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Nuz of the Weird
All the news of '97 that gave locals fits
By the Holy Order of the Nuzites
THERE ARE TIMELESS QUESTIONS that, no matter how often they are answered, must be asked again and again. Why is the sky blue? Is there a God? And, of course, how do they pronounce Nuz? May we suggest a simple mnemonic to help you remember. It should never rhyme with "snooze." Like, for example, "Did'ja read that snooze-piece in the Sentinel?"
Nope, Nuz rhymes with buzz. Or fuzzy. Yet another mnemonic: Think of this gentle yet wittily wise column as a plateful of dainty finger sandwiches stuffed with the latest "buzz," yet dished up in a warm and "fuzzy" cocoon of optimism and topped with a big ol' dollop of irreverence.
Or some such tortured metaphorical meal.
Yet it was not always so.
Back when Nuz was a mere zygote, barely more than a speck of desire in the Metro Santa Cruz owners' eyes, the proud parents envisioned a serious, newsworthy prodigy. Someday the little tot would grow up to win the Pulitzer, no doubt. But the bigshots never counted on the damaging influence a puerile editor and malcontented writers would have on their precious offspring.
In no time, the toddler known as Nuz was setting fires, torturing small animals and public officials and generally embarrassing its elders with endless pee-pee and caca jokes.
At wit's end, the grown-ups called in a disciplinarian for the now out-of-control Nuz--an editorial equivalent of military boarding school, if you will. Riding crop a-quivering, the new news editor surveyed his surly charge and demanded that Nuz wipe that smirk off its face.
Sadly, Nuz became ... "snooze." Writers dozed off trying to construct proper sentences while readers suggested ever more creative--yet anatomically impossible--uses for this once-proud column. Ouch!
But just like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, the troubled yet spunky little column finally triumphed while the meddlesome stuffed shirts sailed over the cliff to a fiery death on the jagged rocks below. Okay, okay, wishful thinking. But they did learn a lesson in futility and (hankie-dab to the eye, crescendo of violin music), Nuz was saved.
With a newfound swagger, cigarette dangling insolently from lips and a new tattoo, the column strode towards a future as vast and promising as a freshly painted wall begging to be grafitti'd.
Herewith, in roughly chronological--if not scatological--order are the high points (so few) and low points (a vast expanse) of that Dennis the Menace of SC media: Nuz, 1997.
The English Impatient
It was to be a lovely day at the movies, don't you know. But, reports an aggrieved Nuz tipster, it turned out to be anything but. Arriving at the Rio Theatre for a matinee showing of The English Patient Sunday before last, tipster and friend gathered up armfuls of popcorn, soda, Jujubes, Junior Mints and God-knows-what else, then took their seats. Yet instead of viewing the movie at its appointed showing time, they were treated instead to an usher's announcement that the projector was broken--no show today.
OK, things break, figured said tipster. But what really put a burr under our buddy's saddle was the usher's inadvertent admission that his crew had been working on the projector for 45 minutes--long enough to know it wasn't going to work and long enough to make sure everyone spent many bucks at the concession stand.
OK, it's not on the scale of the Watergate break-in, but we're always happy to investigate the smaller conspiracies, too. A call to the venerable theater got us assistant manager Shanti Blanc and much, much more info than we bargained for. Yep, he admitted, on a good weekend matinee the Rio sells $300-$500 worth of junk food before the show.
But, we wondered, did management purposely not tell theatergoers of mechanical problems for this nefarious reason? What a can of worms we opened up with this question.
After insisting that it took only a couple of minutes--not 45--to realize there was a problem, the 20-year-old Shanti, whose name is Sanskrit for "peace," was feeling anything but. "We get yelled at for everything," he began. "I'm trying to do the best job I can, and we just get shit upon." The young manager attributes part of the public's callous attitude towards his employees to the prevailing attire: "We wear these Taco Bell uniforms, and just get thrashed."
Spam Slam
Much to the chagrin of the folks at Hormel Foods (the makers of the infamous tinned meat product), the word "Spam" is a pejorative term on the Internet. In addition to representing a mixture of pork shoulder, ham, water, sugar and sodium nitrate, "spam" is a pseudonym for mass quantities of unwanted email. If you open your mailbox and find thousands of identical messages, you've been "spammed."
