I'm not a big fan of Zoos, Aquariums (Seaworld type) or any other "Animal Prisons." If I want to see animals, I put on my hiking boots and go find some. They don't need to be exotic or from out of the country or anything, just "Animals." Birds are cool, especially Raptors of ANY kind. I've rescued a couple of Salamanders from drainage ditches (so they wouldn't end up in the bay) and I like seeing Coyotes, Mountain Lions (from a distance), Bears, Wolverines, Possums, Skunks, Foxes, Raccoons, etc. (also from a distance) and just about everything else that walks, lopes, cantors or slithers.
Fish are another matter. I'll kill, gut and eat just about anything that are in the Phylum Chordata, particularly Oncorhynchus nerka. Sockeye Salmon to you. Kings and Coho are also on the wanted Dead poster. The Cook in me likes them sauteed, baked or pan fried. All with garlic and lemon, black pepper, perhaps Rosemary and of course, butter. Unsalted. None of the Fancy Frenchy Vomit on my fish, Pal. People that do things like put Hollandaise Sauce on fish should be shot and fed to rabid dogs. No sympathy for pretentious Chefs, here. The only things Hollandaise is good for is fertile eggs and Asparagus.
What I cannot abide is the Anthropomorphization of Wild Animals, locking them up in cages, giving them Human Names and occasionally popping one in the head with a rifle because there was a 10% chance that it might just harm a Dumb Kid that fell into its' enclosure/cell block. I must, rather morbidly, admit that I enjoied the Hell out of the story out of San Francisco where the Teenagers got chewed on (one killed) for taunting a Bengal Tiger. It's not "nice" to throw things at animals with 3" fangs that can climb a 20' tall cement wall. The news from their neighborhood was that they were Privileged, Obnoxious, Little Assholes, anyway. The only animals I enjoy taunting are dogs that already KNOW that they're going to get The Treat anyway. I guess that's not really "taunting." More like a game of: "Button, button, who's got the Button?"
After I checked out Scientific American's "reprint policy" I determined that it might be better to simply provide a link to today's tragic murder of a "wild animal" (which it wasn't, since it had been bred in captivity and was pre-destined to spend its' whole life behind bars.) and the Public Outcry of that action. To wit:
http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/guest-blog/why-was-harambe-the-gorilla-in-a-zoo-in-the-first-place/
I used to Love going to the San Francisco Zoo, which was right down the block from where I was a Nipper, to walk around gawking at the great animals there. "Leo" (his Slave Name) the Lion was probably my all time favorite. Every day, at a prescribed time, they'd "feed" the Lions. The Keepers would open a sliding door at the rear of the indoor enclosure and Leo and his Buddies would charge in, ROARING and scare the crap out of the Old Ladies From Iowa. I got so used to it, I laughed at them. Then, there was the Chimpanzee that would fling its' excrement at onlookers, for no particular reason. My Uncle, Brother and I knew better than to stand too close to THAT cage, after turning our "Elephant Key" at the box. Elephant Key? Google it yourself. If you don't know what it is, you're NOT from San Francisco.
The LAST time I went to the S.F. Zoo, formerly named Fleischhacker Zoo, after its' Founder, I was truly depressed. It was about 10 years ago. I'll NEVER go there again. The Elephants, Rhino's, Camels, etc., other large animals, were GONE. There was a very depressed Snow Leopard across the way in a TINY CAGE. A couple of Ocelot's that seemed vaguely suicidal and Cougars, Hyena's, etc., that I'm sure would have also given a .357 a Blow Job, provided half a chance.
I learned to swim at Fleishhacker Pool. It was The Largest Outdoor, Heated, Saltwater, Pool, In The World, when it was built to provide a Training Pool for American Athletes, in preparation for the 1936 Olympics. Johnny Weismuller (Tarzan) trained there for those Olympics. You know, the one in Berlin. When Hitler got to find out that White men Can't Run Fast, Jump High or Long and are basically Second String Players (Apologies to Larry Bird and Bill Walton) on Basketball Courts. Basketbal wasn't part of the '36 Olympics. (I don't really care one way or the other about Basketball.) Jessie Owens sure the Hell was, though. Nice going, Adolf. You're the Turd in The Aryan (sic) Punchbowl. So much for your Superhuman Theory, Johnny One Ball. Ever since those Olympics, White People, everywhere, have been resentful and/or jealous of African American Athletes. Tough shit, Crackers.
Personally, I don't give a shit. My Family is Ashkenazim, Catholic, Non-Denominational, possibly a tad Lutheran. I'm pretty darned White. I get sunburned just looking out of the window. I'm totally kidding about other White People being "resentful." "Jealous" is spot on though. I was just happy to see the Nazi's get their noses rubbed in cat shit. Not that I was around in 1936. My Mom wasn't even born yet, f'er cryin' out loud.
I watched "Inglorious Basterds" again, last night. A Quentin Tarantino WW2 Spaghetti Western? Go figure.
Hans Landa: "Oooh! That's a Bingo! Is that how you say it? That's a Bingo?"
Aldo Raynes: "Nah, ya' just say 'Bingo'."
In "Bad Human" news today: http://www.democracynow.org/2016/5/31/in_historic_ruling_ex_dictator_of?utm_source=Democracy+Now%21&utm_campaign=7ebc21bb51-Daily_Digest&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_fa2346a853-7ebc21bb51-191784077
.כל הכבוד, אידיוט
-Doc
p.s.- Giants over Atlanta 4-0. 1 game apiece in a four game series. This is kind of "what happens" when a team with an average twice that of "the other team's" go head to head.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Sunday, May 29, 2016
LATER, THAT SAME DAY...
Today being Actual Memorial Day, I am sitting around The Ranch, recording some music (Mike Keneally), listening to some Very Old Tape Of Myself, making two pots of coffee (a 25 oz. French Press) and watching the trees. Pygmy Redwoods and Mixed Firs, NOT Dancing like Spastic Jack-In-The-Boxes as they have been over the last few days. A couple of interesting "wind events" have happened over the last week or so. Nice and "mostly calm," 70-ish today. Glad to not be out on the water. There are Tuna out there, about 200 miles "out there." Maybe a bit closer, if the wind is pushing them.
There's got to be a Giants Game on today... Of course there is. It just started. Giants @ Rockies. Break out the 1949 Seals Cap for this game, Baby.
Watched the game. The Giants crushed the Rockies, again. 8-3 today. Yesterday, it was 10-5, Giants. We're playing good baseball. Johnny Cueto just about "got into it" with some Whiner from the Rockies in the 3rd inning. It was VERY un-Sportsman-like. I applaud Cueto for not charging the guy or talking a head shot at him. The Whiner hit into a double play after The Temper Tantrum. All Giants Fans dislike the Colorado Rockies. Almost as much as we dislike the Dodgers. Anyway, now on to Atlanta. I don't like the Atlanta Braves. "America's team" with that stupid Tomahawk Chop thing they do with the Fake Indian Chant... Fuck off and die. Booger Eatin' Crackers.
Some people like to have Parties on Memorial Day and burn up some Weenies, drink too much, get D.U.I.'s, etc.. This is a somber event for me. Flag on the Apartment Door, a visual "Do Not Disturb Sign" for anyone with half a wit about themselves. We have lost Kids in my Family. Many members of my Family and Extended Family have fought in Wars. I am a Navy Lifer Brat. Today is not about Burning Weenies and Drinking Beer. I will make myself a Lunch with a Double Anchovy Cheese Burger, in Relative Paradise. No, there aren't any little fish on the Cheese Burger. I wouldn't "put it past myself" though. Stranger things have happened. Anchovy Daiquiris, for instance. (Not my idea) No, it was NOT Memorial Day either. It was: Sometime around Christmas, years back, at The World Famous Up & Up Tavern, in Bellingham, Wa.. Some Bright Bulb removed Ian's Mural (An homage to Michelangelo's "God Touching Adam's Hand" painting, with God pouring Ian a beer instead.) from the front of the building. I guess it's alright. Ian passed away a few years back in Valdez (or was it Cordova?), Alaska. He looked like: "Hamish from Braveheart." Ian Relay was indeed, A Scotsman. Kilt wearing, Caber-Tossing BIG GUY. You wanted to be his Friend. Whether or not you actually were, was something he wouldn't have hesitated to inform you of. I called him Friend and as far as I was/am aware, the feeling was mutual and beneficial.
If you know "what this is" you are In The Club. Hint for the non-initiate: "48."
