the bizarro world

how am i?

2010-07-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

doing better. working a dumb job too many hours. climbing out of our financial hole. loving the daughter. hating LA, but not leaving me kid til college, so being feels like some kind of term. trying to be more creative. getting used to body falling apart. excercising more. writing very little. staring at the backyard imaging all the wonderful times we could have back there if i had 300 hours to put into it. hating capitalism and this country. loving the wife. stuff like that.

you?

dad dream #2

2009-10-24T15:16:00.001-07:00

dad dream #2

so i'm walking across the lawn from the sidewalk up to the front of the parental home (with someone i can't identify) and there is my dad lying down in a wheeled hospital bed, complete with portable bedside monitors, i.v. drip, and bedside table.

for some reason it is significant to me that his feet are aimed at the front of a house and that even as i know i'm dreaming it is the first time that i can recall seeing my father enfeebled in a dream.

i ask him why he is outside, and he responds: "yo deseaba alguna luz del sol, pero su madre se enojó"

(i wanted some sunlight, but your mother got angry).

tongue

2009-09-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

now that meat is once again in my diet on a regular basis my mother is quite happy to invite us over for her special dish of tongue.

i remember avoiding that particular bit of the animal, though there has always been a part of me that admired any culture that didn't waste any bit of the butchered creature.

turns out beth loves tongue, and so my mom has prepared something special.

wife #1 was a vegetarian, so mom is muy feliz.

the mavis is not coming along, as she is with her mom today, and the thought of tongue, well, makes her gag.

hmmm

fair weather?

2009-07-21T22:36:00.000-07:00

you know, there are some folks out there who seem surprised that i've managed to retain my friends.

as if bad deeds done in one's past merits hiding out in a cave. forever. i've tried it. no fun.

when folks have chosen to 'let me go' over certain events, when i've been at fault, i understand. i've tried explaining myself, and true friends will at least listen, or maybe even forgive. we are all damaged goods, and no one is perfect. let he who is without, etc.

it's when someone passes judgement, refuses to talk or listen, heeds gossip as truth, and then years later decides to register 'surprise' at the retention of friendship with others that it bothers me. apologies not accepted, and new ammo as to why i am such a heinous person, undeserving of compassion or friendship. this from someone who has a lot to answer for as well, but that of course is not the issue.

then i get called defensive. guess i am.

on the other hand, i really do cherish the people who have at least listened to my side without damning everything i say as a lie.

i especially am proud of those who still consider me a friend, damages and all.

me, my friend

2009-07-15T17:28:00.000-07:00

So Beth and I were waiting on our tacos at our usual spot when I told her about the 'suggestion' that Facebook gave me for a new friend. Myself. Me.

She wondered if I would 'Friend' myself and I told her "Nah. Wouldn't some kind of scary quantum vortex take place? "

What if I declined?

How about if I didn't like the postings I placed?

Could I block myself?

Then I began mutterings about that which might ensue if somehow I got my own phone number, and I called myself, and I ignored it, because "yeah yeah, I knew what I was gonna say already", or "I already thought of that" and so on, and ultimately I would keep calling myself, and I WOULD ignore it, and Beth would ask "Who was it?" after I had glanced at the screen and I'd answer:

"It's just me."

and you wonder what's on my mind of late...

2009-06-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

thank you to mick farren for the re-post:

Published on Monday, June 29, 2009 by TruthDig.com
The Truth Alone Will Not Set You Free
by Chris Hedges
The ability of the corporate state to pacify the country by extending credit and providing cheap manufactured goods to the masses is gone. The pernicious idea that democracy lies in the choice between competing brands and the freedom to accumulate vast sums of personal wealth at the expense of others has collapsed. The conflation of freedom with the free market has been exposed as a sham. The travails of the poor are rapidly becoming the travails of the middle class, especially as unemployment insurance runs out and people get a taste of Bill Clinton's draconian welfare reform. And class warfare, once buried under the happy illusion that we were all going to enter an age of prosperity with unfettered capitalism, is returning with a vengeance.

Our economic crisis-despite the corporate media circus around the death of Michael Jackson or Gov. Mark Sanford's marital infidelity or the outfits of Sacha Baron Cohen's latest incarnation, Brüno-barrels forward. And this crisis will lead to a period of profound political turmoil and change. Those who care about the plight of the working class and the poor must begin to mobilize quickly or we will lose our last opportunity to save our embattled democracy. The most important struggle will be to wrest the organs of communication from corporations that use mass media to demonize movements of social change and empower proto-fascist movements such as the Christian right.

American culture-or cultures, for we once had distinct regional cultures-was systematically destroyed in the 20th century by corporations. These corporations used mass communication, as well as an understanding of the human subconscious, to turn consumption into an inner compulsion. Old values of thrift, regional identity that had its own iconography, aesthetic expression and history, diverse immigrant traditions, self-sufficiency, a press that was decentralized to provide citizens with a voice in their communities were all destroyed to create mass, corporate culture. New desires and habits were implanted by corporate advertisers to replace the old. Individual frustrations and discontents could be solved, corporate culture assured us, through the wonders of consumerism and cultural homogenization. American culture, or cultures, was replaced with junk culture and junk politics. And now, standing on the ash heap, we survey the ruins. The very slogans of advertising and mass culture have become the idiom of common expression, robbing us of the language to make sense of the destruction. We confuse the manufactured commodity culture with American culture.

How do we recover what was lost? How do we reclaim the culture that was destroyed by corporations? How do we fight back now that the consumer culture has fallen into a state of decay? What can we do to reverse the cannibalization of government and the national economy by the corporations?

All periods of profound change occur in a crisis. It was a crisis that brought us the New Deal, now largely dismantled by the corporate state. It was also a crisis that gave the world Adolf Hitler and Slobodan Milosevic. We can go in either direction. Events move at the speed of light when societies and cultural assumptions break down. There are powerful forces, which have no commitment to the open society, ready to seize the moment to snuff out the last vestiges of democratic egalitarianism. Our bankrupt liberalism, which naively believes that Barack Obama is the antidote to our permanent war economy and Wall Street fraud, will either rise from its coma or be rolled over by an organized corporate elite and their right-wing lap dogs. The corporate domination of the airwaves, of most print publications and an increasing number of Internet sites means we will have to search, and search quickly, for alternative forms of communication to thwart the rise of totalitarian capitalism.

Stuart Ewen, whose books "Captains of Consciousness: Advertising and the Social Roots of the Consumer Culture" and "PR: A Social History of Spin" chronicle how corporate propaganda deformed American culture and pushed populism to the margins of American society, argues that we have a fleeting chance to save the country. I fervently hope he is right. He attacks the ideology of "objectivity and balance" that has corrupted news, saying that it falsely evokes the scales of justice. He describes the curriculum at most journalism schools as "poison."

" ‘Balance and objectivity' creates an idea where both sides are balanced," he said when I spoke to him by phone. "In certain ways it mirrors the two-party system, the notion that if you are going to have a Democrat speak you need to have a Republican speak. It offers the phantom of objectivity. It creates the notion that the universe of discourse is limited to two positions. Issues become black or white. They are not seen as complex with a multitude of factors."

Ewen argues that the forces for social change-look at any lengthy and turgid human rights report-have forgotten that rhetoric is as important as fact. Corporate and government propaganda, aimed to sway emotions, rarely uses facts to sell its positions. And because progressives have lost the gift of rhetoric, which was once a staple of a university education, because they naively believe in the Enlightenment ideal that facts alone can move people toward justice, they are largely helpless.

"Effective communication requires not simply an understanding of the facts, but how those facts will take place in the public mind," Ewen said. "When Gustave Le Bon says it is not the facts in and of themselves which make a point but the way in which the facts take place, the way in which they come to attention, he is right."

The emergence of corporate and government public relations, which drew on the studies of mass psychology by Sigmund Freud and others after World War I, found its bible in Walter Lippmann's book "Public Opinion," a manual for the power elite's shaping of popular sentiments. Lippmann argued that the key to leadership in the modern age would depend on the ability to manipulate "symbols which assemble emotions after they have been detached from their ideas." The public mind could be mastered, he wrote, through an "intensification of feeling and a degradation of significance."

These corporate forces, schooled by Woodrow Wilson's vast Committee for Public Information, which sold World War I to the public, learned how to skillfully mobilize and manipulate the emotional responses of the public. The control of the airwaves and domination through corporate advertising of most publications restricted news to reporting facts, to "objectivity and balance," while the real power to persuade and dominate a public remained under corporate and governmental control.

Ewen argues that pamphleteering, which played a major role in the 17th and 18th centuries in shaping the public mind, recognized that "the human mind is not left brain or right brain, that it is not divided by reason which is good and emotion which is bad."

He argues that the forces of social reform, those organs that support a search for truth and self-criticism, have mistakenly shunned emotion and rhetoric because they have been used so powerfully within modern society to disseminate lies and manipulate public opinion. But this refusal to appeal to emotion means "we gave up the ghost and accepted the idea that human beings are these divided selves, binary systems between emotion and reason, and that emotion gets you into trouble and reason is what leads you forward. This is not true."

The public is bombarded with carefully crafted images meant to confuse propaganda with ideology and knowledge with how we feel. Human rights and labor groups, investigative journalists, consumer watchdog organizations and advocacy agencies have, in the face of this manipulation, inundated the public sphere with reports and facts. But facts alone, Ewen says, make little difference. And as we search for alternative ways to communicate in a time of crisis we must also communicate in new forms. We must appeal to emotion as well as to reason. The power of this appeal to emotion is evidenced in the photographs of Jacob Riis, a New York journalist, who with a team of assistants at the end of the 19th century initiated urban-reform photography. His stark portraits of the filth and squalor of urban slums awakened the conscience of a nation. The photographer Lewis Hine, at the turn of the 20th century, and Walker Evans during the Great Depression did the same thing for the working class, along with writers such as Upton Sinclair and James Agee. It is a recovery of this style, one that turns the abstraction of fact into a human flesh and one that is not afraid of emotion and passion, which will permit us to counter the force of corporate propaganda.

We may know that fossil fuels are destroying our ecosystem. We may be able to cite the statistics. But the oil and natural gas industry continues its flagrant rape of the planet. It is able to do this because of the money it uses to control legislation and a massive advertising campaign that paints the oil and natural gas industry as part of the solution. A group called EnergyTomorrow.org, for example, has been running a series of television ads. One ad features an attractive, middle-aged woman in a black pantsuit-an actor named Brooke Alexander who once worked as the host of "WorldBeat" on CNN and for Fox News. Alexander walks around a blue screen studio that becomes digital renditions of American life. She argues, before each image, that oil and natural gas are critical to providing not only energy needs but health care and jobs.

"It is almost like they are taking the most optimistic visions of what the stimulus package could do and saying this is what the development of oil and natural gas will bring about," Ewen said. "If you go to the Web site there is a lot of sophisticated stuff you can play around with. As each ad closes you see in the lower right-hand corner in very small letters API, the American Petroleum Institute, the lobbying group for ExxonMobil and all the other big oil companies. For the average viewer there is nothing in the ad to indicate this is being produced by the oil industry."

The modern world, as Kafka predicted, has become a world where the irrational has become rational, where lies become true. And facts alone will be powerless to thwart the mendacity spun out through billions of dollars in corporate advertising, lobbying and control of traditional sources of information. We will have to descend into the world of the forgotten, to write, photograph, paint, sing, act, blog, video and film with anger and honesty that have been blunted by the parameters of traditional journalism. The lines between artists, social activists and journalists have to be erased. These lines diminish the power of reform, justice and an understanding of the truth. And it is for this purpose that these lines are there.

"As a writer part of what you are aiming for is to present things in ways that will resonate with people, which will give voice to feelings and concerns, feelings that may not be fully verbalized," Ewen said. "You can't do that simply by providing them with data. One of the major problems of the present is that those structures designed to promote a progressive agenda are antediluvian."

Corporate ideology, embodied in neoconservatism, has seeped into the attitudes of most self-described liberals. It champions unfettered capitalism and globalization as eternal. This is the classic tactic that power elites use to maintain themselves. The loss of historical memory, which "balanced and objective" journalism promotes, has only contributed to this fantasy. But the fantasy, despite the desperate raiding of taxpayer funds to keep the corporate system alive, is now coming undone. The lie is being exposed. And the corporate state is running scared.

"It is very important for people like us to think about ways to present the issues, whether we are talking about the banking crisis, health care or housing and homelessness," Ewen said. "We have to think about presenting these issues in ways that are two steps ahead of the media rather than two steps behind. That is not something we should view as an impossible task. It is a very possible task. There is evidence of how possible that task is, especially if you look at the development of the underground press in the 1960s. The underground press, which started cropping up all over the country, was not a marginal phenomenon. It leeched into the society. It developed an approach to news and communication that was 10 steps ahead of the mainstream media. The proof is that even as it declined, so many structures that were innovated by the underground press, things like The Whole Earth Catalogue, began to affect and inform the stylistic presentation of mainstream media."

"I am not a prophet," Ewen said. "All I can do is look at historical precedence and figure out the extent we can learn from it. This is not about looking backwards. If you can't see the past you can't see the future. If you can't see the relationship between the present and the past you can't understand where the present might go. Who controls the past controls the present, who controls the present controls the future, as George Orwell said. This is a succinct explanation of the ways in which power functions."

"Read ‘The Gettysburg Address,' " Ewen said. "Read Frederick Douglass' autobiography or his newspaper. Read ‘The Communist Manifesto.' Read Darwin's ‘Descent of Man.' All of these things are filled with an understanding that communicating ideas and producing forms of public communication that empower people, rather than disempowering people, relies on an integrated understanding of who the public is and what it might be. We have a lot to learn from the history of rhetoric. We need to think about where we are going. We need to think about what 21st century pamphleteering might be. We need to think about the ways in which the rediscovery of rhetoric-not lying, but rhetoric in its more conventional sense-can affect what we do. We need to look at those historical antecedents where interventions happened that stepped ahead of the news. And to some extent this is happening. We have the freest and most open public sphere since the village square."

The battle ahead will be fought outside the journalistic mainstream, he said. The old forms of journalism are dying or have sold their soul to corporate manipulation and celebrity culture. We must now wed fact to rhetoric. We must appeal to reason and emotion. We must not be afraid to openly take sides, to speak, photograph or write on behalf of the disempowered. And, Ewen believes, we have a chance in the coming crisis to succeed.

