CANARYLAND

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2011-02-03T20:23:00.001-08:00

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Stuff I Saw Today

2011-01-13T22:38:00.000-08:00

1. A red headed kid w/ a mohawk showing me the found jawbone of a gopher.
2. Two boxes of competing brands of cinnamon toast crunch cereal.
3. Cops on Washington Avenue pulling people over left and right.
4. A maple muffin that I had to eat.
5. A new oak tree planted to honor the memory of a blue-eyed Ukester boy who died a few days after Thanksgiving. There is a boy made of Legos on Pier 39 in the San Francisco assembly at Legoland that is modeled after him. He is wearing a black and yellow hat. If you see him, say "Hi Jared!". He would like that.
6. A dozen multiplication problems written in pencil by a nine year old hand.
7. Six burritos and six chicken tacos in a cardboard carrying case.

What I Saw Today

2010-07-08T21:23:00.000-07:00

1. A man at the top of the mountain carrying an iguana on his arm as he strode down the road.

2. A peregrine falcon riding the updraft on the east side of the mount. The bird hovered in one place for about 5 minutes. Then off in search of the plump lizard.

3. Two old cigarette butts tossed on a mountain that erupts into flames just for laffs.

4. Two bottles of neat beer that disappeared as if by magic or alien abduction.

5. The back of my son as he walked down the driveway and left with old friends in a dirty white car headed for Humboldt.

6. Rachel Maddow's high school picture.

Things I Saw Today Deux

2009-10-06T20:03:00.000-07:00

1. A brownie with walnuts on a clear plate.

2. Three gulf fratilleries liteing on and off on the jasmine outside my window.

3. A photo of a man who had been hit by a rocket in Afghanistan while driving a tanker of fuel to a northern town. One arm was gone and the right index finger on the remaining arm was frozen in a position as though he was constantly pointing.

4. 23 bags of red t-shirts sitting on a table in a kitchen.

5. A horse that I once thought was dead standing in a corral on the corner of Krameria and Dauchy.

6. A flu shot schedule.

7. A cheap silver skull ring that a punk kid was wearing on his pinky finger.

8. A portly lady with a car jammed full with kids getting a ticket for parking in a loading zone for at least a half hour.

9. Six crows acting like crazy people on the wind.

10. A black and white picture of a lonesome cowpoke sitting with his horse on a bluff that overlooked the world.

Elder Care

2009-10-03T23:12:00.000-07:00

My mother, who passed away in June, was a member of the nomadic tribe of unfortunate people who spend their last days on earth being bounced around assisted living facilities. She spent the last few years moving from one place to another and hating them all. We hated them too. Except for the last one, which was great. But by then it was too late.

My friend Ben Wah recently found it necessary to put his mother in an assisted living place, a fancy one by assisted living standards. Respectable.

But he told me a story the other evening. Seems his mother had a large chunk of money stolen from her whilst in her residence. Well, Ben and his brothers were a little pissed about this. So they placed a camera in his mother's room, and as Ben put it: "We caught the bitch!" The Bitch being one of the in-house staff. On film. With Mrs. Wah's $. Interestingly, the same "helper" worked for a time at one of the places my mother was living.

So, if you have a relative in elder care, advocate hugely for your loved one, be a high profile visitor that asks questions, makes yourself known, wants to see the med log and taste the food. And believe everything your loved one says, even if you don't believe it.

And get a camera before things begin to disappear.

Things I Saw Today

2009-09-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

Good way to jumpstart this mofo ala Bro Atom Bomb:

+ A coyote that had lost the war with the sedan.

+ Cans of debris from the house on Brockton of an old man who died. He used to sell rebuilt bikes from the parkway. The bikes were chained to a hitching post.

+ A message on my phone from Zoto saying she had reached her new job safely by taking the Rio Nada Rapid Transit System.

+ An entire box of brand new Prang Crayons broken into pieces and scattered beneath the desk of the child to whom they belonged.

+ The scars on a child's head where they drilled to relieve pressure from his skull after he was shaken vigorously as an infant.

+ Zoto riding behind me on her bicycle.

+ A Stop sign that someone had sawed off and left in the road.

Worst in the Universe.

2009-01-22T20:22:00.000-08:00

Tens of thousands of dead Iraqi civilians, 4,000 dead and countless crippled or maimed sons and daughters of the USA, a bum war built on lies and deception, Weapons of Mass Destruction, Mission Accomplished, the ignorance of New Orleans, the illegal and secretive monitoring of Americans, the current economic situation, torture, Gitmo, Dick Cheney, John Ashcroft, Arturo Gonzalez, Karl Rove, Paul Wolfowitz, Condi Rice, Brownie, cronyism, N.C.L.B., global warming as fallacy, stem cell research, one quarter of his 8 years in office spent on vacation in Crawford, Texas, Kennybunkport or Camp David, fishy vote counts in Florida and Ohio, Big Oil, Little Oil, Corn Oil, fuzzy math and science, bufoonery and lies ad nauseam.

Pete Seeger is the Nuclear God of Joy!

2009-01-20T20:48:00.000-08:00

Did you see Pete Seeger, Bono, Seeger's Grandson, and an energetic kid choir on that HBO Inaugural Concert at the Lincoln Memorial? Pete led the crowd in a sing-a-long of possibly the world's greatest song: "This Land is Your Land" by Woody Guthrie. He included the best and oft not used verse which goes something like this:

As I was walking,
I saw a sign there,
And on one side,
It said no tresspassing,
And on the other side,
It said nothing.
That side was made for you and me!"

Pete glowed like the torch on the Statue of Liberty! He was as jubilant as the Nuclear God of Joy. And at the end of the song, he ran off the stage with a smile as big as all outdoors. The guy is 90 years old and he RAN off the stage.

I hope you're all singing something right now wherever you are.

Fux News, Batboy and Humpty Smirkey

2009-01-20T20:11:00.000-08:00

My favorite part of the Mother of All Inaugurations was watching Fox News. So petty. So trite. So Bat Boy.

In the morning, they had lots of crowd shots of people celebrating along the Mall and their tone was dulcet and happy. But they would throw in these odd audio and visual clinkers that set the true Fox timbre. They talked about Obama's amazing global childhood which they attributed to his "hippie mother". They talked about Obama's resolve to unite the country as they pull up a shot of a member of Code Pink, which they show twice. They talked about whatever the guy's name is that supposedly killed some American soldiers somewhere and tried to link him to Our President. How pathetically sad of these people. How small hearted and small minded. How acutely cynical. How unpatriotic.

Why would Batboy ever want to be associated with these tabloid losers?

There has been some talk of investigating and bringing to trial for war crimes some of the main Bush players, including Humpty Smirky himself. And it doesn't seem like such a bad idea. The evidence is there, brought forth by the very players themselves in different forums and venues and by an "activist" Federal Judge who happens to be a Republican.

Interesting idea. But wouldn't it be more apropos to just let them sit on their ranches and mull in their own inept and insignificant juices.

Good riddance, in any case.

The 7 Heads of the Beast

2008-12-31T00:23:00.000-08:00

I'm telling you for sure, there is No, I said No, hope for the human race.

I'm watching TBN Network tonight. You know, Pat Robertson's TV station?

And the preacher of the night is talking about the Apocalypse and the 7 Heads of the Beast and all that bad negative superstitious shit these guys earn their fortune talking about. And this fool starts talking about the final piece of the puzzle that it is the last of the Seven Heads of the Beast. Egypt, Medea-Assyria, Mesopotamia, Greece and Rome are a few of the other heads. But the 8th and final head, the one we really gotta worry about, is... THE BAR CODE!
When you understand the Bar Code, you know that 666 is the main number presented by those little lines and that the whole system, when the Anti-Christ appears, will be turned into a system that tells where you live and (I suppose) who or what your favorite god is and now you know how they'll figure out who's been naughty and who's been nice and who's going to burn in Hell for Eternity.

Move over Manson!

If I was us, I start stealing stuff.

The Folk Music Center in Claremont, California

2008-12-28T00:32:00.000-08:00

Bro Atom Bomb and myself were honored with an invitation to the Folk Music Center's 50th anniversary party in Claremont, California.

Boy are we lucky!

It was a casual night of singing and virtuosity by knowns and unknowns. It was a crowd of friends and neighbors standing and sitting among the FMC's many instruments and museum pieces, eating, talking and singing out loud. Jackson Brown, Ben Harper and Chris Darrow appeared and reappeared in different musical configurations with old folkies, musicologists, local sages and just plain joyful players and singers. All friends at an exquisite evening.

And when it was over, we all sang "Goodnight Irene", a bellowing loud and sweet crowd of crooners, songbirds, harmonizers and honest people with a singular purpose.

Death and Friends in Rio Nada

2008-12-25T21:51:00.000-08:00

Eartha Kitt died today. She sang "Santa Baby" and I swear on Rudolph's incandescent nose that that song has been on the CD player for the last 12 hours, BEFORE I knew she had passed. I need to think of a way to market my special powers.

Our dear sweet friend Mikey B. died earlier in the month. He went through a great struggle concerning his health for the last year and a half and sadly, finally lost the battle. The last time I saw him, he had been out of the hospital for a few weeks after being laid up for a month or so and was volunteering at the hospital that my mother was in. He had seen her name on a patient list and had just been up to see her. A very sweet thing to do.

Mikey was an actor at the Missing Inn Dinner Theatre here in Rio Nada and was the main character in many great real life stories as well. He once played the Indian Chief in Little Mary Sunshine and we told him we would give him a hundred bucks if he would get a Mohawk. He agreed, we got the dough and our pal Snip gave him the doo. We were all in awe of his lumpy noggin.

Now Mikey was about 45 years old, 6'4'' with a head of naturally and tightly curled hair and a beezer to beat all beezers and now he had a 4" Mohawk. A sight to behold for any mortal.

Afterwards, we walked over to the Inn bar and hoisted a few in honor of Mikey's new found profile and then lolled out the front door laughing and giggling into the early morn.

The next morning, Snip calls and says "Is Mikey O.K.?"

And I said "As far as I know. Why?"

"I was listening to my police scanner about 4 in the morning and I heard the cops say they were chasing a large man with a big nose and a Mohawk down 6th St. behind the Missing Inn!"

If it was Mikey, he never mentioned it.

+++++++++

I had coffee with my old girlfriend Annie. She lives in the Santa Ynez Valley near Michael Jackson's old place. She is an exquisite painter, master gardner and gourmet cook.

She came down to see her sister Ava.

She also told me she wanted to stop doing art as an avocation and become a junior high math teacher.

I leaped out of my chair, jumped up and down hitting myself about the head and pulling at my hair and screamed "NO! NO! NO!! ARE YOU NUTS!!!???"

In my mind.

I hate to see anyone be distracted from their bliss.

I think she could be bigger than Michelangelo.

+++++++++

The other night I drank with four fellow punks from Licorice Pizza, a now defunct independent record chain in So. Cal. that we all worked at years ago. We are all 25 years older now. All have maintained a healthy margin of hair and teeth and the paunches are fairly discreet. We laughed uncontrollably the entire night. Then we hugged each other on the way out. Twice and thrice.

They were Dicky Mo, now of San Diego, Jonny Mantan of San Clemente, Robby Reading, who flew in from negative 20 degrees Montana, Greg the Photog from LA and Joe the animator, also from LA.

What noble and distinguished company I kept that night.

Hug the Kids

2008-11-24T09:43:00.000-08:00

I just received an EMail from a lady I have seen maybe twice in the last 20 years. Hannah is someone Albie and I met in Junior High. I had a crush on her and Albie had a crush on her friend Terri.

She EMailed me to see if I would sing at her daughter's memorial service tomorrow. She died suddenly last week at the age of seventeen, the same age as my daughter Zozo. I saw the obit and did not know it was Hannah's little girl. But now I look at it and see a strong resemblace.

This is the third child of a friend who's death I have learned of this week.

Hug your kids, friends, hug them now.

HATE

2008-11-21T17:32:00.000-08:00

The Laramie Project, a powerful play about the brutal killing of Matthew Shepard, a gay Wyoming college student, opened at the community college in Rio Nada last night.

Soon it was discovered that the Phelps family, a group of HATEmongers from Kansas that run the Westboro "Baptist" "Church" were planning on making an appearance at the Rio Nada opening, just as they have done many times across the country.

You've probably seen the Phelps' on TV. They're the ones with the signs that say "God Hates Fags!" and "Mathew Shepard Deserved to Die!".

Lately they've been showing up at the funerals of American soldiers killed in the Middle East wars because God has told them that these deaths are His punishment for the U.S. and it's position on homosexuality.

300 or so people of all ages, colors, creeds and orientations stood for a silent counter-demonstration just outside the Landis Performing Arts Center. The demonstration was "organized" by a late-afternoon EMail that quickly made the cyber-rounds to many of the decent citizens of our fair metropolis.

The police were there too.

The cowards never showed their pernicious faces. It was said they were stuck in traffic.

From the stinking ooze they came and sat for hours on the I-10 in their own miserable filth.

And the show went on.

Westboro Baptist Church To see picket schedule, go here

Big Ass Fire

2008-11-16T01:35:00.001-08:00

Princess and I drove up the hill to near King High and drove up the dirt part of Mariposa Rd. near Golson Rd. You can see a lot from up there at 1:00 AM. The entire San Bernardino Valley and into Claremont/Mt. Baldy area and Pomona. Saddleback Mountain to the West-ish. South you can see the rocky hills near Fallbrook and Eastward is Mt San Jacinto. You can even see the car lights heading up the Cajon Pass to Barstow, Victorville and Vegas.

Looking Northwest we could see the huge Corona/Chino Hills/Yorba Linda Fire. I think it's called the Freeway Fire officially. It should be called Thee Big Ass Fire. We could see the fireline, maybe five miles long and flames shooting up into the sky. The plumes of smoke were glowing orange and billowing towards the West. And we were probably at least twenty miles away.

They say this fire is bigger than the Bel Aire fire in LA in 1961. Something like 400 houses were lost then. I think this one has more losses and it's only a day old.

There are three major SoCal fires working right now. In order of appearance: The Montecito Fire near Santa Barbara, Sylmar fire near the top of the 5 Freeway and the Grapvine and the Freeway Fire near Anaheim Hills/Yorba Linda/Chino et al.

There are many huge houses, mobile homes and apartments destroyed.

The 91 was/is closed completely thru the Santa Ana Canyon and the 241 Toll Road.

No going to Disneyland tomorrow.

John Bull Pub, Rio Nada, Cali.

2008-11-11T19:50:00.000-08:00

The Princess and I decided to get our hairs cut, so we headed on down to the Snip's Kitchen of Beauty and Wisdom. It was pretty early in the morning and nobody was there save for a funny, stocky and talkative old English guy who looked a bit like a muscley gnome. The old guy's friend came in with a scooter of the "I can't get around" variety and parked the scooter and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. The muscley gnome got out of the barber chair and went to pay. When I saw his face I thought "I know this guy." Then he hopped on the scooter and zipped out the door.

It was Rick Hooker, the old owner of the long demolished John Bull Pub here in Rio Nada.

The John Bull was like a sitcom gone sketchy. The same cast of characters every night: Hooker, who was nearly blind then, the barkeeps Edwina, Diana, and sometimes Mo. There was Sweet Stinky, Bull Binkley, the great pencil artist, Riley, who once carved his name in the concrete door stoop with his chainsaw, Snip, Murphy, and Sunshine, who was sorta mentally challenged and, so the story goes, had his front teeth removed forcibly by his caretakers at the Swiss Inn to keep him from gnawing on his fist which he constantly put in his mouth.

