It's Difficult To Explain

In the morning he moves cautiously to the picture of his wife. He kisses it and says something privately as he touches her urn. His action is complete in seconds that you would not notice if you didn't happen to be standing in the back of the room. His wife, my mother, died over a year ago and I, like him, my father, have difficulty in letting her go.
About a halftime of my life ago I was scooping ice cream and setting up a way to remember/ celebrate staff of the five company stores, and its ten year history. The Hall of Legends sign was up on our wood paneled walls. One of the owners of the company, Steven arrived with a framed photo of the first legend; his mother, Rose. She had died the year before. As he handed the plastic box frame to me, he began to cry. He cried a river of tears, in a public place by the front counter. I knew he was sad, I knew that he missed Rose but I thought to myself- get over it, man.
Now I understand. I understand that you don't really know despite years of preparation for the day and how, no matter how well intentioned the best that can be said to you, only"I'm sorry" is really acceptable. The patronizing "at least she got to live a long life" does not lessen the blow, only ignites the fire. I'm still angry too- angry that it was sudden, angry that I was just two days into a new job and overlooked her condition when normally I would not, angry that the doctors sent us home the night before saying she was fine and would be rested, and ready to see us in the morning. Angry that we willingly left. I should have been comforting her. I left her alone.
My mother. I am, much like her, I like to think. Wanting to help, wanting to make a day better for someone else. Can't help but do something goofy. I am not like her, I fear. Not as dedicated to be a provider. Not willing to sacrifice as much as they did. I am not like her although the tendecies/similarities show, I make my own decisions. My parents gave me the opportunity to create myself, and my life, rooted in their sacrifice and their past.
May adapted and loved emails. It allowed her to communicate with friends and family when verbalizing was difficult, she could speak through emails. Calling me to say she had sent me an important email but would not tell me over the phone. She was born and raised in a tiny dive of an apartment in Chinatown, that did not ever feel safe. She had a sister whom she never met who was left behind in China- later to be killed by the invading Japanese army. Her brothers, Dick and Tom were also our caretakers. Uncle Tom was a dear dear person in my life; my uncle, my friend.
My mother was and will ever be, my greatest benefactor. She took me to plays and stage musicals, introduced me to the great movies of the '30's-60's, the MGM musicals, Jerome Robbins "Rodeo", financed travels, always trying to add sweaters, sweatshirts, and socks to all her grandchildren. Walking miles into her '80's- tiny but powerful. Telling me about her childhood and without thinking, letting me hold her hand. Sword fighting at 82 with Oliver, then four. Arms to her side, eyes closed but loving hugs from Dexter and me. Laughing that crazy laugh at hers, jumping at suspense movies, berating my Dad, acting as if she was a Southern miss when they first met. Long play vinyl, the singers. Her community of friends, her need to provide advice, her yelling at the tv screens at the politics of Bush. Her odd 2 year viewing of the Reverend Eugene Scott. Her asking her grandchildren if they wanted ice cream at the same time we were attempting to communicate no eating, no dessert. She had four grandchildren- they would do anything for her because they knew that she had done everything for them. I'm sad that my youngest won't get to know her better.
When I started my job, I took only one day when this went down. All my other days, it was the work, and solitude, retreating to write a journal to her in an empty room on the fourth floor of the office. I had to take my own photo for my work badge and when I have seen the photos, I am grim, old, tired. (I should clarify an earlier regret: although I was slow to get Mom to agree to see a doctor, I did convince her two days later to go).
If she were here, she would enjoy our having lunch at my work and would probably visit every two weeks. My friends would know her. The cool thing is that I could always, with very little notice, bring someone over to my parents house for dinner; May liked meeting my friends, my boss at Peets, Dexter's baseball coach. We once had a friend whose motif was to shock people; things she would say.. Mom had come along to pick up my son at the preschool our children went to and this friend, zeroed immediately into my mother, approached her and said "it is a pleasure to meet you. I have to tell you that your son is a great french kisser". Without reacting, my mom said simply, "don't get sick".
The strangest thing is turning a corner in my parents house and not seeing her. Conflict was purposeful, as Mom was often irritated at one of us for not responding in some way, and we would flock to ease the tension. Now without conflict, it is a house that is too quiet and i fear the conflict will be between the siblings who often communicate without listening. As for the man, my father, he always seems sad and I don't know, don't feel that it is right for me to have him feel any other way. It is up to each of us to find our way, the way we need to go. And fuck me for ever thinking that i know what he feels. Love is precious my friends.

