Louis CK. My Kid SUCKS at hide-and-seek. (NSFW)

Recent Shorpy Photo Archive highlights

Above: Before steroids. "World Series, Griffith Stadium, 1925." The headline when it was all over: PIRATES MAKE NATS WALK PLANK. National Photo Co. Click pic (including all below) for full size. Courtey the amazing Shorpy Photo Archive.

Above: Checking out his unit. "December 1941. Enlisting in the Marines. Recruiting office, San Francisco." Nitrate negative by John Collier, Office of War Information.

Above: Before Facebook....or TV. Washington, D.C., circa 1927. "Thomas R. Shipp group, Hamilton Hotel. Atwater Kent standing by radio." National Photo Co. safety negative.

Above: Walk Like An Egyptian. "Madame Lubouska, National American Ballet, 1924." The Russian dancer Desiree Lubowska, whose claim to fame seems to have been the popularization of "Egyptian" poses around 1915. National Photo glass negative.

Above: Zeppelin's first U.S. Tour "Graf Zeppelin over Capitol." The German airship on its visit to Washington in October 1928. National Photo Co. Collection glass negative.


Above: 9/11...1933. September 11, 1933. "New York City views. Looking north from the Empire State Building." 5x7 safety negative by Samuel H. Gottscho.

How To Kiss by Allegra Mira

One of my other projects is Drive-By Poets. It's a public poetry postering project in Northampton, but it has an on-line presence too. Check it out.

Here's the latest poem. Allegra Mira is in New York now but lived in Northampton until recently. She is among my favorite poets and also happens to be a friend; a nice combination.

How to kiss

You had to learn to ask

to find a way

to ask, but not with words:

Indirectly and usually

not aloud

was how you asked.

If the person said yes, you’d

know because suddenly you’d

be doing it:

Mixing streams that connected

parts inside of you,

like an internal

marionette, your lips

suddenly strung

to your crotch,

skin to your heart – Oh

how the kisses pulled

in new ways, Oh

how the kisses changed

everything. How high

the stakes became,

by which I mean the losses,

by which I mean

those who you wanted

but could not have – sometimes

because the asking went wrong,

sometimes

because you spoke different languages.

But remember those

times when it worked out:

How you got the asking

right, how perfectly indirect

by which I mean, direct

you were, how directly

understood, directly accepted,

How the moment before this kiss

a faith --

Remember the strings’ quake,

tangle, remember

remember

And how for weeks

you were knotted inside

How

did we ever walk

when we were like that,

and Do we ever come

untangled?

World Premiere: Learning to ride a two wheeler with Zack and Alex in Florence, Massachusetts

Learning to ride a two wheeler with Zack and Alex

After a Brief Hiatus

I've been sans internet all week so I'll break the ice with a few photos and then get back into the groove this week. Below, my friend Craig Sandler and I would skip school back in the late '70s and go play the Nugent machine at the UMass Snack Bar. Dropping a quarter in triggered the Cat Scratch Fever riff. Photo by David. This may be 1980 or 1981 actually.
Below; self-portrait of Hilary Emerson Lay, former manager of The Guild in Northampton; now a book store manager in Marblehead.
Random shot of your host.
Anastasia, Eve, and Ceilidh at Oliver and Anastasia's house-warming BBQ Sunday evening. Anastasia made incredible southwestern style burgers and killer cole slaw and key lime pie.
Group shot.
Matt and Jena.Eve in the hammock.

The Longest Day of the Year

I snapped this while riding my bike up Center Street on Sunday (this is not the same as texting on the T!), during that stunning early evening light that everyone must have noticed; the sky darkened by rainclouds but the sun shining through illuminating the darkness from below. It was the longest day of the year. The days start getting shorter now, but it'll happen slow, and the summer has just begun. Enjoy every sandwich.
Below, candid of teen on cell phone. PVTA Bus # 43, 4:15 Sunday afternoon, on the way back to Northampton after seeing "The Hangover" with Dave at the Hampshire Mall (his review), where we used to go to the movies as long ago as 1977. I remember being in Pip Von Hummel's brown Impala downing Miller High Life in the mall parking lot on a crisp October night and hearing WCCC announce that Lynyrd Skynyrd's plane had gone down. Elvis had died that summer. I wasn't particularly moved by either passing. But Keith Moon, John Bonham, and John Lennon hit home for me. No one noticed that Nick Drake died in 1974. We didn't know of him. Who did? And now who doesn't?
People are getting creative about transportation. A motorized bicycle and a cargo tricycle. You can convert your bike with a kit.There may be someone who can sell you this kit locally, or do it for you. I'm pretty sure you need a driver's license but not insurance. Like a moped or scooter.
Good and Fresh. Bueneo y Sano is healthy but a bit bland for my taste. Locally you have yo go to La Veracruzana for something closer to real Mexican food vs. Bueno's fusion. La V is also really pumped about Sonia Sotomayor's nomination and have a a newpaper photo in the window. They're also very nice about letting me put posters in the window sometimes, like The New York Doll's poster thats up now plugging this Thursday's gig at Pearl Street. They cater for us at IHEG a lot too.
"Okay honey. I'll get you an iPhone but you have to give me lessons."
A man may smile and bid you hail, Yet wish you to the devil; But when a good dog wags his tail,
You know he's on the level.
Letter from a street musician to the Gazette:

Street musician argues that the rules are too difficult

Sunday, June 21, 2009

To the editor:

The city of Northampton is waging a war on the very people that give it its unique culture and mystique. These people, the street musicians like myself, have had to deal with increasingly strict regulations and an extraordinarily inconvenient method of obtaining a permit.

Most of these people are honest individuals who make their living providing Northampton with the bohemian atmosphere that it is known for, and are unjustly being discriminated against for no crimes of their own.

Today, myself and another musician attained a street musicians permit at the department of public works in Florence. After taking the long walk from downtown to get there, we were told that the $25 fee is not payable by cash, only by check or money order. Most street musicians are poor artists who do not possess checking accounts or vehicles. The fee is understandable, but couldn't they sell permits at city hall for cash?

Furthermore, Northampton business owners are pressuring the city to put unreasonable regulations on street musicians. We are no longer allowed to play after 9 p.m., no longer allowed to play in the same spot for more than two hours, and the regulations about where we can stand have become increasingly strict.

