So long, 2006

Whew - what a year. What a week. Ask Saddam or Gerry Ford or James Brown. Needless to say, not to be repeated soon, if at all in this space-time continuum. 2007. Jesus, it's been that long?

Here's something from eons ago - a lino block print done sitting in 1351 17th Street, San Francisco, 1975. My first California Christmas card!

"If one sees a hawk, an eggplant and Mt Fuji on New Years Day, they are forever blessed."

Well, have a good hard look and consider the possibilities.

From 1976, a shot by D Nicoletta - Hot Flash of America. This may have been the most fun two weeks of my life. Crazy, baby. I drank a bottle of Jim Beam out of a bag every day for the duration. Magic moments with some even more bizarre moments that are, unfortunately to me, undocumented. Like that gal that exposed herself for her camera-weilding friends on Market Street. Never got to see the shotwhich caught me totally off guard until I touched her bare waist. Memories.

Date worthy for New Year

From dear Dan Nicoletta in SF:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWfy4ZKw3P0

Oh My Gawd. I feel ever so normal, not that Melvin is anything but.

Bring on the festivities. Fill that dance card! Go on.

Jesus Christ! It's Christmas!

Dim sum with Sean and Branden and Jesse, Jesse whom had never before done dim sum. Busy Golden Dragon. Chinatown as busy as can be, the rest of LA a ghost town, particularly the freeways. A tour of Skid Row - a sobering thing if ever there was.
Dropped off B & J, as they had to continue on to Ventura or something, Fillmore, I believe; Sean and I drove up into Griffith Park, a closed Griffith Park.... So we took some street into the hills to see what we could see. Nice real estate with views, views from sea to mountain and valley - vista grande. The weather today was what people live here for, y'know. 70-something, clear skies with an abundance of jet trails criss-crossing the entire azure whole of it. Amazing.
I get dropped and here I am. Reduced for clearance, Clarence.
Just thought I'd say "Hi."
Hot Rats is on in the background, loud. Had to play the Portsmouth Sinfonia earlier as their rendition of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy makes the day complete. As I have that on loud, the phone rings. Nice timing, as it is Frank Martin doing a three-way phone call with Don Bolles on line 2. How apropos to be featuring that musical interlude to share with them - and Don being a first-time phone conversation, I am sure.
LA. Home. Christmas. I so want a hot turkey sandwich - and you know what? I have the basics for that. The excitement is palpable.
Missed out on breakfast with The Jays - Brandon and Gwen, the Newlyweds, at some house in the Hills that they're taking care of over the holidays. Oddly, Brandon's (former) band, the 88, got a song as the opening scene in (oh dear god, how did this happen?) in You, Me, and Dupree. I may have considerable brain damage from this one. Watched it over at Branden and Jesse's last night at our Christmas Eve dinner and a Show night at home, with Jesse's cousin, James, along too, sharing in the horror of this movie we were watching. Getting the exact moment of calculated scenes spot on, this was a bonding experience. We universally shared the same take on this cinematic splendor and quipped rightfully.
And I thought I had nothing to yammer on about when I opened this thing up.
My meds have kicked in - time for that hot turkey sandwich and a good stiff drink of something.
Ho Ho. I aint' goin' nowheres tonight. Unless we're all going somewhere as a group. Still dressed for the occasion, I am.

Solstice!

Quick! Arrange the largest rocks in a circle... wait for the sun to do its thing. Align. A LINE. A bump, if one desires so. Better now. Winter.
And bring it on.
Got the heat on for the first time in a couple of years; and I forget what I was doing as the phone rings... "Whaddya want from Trader Joes?" asks Branden. Praline something - and my mouth begins watering at the thought.
Paging Dr. Pavlov - your dogs are making a mess.
And I had a dog that came when you whistled. Very messy but fun.
Here boy! FWeeeeet.

Mid Season - Xmas, that is

How do? Let me tell yas... It's the middle of December and there are people walking around in front here in wife beaters. That's pretty nice for this time of year. Mornings have been stellar - clear all the way to the Getty, sitting slightly up on a hill above the 405. The evenings are not bad either: last night around 11 or so, I caught sight of two shooting stars. That got me up and out onto the deck to witness more. Or less. Less. Oh well. In this same line of view, the annual decoration of the Capitol Records Tower in Hollywood; a Christmas tree of sorts, visible above numerous Golden arches for the very nearby McDonalds. Lovely. WOuld make a great card, had I the optical hoohah to capture such. I desire this year in, year out. I can wait.
All good things to those who wait. Primed and stoked, I am I am.
Monday, the 18th, Jury Duty. Yeah, I did it. This was put off from months ago as I thought that I was doing a Simple Life shoot - yes, the Paris/Nicole one. But that remains to be seen. Ms Ritchie is getting some unfavoprable press with her driving skills, or lack thereof. Let me show you the massive amounts of info I had to supply these people with to be considered worthy or what have you. Amazing - they now have more info on me than any group or organization I've been involved with ever.
Enjoy this laugh out loud thingie:

LONG APPLICATION
Read all of the below instructions thoroughly before completing this packet.
Fill out the long application. Please be as open, honest and thorough as possible. We want to learn all about you!
Please fill out the application legibly, with dark colored ink.
Answer all questions honestly and to the best of your ability.
Please write only on the printed side of the paper. Feel free to attach additional sheets as necessary. Please do not turn the page over and write on the back.
If you have one, you should staple a copy of your driver’s license (or other photo ID) to the back of the packet.
IF YOU ARE NOT CALLED BACK IMMEDIATELY AND HAVE NOT YET TURNED IN THIS APPLICATION, FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS:
FIRST: Please fax a copy to:
(818) 989-8969
Attn: ANNIE
THEN: Mail the original copy to:
ATTN: ANNIE
M CABLE TELEVISION
THE SIMPLE LIFE CASTING
6007 SEPULVEDA BLVD.
VAN NUYS, CA 91411
Write “ANNIE” in big letters on the outside of the package, so we can spot it easily.
Please make sure to include enough postage when you return this packet.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME AND EFFORT IN COMPLETING THIS PACKET.

M Cable Television, Inc.
6007 Sepulveda Blvd.
Van Nuys, CA 91411
Casting info: http://www.bunim-murray.com
THE SIMPLE LIFE
LONG APPLICATION FORM
LAST NAME:
FIRST NAME:
PRESENT ADDRESS: PHONE NUMBER:
CELL/PGR/OTHER
NUMBER:
EMAIL:
I check my email a lot: Yes ☐ No ☐
BIRTHDATE: 2nd EMAIL:
SOCIAL SECURITY #: AGE:
If I am a member of a performing arts union or guild, the name(s) of my guild(s) are:
HAVE YOU EVER ACTED OR PERFORMED OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL? IF YES, PLEASE DESCRIBE:
HAVE YOU EVER AUDITIONED FOR A REALITY TV SHOW BEFORE? IF YES, PLEASE DESCRIBE:
WHAT IS YOUR MARITAL STATUS? Single Married Divorced Widowed . IF UNMARRIED, ARE YOU CURRENTLY LIVING WITH SOMEONE?
IF YOU HAVE A SPOUSE OR ARE LIVING WITH SOMEONE, WHAT IS HIS / HER NAME?
DO YOU HAVE ANY CHILDREN? IF YES, PLEASE INCLUDE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION ABOUT EACH: Name, Age, and whether he/she lives with you:
DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? (Names and ages):

NAME OF HIGH SCHOOL (AND YEARS COMPLETED):
NAME OF COLLEGE (YEARS COMPLETED AND MAJORS):
OTHER EDUCATION:
WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING? DESCRIBE YOUR JOB HISTORY:
______________________________________________________________________________________________
WOULD YOU BE ABLE AND WILLING TO TAKE FIVE DAYS OFF FROM YOUR JOB IN NOVEMBER 2006 TO BE ON “THE SIMPLE LIFE”?
ARE THERE ANY EVENTS (WORK FUNCTIONS, FAMILY COMMITMENTS) THAT YOU WILL BE INVOLVED IN DURING OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2006? PLEASE DESCRIBE: _______
HOW DID YOU CHOOSE YOUR PROFESSION? ARE YOU PASSIONATE ABOUT WHAT YOU DO?
WHAT ARE YOU TRULY PASSIONATE ABOUT AND WHY?
WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO FOR FUN?
DESCRIBE YOUR GREATEST, OR PROUDEST, MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE:
DESCRIBE YOUR WORST, OR LOWEST, MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE:

DO YOU HAVE A SIGNIFICANT OTHER? IF SO, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER AND HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR RELATIONSHIP?



WHO ARE YOUR HEROES?

HOW DID THOSE PEOPLE SHAPE OR INFLUENCE YOU?
_
DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD? ARE YOU RELIGIOUS OR SPIRITUAL? DO YOU ATTEND ANY FORMAL RELIGIOUS SERVICES?
HOW WOULD SOMEONE WHO REALLY KNOWS YOU DESCRIBE YOUR THREE BEST TRAITS?
HOW WOULD SOMEONE WHO REALLY KNOWS YOU DESCRIBE YOUR THREE WORST TRAITS?