-Doc
There's got to be a Giants Game on today... Of course there is. It just started. Giants @ Rockies. Break out the 1949 Seals Cap for this game, Baby.
Watched the game. The Giants crushed the Rockies, again. 8-3 today. Yesterday, it was 10-5, Giants. We're playing good baseball. Johnny Cueto just about "got into it" with some Whiner from the Rockies in the 3rd inning. It was VERY un-Sportsman-like. I applaud Cueto for not charging the guy or talking a head shot at him. The Whiner hit into a double play after The Temper Tantrum. All Giants Fans dislike the Colorado Rockies. Almost as much as we dislike the Dodgers. Anyway, now on to Atlanta. I don't like the Atlanta Braves. "America's team" with that stupid Tomahawk Chop thing they do with the Fake Indian Chant... Fuck off and die. Booger Eatin' Crackers.
Some people like to have Parties on Memorial Day and burn up some Weenies, drink too much, get D.U.I.'s, etc.. This is a somber event for me. Flag on the Apartment Door, a visual "Do Not Disturb Sign" for anyone with half a wit about themselves. We have lost Kids in my Family. Many members of my Family and Extended Family have fought in Wars. I am a Navy Lifer Brat. Today is not about Burning Weenies and Drinking Beer. I will make myself a Lunch with a Double Anchovy Cheese Burger, in Relative Paradise. No, there aren't any little fish on the Cheese Burger. I wouldn't "put it past myself" though. Stranger things have happened. Anchovy Daiquiris, for instance. (Not my idea) No, it was NOT Memorial Day either. It was: Sometime around Christmas, years back, at The World Famous Up & Up Tavern, in Bellingham, Wa.. Some Bright Bulb removed Ian's Mural (An homage to Michelangelo's "God Touching Adam's Hand" painting, with God pouring Ian a beer instead.) from the front of the building. I guess it's alright. Ian passed away a few years back in Valdez (or was it Cordova?), Alaska. He looked like: "Hamish from Braveheart." Ian Relay was indeed, A Scotsman. Kilt wearing, Caber-Tossing BIG GUY. You wanted to be his Friend. Whether or not you actually were, was something he wouldn't have hesitated to inform you of. I called him Friend and as far as I was/am aware, the feeling was mutual and beneficial.
If you know "what this is" you are In The Club. Hint for the non-initiate: "48."
-Doc
LAST NIGHT I HAD THE STRANGEST DREAM
I can use that line as a stock explanation/Tag Line for: "How I Woke Up Today." I have a VERY vivid dream life and it's all in Quad Stereo and HD color. It may as well be Holographic. Sometimes pornographic and definitely Grafik Graphic. As stated, "VIVID." My brain has some strange shit to work out during my sonambient moments. Sonambient? Didn't you mean: "Somnambulant?" No, I did not. Allow me to clear that up for you... http://harrybertoia.org/sonambient.html
Usually, I remember the tail end of whatever has been driving my Unconscious' School Bus, Neal Cassady or Babs at the helm and some strange music going on as a soundtrack. The scenery past the windows ranges from the Bucolic to the downright Post Apocalyptic/Apoplectic. Could be Psychedelic Smiling Cows in a 2-D Cardboard Cutout field or a Post Nuclear Disaster In Smell-O-Vision, take y'er pick. My brain certainly does. It doesn't need to be asleep to be firing on all cylinders in Fantastic Voyage Mode.
Oh, The Humanity...
My favorite dreams are usually of People/Places/Things that I can no longer access via conventional means. Time being what it is and all that. Then again... Would one want to visit one's Past and /or Future anyway? There's certainly allot of shit I'm more than happy to forget and shudder to imagine happening. One of my alltime favorite movies stars Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Annabella Sciorra. "What Dreams May Come." I don't think I'd want to go rescue my Wife from Hell.
I choose to remember The Good Times and forget the rest, which is somewhat Schizophrenic. Many people don't understand that word. They think it means: Multiple Personalities or something else that it does not. It merely denotes: A Disengagement From Reality. Odds are that a sizeable portion of the World's Population suffers from that condition, by degrees. I like Adam Savage's line: "I reject your Reality and substitute my own." Bingo! Diagnosis. (He'd be in some Trouble if he truly did act out that tag line.)
...Right here in River City...
Now, "Fantasies" are quite another thing. I dig Fantasies, The Most. To paraphrase Gidget. "Oh, Daddy... Surfing is simply The Most! When you're riding that wave and..." as Gidget attempts to "explain" the rush of wave riding to her Square Father, while using her bed as a surrogate "Wave." I've dreamt that Godget quit fooling around, take off that flowered Bikini and allow me to have my way with her, a hundred times. Maybe that's weird. I don't care. Most of the Boys I grew up with dreamed about "having their way with" the young Ms. Fields. Not the Cookie Lady, but, Sally. Debbie Fields is a whole 'nuther story. I met her a few times while I lived in Park City, Utah and she was fairly scary. I knew a Gal that worked in her then Corporate Headquarters. I have no idea where Debbie's C.HQ. is these days. I do like her Chocolate Chip with Macadamia Nut Cookies though. She may have sold the Corporation to ConAgra by now. Who knows?
Anyway... If you thought I was going to bust out the story of Last Night's Strange Dream, you boofed. They "belong" to me and that's where they're staying. For about a Million Bucks, I'll write the Screenplay and you can watch the Psychiatrists lead me away in a Straight Jacket when the movie's over.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120889/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_43
If dreams interest you, you think Hell might be A Colossal Funhouse, just enjoy Robin Williams or whatever, watch the movie. It's a filmmaker's Wet Dream. Pun intentional.
-Doc
Carrie Snodgress, Alice Cooper (The Band Onstage), What's-His-Name (whom I can't stand to watch):
Dennis Dunaway Interview:
Usually, I remember the tail end of whatever has been driving my Unconscious' School Bus, Neal Cassady or Babs at the helm and some strange music going on as a soundtrack. The scenery past the windows ranges from the Bucolic to the downright Post Apocalyptic/Apoplectic. Could be Psychedelic Smiling Cows in a 2-D Cardboard Cutout field or a Post Nuclear Disaster In Smell-O-Vision, take y'er pick. My brain certainly does. It doesn't need to be asleep to be firing on all cylinders in Fantastic Voyage Mode.
Oh, The Humanity...
My favorite dreams are usually of People/Places/Things that I can no longer access via conventional means. Time being what it is and all that. Then again... Would one want to visit one's Past and /or Future anyway? There's certainly allot of shit I'm more than happy to forget and shudder to imagine happening. One of my alltime favorite movies stars Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Annabella Sciorra. "What Dreams May Come." I don't think I'd want to go rescue my Wife from Hell.
I choose to remember The Good Times and forget the rest, which is somewhat Schizophrenic. Many people don't understand that word. They think it means: Multiple Personalities or something else that it does not. It merely denotes: A Disengagement From Reality. Odds are that a sizeable portion of the World's Population suffers from that condition, by degrees. I like Adam Savage's line: "I reject your Reality and substitute my own." Bingo! Diagnosis. (He'd be in some Trouble if he truly did act out that tag line.)
...Right here in River City...
Now, "Fantasies" are quite another thing. I dig Fantasies, The Most. To paraphrase Gidget. "Oh, Daddy... Surfing is simply The Most! When you're riding that wave and..." as Gidget attempts to "explain" the rush of wave riding to her Square Father, while using her bed as a surrogate "Wave." I've dreamt that Godget quit fooling around, take off that flowered Bikini and allow me to have my way with her, a hundred times. Maybe that's weird. I don't care. Most of the Boys I grew up with dreamed about "having their way with" the young Ms. Fields. Not the Cookie Lady, but, Sally. Debbie Fields is a whole 'nuther story. I met her a few times while I lived in Park City, Utah and she was fairly scary. I knew a Gal that worked in her then Corporate Headquarters. I have no idea where Debbie's C.HQ. is these days. I do like her Chocolate Chip with Macadamia Nut Cookies though. She may have sold the Corporation to ConAgra by now. Who knows?
Anyway... If you thought I was going to bust out the story of Last Night's Strange Dream, you boofed. They "belong" to me and that's where they're staying. For about a Million Bucks, I'll write the Screenplay and you can watch the Psychiatrists lead me away in a Straight Jacket when the movie's over.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120889/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_43
If dreams interest you, you think Hell might be A Colossal Funhouse, just enjoy Robin Williams or whatever, watch the movie. It's a filmmaker's Wet Dream. Pun intentional.