Business owners seem to assume that street musicians scare away potential customers, but I would argue that many people come to Northampton for the downtown bohemian culture that the businesses seek to destroy. Very few people dislike music, and if the customers of Northampton truly did not like our music, they would probably not be willing to pay for it. If anything, I think that the business owners of Northampton should be happy that we provide the streets with entertainment so that more people will come to their stores. --Nicholas Canby

Local Burger urges. Matt observes that the burgers taste saltier of late. I think he's right. What's up local burger? Ease up on the sodium. Pepper maybe. But remember, tigers hate cinnamon. It's worth getting the grass fed beef, and on the weekend they have a dry aged beef that tops them all. If you don't ask, they default to the Angus. How am I suddenly the beef buff? This place has gotten me recklessly carnivorous of late.
Advert from November 1955 Seventeen Magazine, retouched by me to simplify, beautify, and eliminate reference to product, a bra with "petal lift."
Really? In Northampton? Who would think it?
Unknown soul exchange.
How odd. The person walking by my window (at 2AM) is whistling in perfect time to the Fleet Foxes song "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" that I'm playing quietly 3 floors up from the street.

At Joe's Pizza tonight, it was Beth, Paul, Wylie and special guest appearances by Jen Snyder and Lance Posner. We were seated at the big table in the far back that shares only one other table with that room which means whoever's at the small table is inescapably subjected to the party of as many as eigth's conversation. Ir 's sorta like the "kid's table" at a family gathering. Anyway, we were talking about how great Shelburne Falls is and Wylie made a....dismissive.. comment about Turner's Falls. When the two ladies at the table left, Jen caught a sideways glance and picked up on one of them saying, "well, let's go back home to TURNER'S FALLS now, shall we?" Hey, I've got nothing against T Falls. You''ll have to talk to Wylie.

Pictures of my father Bob Neill and me, and song lyrics by Leo Kottke

Jack Gets Up (from My Father's Face)

Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
And you crawl out of bed and you crawl out of bed
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
And you look at the moon where the window is
And the stars shine, and the stars shine, and the stars shine
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And way down below in the sun belt
And the telephones, and the telephone, and the telephones
And you look out the moon where the window is
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
And some of us breathe in the brown ground
Where the worms clown, where the worms clown, where the worms clown
Way down below in the sun belt
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And every night when you lay down
You fall flat, you fall flat, you fall flat
Some of us breathe in the brown ground
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

So we're asleep in the same dream
In the snort fort, the snort fort, the snort fort
And every night when you lay down
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
Santa Claus modified snow peas
On the sun roofs, on the sun roofs, on the sun roofs
So we're asleep in the same dream
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
And the thin grin, the thin grin, the thin grin
It's Santa Claus pulling up snow peas
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And there's tears in the bank and the credit card
In the back yard, in the back yard, in the back yard
If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
And once in a while when the wind blows
And the heart winds, and the heart winds, and the heart winds
There's tears in the bank and a credit card
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

But there's lint in the pocket and a breath mint
Or a car key, or a car key, or a car key
Once in a while when the wind blows
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And your kid has a face like a walnut
From the ice cream, from the ice cream, from the ice cream
But there's lint in the pocket and a breath mint
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

"Salute Dad - Builder of our children's future." A classic piece of papa-ganda (circa 1948) from the hallowed walls of Jake's in Northampton

"Good citizenship begins at home."
More wall wonderment at Jake's by renowned local artist....help me here.

TONIGHT: Best Damn Poetry Show in Western Mass Part II - Plus assorted unrelated downtown photos

Bonnie makes her rounds last night on the mean streets of Northampton.
I just ran into my friend Jeremy from MEF who asked if I was going to the poetry event tonight. I haven't been paying as much attention to poetry lately with a new girlfriend and an ever busier job that I love. It's easier to write poems when I'm wracked with self-pity as opposed to generally digging my scene. I have been most remiss about my Drive-By Poets project, leaving those newspaper boxes un-poemed and free to be plundered by local flyer...ers. I started Drive-By Poets when I was less satisfactorily engaged with the world, and I have to make sure I don't let it languish. I will try to do one a week from now on. Rachael, Diane, Amanda, and Hannah all walked by, separately, as Jeremy and I were catching up. This town is shrinking, socially, ever-smaller like a.... skin around a fine pork sausage. NOTE: I've returned from the event, at least the open mic part (how egocentric for me to read and run!) and I'm including two photos, below. It was fun to finally meet Lori Desrosiers and discover that she's my buddy Gabby Hernandez's mom!
But THEN Kevin (above), who I met at the Forbes Poetry Reading I hosted in October, tapped me on the shoulder as I was unlocking my bike, and tipped me to an event TONIGHT that I thought you should know about:

Best Damn Poetry Show in Western Mass part II
Saturday, JUNE 20th 6:30-9pm
Third Floor of Thorne's Marketplace 150 Main St. Northampton
6:30-7:30 Spoken Word Open Mic (bring your poems!!!)
7:30 - 8PM Musical Interlude provided by Hartt Conservatory graduate group "Little Ugly"
8-9PM Brain meltingly good poetry provided by Ryk McIntyre & James Lindsey

Ryk McIntyre is a co-host at The Cantab Slam in Cambridge, MA and GotPoetry Live! in Providence, RI. He tours often and has opened for Leon Redbone, Andrei Codrescu and Jim Carroll. Ryk has performed at venues such as Boston's ICA, New York's New School and Lollapalooza 1994. He writes regularly for gotpoetry.com.

James Lindsay is 25 years old and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He writes poetry and reads it aloud when the situation calls for it. More often than not, those situations occur at Boston's own Cantab Lounge. He is an ordained reverend and a one-time champion of Roxbury Crossing's world-famous Champions of Pizza competition. He has heard many good things about you and is looking forward to meeting you.

Then head over to The Basement for monthly comedy night at 8PM with Louie Falcetti!

A wedding in downtown Northampton on a gray Saturday.
A vintage limo awaits to whisk a new bride and groom off to road test their vows....
....as others are whisked away to their own destinies.
"Thank you God for Roz's Place."
And another communique to God...."God Bless The Freaks" reads the bumpersticker on this hand-painted PT Cruiser
...with window tassles and tye-dyed seats. A mobile hippy brothel?
Live music last night at La Veracruzana
The new back patio of Mosaic Cafe on Masonic. Review to follow!
The Silverscape clock seems to display obscure constellations or perhaps Braille lately.
Jeremy told me my blog crashes his state of the art Blackberry so I'm trying to load lower resolution photos for snappier Nohodoming. I don't want to be accused of being a "slow loader."

Susanne's Summer Solstice Soiree in Shelburne

Falls that is. Swimming pools. Movie stars. Well...not exactly. Thursday night I broke free of the Nohodome for a few hours to attend a delightful gathering with some old friends and new in Susanne's lovely home right above town in Shelburne Falls. I can't believe I'd never been through this lovely, small New England town before. Were it not for the weather, I would have experienced my third fire dance by Solana as well. If anyone can help tag the photos below, that would be swell.






Downtown Shelburne FallsThe Bridge of Flowers (an older photo from a postcard) and a recent view.
The glacial "potholes" are a great place to soak in the summertime.
Jesus...my edgy blog is turning into Yankee Magazine.

Two more vintage Northampton postcards

Vintage Northampton Postcards

I stumbled on the WWII Club's monthly stamp and postcard show and picked up a handful of old postcards of Northampton that I've never seen among the usual ones that turn up on occasion. I am getting them ready but here's a taste. Click for full size. This is the old post office on Pleasant Street.
Here are, I imagine, some Smith students up near the Edwards Church. Both of these feel like they're from the '50s. Not sure.

Doing Deals with the Monkees, Mel Brooks & Carl Reiner at Rhino Records

My Los Angeles years, 1992-2002 could fill a book. I appreciate living in Northampton now in a way I never could have had I just stayed here to pursue my career. Not being one to plan too far ahead, my career actually pursued me for the most part; sucked me out to Boston for 5 years, shot me out to Hollywood for 10, and finally ptooooie! spat me back to Northampton like it had all been a dream.
In my 8 years as the head of promotion at Rhino Entertainment in Los Angeles, I was part of dozens of exciting projects and partnerships. I just found these photos that commemorate the deal signings for the Rhino's massive Monkees catalogue relaunch (albums and TV shows) and the re-issue of Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner's famous 2000 Year Old Man albums in a box set with a new book and album, The 2000 Year Old Man in the Year 2000.

Historical Big Hair in the Valley

Can you help me name these people? Group photo, left to right, #1? Meredith Gottesman (WMUA MD), #2?Diane Pollack (UPC), #3? Solo pics above left; Nina Decker?, #4?. Below, left, Jim Joe Greedy(Pajama Slave Dancers, 8th Route Army), right, "Cowgirl" aka ?
Courtesy Oh No Noho, a Valley arts monthly from the mid-80s.

Northampton history snippets: Graham Cracker genesis, well scrubbed vegan pioneer, local rock, lit legends, flaming hoops.

The Wikipediesque website Absolute Astronomy has a decent historical overview of Northampton including demographic/census info, a list of films shot here, and a surprising record of notable residents of the past (Jonathan Edwards, Calvin Coolidge) and present (Chris Collingwood, Sonic Youth, and even Megan LaBonte*)

I learned that vegan pioneer Sylvester Graham, namesake of the Graham Cracker, lived here as well. He was a "dietary reformer," and Grahamites, as his followers were called, accepted the teaching of their mentor with regard to all aspects of lifestyle. As such, they practiced frequent bathing, abstinence from alcohol, vegetarianism, and a generally sparse lifestyle. Graham was also an advocate of sexual abstinence, especially masturbation, which he regarded as an evil that inevitably led to insanity. He felt that all excitement was unhealthful, and spices were therefore a no-no. His dietary recommendations were inevitably bland, which led to the Grahamites consuming large quantities of Graham crackers, Graham's own invention. White bread was strongly condemned by Graham and his followers as being essentially devoid of nutrition, a claim echoed by nutritionists ever since. Some Grahamites lost faith when their mentor died at the age of fifty-seven. Other than the crackers, the Grahamites' major contribution to American culture was probably their insistence on frequent bathing. Graham's doctrines found later followers in the persons of Dr. John Harvey Kellogg and his brother Will Keith Kellogg. Their invention of Kellogg's Corn Flakes was a logical extension of the Grahamite approach to nutrition. Graham's stance on Smores is unknown, as he was long gone by the time they were devised as a popular campfire snack utilizing chocolate and marshmallow. One can safely assume he is spinning in his crypt.

Grahamism was influential in the vegan movement. Sylvester Graham focused on meat and milk, which he believed to be the cause of sexual urges. In fact, he claimed animal byproducts produced lust; Grahamism thus rejected meat, animal byproducts, and alcohol in order to develop a purer mind and body. And as with everything lately, my life is laced with coincidence and blog posts tie themselves together with unexpected connections. Megan noted that she works at Sylvester's. In fact, Sylvester Graham may be the namesake of the restaurant. Does anyone know? I'm looking it up. OKAY. Too weird. It totally is. The restaurant is his old home. Read about it here.

*Megan LaBonte is one of the more current notable residents listed on Absolute Astronomy's Northampton page. She is described as a "local artist whose specialty includes works of art using mannequins, as well as elaborate costume work and face paint. In addition, Megan is a hooper who has mastered the art of fire hooping. She often hoops with local band, The Primate Fiasco. LaBonte is currently preparimg for the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade on Saturday, June 20th.






The "great awakening" was a period of increased religious activity, particularly in New England. A famous literary example of the new style of preaching can be found in Northampton preacher Jonathan Edwards' sermon Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, most famously preached on July 8, 1741 in Enfield, Connecticut.

Photo Bombs

These are all from a website called Photobomb, are crass and hilarious, and thanks to Dave for the tip.
Ta -dah!

Mouse, The Easter Bunny

It did occur to me on occasion that my mother might have had high artistic hopes for me when I was young. She captured and catalogued my "output" as if she was curating the future wing of a museum dedicated to my "early works in crayon." This one was called "Mouse, The Easter Bunny" and reveals an early example of my tendency to adapt my work to my abilities, or lack thereof. If an attempted Easter bunny, for example, started looking like a mouse, mid-crayon, I would simply change the title of the piece to reflect what ended up on the page. This technique can be traced forward and found beyond two dimensions in my behavior as an adult. If I set out to do something and lose interest or find myself not up the task, I simply restate the goal. Rename the picture. Add an extra tail if necessary or some jarring but vague emotion in the face. The technical term is bullshitting, and I think it's a technique that gets an unnecessarily bad rap.

45 year old Jim critiques 4 year old Jimmy's drawing: This was definitely intended to be the Easter bunny but it somehow veered into a full-on mouse. The tell-tale cottontail is there on the lower abdomen. And yet there is also a tail at the bottom which would, ostensibly, belong to the mouse. Three legs, drawn as simple lines, protrude from the body along the right side but the fourth is on its own on the left side. I suspect the legs that are adjacent to each other at the bottom are the hind legs and not just an attempt to correct for a leg imbalance favoring the right with a last ditch leg allocated to the left. I perceive the creature facing the viewer but twisted slightly to its left with the two upper/fore legs shown as they would protrude from an animal that is usually on all fours, but standing here up on two hind legs, the other two free for wielding perhaps a basket or who knows what. The head definitely leans mouse, with the ears clearly not floppy like a bunny's. The apparent glasses I cannot explain, while the nose and mouth emanate mousy accuracy and emotion. What is Mouse, the Easter Bunny uttering, with his square mouth open in anthropomorphic despair or desire? Jimmy responds: Actually, I had been reading a book called Santa Mouse at the time and though Easter was coming, I was working on a connection between animal "mascots" and the way they fueled a child's social conditioning to value material possessions, toys, candy, etc. above all else. This was just a preliminary sketch that morphed Santa Mouse and the Easter bunny. I think you're bullshit about this being an early example of your eventual lazy, short-cut infested tendencies, is an insult to the actually quite thoughtful, measured, and thorough works of my 4th year.

Images From The Archives of Oblivion

I'm on vacation this week and doing lots of little projects that I never get to. I've been trying to reduce the overall bulk of my collective possessions. My material footprint. An overall "thinning of the papers" is a big part of it. I am descended from my mother after all (subspecies Packratius Extremicus) and she ocassionally sends me artifacts from my childhood that I often have no recollection of, old drawings and photos and such. I was the first born and her archiving of my life began very early on. Apparently, whenever I would draw something she would ask me what it was and write down what I said on the back and date it.

This one reads, on the back, "Jimmy Age 4 "Pig With Flaming Mouth" Crayon"
I'm saving things like that, but I'm scanning and tossing a lot of the more ephemeral stuff. This was in the Gazette in 1987. Though not a local ocurrence, the photo editor obviously could not resist. Some photos tell the whole story and the article become superfluous.
Dana Gentes who owns Pleasant Street Video was the ringleader of a bizarre and hilarious radio show, a collective of creative locals, on WMUA called Dadavision in the mid 80s. They were on Friday overnights to begin but as they became more popular, they moved to Wednesdays at 10PM after my new music show Terpsichorean Cacophony. I was talking to Dana at the store this morning and he says he has a suitcase load of cassettes of the show, which ran for about 5 years I recall. It would be a daunting but worthwhile task to compile a best of collection, especially the weekly musical Top 10 (way more demented than Doctor Demento) with locals like Raymond and the Circle , for example, doing "My Kid Fell Out The Window" to the tune of "Tears in Heaven:("I guess this means, we'll have to put in screens.")
My first job was in 1980 at Price Chopper supermarket on University Drive in Amherst, now the Big Y complex. This is where I fell in love with Beth Miller, a cashier, but lost her to bagger Kevin Eastman, who went on to create Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I've lamented this on the blog before, but with this new photo the story has more resonance when you look at the dashing image I cut as a bookeeper. How could Beth dump a guy who worked in customer service office, handling thousands of dollars and approving checks, for a sweaty bagger? Steven Wright on Saturday at the Calvin said, "Whenever I see some guy pushing 10 or 15 shopping carts in the parking lot of a grocery store I shout, "HEY, did you ever think someone else might want to use one of those!?"
Okay, one more. My 2nd grade class photo. Why I had a comb-over at such an early age is a mystery.

Gorilla Playing Saxophone With Balloons

My birthday is in August, so don't say I didn't tell you what I want for a party. This phrase reminds me of that simple lined word puzzle solution, Ship Arriving Too Late To Save Drowning Witch, which was used as the title and graphic of a Frank Zappa album as well.
This is a lazy Sunday post. The kind you do when you forget to take your Trazadone, wake up at 2pm, and remember spilling red wine all over the brownies ar some point during the night (which does not ruin them). I was going to do one about harlequin babies but it would ruin your day. I didn't just go off searching for appalling pediatric skin diseases but it's what I found when I was trying to remember what this pattern of diamonds is called. Harlequin. There are so many things people don't even know about. Don't look. No don't. I warned you.

Is this your kitty?

Found wandering Market Street in Northampton near the antique stores at 4AM Friday (6/5) meowing plaintively. I heard her out my window. Big vocabulary. Ridiculously friendly. Female or neutered male. Just send me a message.

Obama sails away a night and a day from the FOX Wild Things: Beck, O'Reilly, Coulter, Hannity, and Kristol.

"...when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws till Max said "BE STILL!" and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all..." - Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are.

Courtesy Blue Gal's blog:

iPod Speakers in Locker Trigger Evacuation at Amherst Regional High School

This is my alma mater, barely recognizable architecturally from when I was a student there from '79-'81. From the ARHS website: Good morning, this is Debbie Westmoreland, assistant to Superintendent Maria Geryk. I am emailing to update parents and guardians regarding an evacuation at Amherst Regional High School this morning. While the MS was never impacted, many students, parents and guardians saw emergency vehicles on site at the HS campus and have called for more information.

Just before 7:00 a.m., a staff member reported hearing a pulsing sound coming from inside a student locker. In accordance with district safety protocol, the building was evacuated and the Amherst Police were notified. After investigating, the police determined that the sound was caused by a portable IPod speaker system and there was no danger. The high school was able to return to its normal routine by approximately 8:30 a.m.

I wonder what song was playing..."We Gotta Get Outa This Place"..."School's Out"....

Wednesday Morning in Northampton

Issues with flip-flops.
Field Trip!
The three Comcast trucks of the apocalyplse.
Rob Murphy of Disturbed Theatre and his daughter on their way to a group sing. Disturbed Theatre will present an evening of comedy and improv at The Elevens on Saturday, June 27th. Rob will not be wearing those pants.

Time, music, injuries.

This guy Felix (right) is a time traveler who slipped through town briefly on Saturday, accompanied by his space/time sherpa Roger (left).
Below, sidewalk selections at Turn It Up, where CDs soldier on as a viable source of music. The store is the one true music hang-out in town, where you can run into fellow music freaks and talk unabashedly about Mr. Mojo Risin' being an anagram of Jim Morrison, the Velvet Underground being the title of an old pulp novel, and Cat Stevens songs that went on to be covered by the Tremeloes and then Yo La Tengo. They have a shop up at the Montague Book Mill now too.

Injured vet. No benefits. This is his daily post.

"Feral Child" Genie, discovered in Los Angeles area in 1970

I never heard this story but it's so moving and sad that I had to ruin your day too.

I've become newly obsessed with this subject and discovered a dedicated web site; FeralChildren.com

Below, the implications on learning language are discussed. Are we hard wired? Is there an age deadline after which we can no longer learn a language?



The child discovered in Siberia last week is the latest case; post below this one.

Not much up in Northampton today but there's a five year old girl raised by dogs in Siberia

...or should I say I'm having a bout of agoraphobia and insomnia and haven't been out for a while to take stock of what's up in town. I'll venture out later and be back with a full report. Meanwhile, there's this girl raised by dogs in Siberia that seemed blogworthy. Read this, and tell me if you can figure out if her parents were also living in the house.

This is Natasha Mikhailova – the five-year-old who walks on all fours, laps up food and drink with her tongue and communicates by barking after being raised by dogs.
Natasha, who is only the size of a toddler, is thought to have never left the squalid, unheated three-room flat she lived in with her dad and grandparents.