The name, according to infamous online reporter Brock Meeks, comes from the old Monty Python sketch about the restaurant that serves everything with Spam (spam and eggs, spam and ham, spam and spam ... you remember).
Meeks reported last week in his online column, CyberWire Dispatch, that Hormel execs have essentially resigned themselves to sitting around helpless as their product is showered with electronic ridicule (with the exception of the company's attempts to reign in unauthorized Spam-related Web sites). "Unfortunately, there is so little we can do about it," Hormel spokesperson Mary Harris told Meeks.
Perhaps the most fun for the public--and most unnerving to the Spam folks--are the thousands of other Spam references on the Net (Harris calls most of 'em "plain, unadulterated garbage").
For instance, check out these "spam hikus" (spelling isn't a priority online) that Meeks found:
Highly unnatural
Here are some other interesting Spam facts reported by Meeks:
Online rogue reporter Brock Meeks covers news related to technology and the Internet. To get CyberWorld Dispatch, send email to [email protected] and type "subscribe CWD-L" in the first line of the message.
Blue Balls
Don'tcha just hate laundry day? More annoying than watching the dryer go round and round, is spending hard-earned bucks on stinky, creek-polluting laundry detergent. That was Aptos resident Valerie Watt's attitude at least, so she was tickled to learn about the "Laundry Solution" at a recent health fair at Palookaville. Its makers, Trade Net Marketing, promised that when their little blue ball--filled with "structured water"--was tossed in the wash, it would replace the need for detergent. And, since it would last at least 1,500 washes, think of the money you'd save.
Say no more, said the laundress, and immediately signed up for a free demonstration. Before you could shout "white tornado," salesperson (or sales counselor, as they now like to be called) Dan LaRochelle appeared at the local Laundromat with his blue balls to demo a load of Watt's dirty laundry.
"I didn't notice a difference," admits Watt, but LaRochelle explained that the soapless sphere didn't replace pre-wash detergent. Also, in addition to the "laundry solution," she could purchase "optical brighteners" (which sounded suspiciously like detergent) from his company.
Well, Watt signed up anyway, then discovered it was a--you guessed it--multilevel marketing scheme. Watt could reap clean socks and untold wealth if she could sell others on selling the little blue balls.
"I realized it was a scam when I got to the part in the literature that said that the process is patented, but the patent is secret to protect the inventor," remarks the admittedly gullible gal. She sent her laundry solution back to LaRochelle demanding her money back, then dropped by the county's Consumer Affairs Unit to lodge a complaint.
When contacted, LaRochelle explains the mix of Newtonian physics and New Age thought that power his blue balls. "The liquid is like a homeopathic remedy," he says. "When the water inside behaves a certain way, it gives off a negative charge and breaks up the hydrogen bonds."
And, yes, one can make "$1,000 to $10,000 a week, comfortably," pushing these wonder orbs, boasts LaRochelle.
But don't bother calling company owner Irwin Annau for an interview. "The founders would refrain from articles, because this is a suppressed technology," warns LaRochelle. "Big companies like Procter & Gamble will buy a product and take it off the market."
SC Assistant District Attorney Morgan Taylor is delivering a missive to the Florida-based company to put up or shut up. "In order to make a claim like that," Taylor says, "they need to come up with some research for it."
If Trade Net Marketing can't, figure on seeing the little blue balls lobbed out of town.
Astro-Nut or Not?
At a recent court hearing in Santa Cruz County Superior Court, Jim Hardy, the attorney for astronaut James Lovell, didn't do what Nuz considered the obvious and ask the judge to dismiss Soquel-based conspiracy writer Bill Kaysing's improbable libel lawsuit against his client. Instead, Hardy and Kaysing agreed to an October trial date, giving the lawyer plenty of time for discovery--legalese for dirt-digging. (In court papers, Lovell's lawyers suggest they may ask for a dismissal after discovery is "substantially completed.")