-Doc
Carrie Snodgress, Alice Cooper (The Band Onstage), What's-His-Name (whom I can't stand to watch):
Dennis Dunaway Interview:
Friday, May 27, 2016
LIFE DURING WARTIME
Helpful hints for Wartime Consumption...
I can't wait for the Trump Loaf. Mmmm.
Proud To Be An American:
Album Version:
What Do You Want From Life?
-Doc
I can't wait for the Trump Loaf. Mmmm.
Proud To Be An American:
Album Version:
What Do You Want From Life?
-Doc
Thursday, May 26, 2016
...HAD OTHER INTERESTS, HE LIKED TO BURN THINGS...
I lit a field near my Parents' House on fire once, while in about 6th Grade. Purely by accident. Of course, had I not been playing with matches, making a tidy little Boy Scout-ish type "Campfire" in the middle of an old horse pasture in August in Southern California, it wouldn't have happened. Then, there was the time I lit Gramma's Garage on fire in San Francisco. It caught some paint on fire and started coming up the stairs after me, scaring the crap out of Tinker The Dog, (whom I hated, anyway) Myself and my Mom and ended up taking out the Parquet Floor in the Kitchen/Dining Room of my Grandparents' Beautiful 1930's Outer Sunset District Home.
Gramps ("H.E." to Family) was able to talk the Fire Marshal, whom he knew, into declaring it a "spontaneous combustion" kind of thing and then take Grandma to stay in The Ocean Park Motel for about a month while the Carpenters fixed all the damage I'd done. The Ocean Park was/is the First "Motel" West Of The Rocky Mountains. Still there @ 46th Avenue and Wawona Street down by The San Francisco Zoo. A "Streamline Moderne" kind of place, architecturally speaking. I've stayed there, since, with a Woman that was a Pain In The Ass from Iowa. A Local Secret. (The Motel, not Iowa Girls.) The Daughter of the Original Owners and her Husband now run the place. It's been there since 1937. Same year the Golden Gate Bridge opened. The year before my Mom was born.
J. Edgar Hoover HATED Motels and considered them The Root Of All 1950's Social Ills. He also liked to wear Tu-Tu's, Pancake Makeup and Spy On EVERYBODY. Nixon too, minus the Tu-Tu's. Nixon preferred Hotels, like The Watergate, in D.C.. I've been there, too.
Back To The Fire: I was about 5 years old. We: Mom, Myself and my Little brother, had to go live with Aunt Mimi in Santa Clara for a month or so and I think my Grandpa grumbled into his S.F. Chronicle while having a beer in the Living Room when he was home for months to come, if I was in the room. Lucky for me, he Loved me and if nothing else, admired my quasi-Scientific curiosity. Gramps was a Scientist. Literally. He'd been an Army Medic in WW1, was a Board Certified Pharmacist, Chemist and a Parfumier. He worked for a pretty good sized Chemical Company and eventually worked for Dow Chemical, selling cleaning and preservative materials to Canneries from San Francisco to Portland and back. A good gig, for The Great Depression onward. One Family Story about "H.E." is that he had a hand in inventing the "lick and seal" mailing envelope. His Partner ripped him off for the Patent. No "proof" of that, just a rumor I remember and admire. Then again, parts of my Childhood are purely fictional. I either dreamed or simply invented the details. Boredom or self-inflicted shame being ostensible root causes there... I would NOT have made Grandpa proud. Now, my Uncles are a totally different story. Berkeley Professors that ran off with a cute student to become Light House Docents, Gun Collectors, Race Car Builders, etc.. I was somewhat The Kamikaze Pilot Kid of my Family.
The House is still there, too. 2622 46th Avenue, San Francisco, Ca.. A nice easy rhyme for a Kid to remember, if he got lost at Macy's, The Zoo or on a Streetcar, which I probably did and had to have Francis The Irish Cop bring me home. Cops in San Francisco were mostly Irish, back then. They were Your Best Friends, if you were a Lost Kid or a Pretty Young Girl with some Creep following you. Now? Who the fuck knows? ALL the Detectives were named "Dirty" Something Callahan, in the 50's-'60's. I've seen photo's of the butts of Cop's Guns with Grateful Dead decals on them. I imagine there are still some of those guys around. Probably the only two places in S.F. that didn't have Irish Cops were North Beach and Chinatown. North Beach had Italian Cops. Chinatown took care of itself. Whole streets could blow up and the Irish or Italian Cops wouldn't even bother driving in to see what it looked like. Not a "racist thing," just a simple fact that Chinatown took care of Chinatown. Still does. Ditto for Japantown, or SOMA as "they" like to call the area nowadays. The part of town my Mom WAS NOT allowed to cross into as a Kid. It didn't stop her from getting pregnant with me when she was 15 years old. My Biological Father was just back from the Korean War and had a shiny, new, BMW Motorcycle. In all likelihood, I was conceived very near that motorcycle in someplace bucolic like La Honda, Russian River, Guerneville, or the like. My Dad went to Hollywood High School. Class of '48 or so. Mom and Dad met in a gas station parking lot. Classic 1950's San Francisco Romance. Dad was a 6'2" Good Looking Guy and Mom was WAY TOO PRETTY to be only 15 years old. She was drinking and dancing it up in the Cool Jazz Clubs of San Francisco by the time she was 17. My two Stepfathers were both Musicians. Go figure. No wonder I'm a Weirdo.
Then we moved to Sandy Eggo. My Life Was OVER. I have NEVER Self-Identified as a Southern Californian. California "ends" at about Monterrey/Big Sur, for me. From there on, it's Northern Mexico. California also extends about halfway up the Oregon Coast for me, as well. I'm Geographically, Cartographically, Challenged. It hasn't made much difference either way in my life. I refuse to recognize "Borders" and such in My World. Mostly. I did say: "Northern Mexico," after all. That's more of a Cultural Thing.
Waking up with Oingo Boingo on Sennheiser Headphones and my usual diet of coffee, cigarettes and Newspapers/Movies With No Sound On. (A hold-over from my Stoner Period, I'm sure.) The movie, "Weird Science" is on T.V.. Michael Anthony Hall's Buddy's (Wyatt) Parents just pulled up in a taxi. The missile is disappearing and the beds are making themselves. Kelley LeBrock just showed up as the New Boys' Phys. Ed. Teacher. The Boys all pass out. Roll credits.
I am a Creature Of Habit. Unless I'm not, certain days... Today is one of the Quiet Days around The Anchovy Ranch. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, my Noisy Neighbor goes to Dialysis. No "Bad Reggae" music coming through the kitchen wall or knocks on the door for mooched cigarettes every hour or two. A: That Shit isn't really "Reggae" and B: GYOFC. I wish. He's like a 59 year old guy with a Baby Head. Classic case of Neurotic Arrested Development and Co-Dependency. Not comfortable in his own skin, etc.. It's somewhat sad to watch.
I think I'll hoof it up to the Humane Society Thrift Store and see "what" costs $2.00 later, after the fog burns off. I always find: "something." EVERYTHING in Life should: "cost two dollars." Lamborghini Cars, Weddings, Divorces, Bail Money, the Whole Shooting Match.
Danny Elfman and Co.:
The Ocean Park in Postcard Form:
Foggy Night OPM:
http://www.travelpod.com/motel/Ocean_Park_Motel-San_Francisco.html
The "Local Secret" part is that this is one of the BEST Travel Values left in San Francisco. The last time I stayed there, we paid $120.00 per night for 10 days. A nice, big, corner room that you got to wake up with the howls of Howler Monkeys from The Zoo in every morning. Part of my Childhood That's Actually Verifiable. I bought all the Dinners, Drinks and Taxi's. Iowa Girl paid for the Motel. I was tasked with being the Big City Boy Tour Guide, during the stay there. "No, you DO NOT walk around Downtown San Francisco with your Visa Card in your shirt pocket. YES, put your purse UNDER YOUR ARM... Do NOT give money to CrAzY PeOpLe..."
Love, good coffee, a fresh razor and a Pack Of Camel Straights,
-Doc
Gramps ("H.E." to Family) was able to talk the Fire Marshal, whom he knew, into declaring it a "spontaneous combustion" kind of thing and then take Grandma to stay in The Ocean Park Motel for about a month while the Carpenters fixed all the damage I'd done. The Ocean Park was/is the First "Motel" West Of The Rocky Mountains. Still there @ 46th Avenue and Wawona Street down by The San Francisco Zoo. A "Streamline Moderne" kind of place, architecturally speaking. I've stayed there, since, with a Woman that was a Pain In The Ass from Iowa. A Local Secret. (The Motel, not Iowa Girls.) The Daughter of the Original Owners and her Husband now run the place. It's been there since 1937. Same year the Golden Gate Bridge opened. The year before my Mom was born.
