places to exist is for the glory hole crowd. (Yeah, I found out eventually what those holes in the walls were for. That was too much even for me. But, most men are dogs and so I can only figure those are still quite popular!) Our modern porn is not a quarter, but an internet connection to all the crazed exhibitionists who put the free stuff on the web sites. Every category! Every color, type, sex, oh, my! I am NOT complaining.
When I am walking down the street, I wonder how many people I am passing by who are putting their sex life on the net. "Hi, don't I know you? That's right, I saw you in that three way on pornhub!" I am sure that I recognize some people. Not that I go on those free porn sites all the time. Well, okay, as much as any guy who is now single after a 22 year relationship, so maybe a little. More. But really, it is the new world order with sex. I am guessing that since it is between partners (although a lot of pros are on these sites) that they feel anonymous. Well, so what is the surprise? Men like porn! But.......
Women! What is it about porn? Men are visual. Men are physiologically proven more ready for sex. And I know that, after being married for more than 20 years, women DO like porn. But don't readily admit it. However, turn on something that may appeal to a woman and, wow, it works! Saved me some neck ache! (What, did you think I would do an entire article about masturbation and not make some jokes?) But the stigma of ADMITTING that a woman likes porn is still around. Romance? Not with porn. It's about SEX.
As you know, ladies, men are ridiculously horny. If porn were around when I was 15 like it is today, I may have gone blind and would be on my 50th palm razor! I respect how kids today must be going totally nuts over this stuff. FREE PORN is better than FREE DRUGS for a teenager. I do know that exposure on the net has made every teenager know about porn more than I did for years. The drag is that a teen or any young person who has a warped sense of sex by seeing the porn "stars" (I mean, having a big dick or liking 15 guys at once I still don't think makes someone a "star") and thinking that this is normal sex. Ha! Good luck, kids.
When I was 3 or 4, my mother caught me and two neighbor girls playing "doctor". We were SERIOUSLY playing. No clothes at all. Mom came out in the backyard in the rear corner where it was hidden, but not enough. Mom said, "what are you doing?'. The girls grabbed their clothes and took off. Mom told me to go to my room. I went upstairs, not crying, but freaking out over what my punishment would be. I waited and waited. Mom didn't come up. I went down and sat for dinner. Not a word. What was the lesson? Was there? I don't know. I do know that I was VERY precocious. I had many girlfiends. I always understood that there was no such thing as a female slut. Only if you can call a man a slut. I wish I was called that! Girls were just....luckier! They have the choice. Still do. But I think I have always had a healthy view of sexuality. Thank you, Mom!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
BOOMER MASTURBATOR
BOOMER MASTURBATOR?
Yes, evidently that is a term used by at least one political/extremist group. Ever hear that term before? No? Me, neither. Until I was walking on 24th street near Castro in Noe Valley and I passed a bunch of "LaRouchebags", supporters of Lyndon LaRouche (.http://lyndonlarouchewatch.org/larouche-obama-menu.htm ). They had a picture of Obama with a Hitler mustache, you know the picture. The ones that the tea baggers carry around. And worse.........
I equate Laruochebags with tea baggers and absolutely with the Westboro Baptist Church (Wikipedia page here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westboro_Baptist_Church ) . Maybe even worse. these are cult like people who, unlike the Westboro hatemongers, think they are full of only love for their fellow man. Like frikkin' Moonies! That's why they come to a very liberal neighborhood with a truly inflammatory picture of the President. Full of LOVE.....
Totally clueless, just like the picture. Now here is where the "boomer masturbation" part comes (ha!) in. I ask the brainwashed lackey what charges Obama could be used to impeach Obama. He responded with a multi-syllabic rant that made no sense at all. I stopped him and said that I want to hear an actual, coherent reason, not some made up supposed violations of the Constitution that the LaRouchebags made up. The now somewhat agitated (my work here is done!) He yells at me, "Boomer Masturbation! Boomer Masturbation!" Huh? I mean, HUH? I asked him what the hell he meant.
