The mutt finally found a cat that wouldn't spurn his affections. Maybe it's because they're kind of the same color. The wife thinks little Lucy is planning a household coupe. The sly tortoise shell gives love to all the major players, except for me, go figure. Needless to say, the dog's in hog heaven.  

Afrika Bambaataa at the Supperclub

Saturday night’s alright by me, best night of the week. I used to like Friday night better but Saturday took the lead some time ago, don’t know when. I and two thirds of my brothers agreed to do the clubbin’ thing. Matt hasn’t made a night out since getting married, which, no, I do not understand. Sam had free VIP passes for City Nights, an 18+ over hip-hop club, but having seen Bambaataa spin before, I coughed up the dough for the Supperclub. Sam and I hadn’t hit a 21+ club since he came of age last October, a landmark occasion I’d say.

I got there before them. The sociable in a non-annoying way doorman advised me that I could get $5 off if I went home and changed into my warm-up suit. Home was too far, but I appreciated the offer. While waiting outside the regulars’ arrivals proved quite entertaining, fun and flamboyant bunch. The brothers showed up but had no extra warm-up suits, so we paid full price and wandered inside. Found a bar with padded walls and twenty-something disco balls hanging from the ceiling. Padded walls convey much potential kinetic energy, great touch. I imagined what kind of pit you could get going if there were a stage where the circular bar stood. Still miss that HB Strut. The restaurant went until ~12:20, so we were stuck there for awhile, not bad. The bathroom shone to impress, black on black, so shiny the tiles mirrored everything.

The woman with the coolest dress in the place, looked like chain-linked gold coins but was fabric, walked up to Sam and tried to convince him to get us all to go to a different club with her and her friends, but it felt too weird and we wanted to see Bambaataa. We got bored and strolled outside, where the ever so friendly Michelle from Wisconsin graced us with her thoughts. She lectured the young men about how their sexuality (her choice of words) would just get better with age. Once our eyes met she acknowledged that I already knew. John asked her what state had the best cheese, laughs for all but no answer (Cali rules, any arguments?).

Next time outside we met Israel from Spain. Israel was experiencing his 1st night in the city on his 31st birthday. Some guy he’d met on the CalTrain had given him some mystery pills. John said “Don’t take them”, to which he bellowed “I took them”. The guy was golden, classic bumming cigarettes in the streetlight, with that distinctive accent in his big white button-down.

Libertine Dutch artists started the Supperclub, which brings a smile to my face. Based on a club that got popular over there in the late 20th century, this place = off the hook. When they let us on the dance floor the white on white with blue spotlights effect kicked in. White stairs, railings, white sheets on stainless beds that lined the edges of upstairs and down, a spilled glass of red here and there to added chaos. Breaks broke and wrists got re-sprained as some competition level break dancing dove off the deep end of the floor, soooooo sick. Crowd danced well too, including yours truly if I do smell so myself. I wore a green hat with red hearts on it that Aunt Penny made, bold as love. She decided to give it to me after realizing that only I have the cajones to wear such a thing. I sweated and it itched but the desired effect came in pipeline style waves, absolutely glorious. Maybe that Love Parade has more going on than I imagined.

Split at 2:20, just in time to avoid a street cleaning ticket on 3rd Street. Moon roof came in handy on the way home, because that moon talked in tongues as it spiraled into the car. Happy moonlight, playful and free, taunting and strong continues to refract down my abysmal cortex, versal caudate, etc.

Barkoink, Growlsnort, Maybe Too Many Hocks

The love of a pet = unbeatable. That Hurricane Katrina video of the little dog trying to get on the bus after the authorities made everyone leave their pets was about the saddest one for me. Dogs they teach so much, just when I think that I am unteachable.  

Jonathon Livingston, I Presume

Caught this gull giving me the eye down at Middle Harbor, back when winter still reigned, a couple weeks ago. Dig the translucency of the wings. Spent this morning listening to the sound of roofing gravel falling down a tube of what appear to be overlapping plastic garbage cans with their bottoms cut off. Sounds kind of like surf, but the timing's all off, inducing a kind of cubicle sea sickness. I could shut the window, but the fresh air mitigates the nausea. Monday Monday, too slow. Spring appears to have arrived early, with all the standard vernal phenomena except the blossoms. Go ahead, drive to the Cali coast and smell for yourself.  

