'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.

Tricks

First rain of the fall. So long summer, we hardly knew you. It was an odd weather pattern, not the usual debilitating heat, playing tricks on my tomato crop. A flat season most def. The Julietts didn't

spawn prolifically; the black Cherokee snubbed it's crop at the fog and one of the early Girl's up and died. Bring on the pumpkins.

1. Obi-Wan addressing the Imperial Republican House: "This is not the Bill (Obecare) you want. It has already passed. Move along now. Back to your sandbox."

2. The Pope might need a Jedi mind trick too. He may sound like he's backing off abortion and gays.  But, he's not. It's all feeble talk. Let's see the walk.

3. Meandering through the cemetery, there isn't a better place to conjure up the lives of others by their headstones. Or the lay of the land through it's dichotomy. The Asians, Jews, hoi polli, and soldiers, populate the bottom tier, the ground floor. Rising above in varying levels, the crypts of the wealthy, layered and insulated from the dust below. Flowers, offerings of food and incense, balloons and totems of rocks dot the graves. Markers on top of markers. The best? I have walked, jogged, past a large pinkish headstone at least 100 times, and it never fails to disappoint; someone, friend or family, always leaves a consumed 5th of whiskey or an empty pint bottle tilted carefully against the memorial. Sometimes it has flowers in it, more often then not it is just the bottle nestled there among the blades of grass. Never fails to make me smile.

4. When you're not sunk into the couch watching the NFL, stream Borgen, or Spiral. Two worthy series from the Euros. One is Danish, the other French. These are good riveting productions.

Tall in the Saddle

1. Elmore Leonard died last week. He was 87. Most notably recognized for his crime/noir fiction, Mr. Leonard's (he is esteemed and ranks high in my pantheon therefore, 'Mr') works first caught the attention of Hollywood in the 50's. However, it was a novel, 'Get Shorty' and a subsequent movie in 1995 that catapulted Mr. Leonard into the public eye. Another novel, 'Rum Punch' attracted Quentin Tarantino, who adapted and cast Pam Grier into the title role and called the film, 'Jackie Brown,' arguably the best movie that QT has ever made. A short story of Mr. Leonard's, 'Fire in the Hole,' is the underpinning for the successful cult series, 'Justified.' But back to the 50's. I'll bet that only true aficionados knew Mr. Leonard was a prolific short story Western writer. His dialogue and his obvious fondness for Western genre became a source, a flowing river of gold, for films such as: Valdez is Coming, Hombre, the classic 3:10 to Yuma, Joe Kidd, and a movie I recently watched, and which some refer to as the best Western of the 50's, The Tall T. Elmore Leonard. He was old school. Colorful. And a man among boys.

2. Best summer reading: 'Canada' by Richard Ford. 'The Art of Fielding' by Chad Harbach.

3. Monday. Honor Labor.

Uh, Who dat...

1. From personal experience, the poetry/lit circuit...was both fascinating and brutal. All alone on stage, or behind a podium in a well lit room, being 'on' never felt comfortable to me. The intellectual property was there; I owned it. Committed to paper. It was crazy. Sometime, I was so ebullient from the read, it would carry me for days. Other sessions were tainted by....intense stage fright. Which brings me to the best movie I've seen all year, '20 Feet from Stardom.' An indie production which
'fronts' the backup singers, most notably, Darlene Love, Lisa Fischer, Merry Clayton and Judith Hill who we've all heard behind Luther Vandross, Springsteen, the Stones, David Bowie, Sting etc. but never really knew who exactly some of them were until now. From the opening beat of Lou Reed's 'Walk on the Wild Side,' to his iconic line: 'and the colored girls go, Doo do doo, doo do doo, doo do doo.' this movie will enlighten and blow your mind. Anyone who has hummed a melody or sung lyrics from a radio tune should see this indie, and shame on you if you don't. Face it, it takes a gigantic ego to front a band; on the other hand, the backup singer (s) are unique quasi mysterious partners. Who give it all up to let it rip behind the lead vocal. It is the ultimate 'having their backs.' You might be humming after you see this film,  but music will never sound the same
again. This is a great enriching tribute.

2. The accompanying photo: left to right: Jo Lawry, Judith Hill and Lisa Fischer.

3. Completely comatose on my couch the other night, I was awakened by the Amber alert which exploded from my cell phone. That was some scary gloom and doom shit. Who knew the phone was linked into the alert???

"It takes a train to..."

1. One of the greatest Dylan songs ever. 'It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to cry.' A song title with your name on it, if you've known the blues. Plug it in, and steep yourself. My default association tale...At midnight, if I'm lucky, after just settling in, far far away, but not far enough, comes the wail of the Amtrack. Starlight route? For five to ten minutes, the engineer launches the melodic train code. This is not your grandfather's steam engine whistle, but a deeper, richer tone resonating over the somnolent city. I never rode the rails until I was well into my 30's. I'm a child of the jet age. The fastest way off the island (I'm not talking Survivor) was through the air. Trains. Def old school. And with with a mystery destination every night.

2. Aftermath of the Trayvon Martin verdict. I happened to be driving through downtown Oakland, a couple of days after the demonstrations. Block after block had establishments with every window broken, boarded up. Oakland, the city, that needs merchants to bolster their sagging economy keeps taking it on the chin. Uh, soon there might not be a there, there.

3. Orange is the New Black. If you've been in outer space and just returned,
this is a Netflix series based on Piper Kerman's book detailing her incarceration for 15 months in a woman's minimum security prison. The telly show takes liberties; the series' genre is comedy-drama, and falls under the 'chick flick' (who cares?) label. It is a raunchy, incredibly funny, frank,  production rift with characters rarely seen on the networks: African American and Hispanic woman who are not just window dressing but an inclusive significant part of the entire collage.

4. Eshleman Hall. Demolished. Gone. Built in 1965 on the Univ of California, Berkeley campus and primarily housing student organizations; site of demonstrations and protests, vandalism, numerous thefts, two fires, a murder in 1992, Grace Asuncion, a cold case, and the barrier from which CeCe flew...wounded, we were young then but will never forget.

...'A-Riding on a pony...'

Childhood memories aside, the song 'Yankee Doodle' will forever be associated with Jimmy Cagney's 'Yankee Doodle Dandy.' 1942. A film about the great George M. Cohan. Waking up this fine morning, (any morning you're above ground is a fine one I heard some old degen mutter at the racetrack one day) and after my tea and donut, I googled and wiki'd
(utopian tree of knowledge) Yankee Doodle. Not so much for Yankee; hey, the 21st century Yanks wear blue pinstripe unis and play ball.  But for the word 'doodle. ' This is what I discovered. 'Doodle' in low German is thought to be a 'fool.' The word 'macaroni' refers to foppish manners ie gay (1774!). Um, so according to our sources, the original Yankee Doodle was written by a British Surgeon pre-revolution mocking the Yanks in the French and Indian war. The Yanks recognizing a sprightly tune co-opted the music and added their own verses; the rest is history.

In the spirit of the day, I'm instituting and presenting the 1st annual 'Fireworks Award.'

1. Senator Wendy Davis for her tenacity and neon Mizono sneaks.
2. The 'Supremes' for stepping up to the mic and ruling.
3. Edward Snowden for spilling the beans. Hey, no discrimination here.
4. KStew for her ballsy outfit at the Chanel couture show in Paris.

Enjoy the day. Good friends with their stories. And free flowing beverages. The grilling, salads, ice cream and toppings. The kids getting older, and almost out the door, but never too old for the after dark show. Pyrotechnics flare and rule! Be safe. Last year, we burned the front door mat and scorched a hole in the living room. But, that's another story.