Was that Me?

*Did I, in my 9th year steal live turtles from a pet store by stuffing them down my shirt and pants? Yes, I did It!
*Was I the one who swirled my brother's chameleon 'round and 'round by his tail, until the chameleon jettisoned his tail, turning a sickly brown color despite having the tail attached with a giant wad of tape. Yes, I did it.
*Did I, with my best friend Gregory set the school bathroom on fire in 5th grade? I know that the participants did not intend for this to occur. I know that one neglected to run water over the burning paper towels before lighting more towels. I know that at some smoky point, one said "let's ditch!" and Yes, I did It.
*Did I ever, knowingly throw eggs over the fence at tennis players and tennis balls at nude sun bathers below on the beach? I do know that no one was hurt and Yes, I did it.
*Did I ever anger drivers in their vehicles so terribly that once someone in his car chased me down the street one way, then back the other way in reverse . Jumping into some bushes, the driver then got out from his car swearing that when he found me, he would hurt me? heh.heh.heh. Yes, I did it.
* Did I ever light a firecracker in my mouth only to have it turn moist and soggy, and stick to my lips? Yes, I idiot, did it.
*Did I, while waiting for a bus, after a day of college classes turn away the old man who asked if I would come up for coffee, just to talk? He was very old, not threatening and it probably took so much courage to ask a stranger..but when you are alone, it is very lonely. Was I the one who said no- Yes I did it.
I can be stupid. I can be a little joyful about some of my stupid choices. But I learn from my mistakes. I really do.

7:30 Ramble

Seems as when I sit down to put down words, it often seems to be so serious so I'm just
going to sit here and write something not serious at all. Presently it is Sunday night, I'm
hanging out with my Dad, watching 60 minutes and waiting for laundry 8 blocks away to
dry. I am also, within the next 2 hours wanting to get that laundry, trade sweats for jeans,
say goodbye to Austin before he joins the Foreign Legion (my bet is on Bolivia), drop off a baby gift, go to see Salt, and purchase a plane ticket.

Today we were able to visit family while at the same time I managed to run my Dad's battery down in his car, forget my 3A and ATM cards as well as any cash (in sweat pants!) while also carrying a dead phone .

Fortunately Bob and Kathy saved me with their 3A card, battery jumped/charged,
hours later, safely back inside. Earlier in the day also had a bright plumbing idea to help my Dad.
The execution of the idea didn't work and instead flooded the room. Flooded- fortunately only with water, I think. Well, at least the Giants won. Boys, someday when you're running through these pages, this is more of what my days are like, and the typical things I usually think about.

Post note: Made it to Austin's event too late - It was the 30 minutes or so where I paced thinking of ways to tell my father that I was going out. 30 years later and I still have a complex about telling a parent that I'm going out. Incredible.
who knows a good therapist?
Second Post Note: Austin's party started at 3pm. Kids, remember what your father always told you to do and read the instructions carefully.

Benefactors

I've been around for a few years and have to this point, turned in a reasonably decent script. Along the way, there have been benefactors who I have lost contact with, but am thankful for their guidance . It is always surprising why they took interest in me, cared for me, and asked for little in return. I suspect that we all have benefactors in our experience who show up unexpected, and answer a need. There is a difference from everyday benefactors; family, friends, and loved ones who grind it out with you to some hopefully, mutual benefit. I hope that I am able to show my appreciation for them when I am with them.

The benefactors I address here are ones who as quickly as they were in my life, left in ways that I find equally perplexing; in some cases demons pulled them down as they had pushed me up. For these people I won't have the opportunity to thank them in person.

19. In a vocational program at City College and struggling outside the hours of the kitchen and lecture halls. Not as lost or confused as my peer who reached into the deep fryer to retrieve a ring but still, in search of self. An older friend in the program, Patrica E. sensed this, gave me encouragement, invited me to shared preparation of meals. Without digging into my story, Pat would confide in me about hers -and always with a light touch as not to weigh me down with drama. It amazed me that she could provide the importance of inclusion and not intrude into my discomfort zone. Also, she gave me a set of house keys in case I needed to go to a safe place. After her hopeful longtime relationship had ended, Pat moved to Reno and became a blackjack dealer. The last time I saw her was on a trip with my parents. We met at a breakfast place in the casino and I recall Pat tipping more than the entire bill. It was the way service people treated other service people in the casino, she said. It was more about how she treated others.