From A Deer To A Large Rabbit

Just another early morning commute along the dam road in another winter, but I take what I can get. Some days I even do it twice. This blog's 1st stated purpose is to share my good side, but the bad side keeps lobbying for everything. A short distance closer to Orinda, just before an island, betwixt the double double yellow lines, a sub-yearling has laid in a fetal position for about the past month, one more slow-smoldering roadkill sculpture on a list of plenty. Over the weeks bacteria & larvae transformed the carcass from a deer to a large rabbit with giant ears and a king-sized banana slug crawling out it's mouth. Fascinating but disturbing. My mom would often stop the car to clear such bodies from the asphalt; still does for all I know. Just yesterday she real-time relayed her rainstorm stranded earth worm saving activities to me. These behaviors used to embarass and disgust me, but the love in those simple road clearing, worm saving rituals hover over this car culture casualty. I know nothing.  

Fresh Haircut

Here he is on the second day of the year, sporting a fresh haircut. He's seated in his beloved miniature chair at his equally beloved miniature table that Mama painted up all artsy for him. This is around the time that he walked up to his mother and said "I'm happy, I'm smart, I've got nice hair, and I have good eyes." His hair is actually quite short, but his head has swollen to an alarming degree. To attest to OM's universal appeal, he laid his head against my laptop while I worked last night, trying to feel the bass I think.  

Green Katrina Skies Promote Feeling Limitless Love

Dave sent me this shot of the sky taken as Katrina hit land. Have I mentioned that I love storms? I could contemplate this green sky for aeons. Maya is the phenomena by which a measureless and limitless universe appears to have measures and limits. Some call it maya delusion. Sometimes the delusion disintegrates long enough for me to touch that limitless truth, feel that love has no limit, get a hint that veils just keep lifting to reveal veils. Green skies like this, that extend past the expected range of hues, light me up with hope and wide-eyed daring. Last Friday my mom reminded my that I once wanted to change my name to Water Rainstorm Hailstorm Snowstorm Cloud, and after hearing it again I'm thinking it might work.  

Sleepytime Gorilla Musuem of Natural History

Picked up tickets for the Sleepytime Gorilla Musuem show this Saturday 1/14. Consider checking out the show at the Great American if you're in the Bay Area, or the show in your town if you're somewhere else in the USSA. Sleepytime is one of Nyls Frykdal's projects. Nyls used to play in Acid Rain, the house band for my good old Cal co-op house Barrington Hall. Acid Rain became the now defunct Idiot Flesh, and Nyls currently works on a few projects/bands. Nyls' younger brother Per died last month and it brought a good number a folks I hadn't seen in years out of the wainscoating, jogged memories. Per was a hell of good artist. Drew wild wild things & creatures, sculpted puppets and stuff like that. We used to hang out once in awhile, but hadn't spoken since ~2003. We both liked that movie Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer a lot. I'm thinking this show will be special, but what do I know? I don't go to all Sleepytime's shows because they generally aren't danceable, but it's always impressive. Also, they have a new album out and I haven't heard the new stuff much. As a bonus, the remnants of Mr. Bungle are calling themselves Secret Chiefs 3 and opening up. Them I expect to be danceable, judging by how sweat soaked I left the pit at Mr. Bungle's NYE show at what's now the Independent, back in 1989-90. I'm sure Ya remembers. She was visiting from MA, and the pit sucked her jean jacket with her drivers license in it right off her back, never to be found again. Robin remembers too no doubt, that being the night we met Mr. Lougee and his vintage pick-up, barely making it to the last BART train at 3AM.

http://www.sleepytimegorillamuseum.com/

http://www.gamh.com/artist_pages/sleepytime_gorilla_museum_011406.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barrington_Hall

There's another good show the following weekend with a much different crowd that I hope to also attend:

