Another example of man interferring with nature. Whales in the Delta. Did those two whales get all the way to the delta or did they just hang around the Sacramento River? I don't know the answer because after seeing the swimming, breaching,and blowing a dozen times, I tuned out the story. Do I sound unsympathetic? I hear constantly about all the poor and hungry people in California and those whales would have made a whole crapload of taco meat. Sorry if that isn't P.C. I'll rephrase it: Those whales would have made a whole crapload of goulash.

First on my list of complaints (well-reasoned complaints): Why so much consternation about these whales? It isn't that it happens a lot. There must be thousands of fish who make the same mistake but because they are small and keep it to themselves, nobody cares. The animal 'rights' people didn't hesitate to wish for the death of the baby polar bear in Germany. Is size really THAT important? But most of all, I think our chickens have come home to roost, as my grandmother used to say. Actually, she said it in Swedish and we pointed at her, laughed like hell, told her to go back to Stockholm, gave her some herring and got back to Leave It To Beaver. ("Ward...you were pretty hard on the beaver last night!")

When I spent ALL my time in California, another hapless sea-mammal wandered into the San Francisco Bay, Sacramento River system and got 'lost'. This hapless spouter was actually looking for a gay bar in Stockton where they had less attitude than the ones in San Francisco. At some point, without the help of cable news, Humphrey (what were his parents thinking when they named a gay whale Humphrey?) finally was helped to find the Golden Gay..er Gate Bridge and made it back to the Pacific. And that is where that stupid whale spread his dumb genes into the Whale Pool and as my grandmother said, "God morgan. Taler du engelska?" Someone else said..the whales have come home to roost. Yes, Humphrey is probably the great-grandfather of a bunch of stupid whales, two of which we've heard about for the last week. And now, those whales have been helped back to the ocean to replicate themselves and damage the gene pool. Survival of the fitness be damned! Darwin is rolling over in his grave. And the poor eat bean tacos!

Don't take me too seriously (just a little). How can you have any respect for someone who likes Velveeta, Saltines & Peanut butter, and canned asparagus!

Rob

I was talking to someone this afternoon after seeing the movie Waitress...(Not bad-another one of those how horrible can men make a woman's life movies)...and I was telling another one of my interminable stories...this one about something that happened to me in California. I realized that he had no connection to my life in CA. I did some of my best radio in CA and yet, there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, who have no understanding of what I did there. Anyone in the Twin Cities of Mps/St. Paul remembers the Rob Sherwood of KDWB & U100. They have no idea what I did on mornings in the west. And conversely, those out west can't even imagine the teen-bopper pleasing 'screamer' who haunted WeeGee, Channel 63, RightonsupaU, and The Music Station for 11 years.

If I haven't mentioned this before, the best time I had on the radio were a few of the years toward the end of career doing mornings in the CA central valley. Even though I enjoyed it, I suffered some ass-holes. (If you go to THEIR blog THEY mention the morning guy who was a REAL asshole) Even though, I claim that time period as my favorite, everything that happened before was the prologue and as important to the final mix as room-temperature butter and sifted flour are to a good cake.

I just wonder about the current broadcasters. Is everything different, but really still the same? Does anybody dream anymore? Are their young broadcasters, today, with the same dreams and drive we see on the reality competition TV shows like American Idol, Think You Can Dance or that Film Directors one?...Or the haircutting one on Bravo and the cooking ones on Bravo and with that asshole British guy? Just wondering late on Saturday night... Rob

I am beaten down. I can't ignore you anymore. So, at my peril. Taking the lackluster career and gutter-tossed reputation, lightly, I throw open this blog to your comments.

Feel free to add your thoughts or stimulate new threads. If I find it offensive, I'll delete it. If you read the blogs and comments quickly, you may see the deletions before they suffer my delete key. Feel free to comment at will and I would enjoy most, hearing from those of you still toiling in the broadcasting grapeyards. I often wonder if it is really bad or am I just another geezer bemoaning the fact that everything was better in the 'old days'.

Now that I've taken this dangerous step...at least will before the night is out...there will most likely be a deep and echoing silence from robsherwood.com bloggers who have nothing to say.

Saw Spiderman 3 today. Why the complaints. I thought is was excellent. Much better than number 2 if you want my opinion. Wait a minute. That didn't sound right. It was better than the second Spiderman movie...not necessarily better than number 2. Of course it was better than number 2. Has anyone ever tried the apricot Cliff Bar? Very good. Especially, washed down with the drink of the gods...Diet Mountain Dew. Have I ever told you that my younger brother is the best cook in our family? He proved it again on Sunday. My mother was a wonderful cook...in my memory...but, in reality she had as many misses as hits and anything unfortunate could always be fixed with melted butter.

I look forward to some dialogue and whether I get it or not...I shall continue.

"...I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter....."

Rob

Well, I awoke at 3:30am. How long is this going to last? Tired to the point of collapse at 7pm and ready to work in the garden at 4am.