We always sat under the portrait of Prince Edward in a dark corner near the jukebox. We were sitting there the night John Lennon died watching the television in that eerie light.

We were there the night when news came that Sweet Stinky had killed himself in Murphy's V.W. van beneath the redwood canopy at Patrick's Point.

Tuesday night was Stranger Night. Everyone was supposed to bring a stranger.
Monday night the Irishmen had dibs on the bench under Prince Phillip to play dominoes. And most everyone played darts.

Then they decided to knock the place down and make a parking lot. I stole one of the old mugs the last night it was there.I still have it.

A week later, all that was left was a pile of rubble. I slowed as I drove by in my Pinto. And from the rubble there rose two broken walls from that wretched pisser, rising like graffitti-pocked Phoenix toward the blue sky.

And on one wall it said "O. Howie Fertz was here."

Wal Mart in Georgia

2008-10-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

Someone at a Wal Mart in Georgia bagged my checking account for $986.67!

A week or so ago, I discovered a big hunk of change was gone from my checking account. I figured it was an automatic debit for car insurance or something. Or maybe something to do with Bush's ruination of our country.

I couldn't look at my account because our puter is a pooter. It's dying a slow desktop death.

This evening I got into my account history and discovered I had made a really huge purchase in Georgia. $986.67! At a Wal Mart, no less. That's a lot of cheap Chinese junk!

Enjoy, Motherfucker!!!

Uke Cyrkle, and Religulous

2008-10-05T22:30:00.000-07:00

Uke circle was mellow today. Eleven pluckers showed. We played a bunch of spooky songs like the Monster Mash, The Munster's Theme and that old love song Spooky. All because of Halloween.

P. Scar and Trey showed. I hope they make a habit of it. Chuckster came for awhile and did some monster singing. He is a blind black blues shouter in a bald headed honky suit. Superb.

Anna brought in another old timey song about "washin' hands in the muddy waters" that she got from Elvis. She knows how to pick them.

Nuff sang his song about Ma Nature being pissed and Doni sang her bawdy health science song.

And Terry knocked out some solo stuff to inspire us chord monkeys.

=============

Nuff, Doni and I saw Religulous last night. It was pretty good. I especially liked the Vatican's Astronomer and the Catholic priest.

I had a mighty loathing for the Jews for Jesus guy and the Your Not Born Gay Minister who had renounced his gayness and hugged Bill Maher. And an especially special loathing for the guy who plays Jesus at Jesus Land, whatever and wherever that is, and the back up singer from Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes turned monied minister.

I am not sure there is any hope for mankind when beliefs like the ones Maher explored have become so routine.

And that is the problem: radical narrow minded religious dogma based in fear and ignorance has become mainstream.

And it's all about money, after all, isn't it?

Billy's Dream #4ish

2008-10-04T10:50:00.000-07:00

We were at the John Bull, that old pub that was demolished some 25 years ago over in the Arcade. I don't know who "we" were. One of them was me, but the rest were nondescript peeps of varying ethnicities, genders and ages.

We all sat on these king-size pillow looking things like the caterpillar in Alice and Wonderland. We all had gold and silver hookahs. I sat beneath the portrait of Prince Phillip. There was no sound save for Al Jolson singing "California Here I Come" from the jukebox across the room and the Santa Ana winds blowing outside.

I went outside and it was daylight and very starkly bright and colored in light pastel blues and sandstone colors. The wind was fierce and there was white smoke roiling off the roof of the Sire Bar down the street. No fire, just smoke.

There were no cars, no people anywhere to be seen.

And then I woke up, walked into the kitchen and ate a Poptart.

I was sorta hoping the Ray Bradbury would come running out of the Sire.

Treadmill

2008-10-01T23:09:00.000-07:00

Tonight I set up my garage sale treadmill in the barn and it was Mississippi hot in there. So I walked 6 miles naked on the danged thing, sweatin' like a Nixon.

I don't think I will ever wear clothes on that danged thing.

Until it gets cold, anyway.

Miss Stitt

2008-10-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

Miss Stitt taught me to read at Victoria Elementary School. She was my first grade teacher and today I saw today in the obits that she died at the age of 93.

She had been married to the same guy for 60 some years and was a member of the Victoria Club, a Country Club here in Rio Nada and that she was an excellent tennis player. The obit listed all the adventures and jobs she had had in her life.

But none of them could compare to my first grade class, I'm sure.

Leon, Phillip and me must have had her near to crazy. And Ricky Franke and Mike McNeill, too. We weren't bad. We were just first graders. Although a few of the aforementioned are now in the Big House

It's not Mike, tho. He drives a a steam driven train somewhere in Washington.

Famous opera singer Patricia Schuman was in that class. She lived in the neighborhood. I hope Miss Stitt knew how successful Patsy became in the opera world.

Funny. I was thinking of writing a letter to the editor of our local stooopid stooopid newspaper about the proposal that teachers carry guns. I was going to say how strange it would have been to have seen Miss Stitt with a gun.

I don't think she would ever, ever carry a gun.

I can very clearly remember Miss Stitt teaching me to read the word "Look" from the Dick and Jane Big Book. As if it were yesterday. She used these hand gestures and mouthed the word over and over until our little brain light bulbs lit up.

"Look!" we chirped.

I wish I could tell her that I buy and read books all the time and that my kids do too and that we love the magic and wonder that reading brings to us.

Miss Stitt was the beginning of many glorious and amazing adventures!

"Look!"

Anger Management You Dick Dos!

2008-09-27T23:22:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention that during the "Up Your Ass Mime Fest" the other day, the sweet irony of the whole thing was that I was wearing my baby blue Mr. Rogers T-Shirt that said "You're Special" underneath a picture of Mr. Rogers.

Can you say "Bag of dicks? I knew you could!"

Anger Management You Dick!

2008-09-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

Me and the chillun' were drivin down Rio Nada Ave. towards Central when we stopped in the line up for a left turn onto Central. There's a double yellow line there where people coming the other way on Rio Nada try to turn left into the Rio Nada Plaza. It's an illegal turn cause of the double yellow line. So I pull snugly up to the car in front of me and, in doing so, block an illegal left-hand turner from committing an illegal turn into the Plaza.

And the fat fuck flips me off after making many arm waving "What's he doin'?" gestures.

I mimed to the tub and his tub wife that it was a double yellow line and therefore an illegal turn. I was a theatre major, so I am quite sure my miming was artistically and communicatively clear and evocative.

So he flipped me off.

I rolled down my window, hung my upper torso out said window and showed him how a trained mime would flip the bird. I then pointed out the double yellow line and explained once again, this time in my booming trained theatre voice, that it was illegal.

He pulled up along side me, rolled down his window and said "Up your ass!"

I recited a line I remembered from a David Mamet play, "Fuck You!"

"Up your ass!" once again and right on cue, he warbled.

"Bite me!" I Mameted back.

And the light turned green and I rolled on down the road.

For a moment, just one brief moment, I thought he might have been a theatre major.

His subtext was spot on.

There's No Business Like Show Business!

2008-09-21T22:39:00.000-07:00

Well, nearly 25 years ago, I was cast in the part of Buffalo Bill in Annie Get Your Gun at Lawrence Welk Resort near Escondido, Cal. It was the show in which I earned my Actor's Equity card.

The incredible Lisa Robinson played Annie, Connie Schuck, the gentleman farmer from Fallbrook and father of John Schuck, played Pawnee What's His Name, David Silviera played Little Jake and some clown named Howard played Sitting Bull. Standing Bullshit would have been more appropriate.

Howard and David roomed in the Welk guest house during the run of the show and they didn't get along so hot. Howard was about 6'2" and old and David was about 5"2" and muscley. They were always pretty crabby with one another. Mostly Howard. But certainly a mismatch, pugilistically.

So it's half way through the first act and I'm sitting in the dressing room with Connie, who cannot see very well, and Howard, who is in the corner stewing.

I'm looking in the make up mirror when David comes in from his exit and everything goes to slow motion. Howard leaps from his seat with his arms outstretched and is running towards David to throttle him. He grabs David by the throat and starts doing one of those cartoon chokes with the funny noise. I look at Connie and he is oblivious. And it dawns on me that it is I and I alone who must stop the impending dressing room brawl in the middle of the show from occurring. So I leaped to my feet and threw myself between the strangler and David. I calmly, firmly and pretty loudly (There was a show going on) told that mofo Howard that I was gonna kick his bony ass and drag it up to Lawrence Welk's private office for another spankin'. I pushed him to his seat.

He was, of course, fired. A guy named George was brought in to replace the moron. And George was good, very good.

Tonight I went to an audition for Annie Get Your Gun at Performance Rio Nada, some 25 odd years later. And I got the part of Buffalo Bill once again.

I haven't a clue as to who else is in the show.

I do know that it's the new revised version that Bernadette Peters and Tom Wopat were in. I hear there are some major changes in the script that put Buff Bill into a narrator role.

Gotta dust off my cowboy boots, find a Stetson big enough for my fat head and grow some luxurious golden tresses.

But I ain't gettin' on no horsie!

Brushes With Greatness

2008-09-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

Here's a chance to impress the Universe with the famous people you have been within 20 feet of.

When Viv and I worked at the Missing Inn, we saw, in order of importance:

1. Mohamed Ali.

2. Adam Ant.

3. Liz Taylor and her son.

4. Ann Landers or Abigail Van Buren (They look alike. Same doo. So who knows).

5. Les Brown without his Band of Renown.

6. Kelly Lange, Paul Moyers and James Coco (Three way tie).

I dare ya. Beat Adam Ant if ya can.

Bullwinkle Dharma

2008-09-16T20:35:00.000-07:00

All this Gumby talk reminds me of the time I wrote to Bullwinkle.

I had this book called "Addresses of the Stars". Most of the addresses that were in the book were actually addresses of the stars agents and therefore would be virtually useless when trying to reach any stars. But I decided to write Bullwinkle anyway because I thought it would be seismo cool to have an autographed photo of the Moose. After all, the Moose carried the show. That tic infested squirrel was just a sounding board for the Moose's best material. Sorta like Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. And I was a loyal fan.

So I wrote a nice letter to Bullwinkle and mailed it to Jay Ward Productions on Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood, Calif.

And I waited. And waited. And forgot all about it.

Then one day, about a year and a half later, I received a letter in a big envelope! From Jay Ward! Yipee! My Bullwinkle autographed 8XIO photo! Finally!

I opened the envelope and in it was a Jay Ward catalogue with a nice little note written on the cover from Mrs. Ward explaining that Jay had died a few years back and that they didn't have any photos, but if I wanted, I could order some neat Bullwinkle merchandise from the catalogue.

Shit!

Bullwinkle ties, underwear (boxers, briefs, or bikini briefs), coffee mugs, playing cards, T-shirts, socks, ball caps, floppy hats, bolo ties, sun glasses and on and on. They even had Bullwinkle Soda that was "blue" and bubble gum flavored.

But no autographed photos!

So I ordered a pair of Bullwinkle bikini briefs with a picture of the Moose where ones tender bits are located and waited. And waited. And I forgot about them.

Gumby Dharma

2008-09-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

I just saw this cool cool documentary on Gumby and Art Clockey called Gumby Dharma. Sort of a bio on Art, Gumby, Pokey et al.

Some things I learned:

1. When first conceived, Gumby looked like a phallus until Art added the bump, which was modeled from a doo that his father once had.

2. Art was a follower of Si Baba (I think that's his name) and Gumby was once blessed with the Holy Ash by Si Baba in India.

3. "There are two kinds of people in the world: Prickly and Gooey," said Western Zen Man Alan Watts at a confab in San Jose attended by Art. Art named the two character friends of Gumby and Pokey's Prickly and Gooey after Watts' reference.

4. Art met his second wife at a clothing optional resort in Northern California.

5. Art also created Davey and Goliath.

6. Sneaky Pete, the slide guitar player of fame and fortune was working for Art in the early Gumby days and some one said "We need a theme song!" So Pete got the job. He made $100 dollars for the song.

At the end of the movie, Art is seen in a field of flowers dancing to the Gumby theme. Soon, Gumby and Pokey appear and dance happily with Art in the flowers as the credits roll by.

We used to watch Gumby everyday. I always wished I could ride around with Gumby and Pokey in all their cool vehicles and trains.

Ahnold and the Astronaut

2008-09-03T22:15:00.000-07:00

Here's the lastest Ahnold update:

You may recall that a guy called Batboy and some co-conspirators wheat pasted a life size Ahnold in his muscley days on a utility pole up in Orange County Crest. Within a few days it was removed by the authorities.

Within hours, the vandals put up a sign that said "I'll Be Bach!"

Well, a few days later, the neer do wells rehung an Ahnold, only this time it was a Treminator Ahnold with a red LED light eyeball that shown into the night as if to warn the ships of OC Crest of rocks and wrecks and sandbars.

The authorities returned and tore assunder the handsome paper guvinator, once more cleaning the pole of all debris.

Save for the lone LED eyeball shining red and evil in the chill, black night. It would not be moved!

And still HE LIVES!!!

And I think I saw Wally Schirra pasted in his spacesuit.

Sherwin and the Mortal Coil

2008-09-01T11:52:00.000-07:00

My friend Sherwin Tilton died the other evening. He had been battling cancer of the kidneys for nearly 2 years.He was a brilliant, sweet and funny guy who I have known since we were kids.

Sherwin left Rio Nada a number of years ago to pursue a career in film making and almost instantly made a name for himself with a film starring Karen Black. Rio Nada was proud.

I last spoke with him at a high school reunion a few years ago in Ontario, Ca. He was trim and fit and looked none the worse for wear.

He will be buried Thursday in a cemetery called Hollywood Forever.

Mr. Sanders Falls Down

2008-08-26T21:35:00.000-07:00

Mr. Sanders fell down today. I heard it.

Mr. Sanders is the 90 year old father of an old friend of mine, Suzanne Corners. He is the original owner of a huge 78 year old house on the corner of Champion Way and Mongolia Ave. and he lives there with his wife, Mrs. Sanders. The house is surrounded by large organ pipe cactus as well as yucca and other succulents and is guarded by a small yappy dog named Moloch. I was at Susan's wedding some 30 years ago when she was married in the house.

I was on my evening walk thru the Woody Streets this evening when I heard one of those "I've fallen and I can't get up" noises. I looked over and saw Mr. Sander's laying on his walkway with Mrs. Sanders trying to help him up.

I went over to help. I told them who I was and Mrs. Sanders remembered me.

Mr. Sanders was bleeding a bit from the elbow and trying mightily to get up, but gravity had the best of him.

But, for a 90 year old, Mr. Sanders knew what he needed to do. He maneuvered his way to all fours and with a little help from his friends (Mrs. Sanders and Moi with hands in pits), he rose like a firkin' Phoenix, grabbed the danged walker and high-tailed it into the house. He was bounding.

Then he came back out and told me to turn off the water!

Man oh man, I hope I'm that strong when I'm 90. Hell! I hope I'm that strong when I'm 57!

Charles Bukowski

2008-08-24T22:34:00.000-07:00

I'm reading a bio on Charles Bukowski. Not too bad either. Gives a lot of info on Hank's "Process," which usually included a pint of whiskey and two six packs.

Also decribes the timeline of his ascent and lotsa stuff about girls and fights. My kinda book.

But the real thing was better.

