Wordless Wednesday

Warm & Fuzzy

Zappa family~April 1979
Up front: Dweezil, Gail with Ahmet on her lap, and Moon
Frank looks on, smoking. (Ah, the '70's)

Discuss amongst yourselves...

Peaches en regalia - Frank Zappa

I Dare You

NOT to smile! Here is one of my favorite small people, sporting his oh-so-cool onesie. He is now a three year old, and time marches on...

Sweet Child Of Mine - Guns n´ roses

Get On Your Bikes and Ride

My new transportation, just in time for next week's rain!


Frameset
Sizes Lowstep 13.5, 16.5"
Frame Alpha White Aluminum
Front Suspension RST Neon T9 w/Clix dropouts, 50mm
Wheels
Wheels Alloy hubs; Matrix 550, 36-hole alloy rims
Tires Bontrager Comfort, 26x1.95"; 27 tpi
Drivetrain
Shifters SRAM 3.0 Comp twist, 7 speed
Front Derailleur Shimano C102
Rear Derailleur SRAM ESP 3.0
Crank Shimano M151 48/38/28 w/chainguard
Cassette Shimano 14-34, 7 speed
Pedals Nylon platform
Components
Saddle Bontrager Suburbia FIT w/Supersoft padding
Seat Post Alloy adjustable suspension
Handlebars Steel, 80mm rise
Stem Alloy, adjustable rise
Headset Threaded w/semi-cartridge bearings, sealed
Brakeset Tektro V w/Tektro levers, Kraton inserts, bell

Fat Bottom Girls -Queen

Rock My Soul

The upside to the last eight years of hell is never having to admit that I voted for the worst president ever. If you still need a run-down of why many think he is/was, watch Keith recap the last eight years.

My heart's doing cartwheels. Even in the face of so much sorrow and adversity, there is a glimmer of something far brighter than I have seen in my lifetime.That's a long time. We are part of something big here... a point in America's history where we all heave a huge sigh of relief.He had a dream.

Rock My Soul - Elvin Bishop

Call Me (Senator) Al

The man and I saw him live in 2003. Another high point in my life...after the gig we went up to say thanks and shake his hand. He smiled a lovely smile and thanked us. At that time, he was blogging and just starting his Air America radio show, which evolved into television. I was watching that very show when Bush 'won' in 2004, and will never forget how horribly sad Al looked when the outcome was all-too-clear. And now this Comedian/Deadhead/Limbaugh persecutor extraordinaire is almost certainly Senator Al Franken.

With all the evil shit taking place in the world right this very minute, I'm glad there's a teeny bright spot now and then.

I will be writing about the New Year's Eve adventure soon. Spare time is tough to come by lately.

You Can Call Me Al - Paul Simon & David Byrne

Mele Kaliki Maha !

I got what I wanted this year...on November 4th, 2008.

Hawaiian Cowboy - Sol K. Brights Hollywaiians

Ocean Breeze

I'm feeling good. Honestly, it's been a while since I have felt this good. All the same bullshit exists to some degree. But I have coping skills again! Maybe I'll even get some writing time in. The election madness has most certainly sabotaged my quest for Nano.

So, not much to rant about. Just another weird love/music flashback. There was a band that was momentarily popular in the 1970's, called Pablo Cruise. Sort of schmaltzy, and a bit too pop for my taste, but they had a few fun tunes. One of them popped into my head a day or two ago, and I've posted it below. It's dated and mushy. It reminds me of Gary Shapley. Nowadays, he is a CPA in Iowa. In 1976, I was shacked-up with Gary on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe. He played a 12-string Takamine guitar and drove a red 1965 Buick Wildcat. He was a chef and I worked at the Ponderosa Ranch. Really! I wore a white cowboy hat and a gingham shirt and sold crappy souvenirs for big bucks.

We didn't last long, but we had some fine times. Gary had the deepest blue eyes and the world's sweetest smile. He got homesick for Iowa, and opted to return. On his drive back to the mid west, he called me crying at regular intervals. He deeply regretted his decision, but kept on driving. That was 32 years ago.

Now he is a 52-year old accountant, living and dying in the town where he was born. I can't help wondering if he remembers his days in California.

A Brand New Day

And! Here is Obama's (alleged) playlist, on Imeem.I didn't even look at McCain's.

