SUNDAY A.M., 04:00ish, QUIET & COFFEE

I wake up early, most days. Like, 04:00 early. The birds aren't even making any noise outside when I get up, wash my face and hands, clear the slate of naughty or weird dreams and their characters. Last night's dream life was no exception. 12 frames of Weird. All the usual suspects: A couple of dead Friends made cameo's, there was a naked Redhead that was completely out of Left Field (Why the Hell was she naked? Not that it was an unappreciated image.) There was some Futuristic Scene going on and people wandered in and out of the "Train Station" looking environment. I was trying like mad to get the Redhead to come lay down with me, as I was in a bed and nobody else was. She was naked, right? Only she and I were: "dressed for bed." She wandered in and out of the dream, held hands with me once and gave me a wonderful kiss.

Freud would have a fucking party in my dreams. Unless he was peering out of the drawn curtains waiting for the Space Police to show up. You've seen people that get paranoid on cocaine, right? It's quite annoying. My weirdest dreams happen when I wake up in the middle of the night and my back hurts. I take 5mg's of Codeine and go back to sleep. The dreams are just a by-product of the narcotic. As far as I am aware, everybody has pleasant, strange, dreams while under the influence of narcotics. I don't experience any particular "high" while fully conscious but, dreams are a whole 'nuther ball game.

Now it's 07:00. The Other Denizens of this here building will be stirring soon. Thank Gawd for good headphones and Pete Townshend, solo. I'm listening to "Scoop," which is a wonderful recording. I think that what I like the most about Pete's Solo Works is that he gets full Artistic License on the projects. The guitar and vocal work are "out front" and nearly flawless. There's some good piano work as well.

Stage 21 of Le Tour de France racing today. The "Flat Stage." Greipel and Cavendish favored to win the whole show. I used to like to go really fast on expensive bicycles, until I had a wreck that broke 30+ bones on my left side. I have a slight limp and my neck and back hurt ALL THE FUCKING TIME because of that wreck. Hit my head so hard, I couldn't feel my left leg for 6 months. Lots of fun broken bones and torn ligaments, muscles, etc.. I'm lucky I didn't puncture a lung. I did, however, completely fracture my left scapula. Something in the left ankle got tangled up in the frame as well. The older I get, the worse it is. It took "forever" for my left collar bone to knit. There's a nice "egg" of bone fusion in there and it's 3cm shorter than my right collar bone, which fucks with my neck. That wreck also ended my Backpacking Career. I can't carry much weight on my left side. My hand/arm/shoulder go numb, quickly. So, scratch two favorite activities. I'm going to rebuild my 70's Peugeot Touring/Road Bike and sell it to a good home. It's a Classic. Not the bike I wrecked though. That was a 1990's Bridgestone MB-3. Like this:

I was doing about 25-30mph when I hit a city "road patch" that was unmarked in Salt Lake City, Utah. Just trying to get home before dark. Peddling fast and didn't "see" the road patch, I "felt" it. My front wheel slid out, I tried to "self-correct" and when I hit real pavement again, the front rim folded in half. Ass over tea kettle onto a curb and the bike, which I couldn't let go of in time, came down on my left collar bone. Left Scapula hit the top corner of the curb, completely fracturing it and I hit my head REALLY hard on the sidewalk. I didn't get to "feel" my left leg for almost six months. I don't remember much else except "waking up" and wondering if my bike was O.K.. It wasn't. I flagged down a pickup full of Mormon Kids and asked them if they'd drive me home after stopping at a State Store (liquor store) for some "medicinal use alcohol." They were accomodating. I called my friend that had pain med's for her back pain and asked if she'd bring me some. She did. Just Prescription strength Naproxen. Probably not the best thing to be mixing with alcohol and a concussion but, what the Hell? I was already as fucked up as it gets and didn't really care "what" put me to sleep. Two days later I'm at some walk-in clinic and there's a diminutively sized East Indian Doctor waving my film at me and saying: "Oh, Mister Doc, I am not to be believing that you are up, walking around and cracking with the jokes. I'm sending you to L.D.S. Hospital, right now, to see a Specialist." Believe me, I was laughing and "cracking with the jokes" to keep from crying and shitting myself from pain. More X-Rays and a 'script for Hydrocodone, 30 of 'em, with refills (2). I actually "slept" without pissing myself from rolling over onto the injuries for the first time in three nights. I was taking a 5mg pill every 4-6 hours and chasing them with a couple shots of Bourbon. Also not particularly bright, looking back on it and knowing what I know now about pain meds and alcohol. Not that I was going "all in" on the combo but, it's still a Bad Idea.    
Surgery is a Crap-Shoot and have been told as much by a couple of really good Orthopedic Surgeons. One, an Admiral's Doctor/Flagship Surgeon that was, at the time, retired Navy. He gave up Private Practice and re-upped as a Commander for a sizeable re-enlistment/re-activation bonus and promotion from Lt. Commander. That's about as far as a guy's going to get in rank if he's a Surgeon. Unless you're Dr. C. Edward Koop or something. (Former Surgeon General, for you Noobs)