Afrika Bambaataa spins Saturday 1/21; his shit is always off the hook.

http://true-skool.org/index.htm

http://www.hipguide.com/sanfrancisco/clubs/1127150066.shtml

Somatics

Women In The Arts on KALX interviewed a somatics educator, Susan Bauer, today. She teaches a class called Experiential Anatomy and has written a couple books, including one titled A Body-Mind Approach to Movement Education for Adolescents. She led the audience through a couple simple exercises and I could tell right away there was something to it. It's supposed to especially benefit movement artists (a new term to me, but we were fast friends), which I officially became at age 14 while perfecting the Freewheelin' Franklin strut - center Freak Brothers magazine cover at lambiek. The next time I visited my ex-stepfather Mike he picked up on it right away and asked me why the hell I was walking so differently. I let him know that repression had got the best of him, but not of me, which brings us right back to somatics, body-mind relations, etc. At this point I should probably thank my mother for having a sit-down with me after I told her at the age of six that I only wanted blue or brown pants from then on, you know, like most all the other kids. She went off for a quite awhile about how rock stars wore orange pants, red pants with purple paisley vests, and how conformity was for fearful, bitter people leading cardboard flavored lives. Thanks Ma; true today as it was then. For a basic somatics diagnostic one often draws their own skeleton, which apparently can say a lot about one's psyche and culture. Anyone out there tried this stuff?

http://www.ciis.edu/publicprograms/fall05/bauer.html

This site has some cool exercises:

www.somatics.com

QaABBAl

Me as ABBAby. Thanks Bryn. Found out last Friday night that the first woman was not created from the rib of the first man. Turns out that the first man was created from the joining of the clitoris and vagina of the first woman, which makes a good deal more sense to me. Read all about it at http://kaabapublications.co.uk/MISC17.htm 

Chabot until Dusk

Rode Anthony Chabot Regional Park just outside of San Leandro today. The recent storms had muddied up Lake Chabot pretty good, but it still had that good old body of water magnetism going. Three other guys rode with me, one of them for the first time in over a year because he had to have a few surgeries, so that in itself made it a landmark outing. Didn't get started until after 15:00, so we knew that the daylight would limit our riding window. Started by the marina, opting to head counterclockwise around the lake. Everytime I see those paddleboats I think of my boyhood plan to paddle one across the Atlantic, now I'm just waiting for someone else to do it. The large stream that is the main tributary still had strong flow towards the lake, full of sediment and over it's banks, flowing around trees. Meadows in the valley glowed green, almost unnatural, looking like lakes of green with giant oaks expertly placed and sculpted. The first two of the Seven Sisters were pretty much all we had time for, taking it kind of easy, but we did make it to the top of the ridge and see the other side. Savored the view for a hearty ten minutes, and then starting rolling back towards the lake. Mike and I took a little well travelled (super rutted) single-track shortcut to scratch that itch. He cleaned it nicely but I missed the last corner and ate into the chapparal, no physical injury though. Dusk I love, and we rode straight into it. The muddy lake still managed to reflect the pinks and oranges of the sky, and it all looked sublime through the fast passing branches. Temperature took a dive and the picnickers at the marina were all packing up or gone when we got there, just some college kids playing volleyball, looked fun. Damn these weekends go too fast, ought to write them up for speeding.

http://www.bahiker.com/eastbayhikes/bortmeadow.html

And here's a video of a night ride at Joaquin Miller Park, the park I wrote about in Storm Riding. It's a little slow starting, but the last third has some good shots of those treacherous railroad ties and rocky sections. I am sad to say that I did not join ride with them last Thursday night. My light needs more excercise.

http://tlee.bayareamtb.com/uploads/uploads/JM01052006.mov

OM - 'Variations on a Theme'