PLEASE DESCRIBE YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT.
WHAT BOTHERS YOU MOST ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE? WHAT TYPES OF PEOPLE REALLY IRRITATE YOU?


DESCRIBE A RECENT ARGUMENT YOU HAD WITH SOMEONE. WHO USUALLY WINS ARGUMENTS WITH YOU? WHY?

DESCRIBE YOURSELF AS A COMPETITOR.
WOULD YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE AN “OUTDOORSY” PERSON?
DESCRIBE YOUR DEFINITION OF “ROUGHING IT”.
ARE YOU ON ANY PRESCRIPTION MEDICATION? IF SO, WHAT, AND FOR HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING IT, WHY WAS IT PRESCRIBED??

ARE YOU NOW, OR HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A THERAPIST OR PSYCHOLOGIST? IF SO, EXPLAIN.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN HOSPITALIZED FOR ANY PHYSICAL OR MENTAL CONDITION? IF SO, PLEASE EXPLAIN.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ARRESTED OR BEEN CHARGED WITH A CRIME (IF SO, WHAT WERE THE CIRCUMSTANCES AND WHAT WAS THE OUTCOME INCLUDING THE DISPOSITION OF ANY CHARGES?)
HAVE YOU EVER HAD A RESTRAINING ORDER ISSUED AGAINST YOU (IF SO WHAT WERE THE CIRCUMSTANCES AND WHAT WAS THE OUTCOME INCLUDING THE DISPOSITION OF ANY CHARGES?)
HAVE YOU EVER PLACED A RESTRAINING ORDER AGAINST SOMEONE ELSE? (IF SO, WHAT WERE THE CIRCUMSTANCES AND WHAT WAS THE OUTCOME?)
HAVE YOU EVER HIT ANYONE IN ANGER OR SELF-DEFENSE? IF SO, TELL US ABOUT IT (HOW OLD WERE YOU, WHAT HAPPENED, ETC.)

HOW DO YOU HANDLE CONFLICTS? DO YOU FEEL THAT THIS APPROACH IS EFFECTIVE?

IF SELECTED, IS THERE ANY PERSON OR PART OF YOUR LIFE YOU WOULD PREFER NOT TO SHARE? IF SO, DESCRIBE, (I.E. FAMILY, FRIENDS, BUSINESS ASSOCIATES, SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS, OR ACTIVITIES):
HAVE YOU BEEN TREATED FOR ANY PHYSICAL OR EMOTIONAL ILLNESS IN THE LAST TEN YEARS? IF SO, PLEASE EXPLAIN:
BUNIM-MURRAY PRODUCTIONS HAS A ZERO-TOLERANCE DRUG POLICY. ARE YOU DRUG-FREE NOW AND WILL YOU CONTINUE TO BE DRUG-FREE DURING THE TAPING OF THE SHOW?
DO YOU RENT OR OWN YOUR PLACE OF RESIDENCE? IF YOU RENT, PLEASE LIST THE NAME AND PHONE # OF YOUR LANDLORD:
Please help us get in touch with you. List those who regularly know where you are and how to get in touch with you:
NAME: RELATION: PHONE:
1.
2.
3.
HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT OUR CASTING SEARCH?

I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT EVERYTHING STATED IN THIS APPLICATION IS TRUE. I UNDERSTAND THAT ANY FALSELY SUBMITTED ANSWERS CAN AND WILL BE GROUNDS FOR REMOVAL FROM THE APPLICATION PROCESS AND FROM SUBSEQUESNT PARTICIPATION IN THE FINAL SERIES, IN PRODUCER’S SOLE DISCRETION. I FURTHER ACKNOWLEDGE AND ACCEPT THAT MY COMPLETED APPLICATION FORM, THE VIDEO TAPE AND ANY OTHER MATERIALS (THE “MATERIALS”) SUBMITTED TO PRODUCER WILL BECOME PROPERTY OF PRODUCER, ITS LICENSEES, SUCCESSORS, EMPLOYEES AND ASSIGNS, AND WILL NOT BE RETURNED TO ME. I HEREBY GRANT TO PRODUCER THE RIGHT TO USE ANY AND ALL BIOGRAPHICAL AND OTHER INFORMATION CONTAINED IN THE MATERIALS OR OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO PRODUCER, AND TO RECORD, USE AND PULICIZE THE MATERIALS, INCLUDING MY NAME, VOICE, ACTIONS, LIKENESS AND APPEARANCE IN ALL MEDIA NOW KNOWN OR HEREAFTER DEVELOPED, IN PERPETUITY, FOR ALL PURPOSES, INCLUDING WITHOUT LIMITATION, IN ADVERTISEMENTS, PROMOTIONS, PUBLICITY, MARKETING AND MERCHANDISING. I FURTHER ACKNOWLEDGE AND ACCEPT THAT ALL DECISIONS OF PRODUCER CONCERNING SELECTION OF
PARTICIPANTS ARE IN PRODUCER’S SOLE DISCRETION, AND ARE FINAL AND NOT SUBJECT TO CHALLENGE AND/OR APPEAL.
__________________________________ _____________
SIGNATURE DATE

Turkey lurking

Not here - Bub. Where's the hot turkey left-overs? Where they've been left; elsewhere. No joy or caloric intake in Mudville. Have a nice apple.
Ah, Sundays! A palpable charm to them since I can recall. The reward of having gotten up way before the crack of dawn to deliver huge papers and then off to Sunday school by 7. Yup, I'm 12 again - like I was ever beyond that. What takes me here? Comfort. Comfort food for the mind. Like getting up at 4:30 AM is comforting? No - but this is about that feeling the day has -- relax, already... yeesh. Like you've gotten up that early for anything in decades. Well? Uh, no.
Painting away - a Klee kind of thing going on. Maybe. More to the side of Spain and France than Switzerland. Yeah - that's exactly it.
December is next week. Need I delve into what is going on within my camp? Dire finances. That's old news. My constant. My North Star.
Poverty. Don't recall taking a vow, but it sure seems like a choice made. It does have its own sort of realxing quality to it - nothing to get terribly upset over. Ah, the root of all evils don't know this address.
If only I could tap dance. But no one sent me to dance school. Oh well.

My birthday, celebrated in Forest Lawn. Okay.....

eleven eleven

Snake Eyes! ! 11 11 ! Doubles !!
Snake hips. Shake your money maker, kiddo. Shake it this way, over here, where the pockets are bare.
Rent is still due.
Feels like it's going to rain. but then a clearing in the skies, as the sun sets all too quickly in the west. I feel a Tom Rush song a comin' on, if not the Mamas and the Papas. But none of the leaves here are really brown, although I did spy a real autumnal bit of foliage somewhere around here the other day - take me away.
Ah, what for a brisk walk in some New England woods. My good friend Marshall suggested that I come to Boston while he's there also, sometime in the beginning of December. Why not? Our mutual compatriot, Gene Bellabona, is going through chemo and it would be nice to touch base with him - plus, family is all over the place back around there. Will I ever let go of Boston as my home? Does anyone ever let go of roots?
Mom used to ride me for spending my hard earned cash on trips back there, like I was retarded for not going somewhere else for basically the same output of funds. Hmmm, but hotels cost a lot, Mommie Dearest.
That is over and done with, but sister Charlotte has since been my host - and a great one at that! - for several visits now. Undoubtedly my favorite dining partner. DO let me tell you about my first taste of foie gras last year in Providence. And we got it for FREE!
We walked on a tab that we couldn't get after many minutes of asking, waiting, asking, waiting... Go! And we did. It made it all that much more, uh, memorable. And we sprinted out, expecting goombahs to chase....
To say nothing of Providence, which was a lovely surprise, with a fire and water display (see the pic above^^^) that was amazing and well worth the time and trouble.
Made a pork shoulder and white bean pot o grub this afternoon - the place is aromatic from it, so much so that Ted upstairs called and knew where and what was going on. Cornbread, anyone? It's rather tasty stuff, if I must say so myself.
Dark at 4:30. Could I live in some more northern clime? I dunno. I totally get the suicide rate going up in Vermont and Sweden in the winter. What on Earth do dentists in these places face? The double whammy.
Oh well.
Had to write to a friend's sister - not knowing if the address was even her (it was) - to find out what's up with dear friend Lee, who has stoped communicating with the outside world. Cold winter does its magic again on him, so, I invited him to come here and share the bounty (har) of my LA life. If nothing else, it would be a change of pace from Salem, Oregon, and it might even be slightly warmer and less wet, even though I have witnessesed Pacific storms hitting here with a ferocity unlike anything seen by these eyes anywhere.
He should be getting this letter mailed on Monday, if all goes accordingly. I wait to see if I get any reaction. His sister, Ginger, concurred that it may do the guy good to come here.
Have I mentioned my encounter with The Simple Life? I got, at long last, a return call, as the show was scheduled to be taped, filmed, whatever, on last Monday, Nove. 6 - my birthday one day late... whoopie. Now all is off until March, so I was told. I neede that infusion of earnings NOW!
Oh, what to do? Wait. Uh huh.
To quote Mia, daughter of Katie Schwerin: "I am made of waiting." Love that line from her poetry.
And I shall wait. Someone said all good things come to those that indeed do wait. I am up for something on a scale I can barely believe, should this hold a grain of truth to it. Scintilla? Sounds like fur.
And now I do have Tom Rush playing. I am a teen again.

