Palo Alto’s Teen Sniper

Posted on June 26, 2014 by markweiss86

There’s no hostages that I can see, only about 475 meters of open courtyard between me and Cherry G. The shot will be a tricky one: the bullet will become wobbly and transient as it moves through different temperature zones — bucking in the heat waves above the hot parking lot, diving as it crosses cool, shady lawn, and finally tumbling through the rising humidity of a man-made lake.

To the west, Cedric and Henry are dragging their heavy water-cooled magnum into position atop a Jamba Juice while across the way, Twan climbs a cellular tower, a sleek rifle equipped with satellite-assisted targeting dangling behind him on a rope. The satellite rifle is essential when fog rolls in, and Twan is just the man to operate it –he’s got the cool, the confidence, to fire on faith into a blanket of white.

I’m calculating the crosswind when Lt. Kim calls back.

“Tell me how you’re feeling about the shot”, she says.

I don’t answer right away. I can hear her sipping tea in the command van, waiting for a response, while in the background Gupta is negotiating his ass off in Urdu, though I do make out the word “pizza.”

“Maybe let’s talk about it later,” I tell her. I know the guys are listening, and I’m gonna get some razzing about “my feelings” in the locker room.

“Do you want to try a few visualizations?” she asks.

“Just leave me alone, all right?” I radio in, trying not to let my voice crack, which is a problem lately.

(Leela Broussard gestured passionately to emphasize her points, and punctuate her logic, at John’s Cafe downtown, her interactions with Mike and Bill temporarily, for a half, and up to the German goal, drawing me away from the World Cup match that was my intention and goal. As the conversation danced around the Roberts Court and its distinction from, for example that of Burger, my mind flashed to Adam Johnson’s 2002 story — in Harper’s — “Teen Sniper”. I had posed the question: if the North Korean leader Kim had delivered what in his construct was “personal freedom” would that be better than living here today in America where “equality is weighted with freedom” or some such. I posited that before he won the Pulitzer Prize for imaging life in a North Korean prison, he prepped by imagining life in the cushy and exclusive fictional enclave of the Palo Alto Police Headquarters, where an elite SWAT team — compared to a SWOT team — strength weakness opportunity and threat — included or revolved around a teen prodigy named Blackbird.

I’ve actually name-dropped or described Adam Johnson eight times now on Plastic Alto. I’ve seen him speak twice and had him sign my copy of his book. I first noticed him thanks to Charlie Rose.

My copy of the Harper’s article is illustrated by a Jeff Decoster; it depicts a man who has been shot — presumably he has done something to deserve this, in the morally relavistic world that Johnson describes – and there are five flowers surrounding him, in varying degrees of interaction with the action plane – in music you would say it is digetic or non-digetic, the extent to which the fictional characters could hear the music or see the flowers. One flower is more like a puddle of blood, below the figure but on his shadow. As I was doing a quick search to calculate the SWOT of stealing this exact image for above — I could always swede in a photo of the download — and I am like a teen sniper in my sophistication for targeting content for appropriate — well, not hardly –but there is some method to it – I wondered if DeCoster could be a veteran; he has a section on his site for war art. (And my mind flashed to Ehren Tool, in his final days as Palo Alto artist in residence– actually Tool reminded me of Johnson). I wasn’t wondering about Decoster enough to dial his number — 626 that sounds like Boston area to me. But what I did notice, and then left her both a voice mail and a quick note – is that Ruthann Richter, who I worked with in 1984 at Times Tribune — plus we had family friends in common — wrote a prize-winning story for Stanford Medicine Journal about brain trauma in Veterans, and this too was decorated by Jeffrey Decoster.