My Mom swears that I am held together by stitches and staples. "If they ever hit the main stitch, you'll simply unravel." She's fond of saying that. The humor is becoming lost upon my constant pain as I get older. I'll be 61 years old in a couple weeks. Allot of people lost money on my attainment of such an age. I "should have been dead" many times over. Various circumstances. I wore my nose under my left eye when I was about 11 years old, playing "beat the door and run." I forgot about the boat trailer in the neighbors' yard. Caught my right foot on electrical wiring and my nose came down solidly on the angle iron on the frame's other side. I woke up with a pool of nice, crimson, blood bigger than my head under me. I was a Porky Little Kid and had allot of inertia going for me when I hit that wiring.

I have swamped canoes in the middle of Puget Sound, braved the Gulf of Alaska and Bering Sea in 40' swells, climbed 300' trees, fell off of a mountain or three, almost drowned a couple of times, been brushed by a Bull Shark, shattered both heels, almost cut off one of my ear lobes, had my "bell rung" more than most people, broken so many ribs I've lost track of the count, been sewed up more than your average Rag Doll, etc., etc.. You starting to get a picture of this Old Body, yet? It all: "hurt so good." "Pain is just the sensation of fear leaving your body." (Old USMC adage that works pretty well, when you're young)

My Stepfather passed out when he saw the nose injury. He was kind of a Pussy when it came to blood and such. My Mom calmly went and got ice and a clean t-shirt and told me to go sit in the car, ice on nose with my head back. 20 minutes later we were at Balboa Naval Hospital. A Corpsman rushed me into the Operating Theater when he saw the extent of my injury. I got to "watch them" sew my nose back on, which was pretty interesting from underneath the surgical drape. As I age, my nose is migrating toward my left ear. I have a weird sense of "interesting." Blood doesn't bother me. I have "sewn myself up" after cutting my right heel to the bone on some razor sharp glass at a farm. The hospital was 50 miles away and I would have made it "part of the way" had I drove there. I have "welded my shoe to the floor" with electricity. "Splitting power at a buss bar." Screw driver slipped and "Blammo!" I woke up about 15' away, hair smoking. Leather soled shoe "welded" to the concrete. Wore nothing but Chuck Taylor's after that and used a rubber mat while at power boxes.

I have had to be the Amateur Veterinary Surgeon a couple of times. One of my cats on The Farm had a claw grow into his "palm" and I had to remove it. (It smelled awful) "Nuke," the cat, was eternally grateful. The Hydrogen Peroxide freaked him out. He still crapped in my favorite pair of tennis shoes if I left them laying around. He got the: "Face in shit and hissing toss into the Mill Pond" more than a few times. He knew where he was going next, after the face plant in His Own. I still Loved Him. It became a "game" and he eventually got his own pair of tennis shoes to poop into. I could go on for a half hour with these stories. What the cat shitting in my shoes has to do with my own injuries, I don't know.

Sunday means "Actual Breakfast" around here. Cottage Fries and eggs w/cheese, Sourdough toast with Marion Berry jam. Good coffee. That usually happens about 10:00.