Lackadaisical - did I spell that correctly?
Day of the Dead. November One. Halloween over and done; bring on the rest of the holiday nonsense and I will deck the halls. My halls are as decked as they're going to get.
A slightly dead Mercedes, the unknown of what is happening with my TV thang. What? It's been how long since I've been in here? Let me drone.
Got a leg in the door for the next season of The Simple Life. You heard that right. Something as to fat farms and such. The big question presented at the onset of this was "Will you be willing to have a colonic?"
Uh, is there an incentive? No? Well, if I am there and all is going as planned, why not? I can think of loads of reason 'why not,' but really, it'll make for good TV. Yup. I await this. Filming supposedly starts Nov. 6 - the day after my birthday.... am I too old? Whatever.
The paperwork generated by this whole situation is something else. These people doing the casting, production and all, now have more info on me than any other entities to date. All for naught? Hmmmm.
Death. The day is dedicated to such. Boney cold fingers point at life and guffaw. I don't get it, but - stop it, yer killin' me! I still don't get it. When you least expect it is when.
Now?
No. Proceed.
The days are shortened since Sunday. Yes, everyone is painfully aware, but thanks for the reminder. We'll all look at this sometime down the road and think.... think something. Dull hums fill this void. Hmmm.
I am out of it and out of here.
I wonder how the auto is doing? Money with wings flapping away....

eyes only

Whew! What a month.
Let's see... posted something that somehow never made it to the page here. Oh well, life will go on, but I'm sure it was something memorable, although I haven't a clue when or what or anything as to.
Wedding in Sierra Madre last Saturday for neighbors Gwen and Branden - lovely and bucolic in the foothills. Immediately after, I was absconded with to San Francisco for the Folsom Street Fair. I never need to do this again. Please remind me should this rear its ugly naked head again. A judgment call is coming, I can feel it. Let me cut to the chase by stating that there was some weird sights and no weight issues, as throngs of thongless ones wandered naked, stood on street corners masturbating, what have you. Because you can? Okay. I don't need this. Did I ever? Maybe. Old old old. Me, it, all of the above. Nasty.
Saw not one person that I knew - that's very telling of something. Survival status, maybe? Jeeze - I expected at least one encounter with someone still alive from there, or, perhaps visiting the sideshow. But, no.
Broke, busted, disgusted -- hey, that's a line from the Mamas and the Papas.
Agents can't be trusted... Creque Alley. SIng it, fat lady. Is this show over?
One plus was getting away from the thick air of LA for a day. Upon reentering the greater LA basin area, my eyes reacted to the smoke right away. The side of the 5, off near Magic Mountain and all that, had burnt bad and had more erratic spots in mysterious breakouts over the smoking crests. A beautiful creepiness.
Roll the footage:

"It is done." To quote the New Testament....
Chapter 7 in a very much longer book. Court yesterday was surreal, by my own idiotic doings. Having this date given when I had no proof of Social Security for the court, I went through the wait in line of the SS offices and procured needed document. That does not insure it being brought in my parcel of documentation, and, indeed, it was not.
Dashing back home - somehow the saints guided me into driving downtown, thus enabling the jaunt back home again, home again, jiggety jig - running on empty, getting stuck in a Moebius strip parking structure (automated? Duh - the learning curve increases by leaps and bounds) - we arrive back just as the replacement attorney du jour sticks his head out calling my name. Voila! If you saw these antics in a film, you would say "No, no way." But.... yes, it is done? What a ride, all innuendo apropos.
Monday, the 28th, Ellen (Dorsey), Simon (husband Pargeter) and the son, Kobe - a ten-year-old - came for a late afternoon/evening visit. We did downtown, Grand Avenue: California Plaza and the Disney Hall area - rife with film crew and a soon-to-be-detonated bus and many cars alongside and under every twist and turn - I hope this was some fun for them. Took them for MEAT to the Pantry. What could be more meat-centric or shaded of Los Angeles than this venerable haunt? Meat was served and eaten, along with many loaves of bread, some fried. Not much of the bread was scarfed down, but so it goes. Eats!
Funny how a kid's mind operates. Posing for pics? Not gonna happen easily. Do I recall being this same kid? Maybe. Riding around was the big entertainment though, sidling up to the cops on film duty, asking of them "Have they blown up the bus yet?" No. It was after 9:30 at that point, so we all go home, or to our hotels - they stayed up right on the Strip, which had a pool, something any kid would appreciate big time, not so say anything of how much we fogies like the water too.
Ah, I am a young fogie.
Almost done with yet another painting from calligraphic noodles. It is somber jazz, not hyper colorful - just hints of crazy poke here and there. Would someone please buy one? Cheap at $2000. Do the math on time alone.... and they are ceaseless entertainment, or so I think.
Tomorrow, the Beach in Torrance! Yay, first time this year! And Labor Day weekend is upon us.

Well, it's almost time for that ol' rascal of a weekend: Sunset Junction! Lots of friends coming from all over and up and down the West Coast. Ellen and Simon and son, Kobe, arrive for Sunday night's closing - or so I think. They're motoring down the coast - the most gorgeous bit of road in this country, or so I think - and will be spent by arrival, I am sure.
Marshall arrives tomorrow by plane. Oddly enough, it is through Marshall that I know Ellen, as she was his neighbor downstairs on Comm Ave in Boston oh so long ago... over 30 years now! Simon told me today via email that Marshall gave Kobe his first dollar bill (that's HUGE) when he was just a tyke of two. How cute. They're on their way to Legoland down a bit further south, I guess. Ugh, theme parks -- don't get me started. Oh, please, DO.
Marshall's arrival will mean installation of XP and Office, as he is all things Microsoft. This is a Linex system - Linspire. I am sort of okay with this, but have had trouble with easy access to certain files kept on CD. I dread anything that is open to destructo minds, and MS products are victims big time, simply because.
But all looks kind of cool and groovy - a reunion of sorts here . Also in the mix will be Laura Whipple, of whom we have things in here posted. She hain't seen Marshall since Tea Party days back in Boston in the'70s. Oy. What was it - two street fairs ago? - that I asked Marshall as to Intermedia, who I was working for when we met, me thinking he worked for them too. They built the Ark, which eventually became the Tea Party, and they also did the logistics for Woodstock - Do I have tales to tell? Anyhow, knowing what I did about the vast number of tickets sold for the "Aquarian Age Festival," and the 13 chemical toilets with no place to put them yet, I just couldn't see myself being in that quagmire, so goes that story... Anyhow, I asked Marshall what he did that weekend. He was at the Tea Party, doing the sound (it's what the man did then), with the Velvet Underground - the old Tea Party was their favorite venue, hands down. Mine too. I hitch hiked to NYC that weekend with a long-gone friend, Jacques Mann, and we spent the night on St. Marks Place - T Rex, or as they were called then Tyrannosaurus Rex was playing at a club right there, as we spent a dreary soaking wet night on the steps of the Fillmore, Jacques dutifully putting off guys wanting him to come with them. Ah, memories. Sunday morning, we rang my art teacher from years back, Yvonne Bauduin, whose address was on East 3rd in the Bowery, very close to Thompkins Sq. She let us in at whatever ungodly hour it was (daylight though) and made us breakfast - I am sure we looked bedraggled. Then a hitch home, with some dude on the NY State Throughway in a stretch limo giving us THE RIDE right to the front door of my Brookline St. apartment in Cambridge -- he had been at Woodstock, delivering talent. Do I regret not having attended? I have a story of my own that doesn't involve tripped-out muddy hippies. I was selling The Old Mole (was I fucking nuts?), a very radical paper I was artist on staff. yeah, New Yorkers So want to read about SDS mayhem in Cambridge. And I was stuck carrying them as they were collateral or sorts. Speaking of muddy hippies.... My last day of employ with Intermedia was a day or so after that event. Some truck loaded with equipment - lighting and sound - broke down on the highway and I went to retrieve it with somebody from the truck rental firm -- we never located it. Bad directions? Ah, hippies! And a gracious "Hello, How are ya?" to Stuart Vidockler and Gerd Stern, the two dudes I worked for at this lustrous affair called Intermedia. Hey, they're legends. Really. Trips Festival ring a bell? Electric KoolAde anyone? Check it out.
So, Street Fair! Sunday night, The Cramps! Wooo Hoooo! Crowds and nuttiness. Hippies on acid. If only.
www.sunsetjunction.org have a look see.

tragedy

This is grim - friend and super accountant Chuck Hedlund was murdered viciously last week, Aug. 2. Out on old Rte. 66 by the side of the 15 north of San Bernardino.

