The "Watermelon Man" sez...

A Curly Pig Tail...

 Good "freaked out" Friday Morning, all bodies.

Well, yesterday, in my Facebook memories, I found a post I made six years ago about hunting for the perfect watermelon. I found the post after returning from the local grocery to purchase, you guessed it, a watermelon.

Coincidences that most folks consider "just a part of doing life," freak me out. But, I pulled myself together by allowing the gods of happenstance to assist me in the use of the post for today's "Throwback for Thursday's.

There's only one thing wrong with that... the god's timing!

So, for the amount of time it takes one to read a post from 2017, let's pretend that today IS a Thursday. Thanks for y'all's cooperation and understanding... Here ya geaux...

Still groovin’ after the Tuba Skinny concert on Saturday night, I skipped on over to Giddy Up to converse with the regulars and have a cup or two. Even though I thought it unwise to squeeze in some local grocery shopping, I managed to meet MaryJane, a good friend who has had her own special version of tribulations, and one who still finds a way to smile. We had a fun talk!

While grabbing a few things “we just can’t do without”, I was reminded that it was once again, Washington Parish Watermelon Time and they seemed to be going fast. As MaryJane went her own way in the store, I bumped into a total stranger who, like me, was kinda baffled as to which melon to take home.

I remember that song, “Watermelon Man” did pretty well on the radio in the late sixties.” I suspect it was a successful tune, especially in New Orleans, because most of us as well as our parents grew up with salesman selling fruit and veggies from a horse or mule drawn cart.

Herbie Hancock wrote the song, but Mongo Santamaria turned it into a hit!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJuX-JJ8WF0

“I never know which melon to pick,” a man said to me as if he needed help.

“What’s the matter?” I said. “The wife’s giving you grief about last year’s pick?”

The man was wearing a jeans, a camouflage tee shirt and a baseball cap that advertised a “weed and feed” store. To me, wearing blue jeans in this heat was a definite sign… he was a farm boy.

“So you don’t know how to pick a good watermelon either,” I said.

“Well, you’d think I’d be good at it because I used to grow them commercially, but lately, I haven’t been too successful picking a winner!”

“I know that’d be of little help. Washington Parish melons are usually the sweetest and juiciest I’ve ever had, though I must admit, I’ve had a few over the years that weren’t as good,” I replied.

“You know, he said, there’s a farm in South Carolina, I forget the brand name, that had a sure fire way of being consistently successful!”

“Oh, yeh, what was their secret,” I asked.

“It was a sure fire solution,” he said. Eighty five days after the melons are planted, they are harvested. Works every time… in South Carolina!”

“I’ll tell you a good way to be sure the melon here is ready. It seems to work pretty well when I was growing them, though not all the time!”

“Cool, man! What’s the secret? I asked.

“Try to find one where the stem is curled kinda like a pig’s tale!” He continued, “the way they farm now, it’s hard to find one with a stem still intact, but if you do, it’s a big help!”

So, after the man decided which one to pick, and left with his prize, I went digging around the two large cardboard boxes that were left and actually found one… kinda. Hopefully, it’s “Piggy Approved!”

First cup!

Copyright 2023/Ben BensenIII

"S'what Happens When I Stand In Line Too Long!"

Oh, the Angst!

Good “Sunday before the Super Bowl Sunday” Morning, all bodies.

My wife and I had a fun time yesterday at the WYES-TV Antiques Showcase where the experts were on hand to assess real value of your antiques. The event is not part of that PBS Monday night series, “Antiques Roadshow”. Which got me to thinking as I stood in line to have an Art Deco lamp appraised, how much fun it would be if I was dead, but returned to earth to hear an appraiser’s comments on one of my paintings that someone bought at a garage sale.

I say this because on that “Roadshow” series, the appraisers seem to know, personally, all of the historical styles and personalities and quirks of every artist that ever painted in a particular time frame. And naturally, the artist has long since passed away. His or her art is now valued at some ungodly price, and at times, for an ungodly piece of crap, aesthetically!

Kinda pisses me off.

Anyway, I also had a giggle or two with the thought of personally bringing one of my paintings, framed and signed, to “The Showcase” be appraised. What would they say to me in person not knowing that I’m the actual artist and that I am not yet dead!

Sometimes, I crack myself up!

So, let’s pretend it is one hundred years later and one of my pieces is being appraised.

Patron: “I don’t know. The owner said their mother owned the piece and had it framed and hung in the master bathroom for years.” Apparently, she felt ashamed to love the piece the way she did and didn’t want anyone to disparage or belittle her taste in art… Weird, huh?”

Appraiser: Well, sir, for all the abuse it may have received in that location, it is in good condition with no signs of water, humidity or damage from soap bubbles. In our investigations, we found that the mother only used Ivory Soap!

Patron: Wow… Really?

Appraiser: That’s correct, sir. You know Ivory Soap is still ninety-nine and forty-four one hundred percent pure!”

Patron: “Still?”

Appraiser: “Yes… Still!”

Appraiser: “Can you tell me how much you paid for it?”