Sure, I’ve heard it said several times over the years, 'You should check out Sleep'. Still haven’t checked out Sleep (1991-1997). Bongwater’s 'Too Much Sleep' album (1989) must be continuing to affect my subconscious. However, some recent Friday morning Pete loaned me OM’s “Variations on a Theme” CD (2005). Holy mother of crawdads OM exceeds expectations. Those expectations were minimal since I didn’t know that two ex-members of Sleep comprised OM when I hit play. Tell you what though, when OM comes to town I am so there. I promised myself no more dance-free shows but OM’d be worth it. The next time a band this good makes the scene don’t just tell me I should check them out - play their music for me over the phone, lend me a disc, send me the link, drag me to the show, something. I hear “they” call the genre “stoner doom rock”, a marriage of doom metal and stoner rock, but that feels a little confining and incriminating to me, what with so many adjectives available. “You call it rain but the human name doesn’t mean shit to a tree” --from Eskimo Blue Day off Jefferson Airplane’s Volunteers (1969) album.

http://www.holymountain.com/om.htm

http://www.dustedmagazine.com/reviews/1978

http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/store/artist/album/0,,55220,00.html

http://www.airplane.freeserve.co.uk/lyrics/volunte.htm

Storm Riding

Just before midnight some recent Saturday a complex root system of lightning lit down the western sky as I drove up the 580. I howled and beat the steering wheel when I saw it, gave her a little more gas. The free electricity let me know that Mama Natural be grinnin’ at me.

Next morning rain fell in sodden down comforters stitched to wall breathing gusts with a steady 25-mph concubine dancing with fallen autumn-painted leaves. Awoke to the music of it and began congratulating myself for having had the pre-destinarian sense to arrange a mountain bike ride for the ante meridian. Not everyone possesses my tolerance, nay lust, for wetness from the sky, so companionship cancelled. Wife did all in her power to prevent this solo mission, but missions like these either gratify or disappoint me, and unless something on the level of a vehicle with flashing lights intrudes, they tend to remain high priority. Joaquin Miller Park in Oakland, being by far the most ride-in-the-rain friendly park around here, made the destination detail easy.

Pick-em-up truck started without resistance despite the rain all over the floors; must fix leak[s] sometime when drier weather prevails. Less then a mile from home the first flipped car came into view, CHP waiting without emotion in the patrol car; passed the rest of the emergency team racing to the scene a couple miles later. My truck used to be a California Dept. of Forestry fire fighting truck, so her grille smiled at the passing kinfolk.

The road through Orinda was flooded in a spot and when I hit it at ~30-mph the combination of rapid deceleration and projectile water caused some part of the exhaust system to disconnect. The engine noise immediately increased five-fold, and it's loud to start with. Of course, concern dominated my thoughts for the first minute or so, but when we didn’t stall at the lights and nothing started scraping I made the call to go ahead and hit the Hwy 24 onramp and head for the tunnel without pulling over to check the undercarriage. Mudslides on the north side of the highway had spilled into the lanes in a couple places and people were getting sideways and braking hard, driving crappy. By this time the music of the now “fully aspirated” 345 cubic inches under the hood had me fukengruven, like the engine had a 600-watt woofer. Shifting from fourth to third brought the Taiko drummers in with 4th of July flare, spooking the already jittery fellow storm drivers. Focus, focus, don’t join those miscreants all dented up on the shoulder. The tunnel just amplified the engine noise, and I started to doubt that this little muffler issue would ever be “fixed”. We’ll see what it does to the plugs, or if I get pulled over.

Got a little excited on one of the Skyline hairpins and got to experience the remarkably balanced four-wheel drift of the old IHC wonder truck. Mid-engine single-seaters got shit on me. Hoot, howl, pound dash, bounce in seat, howl mean, howl happy, howl funny, clap hands loud as I can once and we’re parked. Only one other vehicle parked at the trailhead where a sunny day would see tens; just you, I & I bambina. The drumming of the rain got louder shortly after I killed engine, right on cue. King Lear is my favorite Shakespeare. A quick change into my padded pants the guys make fun of because they make me look like a superhero (they're just jealous), a sip off the old, and I do mean old, hydration nipple and soft-tail #1 & I leave the petroleum residuum hard top for the root laced Sunset trail. The eyeglasses had to be pocketed within the first five minutes due the mist; visibility only ~30’ anyhow.

