Typical Bullshit Weather out there, too. Fog, 47 degrees. Liquid Sunshine. "It NEVER Rains In California"...Hah! Whomever the 60's Dipshit (Probably those sick bastards, Boyce and Hart) that wrote those lyrics was, was obviously: Not A Golfer. Be sure to stick some flowers up your ass and walk on your hands, if you're going to San Francisco. Get yourself a tear stained McKuen poetry book and a leather headband, maybe a pair of knee-high Moccasins, a "Real Mexican Poncho" or something. A tambourine, perhaps. Take drugs of questionable origin and get a really bitchin' case of the crabs or worse. Yep. You're a "Local," now.
Right now, I'm heavily grooving to "You Can't Do That Onstage Anymore Vol. 4." Heavily studio overlayed and re-tracked, "tweezed," live performances. Zappa was such a Studio Denizen. Not to mention a fucking amazing onstage performer/Conductor. I got to "meet" him once in 1973 or so. I asked him if he'd like to have some grapes. All he said was: "Get away from me." I was enthralled. I have a wonderful "mirror image" photo (Done by my Old Pal, Mister Jelly) of him hanging on my "Wall Of Hideous Grunts" in my house.
There's some kind of Revolutionary War crap on TV. I am not "listening" to that though, as I have headphones on. My Uber-Groovy Sennheiser's. Nothing beats German Engineering. Drive a BMW (or a Mk2 Panzer) for awhile. You'll "get it." I had a "Quasi-Stock" '77 230i for awhile. Bavarian "Family Car." Beat the wheels off of some souped-up Kamakazi Mobile on the PCH near Mendocino one afternoon with it. (I drive very well on twisty roads with 300' cliffs on one side.) Did a clever little drift move through a 40 mph corner at about 80. Scared the shit out of the kid in the Kamikazi. When I pulled over to get a snack, he followed me into the store and asked something like: "Jesus! What's in that thing, anyway?" I replied: "It's Bavarian and so am I, Sparky."
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"What can I say about this ELIXIR?" (ANY real Zappa fan knows that line)
I "have to" clean out my closet today. Line up some stuff to throw away/give away. Call it "Spring Cleaning" if'n ya' want to. I call it The Purging of Useless Personal Ephemera. Next month, I need to buy some lumber and shelf brackets and make a cassette tape storage space in the negative space where there used to be a door to the next apartment. (In the closet. Huh?) It's the Perfect Place for it. Out of the way and stable, temperature-wise. I have boxes and boxes of cassette tapes. I used to volunteer at a thrift store and the idiots that worked in the pricing room would want to throw them away. I finally told them: "Just put them all in a box and I'll take them home." They, of course, "didn't get it." Anyway...Thousands of hours of cassette tapes, gratis.
Oh. You want more? You got it. This is a KILLER show from 1980, in Seattle, Wa..
That's All The Newts That Fit To Print...
-Doc
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