Rescuers found her dressed in ripped and soiled clothes and surrounded by dogs and cats following a tip-off from concerned neighbours on Monday.

Police said: “For five years the girl was brought up by several dogs and cats and had never been out.”

One neighbour in the city of Chita, Siberia, said: “We didn’t know she existed. They have three vicious dogs they took for walks but we never saw this child.”

Natasha, nicknamed Mowgli after the Jungle Book character raised by animals, is now at a rehabilitation centre where specialists are shocked at the way she leaps at humans and plays dog games.

They say she is not mentally retarded, just starved of contact with humans – and shuns other children.

Centre boss Nina Yemelchugova said: “When I went out of the room she jumped at the door and started barking, not just mewing or something, but barking. She laps up food from the plate.”

Police chief Larisa Popova, one of the first to enter the flat, said: “Her father was not there, but the dogs sought to protect her. She was living in filthy conditions. We were almost knocked over by the stink.”

Dad Victor Lozhkin, 27, and mum Yana Mikhailova, 25, who has had no contact with Natasha for two years, have been arrested on suspicion of neglect. They could face three years in jail.

Natasha’s case is the latest in a number of feral children in the former Soviet Union. In 2004 Andrei Tolstyk, seven, was found living with dogs in Siberia after being abandoned at three months. Like Natasha, he adopted traits including walking on all fours.

New York Dolls gig at Pearl Street this month.

I designed this alternative poster to supplement the official Pearl Street flyer just for fun. The lipstick spells out their name in addition to its official lipstick application.

Boston-Springfield-Northampton

Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge
Kevin Hagan White (statue below) was the longest-serving Mayor of Boston, from 1968 to 1984. His successful run, at age 38, in 1967 was based on a populist platform highlighted by support for rent control. White unsucessfully ran for Governor of Massachusetts against Republican Frank Sarent in 1970. In 1972, he was a front runner for the Democratic Party's vice-presidential nomination, but the offer was withdrawn after Ted Kennedy and economist John Kenneth Galbraith voiced their opposition. In the 1970's White presided over the public school segregation controversy and the revitalization of downtown, culminating with the reopening of Quincy Market in 1976.
(Fanueil Hall) I thought this guy was from the DPW. Patty thought he was having issues.
One view of the city from the waterfront, along Atlantic Avenue.
North End on a quiet Monday.
Springfield Peter Pan Bus Terminal
Northampton. Piano busker on Main Street.
These guys.

Eggleston, Neill, Bukowski, no lies.*

(Caption: "Old writer puts on sweater, sits down, leers into computer screen and writes about life. How holy can we get?" -Robert Crumb)

Paul Eggleston, my lifelong pal from various record stores and general musical over-indulgence (also a teacher at PVPA) and I were talking over a beer at The Deck in Northampton tonight (the old train depot...maybe soon to return?) about our latest plans to collaborate on a music related project that will win the ears of millions and engorge our retirement funds with honest dough. We ended up talking about Charles Bukowski, and I told him why I liked him; actually LOVED him now, after avoiding him for decades based on his base reputation as a vulgarian and cad. Paul thought that I was referencing my newfound apreciation of Charles because I went through some sketchy and downtrodden times in Los Angeles and felt the empathic resonance, but no. I told him that my love for Bukowski lies in the fact that he was not merely (or really EVER) a drunken celebrant of overindulgence (a portrayal that a simple-minded marketing mainstream decided would best provide a monetary return) but a true beautician (a word wasted on the cosmetic vocation). The gutter bravado that people came to demand of him gave him a steady outlet and captive audience of unsuspecting readers who looked to him for hedonistic validation but ended up with secret doses of Bukowski's profound and first-hand tenderness , love, and beauty, warts and all. Read enough Bukowski and you don't feel like you're revelling in Bacchanalia but in the highest levels of human love and experience in the plainest language. His best work is as profound and universal as the bible gets all the credit for. The basic message I get from "Hank" is that happiness and sadness are not opposites but partners. I just randomly searched for a Bukowski poem to illustrate my point ands I swear this is the first one I found in the Google search "bukwoski poems."

A Smile To Remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"

and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw

one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled

by Charles Bukowski (below, with parents)

*Blog post title inspired by the knock knock joke:

Knock Knock, Who's There?
Eskimos, Christians, Italians.
Eskimos, Christians, Italians who?
Eskimos, Christians, Italians no lies.
---(ask me no questions I'll tell you no lies.)

so you want to be a writer?

by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.


don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it  by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in
you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

--From sifting through the madness for the Word, the line, 
the way by Charles Bukowski.

The Streets of Your Town

Django in June is New England's premier occasion to celebrate, study and just plain enjoy the musical tradition launched en France some 75 years ago by guitarist Django Reinhardt, a tradition now known by many as "Gypsy jazz."

The streets of their town: Inspired by Spain’s famous "Running of the Bulls," Brattleboro’s annual Strolling of the Heifers Parade features scores of heifers ambling up the town’s historic Main Street, along with many, many farmers, future farmers, cows, bulls, horses, goats, poultry, floats, tractors, bands, clowns, and much more. When it’s over, the crowd follows the parade to the grounds of the Brattleboro Retreat and enjoys food, music, dancing and fun at the Dairy Festival.
Paradise Pond, artist unknown.

Three Wolves Shirt and Zubaz Pants for the Wal-Mart Hipster Set

Amazon.com sells much more than just books. David Kutcher at Confluent Forms tipped me to this beauty. But the "customors also bought" items (see Zubaz pants below) and customer reviews are really where the magic begins. Click on the shirt and see for yourself. Here are some samples.

"The manager at my local McDonald's refused to serve me when I entered shirtless in my buffalo-skin chaps and beaver pelt moccasins. I've since been searching to find the perfect top to go with my turquoise necklace and bolo tie. $35 bucks later, I can hold my head high as I wait for my Filet-O-Fish."

"Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women."

"Whenever I wear the wolf shirt I have a lot less issues with involuntary urination."

" Would make a great gift for any man who loves the "call of the wild" thing."

"I've gained a new found confidence that has allowed me to defraud over 200 elderly couples in the past 6 months alone. "

Below- Zubaz Pants
"I wear these pants with nothing more than Crocs on my feet and hair on my chest, and prance around the block like the mighty, legendary Zebracorn."

Filler

New Rules: You must be in costume to eat burritos outdoors.

Shop window. Salem and Parmenter. North End, Boston.

No memory of taking this photo.

Nohodome Film Friday! Wholphin: DVD Magazine of Rare and Unseen Short Films. "The Pity Card" by Bob Odenkirk.

