Yes, l Was A Football Player Too...

SWISH?

The other day I was having breakfast at the local restaurant in Folsom. It was one of those times where everyone is leaving just as you arrive, but it was okay because I really just wanted to sit and be quiet, eating my Greek omelet and perusing the newspaper for the latest political gaffe.

When I'm alone, close to the kitchen door, I always roll up a used napkin and attempt a three point shot from where I sit. I don't do it when all my friends, or my wife, are present. Therese thinks it is in poor taste and she's embarrassed no matter whether I make the shot or not. I don't shoot from three point range when my friends are present because they all give me a hard time about missing such a easy lay up.

But on this late morning Tuesday, there were only a few patrons. Many of the folks arrive at Gus's in shifts for their early morning coffee and eggs, grits, bacon and toast. One group consists of plow boys and cowboys, who would either arrive before or after their chores. Then, around seven o'clock or so, you'd get the commuters waiting to get their coffee mugs filled and hang around a bit for some local gossip.

The retired and church going folks arrive around eight or eight thirty depending on how long the sermon is. They are the most laid back, loyal and noisiest bunch of the morning. I surmise it is so noisy because no one is wearing their hearing aids when the mass sermon is being given and they forget to turn them back on once they arrive at the restaurant. But now, it was mid morning, and it was the calm before the lunch storm.

Basketball was never a game that I could play well even though my grandfather built me and my other brother a basketball goal from wood. It was built to the regulation height with a 3/4 inch plywood backboard bolted to two 1" by 6" pressured treated posts which were cemented deep into the ground. It also came with a metal rim and nylon netting. It was very cool having also a concreted area which my grandfather built in our backyard that measured about twenty by thirty feet.

It made little difference.

I couldn't shoot, dribble in traffic or even dribble alone. Dunking had not been created yet and it was just as well because I couldn't jump very high either. At an early age, I was the team mascot for my dad's company team, including football, baseball and basketball. The game never did appeal to me like baseball and football did, even though to this day, I still try my hand at sinking a twenty footer.

So, I took a napkin that I used as a coaster for my glass of cold water, rolled it up, looked around for the waitress's interference and then took a long, high shot hoping to make a clean "swish." Sometimes, I can get lucky and go two for three in the amount of time it takes at breakfast to require three or four napkins. On this day, I only used one and naturally, I missed the bucket. So, with a sigh, I got up from the table to pick up the wayward basketball, and as I came up from doing so, I tried a "turn around fade" shot, which again, is just off the edge of the basket.

Okay, I thought to myself, 0 for 2. It is just not my day. I'll just slam this puppy into the basket, "Kobe style" and be done with it. With a half-hearted effort, just in case someone is looking, I nonchalantly turn and drop the napkin into the basket.

I missed it again... from practically right over the basket. Dejectedly, I pick up the "ball with it's own agenda" and hand delivered it deep into what is now just a garbage can. Walking back to my table, shrugging off a pitiful performance, I hear a voice say rather sympathetically, " Football player, eh?"

"Yeh, says the now bearded, stocky man sporting a camo LSU baseball cap. " I was a football player at one time and can't play basketball worth a damn either!"

We commiserated and enjoyed a pretty good chuckle at each others' expense... One linebacker to another!

Copyright 2012/ Ben Bensen III

Let the Countdown Begin, 5...4...3...2...One...

I Hope He Doesn't Age Too Soon!
I don't think I know anyone who will hate to see the year 2011 go.

Now that I live in rural Louisiana, I don't do much to ring in the new year, but when I lived in SoCal, my wife and I would visit the South Pasadena Rose Parade site where, each year, the city struggles to present it's entry on time. We would then spend the rest of the year, what's left of it, at a friend's home, the Villa Sabotella in South Pasadena, where wonderful Italian food and libations were enjoyed along with that crazy family's love of the good life. They were our "family"and our home away from home during the holidays. After a toast to bring in the new year, we would get a few hours of sleep and then walk the Rose Parade route with some other friends in the early morning hours as artists, musicians and float designers scramble to meet their personal deadlines before the parade starts.