Patron: “Yes, twenty five dollars and thirty-four cents! I asked the owner if he knew who the painter was, but he said he didn’t know.”

Appraiser: “Well, sir, I’d say you got a real bargain here… with or without this damaged, Bondo repaired and slightly discolored varnished frame. What we have here is a classic Ben Bensen III painting created in the late 1970’s during his deepest and darkest period as he struggled with his addiction to Hubig Pies.”

“It has never been proven that he mixed the lemon pie filling with titanium white and acrylic gesso, but our investigations into Ben’s palette, at that time, clearly shows the genius of doing so.”

Patron: “Gee!”

Appraiser: “Yes, indeed! You may notice that at this time the subjugation of his brush strokes is purely in line with his intense need to put aside and crush his demanding ego and lay prostrate amongst the paint. It was in this “humble” period that the painting you own in your hands for $25.00 was created.”

Patron: “Wow!”

Appraiser: “Yes, Indeed. Much later in his career, forced to change his style by his rejection of that gluten laden paint recipe, created a real comeback for the man. His “Under The Causeway” series of watercolors is a true triumph. Mixing salt water with fresh water from Bayou Chastaine changed the way many artists now work as well as a whole new way to fathom what we perceive as deep.

Patron: “Gee, that must be something to see.”

Appraiser: “Quite!” Just owning a print of one of the watercolors from the collection, could finance your kid’s education!”

Patron: “No kiddin’…”

Appraiser: I’m sure that you’d like to keep this undiscovered jewel as your own. But, should you decide, for any reason, to part with it, maybe, donate it as a museum piece for all to enjoy, you need to know the details. Personally, I’d appraised this marvelously historic painting at $250,000.00 and insure it for over $1,000,000.00.

Patron: “No way… no way! That’s amazing… that’s absolutely incredible,” he says slightly aghast at his good fortune, which is a hallmark staple of the show!

Appraiser: “Yes… Way!”

Patron: “Hey Honey, c’mere. You know that Louie Vuitton calf skin leather bikini you’ve always wanted? Buy it… and then, book that trip to the French Riviera we’ve always wanted to visit. We be rich, now!”

And, God bless that masochistic pie eating Ben Bensen III guy. What a sap for his art he was, though he did have exquisite taste! And bless, the garage owner that owned him and hasn’t got a clue… about art!”

Appraiser: Indeed…

It was a fun and informative morning and leaving with lagniappe like granola bars, donuts, coffee, finger sandwiches and mimosas, was a hit!

First cup!

Copyright 2023/ Ben BensenIII

"Finger Print Recognition?"

Kid Gloves?

Good Saturday Morning, all bodies.

After sloggin' through some heavy rains on the Causeway, I made to Lakeside Mall on time where Apple's Genius Bar resides. I decided to pay to have them replace the battery on my laptop. It just wasn't worth the time and effort for me to do it myself.

Alan, the Genius Bar dude, gave me the option of waiting to have the laptop serviced or to pick it up next week. I decided to wait.

In the process, I moseyed around the mall looking for something to occupy my time. The smell of cafe au lait and beignets emanating from Cafe Du Monde was inviting, but I already had breakfast. I continued past retail islands and kiosks that were just setting up.

Well, I thought, I need a pair of sunglasses. I also need to find a hat to cover my dome. You know, something stylish that I'd wear when I'm not destroying myself in the yard, but I just wasn't into the shopping scene.

I used to be when I was younger.

Anyway, I strolled aimlessly around until I saw the colorful and festive display presented by the Metairie Art Guild's Member Show. Lots of great visual vittles to sink your teeth into. I had some fun conversations about every subject under the sun including art with Guild members Connie Van Brechtel, Wayne Bernhard and another artist who I was introduced to named Glenn Ferrand.

It was a great way to spend an hour or more while waiting for my cellphone to ring. Unfortunately, I was expecting a phone call and not a text message from the Genius Bar. The laptop was ready for pickup at noon, but it wasn't until 2pm that I happen to see the text message.

Besides the long lines of men waiting at Dillard's to use the restrooms, it was a nice day of art and people watching. When I finally picked up my computer, I couldn't believe my eyes.

The gang at "the Bar" actually cleaned up the entire keyboard and monitor to the point that I almost didn't recognize my own computer. The dead bug and coffee stains, the cookie crumbs, the grubby fingerprints, tree pollen and dandruff were all wiped away clean. It was so inspiring and it got me to thinking...

Hmmmmm... I wonder if fingerprint recognition works wearing those blue surgical gloves? Well, it's a thought!

First cup!

Copyright 2022/ Ben Bensen III

 

"What IS That Sound And Where Is It Coming From?"

 

Good Saturday Morning, all bodies.

S'been some pretty good weather, lately. The French Quarter Jazz Festival got lucky, for sure!

"Damn, what's that sound," I said to no one.

About a month or so ago, I borrowed a book from a friend that I started to read before we had to leave. It's not a great book and it is only about two hundred pages or so, but I'll be damned if I can stay focused on it.

