05:30. Go: "suss, guess, ponder, all with a Zippo lighter..."
Quandary: Malady, disease, obsession. "Whatever." Something I do.
I'll take my coffee blindfolded, still-not-awake, habitually followed to the letter(s). Smokes, too. Slang, improper spelling, syntax and punctuation, all inclusive.
All for guts and glory, becoming semi-vertical, a bug bite and sore arm. I wake up, that meat presented, often. 15 minutes later, the coffee, cigarettes and cold water hit me. Then, I make scrambled eggs and toast. Or, an Adams peanut, butter and preserves, toasted sandwich with butter. That, coffee and couple of smokes always makes me (a) go back to sleep or, (b) wakes me up.
I make coffee, well. You're welcome.
05:30+
Quiet. Aleutian Geese Flyway. Earthquakes.TV news (feeds) w/the sound off or "reading the news". Caraway seed Rye toast, Butter, Marionberry jam and stout Tanzanian piquant Berry mud. "Observing the day come alive."
No humans, save one. A Raven or two (making that 'clucking sound' the males do...) One hand clap.
"Gone. Real gone."
Go figure.
00:00+ bliss,
-Doc
Listening to Bob welch play "Miles Away":
One of the good things was listening to early versions of Danny Kirwain/Peter Green playing: "Oh, Well." With Bob Welch playing "Studio Fills." Then, he was signed. I felt "lucky" to have worked for this lineup.
Enter Lindsey and Ms. Nicks. Turn the page. Pre-N+B:
Now, if it were myself, I'd choose listening to the song. Then again, some folks may actually find some morbid fascination with contracting the Measles. Humans are weird like that, ya' know? I was vaccinated for damned near everything as a kid. Career U.S. Navy Musician's Brat. We lived all over the place and getting sick was just part of the place-by-place, day-to-day, routine.
The Philippines is a really good place to get the measles, by the way. I'd recommend Manilla or Subic Bay.
Getting out of The Anchovy Ranch to do some pre-Superbowl shopping today and just dig the early day fog, cruise the harbor for nautical scenery, rotting kelp smells, all that good stuff. Next month's bills all paid, time to gear up for watching the Seattle Seahawks whup up on the N.E. Patriots this Sunday. My official call.
Shit, even my Old Pal, Brown Stains, (not his real name, of course) is rooting for the 'hawks and he's FROM Lawrence, Ma.. His Dad was a Boston City Cop. If THAT ain't a Patriots fan, what is? He does, however, live 60 miles north and 50 miles east of Seattle now. Brown Stains' Home For Retired Lunatic Fisherman's Heaven! I gotta' get up there this year and murder me some Salmon, drink some beers, swap some lies and chase some Tourist Gal skirt... It's a fine spot for all those activities. Plus, it's a nice Amtrak ride. Eugene, Seattle or Portland inbetween. Probably Seattle this time, to visit Rockin' Lu-Lu. I'll get hauled off to some Punk Club (or worse) while there, is my guess.
Every so often, I like to just turn the computer off and take a "vacation" from typing. Usually when my carpal tunnel syndrome is acting up or my back hurts. This time it's both.
Yea, yea, yea...I'll be "back."
Find a good book, listen to some music, watch a movie. I'll bore ya' later. You can count on it.
I am a Man of both simple and complex pleasures. I like beans and cornbread just as much as I do a 7 course French Supper, paper plates and plastic sporks as much as Silver, Linen, Crystal and China, Levi's and a T-Shirt as much as hand-tailored silk suits (No, I don't own any), watching a caterpillar emerge from its' chrysalis as much as a Busby Berkeley Style Tubes Show (I lit one of those, many years ago). Anyway, you get the idea. I've determined that most everything in life is, as least somewhat, circumstantial and dependant upon perception and the enjoyment of all possible combinations thereof. The view from a Manhattan Penthouse is NOT equal to the view from the top of a 14,000' mountain, however, whatever, whenever. I'll take the mountain anytime, every time.
Mt. Whitney, for instance:
Beat this, Manhattan:
Ain't gonna' happen.
My climbing days are "over" though. Too many injuries, getting: "Too old for that stuff, etc.." Glad I did it all when I was younger. My advice to any young person in good physical shape and a desire to "find out what's out there" is to buy yourself a couple pairs of good boots, suitable clothing, good 4 season tent, 0 degree sleeping bag (you can always sleep on top when it's warm), stove, etc. and start walking. You'll end up "somewhere" and know more than you do now, I promise. You can mail yourself the second pair of boots to a Ranger Station along your route. Just call them and let them know you'll walk in and pick them up, before you get there. It's got to be someplace where they get mail delivered by hand though. They're used to it and will enjoy your story. You'll probably get a cup of coffee out of the deal, if you're interesting. If not, you'll just get The Boots. Terrible pun, Doc...
New collectable baseball cap coming in the mail today. Truth is, I ordered the 1949 Seals Cap before the 1940 Lefty O'Doul Model shown on the "About Me" rocker page top, right. It tales the place I buy this stuff from, Ebbets Field Flannels, in Seattle, a long time to fill orders, because: They Do It Right The First Time.
"It ain't cheap but it's GOOD." A fine rule-of-thumb. Good stuff is never cheap and it usually weighs allot.
I'm sharing some of The Delicious Beans N' Corn Bread with the neighbor(s). I always make "too much." Didn't feel like freezing the leftovers.
