Holy Boy, 'tis almost already July... 6.30.09
and man oh man, how does one get this train to slow down a wee bit, eh?
one option for availing oneself of a bit of cheer whilst doing the workday chores is to visit the New Yorker online and view the slideshow of the cartoons in the current issue, one of which (and a timely one it is) be available for thine enjoyment here.
astute and curmudgeonly as ever, our pal Lee S., longtime survivor of the state of things over at the S.F. Chronicle, tells us about his adventures as a juror in Oakland, Califa.
Damn, Lee, we gots to have us a meetup sometime, laddie...
in regard that sideways mention of time passing early in this post, an article from the fishwrap of record hereabouts regarding the 50th anniversary of the San Francisco Mime Troupe, and, jessferdahalibut, the S.F. Mime Troupe's website, itsowndarnedself...
yourstruly doin' an extra hour of duty in the NoNo HQ bookstore this afternoon and listening to NPR's Fresh Air whilst doing this & that & looking out the windows when we caught timely
mention of Patterson Hood's new album.
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after a weekend spent indolently... 6.29.09
and indulgently, back here in the oficina @ NoNo HQ.
Whilst visiting M. Woods site, this item caught our attention:
Under the sign of the replay, the center will not hold – I hold this zona truth to be self evident.. America is teary eyed about the death of Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett Majors – but I can’t shed a single drop, somehow. My tears are falling for the death of Detroit; my tears of rage are falling at the new American ethos of being a good sport, being the quiet American, being the patsy at the end of the assembly line of spiritual and material death.
the entire post @ news from the zona.
and we wanted to mention here, lost in the maelstrom of garment rending, gnashing of toofies, and torrents of tears resulting from death of a pair of "cultural icons", we bid Sky Saxon (w/salute provided via gmtPlus9 (-15)) adieu upon his exit from this vale of tears.
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methinks any weblogging juju that... 6.18.09
yourstruly might've ever possessed has gone south, in a major way. Came to our attention yesterday that a certain Bob Bogle has died; oncet upon a time Mr. Bogle was member of The Ventures and when this news came our way we imagined getting deeply into the memories of youthful days spent practicing in the garage, trying to get it right, get it to sound like the record, Telstar; Walk, Don't Run; Miserlou;
Pipeline, along with other songs of the times, not necessarily surf music, but stuff by Bobby Fuller Four, Searchers, Bobby Dylan (Rainy Day Women #12 and 35 anyone?). Some lyrics in a fave Neil Young tune are kind of emblematic of a particular sort of memory for me, in his Long May You Run, that verse that goes "Maybe the Beach Boys have got you now, With those waves singin' Caroline. Rollin' down that empty ocean road, gettin' to the surf on time." Anyway...
there's all this other stuff going on that provides plenty of distraction, the events in Iran, for one, and this matter of BHO falling short on some of the promises made (and Bill Maher weighs in with related opinion) and, well, guess you could say one might have been distracted to some substantial degree. So, in the spirit of delivering something to share with you, something with a some sizeable memories wrapped up in it, and no, it ain't the Ventures, nonetheless still provides powerful recall of that time and place, Apache, by The Shadows. Oh, and long may you run...
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just a few words about groceries and... 6.15.09
shopping for them locally. Leah Garchik makes mention of the recently open for business Berkeley Bowl West market late in her column today, typically something yourstruly wouldn't get terribly excited about, having been a longtime devotee of shopping at Monterey Market (have to brave very narrow and crowded spaces there at times...) and our local Happy Produce store a few blocks away on Solano (where Andronico's Market, Safeway & our fave quickie sushi-to-go gal are also located) BUT...
truly is some really well stocked super-indymarket and just a hop, skip and jump from where ourowndarnedself is employed these days, also awfully easy to walk there at lunchtime or right after work before returning to la casa del chango. Some pics of the new place available thru the efforts of these fine local weblogging folks, Scavenging and Grant K. Gibson and good on them for taking their cameras along becuz me, well, me always forgetting to bring mine along.
mebbe more later, depending on the tenor of the evening...
