Russian Roulette...the Faultline

Last night as a joke, I emailed a friend, 'see you in 2012...Mayan.' My bad. The goddess doesn't like it when you screw around with ancient mythology. In retro, I should 'can' all doomsday references and take care of my own backyard S**t, the Hayward fault. The Hayward fault is the 'Bay Bridge' of fault lines; 2nd banana to the more powerful, publicity crazed San Andreas fault which shoots off a headline every decade or so. Everyone outside of Cali recognizes the glamorous San Andreas. The Hayward fault garners zero facial recognition. Nada. Except to the populations of Hayward, Oakland, and Berkeley, who reside smugly outside the San Fran glitz, basking in the shadow of the greatest University in the land (and I don't mean the one in Palo Alto), and harboring denial like it was a bogey man hiding under the bed until the Hayward goes off and rears. June 10, 1836, magnitude 6.7; the quake is felt as far away as Monterrey. Oct. 21, 1868, magnitude 7.0; this quake ripped fissures open and some city streets sank. For the past several weeks, the Hayward fault has been alleviating pressure, which, ok, is a good thing; several of the quakes have been centered in Berkeley close to the UC campus, and under the hills. When the epicenter is sitting beneath you, 3.9 feels damn big. And early this morning, 3.6, in the dark, felt like Godzilla was shaking the apt building. No joke. Why? Why do I continue to perpetuate my future demise by an act of nature which every single seismologist predicts is coming? The Hayward fault though, ripe for a monster shake, is not the stuff my nightmares are made of. In my dreams, it's always the same. On a beach or along the seashore. The water recedes and I'm running towards the sea wall. Sometimes I make it. And sometimes I don't. Get those earthquake kits up to date.

'There's a fog upon...'

1. In a strange retro mood last night. Almost but not quite channeling the 60's munchies, I craved something sweet and not wanting to bust into the hand packed pint of Fenton's pumpkin ice cream (wait for it, wait...) don't ask me why, even insane reasoning has it's moments, like some sort of Catholic school girl in purgatory, I circled the kitchen opening the freezer door, closing it, slamming cupboards, even checking the sorry popcorn, trail mix drawers, until my vision latched onto the 2 plump turkey figs (from the backyard tree planted by Lana) ripening on the window sill. Figs. Never crossed my palate until I was 30 something. But, I remember being with the 1st girl friend in the middle of the day on Polk St, sitting in a theater, watching probably one of the greatest cinematic fig scenes on celluloid; Alan Bates in DH Lawrence's 'Women in Love' comparing a split fig to female anatomical parts while devouring it. Uh, yeah. My favorite way to eat figs is to heat the oven at 425, placing all the figs on a tray and roasting in the oven until the juices start to render themselves from the flesh, and the fruit begins to split. Remove from oven. Serve over a pile of vanilla ice cream. I don't know what it was about the night, but not wanting to turn the oven on, I sliced the figs in quarters and threw a gigantic nob of unsalted butter into a pan. Placing the figs face down in the butter I let them caramelize. Turned them over once onto the skin side I let them cook some more. Dribbling brown sugar (a distant cousin of ice cream) on the soft syrupy goodness sent the plated dessert over the edge.

2. Spent an entire night watching Scorsese's, 'George Harrison, Living in the Material World.' HBO documentary. I teared up in unexpected places. The first time when the great Ravi Shankar played; the other moment came as a list of all of George's songs rolled up the credit screen. George Harrison. Gifted. The Enlightened one.

3. Bengal tigers. An endangered species. Population at approximately 2500. Yesterday in rural Ohio, after the owner of a County Animal Farm freed all the captive animals (lions, tigers, bears, wolves and monkeys) into the surrounding area and then killed himself, sheriff and deputies (safari fever) bagged almost all of the predators including 18 Bengals. Gdamn. Tranquillizing darts anyone?

...'Songs are like tattoos...'

1. Drawn away by personal matters, on the flight over to the islands, Talking Heads, The Commitments, Bob Wills and the Stones masking the turbo jet drone...damn, the food
was miserable. I have been known to frequent dives for a meal, but the sammie that was served wasn't fit for a dog kennel. On the other hand, this was the airline's 1st offense. Slacking my hunger with liquids, and sleep, I woke to spangled turquoise water and Diamond Head rising over the cluttered famed shoreline like an old familiar friend, a sentinel, hovering over 'the gathering place.' 89 degrees out. Wipe that smile off your face. Where are my slippas?