Listening to Stanley Clarke. I haven't heard him The Cat in a long time. Forgot how much I like some of his stuff. Particularly the straight Jazz material. Like this:
...you're from the other side. Just one thing I have to know: 'Who won'?"
I like opening line even better. "If you smile at me, I will understand. Because that is something everybody, everywhere, does in the same language." Truer words are rarely spoken. From "Somewhere," Live, a long time ago. Nice Stills solo:
The sound is a bit "soft." Run it through a stereo amp or good desktop speakers and it's fine. The mix is dead-on, just needs to be louder.
Yea, I know... It's a bunch of Granola chomping, Birkenstock wearing, Patchouli smelling, Psychedelic, Hope Against All Hope Crap. Call me An Old Hippie and taunt me with rhetorical jeers like: "How's that Peace and Love Shit workin' out for ya'?" I'l tell you the same things I told anybody that would listen back in the 60's and 70's. "It's working out just fine, for me. Thank you. Now, if there were simply a whole lot more people that felt the same way, we'd be in pretty good shape." Instead, we're fucked. Royally.
On the other hand: I have no problem with turning certain areas of the World into smoldering piles of post-nuclear rubble, waiting until they cool off to build a new Lego Land/Disneyland/Knotts Berry Farm on them." Wait a minute, we're already doing that shit. My bad. I'll stick with Plan One From Mendocino, instead. A Hypothetical, Peacenik Science Fiction Movie, wherein, Unicorns and Godzillas lay down together and there's free Kool Aid for everyone. Wait a minute, that's Scientology or EST, Seventh Day Adventist Sprecht or something. I don't know, it's so hard to keep track of all this stuff.
State Of The Union Address tonight. O'Bummer could just stand up, take a bow and say: "E.G.B.A.R." and just walk off of the stage. Then the Republicans can crucify him, or whatever it is that awaits him in their darkest of torture fantasies. Michelle Bachmann could do the "Hot For Teacher" strip-tease or something? (You know you want to, you little Misspoken, Crosseyed-With-Venom, Vixen...) Instead, it will be rhetoric and doublespeak, a bit of Rah-rah, Sis-BOOM-Bah-Humbug and then, the aforementioned bow-out.
Everything's Gonna' Be All Right. "E.G.B.A.R.." As if.
I'm being "humorous" here, not: "Political." If you can't laugh at your own Government, draw Heretical Cartoons about your Favorite or Unfavorite Deity, Give Your Congressman The Finger, or whatever, something's wrong. That's Not Really Democracy...
Will Rodgers would have had a Field Day with the current cast of Twaddles and Twats running this Dog-And-Pony-Show.
I think I'll do what I wanted to do yesterday. Go down to the harbor and just Bum Around, smelling rotten stuff, maybe kick a dead fish or crustacean and watch the boats come in and go out. Maybe take the CD Walkman and listen to some music, maybe take a book, a sandwich and a couple beers. Fred Neil, Tom Robbins, etc., go well with PBR and a sandwich, docks and rotten kelp.
The guy that bought my '48 Dodge Custom Touring Sedan before I moved farther up the Lost Coast, knew Fred. They met on Government Cut, a jetty that sticks out into the Atlantic Ocean from Miami. I lived in South Beach, way before it became Oh-So-Trendy. All the Art Deco Hotels and such were in various stages of dilapidation. A bunch of guys from New Jersey or somewhere came in and fixed everything up and now you have to sell a kidney in Brazil (or wherever) to hang out there. I think men still wear platform soled shoes in South Beach and have their shirts unbuttoned to show you their gold chain collections. Women are almost naked, which is cool with me.
I loved that car. I just didn't count on having to sell a kidney to restore it, cosmetically. It was never going to be a real Collector's Item, at any rate. It had a 1953 217 cid L-Flathead 6 in it with Fluid Drive transmission. The precursor to: "Automatic Transmissions." It was also an amalgam of three cars: The D-24c body, a D-25 frame and the '53 engine/running gear. (One a 1947 and one a 1948, which both look the same) Two Door Custom and Family Four Door, respectively. Mine was "Carribean Blue" but looked like this. I kept one extra hubcap and the "Ram" hood ornament with its' "apron and marque badge."
The Old Guy I bought it from said: "You can fit the whole Cheerleading Squad in the back seat." Howard was right. It lives down the coast now. A retired helicopter mechanic bought it from me. I made money on the deal. "A 'good deal' is when both guys walk away thinking they screwed the other one." (Anon.) It wasn't like that. I don't do Weasely Business. All cards and money on the table.
Dodge only made this marque for three years. '46. '47 and '48. They were busy making 2.5 Ton Power Wagons and whatnot during 1941-'45. In '49, the car got a one-piece hood and a new body shape that I don't find attractive. This thing was like driving a Big Boy's Bumper Car and cruised rather well at 50-70 mph. It had more torque than a Sherman Tank and would climb a 10% grade in 3rd gear from a dead stop.
I think I'll shower, shave and head on out of here.
This is probably my favorite C,S,N album. It does not include the song mentioned in the Post Title. It does, however, have the great Stephen Stills song: "I Give You Give Blind" in it. I listened to this allot when I lived in Hawai'i, many years after its' release. It just "fit" while sitting on the docks in Lahaina with a beer in my hand, watching the Sun set over Lana'i. Good times, while they lasted. You can only live on a Big Rock In The Middle Of An Even Bigger Ocean for so long and then you run out of places to walk to and from.