Returning to our friend's home for a great breakfast complete with Ramos fizzes while watching the parade in the comfort and warmth of their hospitality, was always a treat. Because not many were as fanatical as I was about the bowl games, we seldom spent the afternoon together there, which was just as well, since all of us by game time, were pretty much spent.

It was always a great event to say goodbye to the old year and ring in the new with all our South Pass friends!

In the last few years, I have taken to quiet evenings with a glass of champagne and my Daily Reminder datebook where I sit and reflect on the old year complete with my disappointments and my successes. I like to focus on and write down all of the accomplishments of the past year even the silly ones like repairing the toilet or oiling the door hinges. Anything that makes me feel positive about leaving the old year behind, I write down onto the last few pages of the datebook.

Then, I say goodbye!

This holiday season I've been so incognito fighting a cold... for the last week. Disgusted with myself, I went in for a diagnosis yesterday, and found out that I've got the flu... Duh! Looks like orange juice, the Christmas tree, and football to ring in the New Year.

Maybe, that's not so bad... ha! Geaux Saints, Geaux Tigers!

And, Happy New Years, y'all!

Made In The USA...

Buzzed Off... This is the pic of the actual toothless blade!

What an idiot!

I haven't really used my circular saw in quite some time, so I don't remember when I did use it, how it performed. All I know is that the saw was smoking more and more with each cut. I could sympathize with a saw struggling to cut a large three by six piece of wood, but it seemed the more I used it, the worst the saw performed.

I've been a Milwaukee Tool fan ever since I can remember. The jigsaw is about twelve years old and was bought to replace my grandfather's all-metal Craftsman, which still works quite well, but is a bit rough and rather heavy when compared to the newer models. Heck, that Craftsman has to be over sixty years old.

I also own a Milwaukee 3/8 inch drill that I purchased to replace a Rockwell drill which Consumer Reports recommended as the best tool for the money, oh, way back in the late seventies. Since replacing it with the Milwaukee, the new drill has been everywhere, doing all sorts of duties and surviving all sorts of misuse, intentional and unintentional.

I've dropped it more than once off my roof unto the pavement. It's got more nicks and cuts and dents than Mean Joe Greene's helmet. I love that tool and I love Milwaukee Tool Company for making such great products... and to my knowledge are still made in the USA.

That's why it bothered me to see this circ-saw, not performing up to snuff. I was changing my garage into a artist's studio and to do so was incorporating the saw to cut framing 2x4's and sheathing for the new wall that was replacing the original garage door. But with each passing use, the animal would smoke and kick back worse than before. I have a penchant for using tools not designed to perform the task I demand of them, but it got to the point that the kick back was getting so violent, that I feared I'd have to go out and buy a new saw, which presented another problem I had no time for... researching another tool to purchase.

I could not believe Milwaukee would "do me like 'dat"! Now, what do I do?

I did what most do-it-yourselfers do. Find an easy solution. I took off the blade to find a replacement. It was the next best thing short of disassembling the entire tool, piece by piece. The blade seemed to be the biggest part to replace and probably the easiest. So, I looked in the tool case that houses the saw to search for a newer, or even older blade that might cut better and there was none to be found.

Begrudgingly, mumbling obscenities all the way, I took the saw and the unattached blade with me to the local hardware store about six miles into town. I only brought in the blade and plopped it on the counter. Steve, the store owner, picked up the blade, focused his bi-focals carefully on the part, combing every tooth, back and front, inside and out all along in a circular route. He then looked up, rather glumly, above his glasses, which were perched at the tip of his nose, and sighed before giving me the verdict.

"Please tell me, Steve, that there's something wrong with this blade because I don't want to have to research and buy another circular saw... ever!"

I, emphasized the word,"ever", insinuating that if it wasn't the blade, it must be the saw, and I didn't want to lose my faith in the great American Milwaukee Tool Company.