"Pessimism is never useful," he said. "Realism is useful, understanding the forces that are at play. To quote Antonio Gramsci, ‘pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will.' "

© 2009 TruthDig.com
Chris Hedges writes a regular column for Truthdig.com. Hedges graduated from Harvard Divinity School and was for nearly two decades a foreign correspondent for The New York Times. He is the author of many books, including: War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning, What Every Person Should Know About War, and American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America. His most recent book, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle, will be out in July, but is available for pre-order.

on the upholding of prop 8

2009-05-26T18:26:00.000-07:00

why the fuck do i live in this state? in this country?

americans are just such a bigoted people.

oops.

papi

2009-05-23T09:30:00.000-07:00

my father passed away yesterday (may 22) from an embollism.

i don't even know how to spell that.

my family being what it is, and my mother being alone with him when the attack started, i heard about it pretty much after it all happened. i was sipping tea and coffee with beth and lisa harris at delilah's out on the sidewalk dissing our exes and echo park being what it is, the cell phone told me of both messages at once as we were leaving to go back home.

first a panicky one from my sis that my folks were in the hospital (she had been out running errands for the first time in weeks) and that she was on the way there, then a confused one from my brother and just as i was playing that back, my sister called to say that dad hadn't made it.

i didn't really cry until i realized that i had to tell mavis. we went and found her at janette's and i was pretty blunt about breaking the news to her. i was glad her pal danillo was there. and she took it well (as well as a sweet smart but innocent to death 12 year can). that was hard. on both of us. beth was a tremendous help as well.

the rest of the day was spent at my mother's recieving guests and phone calls from abroad. and coping. every time my mother had to re-tell my dad's last few hours to anyone it took quite a bit from her. she's a sensitive lady. and naturally is taking this hard.

everyone was subdued, and ale was taking the lead making the funeral home/church arrangements. she's got a well of strength that can amaze me.

some sleep, and more with the family today.

tired. sad.

echo park blues

2009-04-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

some of the bad things about living in a pork-pie wearing hipster infested neighborhood?

well, those guys...

and their obliviousness to the entrenched gang problem.

also, dodger season. today is opening day, and as i live a 10 minute walk away across the park, i have been hearing the marching bands rehearse since 7 am.

but, that's urban living at it's finest.

for me, it's having to drive past the liars at stories LA everyday, or the brite spot "restaurant" .

two places that i worked at, did a good job at but ultimately was met by nasty and/or flakey owners who at best are cluless and unethical.

not feeling the love today.

iowa

2009-04-03T11:23:00.000-07:00

far be it for me to praise a place i have never been to, but iowa has done better than california about the marriage issue. iowa...

wow!

i still say it's high time for someone to write a proposition to ban propositions in this stupid state i live in.

number one, number one

2009-01-19T23:05:00.000-08:00

things he wont do right away (but they sure would be nice), or ever

1) execute his predecessor

2) abolish the electoral college

3) give everyone a puppy

4) establish universal healthcare

5) abolish racism

6) cut off ties with the israeli government

7) end the cuban embargo

8) make blimps mandatory

9) end the wars

10) end war

always crashing in the same car

2009-01-12T09:25:00.001-08:00

got in my first accident this morning.

what with my dad's ailing health, my lack of money, my step mother in law in the hospital, my insomniac last week, my daughter back at home needing to be woken up to go walk the said step mother in law's spastic 900 year old dog across town in alhambra, my sudden blood sugar drop and the step mother in law's car that has a lovely blind spot it's no wonder i didn't see the woman behind me that i backed into.

no major damage, no one hurt, just some rattled nerves.

must be more careful, and avoid the starbucks in little tokyo on the sight of many a nice old artsy punk rock time.

in am the one in ten

2009-01-03T07:44:00.000-08:00

after much dizzying driving and near manslaughter, i discovered that progressive lenses are not for me.

now to order the reading glasses.

sight aint pretty.

Wil tak a cup o kyndnes yet

2009-01-01T00:54:00.000-08:00

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
And surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
And gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS

headache

2008-12-31T20:52:00.000-08:00

this year ends on a note not so far from my physical self.

headache.

dull but overpowering.

like a stifled sneeze,

or a trapped memory.

the los angeles book of the dead

2008-12-27T08:39:00.000-08:00

during the holidays i especially feel the gaps in my life from the dearly departed, but visiting cemeteries just don't cut it right now, as that would ratchet up the sads.

this town just has too many spectres for me at times.

the book would consist of intersections or locations around this berg, and the relevant memory of the diseased attached to it.

maybe also the wit, wisdom, or guidance that that person gave me, aping the guideposts that the tibeten book gives.

hmmm.

the view from costa rica

2008-11-05T06:01:00.000-08:00

when the results were announced, the joke came out:

"Por supuesto que el peor trabajo de los Estados Unidos

se lo dieron al hombre negro."

(of course they gave the worse job in the US to a black man.)

forwarded by my sister alejandra

this day (election day)

2008-11-04T08:10:00.000-08:00

it annoys me how every few years everyone pretends that they live in some kind of democracy.

most other major issues have been ignored in favor of two wealthy morons shouting at each other to be the biggest bully, and all the while no one notices the erosion of any real choice, what with any other voice being shouted down as irrelevant or 'in the way'.

i'm just glad that it'll be over soon, and every one can just sit tight and be disappointed yet again.
.

ah, groucho

2008-11-03T14:37:00.000-08:00

Letter to Warner Brothers: A Night in Casablanca

Groucho Marx
Abstract: While preparing to film a movie entitled A Night in Casablanca, the Marx brothers received a letter from Warner Bros. threatening legal action if they did not change the film’s title. Warner Bros. deemed the film’s title too similar to their own Casablanca, released almost five years earlier in 1942, with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. In response Groucho Marx dispatched the following letter to the studio’s legal department:

Dear Warner Brothers,
Apparently there is more than one way of conquering a city and holding it as your own. For example, up to the time that we contemplated making this picture, I had no idea that the city of Casablanca belonged exclusively to Warner Brothers. However, it was only a few days after our announcement appeared that we received your long, ominous legal document warning us not to use the name Casablanca.

It seems that in 1471, Ferdinand Balboa Warner, your great-great-grandfather, while looking for a shortcut to the city of Burbank, had stumbled on the shores of Africa and, raising his alpenstock (which he later turned in for a hundred shares of common), named it Casablanca.

I just don’t understand your attitude. Even if you plan on releasing your picture, I am sure that the average movie fan could learn in time to distinguish between Ingrid Bergman and Harpo. I don’t know whether I could, but I certainly would like to try.

You claim that you own Casablanca and that no one else can use that name without permission. What about “Warner Brothers”? Do you own that too? You probably have the right to use the name Warner, but what about the name Brothers? Professionally, we were brothers long before you were. We were touring the sticks as the Marx Brothers when Vitaphone was still a gleam in the inventor’s eye, and even before there had been other brothers—the Smith Brothers; the Brothers Karamazov; Dan Brothers, an outfielder with Detroit; and “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” (This was originally “Brothers, Can You Spare a Dime?” but this was spreading a dime pretty thin, so they threw out one brother, gave all the money to the other one, and whittled it down to “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”)

Now Jack, how about you? Do you maintain that yours is an original name? Well it’s not. It was used long before you were born. Offhand, I can think of two Jacks—Jack of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” and Jack the Ripper, who cut quite a figure in his day.

As for you, Harry, you probably sign your checks sure in the belief that you are the first Harry of all time and that all other Harrys are impostors. I can think of two Harrys that preceded you. There was Lighthouse Harry of Revolutionary fame and a Harry Appelbaum who lived on the corner of 93rd Street and Lexington Avenue. Unfortunately, Appelbaum wasn’t too well-known. The last I heard of him, he was selling neckties at Weber and Heilbroner.

Now about the Burbank studio. I believe this is what you brothers call your place. Old man Burbank is gone. Perhaps you remember him. He was a great man in a garden. His wife often said Luther had ten green thumbs. What a witty woman she must have been! Burbank was the wizard who crossed all those fruits and vegetables until he had the poor plants in such confused and jittery condition that they could never decide whether to enter the dining room on the meat platter or the dessert dish.

This is pure conjecture, of course, but who knows—perhaps Burbank’s survivors aren’t too happy with the fact that a plant that grinds out pictures on a quota settled in their town, appropriated Burbank’s name and uses it as a front for their films. It is even possible that the Burbank family is prouder of the potato produced by the old man than they are of the fact that your studio emerged “Casablanca” or even “Gold Diggers of 1931.”

This all seems to add up to a pretty bitter tirade, but I assure you it’s not meant to. I love Warners. Some of my best friends are Warner Brothers. It is even possible that I am doing you an injustice and that you, yourselves, know nothing about this dog-in-the-Wanger attitude. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover that the heads of your legal department are unaware of this absurd dispute, for I am acquainted with many of them and they are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits and a love of their fellow man that out-Saroyans Saroyan.

I have a hunch that his attempt to prevent us from using the title is the brainchild of some ferret-faced shyster, serving a brief apprenticeship in your legal department. I know the type well—hot out of law school, hungry for success, and too ambitious to follow the natural laws of promotion. This bar sinister probably needled your attorneys, most of whom are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits, etc., into attempting to enjoin us. Well, he won’t get away with it! We’ll fight him to the highest court! No pasty-faced legal adventurer is going to cause bad blood between the Warners and the Marxes. We are all brothers under the skin, and we’ll remain friends till the last reel of “A Night in Casablanca” goes tumbling over the spool.

Sincerely,

Groucho Marx

(Unamused, Warner Bros. requested that the Marx Brothers at least outline the premise of their film. Groucho responded with an utterly ridiculous storyline, and, sure enough, received another stern letter requesting clarification. He obliged and went on to describe a plot even more preposterous than the first, claiming that he, Groucho, would be playing “Bordello, the sweetheart of Humphrey Bogart.” No doubt exasperated, Warner Bros. did not respond. A Night in Casablanca was released in 1946.)

Thanks to Chillingeffect.org

finest hour

2008-10-29T17:17:00.000-07:00

all babies look like winston churchill

oldish

2008-10-21T15:43:00.000-07:00

yup.

going to pick up the bi-foculs today.

have a hearing test and a visit to the shoulder specialist to discuss my rotator cuff tear.

got my blood pressure back down to normal.

take 9 pills a day.

have to feel guilty about ant carbs.

my daughter is talking about the boy that has a crush on her.

that last one i don't mind.

on war

2008-10-16T10:26:00.000-07:00

"the war on terror is like a war on dandruff"
gore vidal

are you going to the onyx reunion?

2008-10-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

good god, no. i worked there. tell me just how many ex-employees went...

the place was filthy and seriously falling apart, the coffee was sub-par, and the food was generally 'past it's date' shall we say. and i cooked there for a time, but a certain someone would keep stuff waaay past tossing it out phase. i'm surprised we were never shut down or sickened anyone.

even though i met some good folks there, had some fun, and a few good dates, it would be rather hypocritical of me to go considering what i thought of the vast number of patrons.

a very few were good.

a couple i can call friends.

the bulk were narcissistic whining 'arm chair quarterbacks' that wouldn't know the first thing about a real meaningful relationship or significant life experience if it hit them in the face. they just felt that reliving some sort of mythical 'boho' past would make them interesting. you can't play someone else's jazz.

don't even talk to me about the rampant sexism that fueled the place, or the drugs.

one of the few times i ever felt ready to kill somebody (seeing red, tunnel vision, imagining my hands around their throat) was after a typical, but 'final straw chat' with the owner. i quit that day.

i went back in as a customer a few years later. my two year old girl slipped on a crumbling window bench and split open her lip. there wasn't even a first aid kit in the place.

the cafe will forever be remembered fondly by those that had no real life but that sad and grotesque little place.

we laughed my friends and i

2008-09-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

in my past i am running through the business tower's underground parking lot pushing down on all the cars i can reach in as little time as possible.

i've been promising to show rudy what my late girlfriend suse would call 'elevator panic', which would occur in a minute or two as the suits (whose alarm beepers had started going off up above) would jam the elevators to come down and turn off their screeching sirens.

the trick would be to hide nearby, watch the panic, and evade the inevitable security goons that would join the worried 9 to 5ers in the descent to the hot below.

so we pretended to be entering the building just as the hordes came down, and the other trick was to stifle the laughs. that was the hardest.

suse and i used to also bring homemade sandwiches to sell the now frazzled and cranky office zombies, and we were never questioned. we sold 'em all. on our way out, we would swipe some toilet paper rolls and soap or paper towels into our now empty baskets and all in all it would be a mirth filled profitable morning. the best day was the time we took all sorts of office supplies from an abandoned desk.

back then, the cameras weren't everywhere.

the panic happened as usual (we watched in the nicely appointed lobby which in this tower was partitioned off by a wall of glass from the parking area) and now i just saw a lot of poor pissed working stiffs. a few seemed relieved to get out of the cubicles, i thought. but still, it was mostly sad.

in this now rudy and i had no sandwiches. stifled laughs, yes.

this time a security guard glared at us suspiciously, but that was because here were these two latino punks out of place, and he was black and back then the animosity could be greater.

rudy had a blast, i felt awful. this attempt at cheering up just wasn't what i thought it would be.

it just wasn't the same without her along.

rudy and i left the lobby and went to catch the bus back to venice.

time enough for now

2008-08-08T13:28:00.000-07:00

i often wonder how differently my life might have gone under different circumstances.

what if my parents had decided to stay in costa rica?

how would my learning have been changed if my school counselers had not actively discouraged me from going to college (that's a whole other entry)?

where would i be today if kim hadn't of played matchmaker?

or if i hadn't lost it quite the way i did after the divorce?

who knew that a hike on a whim up onto mt. hollywood would produce my little girl?

or that deciding to check the personals, instead of a movie, and seeing beth's profile could lead to so much happiness?

what more could i have done, without the years spent mourning the deceased?

if david hadn't been next to me when i choked on that chip?

all these things, or others that i missed, all lead to the me of today. a bit more worn down, perhaps, but richer for the experiences and memories.

details, i suppose. and the time to mull them over.

time.

Subcutaneous homesick blues

2008-07-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

recent reports show that sunscreen lotions don't really work.

the lil cancers still get through. advice is hats and prpoer clothes to cover up. seems grandma was right all the time.

again and i say it often: the sun is the enemy.

just stay out of it.

or wear a three piece suit to the beach.

move to iceland.

by the rivers of babylon

2008-07-08T10:34:00.000-07:00

i once won an arguement with a homeless black gentleman who kept coming in to the coffee shop that i worked at (the onyx, circa 1990) after he had been kicked out many a time.

he tried pulling the race card with me, saying that i hated the black man.

i took him aside and showed him my ashy elbows, and he said 'all respects...'

he then wandered down the street and it wasn't until last night, half hallucinating after a late night dropping off mavis and my parents to the airport (costa rica trip)
that i realized what song old 'red zulu' was singing:

By the rivers of babylon, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered zion.