Pete:

Butthead was right. About: "everything."
-Doc









     

 

"NEW" COUNTRY MUSIC

I know a guy, let's call him: "Nick The Dick" and leave it at that. He once blurted out his opinion that: "All New Country Music sounds like Fleetwood Mac to me." I knew what he meant when he said it and I still know what he means. Nick is a Pedal Steel Guitarist. Supposedly. I've never actually heard him play. He's also a Chef that REALLY wants to be French. He dresses like he: (a) Just got out of bed and (b) Like a Circus Side Act. He really is Silly Buggers when it comes to dress codes. His "Cook's Checks" are like a bad set of Bill Blass pajamas after an LSD Sleepover. You can tell I have a "special place" in my heart for this fucker, right? He is married to a cool '60's Musician's Daughter though and does own a restaurant. No names will be mentioned. They already know who and what they are. Like most folks, they have their good and bad moments.

Anyway...He did nail it with the Fleetwood Mac comparison. Right now, I'm listening to Foster and Lloyd. That would be: Radney Foster and Bill Lloyd. Premier Nashville Studio Guys that started their own band. I, regardless of their formulaic approach to penning hit song clones, like listening to them every so often. They kind of remind me of an overly polished Everly Brothers. F&L split up as a Duo long time ago. Probably over some Big Haired Gal From Texas or some shit.

"Cotton Candy Hair," Willis Alan Ramsey would say. Willis Alan wrote The Captain and Tennille's big hit, "Muskrat Love." Ho-Hum on the C&T version. Willis' (Originally titled: "Muskrat Candlelight") is a million times better. Leon Russel plays keyboards on the original, for instance. Willis is a: "Songwriter's Singer/Songwriter." The Captain and Tennille should have NEVER gotten off of The Love Boat. Or, it could have sunk with them aboard. Nobody would have noticed. Willis Alan did one album and vanished from the music scene almost completely. Can't blame him. The Music Business Blows Dead Bears. I know this, first hand. If a $250k a year job was offered to me (with a bottle of expensive booze, fresh cut flowers and a blow job every morning) in the Music Business, I wouldn't take it. Even if I didn't have to actually "work." I hate it that much. It's like being trapped in a room full of people talking about which strain of Marijuana is the BEST. Dope lore bores the shit out of me. Dope slang bores the shit out of me. Dope bores the shit out of me. I'll take a stiff cocktail over a hit off of the finest pot in the world, any day. I totally lost interest in Marijuana back in the 80's or so. It just makes me stupid, my short term memory drips out of my ears and I'm lazy. Lots of people like it, I guess. It, The Industrial Version of Hemp, makes fine paper and clothing.

There is a major difference between Traditional Country and New Country. The Traditional form of the genre was performed on back porches or Semi Truck Trailers at County Fairs by guys with a missing tooth or two from bar fights and there were usually fast cars, Girls with too much makeup on and alcohol involved. New Country is performed on major sound stages and stadium venues, tickets cost $100.00 and everybody reeks of Axe Body Spray. There are exceptions, of course. Hank Williams III is probably missing a tooth. But, he doesn't play New Country, anyway. "Hellbilly" is more like it. I wouldn't categorize Johnny Cash as being either New or Traditional Country. He was his own genre.

I just received a great new T-Shirt from the Jim Marshall clothing line with Cash angrily giving the lens The Finger. Jim shot the photo's of Cash's Folsom Prison Shows. After the second night's show, Jim asked Johnny if he had any comments for The Warden. The Finger/Grimace/Stare Down photo was the answer. Jim was great at that shit! He NEVER "posed" his subjects. It was his signature. Johnny wasn't "acting" for the photo. It's a very Iconic Image from Marshall and Cash. I bought another shirt (Noted, last post) from the Jim Marshall T-Shirt Factory and got the Johnny Cash shirt as a schwag gift. An infamous quote: "Cars and guns have gotten me into trouble...Cameras haven't." (Which is total bullshit. Cameras have got Jim into trouble LOTS of times) On the shirt front, as noted in the post previous to this one, there is one of Marshall's Leica M-4's on it. So, this is trodden ground. Let's plow! I'd spend good money on an 11"x14" (or larger) print of the Cash photo.