Steve put the blade back down and calmly, but sternly said, "There's nothing wrong with this blade if you got some big slabs of butter or cheese you want to cut!"

"Otherwise, this is no good to no one," he said.

Okay, so I'm an idiot. I bought a new blade for twice what I'd pay for at the home centers, but it was worth every inflated dime when I loaded that puppy onto the saw and began cutting two by fours like it was cutting into butter.

And, best of all, my faith in America was again restored, this time, by the great Milwaukee Tool Company... God Bless Made in the USA!

Copyright 2011-2012/Ben Bensen III

"Don't Touch That Dial... It's Pre-Programmed!"

This is not an endorsement, ha!

For the last couple of months or so, I've been renovating the garage, turning it into my art studio. Without going through all the horrible details of demolishing perfectly good walls to add fiberglass insulation, I have been having good and bad visions of how this project will look when finished. In the process of renovation, many large materials have to be incorporated and large materials like four by eight sheets of anything is impossible to jam into the trunk of a four door sedan.

 Nor can it be tied to the roof of a four door sedan. I know. I've tried. On many cars!

I thought about asking some friends at the local coffee shop if they could help me out. In Folsom, everybody's second car is a sedan. Their first vehicle is a big, honking four by truck with a trailer hitch, a tool box and some mud boots turned upside down between the tool box and the cab. I thought about asking them for assistance, but the return favor might be more than I bargained for, like gutting a deer, or scaling an ice chest full of speckled trout! Besides, I really don't have any close friends here in Folsom... acquaintances, yes, close friends willing to haul sheets of plywood, insulation, sheet rock and such... nah!

Although it says that you can rent this wonderful van for only $19.00, it actually cost $25.00 excluding gasoline refills. I know. I've driven this exact vehicle thirty-five miles to and from Folsom, LA hauling stuff I can't take in my car five times already. I will probably have to use it once or twice more before this project is complete.

But the really cool thing is that using the van as much as I have, I have all the buttons on the radio pre-programmed for the channels that I love. Not that I really love radio. To me, it is a vast wasteland, but when you are out and about doing things that are not the norm, it is always good to have something familiar...like every sports talk radio channel available, NPR, The Think Tank, and the local college rock stations. Whenever there's a commercial on air, I just hit the old button and "BINGO'.

The first time I used the van, I programmed the buttons so I wouldn't have to be preached to, or screamed at, forced to cry in my beer or sold one political bag of nonsense or another, but I never expected the channels to stay the way I set them up.

Either this poor van is seldom used or someone out there has the same "musical tastes" I have. What a coincidence.

"It's Like Sittng at a Stop Light and Feeling Someone Else's Music!

Feel the Music...

Lately, I have been spending more time at coffee houses like Starbucks, PJ's and CC's here on the northshore for a variety of reasons. Sometimes, just to get away from the house... and myself. I understand that these shoppes are meeting places for people to converse about anything. Many times, it is used as a convenient, non-threatening venue for business. Heck, I've utilized these places for just such reasons, but it really bothers me when people sell their religious views, loud and clear, to everyone whether they care to hear it or not.

I'm not very good with zealots especially of the religious kind!

I realize how naive I have been most of my life about the things that motivate people. Being raised in a city where, as repugnant as it can sometimes be, "Laissez les bon temp roulet" ( French for "Let the Good Times Roll! ) is the main battle cry. I've seldom been exposed to such proselytizing. Being raised French and Catholic, I had to ask a Jewish friend what was that little beanie on his head was all about having moved from New Orleans to Los Angeles. As I recall, in the fifties and early sixties, we Catholics were threatened to burn in hell forever if we attended and participated in a Mass or services at any other church that wasn't Catholic,, so it is no wonder it took me leaving the comfort and protection of Catholicism in a provincial city like New Orleans, to learn about other cultures. And as a kid I never was really exposed to the "Bible Belt." But today, here on the northshore, it abounds.