Kaysing, who wrote a book called We Never Went to the Moon, filed what amounts to a nuisance suit against the astronaut last year following a Metro (San Jose) article in which Lovell called the writer "wacky." Legal experts contacted by Nuz agree that calling someone "wacky" does not a successful libel suit make. If anything, Kaysing's wild accusation that Lovell is a liar who participated in a government conspiracy to fool the public is infinitely more harsh than being called wacky.
If Lovell prevails, as is likely, Kaysing may have to pay for the astronaut's legal costs--and they probably won't be cheap. Not to fear, the 74-year-old Kaysing reassures Nuz. He's already broke. "If you're going to fight the government, you've got to get rid of all your possessions and money," says Kaysing, who lives in an 18-foot trailer with his wife, Ruth. Ruth's battle with Parkinson's disease has forced Bill to max out his credit cards to pay for medical costs not covered by Medi-Cal.
Despite the odds, Kaysing is preposterously confident. "Open and shut case," he proclaims. He insists Lovell damaged his credibility and should pay for doing so.
But how much credibility can someone who believes the first moon-landing was a staged hoax filmed by 2001: A Space Odyssey director Stanley Kubrick command?
Nuz just hopes Kaysing consults someone other than his attorney, which happens to be himself.
Smells Like Teen Toilet
Peee-eww! Did y'all catch a whiff of downtown Monday morning? Strongest at the corner of Highway 1 and River Street in Santa Cruz, it was still plenty noticeable at the Nuz bunker on Union Street. "Rotting flesh," was how one office mate described the odor. "Rotten eggs," ventured another.
Nuz's attempts to determine the source of the nose-scruncher from the county's Office of Environmental Health met with little success. OEH sends air-quality complaints 30 miles south to the Monterey Bay Unified Air Pollution Control District. A call to that office from downwind got us Dave Frisbey, air quality compliance inspector. "I've had complaints for a while from that area," notes Frisbey, who adds that the smell is gone by the time he gets to Santa Cruz.
To find the offender, Frisbey taps into his inner bloodhound. "I follow the wind," he explains. "Then I try to track down the possible sources." Unfortunately, he adds, "I've never been there when the odor is."
At least one unhappy neighbor has his sniffer out of joint about the problem. Attorney Jeff Alford, whose offices are smack at the corner of River and Highway 1, says he's been smelling a "nauseating odor" off and on since he's been at that location--about a year and a half. Alford has raised a stink with the air district three or four times, but says the smell has always dissipated by the time someone arrives.
Eat Me, Sweetie
Lickable. Edible. Paintable. Wearable. Valentine's gifts have come a long way from a box of chocolates and sappy Hallmark cards. Best selection goes to Frenchy's Cruzin' Books and Video, SC's only dedicated sex store. You'll also find erotic toys, goodies and lingerie for him and her at Camouflage, Herland Bookstore--no underwear, but they know what women like--and Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood (both in the Capitola Mall).
This year's most bizarre erotic Valentine's gift: Velcro sheets from Camouflage. Stick whatever body part where ever. (Is this pleasure ... or is it pain?)
Other new dimensions to the phrase "oral gratification": edible undies (Camouflage, Frederick's, Frenchy's), "naughty" chocolate nipples (Camouflage), breast- or penis-shaped suckers and pasta (Marinara or Carbonera sauce? Don't ask), body butter, flavored massage oils and edible condoms (all available at Camouflage and Frenchy's).
Safe sex to the max: Paint your partner head-to-toe in latex available at both Frenchy's and Camouflage. Or, tastier yet, do it with chocolate: Body chocolate from Marini's (1308 Pacific, SC) comes in a jar with directions (i.e., don't overheat) and paintbrush.
"We're not promoting anything erotic," cautions Carol Marini, who suggests trying their cherry cordials. "Now that's something really sensuous."
Sweetheart Deal
You can't say our local gendarmes don't have a sense of humor, even if it is dark and cruel. Seems the Santa Cruz Police department's Neighborhood Enforcement Team staged a prostitution sting on lower Ocean for--you guessed it--Valentine's Day.