I am still processing Tim Lincecum and his no-hitter, which I witnessed as part of the 41,500 Greek chorus. I gave him a three-hour standing ovation, literally, in that I stood in the exact same spot, behind 151 or 152, on the Levi’s Landing, near the right fired foul pole, just next to the long diode-message board, in standing room only area, a ticket to which I bought in front of the stadium for $10 (down from $18.75) just before first pitch. I watched virtually every pitch, pausing only to chat up Danielle the photographer (recent SJSU b.f.a.), a tourist from the Yucatan and a dour teen or college student selling lukewarm corn dogs. I told Terry that I would stay until Lincecum was finished. But since he struck out two of the first three batters, I was pretty dialed in to him pitch by pitch. That my earlier quick post, “What’s the Freak-quency, Timmy?” references probability, I still don’t have a good answer to how many games might a fan attend to have a even chance of seeing a no-no? I felt that I had seen about 500 games, over 40 plus season, but that I was lucky to see any let along this one. In 1988 I invited Steve Cohen to go with me to the A’s to see Nolan Ryan pitch, then bailed on him when Luis Ruvalcaba or Edwin Crayton called to tell me that our ad hoc pro bono advertising SWOT-SWAT elite sniper team was going to meet that very same night in Berkeley. Steve soldiered on, then gave me a report about the Nolan Ryan no-hitter. Seeing Lincecum throw one made amends.

If this is not a shaggy enough dog, here is the first couple graphs from Ruthann:

Brett Miller was just 6 feet from the roadside bomb when it exploded amid a flash of light, a hail of dirt and splintering glass. A 31-year-old U.S. Army sergeant, he’d been speeding in his Humvee down a debris-strewn road in Iraq, a stretch between Mosul and Kirkuk that is notorious for its roadside bombs. Miller had been hit there several times before but never with the kind of head-splitting force that roared through on Aug. 11, 2005.

Jeffrey Decoster

This time he wouldn’t walk away. Instead he would become captive to a brain injury that would go unrecognized for more than a year. Today, after many months of therapy, he can express what that initial feeling was like — of literally losing his mind.

“You can’t communicate. You have no physical reactions. You have no feelings. It’s as if you’re duct-taped, blindfolded and tied,” says Miller, now in a brain injury rehabilitation unit at the Veterans Affairs Palo Alto Health Care System.

These hidden, often debilitating, traumatic brain injuries have become the trademark of the Iraq war. Kevlar-armored soldiers who would have previously died in combat are surviving blasts, vehicle collisions and other assaults, only to walk away with injuries to the brain that might not be immediately apparent.

Nearly 1,900 of the more than 24,000 soldiers wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan have been treated for traumatic brain injuries at the eight Defense and Veterans Brain Injury Centers, of which the Palo Alto-VA is one. Eighty-eight percent suffered “closed head” injuries — those that are buried in the brain and are often missed, especially when there are other obvious problems, such as an amputation, that need urgent attention, according to VA figures.

I had been tempted to send Adam Johnson “Teen Sniper” to local leadership as some sort of context to the discussion about building a new public safety building. I also wrote recently about my request for information about the 17-teen-year old possibly charged for hate crimes for scrawling various utterances on the walls of Gunn High School and especially its new Strong Schools Bond N-Building. One of his messages says “Thank God Lobos is leaving”.

I tend to advocate investing in people — in terms of Public Safety here I was one of only 50 Palo Altans willing to speak up for our guys and gals in blue when Measure D was passed — and am becoming more and more skeptical about capital campaigns, even for Public Safety.

Tags: Adam Johnson, Ruthann Richter, Ehren Tool, Tim Lincecum

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What’s the Freak-quency, Timmy?

Posted on June 25, 2014 by markweiss86

Image

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Kevin Costner as Fred Balin

Posted on June 23, 2014 by markweiss86
Fred Balin as Kevin Costner, I mean the opposite, speaking of 150 ft for turnaround

Fred Balin as Kevin Costner, I mean the opposite, speaking of 150 ft for turnaround

Fred Balin kept repeating, on proposed driveways A and b, near Columbia Dartmouth Amherst, above Cali Ave, “needs a turnaround…needs a turnaround” with well-synched electronic presentation. Very convincing. (if you trust someone cooped up here for four hours).