Yep. Before the games and everything. Seahawks/Packers was a nail-biter. Patriots/Colts, not so much.
Actually, my clairvoyance regarding the participants in this year's Super Bowl goes back a few weeks. I just had a weird feeling about it. Besides, it was my personal preference as to whom I might be watching at that game. At home, on TV, of course. You won't find me in Phoenix, Az. unless it's in the trunk of a '72 Ford Galaxy, rotting away and alerting Security to a foul smell. Not that I expect that or anything, it's just "The Worst Thing I Could Think Of" just now. Anywhere south of Flagstaff, I want nothing to do with.
Martin Luther King Day. Just once, I'd like to hear about all the fucked up things that guy did while alive. I mean: "Yea, he did allot of really good stuff" but, "He did allot of really bad stuff, too." I'd like to hear about that Bad Stuff, just once, in mainstream media. It'll NEVER HAPPEN. Think about it for a moment though... All the Dumb Assed Shit that people like Richard Nixon, LBJ, J. Edgar Hoover, etc. (The list would fill a paragraph) did during their protracted "15 Minutes Of Fame" got write-up's. Why not Dr. King as well? You can do your own homework. I'm not about to set myself up for some horrific Spamming Episode here. Been there. Done that. Got the T-Shirt.
Somewhat relatedly: I was going to watch "The Butler" with Forrest Whitaker and (Oh, no, not HER) Oprah Winfrey in it. Somewhere between thinking about Oprah's Big Mouth and Forrest's Weird Eye, I lost interest and watched something else. I'm sure it's a great story and all but, I simply "lost interest."
"They Tell It To Oprah..."
I've loved listening to Root Boy Slim (and The Sex Change Band w/The Rootettes) like, "forever." Past (don't have any now) roommates have threatened to: "Cut off my power" for listening to them for hours on end. Foster MacKenzie III, aka R.B.S., was a Frat-Mate of G.W. Bush, until the latter had Root Boy kicked out for "being too weird." As if.
I particularly like Root Boy himself and Ernie Lancaster, the guitarist. Ron Holloway, the sax player and the slide guitarist, Walt Andrews, are no slouches, either. The whole band just sort of "clicks" behind Root Boy Slim. He's been dead for a long while now. You can't floorboard an engine at 10,000rpm forever, Kids. RBSATSCB made the D.C. Bar Scene for awhile. They mostly played the East Coast.
Root Boy drove an Ice Cream Truck through the fence at the White House, Pee'd on The Pentagon and once stole a Street Sweeper, which landed him in a Psych Ward for a bit. Peanuts. The band did much weirder things, regularly. RBS Did "One Album and Out" with Warner Brothers and 5 others on smaller, different labels. Band members came and went. You can Google the discography.
I wish the buses were running today. I'd go down to the harbor, hang around with a couple PBR's, a sandwich, smell the rotting kelp and stuff. (Maybe kick a dead crab or something) Lots of disgusting smells around a good sized bay. I'm "right at home" there. I've lived on or near the water, near either Oceans or Bays, for allot of years now. Wouldn't feel comfortable anywhere else. There's always tomorrow. The kelp and Mushy Bay Smells will still be there. I'll do a Top Ten Smelly Bays post, sometime.
I need a couple of things at the grocery store anyway.
I have Lasagne to "put up." I let it "mature" in the 'fridge overnight. It's easier to portion out when it's cold, too. The 9"x9"x3" pan I made weighs in at about 7 pounds. Solid stuff. Sausage, 'burger, green peppers, onions, mushrooms, 2 lbs. of Mozzarella, 1 lb. of Ricotta, Parmesan, Malbec Wine Marinara sauce, the usual herbs, all baked off real slow. I'll have a good sized piece tonight (or not) and then freeze the rest. It's a good "I don't want to cook tonight" thing to have in the freezer.
Other than this drivel: "Ain't Nuthin' Shakin' But The Leaves On The Trees And They Could Be Jivin' Me Too."
My neighbor is having another one of his: "That's Not Really Reggae" days again. Thank God for good headphones. That shit all sounds exactly the same to me.
I must admit to being somewhat of a Slacker lately. I've been wrestling with a few things. The Charlie thing, the rise of domestic spawned violence, various "plots" and "Copy Cat" shite, a Creepy, General Malaise about "Where This World's Going Lately" and, most importantly, This:
The Grateful Dead's Golden Jubilee at Soldier Field over the 4th of July weekend this coming Summer.
Ten really good reasons "why" I won't attending:
1. Trey Anastasio. Because? "Ew, Trustafarians."
2. Soldier Field in July. You'll be able to smell the restrooms in Boston. Or, there'll be a tornado.
3. Possible riots when the crowd realizes that "They've Been Had."
4. Chicago, in general.
5. No additional Tour Dates. Three Dates And They're "Out."
6. I may just be Salmon fishing in Washington State anyway.
7. I hate the smell of Axe Body Spray mixed with Patchouli Oil.
8. I can watch the whole thing on YouTube, later. Or buy the DVD for half the price of going to Chicago.
9. I saw my first Dead Show, in San Francisco, in 1967, FOR FREE and NOTHING IS THE SAME.
10. $60.00 "Nosebleed Seats" will be going for $300.00 by showtime. Front and Center? Forget it.
Sorry, Kiddies. I have NEVER understood why ANYBODY likes Phish. Some people like to refer to them as "The Heirs Apparent to The Dead's Legacy." Fat chance. There will never be another Grateful Dead. Period.