All Hail Mark Morford (Again)

From today's S.F Gate:

I find I'm having this discussion, this weird little debate, more and more, with colleagues, with readers, with liberals and moderates and miserable, deeply depressed Republicans and spiritually amped persons of all shapes and stripes and I'm having it in particular with those who seem confused, angry, unsure, thoroughly nonplussed, as they all ask me the same thing: What the hell's the big deal about Obama?

I, of course, have an answer. Sort of.

Warning: If you are a rigid pragmatist/literalist, itchingly evangelical, a scowler, a doubter, a burned-out former '60s radical with no hope left, or are otherwise unable or unwilling to parse alternative New Age speak, click away right now, because you ain't gonna like this one little bit.

Ready? It goes likes this:

Barack Obama isn't really one of us. Not in the normal way, anyway.

This is what I find myself offering up more and more in response to the whiners and the frowners and to those with broken or sadly dysfunctional karmic antennae - or no antennae at all - to all those who just don't understand and maybe even actively recoil against all this chatter about Obama's aura and feel and MLK/JFK-like vibe.

To them I say, all right, you want to know what it is? The appeal, the pull, the ethereal and magical thing that seems to enthrall millions of people from all over the world, that keeps opening up and firing into new channels of the culture normally completely unaffected by politics?

No, it's not merely his youthful vigor, or handsomeness, or even inspiring rhetoric. It is not fresh ideas or cool charisma or the fact that a black president will be historic and revolutionary in about a thousand different ways. It is something more. Even Bill Clinton, with all his effortless, winking charm, didn't have what Obama has, which is a sort of powerful luminosity, a unique high-vibration integrity.

Dismiss it all you like, but I've heard from far too many enormously smart, wise, spiritually attuned people who've been intuitively blown away by Obama's presence - not speeches, not policies, but sheer presence - to say it's just a clever marketing ploy, a slick gambit carefully orchestrated by hotshot campaign organizers who, once Obama gets into office, will suddenly turn from perky optimists to vile soul-sucking lobbyist whores, with Obama as their suddenly evil, cackling overlord.

Here's where it gets gooey. Many spiritually advanced people I know (not coweringly religious, mind you, but deeply spiritual) identify Obama as a Lightworker, that rare kind of attuned being who has the ability to lead us not merely to new foreign policies or health care plans or whatnot, but who can actually help usher in a new way of being on the planet, of relating and connecting and engaging with this bizarre earthly experiment. These kinds of people actually help us evolve. They are philosophers and peacemakers of a very high order, and they speak not just to reason or emotion, but to the soul.

The unusual thing is, true Lightworkers almost never appear on such a brutal, spiritually demeaning stage as national politics. This is why Obama is so rare. And this why he is so often compared to Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., to those leaders in our culture whose stirring vibrations still resonate throughout our short history.

Are you rolling your eyes and scoffing? Fine by me. But you gotta wonder, why has, say, the JFK legacy lasted so long, is so vital to our national identity? Yes, the assassination canonized his legend. The Kennedy family is our version of royalty. But there's something more. Those attuned to energies beyond the literal meanings of things, these people say JFK wasn't assassinated for any typical reason you can name. It's because he was just this kind of high-vibration being, a peacemaker, at odds with the war machine, the CIA, the dark side. And it killed him.

Now, Obama. The next step. Another try. And perhaps, as Bush laid waste to the land and embarrassed the country and pummeled our national spirit into disenchanted pulp and yet ironically, in so doing has helped set the stage for an even larger and more fascinating evolutionary burp, we are finally truly ready for another Lightworker to step up.

Let me be completely clear: I'm not arguing some sort of utopian revolution, a big global group hug with Obama as some sort of happy hippie camp counselor. I'm not saying the man's going to swoop in like a superhero messiah and stop all wars and make the flowers grow and birds sing and solve world hunger and bring puppies to schoolchildren.

Please. I'm also certainly not saying he's perfect, that his presidency will be free of compromise, or slimy insiders, or great heaps of politics-as-usual. While Obama's certainly an entire universe away from George W. Bush in terms of quality, integrity, intelligence and overall inspirational energy, well, so is your dog. Hell, it isn't hard to stand far above and beyond the worst president in American history.