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not making any feckin' promises now, mind ye... 6.14.09
yessss, me leetle pretteez, eet's me,
that oh-so-not-so-loveable-person-of-dubious character. Any of me familiars out there viewing this know that pic alongside be from some years ago, but we utilizing it here in that sort of "TAHH-DAHHH!" fanfare sense embodied in the gesture photographed on that fine day so many years ago, before the death of the ol' Camdogg, mine own paterfamilias Vincenzo, before the heartaching stupidities of the last couple of years, oh man oh man Oh Man, if we wuz to sit alongside ye, drinking down many bottles of fine vino tinto and expound upon the many misguided misadventures and various misdemeanors he's been a part of since ye last heard from him, oh, you'd be left tearful and muy trieste, tambien.
Oh, but we got to believe better times are comin', no?
Returned recently from visit to Momz and the familia out there in that godforsaken, parched and arid southwestern border-ville known as EPTx, and within days upon return was visited by the Summer Cold from the Farthest Reaches of Hell. Here it nearly two weeks later and yourstruly still producing prodigious amounts of phlegm (just how the hell do ye spell that?) and nasty-boogerishness, felt well enough to invest part of my Saturday afternoon with amigo J. from current workplace visiting local cinema to see Austrian film entitled Revanche. Advocates of Dogma 95 likely to appreciate the flick, and plenty of other things in it to appreciate as well. Such a fucking pleasure to get a break from the usual fare, although mr. hoity-toity movie snob has got to say right here and now that he did also see Pixar's latest release UP while on his desert holiday and enjoyed that experience tremendously.
One of the primary reasons mineowndamnedself felt less than compelled to carry on hereabouts in late spring of ought-seven was that after the previous seven years of the cad-ministration, well, to say one felt impotent is an understatement. They tell me the political climate has changed, and like Fox Mulder, oh babee, I Want To Believe. Goddamn shame mine essential self is that of a cynical realist (and me asks meself- Where is that bright and unblemished idealism you once wore like shining, silver armor?). Shite, enough of that, least for the here & now, izzat okeh wid yu,
ye lovely wee bairns ye?
a wee slice of the real life, next here, then we pause for a bit as we've no intention of rambin' on and on, knowing how short everybuddy's attention span has become these days. Apres le film, J and myself were strolling the streets of downtown Berkeley, it had become a beautiful, sunny afternoon, we'd paused by local deli so jaypea could pick up late luncheon sammich-y goodness to take home and we continued on our stroll discussing the film we'd shared viewing of. J is knowledgeable young katt, helluvagoodmind on them twenty some odd year old, north carolinan bred shoulders o' his. As we meandered the streets and navigated our way northward, he to apartment he shares downtown with parther E (talk about a bright mind!), myself to where bluesubaruII sits awaiting my return, both of us deep in discusssion as we pass by couple of gents on University Ave, and we hear "Hey! Hey Robert!", so, wondering who was proffering the salute, we both turned and there stood a pair of fellows of a particular vintage, oh much closer to that of your not so humble correspondent than that of my movie companion. Goddamn, me said aloud, it be Clayton Call and it was and here, in this neighborhood, the four of us standing next door to the now long shuttered U.C. theatre, across the street from location where Clay and yourstruly were barely-gainfully employed, he downstairs in the camera shop, el chango tonto up the stairs in video, for many years. What marvelous happenstance. Clay introduced us both to his friend Hubert, a grey haired eminence whose locks rivaled the length of mine own in that old picture top of this post, Clay looking like his old self, with bicycle alongside (a very nice Trek, way to ride C!) and in this brief re-association talked superficially about the things one mentions when running across acquaintence of many years standing after many more years of not seeing. One good thing that came from that brief conversation was word from Clay that he'd finally got a website up where one could see the work he's done over many decades of shooting film (and processing said film hisowngoshdarnedself) in many a NorCal musical venue. Ye see, Binky, we always referrred to him as Clayton Call, Famous Rock and Roll Photographer (he be a drummer too, by the way, and over the years has got himself quite the nice collection of gear). Now, before we waste ANY MORE of your precious time, hie thyselves over to ClaytonCallPhoto.com and check it out yourowndarnedself, and do yourstruly a favour and if you know of anyone partial to this kind of thing, please pass along that info, thy karma will be enhanced, we guarantee.
ok, as mentioned in the first line of this post, there be no promises made here, but we hope to get into a more regular thing hereabouts once we've dusted & cleared out the cobwebs and rearranged this and that, 'specially that pesky sidebar, there be plenty of things yer ol' amigo wants to share with ye...
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