J. Edgar Hoover HATED Motels and considered them The Root Of All 1950's Social Ills. He also liked to wear Tu-Tu's, Pancake Makeup and Spy On EVERYBODY. Nixon too, minus the Tu-Tu's. Nixon preferred Hotels, like The Watergate, in D.C.. I've been there, too.
Back To The Fire: I was about 5 years old. We: Mom, Myself and my Little brother, had to go live with Aunt Mimi in Santa Clara for a month or so and I think my Grandpa grumbled into his S.F. Chronicle while having a beer in the Living Room when he was home for months to come, if I was in the room. Lucky for me, he Loved me and if nothing else, admired my quasi-Scientific curiosity. Gramps was a Scientist. Literally. He'd been an Army Medic in WW1, was a Board Certified Pharmacist, Chemist and a Parfumier. He worked for a pretty good sized Chemical Company and eventually worked for Dow Chemical, selling cleaning and preservative materials to Canneries from San Francisco to Portland and back. A good gig, for The Great Depression onward. One Family Story about "H.E." is that he had a hand in inventing the "lick and seal" mailing envelope. His Partner ripped him off for the Patent. No "proof" of that, just a rumor I remember and admire. Then again, parts of my Childhood are purely fictional. I either dreamed or simply invented the details. Boredom or self-inflicted shame being ostensible root causes there... I would NOT have made Grandpa proud. Now, my Uncles are a totally different story. Berkeley Professors that ran off with a cute student to become Light House Docents, Gun Collectors, Race Car Builders, etc.. I was somewhat The Kamikaze Pilot Kid of my Family.
The House is still there, too. 2622 46th Avenue, San Francisco, Ca.. A nice easy rhyme for a Kid to remember, if he got lost at Macy's, The Zoo or on a Streetcar, which I probably did and had to have Francis The Irish Cop bring me home. Cops in San Francisco were mostly Irish, back then. They were Your Best Friends, if you were a Lost Kid or a Pretty Young Girl with some Creep following you. Now? Who the fuck knows? ALL the Detectives were named "Dirty" Something Callahan, in the 50's-'60's. I've seen photo's of the butts of Cop's Guns with Grateful Dead decals on them. I imagine there are still some of those guys around. Probably the only two places in S.F. that didn't have Irish Cops were North Beach and Chinatown. North Beach had Italian Cops. Chinatown took care of itself. Whole streets could blow up and the Irish or Italian Cops wouldn't even bother driving in to see what it looked like. Not a "racist thing," just a simple fact that Chinatown took care of Chinatown. Still does. Ditto for Japantown, or SOMA as "they" like to call the area nowadays. The part of town my Mom WAS NOT allowed to cross into as a Kid. It didn't stop her from getting pregnant with me when she was 15 years old. My Biological Father was just back from the Korean War and had a shiny, new, BMW Motorcycle. In all likelihood, I was conceived very near that motorcycle in someplace bucolic like La Honda, Russian River, Guerneville, or the like. My Dad went to Hollywood High School. Class of '48 or so. Mom and Dad met in a gas station parking lot. Classic 1950's San Francisco Romance. Dad was a 6'2" Good Looking Guy and Mom was WAY TOO PRETTY to be only 15 years old. She was drinking and dancing it up in the Cool Jazz Clubs of San Francisco by the time she was 17. My two Stepfathers were both Musicians. Go figure. No wonder I'm a Weirdo.
Then we moved to Sandy Eggo. My Life Was OVER. I have NEVER Self-Identified as a Southern Californian. California "ends" at about Monterrey/Big Sur, for me. From there on, it's Northern Mexico. California also extends about halfway up the Oregon Coast for me, as well. I'm Geographically, Cartographically, Challenged. It hasn't made much difference either way in my life. I refuse to recognize "Borders" and such in My World. Mostly. I did say: "Northern Mexico," after all. That's more of a Cultural Thing.
Waking up with Oingo Boingo on Sennheiser Headphones and my usual diet of coffee, cigarettes and Newspapers/Movies With No Sound On. (A hold-over from my Stoner Period, I'm sure.) The movie, "Weird Science" is on T.V.. Michael Anthony Hall's Buddy's (Wyatt) Parents just pulled up in a taxi. The missile is disappearing and the beds are making themselves. Kelley LeBrock just showed up as the New Boys' Phys. Ed. Teacher. The Boys all pass out. Roll credits.
I am a Creature Of Habit. Unless I'm not, certain days... Today is one of the Quiet Days around The Anchovy Ranch. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, my Noisy Neighbor goes to Dialysis. No "Bad Reggae" music coming through the kitchen wall or knocks on the door for mooched cigarettes every hour or two. A: That Shit isn't really "Reggae" and B: GYOFC. I wish. He's like a 59 year old guy with a Baby Head. Classic case of Neurotic Arrested Development and Co-Dependency. Not comfortable in his own skin, etc.. It's somewhat sad to watch.
I think I'll hoof it up to the Humane Society Thrift Store and see "what" costs $2.00 later, after the fog burns off. I always find: "something." EVERYTHING in Life should: "cost two dollars." Lamborghini Cars, Weddings, Divorces, Bail Money, the Whole Shooting Match.
Danny Elfman and Co.:
The Ocean Park in Postcard Form:
Foggy Night OPM:
http://www.travelpod.com/motel/Ocean_Park_Motel-San_Francisco.html
The "Local Secret" part is that this is one of the BEST Travel Values left in San Francisco. The last time I stayed there, we paid $120.00 per night for 10 days. A nice, big, corner room that you got to wake up with the howls of Howler Monkeys from The Zoo in every morning. Part of my Childhood That's Actually Verifiable. I bought all the Dinners, Drinks and Taxi's. Iowa Girl paid for the Motel. I was tasked with being the Big City Boy Tour Guide, during the stay there. "No, you DO NOT walk around Downtown San Francisco with your Visa Card in your shirt pocket. YES, put your purse UNDER YOUR ARM... Do NOT give money to CrAzY PeOpLe..."
Love, good coffee, a fresh razor and a Pack Of Camel Straights,
-Doc
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
SHAMELESS PLUGS FOR GOOD COMPANIES DEPARTMENT
Every so often, I feel compelled to hand out "Shameless Plugs" as though they were candy from my Tweed Coat Pocket. This is one of those times.
Yesterday, I was introduced to a "Boutique Guitar Manufacturer" in Walla Walla, Washington. They produce some gorgeous "one off" designer or "boutique" guitars that are, in a word: "Gorgeous." My Friend, Jim McGuinn, carries their guitars at his store, Hot Poop Records and Stereos. Also in Walla Walla, "A City So Nice, They Had To Name It Twice." Jim's been in Walla Walla since 1973. The same year I graduated from High School. We were Friends back then and remain so. We talk on the phone often. Usually while he's ringing up people's orders at his store and there are allot of "Hold on a second, I have to ring this guy up" moments. It doesn't bother me.
After I had visited the Guitar Company's Web Page, I was IMPRESSED. I own a couple of old guitars and am a notorious: "Tone Freak." After reading through some of the schematic specs. and whatnot, I was convinced that these are instruments worth plugging. The "Standard" line on guitars hovers in the $2,000 to $3,000 range but there are exceptions, The Wallacaster, for instance, which is down into the $500-$700 range. A Fender Strat Clone, it is straight forward in design and has all high(er) end stock spec. parts. I would choose a maple neck and fretboard, just because "That's Who I Am" in that genre. I'm also: "Not That Kind Of Customer Who Spends $2k On A Guitar. Mostly, because I can't. I'm more the weird niche market Teisco del Rey and Sears/Harmony/Danelectro/Wards Airline Futura/Streamliner kind of Guy. Show me a crappy old guitar from the '60's and I'm in Heaven with David Lindley. A "Coodercaster" would fill the bill, too. I could just as easily fall in Lust with a used Parker, but, that adds a whole new dimension. You can look those up for yourself. I tend to favor stock guitars and let The Rack and/or Pedals do the Modeling.