2. Leaves are turning. A slight snap in the air. Fall isn't just about the vaunted NFL or Division I NCAA conferences. They're chucking the ball all over the land. After school and under Friday night lights, it's happening now, baby. Telly ratings soar as football smaks baseball out of the prime time zone. This year the 'Ripley's Believe it or Not' story spiraled out of Pinckney Community High School in Michigan. Tradition dictates that at half time the students crown their homecoming queen. This year, the queen, Brianna Amat, #12 in shoulder pads and cleats, ran out of the Pinckney locker room and was crowned with a tiara. Brianna who tried out for the football team in the spring on the recommendation of her soccer coach made the squad as the field goal kicker. On 'Coronation' night, her team trailing 7-6, playing a rival ranked 7th in the state, with five minutes left in the game...uh, No fear. Brianna, 31 yards away, split the uprights. You think they tore down the goal posts at Pinckney, and hoisted the homecoming queen off the field?

3. Alabama. Sweet home not. WTF? In effect immediately after Judge Sharon Lovelace Blackburn ruled and upheld the strongest immigration law in the country. Thousands of Hispanics have begun mass exodus to border states.

4. A penny for your thoughts after listening to Mozart's 'Requiem' in flight.

Popcorn and Jujubes

1. Thus far, the new fall lineup on the telly is a resounding bust. Index finger cramping from hitting the delete button, I channel surfed into the 1966 film, 'The Group.' Whoa. Already 15 minutes into the movie, I sat mesmerized, not by the acting because the acting was marginal, but by the ensemble cast: Shirley Knight, Elizabeth Hartman, Joan Hackett, Hal Holbrook, Jessica Walter, a youthful Larry Hagman (cast as a shit of a husband)pre JR Dallas and the delicious Candace Bergman as Lakey, the role every respectable dyke is familiar with.
We loved CB so much that while living in a household populated by 70's anarchists we named a drink of oj mixed with tonic water and whatever, the CandyBergen. 'The Group' written by Mary McCarthy about the class of '33 at Vassar inadvertently slid into my glitterati hall of quotes when McCarthy said 'live' on the Dick Cavett show, "Every word written by Lillian Hellman is a lie including 'and' and 'the.' Hellman responded by filing a 2.5 million libel suit. They don't make them like those 2 broads anymore.

2. BBCA. Has produced the best shows of the year. If you missed these, stream them. 'The Hour' which I've previously mentioned in this space. One of the finest series to ever cross the Atlantic. Domenic West from The Wire. The absolutely brilliant Ben Whislaw. Romola Garai, a powerful central character, and a heady piece of eye candy.
'Zen' starring Rufus Sewell based on the Aurelio Zen detective series. Filmed in Italy, detailed, beautiful. And finally, the Idris Elba vehicle, 'Luther.' Violent and gritty. Elba reading the dictionary would make for compelling drama.

3. A shameless bit of pub for a book, 'Sound Business: Newpapers, Radio, and the Politics of New Media,' written by Michael Stamm who graduated from UCBerkeley, and worked with me as a student and a young man before he pursued his doctorate at the Univ of Chicago. Mick and I used to spend hours on the mezzanine of level B staring down onto
the gridiron, the Main stacks of the Library, plotting our playbook, hashing over the good, the bad, and the ineptitude while keeping our focus on the future. Well done. Uh, and that's Dr. Stamm, to you.

'Blowing smoke rings from the corner of my m,m,m,mouth'...

1. I flew to Baghdad last night. Well, alright, in a psychedelic sort of way. The Fox theater in Oakland circa 1928, originally named 'The Baghdad' for it's lavish mystical Middle Eastern/Indian designs, rich tapestries, 'trip the lights' fantastic domed ceiling, and carved gold inlays, was bought by William Fox, who, well, named the downtown palace after himself...The Fox. Whaaaat? The Fox had a run of 38 years and then was put down, a slow simmering death, in 1966 by the burgeoning popularity of the people's box, the telly. For 40 years, the great mecca lay dormant. Vandalized, fire bombed, and in shameful decay, the citizens of Oakland in 1996 got off their collective asses and set restoration plans in motion for the designated historical landmark. Originally taking 2 years to construct, the renovation like most contemporary projects staggered across the finish line in a tortoise paced ten years. The born again venue is so visually striking, half the audience last night took cell phone photos documenting the elaborate architecture. And as luck or karma would have it, the band, Thievery Corporation, had a sitar player who embodied the essence of the surroundings as the lights went down and people fired up.