Flipped the switch at the top of Cinderella to add an extra 20-mm of travel in the front, dropped the seat a couple inches and hee-haw that old motorcycle chute felt fine as frog’s hair. Like most roller coaster rides it ended fair soon, dumping me onto the lower part of Sunset Trail. Woods got quite dark in that valley, almost night at noon, and of course right before each steep section the clouds would let loose with a little extra to help me along. From there a short steep uphill stint with only a minute or two of hike-a-bike got me back to the top, rain feeling good on my engine.

As I considered making the next loop the last one a woman jogged by, looked me in the eye, and said “You’re even crazier”, which brought the 12-year old me out to play, the me once called a “crazy asshole” by some 16-year old suburban outlaw after he saw me catch some wicked air on a pile of dirt at a construction site. That older outlaw revved me up then, possibly for years, and this blessed rain jogger’s comment bequeathed no lesser kindness. A third loop would now be mandatory.

The Chapparal trail opened up its maw of madness and commenced to chewing. To preserve trail from erosion 12x12 railroad ties are placed every 10-20' on this steep and rocky trail, which become slick in wet conditions, which led to a sudden unexpected dismount. No damage worthy of mention, but my knees had that post-fall quiver that I blame for me picking an untenable line for the hardest section. No one was around to see me freeze up and walk for a minute, so what the shit. Got back in the groove for the last twenty or thirty railroad ties and had a rousing finish. Took the meadow trail back to the hike-a-bike section, usually filled with families having pic-nics or whatnot, but today just me and little birdies telling me the coolest things.

Big Trees trail is the traditional finisher for this ride, so Big Trees it was. Big Trees is mostly redwoods and the floor glowed wet red that day. Took a break at the corner of Fern Ravine and Orchard where two creeks come together. One creek has a regular bridge and the little one a half-log bridge. I hopped out on the log bridge and studied the streams, waterfalls, and mist for a long minute before proceeding to manage to get as lost as possible in the grove. Mini-forests of 8" across mushrooms flourished in several places and I didn't mind not knowing where I was for a few minutes. The final descent came into view soon enough and visions of hot showers steamed into my peripheral thinking.

The rain's been here long enough that it doesn't always appetize me anymore, but trips like this one remind me that the discomfort is more than worth it.

http://www.bahiker.com/eastbayhikes/joaquinmiller.html

Bonsai Siren Song

Being a strong believer in the strength and luck of the triad, I figured that there had to be at least one more cool lunch spot near my office. One of my grad school pursuits other than academia was cool spot dowsing, best performed without a map. There isn't a turnout with a hole in a fence between SF and Shallow Alto that I haven't traipsed down in search of idyllic glens and friendly wildlife. The more one practices this kind of dowsing the easier one recognizes the signs: barely visible trails, inviting trees, hidden hollows, birds pointing the way, frogs chirping, nostalgic odors.

The shores of Lake Merritt seemed a good bet so I circumnavigated it and found coolness beyond expectation in the form of the Lakeside Horticultural Center which humbly hosts a Japanese Garden complete with squirrels, egrets, bridges, and a bonsai section. Highlights include a crashing waterfall, a giant monkey tree, big mossy boulders, a pebble pond, and views of the shimmering lake & downtown Oakland skyscrapers through the foliage. The spot exudes a very peaceful vibration, just unkempt enough to make me feel at home. The "666" address doesn't hurt either.

http://www.oaklandnet.com/parks/news/092801a3.asp

http://www.gsbf-bonsai.org/ebbs

Stone on Pryor

Jennifer Stone packed an amazing breadth of content into today’s “Stone’s Throw”, her Thursday morning 10-minute spot on KPFA. Her main topic was the recently deceased Richard Pryor, beyond deep, stuff the CBS morning news couldn't imagine.

Notable quotes included:

“Honesty is the work of a lifetime”,

“...palpable vulnerability”,

“Where there is silence there is sadism”, and

“No church lasts where you can’t laugh, and my church is of course the Church of the Last Laugh”.