Bukowski came to Rio Nada City College when I was a wee college student and poet (So I thought. HaHa). A whole bunch of us thought we were poets. Some of us actually went on to be very successful writers. Not moi.

There was a Prof. at RNCC that really had us youngins writing like crazy. A wonderful experience. His name was Dan Chortle.

As I said, Bukowski came to read. 200 or so showed to watch. He came on with a thermos of screwdriver and a half dozen of Heinekins. He read. We laughed.

At one point he said "Are there any questions?"

Art Droll said "Why did you write that poem?"

Hank replied "Why did you shit this morning?"

Art said "How did you know that?"

Hank replied "I know these things!"

Much laughter and cheering.

When he ran out of beer, he begged us to give him a beer, rather pathetically.

We had none.

Afterwards, there was the after show party at Miguel Clerk's house, where it is said Hank became an obnoxious buffoon and broke things and probably showed his ass a few times.

A few years later, I called him on the phone (His number was listed). We talked for about 15 minutes. Pleasant, accessible guy he was. I hung up and wrote a poem. Probably called "The Night I Called Bukowski". Since lost and rightly so>

When I heard Bukowski had died, I felt empty for a bit and then remembered all the crazy lunatics I hung out with in those crazy writing days: Lackey, Susie Rhinegold, Art Droll, Ray Fitzhew, Justice Price, Cath Christian, Joe Bob Jones, Dan Chortle, Uncle Lee, and Crazy Henry, who once Xeroxed his willy and handed out copies to us all and said it was his latest poem.

It was scribble and read, scribble and read all the way back then.

Leems Is Properly Rude

2008-08-21T22:50:00.000-07:00

Leems and his circle of friends have been doing what some would call "vandalism". In the style of British guerrilla artist Banksy, they have been wheat pasting different images on utility polls and walls around Rio Nada, usually in the wee morning hours. Their best effort so far was a 9 foot angel that they pasted on a wall where a 16 year old at their school had crashed his motorcycle into the gym wall and was killed. The angel was stunning and poignant.

Other figures, equally as wonderful, have been a 7 foot Indian warrior and a life size Ahnold in his muscley days with a pair of lip marks on his shoulder. They also hung hundreds of paper airplanes in trees in a park with notes that said "These airplanes are for fun and please clean up your mess."

Leems has this theory that if you look like you should be there, you could paste in broad daylight without being hassled.

So today he and a friend tested the theory out on a signal "cupboard"in the center divider of one of the busiest intersections in town.

No sooner had they pasted the poster than a man started yelling at them to "Keep the city beautiful!" After taking a canvas bag away from them (Illegal:theft), the Yeller called the police, who showed up right away.

The female officer said " Why did you do it?"

Leems said "Because it looks good."

"Give her an educated answer!" yelled the Yeller.

And Leems said "Because it is aesthetically pleasing!" with a slight nod of the stinkeye to the Yeller.

Leems and friend offered to wash it off and did so.

All this beneath the shadow of two billboards with flashing lights, a 76 Union Gas sign that spins, some Orange County landscaping, a burnt umber with neon restaurant and some unimaginative and hideous corporate architecture.

Reminds me of that great Frank Zappa quote: "Americans wouldn't know beauty if it came up and bit them on the ass!"

Leemy Near Pioneertown and Maynard G. Krebbs

2008-08-20T20:59:00.000-07:00

Leemy drove out to Pioneertown way early this morning to work production on a real live production involving filming backgrounds for a dinosaur thing on the Discovery Channel (so I hear). He was out in the middle of the desert all day long carrying stuff and making hisself known to the peeps that matter. He says that he is going to get some recomendations outa this. He got paid too! There's no biz like show biz.

Speaking of getting paid. It seems that in order to continue to get paid for the job I do, I have to go back to work tomorrow. This after 10 weeks of leisure. But I am convinced that I am not supposed to work for anyone. I am designed to layabout and write songs or be witty or sit in the evening balm and drink chocolate beer. I'm not kiddin'!

The pirates life for me ...or something!

God Bless Maynard G. Krebbs!

This dog and pony tap dance that I must return to sickens me.

Bye Bye World Tour and LAX Round Midnight

2008-08-17T17:40:00.000-07:00

The Canaries World Tour ended with a whimper at Maui Wowie last night. Lotsa family and friends showed, most with some manner of glittery henna tattooing on their bods.

We played a coupla sets. Liam showed and sang "I Shall Be Released" beautifully. Princess sang "I Will" as well and did a superb job in spite of the fact that I forgot to tune down for her, causing the song to be a wee bit high in key. She's trooper and was still all shiny and smiley.

I never want to sing Jamaica Farewell again. That song has outlived it's usefulness. I'm starting to feel like part of a lounge act. Cack!

Afterwards, Bro A. and myself had the distinked pleasure of driving 70 miles into LAX to pick up the niece at 11:38 on Air Trans Airlines. If you like LAX during the day, you will get all shivery with excitement being there at night. Beautiful lighting that shimmers on the grime.

Flying into LAX was cheaper. Unless you have to spend forty dollars on gas. Watta looonnnggg night.

There was this guy driving around thru the parking structure picking up baggage carts on this little vehicle that had a long string of said carts trailing behind like a silvery anaconda. It was neato. I want that job. For a few hours.

Bro A. and Em both had their buttocks suddenly transferred 6 inches to the left without notice when the luggage carousel they were sitting on began to move. Only the buttocks moved. Not the owners. Making a very strange buttocks transferrence sound. Nearly a tragic buttocks occurrence. The buttock jaws of life may have been needed. Specially trained buttocks incident EMTs might have been needed. A buttocks is a terrible thing to waste.

"We may have to amputate!"

Whew!

Attack of the Hula Women

2008-08-16T09:34:00.000-07:00

The Hula Women took over last night at the Canaries World Tour opening at Maui Wowie. We had two sets lined up. Then the Hula Women attacked. Stuck there Hula set smack in the middle of our version of In A Gadda Da Vida, just before the drum solo. Sort of a good thing though, as we have no drums.

But a bit cheeky, as we were there first. But we agreed. Told them they could have a half hour. You know, the Hawaii spirit had entered our very being.

But their set ran at least an hour. And the Hawaii spirit left the building at the twenty minute mark.

The irony was, the Hula Women repeatedly made this Hula gesture to their wrists that meant "time". I don't think the Original Hula Girls had wrist watches.

And, I always thought that Hula Girls were scantily clad.

So you might say I had a few authenticity issues.

Canaries World Tour

2008-08-15T22:46:00.000-07:00

The Canaries kicked off their World Tour tonight at a place called Maui Wowie in Southern Rio Nada.

It's amazing what a combo is capable of when it doesn't rehearse.

Tomorrow night the Canaries end their World Tour at a place called Maui Wowie in Southern Rio Nada.

San Onofre Deux

2008-08-14T23:43:00.000-07:00

I went on another adventure today. Same choices. I went to San O. Trail 6 again. Last time it was a calming experience. This time it was relaxing as hell but weird and goofy too.

The State Park borders on Camp Pendleton, which is a huge facility that has war game things going on on both sides of the 5 Freeway nearly all the time. Tanks and other military vehicles are roaring around, usually East of the beach, whilst helicopters swoop low over the Western side, the beach side. I mentioned before that the beach is nearly all smooth stones except where the amphibious vehicles have made shore. At the far South end of the beach, spilling over into actual Camp Pendleton, many folks enjoy the beach sans clothing. So just to make things interesting, today 4 troop carriers drove North on the beach thru the waves nearly the length of the Park, which is more than 5 miles. The Southerners must have felt a little intruded upon. The constant thudding sound from the bombs on the other side of the 5 added to the weirdness.

And there was this Chinese guy that spoke absolutely no English wandering around taking pictures of the troop carriers as they drove by. This is an actual Chinese guy. Not a national threat kinda guy. But a jittery Chinese kinda guy. Nice enough, but a little jumpy. Wouldn't he be having more fun at the Olympics?

A soothing day in spite of the War going on around me. But I nearly finished the Beatles book. Next time, maybe.

San Onofre

2008-08-12T22:33:00.000-07:00

Went on an adventure today. I decided to go to either the Wild Animal Park, Idylwild, the Beach or the Desert. I ended up at San Onofre. Not bad. Only cost ten bucks for a day pass.

I drove down to trail 6 and hiked down this somewhat steep trail to be beach. Cool bluffs all eroded and craggly and lotsa human made rock sculptures. The whole beach was smooth stones.

Except where the amphibious water vehicles had landed. They scraped the rocks clean. The part of the beach I went to is on Camp Pendleton property. Many giant helicopters flying around. Really loud.

The nuclear reactor is just North of where I was. Spooky yet cool looking.

I sat on a hillock and read a Beatles book written by their engineer. I was the pastiest and oldest human there, easily. I was not the most corpulent.

A very relaxing day.

By the by: Vivage's blog says that I brought her a giftie of flowers and dark chocolates. What she neglected to say that when I gave her the gifties, I was in the nude.

Dr. Lan's House and the Smilin' Ayalas

2008-08-11T12:10:00.000-07:00

Went to Lan's House the other evening. Lan turned older so we had to celebrate while we had the chance.

Lan is a Doctor of Native American History. He used to go to local sweat lodges with the Natives and the Sioux would show up at his house now and again when they were in town. It's a Native thing to share, so they did. Admirable. What a concept, taking care of each other.

Kev was there. he's been a friend of mine since 5th grade. The year of the Cuban Missle Crisis. We had a redhead teacher who had a thick Southern accent. We thought it was cool because the only South we know is South California.

We told bunches of funny stories about the good ol' days. One of my favs was about our high school English teacher's Great Dane named Hamlet. Kev remembered a time when Hamlet tried to begin an historic interspecies breeding program with our friend Henry's right leg. Ah, love.

I met Hamlet in Boulder, Colorado when I went to visit Ms. Cloy at her mansion in the hills. The danged dog had his own fully furnished bedroom and a double bed to boot. He'd ramble in there every afternoon about 2:30 to take his nap. Every time he walked he would inadvertently fling gobs of dog goo from his slobbery mouth. One needed a raincoat when in his presence. Or in Henry's case, some protection.

The Swing was also a subject of fond conversation. What we could remember.

The Swing was where the Rolling Stones had their first North American Concert. Everybody played there, from Elvis to Zappa and from the Ramones to Jimi. They even had Roller Derby there.

One sad day a guy who owned a bunch of Mexican restaurants crashed his airplane into it. I have two pieces of it in my front yard. And memories in my head. What I can remember.

I lost my cell phone the other day. The one that says "It's simple...Kill the Batman!" in Keith Ledger's voice.

We were all calamitous about it being lost.

Then a lady who spoke muy poquito Ingles called my wife's phone. My wife speaks muy poquito Espanol. It was sorta funny listening to them try and communicate.

We figured out that they were at Home Depot (where I had just been) and we rushed over there and found them in the parking lot. They were the nicest people. We were all laughing and talking different languages to each other. We offered them a reward but they refused it. I wanted to take them home and have a barbecue or something. I felt sorta sad that we couldn't know them better. The Ayalas. They are people that you meet once but remember for a long time.

While they had the phone, they must have heard "It's simple... kill the Batman!" thirty times because we kept calling and calling. They must have thought we were nutty.

It's All Down Hill

2008-08-10T17:13:00.000-07:00

Leems and his friend Steverino took a couple of ten speeds and pedaled down to the Beach known as Newport today. Probably some 60 miles or so as the crow doesn't fly. They left Rio Nada about 10 AM and headed down some surface streets thru Homely Garden and Circle City to Circus Club Drive where they crossed the Mighty Rio Nada and rolled into (How do you shoot this gun...) Chino (Where the most recent earthquake was.) and followed the bike path along the aforementioned Mighty Rio Nada thru OC to Surf City and then South to their destination (Man, that's a fatty sentence!). Got there about 5 PM. A bunch of friends are in a house down at Newport where the boys will spend the night. Although Steverino wants to leave at midnight and retrace their route back home.

Leems said he ate a peanut butter sandwich under a bridge in shadow of the Big A.

Manana they may head South to San Clemente to the annual street festival where their favorite band Delta Spirit is playing for free.

They may pick up the MetroStink Train in S.C. if they'll let them board with their bikes.

Leemy's Big Adventure. And Steverino, too.

Art! Art! Everywhere!

2008-08-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

We went to the monthly Walk of Art downtown last night. Every month the Downtown Art Community opens up its gallery doors to the public and allows us to wander about like cultured cows in a 5 square block pasture of arty fulfillment. Talk about Global Warming! Mooo!!

There's about 15 of them galleries spread up and down Uni and Missing Inn Avenues. Some are beaugeouis corporate university affairs and in others, folks are slammin' whiskeys down the gullet of creativity.

We went to two uni and one proletariat gallery. Didn't see anything of much inspiration.

So we ended up at Las Pescados Restaurant, which specializes in fish. I had a Mess. It was great.

There were a lot of peeps down there tho. I guess that's a start.

We saw old pal Dirk and his Ma and Pa. Pa has this great white Santa beard that doesn't come off. He and Ma run a proletariat gallery on Limon St. Dirk is finishing up a degree in pschology and doing photography of nekkid women. He used to do these assemblages of radio parts, transistors and plastic dinosaurs. I think he's moved in the right direction. It was nice to see them. It's been a number of years.

Leems and I went to the Folk Music Center yesterday to by some CDs/tickets to the Dr. Dog/Delta Spirit concert at the El Rey in LA tonight. Scoped out a nifty guitar once owned by Ben Harper that I would like to own.

Leems was out til 5 AM last night doing what he gleefully calls vandalism. He and his fellow vandals hung hundreds of paper aeroplanes in a local park, a la Christo, for the neighborhood kids with a sign saying "These aeroplanes are for you to play with. Please pick up your trash".

Other recent "vandalism": An actual size Ahnold in his muscley days wheat pasting on a giant utility pole and an 8 foot angel wheat pasting at the site of the tragic death of a 16 year old motorcyclist on a local school parking lot. Someone defaced the Ahnold a bit. The "Vandals" were going to "bloody" his wounds last night.

Shoulda had the Walk of Art at the "Vandal's" sights.

Wild Ukes, Stingrays and Sportive Tricks

2008-08-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

Leems went off to Long Beach yesterday to do some windsurfing and was stung by a stingray (is the past tense of stingray stungray.? Or, for that matter, bee beed?).

The handsome lifeguards took, nay, spirited him away and stuck him in hot water to heal the wound. Some have suggested that peeing on a stingray wound will fix ya right up. Someone saw that on Survivor ( lotta really smart people on Survivor).

They made him walk back all the way to his beach site. They must be working for Ahnold's minimum wage plan.

A real pile of unruly people showed for the Uke Circle yesterday. Man, it was fun.
A bunch of great singers and players and about 3 newbies. Chuck sang the Banana Boat song, Anna, 2 Bottles of Wine, Bro A Bomb sang his song about the guy with no hands trying to pet the dog with no head, Do sang her middle-aged woman with a teenaged mind song, and Sandra brought some Fats Waller into the house. A swell time was had by all.

The a bunch of us went to The Royal Falconer Pub to see Sportive Tricks, an Irish band from Long Beach that does songs more in the old trad style. Had some curry and chips and a few nasty dark beers (that's a good thing) and was reminded how bad the table service really is there.

Late Saturday, Princess needed a hot dog from Weinerschnitzel, so we drove over and pulled up to the speaker. From the speaker wafted this incredible voice: "May I have your order?" it said in a timbre fit for only for radio talk show.