2. Along that same sight line, I remembered the first artist I saw at another jaw dropping venue...the classic art deco Paramount, coincidentally in close proximity to the Fox, Laura Nyro. A grand piano, a single red rose on stage, long before Tori, Alicia, and the 2 other blondes, she 'stone souled' and immortalized the evening. In 1997 when I heard she died, I wept.

3. 'Circumstance.' A bold, albeit flawed, 1st film by a young Iranian woman, Maryam Keshavarz, shot the movie in Beirut for under a million with a supporting cast from as far away as France and Vancouver. The film set in Tehran, is cloaked in underground bars, a subtle (really?) westernized climate, morality police, and angst as 2 young girls play out their sexual feelings for each other. 'Circumstance' could have easily have fallen on it's face, by delivering a heavy handed political statement. It doesn't. However, Maryam Keshavarz originally from Tehran, after making this movie, can never go back. Gingger Shankar, great niece of Ravi, managed the Persian pop style music accentuating the pulse of the movie.

Saturday Slices

1. There's a country Western song with the opening line: "10 years ago on a cold dark night." 'Long Black Veil' written by Marijohn Wilkin has been covered by everyone from Johnny Cash to Joan Baez to Mick Jagger. I thought of the song and that line as the 10th anniversary approached. Except it wasn't night, it was early morning on the West coast. I was already at work and had no (really) idea what had taken place in NYC until a colleague came running into the office spewing the terrible news. I don't think I accomplished much that day. I surfed all the news sites, trolling for as much info as the networks could muster. The images were horrific. Students huddled together at the campus cafes. Numb and insulated, on the other side of the Rockies, I worried about a college mate who resided in Manhattan. In one of my classic base reactions, some of the 9/11 evisceration floated off when whatshisname got his in Pakistan on May 2nd. Izzy was 4 when all of this shit went down. Tomorrow she turns 14. It's always the brightest event, the beacon on a reflective somber day.

2. Kate Winslet. Joe, her 7 year old, announced that one day he might have either a girlfriend or a boyfriend and which would she prefer. Winslet quick on the draw, and one of the sharper pencils in the box, replied that it didn't matter to her, the decision was entirely his. This in stark contrast to Tracy Morgan's ignorant asinine remarks.

3. Last week a 21 foot saltwater croc was caught in the eastern region of Mindanao Island of the Philippines. It is now the largest reptile of it's kind in captivity. Hunted after villagers saw it dragging a water buffalo from the banks of a river and weighing more than a ton, the croc has been christened with the name 'Lolong' in honor of the person who captured it. Tick. Tock.

Friday Flings

1. Decided to feed my face this morning. Skipped the oatmeal and banana. And boogied as quickly as I could past the grumpy teens on their forced march to 'Tech High' (yeah, and I bet some of them dose their lunch breaks with assorted x-rated whatevers), past the speeding cars on their way across the bridge, past the embattled employees navigating towards the deep troubled waters along the banks of the blue and gold campus, past the apartment bldg where my ex once lived, the one with no elevator, and the neat stucco facade perched on the street that I drove down a hundred times cry cry crying those 96 tears (my therapist wanted to stand me up and slap me several times um I was horrified I could see it in her eyes as I played that song over and over again). Thousands of dollars later, with much better days ahead, there like a shining beacon (drop the e and it's a morsel of deliciousness)...my secret Friday hideaway. With the best donuts, oh yes, but with the all world, all Galaxy, morning bun. Flaky. Swirls of crunchy sugar crystals textured within buttery whorls of pastry, buffered by cinnamon and orange mist. Why, it makes the day all bright and chirpy.

2. Kinda along the same stream...Bill Clinton. Vegan? Does that seem right? This is the man who never met a burger he didn't like.

3. El Presidente. Taking several jabs on the chin this week. The collapse of the touted Solydra alternative energy plant filing chapter 11; this, the symbol of the economic recovery for the country, a bust. And the head scratching capitulation of the President to the Repubs...changing his address to Thursday evening so it wouldn't coincide with the 'phants debate. But uh, did any of the white house minions not know that the NFL goes live Thursday night? The 2011 season opens...the Packers vs the Saints? Hmm. Depressing economic news vs the funny pointed ball? I bet I know who crushes with the higher rating. The Man needs to field a better O line.

4. One of the best telly shows in it's 3rd episode on BBCA is 'The Hour.' Brilliant. With Domenic West, the great Jimmy McNulty of 'The Wire,' Ben Whishaw, an exceptional whip of an actor, and the beautiful Romola Garai (where has she been all my life)? It's a 6 episode series. Stream it if you can because the Brits know how to compose intelligent drama.

5. Monday. Honor Labor.