Today, when the light gets to be "just right" I'm going to photograph some Dahlias in my front yard. There are some other flowers, some kind of Oriental Lily species, that need to have their portraits taken out there, too. It's overcast outside, which is light that I like. Some of the best photographs I've ever taken were in that soft, blue-ish light that only happens when it's shining through clouds/fog/mist. The shittier the weather, the more my "eye" likes it. Grey and Green, favorite colors. Grey isn't really a "color." It's a half-light. I need to start using the Nikon PAS camera I bought last month. It's pretty hot shit, for a Point And Shoot. 18 MP's and a focal length of 28-350mm equivalent. Various automatic "scenes, all that good crap that it appears Other People are so used to that they're bored. It's all new to me so, I'm not bored. Yet. I bought the thing so I didn't have to carry a film camera on two week trips away from home. Not that my Olympus OM-1n is all that HUGE or anything but, it gets heavy with film, lenses accessories, etc. and I'm always afraid that something bad is going to happen to it. It can't really be replaced. It had, literally, never been used when I bought it about 5 years ago. $75.00 with 3 lenses. It cost three times that in 1973, when first sold.

I only have two routes left to travel with any sort of regularity, North and South of this here town. Maybe Colorado at some point. I have a Buddy that lives outside of Boulder. Another World Class Rock and Roll/Cinematographic "Stills"/Portrait/Scenic Photographer. We've known eachother for about 45 years now. Other trips I'll take at the drop of a hat is to my Mom's place and Sleeve Job's Rubber Gun Ranch up in Salmon Heaven, Wa.. It's a Hollywood joke: "Rubber Gun." Do your own homework.

"Chili" and hot sausage for dinner. Good gloomy day fare. Spicy Cornbread baked in cast iron to ladle the "chili" on top of. I say "chili" because it has beans in it. Actual Chili does not have beans. Most Americans don't know that and if you served then real Chili, they'd want to know: "What happened to the rest of the 'chili'?" Yes, I am a Foodie, of sorts. My training is that of a Waiter, Bartender, Floor Manager and Saucier but, I've: "Done everything in a restaurant except own one." End result: I eat like a King and make a wicked Caucasian.

Willis Alan Ramsey:

O.K., I'm bored.. Are you bored? Sure you are. Let's flush this turd.

Out,
-Doc

             

Another "Vacation"

I tend to vacillate between killing off this thing and/or picking it up and putting it down at will. I suppose that I have decided upon the latter. Alternately, I gain and lose interest or actually have "something to say." It doesn't matter.

July has been a weird month. For me, anyway. I disdain The 4th Of July with all of its' random noise and confusion, merriment and tragedies. People blow shit up, somebody gets their eye poked out, drunks are happy and somebody's whole Family gets wiped out on the Highway. It seems to all take place within about 72 hours. I was going to go camping. I didn't. Instead, I went to the grocery and liquor stores, stocked up on provisions and just hid out at home. My neighborhood, which is usually rife with Homemade Explosions, wasn't so noisy this year. Around the 10th or so, I did some weird thing to my back and that kept me home. Which, from the standpoint of holiday social interactions that can be/usually are weird, is a "good thing." So long as there are things to cook, TV/Movies to watch and something to drink, I'm satisfied.

August is always better. For starters, my Birthday is in the first week of the month and people always send me cool shit. My Brother sent me an Uber Groovy "Travel Shaver." It recharges with a USB connection and only weighs about 2 ounces. Very cool. The only use it will ever see is during actual travelling, which should give it a happy, long life. My Mom will send me the usual $20-30 because she doesn't "get" how to shop  for me and it's "easy" for her. My Friend, Sleeve Jobs, will send me something like a knife or gag gift. He knows I like both. Akbar/Jeff will totally forget about me and maybe call later to apologize. His brains ran out of his ears, years ago. Numerous websites and businesses will send me Birthday "credits" and American Spirit will send me a card and some flower seeds or a coupon for their cigarettes. Travel Shaver wins, hands down. Well done, Brutte.