When we got to the window, we found that the voice came from a rotund lady with one tooth who probably had been in the sun for too long. But watta voice.

Earthquake Country

2008-07-29T13:38:00.000-07:00

It wasn't the Big One. But it was pretty big.

It shook for a long time.

I stepped outside to remove myself from where our 70 year old stone chimney would land if it shook any stronger.

And still it shook. The windows were rattling and the dogs went wiggy (We just this moment had a small aftershock).

Our neighbor nearly fell over in her bushes.

The wiff called to check on us. She was on the second floor of a university building.

It was a 5.8, later downgraded to a 5.6 or a 5.4. The shaking lasted for about a minute.

Most if not all Cali quakes are shallow. This one was about 7 miles down.

1 in 20 chance it was a preshock to a bigger one. As the clock ticks on the chances are less. More likely it we will feel aftershocks for a week or two.

Princess and I went to the store to buy some bottled water and a first aid kit right after it hit. We had water, but not enough to sustain us during the Bush administration.

Back when I was an actor I once asked an Earthquake Professor guy I knew where was the safest place to be in a theatre during an earthquake.

He said "Outside!"

Our natural disasters are better than your natural disasters any day.

Ah, Fame, You Glorious Bauble

2008-07-28T15:17:00.000-07:00

Last night we played in various combo configurations at the Folk Music Center Open Mic in Claremont. Leemie, Princess, Bro Atom Bomb, the Legendary Donita Curiouso and moi all played a song or two at some point with others of us being accompanists for each other and with great success. It was a rowdy evening with a boisterous crowd, great playing and singing and a night like Atlanta in August. We were sweatin' like rancid pork.

High points were Jerry and Ellen doing a smokin' version of I Shall Be Released and Mac doing a song about trying to square dance after many mint juleps in Tennessee.

Flash forward to today at about 3:00 PM. Leemy and I are in Trader Joe's, a good 40 miles away from the FMC, talking with our favorite checkout girl, Joanie, when the guy behind us says to Leemy "Hey, weren't you at the Folk Music Center last night?"

Leemy says "Why yes." And they guy starts telling him how great he was.

I says "I was there too!" and the guy sorta blows me off. Hmmpf. And he says "We're from Denver and we're traveling around playing at open mics all across the country."

That's great see ya later.

And in co-ink-ee-dink con multipo, on our way out, someone at another checkout was overheard saying "I been playin' the horses in Del Mar," a place where we have been known to haunt. And lose.

So Leemy and moi sang "It's a Small World" all the way to the truck, hopped in and cruised off in to the purple haze.

Billy's Dream No. 3 or 4

2008-07-28T10:16:00.000-07:00

For some reason I parked my truck on the sand at Newport Beach just a few yards away from the boardwalk. Albie and I got out of the truck and walked over to Henry's to rent surfboards and then down the block to Blacky's to hang out and have a beer with the Dorreyman.

When we got back to the truck, the tide had come in and gone back out, leaving the truck half-buried in sand and in a sinkhole. I decided to back it out. I got in, turned on the stereo and turned the key. The wheels started to spin, throwing sand all over the place and slowly lifting the truck out of the hole. Suddenly, the truck broke free and began spinning wildly backwards in concentric circles and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was dodging traffic and people and spinning faster and faster on the beach and skillfully avoiding passersby. The spinning began a sand whirlwind that rose higher and higher into the sky and as it moved towards the ocean it began to lift water and sand, sandcrabs, seaweed, beachballs, towels, umbrellas and all manner of tourist property slowly up, up, up into the blue sky in a mad dervish of beachy artifacts. At the center of the swirl was Albie, spinning like a top and shouting at the top of his lungs "How do ya turn this thing off?!!! I'm getting carsick!!!"

Creeps

2008-07-26T13:06:00.000-07:00

Liman was talking on the phone to his bud named Bunjie at about 2 AM this morning when suddenly he hears this horrifiic scream coming from Bunjie's end of the phone.

Bunjie lives in the Toolies and it seems some creep took some girl out to the Toolies to make out and the make out turned into an attempted (or actual) rape. The girl made it into Bunjie's backyard and was screaming like crazy. Bunjie turned on the giant lights in the back and found the girl naked, hysterical and very drunk (drugged?). Bunjie and his Ma and Pa took the girl inside and clothed her and called cops. The perp ran off into the Toolie hills and, as I hear it, was captured. One can only hope.

Nearly one year ago to the day Bunjie was carjacked and threatened by another creep, who was captured.

Liman says he is haunted still by that scream.

It's All Happenin' at the ZOO

2008-07-25T23:35:00.000-07:00

Bro Atom Bomb, Pammmmmm, Bil, Lola and Lola's Squeeze and Yours Truly went to the zoo today. The one in San Diego. We all drove in seperate but equal cars so as to do our own personal part to encourage Global Warming. We are so so bad.

I headed out about 10:00 AM and zipped down the Rio Nada Expressway at a tidy 80 miles per hour with the stereo at about 97 decibels. It was a beautiful day. I did notice that the are alot of mansions being built along the freeway in the hills. This is bad. The hills were just fine the way they were.

I stopped at Larryland to do the whizz thang and to check the theatre marquee to see if I knew anyone in the show. Not a soul. They are all so young. That acting biz is a kids gig fer shure, dude.

I also recalled that now I am a member of the Larryland demographic.

I bought a can of chips and a root beer at the Larryland Market and toodled off in a southerly direction.

I pulled into the Zoo parking lot and parked in the two-humped camel section. I bought my ticket and walked over to wait for Bro by the stinky flamingos. Pammmmm and friends were already at the Zoo near the pandas. I decided to do the whiz thang again whilst waiting for Bro. As I was standing at the Whizzer (waterless at the San Diego Zoo), doing what one do at the Whizzer, my phone, which is buried deep in my pocket, goes off, playing my newest ringtone: Heath Ledger saying in his Joker voice "It's simple, we kill the batman!" It doesn't just play once, it plays over and over as I stand there at the Whizzer. The place cleared out pretty fast.

The Zoo was a great time. Of special note was the lizard outdoor enclosure containing all manner of tiny lizards running about catching flies and doing some sort of lizard mating dance whilst gazing at Bro ( Maybe Bro is the actual Lizard King). We also hung out at the Zoo's the three huge aviaries. We just sat in the big bird cages watching and listening. At first you would see one bird, then another and then all of a sudden you realize that there are hundreds of birds in these enclosures. Neat and Tweet!

As we were leaving, a skywriter was writing what eventually said "Seek the Six" so that the entire city could see it. But nobody knew what it meant. The City of San Diego is freakin' tonight!

Bro and I left the Zoo nature sated, yet hungry. So we cruised up the Pacific Coast Highway and stopped at the world famous Encinitas Cafe and ate a scrumptious dinner of mac and cheese with brocolli and roll for he and a salmon burger with tater salad for me.

As we hopped in our cars and tore out there, our waitress, a lady named Twinkles, ran to the door and waved and we could hear her say as we drove off into the sea mist "Come back, O.K.?"

Q-Tip in My Brain

2008-07-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a weird dream. Usually, I only remember the ones involving nudity and the Muppets. But I guess this one was special.

I had a Q-Tip in my brain. It got stuck in my nose and somehow traveled all the way up into my brain. The doctors showed me an X-Ray that looked like one of those guys that accidently shoot a nail into their head with a nail gun. But this was a Q-Tip. It was lodged in the part of my brain that governs humor. Man, scary.

Knock Knock.

Big Mama Thornton and the Wee Teens

2008-07-20T23:37:00.000-07:00

Today a couple of carloads of Canary family and friends, some from Rio Nada and some from the land of the Amish drove down to Newport Beach. We used to hang out at Newport when we were teeny kiddies and wee teens. I haven't been there much in the last thirty years or so, but much of it looks pretty much the same. We went looking for a parking place near the Newport Pier so as to gobble up some chili at that chili place were an ex-teen girlfriend worked for awhile many years ago.

A parking place by the chili place on a Sunday afternoon in July? HaHaHaHa!

We ended up in a parking lot gigante just North of the Wedge by the Balboa Pier. We drove around that lot like drooling feral dogs looking for a chihuahua.
We got lucky and found a space after about an hour and a half.

*********

Forty or so years ago, near the land end of the pier, there was a coffee house called The Prison of Socrates, a small place that served tea and cider. It was one of a coastal chain of places that served up live jazz, blues and folk music (The Golden Bear and another place in Seal Beach, I forget the name, were part of that group).

When I was 13 or so years old some wee teen friends and myself were wandering around Newport during Spring Break smoking Terryton Cigarettes with cinnamon toothpicks stuck in them and drinking bubble gum root beers and just generally trying to look cool, when we found the Prison. So in we went, ordered some ciders and sat down near the stage. We were giggling because the stage was littered with Silvertone amps, guitars and even a Silvertone drum set. Silvertone equipment was very gauche in my teen days.

The lights went down and out walked four nattily dressed thin black gentlemen and a wall of a woman in a bowling shirt.

For two hours we sat digging Willy Mae "Big Mama" Thornton and her band. We had never heard of her and certainly never forgot her. She just plain ripped the place to tiny pieces.

Afterwards, we three wee teens stood out at the side of the brick Prison talking with Big Mama for about twenty minutes. What a class lady.

Hard to believe she could be sitting across the table from Johnny Ace when he lost at Russian Roullette.

So today I thought I'd walk down to where the Prison was to see if the building was still there. It was easy to spot. It's a Pizza Place now, nice looking and crowded. I spoke to the manager/owner who was very aware of the history of his place and was interested to hear my story.

I looked over to where the stage was andto about where we were seated, then walked outside to check out the spot where we talked with Miss Thornton.

My son Liam was with me. I don't think he could fully understand how cool it was to sorta relive that moment from 40 years ago. But I know he'll be doing the same things with his kids when he's older.

I can still hear the twang, shake and shudder that night: "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog..."

Canaries in San Bernardino

2008-07-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

We're not Italian, we're Swedish.

Nevertheless, we have a huge extended family. My Pa, Charles Canary, had 13 brothers and sisters. All were born and raised in Iowa in a dink of a town called Vale.

They grew up dirt poor and for giggles they smoked cornsilk in a pipe and tipped over outhouses on Halloween. Charles and a few of his brothers were arrested one night for their pranks and were thrown in the Vale Jail. They removed the bars and climbed out the jailhouse window, quickly escaping into the night.

Grampa and Gramma Canary were married in Sweden and came to the U.S. in their teen years, landing with all other immigrants on Ellis Island. Gramps' real name was John Johnson, so the story goes, and because nearly every Swedish male immigrant was also named John Johnson, the Ellis Island authorities changed his name to John Odin, after Odinsthorpe, the area of Sweden where he was raised.

Gramps and Gramma settled snug and comfortable to start a new life in Vale. But sadly, soon after, Gramps died in a train wreck, of which pictures of the piled and bent cars were taken and passed from brother to sister and cousin to cousin as evidence of the tragedy.

Any money Gramps had accrued in his short lived USA prosperity was soon history. So, with a Joadesquian sweep, Gramma and the kids packed the car and hit the road for Ca-li-forn-i-a. Los Angeles, in particular. And on the way they changed their name to Canary after Gramma's pet bird, which lost a battle of food chain supriority with a raggedy tomcat in Fruita, Colorado, whilst Gramma cleaned her spectacles.

Nearly 70 years have past. The daughters and sons of John and Wilhemina Odin/Canary are gone. But dozens of their progeny and hundreds of their progenies progeny thrive on and prosper in shakey, smoggy SoCal.

Which brings us, dear reader, to San Bernardino.

A second Canary cousin was married last night on a hilltop overlooking San Bernardino in a restaurant called the Castaway. An elegant place with a lovely view of the valley and the San Gorgonio Mountains.

Hundreds of Canaries and Canary friends were at the wedding and the first reunion of us all after 3 or 4 years of not seeing each other. It was superb. Much hugging and kissing and catching up was done. Some have maintained a healthy crop of hair and most have their teeth. Although we are rounder and more furrowed, we still are a proud and handsome lot. Who would have guessed that such a scruffy, dirty, squawking and demanding band of blondie kids would turn out so seismo cool?

Headin' South Right After I Head Northwest

2008-06-20T23:52:00.000-07:00

Goin' to Solana manana. Gonna write a passle o' songs. Gonna scope out the open mic scene in San Dago County. Gonna see some Shakespeare in the Balboa Park. Gonna hang in Encinitas near that Amercan diner on PCH near the Left Wing Nut Radical Activist Tree Hugger Store that sells stuff made outa hemp. Ain't no horse races yet at the track. That's next month. Shit! Gonna go ta Old Town and drink me a shot of 40 dollar tequila and buy a cigar to go wit it. Gonna sun my belly at Dog Beach and chill at Swami's. Gonna buy me a used book and some funny postcards and then talk to some old surfer about nothin'. Gonna get a muffin in the morning at the old train depot-turned-coffee joint and read a local paper. Gonna miss my wiff and kids. Gonna see Shamoo.

Pudgy Tagger and His Sidekick Stooopid

2008-06-08T21:11:00.000-07:00

There is a church up the street that has concrete steps that the teenage sk8ter dudes like to use for their sk8teboard noodlings. I don't care if they sk8te up there because they don't wax the steps and aren't doing anything destructive and they're all pretty young. No harm, no foul...UNTIL TODAY!!!

I went walking up the street for my daily constitutional and saw these two pubescent sk8ters walking from the church steps towards Blockthorn Ave. heading towards the Woody streets. Just as I turned the corner the little pudgy one is tagging a sign in front of the dental office with a neon yellow marker. So I yelled out in my manly voice "You are soooo busted!" and I pulled out my phone and called the Rio Nada Police. The little pudgy one looked sorta scared and I said "I have the cops on the phone right now!" He jumped on his sk8teboard and sk8ted away looking over his shoulder and sobbing like a wee puppy.

His friend, Stooopid, stayed with me. I asked him where his friend lived and he said "I dunno!"

"You don't know where your friend lives? You punk!" I said (That was the best I could come up with). Stooopid then jumped on his sk8teboard and took off following the pee stains left by his anonymous pudgy friend.

The cops were on the phone the whole time and as the two sk8ted into the sunset I gave the cops a detailed description and which way they were headed. I don't know if the cops caught them, but I'm pretty sure I'll see them again.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they were a couple of local Banksys or something. A little guerilla art would be a welcome thing. But the egomania of tags for tags sake is a perfect example of kids (and adults) not having the ability to recognize something clever or beautiful even if it came up and bit them on their ass.

Peter Case and a Honor Placque

2008-04-08T22:03:00.000-07:00

Donita Curioso, Bro Atom Bomb and myself are taking a songwriting workshop with Peter Case at McCabe's in Santa Monica. Very inspiring. Our homework this week is to write for exactly 10 minutes every morning first thing. No newspaper, no Pop Tarts, no nothing. Just write about an object using the 5 senses before you do anything. I'm already feeling a wee bit like Burt Bacharach.

Peter's very good. He's been writing since he was 11 so he has a world of experience. So far the class has been excellent.

Here's my 5 minutes, as it happened and unedited, for the day:

Timer

The ticks will drive you nuts
They never stop, incessant
like the nails being driven
in an oak box,
like someone yelling Now! Now! Now!
over and over
each leaving a tiny toc bruise
in the field of skin. I can smell
the passing of each Now
as a dirty wind
watering my eyes
howling in my ears
tasting of onions and nothing
over and over again.
The ticks can't be held.
Try and catch one.
Try to stop it.
Gently snatch the tick
and caress it til ceases.
My heart says know.
The blink of an eye says believe it.
The puttering of blood through my veins,
damned thin,
exhausted,
comes dancing at an awkward pace,
like a waltz in four four time.