http://www.katu.com/stories/88221.html

many moon later

It's August. The Fifth.
I am still awaiting finalization of Chapter 7, which goes no further without production and presentation of my Social Security card. I so want this done and over with, but, well....
New computer here, along a line of dead but dead ones, although my Dell, Dude, is fine but not involved in current cyber realities here at the home offices. Had a swingin' teen dream machine with a punked-out fan (necessary for the heat created by such advanced speeds) with blue lights and a viral load to beat the band, which it did - beat it to death in a flurry of messages from Norton telling of this invasion. Nifty.
But dear Frank Martin has gotten this new machine and just last night introduced more RAM into its guts. Now what? Well, to say nothing much, let me say it here. Yes, this is important stuff. As if.
All my files and pix and who-knows-what-else is frozen for some kind of an eternity on the Dell, Dude, that sits in a coma across my tech-filled room. Boxes upon boxes - some emptied out and now part of this system; others with components awaiting, uh, functionality, like this combo printer/fax/washer-dryer/toaster oven languishing in its pretty box. "C'mere, you."
A new-ish microwave oven is also part of this jumble. Heaps of modernity. Faster. Bigger. Antithesis of my personal reality. The oven comes from Tom Bowden - he who lives down off of Effie, a mere block away. Wasn't the current nuker in use from him too? Why, yes! But this one, again, is bigger and all that. This makes three, count 'em, three, nukes here. I could make popcorn for the masses. I should find someone in need instead. Legwork.
All is being found again online, such as this. Having to go through my mails to find passwords and such to access - fun. The whole of some setups has diminished or disappeared completely off the radar. We'll have more fun than a .....
Oh, maybe this is good? This is a Linex or however it's spelt - way different than any Micro product, but also a learning curve ball thrown to me. Application, application, application. And I will learn.
Dispense the knowledge and press on.

Later that same lifetime

Let's see - it's what? - July 21? Only within the last couple of days has this DSL thang been qualified or what have you. Oh Joy. But it got resolved by realizing while the AT&T repair guy was getting ready to leave that I should plug everything in to see if this modem was operating as all was supposed to be. Nah, the thing still blinked, and that was a sign of badness, not goodness per what the investigation and removal of filters from the line in was supposed to have made whole for everything to go forth in great harmony blah blah blah - it was perhaps the modem sent weeks ago that was the agent of this inability to go futuristic.
And there's some 'worm' or some crap that wasn't within the old Dell; messages popping up all too often telling of some Microsoft dilemma involving me, mine, and all this - old faithful Dell, Dude - now sitting useless across the floor, full of images culled over its short but sweet life here. You served me well - slow, but adequate, I guess. Others thought differently. Ergo, voila.
Wow. All those youtube mini movies and such are now to come to me as they were intended - speed - I feel the need for speed.
Did I mention anything about a slow train ride to the greater Sacramento area three weeks ago? There was certainly no need for speed there. Is six hours late slow enough? Both ways? Imagine the pain of those whom had been on it, say, since Seattle? Whoopie ding.

Everyting is horrible

No, I ain't stuttering, but I have been awaiting the new internet hookup to happen for days on end now, having lost hours on the phone listening to Wes Montgomery or something very elevator-friendly similar to his guitar noodlings as I await support. I'd prefer a good training bra. But still, even with arrival of the ether net modem on Tuesday, we have been promised the hookup every day since. It is Friday, and only with today's phone chat with THEM is it told that maybe it's the oer-6 foot phone cord that is the devil at play here. Could this have been deduced earlier, and if this is a known interference, why wasn't this dynamic told earlier on to avoid such as what ain't happening here?
What's really awful is that I cannot verbalize much in this whole dilemma due to the source of my new computer guts and whatnot, courtesy of Frank Martin. Lookign this particular gift horse in the mouth entails a lot of stuff I am not eager to get into, even to go so far as to try elucidate on the prevailing conditions at play. Play? Yes, the play's the thing.
So yet another promised day goes undone in the highspeed new world disorder. I am so hungry for it - NOT. This was all accidental by having agreed to assist with the rooftop installation of an antennae for J Mathis' house so as to get him a PBS station that he receives by broadcast. That never came to be as I slowly watched Sunday dissolve into nothing but nothing happening with Frank here - but he did witness the uselessness of my computer - Dude, it's a Dell!
Everything is horrible. That was espied on the dented side of a car just on the corner of Sunset not far from here, as we returned from a haj to return a rental car to LAX that managed to usupr the better part of the day Sunday. Do I seem cranky? Hell, that was Sunday - today is Friday - get thee a grip. I certainly would, Ollie, but this whole internet thing has me by the short hairs.
Tonight I get to go on a "date" with Branden Jay ( www.the88.net ) to see the Zappa kids do homage to Father Frank - a true rock god to me. This is a thrill in many ways for me - and I am really tickled that Brandon asked me to go with him. How sweet is that? Talk about good neighbors! I cannot say enough good as to he and Gwen, who get hitched in exactly three months today - 9/23 - a day easily remembered by me for a couple of reasons already imprinted: Virginia McDowall's birthday is one, and the other being the anniversary of my meeting death on Sunset Boulevard at Wilton on my motorcycle. Revive me and proceed.
Good things. It is summer now also.
Simmer, baby. And I get to take a major leave by train. Choo choo on that.

Chances Are

After seeing pictures and hearing of my friend and former chief engineer's (the lovely and talented Francis Logan Martin -- see him here saving bear cubs from a trashy death high in the hills above Los Angeles : http://ednixon.com/pix/2005/bears ) association with the famed J. Mathis, I get a phone call Thursday evening as I am watching nothing on TV, and I am asked if I can assist with the installation of John's new plasma screen. But of course.
They arrive here at Chez Moi and we shortly leave for the hills above Sunset Strip. As stated, I've seen pix of the place before; years ago. They did no justice - the pad is way more than was shown in these photos.
First, upon opening the front doors, there is the pool, dominating the entire area as you walk into the house. An arched atrium covers this area, with the remainder of the house being pretty much open and exposed, through rabbit warrens and doors. It is lovely.
I asked to hold a Grammy - faux pas, Chuck - he has none- even with a name on Hollywood Boulevard, numerous other plaques and awards, a Lifetime Achievement Award - you name it. He then says to me that he has something over here that he is really proud of -- his Hole-In-One commemoration. And he has a pretty good game, from what little I know.
With the introduction of yet another control wand to figure out, we sit and go through the dance of what does what to what, and there I am watching an old Twilight Zone which then becomes a DVD of some porn from another source. Twilight Zone, indeed.
And I got $50 for being there and assisting. And a burrito later on on the Strip, just across from my old haunt and employ, the Tiffany Theater.
77 Sunset Strip. Kookie, lend me your comb.
Ah, life is good, if not a tad surreal now and then. But that's a good thing.
http://ednixon.com/pix/2006/jmride/
Frank and John with J's new MB.
I so wanted to chime in with some of my James and Carly crap, but that is so last millennium - but a good tale, nonetheless. Shall I go on?
Later. Much later.

sixes and fixes

Cube that. Dice that. Baby needs new shoes... or gnu shoes, if that's the right thing to do. Horse shoes and handgranades - close! Yet so far away.
Ka-fuckin'-BLAM. Hobble to the cobbler. Tinker away, lad.
What's in a name? What's in a number? What in the name of....
Rapture and rupture - be ready to split, in either case. And like so many sausages that have come before, the casings are splitting. Turn the heat down a tad. Simmer down.
6/6/6 magick. Tonight there is a convergence of that bunch that would if they could with all this numerical hoo-hah brings to the table. Hollywood is the perfect place for such, and Hollywood it shall be, although ol' Anton LaVey made San Francisco his home base for so long. SO long, baby. Bye.
Would I attend such? What was that line Groucho Marx had as to belonging to any club that would actually have him? Exactly.
We spin to the past in a San Francisco moment - a Solstice Celebration held at Kirby Cove on the immediate Marin side of the Golden Gate - witches!
Bunkers from wars past made for the unfolding saga of Persephone and her days in Hades - naked, arising from the sea.
Dance, dance, dance - in concentric circles, kissing and weaving. Symbols and methodologies and then some. Let us name names: Rosie (of the River) Danielle and Pat Judge officiated the masses at this Mass of sorts.
And here it is so many years later. Magick and magic. Tricks not for kids.
Oh, to have great friends. There may be a trip by train (Whoo-Hoo!) up to visit Northern California soon - this was offered by Steven Carlton the other day. I guess it is cheaper to ship my bulk up there than to have to dish out the large cash to visit here. Makes sense, and I get to vacate the premises!
Let's see how this manifests in the next week or so as we finalize our Chapter whate'er it may be.
Lord, I want this over and done with, and done with care.
Here's to gettting yer ya yas out.
Paint it black - paint it black, you devil. Rock on!

Hot Hot Hot!

Way over 90 degrees here today. First thing this AM, I opened the front door to a wall of heat. "Do come in."
No - let's be cool now. Maintain, old dude.
Went with Branden to Robeks for a smothie (a preferred spelling in this 'hood) - perfect, even if it meant a drive through the smoldering asphalts of Los Angeles. Gawd, the streets are a mess with potholes, which nearly killed Branden last month while on his bicycle. Not fun.
Good gravy! Yes, I am making my own sauce as I sit here - but that exclamation is for the harp music I have playing - Oceania - almost too much, like as in new ageyness too much. Brainless ambience. Lovely, perfect as I stick to the surface of everything I come into contact with sweat upon. Is this a swoon?
That's all I can conjer up. Gonna go watch a DVD of WonderShozen.
I'm melting, but in a postive, growth-oriented kind of way.

Holiday in

To be in Falmouth awaiting the ferry - with ten zillion others on their way to some island for the summer. No. I am content (is this a pun?) with sitting here, miles and eons away from that concept of how to spend my beginning of summer vacation. But there is some thrill about boarding some large craft named The Island Queen. Wave to the folks!
Attended a show the other night at McCabe's in Santa Monica - first time there. The show? Neil Innes. Last time I breathed the same air with him was back in 1968 when the Bonzos opened for the Grateful Dead at the Ark in Boston. I got to sit immediate to Robert Wuhl - we even chatted a bit - and met Emo Phillips as we stood in line. And we were in the wrong line, as the line we stood in was for the toilets. That's entertainment.
Good show. See www.neilinnes.org for details on this tour. A bassist and drummer were performing with Neil, a perfect accompaniment to his strumming and piano licks. All in all, it was worth the price to see one of my favorite musicians perform in such the intimate space. Gwen, my neighbor (www.gwendolyn.net) has performed there, Seats 155. I watched as Robert Wuhl did the math with seat counting - and I told him that directly above us was the capacity rating - 155. He enjoyed that. My god, we bonded! As if.
The tour, if that is what it what it is, is entitled Ego Warriors. Much audience participation; a bit of history lesson also - all good stuff. Neil said that the show was traveling to Yosemite the next day - to play where? That's remote.
But what do I know? It is a languid day here - playing music from all sorts of places - right now I have on Barklee Henry's music given to me last year when his ex, the lovely Andrea Toral, visited from Chile and bestowed me with it. I guess this world-music edge is very Big Sur, which is Barklee's home and also where Andrea and I met back in 1975 - Tillie Gorts in Pacific Grove, to be more specific -- what the hell was she doing working there? She's a Whitney-Vanderbilt, fer Pete's sake. So's Barklee. This is complicated.
Anyhow, the music is lovely and perfect for such the afternoon.
Segue? Let's keep it ethereal.
Kalimba! I love kalimbas. Looked for one at McCabe's the other night, but it was too busy to really give a good once-over to the joint, although we did espy a washboard tie, shown to me by the gal with Emo. The perfect gift for someone, I would guess.
The sound quality at this place was superb - quite possibly the best I have encountered at any musical event - for real! Balanced and clear as a bell.
One odd bit was the bassist - looked very much like a young Mathew Filipowski; blond with scraggled beard. We're talking doppelganger here.
Just got my hummingbirds fed - and found that one of my orchids is in bloom! First time in about three years for this little chocolate fleur. Make my day!

Chiaroscuro

Phosphenes and patches of turquoise-infused light fill the chambers. Whew, and then some. I work in dim light. I cook in a dark kitchen. It makes others crazed to witness me at play. But it works for me. Most of the time.
This dark canvass that I need to finish is making me inept to some degree. A promised piece. "But I don't do this kind of stuff." Kid, ya opened yer trap and made a deal, so get on with it. And if I stay here long enough, chasing words around the screen, all will be okay and I'll feel like something was accomplished. More light at the end of this tunnel - next stop, Myopia!
A botanical print of fennel being done for a lawyer. Not the prettiest subject, but it is what it is - a tribute to a doggie of same name.
Does anyone know that the Italian for fennel is finnochio, a rather nasty derogatory term - like the nightclub in San Francisco ( http://www.queermusicheritage.com/oct2002f.html) with that very moniker? Seems that Prometheus also hid his purloined fire inside of a fennel plant. Odd.
Oh, Myth!
And back to the drawing board - or easel, as is this case.

The Human Barometer

Complaint Department now open. Mercy - can I deduce the weather? I thought I had pulled some soft, flabby muscles while doing an art intallation in a hallway here at home. Nope, it's a weather front.
Let me give a little clue to the whatevers of this magical ability:
Way back in the early '70s, I managed to break, fracture and dislocate my neck (C5-C6) while showing off doing gymnastics on a beach. This is the story of my life in many ways, as the 'rewards' of making it through this nightmare were of a nature that if seen in a movie, you'd have to say it was contrived and unbelievable. Oh well. Anyhow, I did survive this ordeal, but was told by my docs (magicians!) when I complained as to the cracking and weird boney stuff going on that "Wait 'til you're older!" with a nod and a laugh of sorts. Little did I know what they inferred - but as this is all about, if I was a bit more fine tuned to the sensation of atmospheres coming and going, I could nail a weather report like no meteorologist with Doppler and satellites giving the 411.
Stiffness followed by chance of more complaints.
Some day when I feel like going at it, I'll dive into this spinal tale and give a detailed report on the whole of it.
In a nutshell, I was injured in July and told to sit tight (I was in something called a reverse Trandelenberg position with a Crutchfield tong planted in my head to get the verts to realign before they could figure out what to do with me) -- yeah, sit tight, like get comfy for the holidays. Huh? Like Christmas? Yes, indeedy.
I managed to leave in 28 days after arriving - ten days after having the operation performed.
True story with more coming.

transubstantiation and grease paint

Clarabell the Clown is Dead. Icon - I can't. Let it go.
Had a brief dream with a former co-whatever-you'd-call-it from Red Devil Tattoo - although this was the Piercing Salon, which was connected but... you either know or don't care. But, I have this dream sequence/segment that is brief to the point of flavor only of this character.
Next day, I am shopping at the very nearby Army Navy store here in Silver Lake (it can be seen in the movie "Falling Down") and I bump into someone from years past, Darryl - he who performs as "Divinity Fudge" when in the right outfit. After some glib conversation, I ask as to the proprietess of said piercing studio and get the 411 that she is no longer... a "she." He is who he is now, name escapes and all that. I never felt anything that would've led me to think this was in the cards. Life is always ready to getcha in one way or another, ain't it?
So much for Dream Interpretation 1. Class dismissed.
And don't poke the dead clown on the way out.
It is summer once more in L.A.

It works!

Some time ago I witnesses some crafts/homey show on TV, and there was something said as to getting grease that had built up over time on such things as stuffed animals (clothy-anything textured is key here) by placing the object in salt crystals for some length of time - and Voila! - the schmutz would be manageable and ready to go. Well, there's this lovely little dragon kite that was a prime candidate for something to get it back or close to what it once was == this thing was covered in grime and dust and grease - not so pretty.
Well, today Branden mentioned something as to it, this bagful of stuff longing to be visible once more - the thing has been submerged in salt for not just months but maybe more than a year. A project ensued.
A hole was poked in the bottom of the grocery bag it was in and the salt poured out. We were left with a still-grimey looking pile of string and silk and feathers, challenge for the zen in anyone to undertake such -- and we did the whole of it rather well while sitting in the sun on the deck. Not too damaged, considering the possibilities, and when completed as best as we did, it looks damn good, which is very nice 'cuz she weren't cheap.
I am tingly with anticipation to get it hung properly again - that alone is a challenge.
Baby steps sometime do reward. Salt! Whoda thunk? Brilliant!

Art for art's sake

I am an artist. It's all I ever wanted to be, except for some prepubescent nonsense about wanting to be a monk, but even that is a hold-over from some past life ("You believe in that crap?"), bent over some desk, illustrating books, Bibles, lyrics... but, again - I am an artist; fine art, kiddo - and I love love love paper - work on paper. Collect same. Photos and then some.
May 5 has "Art School Confidential" opening here in L.A. - the reviews I read in www.imdb.com are somewhat okay, but I will see for myself.
And my point is? Well, I never got the luxury of formal art education, but somehow managed to get myself into some amazing situations nonetheless, such as walking into a major school or two and assuming a position teaching. Art History, anyone? I put together a rather good program miles away from the very usual and typical Jansen Art book used by schools throughout the land. Boring. Sort of okay for real grunt level basics, I suppose, but there is such a history of humanity told by doing this correctly, as I see artists as conduits for things due to civilization shortly after these interpretations through an artist's eye. It helps explain a lot of stuff that appears inane and distant from a sense of everyday life.
My one true hero in this life was Salvador Dali. Much like so many things that arrive on your plate just in time for your palette to manage, his whole take on life confused me and made me think way beyond what and where I was at the in a 7th grade level when I got a first taste that meant anything. An art teacher, Yvonne Bauduin, who was a singularity in my education, gave me this intro with his autobiography. What do I recall from that distant read? His going on as to his bowel movement every day. Hot poop.
Years later, someone I know would travel to his home in Spain to make a film of him, but Dali was too ill and that didn't happen. I have postcards on my wall of such sent to me by various and sundry persons from all over the globe (yes, a huge collection mounted on one wall) and Sam Christiansen's card from Spain. Sam is of the TV show MASH (casting director) and equally or more infamous as Sam Gage of gay porn fame - think Gage Bros. Sam was in Port Llegat to make this unmade film back in 1981 some time. I was running the infamous Nob Hill Cinema at the time.
Art. What IS art? What ain't art? Hi, I'm Art!
Lovely - I couldn't have done it this far without you, dear.

All is illusion

It is gray out. My window here has been denuded a bit, but that means that this window - a non-opening, large pane in the middle of two more openable nar-French windows (I'm sure there is a correct term for this), has been puttied up and sealed. There has been this gap on the topmost portion of the window for eons - a major highway for insect seeking a better world inside here with me. Will I miss my bugaboos? As much as they'll miss me.
Dear friend Albert, he who lives in Monterey, answered questions as to people from our shared past there oh so long ago for me. The first person asked for was Roger Wasson, whom I find has done himself in with a gun, all while talking with another friend, on the phone - at Roger's parent's home. Thank you Viet Nam for another late death brought on by your majesty. Roger was such the nice person - and nice persons finish last, I guess -- or first, as this appears to be. Sometimes it's better to be in the dark and not ask questions. Nah - this way, the correct thought can be directed, if that is even a tangible here. Yes, very tangible, as Roger is now very much in my thoughts.
There were more tales from the bay. Has it been 30 years since I lived there? Yup. I must be really old. That place is a small world.
"Uh, have you been asleep or something? Yes, you are very old." My worst suspicions confirmed. What were my parents up to when they were this same age? They felt old then too, I am sure. In fact, I think this year I outlive my father, if I succeed. That's a loaded statement in this place of momentary remembrances.
Change is the only constant.
Wow - did I think that up by myself? Deep, Chuck, deep.
All is illusion, anyhow. Count how many fingers I have raised.
What is this thing on my lower lip? A remnant of some hideous looking bit of 'who know what' that sat on my kisser for the duration of my last visit to Boston last October. What a thrill. Time wounds all heels....

May Day! May Day!

Well, flip my calendars - it's May.
As a kid this meant that by the end of the month, I would be the first person in Walden Pond for the season, that being Memorial Day opening day, and usually a pretty good sunburn from being wet and half naked while the sun shined.
Ah, Walden! Occasionaly called Polio Pond due to whatever it was that closed it for many a season. It's where I learned to swim, by golly. Without question, the happiest, most carefree moments of my life were in these waters.
I laugh thinking of those rock performers who have some wild idea of saving Walden and all that -- are they aware that the Concord Town Dump is directly across the street and probably giving a good leakage into these waters? Don't get me started. It'll survive just fine without some Hollwoodian take on being saviour to something they know nothing about. It ain't the same place I knew up to adulthood, but it is what it is.
May Day!

Jose, can you see?

Si.
And being the last day of April, tomorrow we as Americans - me as a white but white American of alien heritage on both parental sides (dude, I'm Canadian, eh.) - we will get a taste of old Mexico. Or a newish Mexico that is Californian and more points just el norte. Or another Monday of no particular matters.
Let's see.
May Day!

A career in advertising

I would've been a natch. The flavor would be Cherry Jailbait.
We ALL scream....

Funny/Not Funny

Oh, it is a laugh, at times. Hardy har har.
And it has finally started to rain. I am a human barometer, but most of the time I give it up for plain old old age and sagging everything that is the me.
Oh the woe.
Ah, shut up.
Take a pill. Why, that's the brightest thought I've had in days! Self medicate and press on. Physician, heal thyself. Don't mind if I do.
Church bells clang in the 'hood - they signal 6:15, for what reason, I know not, but you can almost set a clock to it.
Take me back to the Angelus at Noon, Saint Agnes - a black-top area, devoid of anything resembling a play area for kids, and swings and slides and see-saws. And penguinatious nuns, ready for the whatever brought forth by the busy minds of youth.
There was this whole culture going on with hyperventilation - breathing deep for some time and then putting one's thumb in their kisser and blowing while holding it back, all with a compatriot grasping you from behind as the world spun and you went out, dropping like dead weight.
This didn't last long, as neither did my education at the hands of the St. Joseph nuns. Three years, the third (the horror stories of this Sister Raymond Claire that I had for the brief few weeks before moving to a public school system - aye chihuahua!) cut off just in time.
Never an altar boy, somehow I can still rattle of the Lord's Prayer in that antiquated Latin that we had drummed into us all.
Pater noster, qui es en caelis, sanctifi.... and so on and so forth. And, yeah, that is definitely where the name of this place comes from - Rex Caelis being the nom de employed for the blogosphere.
Indoctrinated and indoctrinated to a fault. I believe. Something.
I believe we are getting some rain, but nothing to write home about yet.
Caught two of my favored shows on public access this afternoon - one of them is this classic one called "Unarius." A bunch of real space cadets from the San Diego area ("No - we are from beyond."), followed later on by some white-clothed being giving the old 1,2,3 with Raja Yoga of sorts.
Why do I even mention such? Beats me. Hardly into any of it other than for entertainment, I ate a bagel while Love was again discussed.
Love it. Need it. Turn it on - turn it off.
Having once been paid to watch TV, we cannot get enough of this particular medium anymore. My makeup is applied by the glow of a cathode ray tube. Please, someone, I need a flat screen.... and a little pancake over here.

Attack mode!

Merced! I need to bitch-slap a neighbor and be done with this - this being the unacceptable behaviour yesterday as the water was shut off as I was cleaning the shower and tub and I went to check - dripping wet - what the heck was happening.
At my front door was said neighbor along with another building tenant. I got slashed as I asked what was up, not even knowing the whos or whats of what was going on with the H2O shut off.
"All you do is complain!" was one volley of heated nonsense thrown at me as I tried to assuage this most vitriolic one. This is No. Umpteen of assaults upon me for - uh - something perceived as my hideous self at work in the world, a world too close to the bones of this thin-skinned lout.
I so wanted to hit him and hit him direct and hard, but got my jollies by screaming a hearty "Fuck You!' and then slamming my door. How very adult of us all. Obviously, I am still upset.
Covered in Comet and lovely lavender soap is not favorite state to be when the water is shut off. Rinse, repeat! Get assaulted, repeat.
No; we want no repeats of this very tiring performance. What's one to do?
Not to seek revenge - lord, that is just too easy. I want this dude to be able to witness this really ugly ugly ugly thing he somehow feels entitled to throw about whenever he deems it fit. No, sorry. It makes everyone edgy and really makes you ("you" being "him") out to look like a fool; an ugly, hateful fool. Two assholes never solved anything.
Make me a bigger person. Please.
Other news today? Uh, it rained a little bit....
Watched "Crash" the other eve with Branden - both of us found it to be "cloying," if not badly written and acted in many places. Some scenes were good. It had to have something going on to garner an Oscar, but, golly, is this the best? Not even close.
Crash and burn - today's mystery message to all that need to do just that.
But I mean it in a positive, growth-oriented kind of way.
Funny weird - right after the door slam (oh, the drama!), I sat here at my desk and got this sharp pain right through my lower chakra big time. It was stunning to be affected by something so quickly, or is this just good timing?
That's theater for ya! And ain't that what this all is? And by that, I stress that this ain't no dress rehearsal, kids - get your fucking acts together.
Likewise, I am sure.
Break a leg!

Cards on the table

It's almost real! After months of languishing in some kind of limbo, there is a website that is coming into being, MY website. Slowly but surely. This will be listed therein, that will be listed herein, so let's do that round robin or whatever and post the title so it can be found and abused. http://www.charlessinclair.net/ Some elder Brit, I believe, holds this same moniker, but with a DOT COM after the facts, Ma'am. Wanna buy me out, Mr. Sinclair?
The excitement is palpable.
News of the day: Uh... got tix for a Mothers show at redcat on Saturday night. http://www.redcat.org/ will give the gory details. Mr. Zappa is conspicuous with his absence this week, as the Zappa kids are advertising for a show in June. Whatever became of his Brucemas, that celebratory event for Lenny Bruce's memory held out at the beach oh so long ago? I read of this with envy when I would get word/wind of such from the long-gone LA Free Press, from the mid-late '60s. A huge part of my ever having purchased this (thank you, Out of Town in Harvard Sq. - now a mere shadow of its former glory) was due to the advertising within those pages of - ahem - adult movies showing in Los Angeles, something lacking at that time in Beantown, but something that would eventuate. What kind of freak would I be today had I been even more exposed to suchness?
But life is funny. One of the reasons (alright-- THE reason) was for the ads coming from the Paris Theater, owned and operated by the very same person that I would some day manage one of their venues - the ever-glorious Nob Hill Cinema in San Francisco. Go figure. Is this karmic?
We'll leave that one to the fates. Could I write in depth as to this reality? "Which one would that be, Chuckerino?"
Fraught is the key word.
Back to the LA Free Press - one can see a character in the Peter Sellers' movie "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas" hawking it on the streets here in Los Angeles. Columns such as "The Glass Teat" by Harlan Ellison, resound inside my head, from years before a true appreciation of what that actually was.
Man - thinking of 'lost' volumes of whatnot -- Avatar from Boston; The East Village Other; Berkely Barb; The Other; Avant Garde, and the esteemed The Realist, but to name a few. Oh yeah - wasn't I on the staff of the Old Mole?And let's not forget the more sensational nar-porn available, such as 101 Boys Art, something I would kill for, purely for my Margaret Mead-ishness. Or is that more Jane Goodall? This bit of old-school "only in NYC" (in my mind) black and white glossies was one of the mentioned pieces of kiddie porn (really? and sold right there in Harvard Sq.?) found at Pee Wee Herman's home when his sex hit the fan.
Gosh - weren't the '60s fun? Yes, regardless of that stupid saying that if you had fun in the '60s, you couldn't possibly remember them. I remember it all in extravagant detail - excruciating detail. I'm sure I'll eventually get around to telling more.
Spill them Boston Baked Beings, Boy.

Wholly Weak

And with this I say "Whew." How does one get 'here' from anywheres else? I've sent along what comes up as to a URL destination when I get here, but to Noah Vale, as the saying goes. No luck. Hello Beverlee Blair, if and when you may ever get this thing to reveal. Heck, vealing alone would be good - but reveal does the job. Club that baby seal.
I have thought of taking the verbosity of letters written and going and posting the better of the guts here, but that seems cheap - a feeling I should revel in, but - never you mind. This'll do just fine, thanks.
The Health inspector just came by, rattling the front door. Huh? Rats, anyone? "Do you have roach infestation, rats..." Thanks, but no.
Yes, there are rats, but not inside anymore. I still have a glorious memory of finding a loaf of bread that was on top of the refridgerator, gnawed and tunneled out from the middle by some rodential resident herein. Yuck and then some. But this was before we had screens (isn't that the law?) and a screen door at the deck's entry. Oh how quickly possums could get in here back in the day. Precious and filled with fleas and who knows what else. Memories. C'Mon in!
Vermin. Can't live with 'em... And, Yes, I can live without them.
But let us now turn our heads Eastward, to the rising sun of a fresher day - and let's get the etymological on what Easter actually means, Oestra, or Aurora, as the Greeks and Romans would say. Goddess of the Dawn. And I think of the misuse of 'orientate,' which means "to face East," not the assumed 'to get a bearing on" or whatever. That word is "orient" or better, "to orient."
Class dismissed.
Hey, years ago I sat while in control (Master Control) of local PAX TV station Ch. 30 as I had to listen to this Bible thumper on his program give a very wrong definition of Easter one morning , something he stated as to being from Ishtar, which is incorrect, folks - well, what to do about that? Nothing.... "The Shepherd's Chapel" was the place - still on in lots of places, coming to us all from Gravette, Arkansas; The very Rev. Arnold Murray in all of his Hellfire and Gung Ho vitriolics. But for all of my already "you're going to Hell" antics in this life, I find his programs to be sort of fun - or 'found' as the case may be. Fund a mentalist? 'Tis, indeed.
What on Earth is this about and where is it going?
To Glory! Hal A. Lewyah, Esq.
See y'all in church.

Palm Sunday

Bless me, it's a week 'til Easter. Anniversaries abound, such as births and deaths: 1999, mother dies April - - 1918, father born -- the list goes on. Old friend Brent Jensen, of Cockette fame and then some, died 1989 on Wednesday before Easter, making that what? - Holy Wednesday? Holy Thursday we know - the following Friday, though, is called Good Friday, even with the images of a tortured redeemer at Golgotha, giving up the ghost - and then we come to Holy Saturday. It all sounds very Batman-ish, which could help explain some of the dressiness of the faith in charge of the festivities.
As kids, we always got the new drag for this one, and a new chapeau was always picked out and sent off to Nova Scotia to the Grannies. Millinery is a lost word like haberdasheries. Raiment. Sartorial splendour.
Shoes saved for best-dressed occasions.
Ah, Spring - Ferdinand the Bull goes all weak in the knees over the whole of it. Walking down from a far-off parking space this morning (love weekends for parking here - NO - the AT Center down at the end of my block must have some sort of major shindig for 12 Stepping on this holy of holy days every Sunday; it's been a constant since day one here... but I digress) - a couple of doors down is a garden hanging tight on the slope of a yard. Florabunda, baby. Lilies, roses, a flowering tree in full bloom - take me back to the Public Garden in downtown Boston when it does this same trick for the season. Yup, Ferdinand the Bull tip-toeing through the tulips: That's me. Can't get enough of this aspect of rebirth and all that.
Meanwhile, back in Jerusalem.... No. I am in the City of Angels - or should I be more correct and say the City of our Lady of the Angels. By the banks of the mighty Los Angeles River once was Mother Cabrini - why am I here/there? Just had to pass on this glimmer of knowing that she had a hold here long before becoming a known elsewhere, to say nothing of having a notorious association with the eponymous Cabrini Green of Chicago. Okay, where goest thou with this, Pilgrim? I have no clue.
Had a nice chat with Virginia McDowall - we had said that line as to suffering fools gladly, and I looked to find the origins of this Oscar Wildean sort of retort - but, NO, it is from II Corintheans, 11:19 - Paul. You go, Girl... no one need suffer a fool ever.
Ms. McD thinks she is ripe for being returned to the Motion Picture home out there in the hills, Woodland Hills. I hope she gets her wish.
I hope I get my wish too. "I wish Cotton was a monkey....." Calgon, take me away, but not too far away. I like the view from here.
As Jesus said to Peter after relentlessly trying to get him to come closer to the cross: "I can see your house from up here!"
It'll sound that much funnier in Hell.

for the birds, baby

Ka-Thud - and it is Thursday, March - am i out of it - April 7, 2006. And I almost go for "19--" for the year. yes - I am out of it.
Tomorrow we resume our quest for some sort of results with Chapter 7. No, this ain't no novel - this is the Great American search for financial resolve. Debt. And taxes. No escape, but we'll see what this will bring to an end. Our attorney is a sweet, demure, soft spoken gal years younger than the mental images produced by having gotten a description from my neighbor, Tim, who used her services for this exact same purpose some time ago.
How deep is my love? Nah, wrong song, Maestro - how deep is my debt? If this were some kind of quicksand, let's be real; we're in way over our head.
And the fat lady is still warming up in the wings.
La la la la. Hit it.

eclipsing reality

Lovely - and the ancients would've sacrificed something large for this one so close to the equinox... we're talking solar eclipse here on March 29, 2006.
It had little effect here, except for the drought of cash - I sit like a prairie girl waiting for the newest big city catalog, but this ain't no catalog anticipated, it is my very own Deus ex machina from a cashed-in stock from PAX. Had to sign for either a $25 charge to have the funds wired to my account or a $25 charge to have it over-nighted -- yet, I await it, drying out my rainy day reserves of almost everything. Rent is late on March, and it's almost April Fool's Day. Again.
That's my sister Rita's birthday and birthright. The way things are right now, I think it shoulda been me.
And a song comes over me. Yes, it's "Should've been me."
"Somebody call the police; that woman down there is a doggone thief..."
Better?
Somewhat, but it won't take me shopping for vittles.

Sproing in the air

Search and ye shall find... someone must've needed a fresh license plate, as I awoke and looked out to see my car minus the rear plate. Crossing the street to survey the damage, I find the tossed-aside plate holder in the wee grassy area next to the car. This is not the first attack on her dignity - the sound sytem was ripped out of it some time ago. And boy, do I miss it. It cost way over $100 to replace the smashed window, far more than the tape player/radio couldv'e been worth on a good day. Oh well - here's to living in a big city.
While waiting and waiting and waiting for the N.E. LAPD to get back to me - yeah, it's urgent - I get a call-wait with an old roommate from Boston who is doing the circuit with his new tome re Buddhism and Dharma. Richard Seager is the man's name. Google him for more - we'll see him manana.
Oh - and the rear tire got flattened too. Do I have a bit part in some vendetta movie?
On the bright side of this grey but grey day, last night I got a call from Virginia McDowall -- y'know, Roddie's sister -- whom had disappeared from her cottage at the Motion Picture Fund out in Calabassas. Took some real gum shoe work to find her through a former co-worker/lawyer at Lee Walker's law office. What a tale she had to relate! At 78, she was put through the mill for the last 9 months with all manor of things misdiganosed and all those possibilities of the medical world that we fear ever having to encounter first hand.
But, as she told a visiting pastor of sorts: "I am an amazing woman." You go, girl.
Oh the woes of aging.
Her lawyer, being the height of some efficiency, threw out all of her recently purchased clothing when she left her cabin - the "Joseph Cotton Suite." I adore this gal.
I am but a youngster. Quit yer belly aching, kid.
Onward Xtian soldiers, I guess.

