Grapes and wrath

Deep valley
hanging heads a
wind blows dry Santa Anna like
five thousand Mexican soldiers
storming a new Alamo
no Davey Crockett, Sam Houston
or Jim Bowie just
a small token
the nice nice Condaleza Rice
and a back shootin' vice president
hiding behind a Bush
at boarder crossings

Hillside grapevines
cuttings from Italy growing new world
fat, juicy and tasteless
genetic infidels
born in laboratories
Casey Jones engineered
for one last train ride
to a slaughterhouse
along the I-5.

Guitarmegedden

We have a whole host of guitar playing buddies. Not many of whom are much good, including myself, but we all enjoy getting together to drink wine, and play songs...and of course plenty of women. Wine, women and song...enjoyment hasn't changed much in the last few millennium. (I guess according to spell check millennia is not the plural of millennium...but not a bad guess).

Pleasure? To pursue or follow the pleasure principal in some religions...like Christianity, Islam, or Judaism...is pretty much throwing in the towel in the fight against temptation. Or that huckster, the ol' nick, Satan himself. I'm not so sure? If that's the case...it's hellfire for me. But as long as there's a song accompanying the sizzle of burning flesh and some wine to quench the thirst that certainly must follow, perhaps it's worth it?

On the other hand Lao Tzu and Buddha pretty much teach the notion of living in the moment. Now They don't advocate a life of debauched salaciousness only...but I'm pretty sure Lao would dabble a bit now and then with the ladies and the rice wine. Dabble yes...trifle...no way. And Buddha...if we're to believe Herman Hesse had a good long fling with the hottest woman in town. But he still eventually heard the river's voices.

It's hard to be in a lousy mood when you're doing music. That is to say singing or playing. Even, or I should say, especially the Blues are extremely cathartic, for the creator and the listener.

So this Saturday we will all gather at my buddy's home in the Pacific Palisades. Legions of guitars and good intentions, way too much wine and barbecued meat galore. We'll sit around taking turns playing our best stuff poorly and try to play along with other songs stepping on lyrics and chords left and right, and everybody will have a good time.

And so it goes.

I emphatically suggest every human being should in some way engage in making music from time to time. Learn an instrument. Develop the voice. Beat a drum, scratch a turntable (is that the correct expression) ... or the ol' one two's as Mo would call them. It takes a long time and quite a bit of practice to learn an instrument...a lifetime...but after all...it enriches every moment of that life. Not a bad trade. A little effort for a lot of bliss?

Aloha, Tiny Bubbles...

Then in the end

The love you take is equal to the love you make.

Old Beatle lyrics. Seems like much of what I know about life has been gleaned from the lyrics of some song or another. Profound writers like Randy Newman:

Got a big black dog
And his name is Dan
Who lives in my backyard in Birmingham
He is the meanest dog in Alabam'
Get 'em Dan...

or...

Guilty...baby I'm guilty
and I'll be guilty all the rest of my life
How come I never do,
what I'm 'sposed to do?
How come nothin' that I try to do
ever turns out right?

or of course Bob Dylan:

God said to Abraham kill me a son
Abe said man, you must be puttin' me on,
God say no,
Abe say What,
God say you can do what you want Abe but
next time you see me comin'
you better run,
Abe say, where you want this killin' done,
God say out on highway 61,

All I really wanna do...
is baby be friends with you.

or Leonard Cohen:

You loved me as a loser but now you're worried that I just might win,
you know the way to stop me but you don't have the discipline.

The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
and there's a mighty judgment comin'
but I could be wrong...

The three wise Jews I call 'em.

But there have been the occasional one or few hit wonders that have something to say as well.

All we are is dust in the wind.