We are also supposed to write a song for this week.

Here's my rough lyrics:

How could you have known
A million years ago
You'd be a quart of thirty weight
And a buck for Texaco.

Today you run my car
To shop and work and play
To you I owe most everything
For this easy living way.

Chorus:
Thank you dinosaurs
Thank you thank you
I thank you dinosaurs everyday.
Repeat

I want to be a dinosaur
And lumber all around
Become extinct expressly to
Become a puddle underground.

Chorus

Thank you Godzilla
Thank you Kong
Thank you Mothra
Thank you Rodan
Thank you Puff
Thank you Marc Bolan
Thank you Cabazon.

Whew! It ain't easy being an artiste!

This Friday, Viv and I are going to be honored with a placque and a free ticket to a show at Performance/Rio Nada. The Viv and I were founding members of this weighty theatre group some 25 odd years ago. It's nice.

But the real honor for me was that I worked with so many wonderfully generous and talented maniacs during those years. Some have since passed, some are ill (and their courage astonishes and inspires me). All are scattered now. Gary, Patricia, Mary, Susan, Jeff, Jeff, Steve, Mikey, Paul, Doug, Karen, Michael, Mark, Robin, Cynthia, Carol and many, many more. What a lovely bunch of coconuts. Would that they were all with Viv and I on Friday.

Zombie Running Deux, Mother Canary Halluhalluhallucinacinates, and The Canaries Haven't Rehearsed in Three Weeks

2008-03-16T21:56:00.000-07:00

Zombie the battaram dog ran out the gate again. He zoomed down Rubberdux Ave. with his drooly tongue flapping in the breeze and never once looking back over his shoulder. Viv was following him in the Mitsubishi and I on my bike. To make a long story short, we covered 3 miles in about 45 minutes, made contact with a lesbian couple who kindly gave us three breaded stegasaurus chicken nuggets as a dog lure, briefly met a gentleman who tried to herd the danged dog with his SUV, rode a cross country bike ride through a hundred yards of knee-high vegetation and stopped on a bluff overlooking the Mighty Rio Nada from which we could see a herd of wild river pigs and a bum encampment inhabited by two or three scroungy fellows playing "All You Need is Love" on their ukuleles.

OK. I made some of that up, but not much.

All you need to know about Mother Canary's hallucinations is that a bladder infection combined with a medicine called Urispaz (Your A Spaz?) is a lot cheaper than you-know-what and you cut out the middle man. Just put on the Iron Butterfly and away you go.

Lastly, the Canaries haven't rehearsed in three weeks. How will popular music as we know it survive?

It's Rainin' Ukes

2008-02-20T22:43:00.000-08:00

I've been in the News Suppress and on a local TV station a few times in the last couple of months with regards to the various Uke ventures I'm involved with. People call and send EMails and otherwise make contact with you when they see you in the media. One old friend EMailed and said her hub had just played drums for Jake Shimakoburo the weekend before and had talked Jake into signing a poster and 2 CD's over to the Woodchuck Ukesters. The Ukesters were happy has clams.

Last night, an old Garden of Eden Church member called me out of the blue. Her name was Flora and I remembered her from when I was a kid because her Hub's name was Wimpy. I never forget a Wimpy.

She was calling because she was the executor for the estate of a 103 year old lady who had just passed on. The old lady's nephew was supposed to be the executor but she got pissed off at him and cancelled him and gave the job to Flora. Flora said she couldn't refuse a 103 year old lady.

Flora had the old lady's ukulele, which had been found in the bowels of some closet, and wanted to give it a good home. So, having seen me in the paper, she called and offered it to me. I said I would be happy to put the thing to good use and will pick it up tomorrow.

So, hooray, another uke in the house! Little wooden babies everywhere!

Zombie Running

2008-02-19T19:39:00.000-08:00

Liam left the gate open the other night.

We have a driveway that's about 100 feet from the street to the house. In the early morning, about 6 A.M., I always let the boy dogs out. Dil is jittery and feeble and Zombie is a big goofy pup of about 50 pounds. They run crazy out the door and spill into the yard rooting for whatever they can destroy as I walk down to the gate to get the News Suppress.

And the gate is opened. Zombie spies it and is off and out like a doofus Sea Biscuit tearing down the street at a bazillion miles an hour. Every dog in the hood is barking for him, like when Bromden escapes the nut house, and I am following in my Feety Jammies shouting "You stoooopid, stoopid fecking dog!!!! You mickeyfickey dog!!! Zombie come come!!! Zombie come home!!!

At 6 in the morning.

Even the monkeys across the street were awake and howling with all their lungs could muster.

Being at the top of the food chain is not all it's cracked up to be.

Let the Sunshine In

2008-02-09T11:16:00.000-08:00

It's 85 degrees Farenheit today in my neck of the SoCal! Damn the cold! Damn! Damn! Damn!

Princess made another incredible cell phone discovery today. If she pushes a few buttons on her phone, it can identify the song title and artist of whatever song is playing on the radio. She nailed some Della Reese song yesterday on the way down the hill from Woodchuck. I tried singing Ole' Man River into the thing, but it couldn't figure out who I was.

Viv and I went to the Pizzazzy Pizza Kitchen last night for a practice B-Day dinner. We were joined by Princess and her friend for desert. They devoured a slab of gooey death chocolate in-yo-face slathered up with a creamy ice cream on your bosom blend. Watta mess it could have been.

Round midnite, Liam ran out of gas up the hill beyond Woodchuck. I nearly had to go rescue him. But a friend was able to round up a can of fossil fuel to power the VW home. It's all downhill anyway.

The Big B-Day Dinner is tonight. Lotsa friends at either Raymundo's or Anchovie's. Should be fun. We'll probably dance on the tables, gravity permitting.

Time Flies When Yer Having Fun, Picture in the Paper, and a Fan

2008-02-07T21:26:00.000-08:00

My sweetie, Viv, turns fifty tomorrow. We met at Licorice Pizza Records and Tapes in beautiful Rio Nada oh so many years ago. Seems like yesterday. She is still lovely to behold. Happy B-Day sweetie!

My picture and a small article on the Woodchuck Ukesters was in the News-Suppress today. I also got a Podcast. The Podcast voice pronounced Ukesters with a short u. I was miserably paraphrased and misquoted so as to render my word jewels and ruby wisdoms powerless, turgid and uninspiring. What's a boy to do.

I also received an E-Fan mail. Sheesh. The fan wants to contact me. Probably wants to start a fan club.

What next? Papparrazi?

I'm starting to feel like Brittney Spears.

I'm also relieved to read that they've busted some Indian (as in India) doctor in the stolen kidney caper. Maybe they can retrieve the stolen property.

I hope the put him in jail and feed him nothing but mud cookies.

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

The Rhine in Spine

2008-02-05T20:28:00.000-08:00

Princess Canary made a great discovery today. She doesn't have to read any of her text messages on her phone anymore. She can push a button and one of those robot voices says the message to her. All evening she's been texting herself gross, cuss and offensive words and phrases. The best one was "Bite me ass bitch" or something like that. Pretty dang funny. The robot pronounced booger as boojer. Fuck sounds like fook. Another good one was "Excuse me sir, you have stepped in poooo."

The she-bot sounds like Borat, but with a college degree from, say, Inner Slabovia.

I'm gonna try texting "Iyee fairt en yoor jeneral die rax shun!"

Don't Forget to Vote

2008-02-04T22:32:00.000-08:00

Don't forget to vote!

R.U.L.F. = Right Underwear Lifts Fannies

2008-02-03T20:04:00.000-08:00

The Rio Nada Ukulele Liberation Front had it's Super Bowl Uke Circle today. It was a dreary day, and few were expected to attend due to the Bowl and the drear. Brother Atom Bomb of Reflection was ill with something akin to scrofula. And since no one is happy with a bout of scrofula, he stayed home with a bottle of Southern Comfort which he would occassionally zap in the microwave for 40 seconds so as to increase its therapeutic impact. He should be good as new sooner than expected.

Surprise, surprise! We had had an excellent turnout of happy football haters. Kurt, Karl, Liam the Boy Uke Genius and his Pa, Doe, Terrance, Rocky, Randolph and family, new guy Rich and moi all giggled our way through some of the old Hymn numbers (Jamaica Farewell, Daydream, Up On the Roof, All I Have To Do is Dream, etc.) and a coupla newies. Liam and his Pa brought in a Dead tune (something about a devil) that was great. Terrance did a Social D. song that was great as well. Doe did Sukiyaki buy Kyu Sakamoto. Lovely, as usual. I putzed through Daydream Believer, which hasn't hit it's stride as of yet. Rocky did a hilarious song buy a guy named Zimmerman (but not the Zimmerman).

I don't know about them, but I had a wonderful time. I always leave with a buzz of the natural kind. Sorta like when I'm on It's A Small World. Even with all that drear hanging around.

Bro A., being the brains of the outfit and being absent, left a wee hole where leadership and harmony should have been. So we started off with a small thud but were jumpin' pretty quickly.

Hurry back, O Atom Bomb Brother. Your minions await your basso guidance.

Halftime during the Super Bowl is when your not supposed to flush your toilet because everyone in the Universe is flushing theirs as well. Just imagine.

Well, everyone is ordering pizzas, too. Princess ordered three and when the pizza guy arrived he called and left a message on our phone that said "If you want your pizzas, you better come out and get them" (we live pretty far from our gate).

So I walked to the gate and the pizza guy looks like the troll in Three Billy Goats Gruff and I say to him with a touch of sarcasm "You guys busy tonight?" And he slowly turns his head to me and gives me the double stinkeye.

Then he says "Should I punch you now, or later?"

Pretty cheeky for a troll who works for tips. Maybe he was from New York?

Oh, and I'm pretty sure that was the best football game I've ever seen.

Kidneys and Mud Cookies.

2008-02-03T09:52:00.000-08:00

Watta thing to wake up to on a drizzly Sunday morning:

-The Daily News Suppress reports some fellows in India offered 3 months of work at $3.47 a day to a guy named Salim and he jumps at the chance because he has a bunch of kids and he needs the money.

The next thing he knows, he is being pinned to the ground by someone's knees, there are guns aimed at his head and someone else gives him an injection which sends him into oblivion.

Then he wakes up in intense pain dressed in a hospital gown and a guy with a mask on says "We have taken your kidney. Tell anyone and we will shoot you."

Seems that there is a booming market for human organs in India. The thugs harvest some poor guy's innards and sell them to some billionaire in the Isles of Langerhans.

-On page two is a story about folks in Haiti living off mud cookies. They don't have enough food so they get mud from their country's central plateau. The goo is prized as an antacid and a source of calcium. It is mixed with salt and vegetable shortening and made into cookies.

The price for two cups of rice in Haiti has risen 60% ovet the last year. Beans, condensed milk and fruit have risen at a comparable rate. Even the mud is more expensive. It now costs about $5.00 to make 100 cookies.

When someone eats dirt, for whatever reason, it is called geophagy.

I am suddenly grateful for Blueberry Poptarts.

Wait! There It Is Two Blahgs Down!

2008-01-29T20:07:00.000-08:00

Wait! There it is two blahgs down!

Pricess Gets Carded, The Rabbi Gets New Hips and The Canaries Sing and Dance

2008-01-29T19:29:00.001-08:00

Holy Mother of God! I just finished writing a fascinating and informative blahg to describe the above title and it was dumped into cyberspace by some cyber banshee!

Pricess Gets Carded, The Rabbi Gets New Hips and The Canaries Sing and Dance

2008-01-29T19:29:00.000-08:00

Princess got carded for liquor today! She's only 16 years old!

We were at Trader Joe's and amongst the tofu and organic muffins in the basket was a bottle of Coppola Shiraz that I placed there because it looked pretty tasty. So the checker is checking us out and I hand my money card to Princess so she can do all the money biz while I stand there looking at the Airborne anti-cold drops. The checker says to Princess "Are you the purchaser of this wine?" And Princess sorta giggles a bit and the checker gives her a mini-stinkeye. Princess looks to me for help and I say "Hell no. That's my moneycard." Sheesh! I was standing right there. Did she truly think that Princess was going to buy a bottle of wine? I should of said she was buying it for me.

Anways, Princess likes Australian Merlots.

Albie's dad, the Rabbi, went in for surgery today in a hospital on the coast.. He had some hips replaced and it looked to be a bit risky because the Rabbi is 92 years old. We were all concerned.

But Albie called and said everything went well and the Rabbi is being very crabby and hard to manage in his post-op condition. I told Albie "Wait 'til he eats the food!"

I may cruise down to the beach and have lunch with him at Bonehead's later this week.

The Canaries, Billy (me), Brother Atom Bomb, and Donita Curioso got our ukes together last night and worked on a song called "Tweedledee" by LaVerne Baker. It has a Big Mama Thornton kinda feel to it with some semi-complicated do wop biz in the background. Lotsa rhythm going on too. Ms. Curioso found the song and she sings the beejabbers out of it. A little polishing and it will be bitchin' and twitchin' time. I get steamy just thinking about it.

God Bless the human who invented the cowbell.

Anniversary # ?

2008-01-26T18:28:00.000-08:00

I don't remember when we were married. Between 20 and 25 years ago. And we practiced for about 7 years prior for good luck. I guess you have to add that on.

Viv and I were married at Eden Lutheran Church in Rio Nada California. Both our families have a history there. My Ma and Pa were married there. It's a stately brick church sitting on a bluff overlooking the Tequesquite Arroyo across from Mt. Rubidoux. It was built with sweat and blood by a bunch of Swedes in the early 50's. Working men not to long off the boat. It has a beautiful stained glass window that catches the sun at the perfect angle every afternoon. There is a Fellowship Hall, about 3,000 square feet, just west of the Sanctuary that was built by the same Swedes one Saturday afternoon, I've heard. We Canarys did a uke concert for the 150 year anniversary of the church.

In the late 60's, someone broke into the Sanctuary and torched it. They also broke the left pinky finger from the statue of Jesus at the alter. The Swedes cleaned up the mess and repaired the place. The pinky was replaced but now it's an inch or so too long.

When Viv and I went in for our marriage interview with the Pastor, he called me a cradle robber. Viv is 6 years younger. We giggled at that.

The wedding was on the cheap. The Church was 50 bucks with a limit of 50 people. The friends that we couldn't invite showed up anyway. And there were a few. What I remember most clearly about the wedding is Viv's dad coming down the aisle. He was very ill and he walked the whole way. And, of course, I'll never forget Viv. She was wearing a cream-colored wedding dress with matching high laced ankle boots with heels. She got the dress at Harris' for another 50 bucks. She fixed it up (She was a theatrical costumer for awhile) and her hair was all spikey. She looked wonderful. She still does.

What I remember most about the ceremony is that the Preacher's vestments had little felt balls all over them.

The reception was held at our old house on Grenbriar St. We bought a cake (At $90 bucks, the biggest expense) from Simple Simon's just after it opened. It was a two-story rasberry chocolate thing with Ionic columns that were sorta leaning to one side. We had a bunch of beer and some baked beans. There might have been some barbecue involved. The stereo did not survive.

It was the clearest, warmest January night ever and we danced until morning 'neath the full moon.