By the rivers of babylon, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered zion.

When the wicked
Carried us away in captivity
Required from us a song
Now how shall we sing the lords song in a strange land

When the wicked
Carried us away in captivity
Requiering of us a song
Now how shall we sing the lords song in a strange land

Let the words of our mouth and the meditations of our heart
Be acceptable in thy sight here tonight

Let the words of our mouth and the meditation of our hearts
Be acceptable in thy sight here tonight

By the rivers of babylon, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered zion.

By the rivers of babylon, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered zion.

By the rivers of babylon (dark tears of babylon)
There we sat down (you got to sing a song)
Ye-eah we wept, (sing a song of love)
When we remember zion. (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)

By the rivers of babylon (rough bits of babylon)
There we sat down (you hear the people cry)
Ye-eah we wept, (they need their God)
When we remember zion. (ooh, have the power)

***********************

i'll always prefer the melodians (original?) version to the boney m disco riff

i'm still yawning

2008-06-25T22:27:00.000-07:00

the ache and itch of sandy eyes.

the nagging feeling of a forgotten important dream.

the longing for enough time to sleep uninterupted.

the sense of quiet nervousness.

the disbelief that others sympathise.

the distant sounds that irritate.

the nearby sounds that startle.

"sorry, i didn't hear you."

the man amplifier

2008-06-23T21:42:00.001-07:00

The Man Amplifier
has everything but desire
Is a robot when he should
Never tires, ever good
And we're singing

Parallel sympathy with you
Skin to metal overture
Take a walk, he's always near
Like a shadow, never fear
While we're singing

Like a tower in the dark
He can leave you feeling stark
While his fingers fall away
Love is climbing in his heart
So we're singing

Take a towel to his brow
Soothe the features of the proud
Lubricate the inner man
Exercise him when you can
And be singing

george carlin, RIP

2008-06-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

a few year's back, george carlin was asked about obituaries, and he had a desire to edit his own, just to get things right.

he mentioned at the end that they should just hold up a sign saying: 'man, he was just here a minute ago..."

mavis update

2008-06-19T17:44:00.000-07:00

on the day of her 'culmination' from lousy elementary school (that's graduation everywhere else...see: putting on airs), there was a power point presentation of each kid with a bit about them, a pic, and a quote or two.

mavis' was headlined 'we are not amused', and it stated that she wanted to be a lawyer and an illustrator.

a lawyer?

do we need a chat?

writing

2008-06-19T17:38:00.000-07:00

i would love nothing more than to be paid a fair wage for writing for a living.

i'm not sure what makes me think i'm a writer, but hey, i did just get my first paycheck for an article. a short book review (in me wife's paper that she edits-ain't nepotism grand?) of a travel book. it took me 45 minutes to write, and lo and behold somebody paid me for it.

i really like the feeling of holding that check. it's one of the few times i've ever been paid for doing something i liked.

dogs

2008-06-11T19:36:00.000-07:00

In the dream I was standing at the end of Echo Park Avenue and Landa overlooking the Elysian Valley and gazing at the now very close mountains on the other side.

An out of visual range voice informed me that they had a cure for my diabetes, and could give it to me right then and there, but the side effect was to render me color blind.

The voice then offered to show me just what that would mean, and the lovely green of the mountains and the mixed blues of the sky went various shades of grey, and in this new state of perception I was weeping, thinking of my old dog and asking someone/no one in particular if this really was fair.

about the cats...

2008-06-10T21:23:00.000-07:00

Thanks for watching the felines while we are gone...

Jack (the orange tabby type) likes to be picked up and likes to pick on:

Ta-kun (the black one)-does not like to be picked up at all!!

Jack will spend every moment that he is not eating or sleeping picking on Ta-kun.
When you hear her growl, feel free to shoo Jack away, or liberally spray with the water bottle, just next to this note. It's just water, but we've often wondered how battery acid might work.

Jack can spend the days outdoors, but needs to come in before sunset. Using the
‘treat’ bag and or a jangling of keys will generally lure him in. He’s easy, and can even stay outside while your gone. Do give him a treat if he comes when ‘summoned’. If he fails to come in, then you will be responsible to explain to Mavis about his becoming the new friend of the coyotes across the street in the park.

Ta-kun can be let outside only if you’re about, and is so terrified of the world that
basically walking towards her will get her to scramble into the apartment. She is that fussiest of eaters and will take NO treats. The poor dear was completely 'declawed' and the shelter only informed us of this as we were taking her away.

Jack loves to bring in half dead lizards. We give him treats and praise then try to distract him during disposal. He will probably respond to your praise with a bite to your person. Ta-kun tries to 'help' Jack, but this leads to another attack. We don't really want to know how the lizards feel.

Ta-kun loves to spend hours looking out any window with a perch. There is one in Mavis’ room, and a table in the living room, with yet another blanket to add to all the other 'cat areas' covered in blankets all over the house.

Jack can spend endless hours pushing out all of the cat litter onto the floor in the most obsessive manner. We don't know why. If you enjot the sounds of waves crashing into the surf, this just might replicate that, if you could squint with you ears...

The cat boxes need cleaning out twice a day, once in the AM and once in the PM. We are very environmentally hostile and use only the finest plastic bags to dispose of waste, which can be tossed in the environmentally friendly paper bags in the corner
cabinet, to the right of the sink labeled ‘bags’. Then to the trash! If not cleaned, Ta-kun will simply take a dump next to the box in some feeble protest.

Jack will eat any and all cat foods given him, and will act as if he has been starved every time. Any wet food will do (about a teaspoon in the morning) and that is either in the ‘fridge, or in the tall kitchen cabinet labeled ‘cat stuff here’ or somesuch. Treats and dry food are also to be found there. There is also a tempting sack filled with rocks.

We’ve left spoons and bowls for the feedings here with the note. Any jangling of plates will bring Jack about. If not fed soon thereafter, there he goes after the hapless Ta-kun. Just rinse them out when Jack has finished noisily devouring. Please make sure the dry food and water bowls have an ample supply, or again, the hapless victim.

We do hope you enjoy watching and being nipped at by the cats when you try to pick up the wrong one. They do both love to play with the ‘teasers’ however, and that should give you both minutes of pleasure. Then the attacks begin in earnest.

The vet’s number is on the fridge; our numbers are there as well. You may never call us back after this...

Whew! Thanks again.

word

2008-05-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

who the fuck ever decided that 'mexicatessen' was a real word?

gygax and me

2008-03-05T18:08:00.000-08:00

Ok, I'll own up.

I was a D&D nerd in junior high and high school.

(I was also in the chess club, read only science fiction, was a thespian, and 'failed' P.E.-not to mention being an altar boy!).

Reading about Mr. Gygax's death reminded me of some of my earlist social events that I actually enjoyed. We played D&D for hours. No one made fun of us at those times. The jocks weren't invited. We got to be creative in our little worlds and we all got along. My inner nerd was happy.

I can't say that the role-playing had any life altering effects on me, but at my first 'real job' (at a science fiction bookstore, no less) the owners were always playing after hours, and shared their pot with the 15 year old stockroom punk. I wont even mention the 'trivial pursuit'.

Gygax's game also was my 'in' with the first woman I slept with-another punk-who was impressed by my ability to bring up the 6 sided dice and still somehow remain cool. That inner nerd can thank Mr. Gygax for my first 'line'.

I mean admitting to having any familiarity with such a hippy nerdish thing to fellow punks was like owning up to liking Led Zep. Or having read the Lord of the Rings or somesuch. Well. Nerd had to go underground for a time.

I suspect that most of the earlier punks did most of those now off-limit things, but couldn't talk about it. We just had to pretend to have been absent to life during our youths. Same as owning up to having a family. We just came out as angry black clad 20 something misfits with penchants for noise, drugs, obscure movies and filth. Nerd challenged.

But as I get older, I think back on those afternoons spent rolling the dice and scribbling strength points, and of that happy little man that somehow enabled all sorts of future programmers and gaming addicts with his convoluted creation. He still played close to his end. And he was a nice guy, from most reports.

Would that any of us could create something so odd and memorable.

I still have never read the Lord of the Rings. But I own the DVDs.

And Led Zep IV is now cool again, I hear.

by any jeans neccesary

2008-02-10T20:39:00.000-08:00

Went to the Murakami exhibit with the kid and the wife on one of it's last days here in LA, and spent a good deal of time trying to explain to the lil one about the artist's take on gross consumerism, sexuality in art, history, uses of nudity and images of nuclear fears.

Poop references were also to be had, and Louis Vitton bags were to be scoffed at. We coveted the wristwatch and enjoyed the videos, especially the Kanye West one, with the line referenced in the title making the wife and I laugh, and again with the explaining to the curious 11 year old. Remembering having witnessed Mr. West in full assholage persona at the old music store job, I hated him just a little less for the bit o' brilliance.

I have been trying to find the quote in the painting titled: Tan tan bo puking...

Something about curdling phlegm and missed love?

On the way out the wife twisted her ankle on our way to the nearby Starbucks.

Was Murakami angry?

thee 10-13 -07 rumble city inspector shew

2007-10-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

oy! what a delay between shows....
and i am so sorry...

tom waits-hang on st christopher
los zafiros-bossa cubana
nick cave y los bad seeds-there she goes my beautiful world
nick drake-pink moon

buzzcocks-say you dont love me
mouse on mars-mine is in yours
ralph stanley-o death
david bowie-red sails
gilberto gil-volks-volkswagon blue

leon redbone-shine on harvest moon
delta 5-mind your own business
lynn carey & barbara robinson-come with the gentle people
les muppets-c'est bizarre
pixies-la la love you
land of the loops-multi family garage sale(bargain bin mix)
the clash-julie's been working for the drug squad

steely dan-babylon sisters
calexico-alone again or
roxy music-bitters end
caesars-its not the fall that hurts
michel polnareff-la mouche
freakwater-loserville

clipper cowbridge-soda pop shop
os mutantes-bat macumba
shoukichi kina-jing jing
the strawberry alarm clock-girl from the city
eels-hey man (now you're really living)

tom waits-franks wild years
los lobos-el mojado acaudalado
emmylou harris, alison kraus, gillian welch-
didn't leave nobody but the baby
5 gentlemen-si tu reviens chez moi
mukesh chand mathur-tu kahe agar
nick drake-way to blue
buzzcocks-are everything

and i go home....happier...

shit list

2007-08-29T20:58:00.000-07:00

now, i can completely understand not being able to come to a wedding. even my wedding.

send the card back, call, email, whatever.

rsvp, not that hard, especially when there is a return card with a stamp, or you have my email and or phone.

but NOTHING?

i'm sad to say just how many of my so called "friends" didn't even have the courtesy to reply in any way shape or form.

there were some other people i would have invited in lieu of you.

some treated it as some kind of party, or colossal joke, that they just 'missed'.

most of these flakes i have known for decades.

shame on you.

guess what?

some wedding pics

2007-08-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

one is my family, one is me with the mavis ("the best man") and one is of the heppy couple.

still high and tired.

mrs.and mrs. and ms. figuls

2007-08-21T18:18:00.000-07:00

well, the wedding is said and done and i am a happily married man.

and a very lucky one at that. beth is all the things i've ever needed and then some, and the mavis not only gets along with her, but was my best 'daughter' at my side.

she really is my pride and joy.

and beth is a jewel.

many friends helped out, many more flaked out and so many are dead it wasn't at all funny. but i was happy for those that came and supported us.

and my mother said some rather heartfelt things both at the ceremony and as an aside before the event.

she said that i was a good man and deserved much happiness, and that she knows how hard things have been for me and for any part of added drama she was sorry.

she has never spoken to me like that before.

beth noticed me crying about it and was there in every sense of the word.

and my mavis was sooo uncomfortable in her skirt and pretty blouse and dress shoes but she looked like such a big girl. she wished me happiness as she helped with my tie and again, the weepy mo.

i am blessed.

and broke.

ah, well.

no

2007-08-07T06:22:00.000-07:00

infotainment
advertorial
dramedy
mexicatessen
edutainment
guesstimate
docudrama
rockumentary
mockumentary
heigth

oooh, oooh, child

2007-08-05T20:14:00.000-07:00

things are gonna get easier?

this has been a week or two from hell, what with all the diabetes stuff, mental and physical planning for the wedding, and the trying to figure out how to pay for it all without robbing a bank or holding schoolkids by their ankles and watching the money fall out.

then there's the whole "you're now the assistant manager of the diner and oops! we just got shut down by the city and you now have to work a week of 15 hour days..."

i mean, really. haven't been able to do my radio show in a month, let alone sleep or spend much time with the fiancee or child.

and oh, yes: painting the living room, having my rear tire blow out (and needing to replace the whole lot), shuttling the kid to and from summer camp and throw in three or four doctor's appointments and yarrrrrrgh....

learning of the death of an old performance buddy (brian chic, RIP) much after the fact and feeling all melancholy about absent and departed friends...

getting lectured by family and friends about my level of self care regarding the the diabetes (like altering my eating habits and losing 15 pounds was not enough) hasn't helped much.

the only times i seemed to have gotten to relax a bit were a nice meal or two, a chat with the new boss about our mutual departed friend sue, a rather lengthy spell at the internet tracing down nerdy star trek fan films (do not ask), and chats with tracy about parenting and other departed friends...

in there somewhere is a ray or two of happiness called mavis and beth.

a smile from them in all this frenzy is the only way to go.

oh, good gravy

2007-07-21T17:28:00.000-07:00

once again another gap in time between these missives to the ether, but your humble reverend has been up to his ears of late.

i mean co-planning a wedding, managing the diabetes, working two jobs (soon to be one!), getting the kid back and forth and occasional loafing, well i daresay!

no more excuses...i wouldn't want to be considered a writer or anything...

this very rumble

2007-06-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

june 9th, 2007 and yes it's been a while...

the saints-(i'm)stranded
kishore kumar-ruk ja rokata hai weh diwana (stop, don't go)
syd barrett-love you
tom waits-whistlin' past the graveyard
desmond dekker & the aces-pretty africa
muddy waters-i cant be satisfied
pixies-winterlong

freddy fender-cien mujeres
buzzcocks-what do i get?
the brothers four-revolution
tlahoun gessesse-beyet new mengedu
shocking blue-send me a postcard
lone ranger-badder dan dem

don ho-shock the monkey (really!!)
jacques dutronc-les cactus
the undertones-get over you
they might be giants-baroque hoedown
aterciopelados-florecita rockera
electric light orchestra-look at me now

bruce haack-mean old devil
the kinks-milk cow blues
el gran silencio-america
the pretenders-the wait
norma fraser-respect

frehel-la der des der
the rezillos-top of the pops
asha bhosle & kishore kumar-roz, roz, roz
elizabeth cotten-oh babe, it aint no lie
emerson, lake & palmer-lucky man
les hurlements d'leo-la der des der

joe jackson-is she really going out with him?
marcia griffiths-feel like jumping
faust-just a second (starts like that)
bob dylan-roll on john
les ramones-blitzkrieg bop
michel legrand-di gue ding ding

that's all she wrote...