Reminds of Kevin Costner as DA Garrison in “JFK”: “back and to the left…back and to the left” re Zapruder film, and spoofed by Jerry Seinfeld and Keith Hernandez.

Let’s see if this works.

This might be relevant or fun or amusing:

edit to add, 9:45: I sent FB the above, just as his 13-minute buzzer sounded.

I like Linda Hunt for Jean McCown characterlindahunt

McCown during happier times

McCown during happier times

Here is the Seinfeld treatment.

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Proposed monument at 261 Hamilton in Palo Alto in the shape of a giant Good Humor bar with alphabet spelling BUILDING ENVELOPE?

Posted on June 23, 2014 by markweiss86

Being a concert promoter turned land-use watch-dog, with forays into arts advocate and blogger has the weird effect of sometimes imagining a parallel world in which all my ideas come true.

I am posting this while listening to a public hearing, in the real world, of the actual project, by Roxy Rapp about 261 Hamilton, the University Arts building.

Rather than granting building owner about $20 million dollars worth of bonuses, why not build over the historic Spanish-Colonial a giant Good Humor bar that spells out the words BUILDING ENVELOPE?

Like Noam Chomsky, I believe better self-governance in a Democracy can come from a close watching of the little things, like words and letters.

Earlier this week I watched a presentation of people wanting a BIG STUPID SIGN at Embarcadero at Newell that might say BIG STUPID SIGN. I am not for that idea — I wanted a giant book by Claes Oldenburg — but am jonesing to get an artist to sketch my idea (the actual idea just said ART CENTER & LIBRARY — same difference).

I think I saw what could be a reference to my idea and I, as a public service and fair use, cut and paste it here.

I propose at 261 Hamilton superimposed on historic building a giant Good Humor bar spelling BUILDING ENVELOPE?
I propose at 261 Hamilton superimposed on historic building a giant Good Humor bar spelling BUILDING ENVELOPE?

edit to add: what about a public safety building in the shape of the letters PUBLICSAFETY

(261 according to the proposed architect is an L-shaped building — why not add the P, U, B etc? Or maybe simpler, just a building shaped like POLICE)

edit to add, 40 minutes later, during Pat Burt’s remarks: Mr. Burt said he was thinking hard about this case, which made me think — literally, I was not trying to think, but I could not stop myself — that it is not our problem with words, even seven-letter ones, but shapes. We need someone who can, for example, solve or at least explain or has heard of Poincare’s Conjecture. As New York Times said, “where are you Grisha Perelman?”

Consider these:

A rabbit is a sphere and building envelope can be either the shape of the building or whatever the developer and his high-paid mouthpieces say it is, simple new math.

A rabbit is a sphere and building envelope can be either the shape of the building or whatever the developer and his high-paid mouthpieces say it is, simple new math.

Because I am listening with one ear to Larry Klein and Hilary Gitelman, while typing this post, I do not actually understand this drawing of a soap bubble and something else; nor do many.

Because I am listening with one ear to Larry Klein and Hilary Gitelman, while typing this post, I do not actually understand this drawing of a soap bubble and something else; nor do many.

 

There is also, closer to home, a lady named Doris Fischer who is very good in math and a ceramicist and maybe could help shape this discussion.

edit to add, Friday of that week: I have a few more notes from the meeting, which ended well, to the extent council voted 8-1 to send Roxy back to drawing board. The Weekly meanwhile has an editorial “For developers, tough sledding: Citizen activists put city staff and council to the test in reviewing new projects” which is ok, but I think understates the case. I posted thusly on their site. Posted by Mark Weiss, a resident of Downtown North
0 minutes ago
Mark Weiss is a registered user.