But there simply is no denying that extra kick. As one reader put it to me, in a way, it's not even about Obama, per se. There's a vast amount of positive energy swirling about that's been held back by the armies of BushCo darkness, and this energy has now found a conduit, a lightning rod, is now effortlessly self-organizing around Obama's candidacy. People and emotions and ideas of high and positive vibration are automatically draw to him. It's exactly like how Bush was a magnet for the low vibrational energies of fear and war and oppression and aggression, but, you know, completely reversed. And different. And far, far better.

Don't buy any of it? Think that's all a bunch of tofu-sucking New Agey bulls-- and Obama is really a dangerously elitist political salesman whose inexperience will lead us further into darkness because, when you're talking national politics, nothing, really, ever changes? I understand. I get it. I often believe it myself.

Not this time.

Sigh...Mark nails it once more. Happy Friday!

Dream

Gustave Courbet

'We can save this world, but first you're gonna have to dream'

Dear Hillary,

The Party's OVER.



.

Tahiti Calling

Moorea~View of lagoon at sunset from their place.

My friend Joy called me today, via Skype. She also sent new photos, like the one above. Joy is my pal that lived in Tahiti for about 20 years. Originally from Humboldt County. Her mama took ill about 2 years ago, so she came back to California. Last July, she moved with her mom to Oahu. They seemed to be enjoying island life together, but Joy was still restless. It happens every time. She always ends up going back to Tahiti. In February she did it again. This time, she took her 84-year-old mother. From all accounts, it sounds like mom adores her new life on Moorea. It was either Tahiti or Sacramento with her son, Joy's big brother. She said the choice was obvious. Obviously.

Here's a photo from last April, when Joy was still in California.

Continuum

My great-nephew, Isaiah. I wrote about his dad/my nephew HERE. I can't look at this picture and not smile. And that is a very cool thing. Happy Sunday.

Bonus

*Update: I posted a favorite Carlin clip below...dedicated to the nuns of St. Mary's, who tried (in vain) to save my little girl soul. Enjoy! *

So, we got tickets to see Bill Maher at the end of next month. Our first pick was George Carlin, but it sold out too fast. I kept on checking, though. Monday, I looked at an email on the community list I subscribe to. A local guy was looking to sell his two extra tickets to Carlin. I got them! Now I am going to sell my Bill Maher tickets the same way---on the local list serve. Don't get me wrong, I love Bill. We just can't rationalize seeing two shows in a month, financially. Not right now.

George Carlin live-this Saturday! He's taping another HBO special, and it will air that same night. I can't believe it worked out, and we get to see him. An evening of laughter sounds mighty fine. Here's a link to information about the broadcast.

Daydream

Hauula, Hawaii

It's cold in California. Clear, sunny, and icy cold. Nothing like the ice storms across the country, but chilly just the same. My Aiko sister sent me a few photos of her locale. This one warmed me right up. Whenever it all overwhelms, I imagine being in the islands again. I miss it terribly. 2.5 years to go, and we can leave California. There are few Californians left here. Everyone is from someplace else. We may as well jump on the transplant bandwagon and go be outsiders in Hawaii. People smile more there. Come on, 2010!

A Toast To Bill Maher

...Not soon enough. Yay!

But wait there's more...

(Here's the latest Mark Morford diatribe)

I admit scattershot naivete. I admit to a strain of blind optimism, a sort of sporadic myopia, a weirdly sanguine tunnel vision that makes me somehow think that we as a species and a culture and as a mad gaggle of individual human souls who are coupled with functioning hunks of semi-rational gray matter, we must, at least occasionally, be learning something, ever-so-slightly advancing our awareness of those things on this planet that want to harm us and sicken us and even kill us, and therefore we can alter our behaviors accordingly.

I must be completely wrong. Because there it is, that violently obnoxious Wendy's burger commercial I stumbled across recently, apparently part of a larger and stranger ad campaign featuring the usual assortment of requisite sagging thick-waisted former frat dudes -- a group, by the way, that must be an entire category unto itself for Los Angeles casting agencies, given how many of them appear in all sorts of similar monosyllabic commercials for, say, trucks. Or beer. Or power tools. Et al.

These ads feature the same childish concept: All the dudes have bright red cartoon pigtails (a la the Wendy's mascot) where their receding hairline used to be, and in their thick fists they're maybe clutching a giant greasy burger and staring at it with a sort of desperate, animalistic lust you normally see from, say, secretly gay Idaho Republicans in airport restrooms. Or something.

But this particular ad offers something extra, something a bit more... extraordinary. The burger in question is something very special indeed. It is not your typical "value menu" item. It is not a Wendy's Single with Cheese, or whatever it's called down in noncomestible junk-food hell.