I bought myself a cool T-Shirt this past month. A Jim Marshall "Cars, Guns, Cameras" shirt. On the front is a graphic of one of his iconic Leica M-4 cameras that he removed the paint covering the brass on the body from. It was kind of a signature. Jim just thought it "looked cool." It does. Jim was THE Rock and Roll Photographer. Period. 50+ Rolling Stone Magazine covers, NUMEROUS Iconic shots of Musicians (Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar on fire @ Monterrey Pop) and people like Bill Graham, TONS of Auto Racing photo's, great portraits and many, many, Album Covers. The Allman Brothers Live At The Fillmore East is one of Jim's best, in my mind. I have an interesting anecdote about Jim, of course.

My Friend, Dearly Departed, Michael Hanley, caught wind of an upcoming Starship show near Lahaina, Maui, while he, his Brother "Peter-Peter" and I were all living together on that shitty little Island. Michael had been the Drums, Keyboards and Monitors Techie for Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, Starship and probably Hot Tuna a few times. He worked for numerous other Bay Area Bands as well. Anyway...Michael calls up the J.A. Offices in San Francisco and obtains three All Access Passes for We Three Guys. We arrive early, bullshit with various members of the band and start raiding the Heineken Coolers. At some point, Michael notices that Jim Marshall, the Jeffersons' Staff Photog-At-Large, is "getting into it" with a HUGE Samoan Security Guy and grabs me and says: "Let's go rescue Jim." We are both doing our very best Sean Connery "Perhaps I may be of some assistance" schtick and we get Jim Backstage and away from the Security Dude but, Jim has already officially been "ejected from the show." We're just getting his gear packed up and finding the keys to the rental Crew Van at that point. We load Jim and his gear up and get The Hell Out Of Dodge, pointed toward Lahaina, where Jim's staying. Meanwhile, he's so pissed off that he can't remember where his hotel is. Luckily, I possess an intimate knowledge of Lahaina's back alleys and nooks and crannies, which is where Jim's Lanai Style Hotel is. We find it after about 45 minutes of cruising around, get him into his room, have a couple of Bushmills shots with him, get back into the van and haul butt back to the show, laughing our asses off the whole way.

The high point of the day/evening was meeting Papa John Creech and his Lovely Wife, who's name I can't remember now. These were the last set of shows John would ever play and his Wife died soon after the tour. That and hearing Jack Cassidy speak. (He has a peculiar voice.) Starship was using the Lahaina gig to tighten up for and relax before a full blown Asian Tour.

I ended up with Paul Kantner's S.F. 49ers ballcap after he left it by a hotel swimming pool in Ka'anapali. We tried to locate him but he'd booked the room using a pseudonym. No help there. You can't have it back Paul. It got "lost."

Papa John:

JM Shirt:

See Ya', Buddy,
-Doc

            

50th Anniversary

The Grateful Dead turns 50. Does anyone "give a shit?" Probably all the Trustifarians attending the shows. No one else. Maybe some guy named "Dick" that's still  living in Grandma's Basement in The Haight.

Fuck Those Guys. "Dick" and His Basement, Trey "What's-His-Name" and whomever else shows up on that 20'x40' set of risers.

Me? I'd rather listen to Jimmy Herring, The David Nelson Band or Kark Karan. Little Feat as well. Ryland Cooder, John Hiatt or David Lindley. Right now, Jimmy Herring's on the platter. Sheeit, there are plethora better bands out there than the Grateful Dead. Not that I don't "like" them. I've certainly spent enough time listening to/working for the mugs.

Truth be told, I'd rather be watching an S.F. Giants Baseball Game than being at a Grateful Dead Show.

I "remember where I was when Jerry died" and all that Groovy Shit but, I find less fascination with those happenstances than I used to.

Tear it up, you Fuckers. Rake in the Last Cash-Out and go the fuck home.

Via con pedos...

Jimmy:

Peace, Love and Duck Butter,
-Doc