Cupid's arrow found its way to the thwarted hearts--or some such organ--of a dozen men. Our paper of record, the Santa Cruz County Sentinel, has adopted the policy of not printing the names of those so stung. The Sentinel's chief enchilada, editor Tom Honig, has previously explained to Nuz that this is because his paper hasn't the staffing to follow these arrests through to see if charges are ever dropped. So noted.
Bone of Contention
That burning smell in the air last week was merely the phone lines between the prestigious Nuz world headquarters and our paper of record, the Santa Cruz County Sentinel. Seems like our tidbit last week implying that the Sentinel names prostitutes who are busted, but not the johns, raised the ire of editor Tom Honig.
According to the daily's Big Kahuna, the paper's policy is to name neither hooker nor hooked. Well, sort of. "Our policy is clear on sweeps [arrests of several individuals at one time]," explains Honig. "As far as our prostitution arrests, we'd try to apply the same standards."
Honig reviewed his paper's coverage on those buying and selling the Dirty Deed, and sez both parties got their names in the paper during 1995. But last year finds both going nameless, except if, as Honig explains, "the overriding public interest determines if they should be named." Think SCAN's John Robbins, and Soquel Lomée's "Fireman" Bill Grace and Valerie Knight.
So, did we screw up? In all this confusion, as Dirty Harry would say, we kinda lost track ourselves.
More Smarmy Moralizing
Our Nuz item that ran after a recent prostitution sting revealed more than a few Johns' names. It also got the attention of a few members from watchdog group Neighbors of Lower Ocean, who wanted to let us know about their community effort, the delightfully named Embarrass the Johns Project.
Apparently, some folks on floozy-filled Riverside Avenue have been taking turns keeping an eye out for those romantic trysts, then recording information such as time of day, descriptions and, most tellingly, license plate numbers of the suspected Johns.
No, they're not weird voyeurs, nor thin-lipped puritans, according to Riverside resident Linda Rosewood Hooper, but rather neighbors intent on reclaiming their neighborhood. "We're focused on the neighborhood quality issue," says Hooper. "It's not about morality or sex workers' rights."
Both Hooper and neighbor Michelle Mugnier complain of men cruising by slowly, trying to entice them and any woman walking down the street into a quick transaction. "We are paying taxes like everybody else," says Mugnier. "There's no reason why we should put up with that."
So far, more than 50 license plate numbers have been collected and databased by Michelle's husband, Andre Mugnier.
Unfortunately, there's been a bit of a mix-up on exactly what to do with that damning information. Santa Cruz Police Chief Steve Belcher noted that letters might be sent out to the owner of an offending license plate, notifying the person that his--or her--vehicle was used in procuring the services of a prostitute. But since neighbors were not given training and clear parameters on how to collect info on suspected sex transactions, no letters have been sent.
No doubt finding a letter like that sandwiched between the PG&E bill and Valu-Pak coupons could get the perp screwed all over again. Therefore, it is not surprising that the American Civil Liberties Union also expressed some concern about this approach. "What this is about is an attempt to deter criminal activity where there is no probable cause to arrest," says John Crew, the San Francisco ACLU's director of police practices project. "[But] are you using police powers in an overly heavy-handed fashion so as to offend individual private interest?"
For the record, neighbors give high marks to the coppers for their efforts to clean up the area around Lower Ocean. Following a series of drug stings, Hooper reports, "Drug sales have gone down. I haven't seen anybody in the last year selling on the main corner."
Bathroom Reading
Nothing impresses Nuz more than solid urban planning yoked to the virtue of civic mindedness. So when we heard a rumor that Redtree Properties, developers behind Capitola's controversial Bay Avenue strip mall, was offering to throw a public library into the deal, we got downright giddy. Who cares if it's merely a cheesy bargaining chip? We say yes to Capitola village, no to Capitola village idiots.
But where would this bastion of literacy go? Apparently, ex-Capitola City Councilmember Mick Routh, who now works as a consultant to Redtree Properties, had a novel suggestion: Let's build the sucker on top of the sewage pump station located next door to Nob Hill Foods.
Although Routh couldn't be reached by press time, we were too flushed with excitement to let this little log of news float by.