Now then. I have exorcised ONE Demon. I'll save the others for when we find out "Who's Going To The Super Bowl." My heart and money in "All In" for Seattle and The N.E. Patriots. MY two teams have ALWAYS been the 49ers and Seattle, in that order.
This is a weird game, already. 10:24 left in the 1st Q. Pair of turnovers. Make it 3. Two G.B. field goals.
I've done some LONG walks but This Cat has me beat, hands down. Viel gluck, Meine Freunde!
I have walked the entire Coastline of the State of Oregon. That took a bit over a month to do @ an average of ten miles per day. Some days less, some days more. A few days with no boots on, just resting "here and there." I thought that was: "A Long Walk." I usually let my hair grow and bread bush out too. Wilderness doesn't care about your grooming habits.
I have walked over 1,000 miles inside the Grand Canyon, give or take a few miles. I've stomped all over the Cascades, The Rockies, Parts of Appalachia, Alaska, The Wasatch Range, King Range, Sierra's, Tetons and Gros Ventre, etc., etc.. Deserts here and Glaciers there. Lots of walking. I've been much, much, farther at sea and in the air. 10's of thousands of miles each.
Enough about me. Watch the Uber Cool Video Montage.
Storm comin' "out there." Another wet one headed our way here on The Lost Coast. It's the right time of year for it. I was explaining to one of my neighbors yesterday that I actually use the Aleutian Geese as a Seasonal Barometer. It's "Fall" when they arrive and "Spring" when they leave. I watch insects, trees and clouds for other indicators. I'm "fond of weather" and "knowing/guessing what's going to happen next." I get to watch the Pygmy Redwoods that are my Living Room "view" dance and sway when the frontal systems pass through. The "leading edges." Then, it goes calm and you can expect rain, usually. The barometer is stable, so far.
I got "stuck" to the Newz yesterday. Lots of really weird shit going on in the World. I'm: "getting used to it." THAT scares me. That I'm: "getting used to it." I feel pretty safe where I am but, ya' never know. It's more likely that you'll get run over by some idiot driving a car than blown up by a Terrorist around here. Drivers act like THEY RULE THE CROSSWALKS in this town. I beg to differ and so does the spark plug socket in my pocket. Yes, I will hurl a deep well socket through your windshield if I am convinced that you're going to hit me with your car @ 45mph. You'll run into parked cars and nobody will have to "chase you down" for hitting a pedestrian. Last Defiant Act, all that.
Doing more laundry and putting finishing touches on a cassette Master for my Friend, Lu-Lu, In Seattle. Some sketches, noodles and a couple of "mostly finished pieces." Lu-Lu used to be my Queen Of The Undead/Punk Rock-y Neighbor for a couple of years. We grew up pretty near each-other in the SoCal period of my life. Then we meet here. We have common interests: Bukowski, Brautigan, Kerouac, Vonnegut, Sex and Death 'Toons, Captain Beefheart, Lebowski-isms, etc.. Kismet! We stay in touch and I will visit her in Seattle, along with a trip to Fisherman's Paradise in Marblemount, Wa., soon. My Buddy Sleeve Jobs, "Not His Real Name" lives in M'mount and is right at the confluence of the Skagit and Cascade Rivers. Salmon-O-Rama! Let the Stacy Keach Look-Alike Contest Begin! That's a quick yarn for ya'. Here goes:
Sleeve and Akbar, "Not Their Real Names" used to work at Bumble Bee Seafoods in Bellingham, Wa., at the same time(s). Sleeve and Akkie used to offload boats. Millions of pounds of (mostly Pink) Salmon in a 24 hour period. I worked "inside" doing various jobs until I ended up in the "Can Loft." (Where .25lb, .5lb and 1.0lb Fish Coffins Are Made") Sleeve and Akbar were down in the holds of boats, waist deep in dead-eyed, slimy briney Salmon, filling "brailers" with them and hoisting out with a short rest in between. Working with dead fish will make you crazy. Trust me, I KNOW about this shit. To "cut to the chase": They invented a creative time-waster called "The Stacy Keach Look-Alike Contest." The Actor, Stacy Keach has a cleft pallet, a hare lip. The Boys would take fish and ram them onto the interior walls and braces inside boats and vie for the title of Best Stacey Maker Of The Day. The more mangled the facial features of the Salmon, the better the point score. The heads were only used for crab bait when they had been butchered or canned anyway, no "product" lost there. "Staring into dead fish for extended periods of time will make you crazy. Been there, done that, got the hats and T-Shirts." Used to have a Sweatshirt. I'm working on it. Rather, Lazy Boy Peckerwood is SUPPOSED TO BE working on it.
The best thing about working in a BIG cannery was The Ritual Burning Of Fish Clothes at the end of every season. Beach Blanket Bla-a-a-ckout! Party with your tits (or y'er ass) painted with bullseyes, full of whatever poison blew y'er skirt up. They usually lasted a couple days and involved being woke up by getting hit in the face with a rotten fish, having one laid next to you like a sleeping Girlfriend, or something else really weird. Keep a glass of milk with four shots of Vodka in it close, you're going to throw up anyway.
Live From Our Lady Of Rotting Dead Fish's Shower Room,
-Doc
Impound Yard Cop: "Yea, we got a whole team of Detectives workin' on it right now. We got 'em workin' in shifts!"
Dude: "Oh! Jesus! What's that SMELL?"