I picked up this DVD Magazine at Broadside Books. Bob Odenkirk from Mr. Show was behind this short film, just one of the 13 works on this worthwhile compilation. It's called "The Pity Card" and you can click on the cover to watch it or just play it below.

Les Quatre Vents (The Four Winds)

My 1999 collage from yesterday's post has an odd coincidence attached to it. My childhood friend John Huntington sent me this email after reading it: "Your collage here from 1999 actually features a building in Quebec I worked on!!!! That's weird, I don't think I ever posted pictures or wrote it up anywhere until very recently." Here's his post about the building from his Entertainment Technology site Control Geek.

John installed a system that would play Charles Trenet's Le Jardin Extraordinaire whenever people walked into the Pigeonnier, the building above, on a mountain in Quebec. Below, the Pigeonnier as part of my collage, used prior to any knowledge of John's connection to it.

Transitions

I haven't been blogging as much lately since I have been living so much more vividly, but that's a bad excuse. I aim to post once a day, with whatever momentous minutiae arises. I want to give a shout out to Mary Carey, one of my favorite writers and readers, who was laid off this week from the Gazette. Local journalism is worse off without her, and I'm sure she will land somewhere that deserves her. This is Mary's marvelous blog. Also I want to express my indignance at Joan Holliday's dismissal as the mid-day jock at WRNX. This is unjust and frustrating. Clear Channel, the corporate ownership behind the station, slashes line items from a distance that represent our friends and colleagues here. Joan, you'll be missed on the air, and I hope to hear you back at another frequency soon where you may have a chance to express your excellent taste and music smarts.

I discovered a ten year old collage at my sister's house. This was one of my first, produced under the influence of narcotics, in the previous century, which makes it sound long enough ago to admit. My sober collages are much better, I think, but this has some historical significance to me. It was a gift to my sister Amy and her family in December 1999.
My nephews Noah and Sam made a point of playing me the exact parts of this classic Descendents album that include "swears." Parents grow weary of censorship sometimes and just let go, though I doubt the Dead Kennedys are in the offing. Meanwhile, Noah (right) aproached my sister (his mom, Emily) and said, "Mom, I have a question and you're not going to like it." "What is it Noah?" "Can I cut my t-shirt?" "What...you mean cut the sleeves off?" "No, the bottom, to show my belly button." "Noah, NO!"
Mother's Day, playground in Cambridge MA.
The Saturday farmer's market on Hanover Street in Boston's North End.
Northampton Gothic. Llama and Jim launch their summer garden on Market Street, despite allegations of rodents and threats of lingering frost.

Boat On The Charles
Boat on the Charles
Train on a spur down by the riverside
The door's open wide
Planes in a line just seven miles away
They leave every day
And someone's always going south
A guy with a truck here about is going New Year's Eve
Why don't you leave

Why don't I leave
I can't make myself believe
No one really cares for me here
I can't make no sense of this place and I fear
I can't spend another day without hearing from you
Throw my life away and pass my body through into the Charles

Boat on the Charles
Bird on a wire outside my window pane
It's started to rain
Buses in line just seven blocks away
They leave every day
And someone's always asking me why I can't seem
To make myself see
That you won't answer me
Why don't you leave

Why don't I leave
How many times can a man be told
How many times before I lose control
I don't give a damn for my immortal soul
It's just about time I let my insides show
So here I go
-Todd Rundgren (from "The Ballad of Runt" 1971)

Sungha Jung conquers "Come Together"

What can I say?

There's a fine line between dodging a bullet and missing the train.

Tonight I was out at Pearl Street, totally digging The Thermals (left), a Portland, OR trio that plays very satisfying rock music...indie rock if you must. I am 45 yet this is a typical evening for me, not a wild night out. It is my actual JOB. Sometimes I feel like I've escaped growing up. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if I had married or had kids. I'm sure I'd be just as happy. I tend to be happy (with a slight undertow). But tonight I was feeling great about my autonomy, my life-long career in music, and the fact that in a culture of 20somethings, I've recently met someone my age in a similar...untraditional situation. No prior commitments or obligations.

As for the music, tonight Brendan and I were working late watching old YouTube videos of Joni Mitchell and Loudon Wainwright. When Hannah came into my office to say goodnight she caught me crying at the Joni video. I wasn't even aware of it until she came in. Joni's first few albums resonate for me because they were always playing in my house when I was in single and early double digits. That shit echoes in your bones.

But Brendan turned me onto this new breed of video from bedroom musicians playing versions of their favorites, from the Innocence Mission to Nick Drake to anyone you can think of. If not health care, then certainly music has become socialized. The raw emotion of these videos can bring tears to your eyes. Well...especially if you're a little drunk and feeling sentimental. Go to YouTube and enter the name of your favorite song followed by 'cover' and see what I mean. I mean, Jesus, watch this. How awkard and beautiful.

And tonight, after watching the Thermals with about 75 people I thought, why aren't there more people here? I realized that the era when we could realistically know most of the major acts is long gone, as is the era that was the birth of the rock and folk genres and the lucky artists who got to make those sounds and put those words to them for the first time. They were talented but they were also the lucky ones. You hear these old classics and you realize that someone was going to write them. Jackson, Joni, James, Nick, Sandy, Bob....they were just there at the right time and tuned into the collective consciousness and playing the right chords in the right order with the right amount of emotion. It's all old news to us oldsters. We hear the sources too easily. It's not as obvious to the new fans, and that's okay. But the kids are finding the sources too and embracing them, playing them.

And there's so much to choose from for the new generation that any long term relationship with a band is rare. These days it's about flings with bands and singers. There are so many that are excellent, or at least competent, that there's no end to the supply. So except for the Radioheads, Decemberists, and Modest Mice, the rest are out having fleeting love affairs with fans that are madly in love with them...for the time being. But oh, look, who's this? The Pains of Being Pure at Heart? Indeed.

Four Weekend Photos and Laser Jesus

North End, Boston. Greenough Street. Sat 5/2
Hanover StreetLaser Beam Jesus.

What's Happening!!