15. Jen. Sometimes you meet people who stop you in your tracks for various reasons but as you get to know them, layers of depth are revealed and you just want to sit back and study every facet.  People are a complicated mix of experiences, personal thought and action, an alchemy of life. When this potential is tapped we find  a humanity that inspires and encourages us to be better.  Jen is someone who in my growing years seemed to be much wiser than her time, questioning established ways and paths, full of independence and strength, a source of inspiration that life is more than baseball and everything as we knew it.  This fresh perspective led to a view I hold close to this day; I know only what I know. And sometimes, I am not sure of what I think I know. Perception is not knowledge. Maybe there are other worthwhile players than just Giants.  Other types of giants who despite feeling as outcasts in their youth built themselves into complicated inspiring people.

I am intrigued.  That spark that ignites the desire to breath, that inspires the senses .  We can exist and we can plod through life but what is it that makes us want to live, to feel , to learn, to embrace our potential?  If our worlds are open to it, there are transforming moments and people that enter our lives.  We just have to be ready.  So my sons, be ready for yours.  Those moments, those people are out there and these points of transformation will lead you to your destiny.  They require your dedication, your attention, your passion and will fulfill your potential.  Be grateful, be kind, and learn to live.  The passion of your caring will always make your living worthwhile.

21. I was working in a restaurant where we had candles on the table and remember once, a customer held the menu right over the fire. I watched the flames race up the middle of the plastic lined seafood list as our customer's realization morphed from confusion to terror. Suzette ran over and stomped it out. This was probably a better reaction than my laughing. Suzette is also the only employee in a restaurant that I have witnessed chase after a customer who tipped poorly. She not only threw the tip tray at him but cursed him out in very fine fashion. Everyone was afraid of her from that point on.

Suzette, which may or may not have been her birth name but certainly more real to me than Johnny, the name she preferred in later years. The name Johnny and lifestyle associated with it was especially problematic for me; it involved a medicinal/chemical preference and a role from teacher to dealer. Suzette however, was as funny and as sarcastic a person I will ever know. Her enthusiasm was turbo powered. She alternately enjoyed challenging and encouraging her friends. She dragged me to the funkiest and coolest clubs ; Chi Chi Club, the OnBroadway, Fabulous Mabuhay Gardens. She had her own music studio; the G-Spot and had grand plans to teach alternative classes- of which she had me slotted to teach something creative. Never anything specific but it was always a softball for my ego.

Suzette started to dabble in some hard chemicals; mostly, heroin. The oddest Christmas party I ever attended was visitng her loft on Frederick Street. I recall various people strewn about in states of slothy awakeness and only I and Diane (who began my fascination with New Orleans), herself a recovering addict, were sober. People I didn't know inviting me to try (voices,not faces)and those I did know were telling me to stay away from the stuff. If you are speaking to someone strung out it is listening to a story that never finishes..it starts to go somewhere but pauses, slows down, then starts again from some point already covered . There was a dog there, who kept me company until we left.

Another day Suzette (then Johnny) asked me to stay the night but to protect her from her junkie roommate who robbed her the night before. She was not in any condition to defend. Those of you who know me, know that this was a wise choice to select beefy, 6'3", 215# I, as protector. (My original title for the blog- "Beefy, 6'3") I sat up all night with eyes on the windows of the black kitchen, baseball bat in hand, sweating while sitting still. Johnny asked much of me. Suzette gave me music, adventure, and spirit.

9/5 addition: Suzette once wanted some really cool cafeteria trays from Lowell High School which were lime green with separate spots for food items. Problem being that Suzette at 27 did not look like a high school student, neither with the blonde streak in the middle of her punk black hair. I, being a mere 22 did resemble a high school student and helped devise Suzette as distraction while I piled in several trays in my bag. She was quite a distraction as she ate in the cafeteria. And at least for a day I can say that I did go to Lowell High School.

Years later after time in jail, in NA, and dancing at the Market Street Cinema (not me, you ninny) I saw her again by chance, at Double Rainbow. It's a bit of a blur, our conversation. Sadness permeated as faith lost is something difficult to find again. But this does not alter what was, and what I could become partly because of her belief, and faith.

37. I am a father. I got to make this gig work. But I haven't supervised people in four years. It was difficult going into a new situation as the new guy who would also supervise most of the staff. Jenn showed me how to lead and lead well. She kept her drama out of the equation; it was never about her, her needs. Staff and customers first. Upbeat, funny, able to defuse situations quickly by listening and delivering on any promises. Able to defuse bravado by finding the silliness of the posturing. Her staff was devoted to her and to her message. Also she sought our input. Her skill sets, top notch. We always felt that she would do anything for us and often she went above and beyond to protect her staff. Once I caught Jenn in a moment outside waiting for her husband to swing by and take her home. She didn't see me as I saw her pensive, engaged in thought, letting go her public persona which was all that we knew.