While I was gone my in-mail boxes filled to overflowing. Some of the messages were actually from real people. Since just about everybody I know, I met through work, I have lots of fans who became friends. Forwards can be entertaining, but I most enjoy the pix that tell their stories. Anyone who listened to the morning show at KHOP will remember 'VIRGINIA'. She was 'contest adept' but also a good friend. That she moved to CA from "Ory-gone" it was always a thrill to announce she was from the BEAVER state. (Those were most innocent times...) Virginia mailed me an album of grandchildren pictures and I almost cried. Come to think of it, this was a woman who was going to make a great..GREAT...grandma, and that was evident even 20 years ago.

Then there is Cindi. One of the quintessential teeny-bopper KDWB fans from Robbinsdale High School. Somehow she got the nick-name Whoopie Woman! At some point she moved to CA and ended up permanently in the Amador Valley between the Coastal Mountain range and the Diablo range. We never seem to connect for a visit but we chat often and it is another friendship of note...now approaching 40 years!

A dozen years later my station in Tacoma/Seattle has a softball team and a relatively crazy listener (ask her kids...) comes to a game and begins a friendship that has lasted for decades. I love to ride the train and I took her daughters on a train trip to Portland to visit the zoo (in a rain storm) and hang out. Now, the daughters are grown, Claudia is also a grandma and I get to see the kids weekly, thanks to the internet.

There are also the friends with whom I've lost touch. I am never really sure why that happens but inspite of the distance and lack of contact, the memories are strong and good.

So, I just got back from a week or so, visiting my friend Tom. He sat alone in the rain at the Minnesota State Fair watching my show in 1972, I was Best Man at his wedding in 1979 and saw his youngest son married last week in England. Wow! I am sort of lucky.

I'm lucky to have so little malice in my life. If you are reading this, I don't believe in 'former friends'. We may never hook up but I probably think of you often. I have lots of time to think about stuff.

"...that's life..." Rob

Before I write anything: it wouldn't be so bad if I could just be beamed somewhere. Seven hours on an airplane! I am hard pressed to think of anywhere I'm so anxious to visit, I would gladly suffer the airplane trip. But!!!!...if only the train system of Britain were available to me here. Now...that I could enjoy.

You ever watch a British movie from the 50's? There is something about them that isn't quite right. It's like eating pizza in Italy. You know it's pizza but (in spite of the fact it is authentic) it isn't quite right. Foreign cars. Not the ones made today for the U.S. market but the ones made for the foreign markets. They aren't just right. Back to the Brit movies. Some are very good (most of the really good British movies were made in Hollywood) but the music isn't right, the lighting is different, the editing ..well, it just isn't quite right. When I went to the U.K. a couple of weeks ago, (the first time in 25 years) I expected the England that wasn't quite right to be gone. I was ready for things like the McDonalds in St. Peterburg, or a standard american style mall in Spain. I was ready to see a British version of America. One thing that will always save the U.K. from total capitulation is driving on the left. It just doesn't look right.

Imagine my delight, after a horrible airplane ride, a frazzled right to King Cross RR Station and a delightful train trip to Darlington, I found out I was spending the week in the British village of all those wonderful U.S. made British movies. I mentioned to a young man named Simon that Richmond (pop. about 8,000)so authentically British I expected Margaret Rutherford to walk down the street. He said, "Who's Margaret Rutherford?" and I went to McDonalds.

I am glad to be back and sorry I didn't blog during my trip but I was computer deprived and it didn't bother me. Miss Marple and I had a murder to solve. I plan to up-date the stories this week and have a note-book full of blog topics to bore you with....also starting this week (I'll let you know) you may answer my blogs as you desire. Cross your fingers everyone behaves.

"...a foggy day...in London Town..." Rob

Since the Queen (Elizabeth II) spent the week-end in the U.S., I felt it was only fitting to spend some time in the U.K. The last time Elizabeth Windsor visted the U.S., I was in California and AGAIN, no call, no visit. So, when I am in London, I don't plan to visit her either. Maybe she'll get the message.

If there is a little gap in my contributions to this blog, it's because I'm on vacation and lazy as hell. I KNOW they have internet access all over the world but for some reason blogging drops WAAAAY down my list when I am off someplace. My brother said I should ask strangers to take my picture. I think I told the story of the statue of President McKinley or Chester Arthur or someone like that. It's in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco and it is the perfect place to perch after getting McDonalds at the end of Haight. We were sitting there eating and one after another the Asian tourists were waving at us. At first I was annoyed by their agressive friendliness and THEN I was annoyed because they actually wanted us to move so they could get an ugly-american-free photo of the President. It reminds me of a time in Rome, standing in St. Peter's Square, trying to get a picture and the Pope kept coming out on the balcony ruining the shot! Or when Zabruder tried to film a presidential visit and...well, you know. The whole damn reel was wasted!

Anyway, you may or may not hear from me. When I return I'll wrap up the KSTP Story in that section of the website and move to Duluth and WEBC (shudder) and then....

"...California here we come...right back where we started from...."

Rob
On The Road Again

I was up at the crack of dawn this morning (reminded me of the 'old days') to bring my older brother to the airport. Later, talking to my sister-in-law, she reminded me of the 'plum' story. She classifies it is one of my 'I don't think I would have told that' stories. (Oops! I feel a story coming on....)