type II

2007-05-31T21:34:00.000-07:00

so there i have been all depressed of late.

broke, underemployed, awaiting my roomate to move out so that the beth can move in, then she does and goes away on a trip for 3 weeks just after moving in, the ex remaining hostile, bills are due, my shoulder continually hurting, sleeping 3-5 hours a night, and did i mention broke?

so the ex didn't cancel the health insurance i didn't know i still had, and the doctor calls me in to tell me of the results of the bloodwork and xrays from 3 months ago.

my right rotator cuff is all fucked up. and oh, yes you have type II diabetes, here's a bunch of pills, you need to lose 50 lbs but not too fast, and oh you better get a flu shot since the diabetes makes you into an old man.

the d runs in the family, so i knew this might come, but yeeeesh.

on the bright side, i can get rid of it if i'm good in a year or so, and i can't put off the baby weight anymore.

but that cuff...

el cinco de mayo

2007-05-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

so i was working in a trendy, lousy little silverlake bakery one fifth of may when in runs a customer and yells

"happy cinco de mayo" at me

i pause, look at him and say back

"happy channukah"

he looks equally displeased and confused, saying

"i'm not jewish"

to which i say

"i'm not mexican"

the rumble of the country

2007-04-28T20:09:00.000-07:00

it's the 28th. i'm ornery, lonesome, drunk, and mean...

johnny cash-bury me not
the byrds-you've got a reputation
the louvin bros-katie dear
merle haggard-the emptiest arms in the world
glen campbell-wichita lineman

kay adams-little pink mack
lulu belle & scotty-wish i was a single girl again
june carter cash-storms are on the ocean
rose maddox-take me back again
girls of the golden west-round up time in texas
tarnation-big o motel

don gibson-sea of heartbreak
merle travis-nine pound hammer
red simpson-roll, truck, roll
willie nelson-i gotta get drunk
patsy montana-my poncho pony
buck owens & rose maddox-mental cruelty
johnny $ dollar-big rig rollin' man

hank snow-ninety miles an hour (down a dead end street)
hank williams-ramblin' man
patsy cline-leavin' on your mind
hoyt axton-snow blind friend
'big bill' lister-there's a tear in my beer
dave dudley-six days on the road
kris kristofferson-best of all possible worlds

bob dylan-lay lady lay
robert mitchum-little ole wine drinker me
elvis costello-radio sweetheart
the rutles-living in hope
flying burrito brothers-juanita
the knitters-silver wings
johnny cash-rowboat

dezurik sisters-go to sleep my darling
the louvin bros-the great atomic power
don gibson-camptown races
waylon jennings-me and bobby mcgee
willie nelson-hello walls
the byrds-nothing was delivered
del reeves-girl on the billboard

yeee haw!!!

kevin and pam and mavis and beth and jane

2007-04-22T01:13:00.000-07:00

dj'd a wedding today (way too much '80's pop) and was already tired from my last wek dealing with mavis' strep-like illness and the tension of the roomate that just wont move and the fiancee that is steadily (and understandably) getting angrier over it.

plus the usual insommnia. and missing mavis.

back to the gig. there i was, knowing only two of the caterers and feeling pretty isolated.

at the toasting ceremony i got pretty choked up as they related how long they had all known each other and the like. i just couldn't help but dwell on the fact of my losses, my alienations, and driftings from many close to me.

feeling rather sorry for myself, i pop over to where beth (fiancee) is staying just to get a look at her after i had packed up.

she was tired, but pointed out to me that i shouldn't be so down on myself and to stop apologising about everything. she was right, but i was still wrong and groggily drove home. so glad she's in my life.

flicked on the old computer and there is an email from jane thanking me for the recent entry. an old friend also cheers me up.

i am a rich man.

aprili 7, 2007

2007-04-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

the damn foreigner show # 4...no the mavis tonight, she's on a sleepover...

from the bollywood movie 'bobby'-main shair to nain
gilberto gil-2001
mike laure-tiburon a la vista
four yanks-dudu wan
ennio morricone-magic and ecstasy
eilert pilarm-jailhouse rock

serge gainsbourg-aux armes et caetera
sadistic mika band-milky way
aterciopelados-baracunatana
man motorgai-hae nang maew
nino ferrer-les cornichons

carlos d'alessio-duo
os mutantes-nao va se perder por ai
yao lee-this love is not for me
plastilina mosh y tonino carotone w/ chalo-la sirenita
gal costa w/ caetano veloso-baby
tlahoun gessesse-kulun mankwalesh

tamburi del vesuvio-tarantella d'a fatica
raul seixas-metamorfose ambulante
junior murvin-police and thieves
nazia hassan-aap jaisa koi (qurbani)
jackson do pandeiro-chiclete com banana
carlos d'alessio-tika tika walk

eliades ochoa-mi sueno prohibido
hirut beqele-essu new messelegn
solomon linda's original evening birds-mbube
nino ferrer-le telefon
lang yu xiu-harmonious couple

les hurlements d'leo-la der des der
amadou et mariam-ilbiwan
sadistic mika band-dance is over
kishore kumar-zindagi ek safar (andaz)
gilberto gil-volks volkswagen blue

the march 31 2007 rumble

2007-03-31T20:02:00.000-07:00

quite a lot of the same as the last week's show, since nobody could hear it. happy belated to me, ans YES! the mavis is here...

kris kristofferson-me and bobby mcgee
k. mccarty-rocketship
buzzcocks-everybody's happy nowadays
nancy jacobs and her sisters-baby are yeng
roxy music- do the strand
don gibson- sea of heartbreak

de la soul- eye know
jacques dutronc- les cactus
the modern lovers- abominable snowman in the market
barry adamson- suck on the honey of love
bob dylan- most likely you go your way and i'll go mine
pere ubu- i will wait
robert mitchum- little old wine drinker me

nick howard- miss music
violent femmes- please do not go
gnarls barkley- transformer
los lobos- kiko and the lavender moon
the beach boys- pet sounds
iggy pop- five foot one

strongbad- the cheat is not dead
a certain ratio- do the du
willie nelson- yesterdays wine
pepe deluxe- everybody pass me by
mississippi sheiks- sitting on the top of the world

puffy ami yumi- friends forever
david bowie- the man who sold the world
devo- the day my baby gave me a surprise
pearls before swine-guardian angels
slapp happy-strayed
colin newman-1,2,3, beep beep

fiction plane-if only
nick lowe-36" high
the flaming lips-do you realize?
tom jones-sixteen tons
os mutantes-a minha menina

and that's all, volks..

for jane

2007-03-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

as i get older (more creaks, more ghosts) i realise that there are few things in us that never change.

one in particular.

i was looking at a photo of an old friend on her myspace page (a friend that i seen once or twice since we parted ways back in the late 80's) and there it was.

the smile that still showed the 20 something that i had fallen head over heels for in my time as an angry silly young punk.

we had a great and awkward long distance romance after she booked my band. she introduced me to a better san francisco, good punk musics, underground comics, jello biafra spoken word, walking barefoot in the city, the world of zines, and the art of using random phrases to name punk bands.

all with that smile.

she even charmed my then roomate, the contrarian mr. zinder. he loved her smile.

we broke up on good terms and have gotten in touch from time to time.

she probably doesn't know what a profound influence she has had on my life, since back then i could barely tell anyone what they meant to me, but she gave me a shove in the right direction. she was honest, thoughtful and never full of herself. smart, too. and for some reason she liked me.

i wasn't too proud of myself in that period, yet here was someone i admired showing me what a little confidence could do. and to try to smile. more by the junior zen example of seeing the world with that smile.

and lord, how remembering to carry that smile has gotten me through death, disease, divorce, insanity, fair weather friends and clumsy dates.

years later i'm looking at her photos, and there she is beaming with some young turks.

that smile.

it was good to know that we have both kept our smiles, no matter what.

and to a great extant, i owe her that smile.

now i can (sort of) say thanks.

and junior zen example would make a great punk band name.

the man in the white suit

2007-03-28T19:04:00.000-07:00

so it's around eleven p.m. on last night and things at the diner are just winding down.

ida, my fellow server and are are getting ready to cash out at the front computer, just across from the main entrance when we both spy an rather shifty looking 30 something white guy wearing what i think of as white surgical gear.

the world weary ida (southern african american transplant that has a major bullshit detector) stage whispers to me: "that one got out of the looney bin".

the white suited short-haired fellow is holding open the door for a departing customer, all the while looking at the two of us at the counter with a rather apologetic smile. he saunters over, and loudly asks: "do you folks know where county jail is?"

a bit flabbergasted, i try to give directions but ida tells him directly: "just keep goin' down sunset blvd east, about a coupla miles and you can't miss it, son."

he's holding the door again for another departee, saying (to all): "thanks, i thought so. i just escaped but my family's driving me back. i'm not armed or dangerous or nuthin'. just gotta finish up." and proceeds to leave the eatery himself and into the open passenger door of a brand new looking powder blue convertible with a white top parked just outside.

we stare at the blue auto as it pulls out of the parking lot , then ida lets out a "hnuh" and walks away.

i turn to the nearest customer at the counter, who was listening in and he says "welcome to LA".

old punks

2007-03-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

you know what i noticed the other day?

old punks make great stereotypical old folks.

i mean with a generally cranky attitude, a loathing of authority, a lack of disregard towards the thoughts of fellow citizen's dress codes, fussiness about personal things (music, film, books),cheapness/thrift store mentality, a mis-trust of new technologies, and ridiculous hair-do's, it's a wonder no one's made a stand up routine out of it.

maybe i lost a calling.

then again, this will do.

threetwentyfourohseven rumble city

2007-03-24T20:08:00.000-07:00

yes, the belated birthday show wherein i play a selection of my favorite songs. an especially good evening as i'm accompanied by my favorite little lady, miss mavis, the apple of my eye.

and i'm 43!!

kris kristofferson-sunday morning coming down
de la soul-the magic number
the jam-that's entertainment
devo- the day my baby gave me a surprise
nancy jacobs & her sisters- baby are yeng

colin newman- safe
os mutantes-a minha menina
the modern lovers-roadrunner
tom jones-puppet man
blind gary davis-samson and delilah

the flaming lips-do you realize
bob dylan-most likely you go your way and i'll go mine
michel legrand-di gue ding ding
robert mitchum-little ole wine drinker me
mr bowie-the man who sold the world

wire-the 15th
the halo benders-don't touch my bikini
calexico-corona
nick lowe-36" high
charles trenet-boum!

the beach boys-god only knows
scritti politti-skank bloc bologna
iggy pop-i'm bored

sorry, tech problems stopped the show

waiting

2007-03-23T10:59:00.000-07:00

i must say that five months of hitting craigslist, scanning the classified, pounding the pavement, hitting up friends, sending out unsolicited resumes, checking on-line job sites and a few other means have resulted in:

1) weeks or months of waiting for an obnoxious "no thanks" (and no thanks to you, k&l wine shitheads)
2) "oh, but you're over-qualified" (means stop right here)
3) "sorry, she's not going on maternity leave"-that was a sad story
4) we'll let you know by friday (means that they will never call you back)
5) congrats! you're now a waiter!

oddly enough, working four or five five hour shifts a weekas a waiter earns me more than the awful office manager job that i was at 50-60 hours a week. and that was a union gig. and i get to walk to the local diner that i now work at.

favorite questions at the new gig:

1) do you barbeque your fries?
2) can you just order for me?
3) i'll have the omlette with everything (over 40 items on the menu)
4) do you have that as a vegan option (i stress, diner!)

part of working at a trendy local diner, and living in the same area for 20 years means the past catches up to you. daily.

1) i now have to wait on the slumlord whom my ex and called the housing dept. on (we won), who tried to kill us (long story)
2) i also have to wait on my ex boss from another local coffee house. not charming.
3) ex-girlfriends and internet dating mistakes make for awkward order taking.
4) the now very successful club owner that aced myself and other partners out in the most weasly manner possible pops in once a week. he goes out of his way to avoid eye contact. i do enjoy his squirming.

and did i mention how much i dislike cell phones? try taking an order while someone is yammering away. very polite.

on the other hand, one of the internet dating errors apologised profusely for even taking a call while i was nearby. and that was nice of her,

and i get to eat for almost free most days.

easy travel to other planets

2007-03-17T23:43:00.000-07:00

over thanksgiving, the mavis and i took a bus up to san francisco from los angeles via a very unique service.

seems that the ever growing chinese/asian communities don't much care for the appropriately malinged greyhound bus lines ("hell in tin"), so they have their own fairlly luxurios service to and fro various cities.

and anyone can book seats. hell, you can even book the one next to you, if you want guaranteed room.

these former tour buses have cushy seats, lots o' leg room, quick stops, and a roughly seven hour travel time (about an hour more than driving yourself), with none of the crappy sad greyhiund terminal experieces that we all treasure. the buses go from 'chinatown to chinatown' and it's just great.

the one catch:

the mavis and i were the whitest folks on board, and no one spoke much english. it was just like being elsewhere. and that was fun. the drivers really tried to be nice, especially at stops. barking 'ten minnis' or 'tirty haffa ow' at the casa de fruta or lovely coalinga.

the only two odd things were the canned 'classic chinese pop' played by one driver (note to self for next time: discman), and the just sort of dubbed ultra violent gangster/slavery ring martial arts shoot out dvd that culminated with the bride machine-gunning her unwanted groom after he killed the two leads. i think.

mavis just grooved to her discman, and i tried to read or nap.

oh, yes, one other oddity: about half-way each trip, the driver would stop the bus, give a little lecture and go down the aisle taking the 'general tip' of a few dollars per passenger. everyone doled out.

one assumes the bus would go no further if payment was not given.

i really look forward to more trips.

el returno del rumble city inspector show 3 17 07

2007-03-17T23:38:00.000-07:00

ahora en el sabado gigante!!!

the undertones-mars bar
freakwater-buckets of oil
qotsa-leg of lamb
amadou et mariam-fantani

elvis costello-living in paradise
willie nelson-i gotta get drunk
5 gentlemen-si tu reviens chez moi
nicky thomas-love of the common people

the stranglers-spain
butthole surfers-the hurdy gurdy man
nina simone-save me
gnarls barkley-gone daddy gone
southland's ladies quartette-my loved ones are waiting for me
slade-cum on feel the noize
xtc-english roundabout
tripod jimmie-mirror on the wall

kings of leon-the bucket
eastside sinfonietta-the liquor dealer's dream
dennis wilson-river song
moonshine kate-my man's a jolly railroad man
calexico-yours and mine

jacques dutronc-les cactus
jon spencer blues explosion-bellbottoms (intro only)
bob & marcia-young, gifted and black
willie nelson-hello walls
sex mob-ripple
puttanesca-lick my decals off, baby
michel polnareff-la mouche

the undertones-it's going to happen
hala strana-peal
qotsa-the lost art of keeping a secret
althea & donna-uptown top ranking
the other elvis-(i don't want to go to) chelsea

nino ferrer-alexandre!

oh, happy day!