IYC: "I think somebody used it as a toilet..."
Yesterday, I was reading an advert I received in the mail from an Insurance Company. More particularly, from a local agent for an Insurance Company. My Mom has suggested to me that I pick up a Renter's Insurance policy. So, I decided to investigate "what it would cost, what it would cover, etc." and was actually surprised by "how affordable and comprehensive" such a policy might be. $10.00 and change per month for a $25,000.00 home contents policy with a $500.00 deductible. Not only would it cover my Apartment's contents but, it would give me "temporary rental assistance" (in case there was a fire at my place and I had to live in a Hotel for awhile, etc.), travel insurance covering accidental death, loss of baggage, robbery, etc., cover any accidents that might happen to guests inside of my Apartment and a couple of other, lesser kinds of coverage.
"What about the Creedence tapes?" I jokingly asked the Gal on the phone. "Would it replace the Creedence?" She didn't "get it." I laughed and asked her if she'd ever seen The Big Lebowski. She laughed back and replied: "O.K. o.k., NOW I get the joke. "Mister Anchovy, you have an interesting sense of humor," she quipped. "You have no idea, Ma'am," I replied. In fact, not many people know how truly warped my Sense Of Human is. No typo's, there.
Not that there's a smidgen of comparison but, one of my Literary Heroes, Kurt Vonnegut, had a fairly twisted Sense Of Human. I would imagine that anyone that had gone through the Fire Bombing of Dresden, would. I have read most of his books and, no doubt, some of that has "rubbed off" on me.
I am listening to Creedence right now. Studio Out-Take of Travelin' Band, in fact. Johnny's voice is about gut-shot. You can hear him thinking to himself: "Fuck. I can't do this anymore today." Making an album is allot harder than people think it is. Most people, anyway. I Grokked it a long, long, time ago. I suppose that there are allot of people that don't "get" how much work goes into Rock and Roll Stage production, either. I got the Memo when I was 15 years old, when I began that part of my Professional Life. Now, Johnny's playing a Jam with Booker T.. "Born On The Bayou." Cosmo's Factory Expanded Re-Master. Check it out. Here's the whole Session from Fantasy Studios:
Of course, any mention of These Guys wouldn't be complete without a rendition of this gem: (This with Dave Grohl and Sound City Players):
And A Whole Show From Austin, Tx.:
It's the stuff that we "wished we could have heard in 1970" (In the case of the first vid here) but, that wasn't to be. It had to hide in a vault for about 40 years first. Damn you, Saul Zaentz.
I once saw Jerry Garcia, Merle Saunders, John Kahn, Ron Tutt, Tom Fogarty and Maria Muldar @ Keystone Central, San Francisco, around 1974-5 or so. Right next door to the Central SFPD Station for North Beach, if I recall correctly. Got to chat with Garcia, briefly. Visited my Grandma and drove back to SoCal.
Woke up at 03:00 again. Went back to sleep around 06:00 and got up for real around 10:00. Military time, you ask? Habit? Former Military? Nah. Fish Business and just plain and simple, no mistaking "what time I'm talking about." I have the digital readout on my watch set to Mil-Spec Time too. O.K., so, I worked in the fish business. Sea Time is Military Time. Big Woop.
Guy #1: "You smell that?"
Guy #2: "Yea, it stinks like dead fish."
Guy #1: "Nah, that's MONEY!"
I must have forgotten how much I like Creedence or something. Real Good on Sennheiser headphones! Had to switch over to the Amp. These Guys were the only Rock Band my second Stepfather ever liked. I thought he was an Idiot at the time but, maybe he was right. About This One Thing, anyway. Actually, I liked Creedence allot at the time but, it: "Just Wasn't Cool" to like what your Dad liked, at the time. Even if he was a pretty cool musician in his own rite. I have 5.5 hours of C.C.R. on my machine. I guess you could say I like 'em.
This: http://cimss.ssec.wisc.edu/cras/cras45_NA/12/index_850_l_loop.html may or may not mean anything to you but, if you're any kind of Sailor, it should. I love weather data, for some warped reason. My Biological Father was a USAF Long Range Weather Prognosticator. Germany, during The Korean Conflict.
Hey, so long as there's good music to listen to while it's happening, I don't care what kind of drudge I get involved in. I was, ostensibly, going to go somewhere and look at some variety of Apartment Building Trainwreck with a friend but,it ain't happened yet and it's 13:15 hours. No sweat. There's always "something to do" around The Anchovy Rancheria. If not, I'll invent "something."
Found some new music on Spotify today. A band called: "Cry Of Love" out of Raleigh, N.C.. Bluesy, Southern Rock-y, Understated, worthy of a few listens. Some of the band now plays with other guys/bands, a couple of them going on to play with Sheryl Crow, which means they know my acquaintance, Wally Ingram. One of the COL Guys went on to what's become: The New Lynerd Skynyrd. Anyway, virgin listening while cleaning/washing. They're pretty hip.