I currently own an Epiphone Custom Shop Les Paul Junior with a P-100 Pickup, Ebony Fretboard, Bolt Neck, in "T.V. Yellow," a Limited Edition Model made in Korea in 1996. It is a "Finish Blemish" Guitar. The Mustard Yellow finish is "streaked" Nitro over Maple. I don't care "what" guitars look like, just how they "sound." My other (working) guitar is a 1959 Magnatone Lap Steel in Emerald Pearloid, that stuff they cover sparkly drum kits with. Also referred to as: "M.O.T.S." or, "Mother Of Toilet Seat." I happen to like playing Lap Steel. It's "easy on the Old Guy hands" and makes HUGE chords with minimal effort. Sustain for days, weeks even. It's a good "Foundation Instrument." I write from that guitar, often. Laying down Primary riffs and then fleshing them out with standard notation. I also own a "project" Lap Steel, a 1949 Magnatone-Dickenson that is much more "ballsy" and lacks ANY sort of cosmetic appeal. A slab of Redwood with an Epoxy Twin Magnet Pickup, Hand Rest/Cover and a set of Grover knock-off keys. Slopped on White Out defines the "Fret Positions." I bought it in a Thrift Store for $10.00 with an Original Case, which, is worth much more than the guitar.
I am fond of using David Gilmour's approach to sound processing, i.e., "Digital Delay and Sustain" for almost everything. That and a bit of Overdrive and Compression. It's a BIG sound. In addition to using a Boss PS-3 Multi-Effects Stomp Box, I use a Roland VS-840, the first model, which acts as an effects bay and not a Recording Workstation. (I like Metal cassette tape better) There are few Effects Patch Bays better than Roland's. The worst thing about those early Roland Units is that the User Manual is like a backwards written Christmas Playboy. NOTHING makes any sense, whatsoever. So, I just "winged it" with my experimentation. Found some combo's that "worked" and called it good. I got the Roland Unit as part of a trade for music gear on a '77 BMW car I owned. He got the Beemer, I got the Roland, a Danelectro DC-2 and a '66 International Truck. I came out ahead. The guy totalled the Beemer and I still have the Roland. Sold the truck and Danelectro.
I digress... My next move was to contact my Local Music Store and let them know about The Walla Walla Guitar Company. Anthony Mantova, the Lead Buyer at Mantova's Two Street Music fired off an email to my Buddy, Jim and we'll see what happens. Mantova's is a GREAT store and I ONLY take them my instruments to be Techie'd upon. Their Guitar Guy is The Real Deal. I know, within about 5 minutes, whether or not I trust someone to work on my MOTR Instruments. They're (My Guitars) cheap but, I LIKE them and want all the stuff in them to work correctly. Regardless of the fact that I am a shameless Hack Player and consummate NOODLER. A WANKER. There. I've said it.
Anyway... http://wallawallaguitars.com/ Check it out. You'll thank me, later.
Love and Alien Blowjobs,
-Doc
Ernie (Cut Directly to "Satellite Farm." This Fucker was one HOT Guitarist):
Some history/back-story:
With Root Boy Slim and The Sex Change Band:
p.s.- "Root Boy Slim Owes Me Money." For the Non-Initiate: "Root Boy Slim," a.k.a. Foster McKenzie III, was a Fraternity Brother of George W. Bush at Yale. Georgie had Foster "permanently kicked out of" that Frat. Foster was "too weird" said Little George, when he wasn't snorting coke off of a Cheerleaders ass or drinking his way into a piss soaked coma and pulling a C Average GPA at Yale. Foster, on the other hand, was busy becoming an Authentic American Icon. A rebellious waste wad sometimes, at others a poignant reminder of the dangers of The Excess Of The Privileged. They both beat going to Vietnam. Georgie went AWOL from the Texas Air National Guard, Foster took drugs and made weird music. Foster also took a stolen D.C. Streetsweeper on a drug-fueled romp, ending up crashing through the fence at The White House, which, in turn, landed him an "Evaluatory Stint" at a local Mental Health Facility. This is but one "version" of the story. There are others, such as: "Root simply consumed a VERY LARGE DOSE OF LSD and was apparently 'trying to find the Center Of The Universe' when arrested for climbing the White House Fence." At any rate, Young Foster was "medicated" for the rest of his life, which ended in June of 1993. The rest is History. If you happen to be unfamiliar with this music, get your ass some good headphones and a BIG AMP and blow your ears out. You'll thank me, later. Watch a couple of YouTube Videos of RBSATSCB, etc., while you're at it...
Yesterday, I was introduced to a "Boutique Guitar Manufacturer" in Walla Walla, Washington. They produce some gorgeous "one off" designer or "boutique" guitars that are, in a word: "Gorgeous." My Friend, Jim McGuinn, carries their guitars at his store, Hot Poop Records and Stereos. Also in Walla Walla, "A City So Nice, They Had To Name It Twice." Jim's been in Walla Walla since 1973. The same year I graduated from High School. We were Friends back then and remain so. We talk on the phone often. Usually while he's ringing up people's orders at his store and there are allot of "Hold on a second, I have to ring this guy up" moments. It doesn't bother me.
After I had visited the Guitar Company's Web Page, I was IMPRESSED. I own a couple of old guitars and am a notorious: "Tone Freak." After reading through some of the schematic specs. and whatnot, I was convinced that these are instruments worth plugging. The "Standard" line on guitars hovers in the $2,000 to $3,000 range but there are exceptions, The Wallacaster, for instance, which is down into the $500-$700 range. A Fender Strat Clone, it is straight forward in design and has all high(er) end stock spec. parts. I would choose a maple neck and fretboard, just because "That's Who I Am" in that genre. I'm also: "Not That Kind Of Customer Who Spends $2k On A Guitar. Mostly, because I can't. I'm more the weird niche market Teisco del Rey and Sears/Harmony/Danelectro/Wards Airline Futura/Streamliner kind of Guy. Show me a crappy old guitar from the '60's and I'm in Heaven with David Lindley. A "Coodercaster" would fill the bill, too. I could just as easily fall in Lust with a used Parker, but, that adds a whole new dimension. You can look those up for yourself. I tend to favor stock guitars and let The Rack and/or Pedals do the Modeling.
I currently own an Epiphone Custom Shop Les Paul Junior with a P-100 Pickup, Ebony Fretboard, Bolt Neck, in "T.V. Yellow," a Limited Edition Model made in Korea in 1996. It is a "Finish Blemish" Guitar. The Mustard Yellow finish is "streaked" Nitro over Maple. I don't care "what" guitars look like, just how they "sound." My other (working) guitar is a 1959 Magnatone Lap Steel in Emerald Pearloid, that stuff they cover sparkly drum kits with. Also referred to as: "M.O.T.S." or, "Mother Of Toilet Seat." I happen to like playing Lap Steel. It's "easy on the Old Guy hands" and makes HUGE chords with minimal effort. Sustain for days, weeks even. It's a good "Foundation Instrument." I write from that guitar, often. Laying down Primary riffs and then fleshing them out with standard notation. I also own a "project" Lap Steel, a 1949 Magnatone-Dickenson that is much more "ballsy" and lacks ANY sort of cosmetic appeal. A slab of Redwood with an Epoxy Twin Magnet Pickup, Hand Rest/Cover and a set of Grover knock-off keys. Slopped on White Out defines the "Fret Positions." I bought it in a Thrift Store for $10.00 with an Original Case, which, is worth much more than the guitar.
I am fond of using David Gilmour's approach to sound processing, i.e., "Digital Delay and Sustain" for almost everything. That and a bit of Overdrive and Compression. It's a BIG sound. In addition to using a Boss PS-3 Multi-Effects Stomp Box, I use a Roland VS-840, the first model, which acts as an effects bay and not a Recording Workstation. (I like Metal cassette tape better) There are few Effects Patch Bays better than Roland's. The worst thing about those early Roland Units is that the User Manual is like a backwards written Christmas Playboy. NOTHING makes any sense, whatsoever. So, I just "winged it" with my experimentation. Found some combo's that "worked" and called it good. I got the Roland Unit as part of a trade for music gear on a '77 BMW car I owned. He got the Beemer, I got the Roland, a Danelectro DC-2 and a '66 International Truck. I came out ahead. The guy totalled the Beemer and I still have the Roland. Sold the truck and Danelectro.