Alone again, naturally

Diggin' the scene with the Gangsta lean

We can go on and on and on, There is the under appreciated Harry Nilsson:

Every drop of rain
falls a million times it's own length
to crash upon earth's floor
and with it's pain causes life to start anew
Each second fights it's way magically through your
entire life
Like a salmon traveling upstream to it's final destination
And with it's goal in sight
Life ends to start anew
Each man lives far beyond his own span
And rides the life of all mankind
And not until his kind is past will he
And not until you die
Will each second of your life conclude
And not until it crashes against the earth
will a drop of rain have fallen
Not until all men are dead will you die
And life will start anew
and you will have traveled
A million times your own time...

Well...I had to do special kudo's to Harry. Good poem Harry,
Great Song. and magically....Salmon Falls.

That's all I think. Harry's poem just kinda took the wind right
out of my sails.

But do listen to the poets...musicians, even the accidental ones.

Hey Micky, you're so fine
you're so fine I lose my mind,
Hey Micky.

Day in Fog

I know, not as bad as Night and Fog, and I'm not referring to the brilliant Alain Resnais' 1955 film by the same title, but rather how time passes. Similar to shadow figures cavorting on the walls of my private cave. Enveloped by exaggerated ego, sound the trumpets for the arrival of the Captain Buffoon.

Have you ever known anyone that will listen...not so carefully to what you're saying. Digest it partially from a distance. Then, repeat exactly what you JUST said, but slowly and deliberately as if they'd just thought of it? Making your observation their own? That could actually be a bit of a compliment, but it's insufferable when that someone repeats some philosophical notion, abstract idea or intellectual analysis that you JUST said to them...regurgitated back to you...slowly and deliberately because they somehow need to make you understand?

For instance, the Norseman and I spent the day pillaging together yesterday. I took him to a particularly nice part of Old Town Pasadena, where I know of a new condominium complex, small...well built...right in the heart of restaurant row in Old Pasadena and reasonably priced. Get 'em while they're hot, won't last long, mixed use upscale and bohemian chic. It has been my contention from the first time I saw this building some time ago, that it would be a great investment, although I personally wouldn't like to live in a condominium. Mostly because I don't want belonging to any group...but probably MOST specifically an HOA. OR Home Owners Association.

Anyway, I explained to the Norseman all the positive attributes of the area. Parks, everything you need within walking distance. Historic buildings...the aforementioned fantastic restaurants, great shopping, magnificent theatres. Old Pasadena really has everything. I thought these condo's are the most value for money, and likely to increase in value more than any property we'd looked at in the greater Los Angeles area. The Norseman agreed.

When we hopped back in my car, heading for Hollywood Blvd, to take a look at some more mixed use condo conversions aka "lofts", the barbarian from the North started telling me...as if I'd never thought of it, how those Pasadena Condominiums were great value for money and are sure to increase in value over the next few years more so that most any other property we'd looked at thus far, and how the area of Old Pasadena was a draw in and of itself...and on and on.

I had to move my own ego in to the back seat of the car and bite my tongue as the Norseman unveiled his brilliant investment strategy to me. Push it down, swallow that pride. Let 'er go.

Later that night we decided we were going to watch "Triumph of the Will" Leni Riefenstahl's 1934 documentary film about the Nazi Party rally organized in Nuremberg. The film has been called the greatest Propaganda film ever made. Any historian would realize the film was made before Hitler went mad with power and committed those heinous atrocities...the worst of course being "the Final Solution". But, this was 1934. Germany had been reinvigorated by Adolf and the Nazi's. The autobahn was being built. Every body in Germany at the time was employed again (the depression of the 1930's was world wide, not just an American phenomenon), there was hope and promise and even though Hitler ended up being the scourge and most evil cloud of the twentieth century...at the time nobody knew that. After the war, Leni was thrown in an internment camp and treated as a criminal of war for making the film. Personally I think she was treated unfairly. (You want to study an interesting person? Look in to the life of Leni Riefenstahl).