2007-02-08T21:14:00.000-08:00

listening to my pal, the lady mo (on littleradio.com thurs 8 to 10) and she is playing a jaunty nick cave number ("diana") and she has just gotten back to the mundane real world after her best vacation ever to find her mum hospitalised and all this just makes me realize 3 things:

life is nuts.

life is precious.

i've neglected my blog.

two I can do nothing about (except live and appreciate friends and family) and the third changes as of now.

my question is, does anyone (except for my fiancee and daughter read this?)

george

2007-01-02T18:29:00.000-08:00

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

attributed to george carlin.

who'd a thunk

d.i.y.

2006-12-11T19:10:00.000-08:00

it's punk rock and it's a big 30 so here

the clash-i'm so bored with the usa
the gun club-heroin
the fall-marquis cha cha
delta 5-mind your own business
buzzcocks-ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've?)
the raincoats-fairytale in the supermarket
weirdos-we got the neutron bomb
television-little johnny jewel
los lobos-flor de huevo
x-adult books
the normal-tvod
adam & the ants-deutscher girls
scritti politti-is and ought the western world
gang of four-anthrax
elvis costello-waiting for the end of the world
gorillaz-punk (for mavis)
pere ubu-non-alignment pact
plastic bertrand-pogo pogo
the modern lovers-government center
xray spex-highly inflammable
the ramones-sheena is a punk rocker
stiff little fingers-alternative ulster
the undertones-here comes the summer
kleenex(liliput)-ain't you
the homosexuals-naming of paris
young marble giants-the man amplifier
wire-three girl rhumba
devo-mongoloid
the residents-the laughing song
blondie-x-offender
the dictators-two tub man
the cure-grinding halt
the vibrators-baby baby
mo-dettes-white mice
the cramps-human fly
the modern lovers-roadrunner

love

2006-12-10T12:08:00.000-08:00

love does not imply pacifism.

at which point will you act to protect that which you love?

let's dance for the great guy bruce lee!

2006-12-04T18:58:00.000-08:00

yes, it's the all sub-continent show! let's hope it goes over better than the all german show...

this show is dedicated to jac zinder and bruce elliot

vijay & chorus-i am a disco dancer
lata & usha mangeshkar-aplam chaplam
hemant kumar, asha bhosle & chorus-pagal pagal
lord sitar-daydream believer
mohammed rafi-suhani raat dhal chuki
usha uthup & chorus-one two cha cha cha ("mr. nigel, get into my vagina")
lata mangeshkar-mera naam rita christina
unknown-haath aaya hai jabse
mukesh-karm kaho qismat kaho
bappi lahiri-everybody dance with me
asha bhosle & mahendra kapoor-one two three, baby
kishore kumar & chorus-yeh kahdo yamraj se!
mukesh-tu kahe agar
mohammed rafi-jaan pehchaan ho
asha bhosle & chorus-nacho gao maje udao
kittu-baby, let's dance togrther
geeta dutt-na jao saiyan
nazia hassan-aap jaise koi
bappi lahiri, annette & chorus-let's dance for the great guy bruce lee
kishore kumar-ruk ja rokata hai diwana
mohammed rafi, r.d. burman-yeh dosti hum nahin
mahesh gadhavi & raju-allah ho akbar
kishore kumar-zindagi ek safar
mohamed aziz, amit kumar & alisha chinai-main hoon hero
asha bhosle-o mera sona
dance music from hare rama hare krishna...

more tea, boss?

to

2006-11-30T20:56:00.000-08:00

we are here all of us
to be loved,
to love,
to reach out a hand,
to take that hand,
to know someone hears us,
to have someone understand us,
to cry,
to laugh,
to observe,
to remember,
to forget,
to share a smile,
to share a look,
to stumble,
to be forgiven,
to be surprised,
to make noise,
to be quiet,
to gasp.

sad hulk theme

2006-11-29T11:28:00.000-08:00

flipping channels on the remote is the bugaboo of insomniacs everywhere, but from time to time the general sleep deprived hallucinatory state leads to fun. what memories you can trigger.

in the 'old days' of television (for me the '70's), sitcoms and dramas often had very memorable themes, and unfortunately i can hum a lot of them for you...they also often had variations on the themes for specific moments, such as the 'disco-fied' starsky and hutch bit for when the detectives went into a disco or bar. one assumes that the musical budgets from the networks only allowed for a few original pieces, so re-imagining the main track as a 'dance number' helped the shows to limit original material, keeping the parent network happy.

i'm sure you can probably remember more such examples of this bit of cultural flotsam, but of particular interest to me are the 'sad' theme variations, always used to underscore the more melancholy or embarrassing moments in a given episode.

fred flintstone gets wilma miffed? cue slower, more orchestral 'meet the fintstones' theme.

gilligan ruined yet another rescue? hear the slowed down wordless theme.

even the monkees had a 'sad monkees theme' for when peter tork got sad.

again, many shows did these odd interludes, but by far my favorite was the music used to accompany dr. david 'bruce' banner at the end of each episode as he and his inner hulk were forced to go back on the road thumbing for a ride to the next episode (and somehow magically re-acquiring the duffel bag left behind during the green rampage).

this bit was a verrrrry slow version of the main theme done solely on tinkling piano in various minor keys that for kid me signaled the end of the episode and time for bed. dr. banner and i always looked so sad then.

well, that little maudlin tune often comes up (as part of a greater constant tv fueled internal cursed soundtrack) in my head whenever i leave somewhere i don't want to go from, or when i see a hitchhiker on the road, duffel bag draped on shoulder.

i'm glad the general populace can't hear my mental workings when i go away.

i feel a bit of dr. banner's pain.

(cue soft tinkly sad hulk theme).

just a minute, turkey

2006-11-20T19:25:00.000-08:00

oh, the humanity...off to the usual rocky start (someone re-patched le studio, and me in the midst of training some new killers)

residents-festival of death
sons of the pioneers-cool water
april march-le temps de l'amour
cabaret voltaire-beathe deep
the gist-love at first site
hank snow-i've been everywhere
shriekback-my spine is the baseline
francoise hardy-just call and i'll be there
elvis presley-what'd i say?
duet emmo-first person
edmundo ros-chocolate whiskey and vanilla gin
elvis costello-wednesday week
magazine-thank you (falettinme be mice elf agin)
asha bhosle & chorus-nacho gao maje udao
mo-dettes-masochistic opposite
len ryder & muriel tilton-girl in waikiki
scritti politti-asylums in jerusalem
minutemen-i felt like a gringo
rod mckuen-loneliness in crowds
gang of four-damaged goods
michel polnareff-ne me marchez pas sur les pieds
captain beefheart-tropical hot dog night
david bowie & bing crosby-little drummer boy
suburban lawns-janitor
the louvin brothers-the great atomic power
los plugz-la bamba
los fabulosos quatro-la raya
human hands-trains vs planes
terry stafford-suspicion
residents-constantinople
ryoko moriyama-black is the color of my true love's hair
joy division-love will tear us apart (alt take)
tom jones-sixteen tons
boyd rice & daniel miller-cleanliness & order
the fun boy three w/ bananarama-it aint what you do

whew!

one false start

2006-11-13T19:21:00.000-08:00

the vinyl only show starts off all crazy, but mavis and her pal greta are here, so i cant curse much...

phil manzanera-bogota
eno & snatch-r.a.f.
omd-motion and heart
dean martin-i'm so lonesome i could cry
gang of four-love like anthrax
captain sensible-happy talk
rod mckuen-open the windows and see all the clowns
pixies-wave of mutilation (uk surf)
lee hazlewood-these boots are made for walkin'
eno & byrne-very, very hungry
edmundo ros-the queen of tonga
the hesitations-cowboy song
the breeders-happiness is a warm gun
the stranglers-golden brown
lalo schifrin-wheat germ landscapes
pere ubu-use of dog
yma sumac-remember

and since i have two nine year olds, a wee break from the old school to:
gorrilaz-5/4
los beatles-drive my car

then, the past...

tom waits-innocent when you dream (78)
the residents-beyond the valley of a day in the life
sammy davis jr.-in the ghetto
marc riley with the creepers-blow
siouxsie y los banshees-supernatural thing
parliament-lil ol country boy
adam & the ants-deutscher girls
robert fripp-under heavy manners
reg wilson-888
holger czukay, jah wobble, jaki liebzeit-how much are they?
tom jones-ring of fire
pink floyd-bike

hippies

2006-11-12T13:01:00.000-08:00

i guess everything does come around to being 'retro'...

i will never be rid of hippies as long as i live.

and now with all this 'polyamorous' crap (clap?) floating around, those old bitter and or naive bay area types that believe that a hug cures all must just be dancing around in their mental flower dresses.

think janis joplin.

forget that most of these polyamorous types are merely sad 'modern primitives' that wouldn't know love if it poked their eyes and have somehow passed their own personal jerry stahl days of abuse, addiction and idiot punk rock to go weeping into their forties terrified of commitment and normal human needs, covering it instead with body mods and vapid three ways.

i don't care about your motorcycle or you days as a dot-com wunderkind/nerd.

the old hippies are mostly tightfisted small business owners that hide behind 'knowing' or 'feelings', or worse, they are dennis hopper.

the aging punks without a true mate or a child or some sort of fulfilling outlet will just keep going out, drinking, doing whatever aerosol is hip or handy, repeating the 'good old days' and in a few years will be some awful parodies of themselves, only now looking worse in a corset.

think courtney love.

yeesh.

i cherish my memories, my relationships, my family and even my broken bits. i even still adore my old music and surviving friends.

at 42, i would feel pretty silly in a mosh pit or tripping in some club.

i thank my lucky stars for mavis and beth.

and even though a hug is a good thing, you wont catch me hoping for an 'open relationship'.

guess that makes my retro even older.

ps: thanks for the inspiration, ysabel!

sticks and trees

2006-11-09T10:55:00.000-08:00

walking the dog through the park, and decided to take some trails new to me, as the day was lovely.

steep downhill slope and someone has made a sculpture of many found branches and two trees. beautiful.

behind the local for hire lodge, there is now a series of terraces with old tree trunks carved into benches, chairs and thrones and steps made of the natural sandstone. some rocks with plaques (sadly graffitied) try to tell the story of a plant, in stages.

add this to the wooden art birds, the blue neon painted tree roots and the various tiny 'blair witch' type rock mounds, and one has a busy little art park.

which serves to remind me to get out more, and create.

it's raining

2006-11-02T11:44:00.000-08:00

been feeling blue these last few days since beth went back home...

and mavis has been with her mom all week...

then beth posts the lyrics to one of my favorite songs (searched for the tune for 3 years after a pal made a mix tape from other tapes)...and all is better...

it's raining, by irma thomas:

Drip drop
Drip drop
Drip drop
Drip drop

It's raining so hard
Looks like it's gonna rain all night
And this is the time
I'd love to be holding you tight
But I guess I'll have to accept
The fact that you're not here
I wish the rain would hurry up
And end, my dear

It's raining so hard
It's really coming down
Sittin' by my window
Watching the rain fall to the ground
This is the time
I'd love to be holding you tight
But I guess I'll just go crazy tonight

It's raining so hard
It brings back memories
Of the time
That you were here with me
Counting every drop
About to lose my top
I wish the rain would hurry up and stop

I've got the blues so bad
I can hardly catch my breath
The harder it rains
The worse it gets
This is the time
I'd love to be holding you tight
But I guess I'll just go crazy tonight

Drip drop
Drip drop
Drip drop..

el gran show del dia de los muertos

2006-10-30T18:49:00.000-08:00

so i decided to play songs by dead folks, and then realized that i was essentially thinking of the singer, since not all of the various band's members are exactly gone...otherwise i would be forced to play music recorded mostly in the earlier decades of the old 20th...(not that there's anything wrong with that...)

all this came about after i set up my day of the dead altar at home, and talking to the mavis about honoring the dead...we sure go through life at a loss with loss...

oh, well...happy dia de los muertos and spot the cheat (not by the clash)

the clash-cheat
june carter cash-cannonball blues
johnny cash w/ joe strummer-redemption song
dennis wilson-river song
perez prado-almendra (almond)
stay home-holiday for mooks
sammy davis jr.-i gotta be me
joy division-isolation
timely buck (tim buckly/john oswald)-anon
lord kitchener-kitch in the jungle
elliott smith-waltz #2
raymond scott-powerhouse
les beach boys-cool, cool water
spade cooley-you never miss the water(till the well runs dry)
albert hague and ?-you're a mean one, mr. grinch
jimi hendrix-remember
charley patton-you're gonna need somebody when you die
elvis presley-your cheatin' heart
t. rex-monolith
the grateful dead-friend of the devil
buck owens-act naturally
nirvana-mexican seafood
desi arnaz-i come from new york
ornette coleman w/ the master musicians of joujouka-midnight sunrise
blind gary davis-i belong to the band
esquivel-surfboard
stereolab-tomorrow is already here
carter family-just another broken heart
townes van zandt-poncho and lefty
sun ra-future
the clash-police and thieves
stay home-please don't offend me
the aaron sisters w/ the song-o-paters-how'm i doin?
bing crosby (sort of)-white xmas

bye now

the lovely 23rd

2006-10-23T19:16:00.000-07:00

i gone done another show with mavis, my sweet little 9 year old genius...

(the gorillaz ara all hers...)

lee dorsey-who's gonna help brother get further
gentleman june gardner-it's gonna rain
ultravox-saturday night in the city of the dead
freakwater-cricket versus ant
sullivan-hashish faction
patti smith-free money
nancy jacobs & her sisters-baby are yeng
gorillaz-dracula
willie nelson-my own peculiar way
althea & donna-uptown top ranking
the soft boys-(i want to be an) anglepoise lamp
etta james-my dearest darling
elvis costello-(i don't want to go to) chelsea
jean jacques perrey-porcupine rock
yao lee-this love is not for me
professor longhair-big chief
gorillaz- 19-2000
dusty springfield-breakfast in bed
tlahoun gessesse-sema
the only ones-another girl, another planet
elliott smith-independence day
altered images-i could be happy
gorillaz-tommorow comes today
bob dylan-lay lady lay
wire-12xu
mukesh-toote na dil toote na
talking heads-love goes to a building on fire
kings of leon-the bucket
gorillaz-5/4
jacques dutronc-le responsable
buzzcocks-boredom
the maytals-monkey man
willie nelson-mr record man

where is thy sting?