When I ran for City Council in 2012, Gennady Sheyner of the Weekly said I did nothing but “railing against the developers”. If that was true then, it is less true now. I am putting a lot of energy into blogging against the developers. For instance:

Web Link

I continually say that the Weekly, even above, is for some reason too soft on the developers.

The election is about 100 days away and I am imagining another 50 or more such essays and posts and rants even about the political climate here — and the occasional post here as well.

Regarding Monday’s meaning, which also included council rejecting Fred Balin’s appeal re College Terrace, my notes on 261 included that Greg Scharff used the term “twisted-pretzel”, which to me fits with my rabbit and Good Humor. In less a good humor, Scharff pigeon-holed me Wednesday at “Our Palo Alto” and asked me why I write such “nasty” things about him. I guess I should get him to define “nasty”: like Janet Jackson, and he likes the fit of my jeans, or like the Romanian tennis player of the 1970s and he thinks I should simplify my delivery, or has he merely never heard of Sullivan v. The New York Times, the landmark case on Free Speech and comment on public figures. The night before, I had greeted him and mentioned that I had written favorably about his tenant at 661 University, the chiropractor/artist/producer Aaron Vanderhoof. I proposed to our former mayor that we meet over coffee perhaps at Books Inc to clear the air. I have known slightly Greg Scharff since the fall of 2009 when we were both first-time candidates for council. The last time, before twice this week, that I recall speaking with him was Election Night November, 2012 when at the results party that I soon-after left, he asked me whether I considered myself more or less electable than a homeless schizophrenic who never takes a bath. I don’t recall what my actual reply was but considering that my vote tally increased from 800 or so in 2009 to 4,000 or so in 2012 I would say that it might be worth running one more time just to see whether you consider it a linear or geometric progression of votes that best describes my ass scent, Greg.

edit to add, Aug. 6, 2014: I actually read this, or most of it, into the record, at HRB, in honor of Stephen Turner and his 16 years of civil service here. Good luck in Redwood City, climate best by governance by people like you, Aaron and Curtis. Maybe I will be joining you somewhere down the line.

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More Earthwise Gallery of Posters and Ephemera, sweded versions

Posted on June 23, 2014 by markweiss86

NINE YEARS LATER: New intro: In spring summer 2023, I am trying to use posters to market my concert series. For example, I have an 8.5 x 11 color Xerox by Robert Syrett for my Sonny Smith aka Sonny and the Rhinestone Sunsets event Friday at The Mitch. And I have an 11 x 17 poster designed by Copy Factory on El Camino that features photos of six upcoming performers: Sonny Smith, Lydia Lunch, Freddy Jones Band — though no one in the photo is actually a “Fred” or a “jones”; Will Bernard et al; Chuck Prophet et al. Chuck appears tomorrow to interview Lucinda Williams about her new memoir, at a theatre on Hayes 275 Hayes maybe, for City Lights, excuse the digression. I am drawing a blank — 11 x 17, white on white — what the sixth one is. I noted there were 17 white people in the photos and only two women. Anyhow, because I hate social media I am hoping to make up for it by increasing my use of posters, handbills, flyers and broadsides. 

Here are a few more posters and ephemera from the Earthwise Productions vaults. I say “sweded in” in reference to the movie “Be Kind Rewind”. I have a few more to add to this gallery if I can figure out why my Canon A590 doesn’t like the batteries I fed it. See also “Earthwise Gallery” proper (shot by Terry in her studio, with me as p.a.) This is also a sort of checklist of posters and flyers that are not pictured yet. I also have a bag of 10,000 ticket stubs, of varying designs. I can — assuming the Canon comes back on board or is replaced properly — have a gallery of the various stub designs, like pot shards of Arizona unearthed by Nampeyo. I have also slipped in a few ringers just to be Nashian.