In the end as much as Jenn helped others, she did not allow them to help her when she needed help. And this too is a lesson that she has taught me, and something that I have learned. You can do a lot for others, but don't always go alone. Also, stay away from the guy in the loft with the smack.

Wherever you all are, I hope you are happy, healthy, and well. My life is better for having your graces, my days would be happier knowing that your karma has been rewarded.  First there must be good health enabling you all to lead the lives of value that I know you would, if you could.

8/24/10. I need to add another- really, more of a peer but her influence and culmative effect helping me to find my way owes a great debt to Kelli. She had a successful career as an accountant but wanted to slow down, step back and reinvent herself. In doing so, she found us. The Double Rainbow years and my lasting friendships and devotion to all of these good individuals; Robert, Tracey, Anne, Marcail (thank you for hosting Dexter in FL!), Gigi, Cindy, Coco and Rex, Sharone, Palmer, Niddy, Larry, Laurie, Bill and Captain Mike. Somehow I've always believed that Kelli was the secret ingredient that made us go, but ironically the one missing today.

And a true thank you for Sharane and Peter who always welcomed me into their home when I was 17. Seeing their children over the past 30 years -Gerry, Chris, and Jen, always a pleasure.  This family always showed me great kindness, treated me as if I was worthwhile and intelligent.  I am thankful for their grace and independence and perspectives that made my world bigger, better. I miss them.

Lost In Space

Welcome to the Only Blog in Real Time! Don't buy those other fake time bloggers!

As I sit here (I'm actually sitting and)waiting for my son to get on a plane back to the US -truth is, from Florida to home) after a long delay, broken part in plane, and chaos at this home, I need to take my brain somewhere else; what I was thinking about last night before dreamland. And that was, is, my favorite TV theme songs.
Theme songs are somewhat of a lost craft as advertisers/execs feel that people no longer have the :50 second attention span to sit through a well crafted theme song. Although they may be right, I lament this change and curse the 5 second soundbites that serve as today's themes.sound, but no craft; ebb and flow, call and response, dynamics.
Old westerns usually had grand orchestrations: large in scope and sweep of the land; The Big Valley might have been an Elmer Berstein score (too lazy to check), the Wild, Wild West (please don't mention that dead movie), Maverick(played at the end of the show), the High Chapparal, Laredo,Gunsmoke, recently, Deadwood...then you have the monster shows: the Addams Family especially, the Munsters was good too. Twilight Zone had a great theme but it still creeps me out. Detective shows; Rockford Files, NBC Mystery Theatre, the Fugitive,Peter Gunn theme, the Saint, the Untouchables, the Rookies,Baretta,the Night Stalker, Mission Impossible (of course),the great, great Avengers theme especially with Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel (youtube: The Avengers intro )- speak of dynamics, and lushness.. Of recent years, the versions of the Wire are great themes and a cool idea to have a different version all six years.
Family shows: Donna Reed, My Three Sons, I Love Lucy, Barney Miller, the Cosby Show (all these have great lines for the reed section- go figure. Then there also the memorable themes which really are okay music wise (they don't swing) but memorable for nostalgia, or the words: the Brady Bunch, Gilligan's Island, etc. Some great cartoon themes which I will add when they occur to me-the Simpsons, Futurama, the Jetsons...

SciFi shows often have interesting themes. Of course, all the versions of Star Trek were very good except the last one which had a memorably dreary vocal. The "re imagined" Battlestar Galactica was appropriately eerie but my favorite tv theme is the last year (year 3) of Lost in Space. Dr. Smith, perhaps the first flaming/ brutally sarcastic/star of any mainstream TV series would find himself in dire trouble, the screen would freeze and a 10 to 1 countdown would ensue. Cue the theme. Both themes for Lost in Space were composed by John Williams (Jaws, Star Wars, etc.). You can hear most of his scores right there: the grandness, melody, brassy attack, heavy use of percussion. PS: Jaws was lifted from Stravinsky's Rite of Spring and Star Wars borrows from Holtz the Planets. No worries: i borrow from some of the great mail carriers of the past. Oh, let's include the Honeymooners theme, The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson (not Leno), and Late Night with Conan O'Brien.