 It is not my style to talk about the after life, religion or the various "end of the world" scenarios, at least, not without a tongue planted firmly in my cheek. It is equally hard for me to intelligently speak or listen, for that matter, on the subject of politics. I'd rather sit on the fence. Of course, having to listen to others speak loud enough for almost all booths to hear on any subject is rude, boring and preachy.

To me, it's kinda like sitting at a stop light and feeling someone else's music!

Copyright 2011/ Ben Bensen III

"Good Things Come In Small Packages"...Number Six!

Brian's First and Only Entry Into a Modeling Contest...

In a way, this was my son's coup de grace. After about three years of making planes under my "tutelage" I suggested he try entering one of his creations at a local hobby shop that was having a model making contest. He decided instead to completely build a model from beginning to end and the plane he chose for the competition was the P-40B Tiger Shark of the famous Flying Tigers.

I shot this photo of the model and sent it in with the aircraft for judging. We both were pretty happy with the effort and I can remember, looking back, that the only assistance I gave him was aligning the yellow stripe decal behind the number fourteen. I remember discussing whether or not to glue the pilot in the cockpit, but Brian was happy with his detailing of the pilot and wanted him in it.  Sometimes, in fact, most times, model makers are better off showing the interior of the cockpit without the pilot because they over render the features of the pilot and it makes the rest of the effort look unprofessional.

For what ever reason, even though, his entry was displayed in a glass case with other entries at the hobby shop in Pasadena, it didn't win anything. I can't say Brian was heart broken because he always was to cool to let anything like losing upset him, but I still felt bad for him. I told him that maybe it was something I did, like displaying the plane on top of the illustrated history book in the photo, that might have, somehow, disqualified him. But my kid had no opinion on that. I sensed he felt it was time to move on to other things and even though we made a few more memorable moments building models, I slowly backed away from participating and he slowly stopped being interested. It was kinda a sad day, but he gained so many unique experiences both mechanical and creative from that time that I could only see his participation as a positive force.

It's one of those gifts Dads can do... impart a love for the things that you loved as a child and see where your kids take it!

"Good Things Come In Small Packages"... Number Four!

Going Navy with 'Da Blues...

Well, try as I may, I cannot find the layout that this picture of Brian inspired. Years ago, I got a call to create visuals for eight spread ads for an art director, Tony Halstead, who was freelancing for McCann Erickson. The client was Hamilton Avnet and wouldn't you know it, I've found six of the eight color xeroxes of my work, but not the one of a kid making a model airplane. In the above photo composite I designed for Brian's college graduation diary, the background pic of him making a model is one I shot for the Hamilton Avnet comp. 

Anyway, my son had a great time building a series of naval aircraft complete with the early WWII tri-colored camouflage of dark sea blue, sky blue and white. By this time, he was fairly good at airbrushing this paint scheme though he never did get the concept of taping off the greenhouse canopies that were used at this time during the war. 

What I used to do as a kid in the early sixties, was to paint the greenhouse frames by hand carefully lining in between the pre-grooved frames on the clear plastic canopy with turpentine or Testor's Thinner and then immediately add a line of dark blue using capillary action to do the rest of the work. If I wasn't satisfied with the line I would carefully erase the line trying to not disturb the many other frames I had created. It was quite tedious, but then, I was a kid and had plenty of patience especially on a rainy day when I had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. 

My first airbrush was a Paasche "V" I received as a graduation gift in college. Within months it had paid for itself painting airbrush illustrations for the oil trade industry, but I didn't incorporate the tool on any model building projects until I attempted to use it in Jack Leynnwood's illustration class. It was then that I learned to use clear cellophane tape to mask off the frames of the greenhouse canopy and then spray color on with the airbrush. It was a technique my son never acquired mainly because I didn't trust him with an X-acto knife... at any age!

His inspiration for the TBF Avenger, which was another Lindbergh reissue and built completely by Brian except the greenhouse canopy, was at an airshow at Burbank where he saw a tri-colored SBD Dauntless and a year or two later, the TBF, at the then, annual Confederate Air Force Show at Chino.

Copyright 2011/ Ben Bensen III