Shaken, not stirred
The Pinnacle this week begins publishing
”
Notebook,
”
a compilation of the things that get talked about around the
water cooler but that do not warrant news stories on their own. To
paraphrase Art Linkletter, politicians say the darndest things.
That, insider gossip and observations about life’s daily outrages
are the substance of Notebook
– Mark Paxton
It may not be much of a river, but the San Benito is the only
one we’ve got. It rises in the mountains at the southern end of the
county and
– when it’s actually holding a trickle – dumps its contents into
the Pajaro at the northernmost reaches of San Benito. But a look at
the river Sunday revealed a horse of a different color, if you
will.
Shaken, not stirred
The Pinnacle this week begins publishing “Notebook,” a compilation of the things that get talked about around the water cooler but that do not warrant news stories on their own. To paraphrase Art Linkletter, politicians say the darndest things. That, insider gossip and observations about life’s daily outrages are the substance of Notebook
– Mark Paxton
It may not be much of a river, but the San Benito is the only one we’ve got. It rises in the mountains at the southern end of the county and – when it’s actually holding a trickle – dumps its contents into the Pajaro at the northernmost reaches of San Benito. But a look at the river Sunday revealed a horse of a different color, if you will.
The river contained a fair flow for this time of year, and the water was running clear. While the river was not carrying its customary load of silt, it was colored a dark brown. Think of a strong cup of Lipton’s and you’ve got the idea. Even weirder, the water foamed up like dish soap wherever the flow roiled things up a bit.
A quick phone call to the San Benito County Water District – without a doubt the most efficient bureaucracy around here – produced no less an authority than the manager. John Gregg confirmed that there had been some “operational changes” in the way the river is managed. The district uses the river as a conduit for stored water, allowing it to percolate through the sand to recharge underground supplies that are in turn tapped by wells.
The guess is that the changes pushed water downstream that had been sitting in isolated pools, and that it’s full of organic material.
For the time being, we’ll just let Fido splash around elsewhere just the same.
Not that anyone’s complaining
The staff at the county clerk’s office upstairs in the county courthouse isn’t complaining, but the county clerk’s been mighty scarce since the June primaries. Longtime clerk John Hodges announced his intention to retire some months ago. Hodges then made a run at the south county supervisorial race, but two other candidates edged him out for the November runoff.
Since the election, the courthouse is the one place not to look for Hodges. Hodges, who does some cowboying, is apparently devoting more of his considerable energy to his cattle, cashing in on a large bank account of sick leave and vacation in the interim.
Thanks to an experienced staff of long-time employees, the paper shuffling is continuing uninterrupted during Hodges’ absence.
Stranger than fiction
It had to happen. The fax-o-the-week award has to go to one that came in from the California Highway Patrol. We’ll just quote from the release for that authentic Jack Webb just-the-facts ma’am delivery.
“On Sept. 8 at approximately 4:30 a.m. CHP officers stopped a vehicle for minor traffic violations when the 37-year-old passenger, later identified as Johnny Camel, jumped from the vehicle in an attempt to flee from the officers … Officers began a foot chase in pursuit of the suspect when after approximately 100 feet; the suspect’s baggy pants fell around his ankles and tripped him. The suspect fell to the ground and the officers calmly took the subject into custody without further incident.”
Mr. Camel shouldn’t have that problem with his current attire of a jailhouse jumpsuit.
This little piggy
Christina Salvin of Hollister dropped an e-line this week, containing a poem dedicated to the memory of her piggy bank.
Apparently, the Salvins’ Hollister home was burgled over the weekend, and a piggy bank that had followed her around for the past 30 years disappeared. She’s very much attached to her ceramic friend, and if the person who was more interested in its contents could contrive to return it, she would be most grateful.
Notebook is compiled by the staff of The Pinnacle. Have you heard a good line from a bad politician lately? How about some whacky event you were witness to? Shoot us an email at
le*****@pi**********.com
.