He said that he means (I think, it was so ridiculous that I really could not comprehend the stupidity of this person) that Baby Boomers who "can't get it up anymore" turn to political confrontation as a way to relieve their sexual tensions. I said that I still masturbate very regularly and I am sure that everyone here, including him, masturbates regularly and what the hell is he talking about. He FREAKED. The woman who was with him had started to video tape this. I guess she was either worried for herself or maybe for future training videos for LaRouchebags. I asked him if he masturbates regularly. He cringed and said, "No", and said that I was harassing him (sexually?). I reminded him that HE brought up the topic of masturbation first.
Call the police! The guy told his other lackeys to call the police, I was harassing him! I was totally enjoying myself. Several other local residents also expressed their displeasure as I was involved with this. One man asked told him that his family was killed in the Holocaust and the picture was very insulting. The same moron, the same moron that introduced me to the new term, Boomer Masturbation, WAS JEWISH. I looked at the other guy. This LaRouchebag was a self-hating Jew! Or, a Jew for Jesus, same thing! Oh My Goddesses! And he says he doesn't masturbate? LIAR! All Jews are chronic masturbators.
An SFPD officer came by. I was having so much fun. I met a self-hating Jew Nazi who proudly proclaims that masturbation is disgusting in front of crowds of people. A nice guy. Yeah. The officer asked me to come over and talk to him. He was a bit of a dick. I always think that cops expect me to cooperate easily and when I asked him what right he has to even tell me to come over to him, I think I threw him a little and he got pissed. I told him that these people should have a guard. They are as bad as the Westboro racists.
The officer and I started to talk. He agreed that these were a bunch of assholes, but would I mind just staying back a little instead of being right up at their table. I told him that I appreciate his honesty and that I had been there for about an hour and finished.
So, off in to the sunset I went. That was enough for me. Time to go masturbate..............
peace,
Ken
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Few of My Favorite Nature Pix
These were taken by me over the years. Hope you like 'em!
Sleepy Gator, Flamingo, Everglades, FL.
Great Heron Taking Off, Homestead, FL.
Everglades Kite, Anhinga Trail, FL,
Milkweed with Insects,Everglades, FL.
Bighorn Sheep, Banff, Alberta, Canada
That's it for now, just a few, hope you enjoyed them.
Milkweed with Insects,Everglades, FL.
Bighorn Sheep, Banff, Alberta, Canada
Loon, Wellfleet, Cape Cod, MA
Swallowtail Butterfly, Cape Cod
Northern Flicker, Denver, CO
Dragonfly, Denver, CO
Banff and Canadian Rockies
Psychedelic Centipede
Mono Lake and Tufa in California, at historic low, now 20 feet higher
Only a few of the 5000 or so seals on this Southern CA beach!
I live in the big brown apartment building on the left of the picture.
That's it for now, just a few, hope you enjoyed them.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
A Few of my Favorite Things!
I still love old things like everyone else. Some are things that I still think about, what cool and totally sick stuff I liked! At least then it was kinda warped!
Those were pretty great. Ed "Big Daddy" Roth, a builder of "Hot Rods" in the mid-50s started drawing 'weirdo shirts' for hot rod enthusiasts in SO Cal, and they became so popular that he became the Father of "Statement" Tee Shirts! And now you know......his web site is http://www.ratfink.org/main.html
When I started to read at 3 years old, I read primarily two things: MAD magazine and Doctor Suess books. MAD has used the great Doctor Suess often in their parodies. All I read, besides school reading, up until 7th grade, was MAD and Doctor Suess! I Still subscribe to MAD as I think it is one of the best satire magazines around for adults.
Happy Birthday, Dr. Suess!
Nice MAD parody! Combines both! I like!
And now, for some fun:
Since I have a Geography degree, (Magna Cum Laude) I figured I would show my favorite Globe of the World...........Have a Wonderful Day today!
Nice art work!
Peace!
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