I always wanted to be like Professor Robinson, heroic and touching - his father to son talks (sorry Judy and Penny)- but since the actor was frozen out by the preference for more antics by Dr.Smith, all he was left with was the occasional heart to heart with son Will. So in some ways, I did get to become like Daddy Robinson. As far as heroism goes, I certainly am more like Dr. Smith, you ninny.

evocation of a dreamlike state

I really love to listen to the radio announcers of Giants baseball. The team has done well with a rich history of voices for a game that to many can lack excitement and interest. From Lon Simmons to today, baseball told well is a gathering with evocative storytellers. Today, a combination of four individuals: Kuiper, whose sarcasm and cutting humor is balanced with Krukow's optimism and enthusiasm, Miller, a Hall of Fame voice sharing a rich history of the game, and with the could-be stodgy Fleming -who contributes precision, clarity and often giddy laughter.

The same pleasure is derived from time spent with the NPR program This American Life. You just sit back a bit and allow the stories to take you somewhere you didn't necessarily plan to go. Sounds, words, cadence and flow create visual images filled with feeling.

It's like this too in the company of friends. I am often happiest just listening to conversations

that meander and travel taking direction only from the give and take. I'm really not napping.

or dreaming.

For the Record

Just because this tends to come up every once in awhile, Maria likes to

tell a story. A long time ago in a not so far place, Point Reyes,

we went for a walk. Near a road at the beginning of a trail, a ravenous

four legged beast came upon us. Maria's recollection of constant telling

is that her dear husband pulled her in front of him to

preserve him over her.

Just like I did then, I am taking the high road.

Today Maria is very successful and very happy.

Do the Right Thing

Let's go to the end of story first. Here. The End.
How it exists now.
And a question:
not knowing the ethics of posting photos of other people, is it okay as long as you aren't making money by doing so? In fact this whole blog thing has me already $2.79 in the hole.

Back up. This is the adjusted photo that hangs on a wall at work in a hallway with other photos of group gathering. We won't say whose photo we adjusted as our work is seamless but we did so as a proper way to remember, as opposed to the former/following:


It has happened to all of us; you notice the photographer late in the process and decide to make a half hearted attempt at a smile. It survives as neither smile or sneer but just as one of those- we're sure glad they managed to get the monkey off your face- type of captures. Doesn't do you justice, we all agree. However we sort of enjoy the thought of who did you piss off? as this photo has existed in a public place for years.



But you've left us now and we realize that this really is not the best way for one part of your legacy to be remembered. So we wait until a later hour, and despite people still meeting in the room behind the picture, we grab it, alter it. It's the right thing to do. You may think it still looks odd, perhaps, but note that your head needed to be enlarged x320 just to get it to this point.

Now the beginning of this story: ... Hah hah hah haha ha hah hah.....








the Now view.

the 278, part 2

(please see
"the 278")


Mind in balance, ready to pull yo. Cups as big as the mothership in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Only Thursday, when I stop by,the place is closed- closes at six. That's a drama killer. Sigh. Return Friday after 5pm- go for the delicious yellow cake batter, and a bit of vanilla with chocolate sprinkles but they are out of chocolate sprinkles. Make the adjustment. Must make the adjustment....calm, calm, breathe.
.. I aced this! The following pictures will show (for the record, 2 flavors + one topping). I wanted to get within 25 cents!
Sticking it to the Yogurt Man, even if the Yogurt Man is getting $2.79 from me, and even if the Yogurt Man was pretty nice and (if he was faking enthusiasm, I gladly bought that too) -


he was impressed when I told him of my mission. I am sure my spoon was smoking. Now I know why other people have careers.

Of Weddings and Family

Last Saturday I went to a great wedding. A day that felt right. My nephew, Bobby marries an equally lovely human being, Meredyth. It was a comfortably warm day in the Castro/Mission. Having family gather and be together to share this union was as good as any time gets.
I didn't really enjoy weddings until I had my own but now, I just love 'em. Perhaps it's the relating of the ride, the anxieties, the calm, the quiet, the release and just as Saturday, joy. I am not writing Maria's name until she reads my blog. Otherwise I am glad that she is a big part of my best gig ever.
It is pretty incredible really how anxieties can build, and usually just the night before, or the morning of- when you start to worry too much about things that are (by that time) out of your control; the weather, the sound system, the food, how everyone else is doing...you sort of fall out of the moment.
All those people are there because they know that the foundation of the union is so solid that nothing can break it; all the worry points can not make a dent. We also hoped for sunshine and were lucky to receive it. If it had rained, it would have been, in the chaos, fun. Improvisation in the script will work when the audience is with you.
Meredyth and Bobbys vows were short, sweet, funny. Bobby thanked Meredyth for putting up with his attempts of picking her up. Kathy, Bobby's mom, said that she was as proud of Bobby today as she has been proud of him any other day. Cailin found a way (insert photo of Cailin here for those that know her) of connecting one of her brothers' favorites, Abraham Lincoln in ways both humorous and touching. On this fine day, in the presence of so many that I admire and love, there was much to be proud about, to be hopeful and satisfied. Justice is served.