The man from Scandinavia is well versed in Germanic history, but he had never seen "Triumph of the Will" in it's entirety. So...we own the film on DVD, we watched it together. Then he started explaining to me, everything I had told him before we put the movie in. Furthermore, we would read the subtitles...and the Norseman would then tell me in his own words...as if I hadn't also read the subtitles...exactly what the English Translation had just read. It was driving me nuts. Although I have to admit it was rather interesting when my compatriot would break in to the German Work songs that Leni used to score the film. In German.

I suppose I'm being petty here. I'm kind of a shallow guy. But three weeks (almost) is just too long to be occupied by an invasion force of one...like the new commercials for the Army...Be an Army of ONE? What the hell? I don't think so. OK...time for a unilateral attack on an enemy encampment...is the ARMY mobilized...can we send in the troops. Oh...you mean troop. Our Army of one. Eddy...are you ready? Go man go.

I gotta go. I have "miles to go before I sleep".

Tennis shot

It's an ill wind that blows (absolutely) no good. Even Santa Anna's breath of fire benefits some thing, somewhere. Just not so much people.

Max served well in the waning light of day. The transformers all in a row along the fence up against court eight at the Westwood Tennis complex kicked on about five o'clock. Traffic groaned and sirens wailed all night long. In the park, many dogs on walks howled in chorus with the passing fire engines. Damn it, an ace. My focus waned. But it was worth it.

It's early January 2007. It's balmy. The breeze is warm but it dries the eyes and stings the lungs just a bit.

And when I get home, the Norseman waits, drinking beer and reading opera magazines. There's one short message from my wife. She's on her way to an HOA meeting. Home owner's association. Poor girl. But she's really good at it. However, it leaves me and the berserker alone to fend for ourselves. I guess I'll go break out the whisky.

Insurance

Let me ask you this...have you thought about what your family would do if you weren't around? Ah...yes/no.

If there is an occupation that finishes below used car salesman on the socio-cultural barometer it might be insurance salesman. Specifically, Life Insurance. However, insurance companies happen to have the financial clout to name the tune the rest of us will have to dance to. They pretty much own everything.

So, it's a simple matter for them to hire think tank guys to put their heads together. Monitor the human weathervane for a while, see which way the wind is blowing, then two parts prediction, two parts precedent and five parts manipulation they create the new stew. A brand new way to force feed the public a benevolent, munificent image and high moral character. Ascribing all the highest human qualities to an institution/corporation or entire industry. Insurance.

I suppose insurance is a necessary evil, and it can in fact come in handy when you have to bury grandpa and you don't want to deplete your entire life's savings. The cost of a funeral these days...oy vey.

But these agents they hire to tout the product, they just can't wipe all the slime of greed off their hands so when they shake yours to say hello, it's hard to hold the pen to sign your name on the dotted line...as it keeps slipping out of your fingers.

And the scripted sales pitch is monotonous, predictable, manipulative and dishonest. The scenarios the script writers have devised are like the Bush strategy for invading Iraq. Shock and awe. Fear. Get your prey on the defensive...you can't fight the inevitability that we're all going to kick the bucket.

That's it for now. Much more on this subject later.

Will the Circle Be Unbroken

The wrath of the Grape. Uffda. After alkaseltzer, aspirin, cod liver oil, vitamin A, B and much C I'm finally feeling almost normal. I cannot do this much longer. Reverie? Fuck it.

I will say that every...well most every courtesy has been extended in every direction during the siege of the Norseman. This is not typical for an invasion force, so I sense there is an under lying ulterior motive? Spices? Gold? I don't know, I sense some thing. Maybe to lull us in to a false sense of security and then down comes Thor's hammer exploding asunder all that we hold near and dear.

Or not?

To be or not to be, that's still the question.

Much more power simply to be than not to be. What? Anything. Axioms from the family vault, "Stand for something or you fall for anything". "Our doubts are traitors and often times make us lose that which we might gain, by fearing to attempt". "To thine own self be true, and it shall follow, as the day does the night, that thou can not be false to any man."

I may be paraphrasing a bit, probably mostly Shakespeare:

That's all for now. Telephone is ringing and I think it's Chairman Mao.