I only have a few "set in stone" rules for the music I listen to. 1. Are the players proficient at their approach to whichever discipline/style they are playing in? 2. Are they all on the same page in the ledger? 3. Can I understand the lyrics if they're singing? 4. Are they original or a copycat band/performer? If these basic conditions are met, I'll listen to the stuff. Unless Gangsta' Rap or That Fake Reggae Shit creeps in the back door. I tend to favor Blues Guitar Oriented Rock And Roll. Funky, Bluesy, Jazzy, Progressive Rock, Technically Perfect Music, Classical, Singer-Songwriter Stuff, Some Country, Some "Western" (So long as it's not that "I Fell In Love With A Sheep Since You Left Me, Honey" shit.) Or patronizingly awful, Knee-Jerk, Faux Patriotic Crap that makes me want to scream: "They Took Our Jobs!" a'la' South Park Rednecks when I hear it. You know of whom I speak. I give no truck to Booger-Eatin' Rednecks. Yea, I own a Dan Wesson Special in .44 Magnum too but, I ain't takin' it into a Chuck E. Cheese joint on account of I have a small dick or like to scare children. (I have a regular, Bavarian/American Type Dick)
Scaring Kids? It's Just Wrong. Period. You were a Kid, I was a Kid. We scared ourselves enough without any help from the Peanut Gallery.
Washing my Uber-Groovy Taylor Guitars Levi's Type Jacket today. Found it, of all places, in a thrift store in Iowa City, Iowa. $5.00. Taylor usually tosses one in if you buy one of their High End Instruments. I don't own a Taylor Guitar. It's a great jacket though. Really nice, heavy embroidery and solid construction.
I DO own a 1959 Magnatone Lap Steel in Emerald Green "Mother Of Toilet Seat" (Pearloid. The stuff they cover drum kits in.), a 1940's (actual date unknown) Magnatone/Dickenson Lap Steel in sculpted Naked Redwood (Same Slab P.U. In Epoxy) and a 1996 Korean Made, Epiphone Custom Shop, "T.V. Yellow" Les Paul Junior that plays and sounds better than The Original. In MY opinion, anyway. It has a P-100 pickup instead of the noisier P-90 most guys like. Quieter, more range and expression. Less "punch" but, we can fix that with a simple amp setting and/or Stomp Box. I own 1 "box." A Boss PS-3, Digital Delay/Phase Shifter/Stereo Octave Splitter kinda' thing. One of the Best Stomp Boxes, EVER. Boss replaced it with three separate boxes, later on. I "condition" sound through a Roland Workstation and then amplify it. The P-100 wakes right up and smells the coffee. The Magnatone screams like a Banshee and growls like a Bad Guard Dog On Acid.
Today, I did not write. Deal with it. I did, however, come back to "Edit." Go figure.
This was one of the first bands I ever went to see Live. I should say: "Paid to see Live." The first "concert I ever went to in my life was: Blood, Sweat and Tears and John Mayall with John Mark and John Almond. David Clayton Thomas was in rare form that night. '67 or '68. (WONDERFUL!) I saw Ian Anderson and Co. with Led Zeppelin in Sandy Eggo. Sometime in Autumn of 1969. Zep fired Tull after that gig. People were screaming: "Jethro Tull! Jethro Tull!" halfway through L.Z.'s set.
Then again, I had previously seen, by sheer happenstance: The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and "what would become "Santana" in Golden Gate Park, with my Grandmother, in 1966 or '67, gratis. It's been awhile since I have thought about this stuff. Gramma' Juanita and I did Golden Gate Park Sunday Adventure Days when I was either 12 or 13. THAT SUMMER in The City. Pure Magic, Paisano.
Here's "why" L.Z. fired Tull (A Timeless Recording):
I completely wore the grooves off of this album. And: "This Was," "Stand Up" and all the other early Tull records. Laying between the speakers of my cheesy Sears and Roebuck "record player." Heaven & Tea.
"I came across Mother Goose and She turned me loose..." (By Aqualung, I Had A Much Better Rig.)
When I was a kid, we moved from San Francisco, did a couple years in the Washington D.C. Area while my Stepfather was at The United Sates Naval Academy and then, to some Hell Hole of non-descript Ranch Style Tract Houses, people, cars, behaviors and speech patterns that were all very foreign to my Citified ears and eyes. To be blunt: "I hated the place." Southern California is for Hillbillies that had either moved there during the Depression or moved there to work in the Defense Industries or, were in the Military and just "stayed" after they got out. My Stepfather was also a Navy Guy, a musician. His folks were from Arkansas or some shit. My genetic Father was from Nebraska but, had grown up in Lost Angel-ness. Went to and graduated from Hollywood High School even. My Mom's Family were the San Franciscans. I'm Fourth Generation. I don't identify with being anything but a San Franciscan or, "Northern Californian." As far as I'm able to discern, REAL California begins somewhere around Santa Barbara and continues into Oregon.
I live in a "Town" of about 25,000 people on the Lost Coast (do your homework) now. That number is non-representative of just how many people are "Year-Round-Residents." There are allot of outlying Communities and 'Burghs, Villages and Spit-And-Miss-Its'. Combine them with the couple of Colleges in the general area and you come in closer to 100,000 people that use the area. An eclectic mix of people from not only All Over California but, All Over The World. I'm not "In Town, Proper." A few blocks into The County, which means we get: Sheriffs instead of City Cops (a good thing), more single family centered houses, wider streets and a more relaxed pace, in general. You "know"the people in your neighborhood, even if only by face and to wave "Good Day" or nod familiarly to.