the 278

My oldest boy recently told me of how he, his friend, and friend's mother did well at a fill your own cup of yogurt type of place- "for the three of us, just $15". "What??!" These places have the clever/annoying idea to give you only one size cup-Giant, and then whack you over the head when your happy portion hits the scale- but too shell shocked to complain (after all, you served your self), you accept paying $15 for a cup of yogurt. I'm going to sock it to the man, show y'all how it's done. Going in, documenting a nice tidy snack, WITH topping, the $2.78. Will report back soon.

Stanley and Anthony

Stanley Williams died July 2 of this year. He was the Artistic Director of the Lorraine Hansberry Theater in San Francisco. What did this mean to me?- well, other than my guilt in not actively supporting the theater, probably not too much.
I have known Stanley peripherally though the years. He was a customer when I worked at Double Rainbow on Polk Street 25 years ago and had a great presence with his booming and warm voice. To us he was always up, in good spirits and enthusiastic. He showed interest in our interests and encouraged us, me to do well, and to do something we enjoyed doing. This never wavered when I saw him at the grocery store or walking down the street. I particularly enjoyed the tough kidding he gave to one of the staff; a young man named Aaron- Stanley's intent was to keep Aaron focused with goals and staying out of trouble. He always did so with humor but delivered in a military drill type of way.
Stanley and his partner, Quentin Easton have been at the helm of the Lorraine Hansberry for nearly thirty years but funding has always been difficult. In recent years -and perhaps this leading to my renewed interest, they lost their theater location because the Academy of Art purchased the property. Another reason for me to not dislike, but hate the Academy of Art- and I do this, before San Francisco is known as "San Francisco, as sponsored by the Academy of Art". Pretty much kicked the Hansberry out of the building. Quentin died months before Stanley this year. A good article by Robert Hurwitt can be found on SFGate 7/13/10. Of course I am too lame to actually link it but it can be found. The theater pledges to live on. I pledge to finally purchase a ticket.