Cub bear gold bug

Cub bear gold bug

1. Situation Fall “00 Oops we did it again: Danilo Perez Motherland Project, Kitty Margolis; Beth Custer’s Dona Luz 30 Besos, Austin Willacy, Rachel Z; The 650 Series (has its own logo), The KGB, Big City Rock, Eleventeen; Box Set Duo, Richard Shindell, Jerry Hannan; Taylor Eigsti Trio, Special Guests (was Joe Lake and Gunn All-stars, although I regrettably held them to 25 minutes, on pressure from the otherwise always delightful Nancy Eigsti), Mermen, Special Guests; Stanley Jordan (has his own poster) — the poster used borrowed image of Don Adams and Barbara Feldman from “Get Smart”. It also features the Cubby the Cub bear logo, which I borrowed from a 1910 Gold Border baseball card (which was Mordecai Three Finger Brown, of the Cubs, although it may have never been an actual MLB logo, just something some art director at the tobacco company or the print shop threw together — a dingbat bear, that reminds me of Poe’s Gold Bug — and the card itself was later pilfered, like out of a Poe detective story, as was my grandfather’s World War I medal presented by Rochester Veterans Foreign War).

Steve Cohen at a private function in Los Angeles, June, 2014, or 19 years past opening for Billy Nayer at the Cub

Steve Cohen at a private function in Los Angeles, June, 2014, or 19 years past opening for Billy Nayer at the Cub

2. Free Monday Night Live music at Coho Stanford Coffee House at Tresidder Union: Freedy Johnston; Matt Nathanson, Sparkler; the girl and i; Stefanie Gleit; Nick Thompson; the Birdwatchers (co-produced by SCON). Freedy’s fans enjoyed seeing a full set as he was on break from al long tour with Shawn Colvin in which he was limited to a short set; Rob Lederer and Steve Yerkey did short opening sets on that.

designed by Sally Lieber I think, maybe Michele Nelson

designed by Sally Lieber I think, maybe Michele Nelson

3. Earth Day Rock N Bike: Stone Fox, Lyme, Groovie Ghoulies; blink-182, soda, 98 Mute; the poster was designed by my neighbor growing up Bruce B.C. Meyers. Kathy Moffeit Holland Maynard working at Softride arranged for us to give away a bicycle, which was won by friends of the Palo Alto band, Guttersluts. It was blink 182’s first NorCal tour, maybe their first show, a Sunday late afternoon early evening, they set up on the floor of the formerly high school cafeteria not on the stage, for about 100 paid. A guy named Murphy I think in San Jose made a bootleg poster, with robots, screen printed and gave me one copy. Not a part of Earthwise Galley but in our archives nonetheless.

design by Bruce Meyers

design by Bruce Meyers

4. The Billy Nayer Show, Pamela Martin, Flying Cohen Brothers – a flyer

my bad

my bad

5. Earthwise @ Art 21 Papa Mali (Jerry Garcia Tribute); Claire Daly, Alexis Harte, Ethan Iverson papaclaireethan 6. April March May 20, 1999 at CoHo designed by Megadeth Meredith the former Mammonth intern who later worked for Bay Guardian april march 7. Olivia Tremor Control, The Music Tapes — I art directed this with Jon Hess doing the design — the size is such that it could be either a small poster or a large postcard, the largest size U.S. Mail would send for a postcard stamp. I recall hand-delivering a copy to Olivias agents, Bob Lawton and Jim Romeo of Twin Towers Touring, which was of course in Manhattan and quite near but I don’t recall actually in the famous and doomed office complex. The image was from a New York Times article on speech pathology. olivias 8. Jello Biafra postcard/poster using an inverted got milk ad, featuring Rebecca Stamos in a bikini. Biafra bikini jello –you do the math. Jello himself — Eric Boucher — said it was a classic mis-hit and took a stack home with him. The show itself was notable for a ticketing snafu in which we accidentally miscounted the advance sales and found we had oversold the house by 75 people and the Cubberley tech let us put 75 folding chairs in the round on the Cubberley Theatre rather than turning people away or refunding their money. Jello was just one guy and a microphone talking for three hours non-stop — an obvious influence on Plastic Alto — so it was no serious fire marshal problem — orchestras could fit on the giant stage.