Found out his dad was a pimp. Jennifer noted that, in many ways Richard stood up where Lenny Bruce fell down. Lenny's status as a police informer always made me despise him despite his great works. Pryor had favorite actor status for years of my childhood, and was much funnier than Lenny anyway. I have a pre-recorded cassette tape by him called Supernigger, with the famous (to me) “hit you in the head with a brick” skit. The most personal is the most universal, and the more painful the funnier. I like it how he died right on in time accordance with the original German standard, the age by which they figured most people would have croaked, 65. That age is of course now a well known relic, the standard retirement age. The fact that he spent his last years battling MS with a mostly cheerful disposition inspires me. Not as rock and roll a departure as Hunter S., but Hunter wasn't one to be outdone. I have until 49 according to www.deathclock.com , and I even fudged a little trying to squeeze a few more years. Long live Richard Pryor.

www.mindfully.org/Reform/2002/Greedy-People-Needy-PeopleKPFA11jul02.htm

www.kpfa.org

Krampus the Austrian Anti-Santa

I'm still finding more out about Krampus the Austrian Anti-Santa. Here is a papercut rendition by Steve Walker http://www.swalks.com/krampus.html , scary enough for me.

Crucible Christmas

Fired up the old pick-em-up truck around dusk on Saturday, loaded up the boy and raced the half-mile or so down to the Christmas tree lot. There were still lots of trees, so we got to appreciate the maziness of it, more so from his height I'm sure. The Noble spruces and Douglas firs were interesting, but he stopped in his tracks when he found the flokking tent with white, pink, and blue flokked trees standing around. Like me as a child he wanted a flokked one, but like my mom's boyfriend in 1974 I told him no, natural is better. We selected a friendly looking ~6' tall Noble and had it loaded in short order. The boy convinced me that it couldn't possibly be time to leave the lot yet, so we took another tour. He performed a public service by advising everybody in a sing-song voice to "Loooook out!" as they rounded blind corners in the pine maze. I had told him the same during tour 1. When he got fascinated with the power saw I decided that the time for departure had arrived. The boy still did not agree with that assessment and proceeded to throw a classic fit, arching his back to make carseat insertion a challenge, especially with those screams that could indeed curdle blood. He had some clodhoppers on which he kicked the Christmas out of the dashboard with (he gets to ride up front in the pick-up, usually a fun thing). The tree stands in our living room untrimmed; the devil loves details.

Went to the Crucible www.thecrucible.org holiday sale Sunday. Still want to take the bike frame building class there; maybe someday. They had Santa flying from one end of the old warehouse to the other, flames shooting 10+ feet out the back of his sled, suspended from a track. All his (human) deer's antlers also shot fire. The boy was scared and ended up hiding his head under a blanket. The art was exceptional and the people very friendly and knowledgeable. We bought a photo album with a thick steel & leather cover, as well as a lamp that Maira http://www.thecrucible.org/people/m_dizgalvis.html had made from a gourd and added colored glass marbles and stuff to let the light out. Got in trouble for subconsciously flirting with the custom dog collar woman www.pacocollars.com but such is life.

Genuine Interest

The wonder of taking his first photograph still apparent moments later. That's the last of the Lake Malawi cichlids I've had 10+ years in the lower right hand side of the tank. We still call it the cichlid tank, but he's now outnumbered by a couple foot-long plecostomi. Yes, that tank is too small (39.5-gallons). I have a 125-gallon tank gathering algae in the side yard while the wife & I debate what conditioning the funky homemade stand will require before introduction to our sanctum.

Novermber Sunrise

Here's the view from my cube looking more towards the north, sunrise colors a perquisite of arriving pre-dawn. Tam constantly reminds me that a ride on the quintuple micro-climate loop at Camp Tamarancho, a pay-to-ride mountain bike wunder park run by the boy scouts http://www.gatetrails.com/exhibits/039tamarancho.html is way overdue. Yeah, I know, the boy scouts are fascists, but the sweetness of their trails handily outweighs my ethics.  

2-year old Ansel's 1st piece - Happy Dad

The boy brought my carelessly placed camera to me last night, so I let him snap a few. This is the very first picture he took (ever), which turned out best of the lot.