Anthony. Completely unrelated to Stanley but as part reason for why this blog exists is to examine nostalgia and childhood, Anthony is worth discussing. Anthony -still out there somewhere, is about 4 years older than the rest of us. Us, that is the friends I grew up with, this being formative years of 10-18. I think he enjoyed us not only for being "funny" but because he was older and meaner than any of us, he could get away bossing us around.
On the other hand, the experiences he dragged us through (not to, but through) have provided some of these stories: from Anthony's technical skills in being able to steal wheels from Safeway shopping carts and transferring them onto the coolest of hand made 2-seater go-carts. He persuaded (forced)us to pull these models up to the top of the hill at the Legion of Honor. The pay-off for doing so would be as long as we could jump in once he began the coastal descent, would be the thrill of a ride down El Camino Del Mar, a ride over a mile long. We raced as madmen, madboys at high speeds zooming down the street, crossing in front of cars and trees across the other side of traffic, slicing onto a sidewalk (look out people!) and taking a hard turn into the parking lot of China Beach. This was not in accordance of the Properties of Safety and Survival. For a crazy person, he was a hell of a driver.
Later years would be riding a jeep on the golf course at night- no lights, driving down one way streets the wrong way, racing taxi cabs on a motorcycle on the freeway-no helmets. I suppose what worked for Anthony was that to do any and all these things, he was All In- no hesitation; a total belief based in skill and lunacy. It is completely wrong to be with anyone who steers a vehicle toward a pedestrian who has a bag of groceries in hand, but having to sit through movies where this happens but never occurs in real life, it's funnier in real life.
Anthony would annoy us ("come on, come on") with his whiny Steve Buscemi (no pictures exist of Anthony but he looked, sounded like Steve Buscemi) voice, then force us with bodily harm to get autographs of Major League Baseball players (we knew who the players were, Anthony knew the value of autographs) at the Jack Tar Hotel (now the Cathedral Hill) before ball players made the big bucks. I met Henry Aaron, Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, Billy Williams. RBI!
Anthony had the audacity to badger players for their comp tickets to the games, and suprisingly the athletes would take the time to leave tickets for him at the gate. At Giants games, he talked his way into the broadcast booth after games to sit and talk with Hall of Fame announcer, Lon Simmons- who one time when we stayed to long and missed the bus back, gave us a ride back home.
My only contact with a Miss America was of course, through Anthony (he 17, me 13). She was making a public appearance at Giant Value (sort of a mini Sears/Target in the day) on Geary Street. I only remember Anthony directing her attention to me and me falling back, sliding to the ground. I still have her picture.
When he cooked spam, I thought that was the greatest thing ever. When he told me how I was actually born, I was never as upset - I denied all the accusations. I still do.
Scary times as once running from a dangerous crowd of people but Anthony forcing us not to run for it would show that we were scared- we were fine with looking scared but his powers of persuasion- physical harm- had us wait for the trouble to catch up. What I remember next is a big knife at my throat with Anthony daring the crazy knife man to hurt me. "You don't have the nerve." I did not particularly agree with this tactic.
I also remember Anthony's home as being cold; partly because he lived in the basement but mostly because the dynamics of his household; there was a lot of yelling and screaming, threats and fighting. These were times I cowered, not knowing what to do, hearing all of this through the walls.
At a certain point we all make decisions we live with- and just one incident turned bad might ruin a life- yours- so my boys if you read this, know that at some point, the sooner the better, you need to take yourself out of the possibility of these situations. I had to. It can stop being funny very fast.
Thinking about Anthony and his reckless ways, I believe that in these years that we knew him best, he was not that concerned about making it to tomorrow, or the future. He may not have cared for himself much but with us, he had us to care about (and torment). Ultimately to whatever events he dragged us into, he had to see that we came out of it intact, breathing. We were not unlike pets. So if having served as somebody's pet hamster for a time helped that friend to stay around, okay- I can live with that. Now, if you want some really crazy stories, you will have to ask me in person....

missing sherman and peabody

I am not sure what Sherman and Peabody have to do with this one but i've been thinking about them, and thinking what an odd pairing of friends they were. (let alone how someone would have pitched their storyline: we got a brainy dog with his friend and tutor, Sherman; neither are conflicted or idiotic. Both are literate and curious.... where's the slapstick in that?) A long time ago they went off the air. Probably too boring by today's standards = zero chances of The New Adventures Of, and that's good news but nevertheless, I miss them.

I guess this leads into my questions as to how to react when your friends move on; especially friends you have come to appreciate in a relatively short period of time. They move forward to explore new opportunities and experience life. Nope, can't blame 'em for that. I have to remember to not lock them just into the time I knew them and allow room for change- that is, unless the next time I see them they approach me with an e-meter to measure my state of electrical characteristics of the static field around my body. I might blame them for that.
Of course my other concern is that i may not see them more than a handful of occasions in the years to come, and surely one time will be many years later when my teeth are rotted and I refer to myself as "Sally"- so how do I express appreciation for the good humor, inclusion and support that has been given to me by a mismatched but perfectly matched team? Finding a balance between sounding cotton candy sweet or in over compensating for, offerng brittle comments instead . Once while writing in yearbooks- not wanting to write farewells such as "I'll miss you" or "you're a great pal", I instead opted for, "you're a crud"or "get lost". This was inspired by a funny Tony Randall Odd Couple episode. In real life, this turned out to be not that funny and no one took my sentiments as sentimental. Or appreciative, although distinctive.
My clarity is this. It's a good thing you do, and you're not a crud. Enjoy the journey. Pay attention to the tide. Don't yell at your passengers. I will miss you very much. Thank you for your friendship {receive virtual high five now}. Also, if a company puts out a collection of Sherman and Peabody stuff, let me know.

Nola

"Individuality is Vulnerable to the Prerogatives of the Institution" -David Simon.