I digress... My next move was to contact my Local Music Store and let them know about The Walla Walla Guitar Company. Anthony Mantova, the Lead Buyer at Mantova's Two Street Music fired off an email to my Buddy, Jim and we'll see what happens. Mantova's is a GREAT store and I ONLY take them my instruments to be Techie'd upon. Their Guitar Guy is The Real Deal. I know, within about 5 minutes, whether or not I trust someone to work on my MOTR Instruments. They're (My Guitars) cheap but, I LIKE them and want all the stuff in them to work correctly. Regardless of the fact that I am a shameless Hack Player and consummate NOODLER. A WANKER. There. I've said it.
Anyway... http://wallawallaguitars.com/ Check it out. You'll thank me, later.
Love and Alien Blowjobs,
-Doc
Ernie (Cut Directly to "Satellite Farm." This Fucker was one HOT Guitarist):
Some history/back-story:
With Root Boy Slim and The Sex Change Band:
p.s.- "Root Boy Slim Owes Me Money." For the Non-Initiate: "Root Boy Slim," a.k.a. Foster McKenzie III, was a Fraternity Brother of George W. Bush at Yale. Georgie had Foster "permanently kicked out of" that Frat. Foster was "too weird" said Little George, when he wasn't snorting coke off of a Cheerleaders ass or drinking his way into a piss soaked coma and pulling a C Average GPA at Yale. Foster, on the other hand, was busy becoming an Authentic American Icon. A rebellious waste wad sometimes, at others a poignant reminder of the dangers of The Excess Of The Privileged. They both beat going to Vietnam. Georgie went AWOL from the Texas Air National Guard, Foster took drugs and made weird music. Foster also took a stolen D.C. Streetsweeper on a drug-fueled romp, ending up crashing through the fence at The White House, which, in turn, landed him an "Evaluatory Stint" at a local Mental Health Facility. This is but one "version" of the story. There are others, such as: "Root simply consumed a VERY LARGE DOSE OF LSD and was apparently 'trying to find the Center Of The Universe' when arrested for climbing the White House Fence." At any rate, Young Foster was "medicated" for the rest of his life, which ended in June of 1993. The rest is History. If you happen to be unfamiliar with this music, get your ass some good headphones and a BIG AMP and blow your ears out. You'll thank me, later. Watch a couple of YouTube Videos of RBSATSCB, etc., while you're at it...
Monday, May 23, 2016
COMPUTER REPAIRMAN BLUES...
"Waiting for The Electrician or, Someone Like Him." -Firesign Theatre
It's hard for me to "get" that some Guy has to drive 100 miles to get to my machine, which I purchased from a factory in North Carolina, which was made in China, which was sold by some person in Texas... To have a Service Call and Techie Inspection. There is something very Wrong in River City with this whole scenario. I knew that I should have just bought another "factory refurbished" machine from Hewlett Packard. They're "right down the road." Some folks bad mouth HP machines. I for one, disagree. My old machine, which I am currently using here while waiting for said Techie to come tomorrow, still works just fine. It's still running XP-Pro like gangbusters and Uncle Billy and Co. can kiss my ass if they think I'm buying their "security updates scare campaign." I did realize that, at some point, I was going to have to upgrade to Windows 8.1 or 10 but, held out as long as possible. I didn't want to be part of Uncle Billy's Beta Crew, to endure all the shit fits of a roll-out before it was actually debugged. Microsnarf DOES DO THAT SHIT. They'll roll out a new OS and let the Public figure out all the crappy features, unless the Chinese/Ruskies/Bulgarians, etc., figure a way into the back door first. Fargin' Bastiges. Bells in a sling. ("Johnny Dangerously" quotes for the uninitiated.)
Anyway, there will be a Lenovo Party at my house tomorrow morning: "between the hours of 08:00 and 11:00," as usual. The Cable TV Guy Schedule... It's a squirrelly road between here and there so, I understand. Shit, all the roads between "here and there" have rockslides, mudslides, Log Truck Slides, Drunk Driver Slides and just about any other type of mishap one might imagine. Best to drive those roads in mid-week at mid-day.
They are the kinds of roads my old 1948 Dodge would be comfortable on. People drive them like they can go 70 mph the whole way though, French Kissing your bumper stickers and whatnot. Thank God for: "Pull Outs." (Doesn't sound Manly to me, Dick...) A 1948 Dodge Custom Touring Sedan tops out at about 90 mph before it gets all wobbly n' stuff, valves start floating, etc., so, there's no arguing with a Japanese two-seater with a hood full of angry insects. It's a 220 cid Flathead 6, for Christ's Sakes! The windshield wipers slow down when you hit the gas! Deal with it, Tojo. Trust me, Honda-San, you don't want to Cornhole this 3/8 Detroit Cold Rolled Steel. Your sloped hood will end up tossing my differential's salad.
Mine was the D-24 Model. This is a D-25 Four Door. Pretty much the same car through. 4,000 lb. Jap Killer. Comfortable, Big Old Car. "Fluid Drive Transmission" 3-on-the-tree (precursor to "Automatic") More torque than a Sherman Tank. Really Bitchy Lycoming Brakes that always needed adjustment. I had all the "Special Tools" to go with the car and knew how to use them. I kept a hubcap, an extra hood ornament and a badge with the Little Clipper Ship That Could logo.
"Back seat big enough for a whole Cheerleaders' Squad." So said the Old Guy I bought mine from. Thanks for the line, Howard. I have Uncles named Howard. Harold, too... They were chock full of stories and jokes, too. Seems to run in the Family.
Listening to the Long Catalog of John Hartford and a bunch of other Old Timey Music this A.M.. Stuff that would sound good in this here old car. Road Trip to "Wherever" Music. Get tired? There's a sleeping bag in the back seat, next to The Cheerleaders and Robert Crumb's old popcorn box.
Happy Trails,
-Doc
It's hard for me to "get" that some Guy has to drive 100 miles to get to my machine, which I purchased from a factory in North Carolina, which was made in China, which was sold by some person in Texas... To have a Service Call and Techie Inspection. There is something very Wrong in River City with this whole scenario. I knew that I should have just bought another "factory refurbished" machine from Hewlett Packard. They're "right down the road." Some folks bad mouth HP machines. I for one, disagree. My old machine, which I am currently using here while waiting for said Techie to come tomorrow, still works just fine. It's still running XP-Pro like gangbusters and Uncle Billy and Co. can kiss my ass if they think I'm buying their "security updates scare campaign." I did realize that, at some point, I was going to have to upgrade to Windows 8.1 or 10 but, held out as long as possible. I didn't want to be part of Uncle Billy's Beta Crew, to endure all the shit fits of a roll-out before it was actually debugged. Microsnarf DOES DO THAT SHIT. They'll roll out a new OS and let the Public figure out all the crappy features, unless the Chinese/Ruskies/Bulgarians, etc., figure a way into the back door first. Fargin' Bastiges. Bells in a sling. ("Johnny Dangerously" quotes for the uninitiated.)
Anyway, there will be a Lenovo Party at my house tomorrow morning: "between the hours of 08:00 and 11:00," as usual. The Cable TV Guy Schedule... It's a squirrelly road between here and there so, I understand. Shit, all the roads between "here and there" have rockslides, mudslides, Log Truck Slides, Drunk Driver Slides and just about any other type of mishap one might imagine. Best to drive those roads in mid-week at mid-day.
They are the kinds of roads my old 1948 Dodge would be comfortable on. People drive them like they can go 70 mph the whole way though, French Kissing your bumper stickers and whatnot. Thank God for: "Pull Outs." (Doesn't sound Manly to me, Dick...) A 1948 Dodge Custom Touring Sedan tops out at about 90 mph before it gets all wobbly n' stuff, valves start floating, etc., so, there's no arguing with a Japanese two-seater with a hood full of angry insects. It's a 220 cid Flathead 6, for Christ's Sakes! The windshield wipers slow down when you hit the gas! Deal with it, Tojo. Trust me, Honda-San, you don't want to Cornhole this 3/8 Detroit Cold Rolled Steel. Your sloped hood will end up tossing my differential's salad.
Mine was the D-24 Model. This is a D-25 Four Door. Pretty much the same car through. 4,000 lb. Jap Killer. Comfortable, Big Old Car. "Fluid Drive Transmission" 3-on-the-tree (precursor to "Automatic") More torque than a Sherman Tank. Really Bitchy Lycoming Brakes that always needed adjustment. I had all the "Special Tools" to go with the car and knew how to use them. I kept a hubcap, an extra hood ornament and a badge with the Little Clipper Ship That Could logo.
