'If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear...'

If you know the rest of the lyrics, then maybe you were part of the fabric. Summer of love. 1967. Legend has it that John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas wrote the song in 20 minutes. The Euros embraced it; the song holding #1 on charts across the pond. Back home in the States, the whiff of incense and weed beckoned. Everybody wanted to come to San Francisco.

But, if you missed the wedding then, it's hard to take you on that magic carpet now. You had to be there; the unchecked pandemonium; the liberating self-discovery; the claustrophobic, condensed adventures within the Haight Ashbury.

Lone Mt. College, class of 68. Fuckya! Several blocks removed from the Panhandle, hippie hill, and that infamous intersection. 45th reunion. For approximately 5 hours, down at 'the' wharf, is there any other, past the watering hole along the Embarcadero where most of us bellied up to the bar with our fake id's...colors became more luminescent, edges softer, depth of field: no LSD. Who we had become, expansive; prodigious unfolding mysteries. Generous in the noon light. Dispatched middle-age. Post menopausal. Bound up in a love affair, that spans decades. Like clusters of stars that illuminate and dazzle existentially, migrating in and out of galaxies, we are there. If you're lucky, you can place the face with the name. But, who cares? Intimacy sweeps the room. For those fleeting moments, you remember where you were and who you broke bread with. That is what you take back with you. Resonating. Across the miles.

...Sent to Draaaain..

1.Yeah, slow night on the telly, but wait, what's this I see? Why it's the film, 'Lincoln.' Which I brushed aside when it was in hyper distribution. Darling of the critics, starring the male 'Streep.' The chameleon. The great Daniel Day Lewis. Hardware spilling from his trophy case. I watched, dazzled by the brilliant performance. And what tweaked a nerve, as I poured myself a
shot of Jameson, is politics have not evolved; it could be 1864 up on Capitol Hill today. Or as Yogi Berra would exclaim: 'it's deja vu all over again.' Befuddlement reigns. A group of white men are holding the country hostage. Over a bill which is Law. Dopily, I went to one of my favorite government weather sites for a weekend update and found it blacked out, a tiny casualty of this childish tantrum. If this is a pissing contest, fellas, the train has already left the station, and you're pissing into the wind.

2. In October, it's always Smashing Pumpkins time. Half Moon Bay. The top of the heap, my friends. Slabs of fields emerging from the fog, splashed with orange from the road to the seashore; magical buoys heralding costumes. Candy. The occasional trickster.

3. 'Blue is the Warmest Color.' Awarded the coveted PalmeD'Or, the highest honor at Cannes this year. Tunisian Director, Adellatif Kechiche. French actors, Lea Seydoux and Adele Exarchopoulos. Apparently, the Director is fuming over the interviews given by his young stars, who have criticized his filming technique, in particular the 10 days it took to film the central erotic segment of the movie. Kechiche wants distribution stopped. Film opens Oct 25th. What this guy needs to understand is that

his train has also left the station.