Pine, Sauce, Crab

2008-01-23T22:43:00.000-08:00

Think of one word than can be added to each of the three words in the title to form three different compound words.

Rain Reign Rein

2008-01-23T22:19:00.000-08:00

It's raining again. I hate it. I wish there was a law that said "rain only at night". Or that the rain would have to maintain a 36 inch perimeter around me that would follow me around wherever I go so as to keep me dry.

I know there's a drought. I lived in Santa Barbara during the great drought of '78. I know the routine. I take short showers, water my lawn sparingly, and sometimes I don't flush when I whiz (Well, not so often, really).

I was going to rent the basement of a house up on Milpas near McConnell's and I said to my friends "What if it rains?"

They said "It NEVER rains in Santa Barbara!"

That winter it rained like a mofo gigante! There was a front page picture in the Santa Barbara News-Suppress of the poor coed who rented the place. She was standing in that basement up to her knees in water.

It coulda been me!

Instead, I spent the winter dressed in garbage bag raincoat riding my seatless bike all over Isla Vista during the deluge. I swear I was pruney for three months.

Some old hippie even went so far as to begin construction of an ark out near the teepee village. He's probably still living there.

This storm may be his last big chance.

Martin Luther King Jr. and the Australian Boys

2008-01-21T20:13:00.001-08:00

Princess and I did the MLK Walk-a-Thon today here in Rio Nada. The Beechwood crowd came along as well. The walk starts at the park across from the Baptist church up on the Eastside and runs down MLK Blvd. to Main St. and then up 7th St. to the Muni. Lotsa food and speechifyin and 5 rock bands. Probably about a three + mile walk. We all ended up at Farmer Boy. Too late for the Breakfast Burrito tho. Bummer.

The Beechwood crowd had two teens from Australia with them. They were exchange students for a week. Two excellent kids. Witty, personable and engaging. And they talked funny. Last night there was a barbecue in their honor and we sat around and sang with some guitars and ukes. Taught them a few Woodie Guthrie songs and we all made an attempt at Waltzing Mathilda with minimal success. One of the Aussie kids had a great voice. They're flying back to the homeland tonight.

All good gifts to Donita and family, whose courage, wisdom and compassion will surely see them through their trying times. xo.

The Uke Man Cometh

2008-01-19T23:06:00.000-08:00

I received, finally, both of the EBay ukes in the mail. Sheesh! It took along, long time for them to get here. One was a concert uke circa 1950. The concert was deformed. It had a crack from the sound hole all the way thru the lower bout. It was warped and twisted and for about $200 bucks we could make it playable. Ell at the Folk Music Center suggested I plant a staghorn fern in it and hang it outside somewhere. I may.

The banjolele is much more interesting. It's basically a hunk of wood. With a coupla screws in it. I'm gonna try to gouge out some of the wood along the circumference of the body in the back to create a little more resonance. I'm gonna use a popsicle stick for the bridge. It will play someday soon.

Who knows what happened to the Woodchuck Ukesters appearance on LA Today? They told us we'd be on Tuesday and today is Saturday. A kid at school did tell me her sister saw me on TV, but I suspect that someone is confused. I don't think it's been aired yet.

One of the Ukesters was writing something in class and he wanted to read it out loud. When he reads, he always reads like an Orson Wells radio show and it's always about aliens and monsters and space stuff. So he reads his title (He's a nine year-old) in his Wellian way: "It Came From Uranus!" and there is about 5 seconds of silence and a girl in the back says to herself "Your anus?" and the class goe slap happy, laughing like crazy. I tried to convince them it wasn't funny, but it didn't work.

Oily Bozo and the Cross-eyed Polar Bear

2008-01-16T17:48:00.000-08:00

Here's a reason not to vote for Mitt Romney (as if ya needed one). Him and his Michigan win and that stoopid polar bear cub in Germany caused the Woodchuck Ukesters to be bumped from the Today in LA show. It now appears that the Ukesters will be on KNBC Channel 4 on Thursday, Jan. 17, 'tween 6 and 7 AM.

The entire nation got up early to see the Ukesters and are treated, instead, to some oily right-wing bozo no-no and a cross-eyed polar bear from Germany who's mother tried to eat him.

This is what Western Civilization has been reduced to.

Zen Koan

2008-01-15T22:37:00.001-08:00

What is the sound of one ukulele arriving?

Woodchuck Ukesters Conquer All Creation

2008-01-15T22:19:00.000-08:00

The Ukesters will appear on KNBC Channel 4 out of LA tomorrow morning, Jan. 16, between 6 and 7 AM. Check the KNBC website if you live out of town. It may be there. Keyword: Ukulele.

The taping this morning was slick, quick and witty. And after last nites triumphant concert at the Rio Nada School Bored Meeting, the world, nay, the universe, is our big honkin' oyster-doyster. What a tour it's been. Two concerts in 12 hours, from one end of town to the other, we deserve a Mr. Misty.

The Ukesters have conquered all Creation, and not a dime to show for it.

But we did get some cool free T-Shirts that said "We Got Blisters on our Fingers!"

Happy Birthday Charo!

2008-01-15T19:04:00.000-08:00

The Rio Nada local newspaper has been a piece of fish wrap since it was purchased from the local owner by a big Texas concern. And I can prove it:

1. They cancelled Mr. Boffo.
2. They support Humpty Smirky Bush.
3. They no longer keep us up to date on the local mayhem.
4. The obituaries are impossible to figure out.

Lately, they've added a new feature that is mildly amusing, but I'm not sure why.
It's a little box in the corner that has the birthdays of different celebs, some living, some dead.
It's sorta fun to compare these dates with your own B-Day to see where you stand in the Grand Scheme of Geological Time.

But today they went too far. They listed Charo as being born in 1951! That makes me one year younger than Charo! Never! This can't be true! Anyone who knows who Charo is will no doubt find this an outrage of the greatest proportion! Charo is at least 81.! She's older than her birthday!

First Larryland and now this.

Las Pilitas en Escondido

2008-01-12T21:25:00.000-08:00

Bro Atom Bomb and myself, with a notion in our fuzzy heads to go green, took a cruise down the ol' 215/15 to Las Pilitas Nursery. Las Pil is a native plants nursery about 3 miles north of Lawrence Welk Village (where I got my Actors Equity card years ago) on the old 395 Highway. The address is in Escondido, but the place is in the middle of nowhere. The closest "town" is Rainbow, which is near the I-15 Border Patrol checkpoint. There is also a Las Pil near San Luis Obispo somewhere.

We got off the I-15 at Gopher Canyon and turned south to Larry Land to see what was playing at the theatre and to see if I knew anyone in the cast and, of course, to whiz.

Yikes!! The show was a Liberace tribute! A one man show! We left the theatre.

Having completed step one of our Larry Land adventure, we set out to complete step two: the whiz. And, oh did we.

Then something awful happened. As we were walking thru the shops and eateries of Larry Land, it dawned on us that we fit in. We looked like everyone else! We were now old enough to be a Larry Land target clientel!

I don't have to tell you that we got in that car and amscrayed outta there as fast as we could before someone tried to sell us a condo! Hell if I'm gonna be a Larry Land demographic!

So down Old 395 we went in search of native plants. Las Pil's a great place. Tons of stuff you won't find anywhere but California and not a pesticide to be seen. I bought a Salvia and three bushy things and Bro bought what I do not know. But it's for his hill and the chihuahua next door. Something with lotsa thorns and I think it's poisonous, too, I hope.

On the way home we saw where the Fallbrook Fire had been last month. It is unbelievable the damage done to the hills on either side of I-15 and equally unbelievable to see buildings that had been saved. We didn't see any structure damage. But there was a lot in other areas.

Safely back in Rio Nada, we found ourselves at an Irish pub that served curry and Cobb Salads, is run by a guy named Eduardo and owned by MacDonald's. But we did have a real Irish waitress named Laura and we were surrounded by the younger generation.

And after all, Bro and I remain unwaveringly hep.

Ukes From Afar, Hair on Fire, Broken Windows and Curry

2008-01-11T22:54:00.000-08:00

Viv taught me to use EBay the other day. Bad idea. I've got two ukuleles arriving by mail any moment now.

One is a Hopf bass(?) uke arriving by way of Oklahoma and the other is this seismo old A. Schoenhut banjolele from Florida. The banjolele reminds me of the Terry Mead banjo/uke I bought in Cayucas last summer. The design is vaguely similar. It looks like a frying pan or a campfire popcorn popper.

I'm so tired of waiting for them. It's been 11 days.

The Woodchuck Children's Youth Orchestra will be playing their first gig at the Rio Nada School Board meeting this Monday. They will be busting their chops on "This Land is Your Land" and be making a strong argument for the restoration of the arts in schools by their very presence. The kids play like their hair is on fire. Not bad for a bunch of nine year olds.

And we found out this morning that KNBC TV News out of L.A. is coming out on Tuesday to do a feature on the Orch. We will be singing and laughing and I will be witty when asked goofy questions. Should be on in the afternoon, PST. Consult your local cable listings. Look for Paul Moyer. Or Fritz Coleman.

We will be bigger than the Beatles. Or Iz.

Princess took some fine photos of a car that drove through the window of a local Quizno's. Driver thought it was a drive through. I'll post them when I learn how.

I could use a big bowl of curry right about now.

Dogs, Ukes and a Tiny Cheerleader

2008-01-06T21:49:00.000-08:00

This morning Dil Dog killed a chihuahua that wandered on to the grounds of the estate. The second chihuahua kill in 10 days by the same dog and for the same reasons. That has to be a record. Mommas don't let your chihuahuas out and about. Dilly seems to have lost a little of his mind since a seizure a few weeks back.

Today was the first meeting of the Riverside Ukulele Liberation Front in the year 2008. 4 or 5 of the veterans showed up as well as some old friends not seen for awhile. The afternoon was
low key but fun. There's some disease going around that makes you sound like Mom's Mabley if you get it. So the turnout was light. And the Mabley's were many. The new girl from Redlands played a neato version of "Landslide" (she was the most accomplished player today) as her 4 year old daughter walked around and stuck cool little stickers on each of our hands. I got a tiny cheerleader. At last.

Tonight it's pouring rain and the dogs smell funnier because of it.

And Obama is double digits ahead of Clinton in New Hampshire.

2008-01-02T21:04:00.000-08:00

You are probably wondering why there is a photo of a fishing boat just to the right of this blahg. I shot this picture while on the aforementioned whirlwind tour of Central California. The boat is in Morro Bay. It is called the Billy Boy, as written on its prow. Can't see it can ya. I swear it is the Billy Boy. If you need proof, it's parked very close to that big honkin' rock. Across the street from the French bakery place. Just south of those two gigante smoke stacks. What are those for, anyway? And who in their right mind would ever climb that little ladder?

Back to the Blahg

2008-01-01T22:24:00.000-08:00

It's been just over a year since I posted in this space. I inadvertantly clicked on a setting that changed everything I wrote or read on my Blah-g into Swedish. For the last twelve months I have been studying the language. Finally I've arrived at Chapter 12 "Feefter Ufter Blahgshtat Oofter Doofter", which explains how to change everything back. I am returned to the mother tongue at long last.

The Past Year in a Nutshell:

1. Liam Canary bought a Fender Telecaster and a '72 VW Hatchback within a week of each other.
What's left to do?

2. Princess Canary was in a production of High School Musical which sold more tickets than Elton John did when he performed at the same venue some 30 years ago. She was that good!

3. I appeared as the Innkeeper in my 27th production of Man of La Mancha. The only La Mancha role I have yet to appear in is Aldonza.

4. Brother Atom Bomb of Destruction and I have formed the Rio Nada Ukulele Liberation Front (RULF). Watta joyful noise.

5. We now have four dogs: Shiva, Dil, Moka Lotion, and Zombie Battaram.

6. Mother Canary has moved to a shiny new assisted living joint run by Romanians. The food is much better than the Tower.

7. I have been blessed more than once by a Rabbi for the mitzvahs that I have done.

8. I have lost track of Gelsang Rak Ma, a Buddhist nun Vivage and I were meditating with.

9. I saw Patti Smith in Santa Cruz with Albie, the Rabbi's son, after a whirlwind auto tour of Central California during which I visited Annie Yak near the Zaca Fire and bought a beautiful Terry Meade ukulele in Cayucas from an angry/funny/friendly ex-surfer guy whose cousin I went to school with, coincidentally. The ex-surfer guy was angry at his landlord and moved his whole uke shop to Morro Bay. Rightly so.

10. Albie and I ate at a great restaurant called" Boneheads" in Lake Forest, near Laguna Beach.

My 2008 wish is that all my friends would come live with me and we would eat every night at a round wooden table and when we were finished we would grab our ukes and play and sing until the moon disappears in the west.

Honk! Honk! Bozo! The Clown in the Expedition.

2006-12-21T14:00:00.000-08:00

Princess had water polo practice today. So I drove her up the hill in our little '95 Toyota. We pulled into the parking lot and drove down to the end of the aisle and stopped. The gates to the pool weren't opened, but there were swimmers walking in on the other side of the fence.

"Where are they getting in?"said I.

"Probably through the locker room door,"said she.

"Why would that be opened today?" said I.
"Car backing up! CAR BACKING UP!!!! CAR BACKING UP!!!!! said she.
And this clown in his huge Ford Explorer (You know, the one with the thing that beeps in the cab when your going to back into someone or something!), backs the barge into the shotgun door of our oxidized but undinged little car. The sound of the car door crumpling was all we could bear.

The bumper was about 6 inches below the eyelevel of the Princess. She could have rolled down the window and removed his license plate tag with her teeth if the door had not been crushed.

The clown and I trade info without saying much.

But I did ask if his daughter was on the water polo team and when he said "Yes." I said "Then we have two things in common."

In the Land of Hypertension

2006-11-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

We went to the annual Thanksgiving Dinner at Mother Canary's bachlorette/assisted living pad at the Mighty Tower last night. Viv drove in from the the University, Liam, Princess, E! and me from midtown and Brother Atom Bomb from the burbs.

When we arrived, the place was jammed with family and friends, all noisy and hungry, in the spacious lobby of the Mighty Tower. An ancient lady in a shiny red dress with tiarra was noodling away at the baby grand, the Big Boss of the Tower was introducing himself over a tempremental P.A. and the Old Folks Choir was lining up for the Big Show as the staph skittered about tossing plates of this and that here and there for the happy crowd to eat.

And now I know why Grandmas have swollen ankles. The Chef's name was Salty McSodium.
He moved here from the Bonneville Salt Flats. He has a summer home in Salt Lake City and a winter home at the Salton Sea. He takes his boat out on the Great Salt Lake and sits on the poopdeck sipping his favorite cocktail, a Salty Dog. He has a salt and pepper beard, but mostly salt. He's a real salt of the earth. And boy can he cook!

You could hear the sound of ankles expanding as we ate.

The Old Folks Choir played the same set they did last year. They sang the Battle Hymn of the Republic, Swing Low Sweet Chariot and when they did the Impossible Dream, one of the Old Folks held up big black and white pictures of various wartime mayhem and destruction. I guess we were supposed to be thankful for war. If so, we got a lot to be thankful for, 'cause there sure is a whole lotta war goin' on.

On the way out, Brother Atom Bomb was nearly attacked by an oppossum the size of a Shetland
pony (it probably smelled turkey on his breath). I offered him a few dollars if he'd wrestle with it until it went limp, but he declined. I even pointed out to him that opossums are the only mammal that does not catch rabies and that they were good eatin', but still, he declined.