The building I live in was constructed, by some guy that worked at one of the local lumber (Redwood) mills that flourished into the 1970's-'80's. My Building was built the same year I was born. I'm 60. It was also: Built entirely from flat stacked and nailed 2"x4" Oak "Stringers", the boards that stabilize a load of finished lumber on a truck trailer. The Guy That Built The Building just saved 'em up until he had enough to build a two-story Apartment Building and a two-story House. No insulation in the walls, anywhere. Solid as a brick shit house and "flexible" in Earthquakes. Really hard to drive a nail or screw into if you're hanging a picture or what-have-ye. There are many Victorian Houses in this Town. Most of them are Redwood.
My Grandparents' Home in San Francisco was framed with Redwood, floored in hardwoods and wire-lathed and plastered on the outside.The House I Was Young In. 46th Avenue and Vicente Street, just North of The San Francisco Zoo, Fleishhacker Pool (The largest, outdoor, heated, salt water pool in the world, at the time. Training for the '36 Olympics, Jesse Owens vs. Mad Adolf's Superhumans, were held in that pool. I learned to swim there.) Lake Merced and Harding Park both next to The Zoo. The Zoo was free when I lived there. Now, it costs $17.00 or something and the animals all look like they're being fed 100% Prison Loaf. It's a shadow of its' former glory. My Buddy, Leo The Lion, has passed on. No Elephants, Rhino's or large African Ungulates.
I used to wake up to the sounds of Howler Monkeys every morning. Fog, the sound and smell of the Pacific Ocean and Howler Monkeys. Neat-O! Everything's weird with a beard there now. Iron gates at the top of staircases where nobody even bothered to lock their doors When I Was Young, etc., etc..
It's the same everywhere on the Coast, North of San Francisco. There were HUGE salmon runs as well. They're gone. Along with the REALLY BIG trees. First Growth? Forget it. Even Redwood National Park is mostly Second Growth. I've personally wrapped my arms around a 350' Redwood and gave it a big kiss. They used to think That Tree was the largest one in the forest. Since, they've found taller ones, elsewhere. There are "pockets" of 200'-250' Redwoods here and there around Town. Most however, are Pygmy Redwoods. Which, still reach a rather impressive height after a couple hundred years. I digress...
I have a "thing" for Trees and Forests, the animals in them and around them. Unexpectedly having a conversation with some Human Being else that I may chance upon while in them. You get the picture.
When I first started tapping away at my keyboard this morning, I thought I was going to tell a Firesign Theatre anecdote, for starters. I may as well get it over with... The Guys used to do a quick routine about "Ersatz Brothers' Coffee, The REAL ONE." (Radio Advert Style) "Ersatz" refers to anything which is a substitute for "The Real Thing." It's Yiddish. During WW2, the one where we (Americans, English, etc.) kicked the shit out of the Nazis, Hirohito that Greaser/Poseur, Mussolini. The French surrendered in about three weeks or something and weren't really our Allies. Think "Vichy," here. They just didn't want to get the shit bombed out of themselves. (Know what a French Army Knife looks like? It's got a corkscrew and a white flag in it for tools.) A wonderful WW2 joke, I think.
Anyway, "Ersatz." As I'm brewing up some Ethiopian Pea Berry Dark Roast this morning, I realize that I also bought a can of "Regular Issue American Coffee" this month. Conundrum. Have the Good Stuff on Sunday or the Feeble, "Ersatz Blend" that couldn't fight it's way out of a wet paper coffee bag? I opted for the Ethiopian and a warmed Apple Fritter with butter. I also remembered the Firesign Theatre riff, simultaneously. Memory, in my case, is a strange and wonderful thing.
I never thought I'd be writing about this stuff, fifty years or so After The Fact:
Conversely, no Good Deed goes unrewarded. "Quid illud circuit venit circum."
My last post violated one of the Cardinal Rules of the purpose of this here Blog Thang. It was worth every word. I "promised myself" that there would NEVER be anything "Political" about this rag. I stepped over that line with both feet, legs, balls and fully awake brain cells I have on loan. All two of each. (That's Self-Deprecation In Action.) Then, I went "somewhere" and purchased a Je Suis Charlie T-Shirt. Whom, by the by, made light and ridicule of pretty much EVERYBODY, but, was: "Just An Artist." I'm sure ALL the Really Famous Artists In The World, have nearly lost their heads or genitalia (or whatever) at certain times in their careers. I will wear the shirt with complete humility backed by a firm belief that Freedom Of The Press, Speech and Artistic License are all Sacred Principles, not to be Fucked With. Speaking Truth, One T-Shirt At A Time. There is something both incredibly LAME and simultaneously POWERFUL in those words. Is the media the message or vice-versa? You'd have to ask Marshall McLuhan. Or, is he dead or something?
I wonder what Hunter S. Thompson would have to say about this debacle. He'd probably get drunk and start discharging his .44 Magnum at "whatever twitched" for an afternoon. "Get Drunk?" He always was.
Most of these guys are dead now, too. Bummer. They were The Real Deal. This is from a live show in San Bernardino, years back. I wonder what that was like for The Ramones. They'd be allot more comfortable in a dive bar in San Pedro, would be my guess. Not that Berdoo doesn't wear it's pants backwards every so often, have lots of suggestively violent tattoos and engage in gang rumbles or anything. My Mom lives nearby (sort of) in an albeit Wonder Bread version of the "East Of Eden" suburbs of both North County Sandy Eggo and Lost Angel-ness. It ain't San Bernardino though, by any stretch of the imagination. Gated Community Trailer Park, kinda' place. "Nice" but, you can still get your Grandma-Mobile stolen.
