Me, Walking Up A Hill, Away From the Fire

The boy impressed and touched me with this one. According to him the drawing depicts me walking up a hill with the assistance of a walking stick and a helper dragon fly, away from a hot fire. I love dragonflies, love fatherhood, love fire, love love, so stoked. At first I thought it was a cane in my hand, which made me feel a little funny since I don't use a cane, but then he explained that he only added the walking stick to memorialize the time we tried to walk up a hill too steep to climb. Stick or no stick, that hill proved too steep and slippery, so we just kept sliding down to the bottom on all the leaves, a memorable experience for all. You never know how steep is too steep until you try, true for walking, biking, and driving, smoldering fun.

Wild Artichokes In My Blood

Add "wild" to a word and right away it appeals to me more. Got this pu-ehr tea made from old-growth, semi-wild tea trees. It steeps up dark as coffee and feeds my wild side bold, which roams the wilderness around my home with garrelous gusto, night or day, moon or stars, clouds or rain, wild-eyed and open to new trails that require crawling and bloody sacrifice. You can see my house in the lower right quadrant of the photo. Photo taken looking northeast.

Splish Splash, But Keep The Water in The Tub

The bathing ritual steams oppurtunities to appreciate warm fluidity. Tonght we did simultaneous baths, Sissy w/ Mama in the master bath, and me with Gumbo right on the other side of the wall.

Sissy showed me that she can wash her own face last night, something which the boy can do but usually won't. She helps around the house constantly and in the most amazing ways. My wallet was lost for days and she found it behind the downstairs toilet. She found the long missing valet key for the SUV too, along with many a remote control and mobile phone. She'll deliver anything asked of her straight to the compost, trash, or recycling bin, or to another person. She lets the cats in and out, rearranges furniture, and loves to give kissy encouragement.

924 Gilman Spectacular As Ever

Got to see one of my very favorite punk rock bands from yesteryear, MDC. They played with Citizen Fish at 924 Gilman in Berzerkeley the Sunday before last. Many a show I have seen at Gilman, but not for several years now, don't know what I was thinking, the place serves up fun like it ain't against the law (which it isn't, technically, yet). Siobahn steered me right by doling out the clue to expect dancing, that's right, slam dancing, right there in good old Alameda County. One of the best things about Gilman remains their all-ages policy, nobody slams quite like a 15-year old, which makes sense, new blood; that's about when I started getting my neck stepped on. A guy in the pit asked if anyone knew acupressure or massage; I looked down and noticed he wore only a dirty pair of white socks that were starting to come off, ouch. It was a beautifully co-educational pit, with one ~13 year old boy in an over-sized white t-shirt, weighing about 65 pounds. Massive power & healing to them; I survived with a fat lower lip, a bloody right knee that still hurts every time I bend down, about as many bruises as Evil Kneivel had broken bones, and a much looser fitting pair of eyeglasses. Gilman does not officially allow stage-diving but MDC said that the rule was suspended for their show, so I got to witness one ebullient young man fall from head height to the concrete floor with a resounding and sickening smack of a whack heard clearly over the music. He hopped up displaying two thumbs up and a shit-eating grin while doing a little hot dog dance; had to wonder how he felt the next day.

Ween at the Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium the following Friday did not hold a generic butane lighter to the Gilman show. Sold out show, no pit, and although one lovely "E"nhanced young lady did compliment the wife and I on our dancing, which was funny because the wife wan't dancing at all, the crowd was generally uptight like wealthy arthritic caucasians at a members-only ski resort. My friend Evan's mom had passed away the day prior, and he accordingly danced a wee wild, bounding into the other attendees from impossible angles. The group to our right sent forth a thin-lipped spokesman, a tall blond roll-playing game type from Harry Potter's generation. He tried to mellow us out without appreciable effect, if you don't count the drunken laughter. We had fun all in all, but will stick to shows with more funner dancing closer to home from now on.

Dylan's "I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine" started pumping harmonica from the corner of my family room last night. The boy asked me and Gumba "Can you feel the song?" I told him I could, she did a little dance. He replied, "I feel it in my back, [pause] and in my belly. It tickles." I recall washing dishes at Negri's at the age of 16, belting out the lyrics to that song almost every night for a time, and listening to my mother do the same while battling endless chores around our old Occidental homestead. Had to wonder what of those soulful renditions the boy could feel, or what he felt at all, since the volume was pretty low. Maybe he just felt the same thing my mom and I felt, "I Dreamed I Saw..."

Halloween 2007

The boy drew on the pumpkin and I carved it into a jack-o-lantern. You see the light at the bottom of the lantern because he insisted on drawing onto the pumpkin upside-down, something that had never occurred to me.

Mama kept saying he was a dragon, but Gumbo corrected her each time. He was a dinosaur.

Little Gumba had the cutest little stinger, and one antenna permanently cock-eyed, adorable. She and Gigi play the pointing game here.

Water is Water

Those kids sure do love water. We're considering becoming a family of dolphins with our very own plastic surgery island survival reality show. Halloween photos coming soon, more human than human.

Too Much Fun a Myth!

Too much fun? Like a girl too pretty or a car too fast, I don't know anything about it.

Harbingers of doom rock High On Fire rocked the Independent deep, certain members of the audience even slam danced (yes! in San Francisco!). Lead singer strides onstage, shirtless, tatooed, giant stratocaster in hand - rippppps into it, sweat starts pouring off his frame, maniac grin the whole time. My hoodie-beanie combo had me sweating too, like a pig going down the chute to the killing floor, but just dove further towards the death, pulled the hood tight over the beanie to sweat more, busted hip-hop moves zig-zag through the pit, jumped, jump, jumping, shook my head from side to side like an angry bull, went into an alligator trance with those eyes that shine realms beyond fear. Rock and roll all the way, impossible loud, so loud my ears rang for days even though I wore those wax earplugs. Have a High on Fire disc but it never sounded like this - soooo boss. Next time they party through town you could not keep me away with a line of riot police brandishing cotton swabs soaked in pepper spray, but I'll look for a Sacramento show, where they slam more like the old days, more danger, more fun.

Kid's first time trick-or-treating. First house the boy tried to give away the candy he'd picked up at church earlier, with truly touching generosity. When he figured out that he received candy the excitement only mounted. He kept asking jack-o-lanternless people why they didn't carve a pumpkin. Love that boy.

Later that night...

HallofuckingWestOaklandween, had flame-throwing vehicles shooting 30' (10m) blasts, dancing in the streets, pissing in the streets. A plain blue mini-van backed up the street toward the crowd slow, stopped, dropped, rear doors popped open, two guys plugged a guitar and a bass into two amplifiers, launched in a legendary set of Misfits covers. Not quite slamming, but at least we were dancing. Maira had a party right nearby too, featuring the giant propane jet backfiring wild concussions and spewing various colors of flame. The main attraction at Maira's growled the eyeball of destruction, a track-mounted wrecking ball that shot multi-colored flames out the eye-ball while dripping burning methanol mixed with copper acetate down the chain. It wrecked mock office towers made from dressers, jack-o-lanterns, microwaves and every damned thing it could - my kind of remote control toy. Pumpkin pinata hell to break, especially with Maira swinging it like a madwoman. Organic suckers, what more to say. Siobahn! I told you to come.