This is a vulnerable place.
It' s the quiet that I love about New Orleans. There is a perception of Bourbon Street that many have as representing New Orleans; it certainly is what brings people here; not unlike parts of North Beach on a Friday night in San Francisco. You can take it or leave it. I'm happy to leave this for others.
Much of New Orleans, all that is good and bad, shodden, or shiny, graceful or abrupt is not hidden but for all to see. Compressed streets, the urban setting, mismatched decor and its mismatched people crash together to be uniquely only in Nola. Away from the madness of upper Bourbon, at twilight or in the evening are moments that I love. Walking down quiet streets (even in the French Quarter, residential) where homes stand of different colors and structure, blue and white lights impersonate gas lanterns. You might hear the sounds of footsteps, an occasional purr of electricity and laughter in the distance- broken by a dark figure who emerges from the shadow of a doorway, looks into your eyes, and says, "hello" or "how ya doing?"
A bit surprised, you respond, cheered by the turn of thoughts, then stumble into cracked pavement. Your ankle recovers, and you continue. The glow of light, the odd conversations you may have on a daily basis, the tiny threat of menace that keeps you focused on the moment, a drive to Esplanade Ridge, Magazine or Dancing at Mid City Lanes, to the mighty brass bands and R&B legends, Big Chiefs and Spyboys, relaxing in Dooky Chase, or Hansen's on a sweltering day, the St. Charles streetcar by night, residents rebuilding in the Lower Ninth, Frenchmen Street, Kermit Ruffins anywhere anytime....
The loss of an arm. The betrayal of family. How we as Americans help this most American of cities will help us determine who we are, and who we can be. I need Nola for all the kindness she has given to me, and for the hope that we as a society really care for our brothers and sisters, and that those that stand uniquely do not do so alone. If this conflicts with my opening line, then this is symbolic of New Orleans: in conflict, at the crossroads.

Here's to You, Joe

I think the whole reason I wanted to write a blog is to get some coherent notes down about New Orleans- but that involves some thought and concentration. So, instead I am distracted by the story today about Joe Montana moving back to San Francisco. Joe is the greatest...4 Super Bowls...blah blah blah. That's not really what I want to write about- however it is important to me that this can be what sports can accomplish- unite a community if only for a short time; bringing joy when reality is otherwise grim. Perhaps it might be a dire economy or a city still reeling from its mayor and supervisor being murdered, and a terrible trial that results of a poor verdict with the aftermath of riots in our streets.
My father- is a courageous man. My mother, a courageous woman. They worked hard so I could live with opportunities and freedoms they did not have. They were not overtly affectionate people- just not the way they were raised. We were a 100% hug free household...until....the Catch....until a silly event as big boys in red and gold gladiator outfits tossing a funny shaped object over some other silly boys dressed in white and silver. The little engine that could, did send America's team home to watch that year's super bowl. Dad, ever so calm and stoic was not calm and stoic; he was excited, delirious, happy- as I had never witnessed before, or since. Montana to Clark- Incredible! Unbelievable! Shared bliss- in our house. What to do? I knew. I ran to my father as he jumped for joy, and hugged him for the first time. I closed my eyes and held him tight. I can't honestly say if he noticed. The next thing I did was find my mom and hug her too. She tended to hide during close games. From that day, I've continued to hug my parents-maybe my mother a bit more because even with her arms by her side, she always welcomed the hugs- and having children now, I know how honored I am when they choose to hug me. Today as I think about my parents - and missing my mom, I thank Joe Montana for the opportunity he gave to me- a moment greater than 4 Super Bowl wins. This, my greatest victory. PS: I hugged Dad tonight.

Throw Me A Bone, Brother

File Under: Family Dynamics.
This week at dinner my older brother threw out this question: Hey kid, can you help me with a recipe I used to have? Wow, he's attempting to connect... what recipe, brother? Is it something Mom used to make?
No, not something Mom used to make but something you used to make.
{What recipe of mine I asked with great interest. My jambalaya? Thai crispy noodles with Lime chicken? The Polenta Recipe I took off the PG&E bill from Point Reyes Station?..}
What you used to make. You used to make it.
When did I make this? {my joy is curdling to frustration}
I don't remember- something you used to make.
{ This was starting to go where many of our conversations have gone before.} Brother, can you remember an ingredient-anything- did it have chicken? some vegetables?
I don't remember- but you used to make it.
{Resisting my urge to rip out my eyeballs , we go deeper into the hole.}
You know I've been cooking for years, I went to cooking school...please, can you help out with any details? A time frame-
.. I don't remember what was in it but I think it might have been red.
Spaghetti? No, not spaghetti. It might have been red. Yes, I think it was red....
So, locked in time- in a place 30-35 years ago when perhaps I only made one dish. Do we really keep our loved ones into one space of time- and not free them to be who they are, and who they have turned out to be? And in those moments when we attempt to be inclusive, to show some interest, can we please be sure that there is the tiniest trace of meat on that bone?