I've always been amazed at my wife's ability to concentrate. When were first dating, I noticed that she did her college homework in the kitchen that had two or three brothers in and out looking for something to eat.

Amazing!

But, I can't be any where where there's the slightest bit of a distraction if I plan to understand one sentence from any book I am interested in reading. Guess that I've always been that way...

Wait... what's that noise?

Locked alone in my bedroom, I attempted to read my book. But, there was this low constant drone that I hadn't noticed before and I just couldn't continue to comprehend one page until I found out what the noise was and wearing it is coming from.

I found it somewhere between page 121 and 124. I don't remember a thing about those pages, but I found that what I was hearing was a timer that I had left on the lamp after we returned from our trip to California. I tried to ignore it, but could not.

It got disconnected!

I few nights later, after Therese went to bed, I sat down with a chardonnay that I had bruised with some ice cubes, and continued my perusal about why we draw. I think I got to, I don't know, page 126, when I heard a beep, beep, beep.

"What the hell is THAT?"

For the next twenty minutes, I attempted to ignore the sound. Beep, beep, beep. I finally got up to investigate our cell phones, and that wasn't it. I walked to the office. Surely, it must be the shedder or one of those battery back up systems that's supposed to protect one's computer from electrical spikes...

No, that wasn't it.

What IS that sound and where is it coming from?

I checked each and every room trying to determine the location.

Maybe it's those frogs that just love to croak at the moon this time of the night. Each species seems to have their own style. Beep, beep, beep!

The beep, beep, beep, seemed too insanely rhythmic and constant, but against my better judgement, I went outside anyway. We've got a frog or toad, can't tell which, that actually barks like a small dog. It sounds like a dog that trying to get someone's attention... Kind of a yelp!

I stood out there for a minute or two and still heard the beep, beep, beep. It obviously was not coming from my noisy amphibian friends.

I just knew that I'd never get another page read until I stopped the beep. By now, my glass of wine was more water than wine, so I moseyed over to the refrigerator to replenish my muse, and whad'dya know... there is was beeping loud and clear.

It was our new refrigerator telling me, all that time, that the freezer door was not completely shut. How thoughtful!

I shut the freezer door, put the wine glass in the sink, closed the book, turned the lights out and went to bed.

Sherlock Holmes got nothing on me... Ha!

Second cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"Happy Independence Day-2021"

One of many fruit salads I make for my wife...

 Happy 4th of July, everyone.

Although I parked too far away from the park, the Fourth of July celebration called, "Sparks in the Park" was worth the trek. En route, I saw Tim Lantrip waving to me on Columbia Street as he drove by.

"Haven't seen you in a while. Why don't you drop on by," he yelled.

He's right. I've been kinda incognito for a while now!

The park was packed with lawn chairs facing in the direction of the bandstand and with good reason. The Covington Concert Band was phenomenal playing stirring patriotic classics by noted American composers including John Phillips Sousa.

Since I had never been to the park, I grabbed a beer and strolled around. There wasn't anyone I knew, which was alright with me. Mayor Mark Johnson with the assistance of Amy Tucker did a bang up job putting the show together.

As the evening grew darker, kids with glow sticks and necklaces became more noticeable as they seem to run in and out of the trees and the audience. People in their seats also lit up their faces blue messing with their cellphones. All we needed to further light up the night would have been fireflies.

Later in the night, the sky would be all lit up!

One man dressed completely in black was wandering to and fro with his iPad. Willing to give up my spot next to a large tree, I walked over to see what he was doing.

It turns out he was the band's sound engineer using his iPad as a mixer board. Eventually we got to talking about the music and the genre of marching music. He told me of all the songs that were played so far, Richard Roger's "Victory At Sea" gave him goosebumps.

Though I could have, I refrained from telling him how I was as a seven or eight year old, starting my summer vacation listening to the main theme of that NBC soundtrack. With my clothers folded and put away and having made my "bunk" military style, hung my "Fanner Fifty" pistol and holster on the bedpost.

Dusting away the dust bunnies from under the bed and setting my shoes perfectly under, but in line with my bed, I'd finish up with a salute, at attention, as the main theme of the soundtrack faded away with that great rolling wave ending.

I don't remember when it all stopped. It was probably the start of school or a hurricane... or whatever. I just remember the feeling of being disciplined and having my day starting off in the right direction.

Ah, the Fifties.

Copyright 2021/ Ben Bensen III

"My "True Man Compoty" Collection of Fruit Plates"...

My Valentine to my wife, yesterday!

 For the last couple of weeks or so, I started preparing a fruit salad/compote for my wife. Since her pancreatic cancer, she's had to restrict her diet. But, she can tolerate fruit quite well, so after a while, say a few months or so, I started designing her fruit salads and calling it "Fun With Fruit" and a bit later, my "True Man Compoty"fruit extravaganza.

Obviously, I am having a ball with this concept and my wife loves not only eating it, but trying to guess each ones silly titles. So, I decided to use a collection of my fruity fun as my cover art on Facebook. Got a lot of great response from friends and art directors... ha!

Here's one of a collection, No two plates are alike:

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III