2006-10-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

no, not really about my mortality, just that in these last few months i seemed to have gone from 42 to 75, with little help from the hmo that looks over my health...

long story short(ish):

upper right arm pain, and i am thinking it's a pulled muscle grows to useless dinosaur arm and after a few weeks this pain spreads to upper back and other arm, so i call it in and after a scary round of phone interviews i'm ordered in thinking i'm having a heart attack, but no, it all seems to be a pinched nerve. not sure. phys therapy ordered.

blood pressure, coincidently, is high that day at the emergency room. hmmm...

2 tabs of 600 miligrams a day, seven days later and my new physical therapist asks if any x-rays have been done, and i say no, and he says (repeating something my sister-the surgical tech said) 'wha?' and orders a round of see-throughs that day.

manage to pop a something in my leg walking the roommates dog with my daughter, so i'm also limping around to boot.

the pain from his session of body work also sends the lunch out of me. pain so severe i can't drive much. no one can tell me quite what i have. i now am talking to the pain.

more motrin for a week turning my stomach,, i'm not sleeping much due to pain, i'm seeing fleeting things out of my eye corners. wrong medication also detected (blood pressure med not for 'nerve swelling' i'm told by hmo specialist).

catch a cold for a week. constant pain now feels like fever. leg is better. i just want to know what is wrong with my arms and upper back.

spend half a week nursing daughter (cold) followed by weekend nursing girlfriend in san fran (cold). pain is my new friend.

go to new doc specialist for 2nd time, checked x-rays, guess what?

no nerve pinched. i have upper spine arthritis. much run around could have been avoided if x-rays had been done sooner. sorry. here's more meds.

nothing can be done for arthritis, except for pain meds. pain IS my new friend.

acupuncture sounds good right about now.

three quarters of a century later

2006-10-08T20:33:00.000-07:00

my father turned 75 this week.

he was amused at what my sister said to him over dinner:

"75...at least you can recognise that you have celebrated 75."

ah, the dry wit.

windy

2006-10-05T17:17:00.000-07:00

the air is chilled and there is quite a strong non-santa ana wind blowing through the basin.

i took my rickety car into the hills and climbed to the top of mount hollywood for a spectacular 50 mile view of the ocean and of the mountains.

i could see the ocean from my hillside apartment.

i smelled the eucalyptus trees in the air.

and i was all alone seeing this crappy city at it's finest.

my daughter doesn't live with me full time and my girl friend is 400 miles away.

a beautiful day can bring about a foul mood.

rumble with mavis

2006-10-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

doing my show on mondays now, and this eve was with my lil' one, the mavis...

elo-mr blue sky
gorillaz-rock the house
robert wilson and david byrne-in the future
laurie anderson-o superman (for massenet)
roxy music-ladytron
calexico-corona
gorillaz-clint eastwood
james brown and the famous flames-that dood it
north mississippi all stars-shake 'em on down
the byrds-blue canadian rockies
david bowie-sorrow
lydia lunch-spooky
pere ubu-petrified
puffy amiyumi-teen titans theme
the flaming lips-mr. ambulance driver
elo-sweet talking woman
pixies-wave of mutilation (uk surf)
roy acuff-the precious jewel
morgan heritage & bounty hunter-guns in the ghetto
eels-eyes down
gorillaz-DARE
echo and the bunnymen-the cutter
gorillaz-feel good inc.

we had laughs, tears, spills and thrills

thanks, booboo

corona

2006-09-30T01:05:00.000-07:00

there's a song by the minutemen that was covered a couple of years ago by calexico called 'corona'. nice cover. d. boon would be proud, i think.

heard the cover recently and went in search of the original and boy was it a trip down memory lane.

there was a bar in downtown l.a. across from the convention center that was such a dive. there was a crazy, short, overweight, fifty something tutu wearing mexican waitress that seemed to have a love/hate relationship with the random punk shows that happened there. david alex and i would spend a long summer there. come to think of it, i think that she and the other 'waitresses' were taxi dancers (i was a tad young and blissfully naive), that seemed plum out of luck when the punks descended. this tutu wearing waitress liked me well enough. i was one apparently one of the only punk invaders that spoke any spanish and she beamed when i told her she reminded me of my abuela. got me some lotta free beers.

david didn't like coronas, but was jealous of anyone getting free beers of choice.

corona was the only beer of choice there, and i can fuzzily recall drinking a few too many and somehow d. boon ended up wearing the tutu one night while performing and someone played a trumpet with the band and i got my first and only partial lap dance (not from the abuela type, 'nuff said) and i ended up walking home by myself all the way home to west l.a. down pico. david and his van had vanished. so there i am stumbling for 8 miles or so, past closed mortuaries and non-descript manufacturers and bars, linking up with many a random, stumbling, spanish speaking companion every few blocks.

in love with the minutemen and corona and los angeles.

20 some odd years later, it's 1 am, i've been feverish sick these last 2 days and i woke up after 7 hours of fitful sleep craving a tall frosty mexican beer, and thinking of those dive days. can't remember the name of the bar.

the whole block that the bar was on was torn down to extend the convention center that was across the street.

never went back after that night.

david got home ok.

dry hands

2006-09-23T17:15:00.000-07:00

you know the world is all right when the impulse to put lotion on the hands is outweighed by the desire to keep holding them.

deutsche au printemps !

2006-09-21T19:16:00.000-07:00

yes, it's springtime, and that means my (mostly) german show...

faust-the sad skinhead
kraftwerk-kometenmelodie 2
mobius/plank/thompson-boy boy boy
can-lh702
neu-neuschee
holger czukay-der osten ist rot
heino!-karamba, karacho, ein whisky
emergency-confessions
lost gringos-troca troca culebrero
jane-out in the rain
alexao sevsek-das edelweis(really austrian)
curly curve-hell and booze
jaki liebezeit-neon man
slap happy und faust-charlie 'n' charlie
lotte lenya-alabama song
can-blue bag (inside paper)
der plan-geri regi
kraftwerk-the model
guru guru-samantha's rabbit
vogel-flaschenzug
lost gringos-the day that you will love me
faust-it's a bit of pain
slap happy-strayed
can-babylonian pearl
holger czukay-the photo song
moebius & plank (mit h. czukay)-feedback 66
heino-die lustigen holzhackerbub'n
heiner goebbels-berlin ku-damn
neu-super 16

and some extra hour...

kraftwerk-autobahn (the whole 22 mins)
xtc-senses working overtime
robert mitchum-little ole wine drinker me
amon duul II-she came through the chimney
man ray band-i feel so bad
lost gringos-ramona
raha-marebebus
slap happy mit faust-casablanca moon
unknown washerwomen-fiesta de virgin del carmen,atacames, equador
holger czukay-schaue vertrauensvoll in die zukunft
can-vitamin c
peter blegvad-frenzy
embryo-radio marrakesch
robert mitchum-whippoorwill
mobius/plank/thompson-das apartment
the pussywillows-vindaloo
this heat-pool
pam arnoff-clear
can-she brings the rain
xtc-snowman

ow!ow!ow! 3 1/2 hours is enuff...

please don't belong

2006-09-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

i just hate saying goodbye.

left beth at the airport this morning, after rushing my daughter to go over to the neighbor's to get a ride to school so that we could get out of the house to try to get beth to the terminal for the 2 hour pre-boarding current state of things security 2 step.

i don't even know when i will see her again (though i do know it will be soon).

i remember my family's habit of watching the departee actually going into the accordion gate and onto the plane (no more of that).

i also recall walking away from my folk's house, and down the street to the bus. every time i looked back, there was my mother's tiny far away figure watching me as i walked away from her. she would wave every time she saw me turn around. this could go on for blocks. this habit had started when i began walking to elementary school.

she also insists that i call whenever i got home from traveling.

my parents also watch my car as i drive away from them.

and lately i watch my girl walk through the gate and into school. just to make sure.

i felt vaguely guilty just 'dropping off' beth at the white zone for immediate unloading and loading only.

which explains why i found myself parked outside of the airport, waiting for the plane to take off.

then i remembered the 2 hour 2 step.

i started the car..

yoinks

2006-09-13T15:08:00.000-07:00

it's job hunting time.

and i hates it.

just how does one sell oneself when the best 'qualifications' one can come up with include the following:

stay at home dad
no college education
lousy typist
barista
obscure music knowledge
too much retail management for shitty independants
dj
reads too much
former drummer in burlesque reviews
speaks spanish!
hates non profits
likes hiking
former clown
knows all about 'star trek'

items like that just go over so well in the interview process.

the long and short of the rumble

2006-09-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

as long as i do my show (killradio.org, thurs 7 ta 9pm) i will post my set...
-special short show! i forgot me key!!-
thanks again, lady mo...

all long songs: artist, title, time...

scott walker-plastic palace people-6.04
serge gainsbourg-melody-7.33
velvet underground-all tomorrow's parties-5.58
psychic tv-only love can break your heart-6.04
holger czukay-persian love-6.22
don mclean-american pie-8.24
wire-a touching display-6.55
queens of the stone age-better living through chemistry-5.48
unlisted(lata mangeshkar?)-mera jawani-6.04
bob dylan-stuck inside of mobile with the memphis blues again-7.04
linton kwesi johnson-wat about di workin' class-5.12
the fall-the classical-5.17

and that was the long and short of it...

fair weather

2006-09-06T10:43:00.000-07:00

they say that you can really tell what kind of person someone is by their friends. or by the company they keep.

even though i've lost four of my best friends over the years, gotten married, become a dad, gone nutso and very depressed i can still count on those remaining friends to forgive me, accept me and support me.

i am honored to know these folks, and count myself lucky. you know who you are.

i've even managed to make new friends, or re-aquaint myself with separated pals these last 2 years and they still want me around, in spite of my honest admissions of my not so social behaviors. again, i'm lucky.

even got myself the best girlfriend ever. she knows all.

on the other hand, there are some folks that i considered friends these last 12 years as i got to know them through marriage and i had long ago stopped considering 'my wife's friends'.

let's just say that since i moved out (and before completely losing it), many of these folks seemingly decided to take sides, and so i have not heard from most, even after i tried to contact them. no one has ever thought to hear or ask my side. only a couple of them have ever gotten around to dropping a line. you know who you are

that hurts a lot, but i suppose that shows some kind of twisted loyalty to their friend. i guess that also means that i was always just 'the husband' and not much else. ten years or so of shared experiences don't matter.

i did recently find out that a few of them read the blog, and report back. so i guess you know who you are.

i expect better from people.

i get the best from true friends, and i am grateful and blessed. you know who you are.

this happens

2006-09-03T21:55:00.000-07:00

a funny thing happened after the fight.

i should bactrack. the ex and i had a series of phone message snipes (how very 21st century) that resulted in a lot of anger and hurtful things said on both sides. the way most divorced couples do. we are not immune nor any less capeable of nasty behaviors, especially after 12 years of knowing each other.

the subject matter is not important, but it did relate to how we each interpreted how we dealt with the the little one with a 'big issue'.

we each felt the other had handled it very badly. total misinterpretation of the events. but i just knew that the ex would compound the potential problem by discussing it with our girl before reason had re-set.

after the two of us just blowing it, mavis came by the next day-as she does each weekday morning-to have me take her to school. she was glum. it had happened. i was pissed. the can of worms had been opened and all my careful tip-toeing over a potentially major change had been totally wiped out.

or so i thought.

i asked her what was up, and the subject that we adults had gotten so bent out of shape over was not what was on her mind (she was "fine with that"), it was that her mother had been so upset, and that we had argued that was worrying her.

i tried to explain (clumsily) that sometimes mommies and daddies fight, but that doesn't mean that-

mavis interrupts me and tells me it's okay. she reminds me that i should expect some difficult times after a divorce. this happens, she says.

i am dumbfounded. she'll be 10 in december.

we did something right.

my anger just melts away. we are good.

i am what i play

2006-08-31T19:05:00.000-07:00

taking a tip from the LADY MO, i've decided to list what i just have played on my radio shew (every thurs, 7-9pm on killradio.org) on this here blog...

so, august 31 2006 of the rumble city inspector show (slightly longer due to next dj being outta town...)

wesley willis-rock n' roll mcdonalds
thee headcoats-my dear watson
perez prado-besame mucho
talking heads-love goes to a building on fire
ken nordine-a whistler
magazine-thank you (falettinme be mice elf agin)

creedence clearwater revival-lookin' out my back door
future pigeon-cybernetic killer
dr john-let's make a better world
essential logic-wake up
narciso martinez-muchachos alegres
scott walker-best of both worlds
latin playboys-ironsides

elvis presley-wearin' that loved on look
hirut beqele-almokerkum neber
animal collective-grass
can-mushroom
francoise hardy-le temps de l'amour
tiny tim (with miss sue)-true love

scorpions-it all depends
flying burrito bros-sin city
don azpiazu & his havana casino orch-el manicero (the peanut vendor)
sex mob-rear view
charles trenet-boum!

mohammed rafi-jaan pehchaan ho
hala strana-october
magazine-a song from under the floorboards
captain beefheart & the magic band-vampire suite
creedence clearwater revival-lodi

duo del bodeguita del medio-guantanemera
elvis presley-i'm movin on
essential logic-aerosol burns
ken nordine-you're getting better
latin playboys-paletero
scott walker-come next spring

and in the extra hour for the rumble city...

perez prado-mambo #8
future pigeon-evil (eatin' at my soul)
can-spoon
jimmy sturr-hey baby, que paso
the shaggs-philosophy of the world
lucienne boyer-parlez-moi d'amour

eels-mighty fine blues
talking heads-don't worry about the government
lata mangeshkar-dhoondo dhoondo re sajna
thee headcoats-gotta get inside that girl's mind
sex mob-ripple
francoise hardy-je n'attends plus personne

bing crosby w/ xavier cugat & his orch-siboney
animal collective-flesh canoe
flying burrito bros-wheels
alemayehu eshete-tey gedyeleshem
eilert pilarm-jailhouse rock
perez prado-mosaico cubano

whew!!

love goes to a pterodactyl on fire

2006-08-30T09:39:00.000-07:00

along my thrice weekly 2 hour brisk walk through the local neighborhood park (right across the street and it's huge) i often look up into the trees to catch a glimpse of the 'art birds' that some anonymous kind soul has placed at random intervals along the various hilly foot paths.

years back mavis first noticed the rather large painted-on-wood artifacts. she recognized an archeopteryx (she had, oddly enough, just done a report for her 2nd grade project), a bluejay, an eagle and the pterodactyl (there are now 2 arheopteryx, a hawk, a thunderbird and a couple of odd as yet uncatergoriseable avians). no credit anywhere, no fanfare, no local coverage, no google finds. and that's kind of nice. most park users don't even see them until pointed out. mavis delights in doing that.

the birds just pop up and make the viewing that much more interesting.

mavis and i like to imagine that this artist is a woman and uses the cover of night to climb the trees and make her installation. i kind of hope that we never find out.

i just love the pterodactyl in particular. cheers me up and gives me a boost when i'm down. the ancient creature perched up on high encourages me to think of all the things i could be doing to make just somebody smile.

as i stroll, i find myself occasionally worrying that some kind of fire might destroy parts of the park (it has happened before) and i worry about the birds. the art birds. i can't really see myself climbing up a tree as the fire rages at me. and i can't believe that the artist hadn't considered this when placing these objects for us to enjoy.

then i realize that the ephemeral nature of this project would allow for all that, and for some reason this brings me further joy.

so much time, so little to see

2006-08-26T16:17:00.000-07:00

been gone a bit, i know...sorry 'bout that, but so much has gone on.

first off, moved to a new place and have a roommate for the first time in years (wives don't count, different order of living status).

secondly, was fired from the union gig on the same day that i was going to quit...suffice to say that my pleas of "i'm doing the work of 2 or 3 people" went unheeded. not to mention the creepy passive aggressive "rep" that decided to scream at me in the office for something she didn't do well, after months of dodging her clients...well! just typical non-profit crap.

third(ly?), the one year anniversary of my mental meltdown came and went, and i needed some very important self-reflection and flagellation.

and lastly, the divorce was finalized. dragged on, but now done. weird.