The Swing Auditorium At My House

2006-09-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

Nice night out tonight, so Viv and I are sitting in the front yard of our estate watching the bats fly around when Do shows up with a truck full of surprises. She has an old windshield for Viv. Viv is going to do something artsy with it. And she has two sizeable pieces of the Swing Auditorium for me!

The Swing Auditorium was a barn of a place on the Orange Show grounds in beautiful San Bernardino. Elvis played there a few times, the Rolling Stones played their first American gig there. I was once tear gasssed there after a Hendrix concert. I also saw the Doors, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, Iron Butterfly, Vanilla Fudge, Ball n' Jack , Soft Machine, Thee Caretakers and others. A band I was in once opened for Eric Burdon at the Swing. Brother A Bomb and I saw many a Roller Derby match there as well.

About 10 years ago, the guy who owned Don Jose's bad mexican restaurants crashed his little airplane into the roof of the poor Swing, killing himself and the Swing. The wreckage ended up in Do's back forty and has sat there for years. Do and her hub were married on a hunk of the wooden stage.

And tonight, I am in refrigerator heaven because what's left of the Swing is in my front yard. Maybe I will make a miniature Swing out of the pieces and get little bobble heads of the rock stars I saw there and recreate the concerts with the bobble heads. The big finish would be all the bobble head rock stars on stage at once jamming in an All Star Bobblehead Jam Session. It could be telecast on Pay Per View!

I am blessed.

I Am Curious, George

2006-09-05T17:26:00.001-07:00

A few nights ago, the attendants at the assisted living place Mother Canary lives in ran into her apartment all in a twitter. Seems that resident Ursula, who has M.S. and is prone to fall, was missing. The attendees were afraid she had fallen and couldn't get up. But where?

Mother Canary says "I haven't seen her. But she eats at the same table that George (another resident) eats at. Go ask him."

So they scurried down the hall to George's pad, unlocked the door and found George and Ursula entangled in an undercover lip lock!

Between them, these two must be nearly 200 years old!

Lemme hear ya say "Yeah!!"

Round Midnight

2006-09-02T15:14:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like driving slow down Washington St., down the hill toward home, around midnight with the windows all down and the warm summer night blowing all through the truck. I turn on the radio. They play these old lonesome country songs, many sung by folks long dead and long forgotten. Sad, sad songs of heartbreak and loss, of drunkeness and betrayal, of things gone just plain bad. I sing along, out loud. Sometimes melody, sometimes the tenor, many times bass. Mostly good and sometimes bad.

Straight, due north are the lights of three different counties twinkling all the way to the foot of old Baldy. To the northeast, the lights of San Bernardino and the mountain homes of Rim of the World and Big Bear. And eastward, out through the Badlands between Mt. San Jacinto and San Gorgonio, the desert lights sparkle like the promise of redemption.

Millions of lights, millions of people living out their lives on these valley floors. And the sweet, mournful tune of one hard luck song hanging in the warm night air like a lucky prayer.

Norbert Leo Butts

2006-08-27T10:54:00.000-07:00

The people from Beechwood and Viv and I went to the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood last night to see the musical Dirty Rotten Scoundrels starring Norbert Leo Butts. I was not overheated about seeing this show. It has one song that I was familiar with and it's a great and very funny song. It's called Great Big Stuff. It's a list of stuff Butts' character will be able to afford after he's swindled everyone in sight ("I can afford a Broadway ticket!").

The show was a laff fest. Puns, blue humor, clever schtick, muggings, and world class physical comedy, nearly all executed by Butts. The beef jerky bit had us in tears. Butts spent about twenty minutes trying to eat a piece of beef jerky that evidently came from a free range cow: it was tough. And he was having seizures trying to gnaw it. No words, just him rolling and twitching and contorting all over the stage.

The songs, though really good, seemed nearly irrelevant next to Butts' antics. The guy is in the same class as Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin.

Go see this show, especially if Butts is in it. It'll be at the orange County Performing Arts Center soon. Check Pollstar.com for dates.

Another Holiday in the Sun, pt.2

2006-08-17T23:11:00.000-07:00

Camper Van Beethoven/Cracker were playing at the world famous Belly Up Tavern, just up the street and around the corner from the vacation digs in Solana Beach. So Brother A-Bomb and I decided to go.

The Belly Up is a sweaty and groovin' kinda upscale joint that offers up an eclectic bunch of artists. I've seen Jonathan Richman, the Knitters, Camper, Phranc the Lesbian Jewish American folk singer and others. The Neville Brothers were there the night before and packed the place. Dave Alvin is coming up a week from Saturday. Blink 182 and the Beat Farmers are two famous groups that played there in their formative years.

Some 25 years or so ago I was at Camper's first performance at Drew Blood's house on Mulberry St. in Rio Nada. They were all teens then. Since, I've seen them in places as diverse as McCabe's Music Store in Santa Monica and headlining at the Universal Amphitheater.

Victor, the bass player, has been a friend since he was 16 or so. He worked at the Mission Inn in the kitchen during the old dinner theatre days. We drug him onstage a few times against his will. One time he was an Anatevka villager with a chef's hat. Oops!

Then he became a famous musician and traveled the world and cracked the Top 40. We are all very proud of his many successes.

Bro A-Bomb drove all the way down from Rio Nada to be there. He was a wee bit late due to a fellow motorist who was slapping himself in the face repeatedly and with great zeal as he drove down the I-5 South of Encinitas. Bro watched him intently in his rear view mirror, missed his exit and ended up headed for Miramar. He made a crafty freeway U-Turn and belatedly arrived at the digs.

So we tootled up the hill to the tavern and bought a coupla tickets.

Camper and Cracker are sorta the same. Dave, the fine singer songwriter, formed Cracker after an incident involving a beer bottle, his head and a violin player backstage in Berlin, so the story goes. Thusly, Camper fell apart and Cracker emerged from the ruins. Time passed and feathers were unruffled. Camper reformed in the wake of Cracker's success. These days, members of each move back and forth between bands. Victor is playing bass for both bands these days.

Bro and I ordered a couple, he a beer and I a merlot, from the very same waitress who waited on us in October at the Knitters concert. She remembered us and we her. It was as if we were welcomed home by a dear friend.

Camper was late but great. They played all the hits, a song dedicated to Syd Barrett, recently demised and covers of the Clash's "White Riot" and Black Flag's "Wasted". Everybody bellowed along to the chorus of "Take the Skinheads Bowling".

It was odd to watch these ex-teens, now middle aged men, roaring through the old songs. The boys were a little thicker, a little grayer and a bit less edgey. I remember when they played at the Universal they were playing I forget which of their songs and they broke into that riff from Kashmir for about 8 bars and the place went ballistic. No fireworks at the Belly Up. But, still, a lot of heart.

Afterwards, Bro A-Bomb and I went in search of some bottled water in downtown Solana beach (in the old days, it would a been a case of Red Stripe we were looking for). We stopped at the Rite Aid on PCH, took our blood pressures on the blood pressure machine and bought some water.

The next day I read an interview in a San Diego weekly with Anthony from the Chili Peppers. He said that he was still going to be taking his shirt off and jumping around when he was old and in the way.

Lemme hear ya say "Yeah!".

Another Holiday in the Sun, pt.1

2006-08-17T22:57:00.000-07:00

I went to Solana Beach by myself this time. It was both great fun and acute dullness.
I drove into town just in time to clean myself up and make the drive down to the Old Globe in Balboa Park in San Diego. World Class theatre is to be found there. Lotsa Broadway bound productions.

They have a summer rep series that performs three of Shakespeare's plays in repertory. On our last visit we saw a remarkable Othello.

I was on my way to see A Midsummer Nights Dream. It was hilarious and romantic and sweet and full of itself. The fairy scenes were ephemeral, magical. And very funny. In each scene the sense of "otherworldliness" was captured very nicely. A nice contrast to the mortal earthly scenes.

Three nights later I drove to the Globe again to see Titus Andronicus, one of Will's bloodier plays which was, in this production, done up with a lot of schtick and giggles. Who would of thought that a play in which a mother's sons are fed to her in a meat pie as an act of revenge would be hilarious? It was. Also, some very nifty stylistic presentations of blood and mayhem.

In all three of the Globe Shakespeare offerings, the acting was exquisite.

I always feel I'm in a holy place when I'm in a theatre. And I often leave feeling renewed or cleansed somehow.
Even when the show is stinking up the house. Merde!

A Day at the Races

2006-08-13T16:09:00.000-07:00

The Scar

2006-08-01T23:56:00.000-07:00

On the back porch
in a cardboard box
covered with dust
and webs
a pencil letter from my dad
laying
in a hospital bed
in Omaha,
16 years old or so,
detailing the removal
of his appendix,
an emergency,
the stitches then removed
and now attached
in the upper left hand corner
of the letter.

I was scared
to see the scar when I was five.
Such a hideous mark
on a man of such
immeasurable compassion.

Newport Beach

2006-07-31T17:06:00.002-07:00

When I was a boy, Newport Beach was a forty-five minute drive down a pastoral two laned highway past eucalyptus trees and grazing cows. The house with a rocket sticking out of its roof was in the canyon on the left. Turn right and you were at Disneyland. Drive a little further and you were at the alligator farm across the street from Knott's. Go straight and you went to Newport. First kid to see the water got a quarter!

Now it's an hour and a half drive on an eight lane freeway with toll roads, carpool lanes and 4 "fast track" lanes for rich people. Disneyland is there and the alligator farm isn't. And the pie's not as good at Knott's.

When I was a boy, driving through the canyon was a bit worrisome. If your car broke down you'd be there for awhile. A long while. Now you can call someone on your cell.

So Viv, Princess and I drove to Newport last weekend to hang with the some of the Beechwood contigency. They rented a house on 25th Street, a few blocks from the pier. The house was tiny and hot, but neat in a Newport kinda way. 25th Street is about 10 feet wide. You can shake hands with renters across the street without leaving the kitchen.

The weather was gorgeous and the parking was expensive. $10.00 for a day long space near Blackie's Beer Barrel. I was glad Blackie's was still there. Henry's Market was still there as well. We used to rent rubber rafts there. The old guy with the macaws was there, complete with emphysema and a a fake rubber finger that looks like his parrot bit him. He asked me if I thought he should go to the hospital for stitches and I said 'yes' and he pulled the wounded rubber finger off and got a laugh at my expense. Nyuk.

The Newport Pier looks a little prettier than I remember. I caught my first fish there when I was 6ish. It was a smelt. My cousin Joy immediately accidently stepped on him and his guts came out his mouth. I can still hear my Uncle Roy laughing.

My mom's friends the Farnsworths used to own the restaurant at the end of the pier and a barge out in the Pacific a mile or so. A boat would take people out to the barge to fish. I remember a story about the barge taking on water and sinking when I was little. Sorta scary.

We went to the Farnworth's daughter's wedding at the Lutheran church near 15th Street. It was a big Hawaiin affair, as her new hub was from the islands. That was the night I had poi for the first, and last, time.

When I walked by Charlie's Chili it was jammed with people. I think one of my ex-girlfriends worked there for awhile. I don't think I ever ate there. Nothing personal.

When I was 16, my friends Albie and Gar and I spent a week in Newport. We were very cool then. We walked around smoking Tarreyton cigarettes with cinnamon toothpicks stuck in them for extra flavor. One night we went to a coffee house by the Balboa Pier called the Prison of Socrates. We saw Big Mama Thornton and her blues band, completely outfitted Silvertone amps and ripping the joint up. The place was small and nearly empty except for us. There should have been a million folks there, she was that good. We stood in the parking lot afterwards and talked with Big Mama. She was wearing a bowling shirt and smoking Kools. She had a few gold teeth. She is one of my favorite Newport memories.

There was a "headshop" on the bay side close to the Fun Zone that had beads and posters. I bought a Jimi Hendrix poster there that I still have. It's nearly 46 years old! I just read that the Fun Zone is going to be torn down and replaced by a maritime museum. That'll bring in the tourists.

The Beechwood contigency and us capped the night off with a meal at the Crab Cooker, a restaurant that was once a Bank of America. I sat on a metal folding chair and ate salmon on a paper plate with plastic fork and knife and washed it all down with a soda in a paper cup with no refills.

I may drive down to Charlie's Chili later this week and try their famous chili omelette.

Mark the Nut, Ben the Star and A. Whole Profundo

2006-07-24T10:34:00.004-07:00

Last nite was the monthly open mic nite at the famous Folk Music Center in Claremont, CA. Brother A-bomb, Liam Canary and myself like to go in and play a few songs each to hasten that glorious day when the Canaries are bigger than the Beatles. We didn't get much hastening done last night though. A-Bomb was the only of us to play. Liam had love interests he had to tend to and I was a lazy schlub all month and had nothing to play. So I just went to watch and be witty.

It was too late to eat, so we got in line and were glad because it was only 100 dgrees in the shade in Claremont. It was 107 in Rio Nada. Those 7 degrees can make a big difference. If you don't believe me, ask the polar ice caps.

We were standing there minding our own business when I saw Mark the Nut glaring at us from across the street as he adjusted his shirt or coat or chonies or something. His eyes never left us. Then he begins to walk towards at a deliberate pace. There might have been steam coming from his ears, I'm not sure. But I do know that if he had screwed his face up any more severely it would have sucked in upon itself never to be seen again. He made a sort of F-16 low altitude face fly by of A-Bomb's beezer, coming within six inches of said protuberence and he flew up the street in one swoop. He hovered around for the rest of our line time, adjusting things and giving us the stink eye.

"If he goes for me, whack 'em with yer uke, I'll buy ya a new one." I said to A-Bomb, never taking my eyes of the Nut.

Later, the owner of the store told me that his name was Mark and he was just a mathematics grad student gone bad and that he was really harmless, homeless and had been around for years. She said the worst thing to do is get in a conversation with him because he will recite Pi to you for days.

Next time I will just say "Mark, go away!" and save A-Bomb a tragic uke mishap.

For a hot day, it was pretty crowded. We parked ourselves along the Wall O' Instruments just between the banjos and the ukes, just behind A. Whole Profundo and his mother, Ms. Profundo. A. Whole is, in his mind, the only person in the Universe that should sing "'Ol Man River". In an audience, he is the lady who won't remove her hat or turn off her cell phone and talks to the movie screen. All his mother and he did was stare at the banjo wall and talk about the banjos. To make things worse, he got on stage and sang something from an obscure French opera. You could hear the coyotes in the San Gabriel Mountains.

"Gimme yer uke! I wanna whack 'em! I'll buy ya a new one!" I grumbled to A-Bomb.

It was looking more and more like a night to remember for all the wrong reasons.

Until Ben Harper showed up.

The Folk Music Center was founded by Ben Harper's grandfather, Mr. Chase. Ben's mother runs the place now and Ben owns it. Ben, as you may know, is a well known and accomplished folk/alternative singer/songwriter. He is also married to Laura Dern.

He sang two songs and they were exquisite. His voice was sweet and soulful and his songs superb. He turned the night around. No more Mark the Nut. No more A. Whole Profundo.

A-Bomb was pretty good, too. I especially liked his "Daydream". We all mumbled along because we thought we knew the words but we didn't. He did a cool scat to take it home.

There was also a girl named Sydney who had a set of pipes like the Royal Albert Hall Organ. A huge voice! And her songs were mournful and well-crafted. She messed my hair up.