would make a nice placemat

would make a nice placemat

9. A Great Laugh featuring Victor Krummenacher of Camper Van Beethoven, 22 Brides, Number Nine, Alison Faith Levy — $5 show or you could buy a $7 two-day pass and see Broun Fellinis as well on 11/11. (No one actually did that, except myself and loyal staff)

untorn black lab stub

untorn black lab stub

10. Tin Hat Trio insect animation soundtrack Museum of American Heritage Friday May 18, 2001 this was offset printed by Stevens Printing (Mary Ellen and Bob Nickola) although it looks like it was done at Kinkos: big black block, with cut out type and splash of green sort of illuminating some figure which was not Starewicz but something I pilfered from Pixar or somewhere, Antz maybe (which would be PDI, where my high school classmate Jennifer Yu once gave me the two-dollar tour; the building was on Park, and now houses not Danger but Groupon 11. Kristin Hersh, April 16, 1998. Donna Sharee and I designed this. It features a fake Japanese ink drawing shaped like a “strange angel”. I had tried to commission teenager artist Drue Kataoka of Menlo Park, who had just been featured in the Palo Alto Weekly but her agent, the manager of University Art at 261 Hamilton and I could not come to terms. Just yesterday, and excuse the digression, I ran into Maya Ford the bassist of The Donnas (and Electrocutes and Ragady Anne) who has been writing rap lyrics and I suggested she should also write a memoir. I said “Kristin Hersh” has a memoir but she said she didn’t know who that was. It is called Rat Girl or something or has a rat on the cover, I saw it at the Mountain View used book store, when Steve and Eric Cohen of the Flying Cohen Brothers were last fall helping their mother clear out their historic San Juan Hill house and left three car loads of books there to be priced. I mean to purchase Hersh book to gift to Ford. I corresponded with Hersh via her manager Billy O’Connell about doing a show in Palo Alto in honor of the late Victor Chesnutt, who was almost booked into Johnson Park here. http://www.amazon.com/Rat-Girl-Memoir-Kristin-Hersh/dp/0143117394 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62CZL9Rhz8Y I bought these two photos in frames from Mirvat Robinson our neighbor holding a yard sale (that almost turned into a joint declaration of candidacy — which reminds that I almost mentioned above that apropos of 261 Hamilton there is a Palo Alto City Council meeting tonight at 7 that you might find me at in that people are quite upset that developer Roxy Rapp kicked out his tenant of 40 years, University Art and wants to expand the building, allegedly by bending the rules of zoning and codes. The photos remind me of Vivian Mayer in that we don’t know who shot these photos; I think Mirvat said she bought them from another neighbor. The only connection is that I had promised Mirvat or at least her husband that I would return and gift them a MIRV poster. french kids

new photo

new photo

Which reminds me I am still processing my experience, Terry and I actually, as guests using the term loosely of John Vanderslice at Palantir private function the other night. I quite like this photo, for it’s three or so levels or planes: the poster, deeper in the room, the reflection of the street behind me. Like the Walker Evans photo I saw, The Big House, lent by the Fishers at Cantor in 2012, and I also found something by a U.S. Navy vet named Richard Sargent I think, a calendar of torn billboards. vandersliceoflifeThis is my pilfered Evans, the neg is in New York at the Met:

walker evans photo was at cantor lent by fisher family, not the ones who own the serra

walker evans photo was at cantor lent by fisher family, not the ones who own the serra