We got a handle on Redtree spokesperson John Tremoulis, who explains, "[Routh] was just asking what people would like there."
And would young minds be exposed to all that crap?
"He mentioned [building] on top of the pump station, but I don't think it would work," says Tremoulis. "I think there would be better places than that."
Hmmm, how about where Borders Books was supposed to go?
No Noise Is Good Noise
Now, lemme see. Is it those guys driving by with their hip-hop blasting loud enough to jar your molars loose? Or is it the dimwit neighbor that kick-starts the leaf blower at 6am on Sunday? Face it, there's an Olympic-size pool of candidates to pick from for Noise Polluter Most Justly Deserving of a Blindfold, a Cigarette and a Hollow-Point Between the Eyes.
Unfortunately--most unfortunately--summary execution of those inconsiderate of our peace and quiet is discouraged. But make no mistake, it's a war--and the good news is, we've got someone fighting for the right to remain silent: Billy Ray Boyd, author of the Silent Majority's bible, Noise and Your Health (1996, Taterhill Press, San Francisco).
Reached by phone at his home in San Francisco, Boyd rattles off juicy factoids about this eardrum-bustin' epidemic.
"Did you know noise can cause high blood pressure?" he asks. "Is a danger to the unborn? Can aggravate aggression?"
Hmmm, aggression?
So, here's your chance to throw open the window, lean out and whisper (or better yet, just think), "We're mad as hell and not going to take it anymore!" Join your brothers and sisters throughout the world for the Second Annual International Noise Awareness Day and put a sock in it for exactly 60 seconds at 2:15 Wednesday, April 30.
In other words, just shut up for a minute. Please.
What Is the Sound of Left Wings Flapping?
There was squawkin' and flappin' a-plenty when two local progressive leaders let the feathers fly in front of Cocoanut Grove Friday before last.
This particular cockfight pitted our favorite Duke of Diversity, Tony Hill, against Lee Murray, cameraperson for Community TV gabfest Community Perspectives.
Troubles began when Community Perspectives wanted to cover famed frogman Jean-Michel Cousteau's speech on behalf of the controversial Marine Research Center Project (aka Terrace Point).
According to CP associate producer Dawn Pappas, her show had been promised four tickets to cover the event. But Hill, newly hired "diversity consultant" for Wells Fargo's proposed marine lab/housing project, said no dice--he was already videotaping the fishfest for CTV.
But CP reporter Joan Peros and lensman Murray showed up anyway and tried to nail the ocean-loving Cousteau for an interview, an effort quickly thwarted by an indignant Hill. After the event was over, Murray says, Hill came up to Peros and told her again he didn't appreciate their presence. Murray turned the video on Hill, who apparently didn't appreciate that, either--he knocked the camera aside.
Needless to say, accounts vary wildy at this juncture in the tale of the progressives' punch-out.
The Maestro of Multiculturalism gave a rather long-winded version of the story, then "retracted" it on advice of his attorney.
(Nuz had never before heard of a public figure "retracting" comments to the press, but decided to flex our nice-guy muscles rather than go to the mat for such small potatoes.)
Readers are left with only Murray's side of the story: "[Hill] struck the camera and knocked it into my face," Murray says. "Then he grabbed the camera and threatened to break it."
Murray filed assault charges with the local gendarmes.
Those in the know say that this is only the latest example of feudin' and fussin' between Hill and CP producer Charles Reid, which reportedly dates back to when the two served on CTV's board together recently.
Marine Research Center's PR officer Mike Wallace says that after disinviting the CP gang, he got a message on his answering machine from an angry Reid stating, "You're going to be sorry if you don't let us in."
Speaking of sorry, Murray says he's willing to drop the charges and let bygones be bygones if Hill will kiss and make up.
Image Problem
Making your mark of individuality has become almost pedestrian in a town so well-stocked with nutcases ... er ... I mean "free spirits." So why are DeAnza Mobile Home Park honchos coming unglued over a little mural that retiree Mardi Bennett commissioned for the front of her mobile home?
The painting, a whimsical scene of African animals fishing off a pier (don't ask), has the powers-that-be hauling in lawyers and threatening "extreme measures" against Bennett and her mark of distinction.