After the show, A-Bomb and I walked around the corner to that trendy watering hole called The Press. We sat at one of those cute little highrise tables with cute little highrise stools waiting for some table service. None appeared.

So I went to the bar and ordered a pale ale for me and an iced tea for A-Bomb. And it just dawned on me...I tipped that chump a buck! What kind of fool am I?

Roller Derby Carwash

2006-07-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

There is a crowd of women washing cars near the corner of Merrill and Rio Nada streets in front of the tire shop. They are scantily clad. Some are skinny. Some are portly. Some have tattoos. There are redheads, blondes and brunettes. Many are holding handmade signs that say "Roller Derby Carwash" or "Roller Girls Will Wash Your Car". Many are shouting and squealing at people with dirty cars. They all have a girlish, dollish quality about them. And they all have roller skates on. The kind with four wheels on each skate.

And I suspect they could knock me on my ass.

My dad used to take my brother, Brother Atom Bomb of Destruction, and myself to the Swing Auditorium in San Bernardino to watch Roller Derby. We often went with our German neighbors
from across the street, Grandma Vokker and her son Johnny.

The Swing held about 5,000 people and was usually full on Roller Derby night.

Our favorite team was the Los Angeles Thunderbirds with Ralphie Valederez and his wife Honey Sanchez, redheaded Danny Riley, and Stretch Saunders. They would always win when in the L.A. area. They played teams like the San Francisco Bombers, the New York Wildcats and the Texas Rangers. These were the teams that always cheated and played dirty.

Shirley Hardman was on the Rangers. She was THE ENEMY. One night she wore an outrageous beehive hairdo and the T-Birds spent the entire night trying to destroy it. She drowned many years later and even though she was a cheater and THE ENEMY , I was sad to hear of her death.

We would all scream and shout when the T-Birds would launch The Whip and rocket one of our T-Birds around the course knocking down Rangers left and right, leaving them writhing on the track or in the infield and scoring millions of points. Every now and then one of the cheaters would careen into the infield and hit the water cooler, sending water everywhere.

There is something archetypical about the Roller Derby struggle between good and evil. It may not be enlightening, but the Universe moves a mite more comfortably with Roller Derby around. I feel guilty that I didn't get my car washed.

Bloe Hurricanoes!

2006-07-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

If you agree with George Bush that global warming is fuzzy science, come to my house! It was 112 degrees Farenheit in Rio Nada today!

There were hurricanoe winds that made me think that our big sycamore tree was a yogini in a previous life. Or maybe a rubber tree.

The rain was going sideways and the thunder and lightening were clapping and flashing like an audience of exhibitionists at a Whoopee John Willfartz concert.

We lost power twice and the transformer on the telephone pole was spewing smoke. The fire department came and hosed it down, but had to leave in a hurry because there was a lightening strike around the corner. We were trying to figure out how much a fireman makes per hour.

The river bottom was burning near Limonite. This will most likely make a few bums mad.

All the neighbors congregated in the street as we are wont to do whenever we have a neighborhood episode of epic proportions such as this. Someone always busts out the beer.

The monkeys that live in the backyard across the street were a little edgy for awhile, but we threw them a couple of bananas and they got over it.

I walked my daily 2.5 when it was all over. Lotsa debris everywhere. That adobe house on Maplewood had two huge branches on its roof.

The smell after a storm is remarkable.

Don't forget to vote!

Holiday in the Sun Part Dos

2006-07-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

Vivage made arrangements to take a tour bus to Tijuana on our first Monday in Solana Beach. There must be as many tour companies as their are touristas. We got lucky. Raoul showed up at our doorstep with his bus at 7:30 Monday morning. We hopped on the little bus and headed South to the Coronado Hotel to pick up the the Beechwood contigency.

The first thing Raoul said was "The air conditioners don't work, so all the windows are opened. The parts are on order."

Raoul was was a man of stories, yarns and opinions. He was an author of four books and numerous articles, talk radio show host, Republican, guest speaker, historian, newspaper reporter, entrepeneur, immigration proponent, botanist, bon vivant, ranter, debater, gourmet cook, and recanteur. We knew he was telling the truth because nobody could make all that stuff up. He knew how to get in and out of Tijuana like a master thief. Easy and without a trace.

I hadn't been to Tijuana since I was a teen. I went with my friend Gar and his family. We drove to one of those border lots and walked across. There were swarms of little kids selling Chiclets then. Not so many now. On the way back Gar had me pocket the little switchblades and firecrackers he bought. Of course, we were told to empty our pockets upon our return to the land of the free and I was busted for having little switchblades and fireworks. We were put in a room with a bunch of criminal types and then ordered to pay a fine. My life of crime South of the Border.

Raul took us to Avenida de Revolucion to shop for cheap liquor, silver, leather and all manner of gaudy cheapness. Ya seen one store, ya seen 'em all.

Met one old redheaded Americano at his store which looked more like a flea market than a tourista trap. He was sitting out in front smoking a huge cigaro and playing and singing with a friend as they strummed their guitars. He was some kind of famous singer in Mexico at one time and recorded many LPs. They were all hanging on the wall.

Raoul pointed out the nightclub that Redd Foxx did his very blue act in after being banned in the U. S. of A.

Saw the Jai Lai Auditorium. When we were kids we used to watch Jai Lai every odd Sunday night on our black and white Magnavox T.V. on Channel 5 coming out of Los Angeles. Now I got to see the place up close.

Raoul took us North one block to Avenida de Constitucion. This block was not for touristas. The street was lined with produce markets with swarms of bees flying around, street vendors selling churros and other foods, and beggars. The sidewalks were very narrow compared to Revolucion and they were jammed with people; locals, Indians from the Southern states and not many touristas. One legless guy sat on the sidewalk playing a guitar. He had fake rubber feet sticking out of his pants. Another pale man without eyes, arms or legs sat on a chair.

On the way North, we got across the border quickly and without trouble. The traffic jam coming back is world class. We were in the bus lane. And we were lucky.

Heading up the strand between Imperial Beach and Coronado we stopped at a light and Raul asked "Did anyone notice that there are five different species of palm trees on this corner?" We hadn't. Perfect Raoul.

We met some friendly people in Tijuana; Raul at the silver shop, the old man and his wife who owned the leather shop and the redheaded gringo. But there was a sense of desperation about the place that was disconcerting.

A guy on T.V. tonight said that Mexico is a sad culture. But because of its sadness, its celebrations are joyous and there is a gleefulness in its people.

The Weather Vein

2006-07-19T15:57:00.000-07:00

Holiday in the Sun Part 1: The Corpulent Man and the Guitar

2006-07-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

Check in time at the Winner's Circle Last Resort in Solana Beach, CA is 4:00. We usually get there late, say, 6:00. It's a 90 mile drive from Rio Nada and we never, ever hit the road on time. And if we ever do, we still get there late because the traffic on the 5 South is always in slowmo from Oceanside to Imperial Beach. (I watched the first moon landing on a dinky black and white Magnavox TV with a coat hanger antennae in Imperial Beach).

But this year, we were way ahead of schedule. So we stopped in Carlsbad to check out Giacolleti's Music Store in the Village. I hadn't been there in a year or two so Liam Canary and I decided to check it out. They usually have an excellent ukulele selection and for a time had carried some one of a kind handmade ukes that a guy from Temecula makes that are visually intriguing and sonically impressive. Brother Atom Bomb of Reflection bought one a few years back that is shaped like a shark egg but sounds much better.

I was a little disappointed this time. There were two Flukes, a Lanakai and a wall full of gaudy things that had tiny "Made in China" stickers on the back of each fretboard. I am suspect of ukes that are made in China.

But I did find a case for my Arthur Godfrey Vega Baritone.

I was putting my Vega in the case and taking my money out of my pocket when the bell on the door tinkled and in walked a corpulent guy carrying a guitar in a hardshell case. The guy looked like he should be setting bowling pins somewhere, not carrying a guitar around Carlsbad. He had a sloppy blue shirt that didn't button right, a pair of cheap flip flops and extra large glasses that listed starboard. He had a bit of a waddle and a reedy voice.

He wanted to sell the guitar to Eddie Giacolletti, the owner's rockabilly son.

"It's a Seagull from Canada. 25th Anniversary. Only 2,000 made." he said, "I'll sell it for $200 bucks."

"Sweet guitar," Eddie answered, "Nice wood! Cedar! But man, I ain't got the cash!"

The corpulent guy looked at Eddie for a moment, turned and shuffled out the door.

I was leaning on the counter with the cash for the case in my hand when it dawned on me that maybe this guitar thing was an opportunity that shouldn't get away. "Hey Eddie," I said "Was that guitar worth $200?"

"Hell, the case is worth $200!" Eddie popped.

We were out the door faster than a Mahavishnu lick. Vivage and Princess were in the bead shop across the street and they had the cash! And there was the guitar guy lolling down the street in the oppposite direction with the guitar slung across his back!

We snaggged the cash from Vivage and ran out the bead shop door. Schnikeys! Guitar guy had vanished!

" He can't be far." Liam said "He can't shuffle that fast! You go that way and I'll head down toward the beach!"

We ran like a couple of canaries on fire.

I was running fast, dodging old ladies and strollers, sticking my face in every antique shop and overpriced diner I passed. He was nowhere.

SCREEEECH!!!!! THUMP! THUMP! There was Vivage, Princess and Liam sitting on the sidewalk in the SUV.

"Hop in!" hollered Princess, "This'll be faster!"

I hopped in the Montero and we zoomed down the street with one purpose: Find the Corpulent Guitar Guy!

After driving up and down every street, road and alley in the city of Carlsbad, after asking every tourist, citizen, bum and gas station guy, it became clear that we were wasting our time. The Guitar Guy had simply vanished. Our search was futile. We gave a collective sigh and headed down Village Drive toward Pacific Coast Highway. The new Johnny Cash CD played sweetly as we headed down the highway to our well deserved vacation.

"THERE HE IS!!!" screamed Princess.

He was at the train station ten steps away from boarding the Coaster Express headed South.

Vivage gunned it and crossed into opposite lanes, nearly mowing down a passle of bicyclists in Spandex, and raced towards the Coaster parking lot. He was just stepping on to the train when Liam and I jumped from the car and ran toward the open train door. The Guy disappeared into the car as we approached.

We were stopped at the door by a burly conductor with one hand on his hip and the other raised in the international "Stop Right There" position.

"We wanna buy the guitar from that guy!!" we yelled.

"The Coaster must leave. Either get on or step back from the Coaster!" said the Conductor.

"But the guitar..."

"Get on or step back!"

"But we don't know where you're going!"

"San Diego!"

"Duh!" we thought.

"At least give him our phone number and ask him to call. Please?" I begged.

And the big conductor laughed a hellish, nasty laugh as the Coaster door slammed shut and the train began to roll South toward San Diego, screeching, blaring and messing up our hair.

No matter where you are on Pacific Coast Highway between San Clemente and San Diego, you can see the Coaster as it rolls up and down the coast through Carlsbad, Encinitas, Solana Beach, clacking and clanging as it passes by. We must have seen seen it 20 times as we ate at some cafe or sat on the beach. We saw it as we sat on kayaks a half mile out in the Pacific. Another time it was five miles up the coast when we spied it from the window of a second story Indian Restaurant in La Jolla. We saw it from the top deck of the Del Mar Racetrack as our horse came in second and from Dog Beach when we tried to fly our kites, teasing, mocking and pernicious with its sounds.

The Woodchuck Ukulele Orchestra

2006-07-07T22:29:00.000-07:00

The P.T.A. at Woodchuck Elementary School, where I sometimes work, has agreed to fund a ukulele orchestra made up of fourth graders. They will buy the ukes and I will supply the ukeful knowledge. This could be a seismo-cool thing, or it could crash and burn like a wad of poi entering the atmosphere. I suspect it will be the seismo-cool thing. I hate poi.

This is how I see it: 10 or so kids dressed to the nines in spangly vests, spats and top hats. Another half dozen, dressed in the same get up, will play percussion (washboards and rattley ringy thingys). And lastly, a few kids that sing like Canaries will warble away on songs like "I Been Workin' on the Railroad" or "Eerie Canal".

Man, if I could only tapdance like my brother, Brother Atom Bomb of Reflection.

The End of the World As I Know It...or something

2006-07-07T16:47:00.000-07:00

I get up in the morning, eat two Pop Tarts, read the local newspaper and then walk 2 miles. When I'm done walking I usually plop on the couch for awhile and maybe watch a little Price is Right.

I plopped and was hoping for a little Plinko action this morning when a sound that means your submarine is diving and diving fast starts honking from my TV. Then a hollow, authoritative voice bellows "An emergency from the Civil Defense has been declared! For further details, turn to channel 18!"

Usually this means that there are expected flash floods in the desert or thunderstorms are rolling through the neighborhood.

I grab the remote and click to channel 18. There is a text message superimposed over the Asian soap opera that says that an emergency has been declared for the entire state of California from 10:45 until 11:20 A.M. The entire state?! But it doesn't say what the emergency is.

I figured the choices were:

1. The Big One.
2. California was, after all these years of waiting, at last going to fall in to the Pacific.
3. North Korean Missiles.
4. Global Warming (It was pretty hot!).
5. Locusts, plague, terroristas, scrofula, pustuoles for everyone, a Doors reunion, yada yada yada....

We called the cops, the so-called newspaper, the Asian T.V. station. We asked our Ouija Board, our 8 Ball, and we Googled. Not one had a clue.

So we waited quietly for 11:20.

And nothing happened...

He Was Lost, But Now He's Found

2006-06-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

I found my friend P. Justus Price after 25 years of nothingness. He got out of Rio Nada while the getting was good. Went to Eureka. Then, and this is where he made a mistake, he returned to Rio Nada for a woman. And like most things in town, it didn't last. So he made like a sheep and got the flock out here.

He has been hiding in Sacramento working for Willie B. Now he's an environmental lobbyist.

P. Justus was in LA doing political stuff at Paramount Studios and when he was finished, we met in beautiful Claremont at the famous Folk Music Center. We goofed around with ukuleles and bazoukis, talked with FMC Jerry and then tootled around the corner to a place known as The Press, a trendy, hip, hep and tasty bistro. Megan the waitress brought us a bottle of Ravenswood Merlot and sliced her finger open upon opening the bottle. Could it have been a cheap tip ploy? Did she take us for a couple of chump hayseed touristas from Sunnymead?

Maybe. We were talking loud and cussing a lot.

Princess Canary Takes a Dive

2006-06-23T21:46:00.001-07:00

One of the true joys of summer is having to get up at some ungodly hour every morning to take your non-driving teen progeny to some place on the other side of the Universe when you should be sleeping til noon.

Such is the case with Princess Canary, who has decided that water polo is the sport for her.

Last summer it was cross country at 6:00 A.M. This summer it is water polo at 7:00 A.M.

This morning I stayed at the pool to watch her play. She has decided to play goalie because she played keeper in soccer and it must be the same. She also thinks that goalies do not have to swim as much as the other team members.

And you know what? She's pretty good! She's only been playing a week and she was blocking shots from the left and right. Some pretty hard shots from 10 feet out. No problem!

But I'm a little worried. She is just getting over a pernicious case of shin splints from running. I am afraid that, with all this swimming, she might get a case of fin splints.........

Get it? Fin splints. It's a pun, see. Shin Splints-Fin Splints...Hey! Hello? Can you hear me? Is this mic on? Testes, testes, one, two. Whew! I'm stinkin' up the house! Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk...