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.