Earth Day Mini Pow Wow (1993) by Jeannell Steiner Tarnation, Virginia Dare, The Buckets; Stone Fox Spit Muffins, Slip (uses a Steve Ringman photo from Day On The Green 1981, adobe’d by Tina Dussault 1995) Mudwimin, Acoustic Paradise, Fat Chance Belly Dance, flyer — by MBW, cut and pasted at Kinkos from Pink Section listings, but has a gratuitous 1990 European Club soccer reference, Stanislav Cherchesov of S.N.G. sticker with the little rabbit icon — to my Black Bear Cub Gold Bug – Panini stickers — I have a whole binder of them plus a few loose bits. I mention this because I am watching the 70th minute of a scoreless draw between Ned and Chi — It is 10:29 on Monday June 23, 2014 and I’ve set in front of the telly for nearly two hours blogging and World Cup watching. I’ve probably watched bits and pieces of 20 matches in about 10 different locales, mostly by myself and strangers, as Gertrude Stein would say. There’s also a Chinese boob enhancer found art on this red flyer. (the show itself had a nice invite by Donna Sharee and was a benefit for Bay Area Action) Warm Weather Series: The Toasters, Spring Heeled Jack, Monkey; MU330, Janitors Against Apartheid, Slapstick (Dill Records Showcase); Lookout Records Showcase: The Queers, The Hi-Fives, The Mr. T Experience speaking of copyright issues; The Groovie Ghoulies likewise; Rock Love Magazine Anniversary Party Lisa Vian and Scott Hunter magazine, who later had a boutique here on Bryant Street now not high tech invasion of the $6 per sq ft nerds but close enough more nails and waxing, Zen Cowboys, Susan James Band, Sunshine Club, David Elias w/ Roger Powell; The Palo Palooza: The Clarke Nova (who never showed or were somehow unconfirmed according to Kat Sirdowski manager or spouse of the lead singer although I better get that straight or she is likely to sue me), Marginal Prophets (featuring cartoonist Keith Knight, who did a poster for a second show and Jeff Kramer, a food blogger and union stage hand who mc’d some shows here and was stage crew and security many shows here), Groovie Ghoulies; Martin Sexton, Stephanie Mechura, Rebecca Riots; Idiot Flesh, Oxbow, Indestructible Beat of Palo Alto (I guess that is also a Ginsberg Kerouac reference, with Jamie Stewart later of Xiu Xiu fame or notoriety); Medeski Martin & Wood; August 10, 1996 The Basics (also has its own poster): the show never happened because of a black out effecting four Western states although oddly we didn’t lose power so I didn’t know the size of it until load-in. We debated soldiering off with an all acoustic show. Poster by Michele Nelson, who grew up on La Para in Barron Park and was in Santa Cruz during that period. I met I think from Lisa Marie Nielsen who freelanced for Mammoth. I may be confusing some works by Nielsen and Nelson, Michele did much more for me. Pele Juju, Pamela Martin Band, Rilke String Quartet by Lane Wurster features a photo of a paper sculpture of a 12-armed Eastern yogi or someone largely uncredited for his role in our continued harmony, nearly 19 years later Rainforest Awareness Project (Kevin Russell and Andrea Caruso or at least that’s what they told me their names were), 1993 Bay Area Tour, the very first Earthwise Production, a follow up from 1993 spring Bay Area Action where I, thanks to Cindy Russell, who noticed me toting Jerry Mander “In The Absence of the Sacred” — I should paste that in here — and had me book native groups’ perspectives on the environment and she not me called the space Earthwise Traditions, but then Cathy White Eagle (she said) of Eagle Vision Education Network of Sacramento sent me her press kit addressed for whatever reason to Mark Weiss Earthwise Traditions and that is how the name chose me — for the Mini Pow Wow, at Addison School – art by Jeannell — April 23, 1993. The RAP tour went to Mills, San Jose State, City College of SF, Peninsula Peace and Justice, Rainforest Action Network, SEAC conference at USF, San Francisco State, College of San Mateo, Bay Area Action of Palo Alto (Emerson at University, then managed by Jim Baer, I believe, he deserves credit), Monterey Institute of International Studies (where I met Juan L. Sanchez, who played