Space and then some

Tonight, March 13, there is a show on the History Channel about Comets. Got the "heads up" from Laura Whipple, who was interviewed for this show, as her father is the famed astro-boy wonder of the Dirty Snowball Theory, Dr. Fred. Dr. Fred and I share the same Nov. 5 birthday, but he would be 99 this year if alive. He passed last year, actually, late 2004.
But we don't get the History Channel with the limited Adelphia set up that I receive - shouldn't this be part of even the most basic of available options? Guess not. And, thanks - No, I do not want my MTV. I'd be well-served with a good receptive pair of rabbit ears, but the reception here in this part of the Swish Alps is scant. Location location location.
Laura and I go back to the '60s - late '60s, Boston. Mutal friends have come and gone, but I touched base with her after reading of Dr. Fred's passing. She has sent along to me some great writing from her mon, Babette, as to Isaac Asimov and that crowd from way back that they, she and the doc, were part of in Beantown oh so long ago. Amazing stuff.
I'll go grab some and post it here.
This is a great read:

Memoir # 32
MY REINTRODUCTION TO ISAAC ASIMOV
April 27, 2005
This reintroduction to someone Fred and I had first met in the1950’s began last week on Monday, when I was moving miscellaneous boxes of my old photographs from our basement to the first floor. This portrait of Isaac Asimov, which I’ll share with you now, was taken in1975 in front of his prized bookcase -- the one with all of his 500books organized in order of their publication. After looking at this picture, which shows a leering Isaac holding a copy of his book “The Sensuous Dirty Old Man”, I scratched my brain for memories of him only to discover that they were neither numerous nor specific. What I could access was the global image of a pleasant looking man of medium height with a protruding belly who quickly became the center of attraction in any social gathering. He was always spontaneous and extremely funny. One could also count on him to zero in on and flirt with the prettiest woman in the room, finally to be unapologetically full of himself. Fred and Isaac became good friends, and, although time and other factors diminished the frequency of their face-to-face interactions, they kept in contact at least twice a year: they telephoned each other on the other one’s birthday.
Memories of Gertrude are almost entirely negative. For example, although the Boyds and the Whipples frequently included the Asimovs in their social gatherings, she never invited us to a meal in any of the three apartments they lived in while in the Boston area or in the house they bought in Newton before their divorce. Gertrude was apologetic, but unbending. She had excuses galore: she didn’t have enough space, chairs, or dishes to entertain properly. Shortly after their son, David, was born, however his proud father did invite us to meet him. It was an unpleasant occasion, as I remember it, because ofGertrude’s rigidity and over-intrusiveness. Another visit to their home took place when David was about two years old. I remember watching him disconnect several electrical cords and listening to accounts of his skill at taking things apart. He impressed me as being a quiet child, and uninterested in people. Autistic, perhaps? I didn’t and don’t know. The autobiographies indicate that he was not a normal child, and was sent away for special schooling.
As a conversationalist, Gertrude was boring. Furthermore, I disliked the way she always put Isaac down by making it clear to everyone that she considered her brother, a run-of-the-mill dentist, more worthy of esteem than her brilliant husband. In thinking back on this mismatched couple, as I saw them, I believed quite erroneously that they had divorced soon after moving to the house in Newton. I also assumed that Isaac had wanted to escape from their relationship after very few years of marriage.
It would be interesting, I thought, to Google Isaac for his autobiography. First and foremost, I wondered whether he had included anything about his relationship to Fred. Secondly, what had the real relationship been between him and Gertrude? Or should I say, how did Isaac describe their relationship? Finally, not to be omitted from my gossip gathering, I wondered: when and how did he meet Janet Jeppson, a psychoanalyst and writer who became his second wife? At times I’d wondered whether they’d met because he might have been her patient. Several days later, following my impulse to research Isaac’s biography led to my borrowing his two hefty autobiographies from the daughter of our old friends, Bill and Lyle Boyd, both of whom were science fiction fans and writers. Isaac’s account in the first book, “In Memory Yet Green – The Autobiography of Isaac Asimov, 1920-1954”, enabled me to follow how his first interaction with Bill Boyd eventually led to Isaac’s taking a job in Boston, and to our meeting him in 1949.
Bill had sent an enthusiastic fan letter to Isaac after reading “Nightfall” soon after its publication. Years later, there was an opening for a one year appointment as Instructor at Boston University Medical School Biochemistry Department, of which he had been head. Bill invited Isaac to apply for this job. By then Isaac had long since received his Ph.D. from Columbia and was currently doing research at that university. Isaac managed to send in his application forms just in time, in case his other and far more preferable job options had vanished, and he was jobless. They had by the spring of 1949. He was very sorry to be leaving Columbia after being there for 14 years, including his undergraduate studies. Publication of a few books and Science Fiction articles had, by then, enabled the young couple to save a little money. But the amount, meticulously reported, was far from enough to live on. For many years, Isaac felt very insecure financially.
So he and Gertrude, his wife of nine years, moved from their comfortable digs in New York City, his beloved and convenient home base, his proximity to publishers of Science Fiction, and his family to Boston, where they knew almost no one. The first summer they rented the top floor of small apartment in Somerville where they spent a miserably hot and lonesome two months.
The first surprise, after going to the index in Isaac’s two volumes of autobiography was to find that my name, listed as “Babbie Whipple” had several entries in both books as well as Fred’s name. Isaac and Gertrude finally, after seven years of marriage, were expecting a first child to arrive shortly after our Sandy had been born on December 6, 1949. Isaac was thrilled and felt that this was an important connection with me. Isaac’s description of his first meeting with Fred reads as follows: “Again I stayed at the Boyds’ and met Fred Whipple, a Harvard astronomer, and his wife, Babbie. Fred was tall, slim, good humored, and forty-two years old. Babbie was short, smiling, and pretty.”
Interesting enough, both men were about the same height: 5’10”, which was probably tall for men born in the early part of the 1900’s. That Isaac saw Fred as “tall”, however, probably reflects his reverence for successful academics to whom he felt inferior.
Shortly after our meeting the Asimovs, we invited them to join us for dinner at our house with “The Decadents” – an eating group to which we and ten other people belonged, and one that was a very important part of our social life during our early married years. However, since the Asimovs would not take their turn at hosting two evenings during the calendar year, they were never invited to become members. Another time the Asimovs joined us for dinner was on a night when the Sid Ceasar and Imogene Coca program, “Your show of shows” was onTV. They watched it with us and decided to buy a TV in order to watch it themselves on a regular basis. Prior to that evening, Isaac had had no interest whatsoever in owning a TV. He’d disliked that form ofentertainment and considered TV watching a real waste of time. (Insert quote here from Isaac’s account in his autobiography. Another surprise: Isaac wrote one and only ghost article which Fred had promised to the Saturday Evening Post in 1958 which would be published under Fred’s name.)
Re the real relationship between Isaac and Gertrude, I’m confident that Isaac does not, out of courtesy, let the reader know about the numerous difficulties in their marriage, which led eventually to their divorce in 196?. Nevertheless that does not explain my initial utter disbelief when I discovered that my assumption they’d had a short marriage was wide of the mark. I just couldn’t believe that he could have stayed with her as long as he did. Projection can be a powerful mechanism!
I admit that until reading his first autobiography, I was totally ignorant of numerous factors in his early childhood and his relationships with his parents, which had led him to fall in love with Gertrude on their first date (he considered her to be as beautiful as a movie star), to propose marriage less than six months later, then to become deeply devoted to and married to her for many years.
Skimming rapidly over the roughly 1,500 pages of the two autobiographical books enabled me to follow the path from Isaac’s and Janet’s first and disastrous meeting in 1956 to their later and far more enjoyable interactions when Isaac traveled to in New York to contact his publishers and give lectures. Their meetings had become more numerous (and probably more intimate) in the 1960’s. He describes one delightful reunion, which took place in 196?? when Janet happened to be in Maine while Gertrude was traveling in Europe with the Asimov’s daughter.
Isaac’s marriage to Janet in 1972 (?), presumably delayed by difficult divorce proceedings, was, I believe, fulfilling for both of them. Sadly their life together was cut short in 1991 by his fatalheart attack. I met Janet briefly in 1975 when I went to their penthouse overlooking Central Park – too briefly to get much of an impression of her or their relationship. Isaac had invited me to spend several hours with him, taking black and white pictures while he worked on a story. He always used the old typewriter his father had given him for the first draft, totally undistracted by my presence. He said that after finishing this first draft he would copy it unchanged onto his electric typewriter, then send it off to his publisher. It was his custom to spend all of his spare time writing, sitting at his desk for most of the day. Someday in the not too distant future I hope to take another look at these old negatives and perhaps find another one or two that would be worth enlarging.

pork in Mecca

Zounds! Having just come from a "forum" where nastiness and nipping at the ankles by rabid doggies is routine, all I can say is that I am amused to no end by the tantrums of those that must be seen on line in their full glory. Throw a bone at either datalounge (it'll cost ya $12 to do it now - it used to be free, in more ways than mere bucks) or qwhip, which, due to that $12 charge, had a surge of activity for some time now -- but the snarkiness is in full bloom. These gay kids fracture me.
Go - become part of the problem or part of the solution. All is good.

outer innards

outer innards

It's raining in Los Angeles. How does water on a windshield affect performance so drastically? Having learned to drive in Boston in the winter - Boston is home to some of the world's scariest driving, snow or not - I am absolutely sure that the End of Times will begin with 2 inches of snow on a Friday afternoon here.

Speaking of: Was/Is "Crash" really the best picture of last year?

All the Doo Dah Day

Pure 20/20 hindsight. And God is in the details.
Alpha and Omega all in a row, domino theorists barking at the moon.
Make sense of this. Tummies growl.
The auditorium empties for the next show.
"Kid - Can ya dance?" As fast as you can. And get your feet off of my skirt; you're feet stink.
Assume the position. Fill a position - get a job. All work and no play. Hardly.
Washington's birthday. Gimme a dollar.