"I looked into the regulations and found nothing against a mural," says the affronted art-lover. And considering that the giraffe, elephant and zebra are facing nothing but the big blue Pacific, it's not clear who is being offended by this slap in the face of civic order.
According to Bennett's attorney, Austin Comstock, DeAnza managers are basing their complaint on a section of park regulations that demand prior approval for "exterior color schemes."
"I suppose you could call the roof of the Sistine Chapel a color scheme, or a mural by Diego Rivera a color scheme," steams art-defending attorney Comstock. "My contention is they couldn't fashion a rule to stop this expression."
Neither DeAnza attorney Paul Jenson or manager John Lisac returned repeated phone calls for comments.
Snail Mail Fraud
Maybe they're loathsome garden pests to you, but for Carol Meilicke, snails promised a slime-encrusted path to riches.
The Santa Cruz resident decided to crawl out of her shell and take a risk by getting in on the ground floor of the rapidly expanding gourmet escargot business. So Meilicke sent $450 to--what else?--the Snail Club of America, then waited for her precious 'cargo to arrive. Unfortunately, says Meilicke, half arrived dead and the other half came with no directions.
After several phone calls and letters to the company's founder, "Snail King" Ralph Tucker, the irate would-be entrepreneur finally contacted Santa Cruz County's Office of Consumer Affairs.
"Tucker promised to send us virgin snails, a video and instructions," complains the failed snail gal. "I tried to figure out how to keep the rest alive, but within two or three months, they died."
Well, not all of them.
Apparently Meilicke's "snail oasis" collapsed in last spring's heavy rains, and, says the unsuccessful mollusk maven, "Now they're all in my back yard."
The Fresno-dwelling Snail King is steaming over these slimy charges.
"[Meilicke] wouldn't do what I told her," Tucker says. "Number One: I told her to keep the snails away from the sand. If they have sand, they'll dig a hole and lay eggs and they'll get grit in 'em."
The Sultan of Slugs knows of whence he speaks. Tucker has been featured in The Wall Street Journal and People magazine, and says he is now working with Hollywood on a five-part special on snails.
"I know more about snails than anyone in the world," Tucker boasts. "I know how to dissect 'em, cook 'em and how to get people to eat 'em."
Meilicke says she'd be willing to take the King up on this latter skill: "I'm willing to 'eat' the snails. He can deduct 60 cents a snail--just give me $270 back."
However, the King does not like being prodded. "I'm going to give her a settlement, but I'll do it when I damn well want to. It's a sad thing," he muses. "I have a system for screening folks for the Snail Club--they have to meet certain standards. But I went against my better judgment and accepted [Meilicke]."
Dog Days
Time for the Santa Cruz Police Department to dust off the old department-issue water bowls and pooper scoopers, dry and unburdened for two years now. That's when the last K-9 unit disbanded, leaving the SCPD with nothing but empty collars and limp leashes.
But not for long. According to recently anointed K-9 Program Administrator Lt. Joe Haebe, Thor and Asco are coming to town-- $8,000 worth of European-bred male German Shepherds trained to search buildings, track suspects and guard officers.
Scheduled to hit the streets in late August, the new recruits and their bipedal counterparts, officers Brad Hillier and Martin Brandt, are currently in the final weeks of training at Witmer-Tyson, a K-9 training facility located in Redwood City.
The Sheriff's Department might beat SCPD to the punchline, though. According to Sheriff spokesman Kim Allyn, the Sheriff's Department already has a narc dog on duty and is just a couple of weeks away from seeing its two new black German Shepherds parading around town in the specially air-conditioned back seats of certain patrol cars.
But will the Sheriff's dogs be the local celebrities Thor and Asco are sure to become?
It's hard to tell. SCPD knows the public relations value of furry mammals, and so Hillier's and Brandt's cars will bear the K-9 insignia of a dog's head as well as their four-footed occupants' names.
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With illustrations by Steven DeCinzo
Soft, pink, newborn joy,
glistening within steel tomb
What? No placenta?
The tortured pink shape of this "food":
A small pink coffin