"Back seat big enough for a whole Cheerleaders' Squad." So said the Old Guy I bought mine from. Thanks for the line, Howard. I have Uncles named Howard. Harold, too... They were chock full of stories and jokes, too. Seems to run in the Family.
Listening to the Long Catalog of John Hartford and a bunch of other Old Timey Music this A.M.. Stuff that would sound good in this here old car. Road Trip to "Wherever" Music. Get tired? There's a sleeping bag in the back seat, next to The Cheerleaders and Robert Crumb's old popcorn box.
Happy Trails,
-Doc
Sunday, May 22, 2016
SOLITARY MAN
Hey, don't blame me for that one, it was Neil Diamond. It's one of the few Neil Diamond songs I actually make it all the way through before feeling a bit nauseous. But, I'm kind of like that with allot of "Mainstream" Artists. They have one or two items in their quivers that touch me and I'm "gone, gone, gone." I suppose another example would be Glenn Campbell's "Wichita Lineman." He didn't write it, of course, but, he made it a #1 Hit. Jimmy Webb actually wrote the song. Glenn recorded it in Nashville with the Studio Band "The Wrecking Crew" which included Jim Gordon on drums. Anyway, it's a "good" Country song and has been lauded as "the first 'existential' Country song, ever." Which is probably "why" I still like it. Another great Country song I can still make it all the way through is "Gentle On My Mind" which Glenn also sang into the top of the charts. That gem was written by John Hartford with a banjo accompaniment. I actually like the Hartford version better.
Anyway...Solitary Man. That's kind of the tone for the day. Been sitting around playing LP records and making a pot of "something like chili." More like Goulash, by the time I finish with it. Listening to "Mars Hotel" right now. "Panama Red" just finished. Next up will be Moby Grape or something equally groovy. Garcia's first solo recording will be in there somewhere too. I haven't listened to some of these records in a couple of years. The Internet and all its' Streaming Music is just so "convenient." At least, playing LP's gives me the satisfaction of knowing the guys in the bands got paid. Most of my collection is second hand, in that, I didn't buy it "new." Thrift stores, garage sales, you name it and I was there wading through stacks of LP's. I just plain: "Like the way LP's sound." Yes, there's a HUGE difference between them and CD's/Streaming Music. Especially if you have a good turntable and stereo, which I do. A Yamaha DC Servo Direct Drive Table and good Amp(s) & Speakers. Ask any of my neighbors.
I, like many people my age I would suppose, (I'm 61, going on 62 in August), have developed a certain appreciation for "time spent alone in contemplation and/or busying myself with some Artsy Project or whatever. Not that I'm a true Hermit or anything. I just feel 100% comfortable "in my own skin" and don't favor the "Haste and Noise" as much as I did as a Kid. True Friends are counted on fingers, instead of Facebook "Likes" at my age. Conversations are based upon interest in a subject rather than Social Homogeneity. No, I don't want to think like you think, but thanks for asking. I feel "sort of" included.
Got a call from the Bernie Sanders Camp awhile ago. Urging me to vote for the man, of course. I told the kindly Volunteer that I had already written in the Senator from Vermont on my California Primary mail-in card. Agreeing with my younger Brother that: "If I had to choose between Hillary and Drumpf, I'd write in 'A Ham Sandwich' before voting for either of those Nincompoops." No more Political Dynasties! No more Booger Eatin' Idiots with Evil Henchmen in tow!
O.K., now the S.F. Giants game is on. Time to let the rest of "Garcia" spin out and turn the sound on to the TV. My Guys are playing well and today's game with the League Leading (both Leagues) Chicago Cubs is an important game to watch. Nevermind that it's not even June. I'm a Giants Fan, period.
Solitary Man:
Gentle On My Mind:
Campbell and Hartford doing the tune together:
Later,
-Doc
Anyway...Solitary Man. That's kind of the tone for the day. Been sitting around playing LP records and making a pot of "something like chili." More like Goulash, by the time I finish with it. Listening to "Mars Hotel" right now. "Panama Red" just finished. Next up will be Moby Grape or something equally groovy. Garcia's first solo recording will be in there somewhere too. I haven't listened to some of these records in a couple of years. The Internet and all its' Streaming Music is just so "convenient." At least, playing LP's gives me the satisfaction of knowing the guys in the bands got paid. Most of my collection is second hand, in that, I didn't buy it "new." Thrift stores, garage sales, you name it and I was there wading through stacks of LP's. I just plain: "Like the way LP's sound." Yes, there's a HUGE difference between them and CD's/Streaming Music. Especially if you have a good turntable and stereo, which I do. A Yamaha DC Servo Direct Drive Table and good Amp(s) & Speakers. Ask any of my neighbors.
I, like many people my age I would suppose, (I'm 61, going on 62 in August), have developed a certain appreciation for "time spent alone in contemplation and/or busying myself with some Artsy Project or whatever. Not that I'm a true Hermit or anything. I just feel 100% comfortable "in my own skin" and don't favor the "Haste and Noise" as much as I did as a Kid. True Friends are counted on fingers, instead of Facebook "Likes" at my age. Conversations are based upon interest in a subject rather than Social Homogeneity. No, I don't want to think like you think, but thanks for asking. I feel "sort of" included.
Got a call from the Bernie Sanders Camp awhile ago. Urging me to vote for the man, of course. I told the kindly Volunteer that I had already written in the Senator from Vermont on my California Primary mail-in card. Agreeing with my younger Brother that: "If I had to choose between Hillary and Drumpf, I'd write in 'A Ham Sandwich' before voting for either of those Nincompoops." No more Political Dynasties! No more Booger Eatin' Idiots with Evil Henchmen in tow!
O.K., now the S.F. Giants game is on. Time to let the rest of "Garcia" spin out and turn the sound on to the TV. My Guys are playing well and today's game with the League Leading (both Leagues) Chicago Cubs is an important game to watch. Nevermind that it's not even June. I'm a Giants Fan, period.
Solitary Man:
Gentle On My Mind:
Campbell and Hartford doing the tune together:
Later,
-Doc
Saturday, May 21, 2016
APARTMENT LIFE
It can be summed up on a few words: "Wanted: Person to pay too much for too little and enjoy the noise and DRAMA of those around him or her self." I can think of a shorter version. "Wanted: Masochist with zero financial sense." I used to think that apartment life was "OK" but, the older I get, the move I covet the Mother-In-Law Units I see around town.
Then again, I would be completely happy living in a fair sized Airstream trailer on a nice piece of ground near a trout stream, lake, or salmon bearing river.
I'm not really "awake" yet. I just decided to get up awhile, have a cup or two of tea and a bagel. Then, after getting "tired" again, going back to sleep. Today is one of my "No noise from the neighbor" days. He'll be out at the Dialysis Clinic all day. I get to sleep until Noon, if I feel like it.
Something I've been listening to allot lately:
Then again, I would be completely happy living in a fair sized Airstream trailer on a nice piece of ground near a trout stream, lake, or salmon bearing river.
I'm not really "awake" yet. I just decided to get up awhile, have a cup or two of tea and a bagel. Then, after getting "tired" again, going back to sleep. Today is one of my "No noise from the neighbor" days. He'll be out at the Dialysis Clinic all day. I get to sleep until Noon, if I feel like it.
Something I've been listening to allot lately:
This next recording needs extra volume...
Saturday, May 7, 2016
COLD HOT DOGS AND "GARLIC" FRIES!
Yesterday, I went shopping with my neighbor, whom we will call: "Rodney." Because, well, that's his name. So, after a jaunty hoof up to the nearest bus stop, about a mile and a half away, off we go to the Groceries Cheaper type store, after stopping in to the Hats n' Stuff Cheaper place in town. Note: If the storefront says "Whatever Cheaper," I will walk in, have a quick chat with the friendly Salesperson and determine for myself whether or not they deserve their signage. In the cases of the afore mentioned joints, they do deserve to call their places of business "Cheaper." I buy lots of stuff from them both, already. Rodney wanted to replace a hat that had become "lost" (one of those "Kangol" type wool blend affairs) and I was "just along for the ride, simultaneously showing him that there are actually three separate parts to that store. A "regular part," a "discontinued items and over-stock" part and a "Military Surplus Part." For my part, I shop all three, depending upon my needs.
After the "Groceries Cheaper" shopping, we were waiting for a cab, as neither of us wanted to do the 1.5 mile hike from the bus stop to the place we call home, our respective Apartments. Rodney decided that he wanted to get a hot dog and some garlic fries while waiting for the cab. He asked if: "I'd like an order as well?" (Which basically meant that he was going to try and hoodwink me out of his share of the Taxi Ride. (I'll get him, later, for the difference.)