No, this insidious concoction is simply startling in its shameless toxicity, its ruthless attention to wanting you cancerous and morbidly obese and very, very dead as soon as goddamn possible, if not sooner.

The burger is this: two sickeningly brownish-gray, chemical-blasted 1/4-pound beeflike patties, intersliced with two slabs of neon-orange cheeselike substance, slathered with mayonnaise, all topped with the big kicker: six (yes, six) strips of bacon. Oh my, yes. It's like a giant middle finger to your heart.

This product's name? The "Baconator." You know, like "Terminator," only for, uh, a huge stack of cow/pig meat that celebrates your impending coronary/impotence/cancer with every bite. Genius.

Here is where I admit my confusion. Here is where a small but significant part of my brain (quietly, internally) explodes every time I see this commercial -- which, mercifully, isn't often, because I don't watch much TV and don't watch any weekend TV sports and therefore am never around when (I presume) this kind of product is target-marketed straight to their apparently very slovenly, apparently hugely unhealthy, largely illiterate audiences.

Wait, is that too harsh? Maybe. But as I watched this ad, a slew of questions flooded my naive brain and I found myself actually looking around my apartment, trying to find a sympathetic face, someone or something to share my stupefaction at what I was seeing.

Wait wait wait (I asked the wall), is this still legal? Do we still actually allow this sort of cultural tripe to be broadcast to the nation? Can fast-food companies still sell revolting chyme like this obesity-causing cancer-ready death-inducing product you shouldn't even feed to your dog, and no one is stopping them? Didn't we pass a law or something? Have the noxious fast-food titans not yet been forced to stop concocting vile products like this, or at least to dial down the garish marketing of their most ultra-toxic products, given how the vast majority of Americans have now learned (haven't they?) at least a tiny modicum about human health?

Put another, more pointed way: Haven't we moved past this by now?

After all, we've now had years -- decades, even -- of well-documented studies and health campaigns and even a handful of truth-in-advertising nutrition laws, endless media reports about the dangers of fat and chemicals and industrial feedlot beef, not to mention the launch of dozens of health magazines and the mixed-blessing triumph of the entire organic movement, right alongside pop culture hits like "Fast Food Nation" and "Super Size Me" and "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and "Diet for a New America" and all the rest.

Hence, you'd think -- or at least, I thought -- something might have shifted by now. Alas, you would be, like me, completely wrong.

Yes, well do I know the brutish libertarian view of all this, which simply goes: If you're dumb enough to eat this garbage, you get what you deserve. Then again, such ideology doesn't stop us from passing laws -- or at least partially regulating -- vile corporations and products we know are hugely dangerous and stupid and which would happily kill us in our sleep. And, at least in some cases, we're better off for it.

Hell, we did it with telemarketing. One little much-needed law and boom, a national Do-Not-Call registry, and it actually mostly works and now all those vile cretins who used to call you during dinner to sell you carpet cleaning services now simply spam your e-mail account until it staggers and collapses and shuts down your e-mail server.

We did it with cigarette advertising, with booze, with seat belt laws, with gun advertising, with all sorts of products and services we know in our collective heart of hearts are either totally and shamelessly deadly and therefore should not be allowed free reign in the culture, or which we all agree really do need some sort of system of legal/ethical checks and balances (clean water, food additives, medicine, etc.) that the free market simply cannot provide on its own.

And yes, well do I know the cynical view, the one that says a law banning the creation or advertising of such deadly garbage like the Baconator probably wouldn't do much to stem the tide of willful ignorance in this country anyway, given our well-known epidemic of obesity and our proud, all-American culture of gluttony and excess. True enough.

But maybe I'll just stick with my original note of (blind?) confidence, that little bubble of ideological hope that progress has indeed been made and awareness of health and diet in this nation has indeed been nicely raised and the world is not, in fact, teeming with an army of manic Baconator-chomping frat guys.

Or better yet, maybe I should just stop watching TV altogether. Voila! No more Baconators! Easy.

I love it when he is disgusted by the things that also disgust me. He has a gift for such things.
When did we become a nation of ignorant, sloth-like fools? I am racking my brain to understand where it all went SO wrong on countless levels.

"The greatest happiness you can have is knowing that you do not necessarily require happiness."

William Saroyan


(photo credit: J.R.)