It's hard to rattle me. I've been through enough fires to have a pretty high tolerance for stress; the proverbial grace under pressure. But the last few days have been testing me. For some reason, none of my emails, dozens of important ones, have arrived at their destinations today...nor do they appear in my SENT folder. There's a demon in the machine and he's waving all my emails down the wrong exit ramp into a black hole. The office bathroom is out of order so we've been going to Bruegger's. It adds a whole new dimension to the use of our "Bottomless Mug" cards. It's been weirdly hot out. Then there's this swine flu which seems to be feeling its oats. This Google "Pandemic" Map has filled up quite a bit since yesterday. There's a lot of rapture-esque shit going on. Should we be buying frog strength umbrellas? The government is lying about "stress testing" banks and about the market being up, or at least distorting the significance. It's an insult and a racket. And then there's the 747 that buzzed New York yesterday to which the response has been essentially, "WOOPS!" Conspiracy theorists on the extreme end are saying that it was another inside job attempt at a 9/11 type event that went (DOH!) awry and the "photo op" explanation was the backup alibi. My hunch, utterly uninformed, is that it was done without Obama's knowledge deliberately (by whom I won't speculate) to make it appear he is not in control of things as sensitive as, say, the airspace over New York City. Or maybe he's not. And why are they saying that when this plane is not being just a regular old 747, it's Air Force One? Isn't Air Force One its own plane? They don't just slap a big "Air Force One" magnet on the side like a pizza delivery car do they? With the plane and the flu incidents is it the population the government is stress testing and not the banks? I feel like Dominique Dunne at the end of the movie Poltergeist when she arrives home to find all the caskets popping up out of the ground and she screams, quite reasonably, "WHAT'S HAPPENING!!"

The Greatest Moments In A Girl's Life circa 1920

The Proposal. The Wedding. The Honeymoon. The First Dinner at Home. (Click for full glory.)
Our culture sure poured it on thick reinforcing subservient female roles back then...and still does, despite the conventional wisdom that we're in a post feminist world. And in other cultures? Consider the plight of Afghan women in the news recently as an extreme example. Genital mutilation elsewhere. This planet is still a much more dangerous place for women than men. The mindset in the picture above hit its zenith in the late 50s and early 60s, as well documented in the journals of Sylvia Plath and the TV series Mad Men among many others. What would the greatest moments in a "girl's" life be circa 2009?

Shu-Fix Makes Me So Very Happy

It's so damn gorgeous outside today. I was walking down the street listening to a delightful voice mail message on my cell phone and then bursting into a Blood Sweat and Tears song at the top of my lungs. Bill from the Elevens caught me singing Good Day Sunshine on the way back. Back from where? Shu-Fix on Hawley Ave. The before and after shots below tell the whole story.
So what if they can't spell shoe. The father son operation is everything you could want in a shoe repair shop. It's like your grandfather saying, "gimme those things, sonny" and heading out to the garage with your shoes, a hammer, and a bottle of rye.This is Miranda LaPolice's tattoo and sneaker. Miranda is my best friend whenever we hang out. We can go months without seeing each other and then pick up where we left off, mid-conversation.
Daydream image of Jena.Katie in the winelight at Sierra.This is a collage I made for my mother on her 70th birthday. She's used to getting confusing presents from her son. "So, what does the fish represent, Jimmy?" "Well, it's pretty much just a fish, I think. I mean, who knows really, but it seemed to make sense coming out of the Victrola after a few glasses of wine and some gluestick fumes, mom."

A Great Photo From My High School Friend Caleb Fischer and Some Memories about Rock and War

Caleb took this great photo (left) and I stole it from his Facebook page. Adam Wolf, Caleb Fischer and I all went to see KISS at the Springfield (MA) Civic Center in 1978. The ALIVE II tour. Adam and I, in the months before the concert, debated the relative merits of Ace Frehley's vs. Jimmy Page's guitar skills. Adam played me the solo in "I Stole Your Love" as his proof. I played him the exquisite introduction to the studio version of "The Song Remains The Same" and rested my case. I tried to hear it. To get excited about a KISS concert. I was skeptical. I was in 9th grade and I smelled bullshit with KISS. They looked fucking great and dangerous, like they would make the best rock you'd ever heard, but I didn't feel that thing kick in on KISS "Alive"or "ALIVE II" that happened when I listened to The Who "Live at Leeds."
This album is still the standard for me. Skip the reissue with the full concert. Find the original on vinyl with all the inserts intact. Especially the iconic black and white Maximum R&B Marquee poster, folded in quarters. This is the only poster that has remained relevant in my musical decor through every period of my life. Only now am I remembering the amazing photo of Pete Townshend in the air in his white painters overalls with what looked like the entire population of the world in the audience and the early 8x10 glossy promo shot of the band looking very serious. Yet teenage. Rock businesmannish boys. Plus all the official paperwork for the business of rock; an incredible glimpse behind the scenes...a bill for smashed equipment among the most memorable documents. Here is a link to all the inserts. "Live at Leeds" was a spoof of a bootleg album. Bootlegs were a recent development. 1970. In the days before the internet, or even CDs, the notion of any music beyond the official releases was unheard of. Unimaginably desirable and unattainable; in the days before the word "download" would destroy the magic of record shopping and tape trading, ironically by making everything everyone wanted instantly available.

There was The Rolling Stones 1969 boot that you had to ask for from behind the counter. It was in a white sleeve with a blue stamp that said "LIVEr Than You'll Ever Be." It blew the official live album "Get Yer Ya Ya's Out" AWAY. It implied that albums were just the tip of the iceberg of rock. I think Rolling Stone magazine made the renegade decision to actually review "LIVEr"...in the days when it was still an "underground" paper on newsprint. Of course it would be subversive and review the boot. Total cred assurance and an insolent pffffft at the stars. My dad had this record. He gave it to me. I lost it in "the fire." There was also "Wooden Nickle" (a great name for an illicit product) from a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young concert. Also a Dylan one...I think it was called "The Great White Hope." Led Zeppelin "Live on Blueberry Hill," a gorgeous document of the band just prior to the release of Zep III.

These bootlegs were often of negligible audio quality but were incredible as voyeuristic documents of these sacred rituals called rock concerts that pre-teen kids like me could only dream of. At that age, I didn't think of rock concerts as gathering of kids. They were a society of cool adults. Like my dad's college students. The people who knew the truth and smoked pot. They made me want to smoke pot as soon as I could get away with it. The whole scene, as I imagined it, was the more authentic version of society that existed behind the one associated with the man, the word "NIXON," and the version that made me feel proud that my parents had a McGovern sticker on the van, even though I didn't know it was a man's name. I thought it was a snide inside stab at the squares. A combination of Ronald McDonald's frivolity and the anti-cool force that was government. I realized it was a man, a candidate, running against Nixon, when I witnessed an argument between my dad and my uncle who was home from Vietnam for Christmas. We had a "peace tree" in addition to the regular tree. It was decorated with white doves and white lace. My uncle had issues with it. He needed to believe that he was doing something meaningful and saw the tree as anti-war, even though it was his sister's idea. My mom. He and my dad argued about the 1972 campaign. Things don't change much do they? I recall asking my uncle matter of factly if he was going to be killed like the soldiers on TV.