*********

two great things, and somewhat interconnected:

the romance with beth is going well. we are stronger than ever, and we have passed the "meet the family" hurdles. beth fretted and fretted about the meets, bless her. no one has ever fretted so on my account, in a positive way.

mavis was sad at first (daddy has a girlfriend?) but our relationship is so strong that we have been able to talk on all aspects, and she likes beth, to boot. they even baked a pie together, and mavis quizzes beth about superheroes and religion and asked me on the bart in oakland if beth and i were going to be married.

told her we were thinking about it, and if we did, would she be my best man.

"daddy, i'm not a man. how about 'best person'?"

my two ladies. i am a fortunate man.

*********

also, on top of an indifferent cat and a skittish parrot, my roommate got a tiny little dog from the pound. terrier mix of some sort, scared of the world and a probably abused 2 year old sniffer that likes corn chips. various scars and deer in headlights flinching indicate a rough time was had.

amazing stress reliever. and some one so battered by life that i can relate. we get along just fine.

party fun with the enemy

2006-06-21T15:26:00.001-07:00

i'm recalling the time that my immediate family (mother, father, sister, brother, wife, kid) went to the first communion of my mother's godchild's daughter (got that?).

so there we were, my side and my mother's godchild's side made up of mostly costa rican and cuban immigrants and the side of the husband (of my mother's godchild) made up of a extended family of vietnamese immigrants.

a couple of my dad's old work buddies are at hand (part of the reason the happy communion parents met was through the labyrinth of immigrant aerospace work) and they, of course, are discussing old times.

all in the lovely east valley of los angeles (somewhere near dante's 5th or 6th circle) and the temperature is 100 degrees.

everyone is getting along fine...barbecue, broken english, tiptoes around the various alcohol problems, melting cake, fighting for shade, odd cultural confusions...

when suddenly, the usual police copter buzzes overhead, stopping all conversations.

i note a couple of the older vietnamese look about nervously.

as the copter gets further away i hear my dad commenting on the type of rotor assembly he spied.

suddenly, my knees go all wobbly and my stomach lurches.

(flashback)

i had always been a bit proud of my dad's work in the aerospace industry in the '60s '70s and '80s...he had helped build apollo parts, after all...

for a short time in the early '70s, he was also part of the workforce for apache helicopters. the birds used all over the formerly lovely bits of southeastern asia during that lovely 'police action' that the french had let slip to us...napalm, genocide, forrest gump...you know, fricken dennis hopper, maaaan...

and as a result of that war, thousands of war refugees came to southern california to leave behind the home that we had helped trash.

(flashforward)

so, the party was quickly getting back to normal but all i could do was think:

half of this group would not be here had it not been for the other half that was currently sharing food and drink. i look over at my wife and siblings, but no sign that we are in some kind of psychic bond about my helicopter epiphany.

my appetite's gone. i feel discouraged and vaguely guilty.

my father is still talking about the 'bird' and it's to the proud papa of my mother's godchild's kid.

the vietnamese papa.

i then note that by this time, they are both drunk, and the irony is lost to them.

i grab a piece of cake.

you, me and ied

2006-06-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

"By definition, intermittent explosive disorder involves multiple outbursts that are way out of proportion to the situation. These angry outbursts often include threats or aggressive actions and property damage. The disorder typically first appears in adolescence; in the study, the average age of onset was 14. "

well, well, well. in my day this was called 'having a temper', or 'being an asshole'...

if i were more of a comedian, this would make an excellent basis for a whole monologue, but alas, i am but a poor union office worker and dad that can ill afford to go to some sort of therapist to have himself diagnosed with this wonderful new malady.

can you imagine the range of excuses that can be swept away with the simple declaration of 'i have IED and am not in control of myself. sorry 'bout that broken arm/fender/hole punched in the wall, but i've been suffering with this since high school. can you imagine, i used to be called a bully? oh, the heartache!"

i mean, this will probably soon become another ADD to have more kids on drugs at school, or more caring sensitive commercials from pfizer aired during world news tonight showing montages of 'angry' people finding the 'cure' and then cycling or petting their dogs or sitting on the beachfront porches with a loved one's head on their shoulders...

'warning: possible side effects of explosisine may include dry mouth, vomiting, muscle spasms and in a few cases, death due to built up rage inhibitions and burst blood vessels in the neck...should not be taken if driving is intended, or if your spouse has a history of being a nag. should not be used by adherents of klingon philosophies or anyone who has any chance of being around children, or fellow human beings...'

i mean, come on...do jerks prone to outbursts really need backing? do wife beaters need yet another prop or excuse? does little suzy get her pony now? do folks in berkeley need another reason to hug someone?

then again, flying into a rage at work, or going into a clocktower with a rifle might just be that much more acceptable a way to 'vent' our emotions, since we could now justify it due to our new disorder.

mention your suffering with this lifelong problem next time your boss crosses you....

ooooh....

tvod

2006-06-01T16:14:00.000-07:00

yes, me and the t.v. have been close personal friends for most of our lives.

and that's t.v. as in telly, idiot box, boob tube...not that i have any problems with other tvs...

i could go on for hours about how many potential years of my life were spent in front of that contraption memorizing everything from 'star trek' dialog to monty python routines to first discovering my manliness watching julie newmar in tights (there is no other 'catwoman').

also, too many hours watching dreaded family shows like 'the waltons'-nothing sexy there-or 'little house on the prairie' (weird, weird, weird...especially the insane charles finds/loses a son, goes berserk, builds a religious monument after growing a beard) that my mother approved of. i suspect that her requiring us to watch this dreck was to make up for all the dreck her kids watched at other times.

a lot of my views were probably shaped by 'kung-fu' or 'the prisoner' of 'land of the lost' or the other 50,000 hours of eye-drying zombietood experienced in my youth.

t.v. viewing came in spurts as an adult, though time was usually made for any 'star trek' spin-offs or guilty pleasures such as 'thirtysomething', which the punk in me could only sneer and laugh at.

all this before basic cable...imagine if i was a kid now....wait, i don't have to imagine...i do have one...

and she loves the telly.

so we decided that cable might be too much and that a wee bit of control would ensue, but still:

insane japanese anime, 'smallville', saturday morning cartoons, NATURE SHOWS! (at abuela's-cable there).

so with no basic cable for years, little mavis has had to do with videos and box sets of dvds.

and there the gorgon has risen.

she owns more dvds than i had books at her age (and she IS a voracious reader, like her folks) so it only strikes me as odd once in a while when she requests that we watch an episode of 'kung-fu' or neil gaiman's dr. who-esque 'neverwhere', or a few 'superman' cartoons or the latest superhero complete season box set...and no commercials!

she cried when #6 dropped off the village survivors and went hand in hand with the butler.

we constantly discuss product placement and proper story-telling and whether or not kwai chang-caine really had to resort to violence.

she drew me a picture of the stargate for goodness sakes!

part of me relishes the little nerd i am steering along...part of me worries, so i do spend an equal amount of time walking and talking, or visiting friends, or reading.

plus, notice how with mr. carradine i am indoctrinating her into the subtleties of buddhism?

and no charles ingalls wilder, prophet, in my house.

except as kitch, of course.

that awkward teenage phase

2006-05-22T12:03:00.000-07:00

it's that time again:

let the hair grow long, trim it, or shave it off? so many possibilities, so little time. right now, my 'do' is in what i call 'that awkward teenage phase' of not short, not long but lumpy.

i have thick, black curly hair and i have never found anyone that knows just how to cut it. i'm not even happy when i take my barber clippers to the mop on top of my oversized noggin. barbers all leave me looking like a 'homeboy'.

the state of my peluca (look it up) often indicates my general mental state, so do be careful when encountering the 'i haven't combed this blob in 3 years' mo. he hasn't been around since he started teaching preschool 5 years back and decided to re-introduce the 'shave it all off and feel like curly joe besser but be shadowed by police squad cars after dark' mo.

over the years my hair has gone from one crisis mode to another.

as a helpless kid, my mother would put so much brilliantine in my hair that for the year my family spent in costa rica when i was 7, the other schoolmates would marvel at just how hot my head would get in the warm tropical sun during our breaks outside.

in junior high i was a 300 lb tub that didn't cut his hair for 4 years and everyone thought i was a girl (the aviator glasses didn't help).

by high school a combination of speed, sex and punk rock caused my hair to be the shortest for a boy in school, and my girlfriend cut 2 odd grooves at my right hairline, thus giving me an extra mutant sideburn. came in handy when i played a crazy sewer dweller in a school play.

by the time i was 15 i was pretty much on my own, and used to go to this barber across the street from this early 'hipster' boutique in santa monica, california (nana's) and insist to the punk rock hating lady barber that she give me hopey's haircut from 'love and rockets'-the comic.

that 'short back and sides' with the psycho fringe on top has been the general standard that my fro has maintained, with the above mentioned 'rasta-mo' that just got plain ugly or the last time i shaved it to fuzz-the night before the last set of riots broke out in LA...talk about suspicious policemen.

so here i am.

if i go with long, i end up looking like 'sayid' on lost-hair only.

short, the cops look all funny at me.

and now: that awkward teenage phase....

kill thing pappy

2006-05-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

the above was very briefly used as a nickname for by the late mr. jac zinder, and it is the title of a particularly odd 50's calypso tune.

never really could figure out the lyrics...

"kill thing pappy-is the way they go
kill thing pappy-win or lose"

is the chorus, i believe...can't do a search on the web because i'm not even sure of the title nor the artist (archie thomas and his rhythm makers?) , and the beat up old label-less 78 is history now...

i find myself having incredibly vivid memory replays based on music, and when i heard this song in the cassette player of my daughter's mother's car the other day i was whisked away to an evening at the old 'dance club' that jac and i co-hosted (he did most of the work, i spun musics).

as i get older i seem to re-connect more and more to memories via my music collection.

and having access to the only cassette player in the family for a month has helped me to appreciate my old mix-tapes (that's another entry)...

this memory was a fun one, and when i played that song it was one of those weird nights where everyone at the venue was on the same wavelength and they all danced.

sometimes a song'll do that sort of thing.

and that's why jac thought that 'kill thing pappy' would make a good 'handle' for me.

i'd almost forgotten.

of course, mentioning the title/name disturbs my daughter, but someday she'll recall fondly her dad and his weird musical interludes.

maybe with a song...

the heart grows fonder

2006-05-18T12:17:00.000-07:00

When two people love each other, they come together - WHAM - like two taxis on Broadway.

--Stella (Thelma Ritter), from "Rear Window"

with me, it felt more like getting hit by a truck and walking away laughing.

this might help explain to you just where my head has been at these last few postless weeks.

life is strange, love is incomprehensible, and just where these primordial feelings come from is beyond me, but when inflicted with this state the whole world becomes transformed.

i find myself smiling at chirping birds and stopping to watch the sun set behind a smoggy haze.
i sit and tussle my daughter's hair and listen more attentively and she relates her day. i'm smiling much of the time. i go over to my folks house for dinner just to spend time with them. my sense of sadness and isolation does not feel quite so pronounced.

she sent me a 'buddha box' and calls me just as i finish dialing her phone.

complete and total honesty, and still she calls me back.

the long distance thing is tough (400 miles) but we both made the joke about 'absinthe makes the heart grow fonder'... we'll figure it out. it's only a 6 hour drive.

i've only told a few folks about this new wonderful woman in my life, so this sort of serves as my announcement.

we are in each other's thoughts constantly, and my work has suffered for it.

but i'm happy. giddy. 16 year old crazy love.

besides my little girl in my life, i've found little reason to see the world in a positive light this past year, but then 'whoosh' comes the truck and i'm spinning. it's a great feeling.

talk to you soon.

los nicknames

2006-04-26T14:49:00.000-07:00

chatting with beth, so to speak, the subject of the various nicknames that we have been given came up. we all have them, but can you remember just what they mean?

it's been fun trying to remember just where or how some of these were spawned.

first off, the baby ones are mostly long gone (all parents saddle the kids with cutesy little monikers that-mercifully-fade with age), but my abuela would always remind me that I was known in her house as 'barcelata' which is some other crying opera clown.

age 4-8 I referred to myself as 'mito ha-ha'...mito is the Spanish word for 'myth' but I have no idea if that was the root.

my mother and father still call me 'mauri'.

at school and in my youth 'mauricio' was the norm.

but then punk rock happened (79-88 for me) and the local musicians and performance artists on the scene all seemed to shorten my name to 'maurice', which I never really liked but grew tired of correcting folks about.

that came from my friend brock (lee) adler who had a brain fart one day trying to add my name to a guest list for some silly function and wrote me down as 'maurice vista'! when I complained, he had cards with that name printed up, so in the best punk rock fashion, I used 'em.

dede, rudy and mia all took to adding an 'o' to both initials, and my DJ nom-de-plume was born: 'mr. mofo'.

david alex called me 'mauritzio', but it never stuck.

jac tried sticking me with 'homey buggin' after a couple of hip hop DJs asked him what I wanted at one of the clubs we promoted (as in "was homey buggin' 'bout?").

jac also tried using 'casanothin' when a few potential dates all fell through one after another when we were roommates. I think of that name when lonely.