During my last years in San Francisco, I loved getting up early on a free day, hopping on my $100 Target bike and peddling my ass out to Ocean Beach. I'd stop at the 7-11, 3 blocks from the beach, buy some diet Mountain Dew, a hot-dog and Cheetos and spend the rest of the day with the sand molding my butt, the sun doing its damage, and a good book to enjoy. Two or three times each year, I get to do the same in Duluth!! Believe it or not, we have all the same things...Sand, sea grass, sea-gulls, and Diet Mountain Dew.

The particularly memorable day in San Francisco was hot. Not just your regular hot. It was Africa Hot! There wasn't even a little breeze to cool things off and for once Ocean Beach wasn't a refuge from the heat. Even the ocean seemed overcome by the heat and the surfers dinged around waiting for waves that never came. When I stopped at the 7-11, I was hot and sweaty. The Cheetos weren't appetizing and in some crazy moment of sheer healthful insanity, I bought 4 fresh plums. (To go with my Diet Mountain Dew and hot-dog) About three hours later the blazing sun and humidity won the battle and I decided to pack it up. I don't like to leave my garbage on the beach so I packed away the stickty plum pits and hot-dog remains in a sack and stuffed them into my shoulder bag. I will skip the 100 degree (unusual for SF) ride home but suffice to say, it was hell. I hung the bike on the wall just as the phone rang. A friend invited me to a movie (starting in 30 minutes..hurry hurry) and without pause dashed to the bus stop. While sitting on the bus I became aware of an unusual (for me) situation. Something didn't smell very good.

I am not a sweater. I use deoderant to stave off any untoward aromas and sometimes most liberally apply one of several brands of men's cologne. My shampoo smells like something natural, as does my bath soap. My toothpaste is minty as is my mouthwash. I sometimes use lotion and that smells nice. On any given day, I am a cornucopia of wonderful scent. Not on this day. I did the armpit sniff and although not perfect, decided they were acceptable. I pulled at the collar of my t-shirt and smelled the beach. What was the offender? Think about this. When you sit properly, your nose is directly above your crotch. EEEEOOO! Crotch smell. All the bike riding, the heat, the sand and the sun defeated the wonders of science. Too many nooks and crannies. And here I was about to sit next to a friend, in the dark, eating popcorn, with a crotch problem. I couldn't think of a solution until I remembered the bag of beach detrius in my shoulder pack. I retrieved the remains of the four plums...pits and the sticky plum flesh still adhering to them. Grabbing the juicy wad of fruit remains in the palm of my hand, I reached into my shorts and vigorously rubbed the mess in every fold, wrinkle and crevice. When I pulled out my hand it felt as if I'd wet my pants. For good measure I gave each armpit a bit of attention and wiped my sticky hand on the seat of my shorts.

Desparate times call for desparate actions. I rose to the challenge. The proof was when my friend, sitting next to me in the theater, said, "You smell good." As my sister-in-law would say..."I don't think I would have told that story."

"...in the good old summer time.."

Rob

PS: CK came out with a new men"s cologne called Be Delicious. It always reminds me of this story. Do you think Calvin Kline ever used some apple remains in an emergency?

A new month and so much attention to my website it boggles ones mind. I am working on more Chapters and straightening out the various threads so there is some sort of flow...that will all arrive soon.

Lolling in bed this morning, I found myself actually getting mad...perhaps, getting irked is closer to my feeling...when I thought of the buffet I had on Sunday. I've eaten dinner at Blackwood's Restaurant and liked both the food and the atmosphere. My expectations must have been too high. We've been planning this Sunday buffet excursion for months and the realization didn't equal the anticipation.

The food was good. I've had better bread pudding, and scrambled buffet-eggs are no great shakes. The problem was: There was no WOW! factor. Someone planned this buffet and WHAT WERE THEY THINKING? I would be embarrassed to offer a 'high-toned' buffet and have it pale in comparison to a "trailor-trash" buffet. In almost EVERY instance, Blackwood's didn't rise to the occasion when compared to Old Country Buffet. Entree's, basics, selection, salad bar, desserts...OCB wins every time. BW only gets the atmosphere/service gold medal. And the bottom line...with tip--Blackwood's $25.00....Old Country Buffet $12. I would like to ask the powers-that-be at Blackwood's Restaurant..."What Were They Thinking?"

How often do you listen to a radio station and ask yourself that question. How about politicians?....I wonder if they think at all. When I go to the Mall I see women and girls wearing all varieties of unfortunate fashion choices and can't help but ask...What were they thinking?" There must have been a death in their family and all the mirrors are covered. On a warm day I saw a man, 40+, enjoying the nice weather by wearing a pair of cut-off jeans! with this black dress shoes and patterned socks. His t-shirt barely covered his belly. Daisy Duke was rolling over in her grave and she isn't even dead! "What was he thinking?"

I plead guilt too. Far too often, I wasn't thinking. Or my thinking was wrong. At least I think so.

"...cuz one's got a weasel and one's got a flag.." Rob