I finally did smoke pot in 1977 with Craig Sandler. The Kiss show would follow in 1978. It was my first concert, not counting Iron Butterfly at 6 years old which I don't recall and David Bromberg which I slept through at 11. After worshiping the KISS ticket every morning and night, a pink background with actual embossed glitter on the raised letters- KISS- with the those jagged NAZI S's, the day of the KISS concert finally arrived.Yeah, I got baked beforehand. And the show was life-changing. But Caleb was almost trampled to death.

To be continued.
Above is a photo from the KISS tour we saw. Gene tripped over his dragon boots coming on stage and two roadies had to pick him up, well before Spinal Tap came out.

Too Many Popsicles, 70 is the new 30, Too Many Tootsie Pops, A Woman Carrying A Man's Head

Eve and Ceilidh in polka-dots, jacked up on popsicles on a Northampton porch in broad daylight. They blew a 1.15 which is .75 above the legal limit for popsicles.
Jena in Matt's car; Brendan at left before we all left for Boston. They were kind enough to give me a lift to the city for my mom's 70th birthday party on their way to see Flight of the Concords in Boston.
My family minus my dad outside Upstairs on the Square where we had the birthday party. Someone always blinks. My mom said that your 70s are your young old age, your 80s are your middle old age, and your 90s, well, heck, it's time to stop bullshitting yourself by then. But at 70, that's a long way off.
To prove her point, my 70 year old mom takes a wack at a pinata...filled with nips. Sorry I don't have the little squiggly symbol for the a in pinata but this pinata probably doesn't deserve it anyway. It cost $8. It was just glued together cardboard from beer cases on the inside and thus didn't have the desired explosive effect provided by a proper papier mache pinata when the bat really connected. It finally got knocked off the string and the kids set upon it like animals; tearing at the carcass, tossing the nips away, annoyed, and scraping for the Sweet Tarts and Tootsie Pops. Young Theo, a nephew, was later found to have eaten 8 Tootsie Pops. He had the naked sticks to prove it. My sister Sarah said 8 Tootsie Pops per kid is pretty much the norm with a pinata as we all looked on with concern at Theo as he shook and smiled.
Our childhood friend Kristen Ingersoll and my sister Amy. I recall once we were sitting around talking about our futures when we were about 9 or 10 in Maryland . Though Kristen was a "country girl" (a demographic designation coined by nasty Nelly Olsen on Little House on the Prairie) she said she wanted to travel the world, untethered and free, and be kind of a big deal. She's the fashion and entertainment director of Hearst Magazine International now. I think I said I wanted a BB gun or a mini-bike or something. I was into immediate gratification, not vision and goal-setting.
Nephew Noah takes out a passerby with one shot.
Scooter and Scout, my sister Sarah's cats in perfect balance.
Patty was camera shy but I did take this self portrait of me thinking of Patty in the bathroom mirror of a North End bar. This is hardly a satisfactory alternative to a photo of her for you the viewer, believe me. In fact, I look a little sketchy. I remember the picture of her I had in my head and this isn't the facial expression I would associate with that. It was a ripping spin of an evening with great North End Italian food and a statue of Paul Revere to boot. We were pretty tipsy and I think we yelled "Anthonyyyyyyyy!" I bet that never gets old for the residents and shopkeeps of the North End.
Below; Boston/Cambridge candids. Skylines taken from bus window.

Life or Something Like It

The blog Life or Something Like It had a nice post about Friday in Northampton so I thought I'd be lazy and post it. Besides, I'm in Boston for the weekend and as much as I love Noho/Hamp it's nice to get away for a while. That's Philip Price and The Maggies this afternoon at Turn It Up. They're onstage at the Iron Horse as I type this from my sister's house in Watertown.

Upstairs Downstairs

Two very different shows took place simultaneously at Pearl Street Nightclub tonight with the physical and political fervor of World/Inferno Friendship Society downstairs in the Clubroom and the (altered) mindset of the Gene Ween Band upstairs in the Ballroom. Here's Gene and the boys.Here's World/Inferno Friendship Society, visible somewhere in there amidst the thrashing masses.
I like the connection between the World/Inferno fan's tattoo: "The Only Day is Today"....
....and the Ween merch girl's book, The Power of Now (by Eckhart Tolle, recommended by the way.)

Bricks and Brains on the Wing

Workers sit atop the building on 77-79 Pleasant Street that started unexpectedly shitting bricks a few weeks ago. It's all scaffolded up for now. The brick parapet crumbled in one corner of the roof and some bricks fell on some cars. No one was hurt but the incident reminded me of an old Nurse With Wound album title. When I lived at 245 Main Street, right at the corner of Masonic and Main, I rented from Alan Scheinman and he and his co-owners actually took preventive action and had the parapet of that building removed for just this reason. To avoid actual masonry landing on Masonic...heh heh.
Inspect your parapets, people!
As a testament to the random disorder and beauty of life, London's Nurse With Wound (Steven Stapleton) functioned outside the normal musical channels for a decade, experimenting with tape collages of disjointed phrases, improvised music, electronics and found sounds on a series of intriguing, provocative, humorous and frequently entertaining self-released records. Between 1978 and 1988, Stapleton collaborated with such likeminded sonic adventurers as David Tibet of Current 93 and Tony Wakeford of Sol Invictus to produce a prodigious body of work that embraces surrealism in both content and graphics. Brained By Falling Masonry (1984) was an EP that bristled the coarsest of hairs with scratching and horror dungeon screams including the demonic voice of Clint Ruin (aka Jim Thirlwell, Foetus) in a cameo, yet it contains a movement that could accompany an underwater Cousteau documentary. Over time, however, the group's usual organized chaos gained a certain predictability. At the end of 1988, Stapleton moved to a farm in Ireland. (Trouser Press)

This is my friend, magician, and psychic (that's the short list) Craig Browning and a newly purchased palm tree. Craig and I both have some roots in Los Angeles, as do many palm trees. I had an 80 footer in my front yard. I think it was 80 feet. I'm guessing. I never took a tape measure to it. Craig is a great guy and I'm in awe of his upbeat demeanor in the face of some of the medical treatments he's going through. Never mind the mini-stroke thunderstorms that roll into brainville once in a while. I wish him well.

Pushing for Peace in Pajamas

All we are sayyyying, is no turn on red.

Phil Spector's Mugshot

I wonder what Phil will do with himself in prison. Read? Write a memoir? Conduct the chorus? I wonder what the policy on wigs is? I'll never understand those weird assignments he got to produce "Let It Be" and The Ramones album "End Of The Century."

Note To Self

Strange Shopping on Easter Sunday

As much as I'm trying not to buy anything that I don't need, I came home today with three things that might land me on some kind of watch list. No one of them is particularly odd on its own (well...) but the three considered together might raise some eyebrows. Only when I got home and took them out of the various bags did the unholy triptych reveal itself. What the hell is going on in my subconscious mind!