I liked the 'mo' so much that when I moved to the bay area in '89 I told one and all that was my name. it's stuck for now. the 'reverend' was added as folks found my side calling as a minister and at the giant music store I worked at back in LA.

nothing like hearing "phone call for rev. mo" over the intercom.

my daughter calls me 'daddio' and 'bum-bum'--an english beat reference.

here and now at the union I work for the bulk of the members are Spanish speakers first, and all have a good chuckle since 'mo' sounds exactly like the word for 'mold'. they're trying to call me 'mauricio' and that's just fine.

I like being able to figure out just how long I've known someone by what they call me. little personal time capsules.

beth worries if it's all right to call me 'maurice' and I say that's fine too, as long as she is calling me.

don't forget that since some people call me 'maurice' that makes me the gangster of love.

perchance to dream

2006-04-20T14:30:00.000-07:00

ay, there's the rub.

I will suffer from some form of sleep disorder, I was once told, for the rest of my life.

as a child, I was a somnambulist. sleepwalker for the layman (there's a cruel word!). my folks heard me screaming one night outside in a rainstorm. they would later get in the habit of placing objects in my way at night, so I would go back to bed.

sleepwalking pretty much ended with the advent of sex, aged 15.

(if you are my daughter, do not follow in daddy's footsteps)

around the age of 18 I began having fits of normal sleep, with most evenings averaging 3-6 hours.

trouble going to sleep followed by fitful sleep, ending with early risings.

loads of fun. if you like bags under the eyes in your 20's not due to over indulgence.

also fun if you like constantly experiencing mild hallucinations out of the corner of your eyes, or occasional physical collapse for 20 hours straight once a month or so.

ah, insomnia! t.v. is the enemy, books merely display dancing black squiggles, conversations degenerate into verbal sludge and dream-time references. Ok if your partner enjoys Kurt scatters at 4 a.m. creative forays seem great in the sleepless zone, but the next morning shows those wonderful notes you took to be recycled 'Dennis the menace' strips on valium.

the only positive side was when my girl was an infant, and my 'training' allowed me to stay up with the cholic, allowing the mother unit to get the sleep for the two of us.

(this sort of 'I can stay awake' power comes in handy at busy times)

another amusing bit-my girl loves this-is that when in the worst near bardo state, I will bark a single syllable 'HA' at anything that catches my fancy. sometimes even for the hallucinations (they do bark back).

at any job I've held, the abrupt 'nod-off' could always be available for employee fun. or gossip about my 'problem', which would lead to sincere heart to heart talks about 12 step programs.

people would rather believe that you have a 'problem' than recognize a sleep disorder. it confuses them, and makes their worldview get all wonky: I mean, what possible evolutionary advantage is there to constant low level dementia?

except, perhaps to insure easy prey for larger animals. remind me to avoid jungles. I look over my shoulders constantly. loud and sudden noises induce screams from me.

well, welcome to my world. sleeplessness also brings chronic paranoia.

I wonder if any studies relating mental disorders linked to 'sleep me not' exist?

after a wonderfully busy last weekend (none of your business yet) I realized that from Friday morning until Tuesday I had gotten 14 hours of sleep. the five days were not typical of my sleeplessness, this loss of sleep was due to having much to do, a lot on my mind, and a happy reunion with an old friend. plus 'DJing' and air travel.

sleep was a distraction. as I said, a lot on my mind.

come Wednesday, I was barking at every little thing. and was happy.

now if I could just turn on the sleep engine, before I nod off again...

mary, mary, quite contrary

2006-04-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

I do translations between Spanish and English at the union office that I work out of.

my written Spanish not quite matching my speaking Spanish, I use a variety of translation sites on line, and I am occasionally flummoxed by the mis-steps, lost tenses and other varieties of linguistic experience.

my late friend Bruce would make the loveliest dada poetry just by sending a bit of language or dialog through 'English to Spanish', and then back again...

as I have been thinking about him of late, I decided to give it a try.

here's the result on the first try (English to Spanish, then Spanish to English):

"Mary had a little lamb,
it's fleece was white as snow.

and everywhere that Mary went,
the lamb was sure to go."

now poetry is tricky, but here goes:

"Maria had a small lamb,
is fleece was white such as snow.

And all over that Maria was,
the lamb was sure to go. "

sounds about right, que no?

I would suggest you try the same with this entry!

road trip

2006-04-12T15:28:00.000-07:00

How I love that phrase.

Back in my younger days, drop of the hat trips seemed fairly commonplace, especially here in auto-drenched Los Angeles.

Even plane trips to the Bay Area (San Francisco, for all the non-Californian readers) were cheap and plentiful, if you didn't mind the midnight mail run, stand-by only.

Some of my favorite times have been in the context of a sudden journey (too many times involving the desert and some funny snacks), ill-prepared and destination-less. Realizing we had no water in the middle of Joshua Tree at noon was always good for a laugh.

Somehow, never ended up a grisly statistic.

"Just hop in our Citroen and go!" to quote Mr. Mark Riley, former Fall member. Roads-a-plenty, back roads especially, odd small towns, hidden hot springs, scary-assed diners staffed by angry Republicans, fascinating curio shops and thrift stores galore!

Seeing millions of Monarch butterflies with my then pregnant wife in a box canyon near the ocean.

Tracing a UFO coffee shop at Big Rock.

Watching ball lightning attack a power plant in Mississippi.

Giving a ride to the Panther Burns when their van broke down near Fresno.

Seeing a whole warehouse wall full of used irons in Oregon.

Oh, the trips would never end...

Then marriage, jobs you can't blow off, parental responsibility, penny pinching, travel buddy deaths, and the onset of creaking bones and dietary needs, etc. Time marches on, and cold water only hotel rooms don't have that much allure, nor do yahoos in the next camp site.

My oh my.

Then the marriage ends. The kid is older. I've been exercising more. And the job is cool.

Enough of that. Give me land, lots of land and the open country side!

For easter, I'm going to the San Francisco.

More pending.

rudy, a message to you

2006-04-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

Halloween,1982 and Rudy and I are trying to take the bus from the Santa Monica beach area (after I got off of work) out to West Hollywood, where we will be meeting up with the Todd and Sheila to go to Northridge to see the Cramps and enter the costume contest.

Rudy is dressed as a dead nun (nice habit) and I'm dead Buddy Holly (complete with damaged guitar).

We've been waiting a while. Rudy lights up a cigarette and says: "Light one and the bus'll come."

30 seconds later, the bus arrives.

He has a way about him.

So, on this night, Rudy and I easily blend in with the general populace. Everyone is a freak in various stages of drunkenness and costume it seems.

We make it to Sheila's (she that we all have a crush on) and join the Todd and a couple of other women to the 45 min drive north.

The Todd is dressed in drag and in black face (he's a white frat boy at UCLA, sympathetic to punks, not the "let's beat up punks" type of frat) and his companions are wearing matching dresses and black face. They are Diana Ross and the Supremes.

Sheila is Billy Idol.

Only Todd knows how to drive.

We arrive at the venue, and the crowd is crazy. Every state of toxic high or four sheets to the wind are well represented, as well as the most amazing outfits (and quite a few folks lacking clothes all together as well).

Rudy, as always, says something to the door person that gets us all in.

Rudy wins 1st place (of course) and gets to dance on stage with the Cramps, and even gets to sing a chorus of the 20 minute version of "Surfing Bird".

A wonderful time is had by all.

Especially the Todd. An hour after the show has ended, we search and search for Mr. Diana. We find him behind a dumpster, face down in a puddle of god-knows-what. Completely and totally unconscious. He with the only license.

20 miles from any of our homes. 3 a.m. We drag the Todd to his car, a'78 Mustang. Stick shift.

"Well, I guess we all take turns driving us home!" Rudy volunteers. Turns out NONE of us has a clue how to drive (oddly enough the others were all east coast transplants from big cities-ie: good public transport- here for college, 'cept for Rudy).

We pick up the Todd (imagine, two Supremes, a Billy Idol, a Buddy Holly and a drag dead nun lifting a former football player in green sequins, black face and wig), dump him in the back seat, and get in.

Sheila takes the first go. Much lurching and 20 Min's later we've made it a block.

We've got all night.

An hour later, lurching, stalling, stopping, we've gone 10 miles or so. On the freeway. Not a cop in sight.

We pull over to a 24 hour Denny's, pile out of the car (the Todd still passed out) and find that the staff has taken one look at us and put up a closed sign.

The magic of Halloween has passed.

My turn to drive.

Rudy rides shotgun. "Don't forget if we crash, I'll go at the same time as you, and will die knowing who killed me."

Gee.

rudy can't fail

2006-04-03T15:58:00.000-07:00

It's 1981 and there are too many of us piled into the back of someone's '67 Falcon rambling around West Hollywood on a Saturday night, trying to find the gay bar that: allows underage kids (a few of were 19 or 20), and: that plays punk and new wave music.

Me, I've got my brother's green card (with a baby picture that looks just like me!), my black jeans and black sweatshirt, black high tops and a stomach full of black beauties and some sugary soda. I had just left high school for good that week.

Everyone else (8 or 9 kids mashed up in the car) is, I believe, white, but appropriately "devo" as the surfers and cholos all call us.

Short back and sides all around. Even the women, one of which sits in my lap facing me in the backseat (and me with no girlfriend).

We had just pulled over to pick up "Rudy" who everyone said knew where this bar was. He was a cool one, apparently.

"Glad you're a Mexican gay." She whispers in my ear.

"Um...I'm not." I inform. Neither, I want to tell her.

"Oh. Are you bi?" She smells of cigarettes and rum.

"I dunno." I answer. I didn't know what that even meant. The car explodes into laughter.

In my hyped-up state of confusion and lust, I realize that I really don't know any of these punks, and can't recall how I got into this car. This is one of those times I hate not driving.

Not driving in LA = confessing to cannibalism.

I mean, back in Culver City (an LA "suburb") I was one of the 3 or 4 "punkers"-as those NOT in the know called us-but here in Hollywood, this group put much of my posturing to shame.

I felt a hand (not my lap partner) grab between my legs, followed by a loud male voice: "PACKAGE CHECK!"

More laughter. The voice says "No reaction. He's not bi or gay." More laughter. "My hand is named Rudy, just like me."

"Uh...Hi." I mutter. Can't see Mr. Grope. More laughs when Rudy answers: "Not yet!"

The woman in my lap begins swaying to the tape playing. It's Bowie. Rudy barks: "Turn left here! It's Peanuts!"

I envision Charlie Brown and the gang in punk attire, dancing. When we all ooze out of the car in the parking lot I only see a bunch of punk or "gay" looking people waiting in line to get in. No cartoon folk. No piano playing blondies.

Rudy, much to my surprise, is a short, dark skinned Mexican punk. Looks a lot like Sal Mineo with an overbite.

Rudy says: "Hold on." And goes to the bouncer. Some chatting. Comes back, grinning. "We're in."

And just like that, New Wave Heaven.

Over beer, dancing for two hours, plus some poppers we've managed to lose our car-mates, Rudy says to me: "So, can you give me a ride home? I live in Mar Vista." (15 miles away).

Awkward moment of truth. "I didn't drive. I don't drive. I can't drive...but I live in Culver City." (community just east of Mar Vista). How to explain to ANYONE in LA that you didn't have a car, or drive. Marked as insane, even amongst the punks.

Rudy glares. Then starts laughing. "Wows. Me neither...I thought I was just crazy. We'd better find a bus then." No judgement, just some good understanding. "Figures the 2 Mexicans don't have no cars."

I figure I wouldn't correct him.

And with that, we were best friends.

the beach boys of death

2006-03-29T14:59:00.000-08:00

Today was one of those glorious (and rare) Los Angeles. Blue skies, crisp air, snow covered mountains, gentle winds and big billowy clouds all around. Yet lots of sunshine. No smog.

(This is only possible around here after a big rainstorm, and last night's was a doozy.)

The kind of day that The Beach Boys were always going on about. And on and on about. And on local oldies radio, these songs were constantly being played hereabouts during my growing up. Lots of Beach Boys harmonizing out of every little tinny transistor radio or storefront or mall opening, it seemed.

It could easily make you hate all that those boys sang about.

Especially if (like me) you were a fat, nerdy Latino immigrant. None of those blonde tunes had much to do with abject poverty, police brutality, racism, alcoholism or riding in a bus. Later punk rock attitudes seemed to imply that The Beach Boys were the enemy (I can tell you of a surfer/punk brawl with one of the Wilson's sons in Hollywood, but that's another story).

Yet a soft spot always remained in my heart for the Hawthorne lads.

Especially now that I work in Hawthorne-the town most of them were raised in, I believe).

The town that until 1962 could be called a "sundown town"-as in: "Nigger get out of town before sundown"...

Maybe that's why so many of the earlier songs just don't relate to reality much.

The fact that Brian Wilson wrote most of the key songs, yet never got into the water helped me learn to like them as I grew older, and as I began discovering The Beach Boys' darker side (this does not include post Brian Republican Beach Boys - that's just sad).

Brian was a genius. And a nut job. In hiding for years.

Dennis took in Charlie Manson. And was a coked out binge drinker.

Mike Love wasn't.

The creepy Wilson dad used to punish his kids by removing his glass eye and making the kids stare into the empty socket.

I mean, who wouldn't pen 'In My Room' after that?

In 2nd hand stores all over town, one could find copies of "Smiley Smile" or "Beach Boys Love You" or "Surf's Up" featuring 'Don't Go Near The Water'
or 'I Wanna Pick You Up' or 'Student Demonstration Time' and a whole host of other really odd songs.

The fact that "Pet Sounds" and "Smile" have gotten so much attention lately does show that their odder stuff was ahead of it's time, and that's good for Brian and the contrarian "I told you so" music nerds.

But can they really appreciate the epic love song to 'Johnny Carson' or 'Solar System' ("if mars had life on it, I might find my wife on it"...)? I don't have the qualifications to describe these equally LA representative songs. You'll just have to find them (hint: nothing after Brian Wilson left the band, and post "Pet Sounds").

As to me, I walk around their hometown, humming these oddball tunes ("I'm gonna chow down, my vegetables") and thinking of these boys growing up and beginning their careers during the Watts Riots, living in sunny (sundown) Hawthorne. And glass eyes.

Helps me forget my therapy.