My Old School

Galileo High School Courtyard, Bay and Van Ness, San Francisco

Ever think about your high school? I probably would not, were it not for the fact that I pass it on my way into and out of the city. My high school experience was different than some. Extremely urban and monstrous. O.J. Simpson's alma mater. Neat. We had crazy security guard dudes that walked around, yelling at us to get to class. The meanest one was named Mr. Strong. Of course.

My Old School - Steely Dan

May You Never

Blackwood Canyon, Lake Tahoe

I remembered someone. I'm pretty sure his real name was Ralph. I called him by his nickname. He had long, wavy auburn hair (Didn't they all?) and could play six and twelve string guitar better than anyone around. A madman. Like so many lost little girls, guitar players were a recurring affliction. One I paid dearly for.

We met at Lake Tahoe, where I lived for about five years during the mid-to-late seventies. He was a friend of dear friends of mine on the West Shore. One of those friends was pal Gem. Still best friends with the very same Gem today. So anyway... immediate attraction.

I can't recall now what finally brought us together that summer night, but we ended up in nearby Blackwood Canyon, on the Western Shore of Tahoe. His beard stubble rubbed my face raw. It didn't matter. And he played tapes that I hadn't heard. Excellent songs. One that still stands out from that night is 'May You Never' by John Martyn. Later covered by Clapton on Slowhand. One of those goddamn tunes that haunts my thoughts sometimes. I listen to that one archaic song and I am right there in his blue Dodge van. With little bubble side windows. All these years later, and he's still in my memory bank. I liked him. But he was having none of that. Ended up sailing all over the planet, among other things. I think of him sometimes, and wonder how his life is now. Do men have these flashbacks too? Music is my crazy-ass time machine!

Then

January 1975~San Francisco

I was home for a holiday visit from San Diego, where I attempted to attend college. Seventeen and a few months. As I recall, I came home late from seeing friends, and decided to take a serious(?) self-portrait. Was I really ever so young, so sweet? (Shit. Now I sound like Kathleen Turner on Larry King last night.)

The picture wall behind me was in the kitchen at my Mom's. I put it together about a year before, when I still lived at home. Naturally, I remember every photo behind me. I love the one in the lower left corner. That's of my grandfather Malcolm at the Sausalito Yacht Harbor. He kept his sailboat, "Baby Grand" there. My father kept his boat there too. ("Serenade") They were both 38' Dasher Class. Wood, not fiberglass. I posted of a photo of us sailing here.

Sadly, I don't know where the photo of Malcolm is today. Maybe dad has a copy. Other shots include: My baby brother, my step-sister, and my great-aunt Gert.


"I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through"

Bowie

Feverish Thoughts

My first sick day. Since February, when I lucked into my new, much-improved job.What an odd thing, when teeth chatter uncontrollably and the fever burns. I burrowed into my comforter and thrashed about a while. We noticed that V for Vendetta was just starting, so we watched it. Despite feeling poorly, it floored me.Two Sissy Hankshaw-sized thumbs-up. Feeling less weird today, but not 100% healed. Maybe a minimal rant will help.





So much to say about so much. It takes me over sometimes. Every day I feel more disillusioned. If only... I were the type that could look away, ignore the insanity, and distract myself in a myriad of ways. I've never been one to deny the obvious, no matter how upsetting it may be. It's obvious (to me) that we are approaching the point of no return. I will not just shut up and watch it occur. I keep up this incessant blogging for my mental health. This is for me. Plain and simple. It's not because I think I am another undiscovered writer. No chance. It is a place for my burgeoning frustration. Sometimes it's for the things in my little world that soothe my soul or make me laugh. Either way it feels sort of obsessive. That troubles me. (Add it to the motherfucking list!) I hope there comes a time I won't need this silly thing for venting about my fucked-up country. That may be overly-optimistic.





My son and his cohorts are driving to Los Angeles (What???!!) this weekend, to see Roky Erickson at the El Rey Theater. As he pointed out: "The City itself is not on fire, Mom." He has friends there, keeping him posted. They're staying at one of his pal's mother's place.In Malibu. The tickets were procured weeks ago. Even though he's 25, I have the maternal urge to suggest that they wear those white masks over their mouths whenever they're outdoors. The particulate down there should be quite something. If I do suggest this, he will laugh at me. No matter, I probably will.






One of my very best friends is treating me to a getaway to see her soon. Gracious! There are now direct flights from Santa Rosa to Seattle. This is less stressful than getting to San Francisco or Oakland. She's a friend from my formative years at Tahoe. One of only a few that have remained friends for about three decades. As I pointed out to Tara Dharma recently, my circle of friends gets smaller as the years roll on. The trade off is... the remaining friendships that I hold dear and rely on are strong. Many others have been lost along the way. Some are mourned, some are forgotten. It's complicated stuff, friendship. Like life is.






I've been wondering about labels. There are labels for everything and everyone. For instance, I could easily be labeled a deadhead. I am one. Or was, depending on your outlook. But is that all I am? Perhaps, to some. No matter, really. I can handle the label. But wait, there's more to me than that, musically. I have seen and/or worked at almost every genre of music you can fathom. From Lollapalooza to the San Francisco Symphony. Due to my years as a blue coat for B.G.P., I saw shows I would not necessarily have seen by choice. Like Tiffany or Duran Duran or Run D.M.C. It's music, and it intrigues me-whether I am particularly fond of it or not. I'm weird like that.



Lastly, I think our kitten has a name that will stick. Dusty became Cassidy. It fits her the best. Finally. I felt negligent, being uncertain. Not Cassidy like the song, or after Neal Cassady. She hops. Naturally I thought of Hopalong Cassidy. Another archaic reference.Consider it's source! Anyway, Cassie works too.

Red Rocks 1979

Red Rocks Ampitheatre... definitely one of the best venues around.

The Stubs (Check out those prices!)


The song lists, on the back of those same stubs. Things like this remind me of my dedication to the music. Clearly, I was into it.

The back story... I was listening to KSAN F.M. ("Jive 95") one afternoon. During the community bulletin board, there was an announcement by a guy looking for riders to Denver, for theRed Rocks shows.
Approximately 75 bucks bought you a spot in his V.W. van, a place to stay at his friend's home in Denver, and tickets to all three nights of the Grateful Dead. There were two other riders, besides me. I stayed in touch with only one member of that crew through the years. We four made it to Denver, after one wild trip across the country. The first night at the one and only Red Rocks Ampitheatre, some nut tried to scale the rocks. To sneak in. In street shoes. He slipped and fell to his death. Oh, and it rained and thundered. Due to the inclement weather (and probably the fatality), the next two shows were at Mc Nichols Arena. A bit of a let down, but it didn't inhibit our fun. No sirrreee. On the way back across the country, the driver and captain of our merry band of misfits informed me that he might be falling in love with me. (Drugs are bad, m'kay?!)

Anyway, that's another story.