Alright, back to Original Subject. I wander. Allot. I decided to edit yesterday's post. I wrote while outraged, which was a mistake. I'll let The Music do the talking. besides, giving Press, of any kind to violence, is just fanning the fire(s).
I must admit that I haven't been watching the T.V. Newz to see whether or not the Paris Brie and Perrier Gendarmes have caught up with the Deranged No Funny Pages For You Brothers that wiped out an office full of cartoonists yet. They will. As The Flying Spaghetti Monster is my witness, they will. Personally, I think a nice, action packed tour itinerary to, let's say, Walpole, The Julia Tutwiler Prison For Women in Alabama, Rikers Island and San Quentin de Tarantino would be fitting. For starters. Punk Rock Concert to follow. None of that Nancy-esque Trance Pop Shit. Who understands French People besides themselves? Personally, I find "most" Frenchies to be haughty, full of themselves, smelly and rude. But, that's mostly because I was a waiter in some rather nice AMERICAN restaurants. You could almost "count on" getting stiffed by them, until I started writing, en Francais, "15% gratuity not included" on the backs of my tickets. Some of them got angry, others thought it was creatively "cute."
Back to the matter at hand and,better yet... No Sort Of Infamy For The No Cartoon Bro's At All. Just a quiet afternoon of being locked in a small closet full of REALLY ANGRY HORNETS with a 10,000 microgram dose of Sandoz LSD for them would suffice. Nice thought but, it'll never happen. We're too damned Civilized for such wanton Barbarisms. It's A Fucking Shame. Why? Because the only thing that is EVER going to put fear, REAL FEAR, into these Cave Dwelling, Psychotic, Booger Eating Morons, is FEAR ITSELF! Unbridled Evil, up close and personable like.
I am done with this subject. The En Deutsche answering machine message is back on the phone. No, I'm not a Closet Nazi. In fact, my Family (Maternal side) is Bavarian. Ashkenazim. "Teddy Fucking Williams Hits Another One Right Outta' The Pahk!" My Dad's side is Northern German, wannabe Vikings. Not a Frenchie or a Middle Easterner in the bunch. I do have Hazel eyes though.
If I had $400.00 to waste on a boxed set of albums that I mostly already own in Monaural, this would be it. Then again, I would probably just spend the moolah on baseball caps and guitar strings.
So. Apple bring this out just before Christmas. huh? 14, 180 gram, Mono Discs. Now, don't get me wrong...If you're too young to remember this music coming out in Mono and/or are one of those slobs that picks up albums with your Cheeto-ladened thumbs all over the grooves, then, this is the thing for you. Better yet, just buy the CD's, because you already "don't care" about this stuff. As previously mentioned, I already own most of this music, in original Mono. And, a fine MOTR turntable, a Yamaha Natural Sound, direct drive, DC servo, kind of affair. Yea, it needs a new Ortofon LM-15 cartridge and stylus but, the low mass AD cartridge/stylus in the arm still works just fine.
As an added plus, you can already get ripped off buying counterfeit copies of this set. Chinese? N. Korean? Who gives a shit? They're fake and about half the quality.
Also: "What's the point of listening to this music in Mono?" you may ask. The "point" is that The Beatles prefered Mono. They would have NEVER made a stereo album, if it was up to them. It wasn't.
Sit back, crank up the computer, run it through your amp(s) and dig this stuff the way it was supposed to sound. Use headphones for the Full Effect. Or, if you're NOT The Cheeto's Kid, go out and buy the boxed set. Whatever.
Went to the Doctor yesterday. I like my Primary. She's pretty, funny and actually "cares" what kind of medical care I receive. She's a PNP/PN, not a Doctor, which I really like. Her P.A. used to work on F-18's, which is pretty hip, too.
"Doctors" are usually thinking about whether or not to have their Porsche Cayman detailed tomorrow, what the chances are of boffing their Nurse/Technician/Assistant/Patient, etc., or fantasizing about what kind of $50.00 meal they're eating later on. Nurses, on the other hand, actually care about their charges, eat at home and drive Subaru Wagons. I'll take a Nurse over a Doctor, any day of the year. Better yet, a U.S. Navy Senior Corpsman. A cute, funny one, please. With an Assistant that builds Dragster Engines or something in their spare time.
Clean Bill Of Health, slightly less blood in my arteries and veins upon leaving, and 10 pounds lighter than my last visit, which I found odd, after The Holidays and all that. B.P. 120/76, pulse, 76. Not bad for a 60 year old former Lighting Designer that took lots of dope and ate Road Food for years. (The Good, Homestyle, Truck Stop Stuff, though) Not that I get all nutso over stuffing myself full of pie and candy during the Halloween-Through-New-Year's-Consumer-Fest. If anything, I go "simpler" and reflective for about a month. Then, I simply can't wait to viscously rip the head off of a dark chocolate Easter Bunny...
Plus, the weather was shitty anyway. I stayed home allot. It flooded something awful Downtown. Highest tides of the year and lots of rain in a short time-frame.
Weather Report:
I have a T-Shirt with a similar Today's Weather design on it.
The Holidays are over. Things can "go back to normal." People can get smarter again, the highway DUI checkpoints can relax, people can burn their Christmas trees and take down all the house/rooftop/lights decorations, the rain can stop anytime it wants to (or not) and we can all get some well deserved rest.
Hallow-Christmas-Eve, that slug-fest of shameless Consumerism can stop.
New Years Eve was just weird. I knew I should have never breached my door. Didn't even have to venture very far for it to get strange.