We got the hot dogs and garlic fries home, both of us were hungry and as I bit into my "Double Dog with Chili and Onions," I noticed that about half of the hot dog was stone cold. The fries were a mangled mess of Simplot Mass Produced Shoestring Potatoes dashed with some kind of "dusting powder" that had a distinct aroma of powdered garlic in it. They were overly deep fried and disgustingly limp. The "Chili" reminded me of Cat Food and Chili Powder. I promptly fired up my Apartment Oven to 275 degrees, wrapped the meal in tinfoil and hucked it in to re-cook. Left it in there for about 20 minutes. It was still an awful Gut Bomb. But, I was hungry.
Now...The Locals of this here 'burg have always told me that this Hot Dog and Garlic Fries Joint was/is "great." Being the former Food and Beverage Guy that I am, I disagree. It was "really bad" at best. Anytime one must re-cook their Take Out Meal, something's "wrong." I plan to call this establishment and let them know just what I think of their $6.00, served cold, greasy meal.
I grew up eating hot dogs from a place called: Doggie Diner, in San Francisco. There was one of their places right down the street, which was also "On the way to the S.F. Zoo." It was a great place, if you like Hot Dogs, which I do. When I was a kid, a Foot Long with EVERYTHING on it cost about $0.25, which means that I'm OLD. My other Fast Food delight as a child was Zims Hambuger Restaurants. Only to be found in San Francisco. GREAT milkshakes! I understand that those places are becoming harder to find. Doggie Diner has completely vanished. There are still a few of their distinctive signs around town, one near the corner of 46th Avenue and Sloat Boulevard, but, no Hot Dogs. Zims? Hit and miss as to finding one of their stores. I don't go to San Francisco much anymore. Too many people, in a small space, going "somewhere" in a Big Clusterfuck Hurry. It was a great place to be a Kid but, that was a long time ago.
A song, "sort of" about Hot Dogs:
Love N' Hot Dogs (Cheaper, of course...),
-Doc
After the "Groceries Cheaper" shopping, we were waiting for a cab, as neither of us wanted to do the 1.5 mile hike from the bus stop to the place we call home, our respective Apartments. Rodney decided that he wanted to get a hot dog and some garlic fries while waiting for the cab. He asked if: "I'd like an order as well?" (Which basically meant that he was going to try and hoodwink me out of his share of the Taxi Ride. (I'll get him, later, for the difference.)
We got the hot dogs and garlic fries home, both of us were hungry and as I bit into my "Double Dog with Chili and Onions," I noticed that about half of the hot dog was stone cold. The fries were a mangled mess of Simplot Mass Produced Shoestring Potatoes dashed with some kind of "dusting powder" that had a distinct aroma of powdered garlic in it. They were overly deep fried and disgustingly limp. The "Chili" reminded me of Cat Food and Chili Powder. I promptly fired up my Apartment Oven to 275 degrees, wrapped the meal in tinfoil and hucked it in to re-cook. Left it in there for about 20 minutes. It was still an awful Gut Bomb. But, I was hungry.
Now...The Locals of this here 'burg have always told me that this Hot Dog and Garlic Fries Joint was/is "great." Being the former Food and Beverage Guy that I am, I disagree. It was "really bad" at best. Anytime one must re-cook their Take Out Meal, something's "wrong." I plan to call this establishment and let them know just what I think of their $6.00, served cold, greasy meal.
I grew up eating hot dogs from a place called: Doggie Diner, in San Francisco. There was one of their places right down the street, which was also "On the way to the S.F. Zoo." It was a great place, if you like Hot Dogs, which I do. When I was a kid, a Foot Long with EVERYTHING on it cost about $0.25, which means that I'm OLD. My other Fast Food delight as a child was Zims Hambuger Restaurants. Only to be found in San Francisco. GREAT milkshakes! I understand that those places are becoming harder to find. Doggie Diner has completely vanished. There are still a few of their distinctive signs around town, one near the corner of 46th Avenue and Sloat Boulevard, but, no Hot Dogs. Zims? Hit and miss as to finding one of their stores. I don't go to San Francisco much anymore. Too many people, in a small space, going "somewhere" in a Big Clusterfuck Hurry. It was a great place to be a Kid but, that was a long time ago.
A song, "sort of" about Hot Dogs:
Love N' Hot Dogs (Cheaper, of course...),
-Doc
Sunday, May 1, 2016
BAD SNEAKERS AND A PINA COLADA, MY FRIEND...
...Stopping on The Avenue by Radio City and...
The New Boots hurt, yesterday. I noticed a callous developing. Some people call that a "blister." The Marine Corps calls it: "The sensation of fear leaving one's body." Long story short: I had to call a Taxi, rather than do the walk back home from any and all festivities. It was the Rhododendron Festival and Parade, "Downtown," yesterday. Not much of a "Downtown." It'll "do," in a pinch. Portland, Oregon's, "Rhody Fest" is far more spectacular. Rose Fest, even more so.
Stopped in to my Friends' Independent Record Store along the way. The owner, who's name I may have never known: Plethora o' knowledge regarding Rock and Roll Ephemera. We have fun yakking about obscure LP's and such. We illegally smoked parts of cigarettes in front of his store. "Screw 'em. Screw the Government." (Anthony Hopkins, Legends of the Fall. Regarding Bootlegging.) We were talking about "Picture Discs" yesterday. "Whether or not either of us had a "Favorite" Picture Disc. He said: "Wizard Of Oz." (IF there is one) I said: I told him I'd bring him a Hot Poop T-Shirt, when I remembered to. My Friend, Jim McGuinn owns the Hot Poop LP and Music Store, in Walla Walla, Washington. We've been Friends since I was in High School. That, "was awhile ago."
Jim just reminded me, via Facebook, that Judy Collins is having a Birthday, today. I commented: "I STILL 'fall into' her eyes." So did Stephen Stills and Graham Nash. So many did. Willfully.
I'm "up" for the moment, contemplating my Mom's foot injury (she broke some small bones in her foot) and debating with myself whether or not "going back to sleep for two hours" is a good idea. I'm leaning towards the sleep thing, after I eat something. Sunday's are good for sleeping late, musing about what the days' activities might be and enjoying the Quiet Building.
Doo-doo-doo-dee-doot. Doot-doot-de-doot-dee-doot:
You are: "What You Are." (You know who you are, Baby. You Ruby Throated Sparrow, You.)
-Doc
The New Boots hurt, yesterday. I noticed a callous developing. Some people call that a "blister." The Marine Corps calls it: "The sensation of fear leaving one's body." Long story short: I had to call a Taxi, rather than do the walk back home from any and all festivities. It was the Rhododendron Festival and Parade, "Downtown," yesterday. Not much of a "Downtown." It'll "do," in a pinch. Portland, Oregon's, "Rhody Fest" is far more spectacular. Rose Fest, even more so.
Stopped in to my Friends' Independent Record Store along the way. The owner, who's name I may have never known: Plethora o' knowledge regarding Rock and Roll Ephemera. We have fun yakking about obscure LP's and such. We illegally smoked parts of cigarettes in front of his store. "Screw 'em. Screw the Government." (Anthony Hopkins, Legends of the Fall. Regarding Bootlegging.) We were talking about "Picture Discs" yesterday. "Whether or not either of us had a "Favorite" Picture Disc. He said: "Wizard Of Oz." (IF there is one) I said: I told him I'd bring him a Hot Poop T-Shirt, when I remembered to. My Friend, Jim McGuinn owns the Hot Poop LP and Music Store, in Walla Walla, Washington. We've been Friends since I was in High School. That, "was awhile ago."
Jim just reminded me, via Facebook, that Judy Collins is having a Birthday, today. I commented: "I STILL 'fall into' her eyes." So did Stephen Stills and Graham Nash. So many did. Willfully.
I'm "up" for the moment, contemplating my Mom's foot injury (she broke some small bones in her foot) and debating with myself whether or not "going back to sleep for two hours" is a good idea. I'm leaning towards the sleep thing, after I eat something. Sunday's are good for sleeping late, musing about what the days' activities might be and enjoying the Quiet Building.
Doo-doo-doo-dee-doot. Doot-doot-de-doot-dee-doot:
You are: "What You Are." (You know who you are, Baby. You Ruby Throated Sparrow, You.)
-Doc
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