Wednesday, May 25, 2011

'When Ruthie says come see her in her honky tonk...'


Bob Dylan turned 70 yesterday. No other recording artist, besides the great Joan Baez, more deeply affected me in my dysfunctional adolescence than Bob Dylan. I was 16 years old, land locked on an island, frustrated by conservative Catholic parents, disinterested in 80% of my high school education run by an incompetent order of French nuns and anti-social. My parents pressured me to join religious groups (OMG). I flunked Home Ec. and was sent to summer school every year to get a leg up on Math. The road between home, school and church was polluted with my jail break dreams. I started pilfering my father's liquor cabinet and taking whiskey to school. Smoking in the basement of my house became a routine. My only self discovery was I liked girls. That way. At the end of a stressful summer, circa 1962 (?) my parents sent me to visit an aunt in SF who carted me down to the Monterrey Fair grounds to hear Joan Baez. A fog settled in over the evening sky. Under-dressed, and shivering, I was mesmerized by the the folk ballads. At the end of the evening Joan Baez called out to a friend in the wings to join her. A skinny white boy, curly black hair, a harmonica slung around his neck walked on stage. It was Bob Dylan. Together, the only song they sang that night was, 'Blowing in the Wind.' The doors of my world blew open. I was a confused child on the flight over, and now on the return flight home, I was a confused adolescent with an agenda. When I got to college, I had friends who loved the same things that I did. The hall ways of the dorm echoed with songs from the iconic, 'Freewheelin Bob Dylan,' 'Bringing it all back Home,' and 'Highway 61 Revisited.' Somewhere compressed in all that music, Dylan went electric on us. I cared for a split nano second. Then rolled along with it. Years later, sitting with friends in a dyke bar, Dylan's 'Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again' lurched from the juke box. The place was smoky and crowded, but we all stopped what we were doing and sang along with Dylan 'neath his Pananmanian moon. Thanks and Happy Birthday, Bob.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Animal Style


1. Earth to Dominique Strauss-Kahn. In America, we prosecute rapists. And our media coverage is insatiable because each and everyone of us likes to watch. Welcome to weeks and months of sordid headlines from the jaded NY tabloids. The discreet French news agencies cannot save your sorry ass here.

2. Arnie. In your own house? There's that old saying...you never s**t where you eat. Dumb. And dumber. Chow time for T-Rex.

3. Lance Armstrong. A year ago, Floyd Landis' accusations of doping was dismissed by the Armstrong camp as 'money grubbing and sour grapes.' Last night on 60 minutes, Tyler Hamilton, an Olympic gold medal winner, a member of the vaunted US Postal team who consistently denied PED usage to federal investigations, subpoenaed by the Grand Jury and granted partial immunity for his testimony spilled it all. Hamilton emotional throughout the interview said that revealing his performance-enhancing drug usage to his family was brutal, and (clearly distraught) if he could go back and wipe out his entire memory he would. Hamilton said Armstrong and the team managers encouraged doping and that he witnessed Armstrong's EPO injections; using testosterone; and being given blood transfusions. The biggest revelation was that Armstrong failed a doping test, but was protected by team managers and the International cycling union in 2001. Tyler Hamilton was apologetic and the confessional grief laden. He was not only taking down a friend, but breaking the cycling code. Hamilton's profuse and careful use of the noun, 'we' reminded me of the famous Father Damien quote from the leper colony on Molokai when he said, 'we lepers.' The US Postal team. In solidarity. Guilty. Together.

4. Michelle Forbes. Tour de force as Mitch Larsen in 'The Killing. Forbes is one of the great supporting actors in film, and steals every scene she is in. 'The Killing,' a brilliant 13 episode series, an instant cult classic, is almost a wrap in telly land...

5. Had my own Rapture on Saturday when Shackleford won the Preakness.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Luck


1. Friday the 13th. Walked under any ladders? Black cat crossed your path? Change your bedding today? Cut your nails? Some people never leave their house on this numerically edgy day; for fiddy cent, and a couple of smokes left at the door the Dr is in...paraskevidekatriaphobia (I am not making this word up) is the clinical term for peeps who would prefer to shutter themselves up than venture out amidst the living or the walking dead. Your call. The Christians view Friday as the day Christ died. There were allegedly 12 apostles not 13. On Friday the 13th in 1307, the Knights Templar ate it; thousands of the order were seized, tortured and burned at the stake by Philip IV of France who deemed them a threat, owed them money, and repaid, oh how he repaid, in untimely medieval fashion. Piss off the Romans or the pagan Brits, count on your execution date as Friday. Got financial crashes? Black Friday will travel. However, illuminating thoughts revolved through my tiny brain as I walked the cemetery today. For what it's worth, there are others out there, who view Friday the 13th as a good, and lucky day. The word Friday is derived from the Norse goddess of marriage and fertility, Frigg or Freya. A witches coven numbers 13. Pre-Western civilizations gave rise to the lunar calendar, 13 full moons and menstrual cycles, goddess worshiping and femininity. The Patriarchs nervous and unsettled by the lunar calendar's matriarchal overtones, replaced it with the solar calendar. Unsavory drift. The number 12 supplanted the number 13. Surprised? Why should we be.

2. Porn in the compound at Abbottabad, Pakistan. Lots of it. A treasure trove for SNL.

3. Went looking for my favorite Donna's Tamale truck on Thursday for some of their killer tapioca. No such luck.

4. I have never walked under a ladder. I always eat black eye peas and mochi on the 1st day of the year. When having a bad run of luck, I have been known to consciously change my attire; on the other hand, I will always wear the same article of clothing that has lucky vibes until it shreds.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Pau or Pow!


1. The Texas Rangers, and the Canadian Royal Mounties share the slogan, 'we always get our man.' Of course you know where this is going. The Navy Seals and their elite strike team known as the mythical 'Seal Team 6,' knowledge of this combat unit is usually disavowed, took out the most wanted man in the world with exact precision, aggression, and flawless mechanics. Make no mistake about this, this was a kill mission. Why incarcerate and drag the nation through an agonizing trial? Who wanted that senseless option? Eyes on the target, two bullets put an end to 9 years of late night jokes. Media reports confirmed the Seals executing intense assault maneuvers on a mock compound at the beginning of April. Green light on hold, the clock ticking past the royal's headlines, the President finally unleashed hell. Somewhere, in a land far far away, Jack Bauer is raising a glass, and smiling because he knew damn well those Navy Seals didn't need the promise of 72 virgins to get the job done.

2. Lara Logan. The CBS News' chief foreign correspondent embedded in Afghanistan, and Iraq with military units, sexually assaulted and savagely beaten by a mob in Tahrir Square the night Mubarak fled the capitol, will be interviewed on 60 Minutes this Sunday. Her story details the heroism of those who saved her and her crew, but more importantly the piece reflects a courageous woman who is stepping forward to speak publicly, letting other victims know that they do not have to endure the burden alone.