my first concert event per se, at The Edge, around January, 1994), Resource Center for Non-Vionlence Santa Cruz, The Bolinas Gallery — 12 gigs at least according to the poster, probably turned out closer to 9 or 10, plus we crashed a Bill Gates lecture at Commonwealth Club, and I got Bill to pose for me, or at least not have my camera impounded, as I mentioned above in a letter to John Vanderslice. Event called: “Out of the Shadows of Borneo: No Man is an Island” Bimbetta, at The Cub, by Tina Dussault with a pixelated Mona Lisa rip Archers of Loaf, Frightwig (the show not the poster also featured Plexi): by Lane Wurster; there are actually two versions of this, the real one and a reprint I made and handed out six months or a year later when AOL played the Edge. The less rare version says: Tasty Loafabilia courtesy Earthwise Productions and The Palo Alto Soundcheck TM Palo Alto, Calif. 94306 It features a pulp sci fi cover with octopuses attacking space ships and The Starmen The Dutch beat the Chileans 2-0 for anyone who is somehow reading this in real time and using it as your primary source of World Cup 2014 Brazil. By reading or writing this you or I also missed in real time a nice back-heel goal by David Villa at 36′ versus Australia. Have you heard about, if you excuse the digression, a nice little app called World Cup Buzz, The App, which allows you to post your comments to fellow Applied? I can see the bottom of this bucket with just a few more posters to post, although I really should try to take a break, get some air or sun or Vit D, or stretch my Lumbar, or hydrate or finish a half-eaten banana in the kitchen or warm then swallow my coffee before setting in at 12:30 in 90 minutes to seriously watch the inspiring Mexican Reds featuring the fabulous Memo in goal, Ochoa number 13, but soldiering on, 2,451 words in: Earthwise Productions at Cubberley Twin Harmonic Pop Shows: Engine 88, Spoon, Van Gogh’s Daughter, I.B.O.P.A. (same band as above, Beat reference); Van Gogh’s Daughter — it was a type of residency for them, although the whole thing, naturally, was about trying to accommodate Spoon, who were in for the Noise Pop–, The Keeners (from Los Altos, Ken Gould), Peel (from Stanford, Corky Gainsford), The Baby Sitters Club (from Paly High: Rachel Metz, Matt Sussman, Jessi god I cannot believe I am spacing her name — Rob Syrett just showed me her wedding pictures, at the Baltimore outsider art museum, went to Oberlin, also played in Pussy Mansion Oppenheimer — Mazel to her and her’s– actually I was sent word via Robert that Matt wants me to send him a dub of  what they sent me as a demo – -they had recorded live — very Swede style – of their rehearsal, in Matt’s parents garage, on Parkinson near the library, I think, I dropped him off there once — and don’t actually have a document themselves of their illustrious salad days as young bohemians and world beaters and serf in’ sperm. The poster by Michele and I but continuing the Wurster technique features baseball icon — he is used in MLB logo, this very photo– Harmon Killebrew of THC. I just gifted one of these to a hip City of Palo Alto employee named Josh. (although maybe they are not supposed to receive gifts in which case I will bill him $10 cash so as not to end up in a grand jury report). Josh Wallace. Or maybe it is on loan and he can give it back if and when he leaves our employ. Or maybe it can be accepted into the City of Palo Alto flat art collection, managed by Elise DeMarzo a former Commissioner. I should probably forward this to Josh with a little note asking him should we leave a paper trail, and I want to feel him out about the corruption scandal, how deep does he think the rot is? And here I am outing him as a potential on the down low operative or source. Transparency heading towards self-spying. Stanley Jordan, artwork by Adrienne Drayton, who worked at Cubberley as a janitor. Moxy Fruvous, Cindy Bullens at Stanford Coffee House, uses photo in flyer, by MBW, of Commedian Harmonists. One of the Fruvous has gone on to great fame as a radio air talent in Toronto, I think. The Basics, Squeeze the Dog, has a venus with wings thing going on. We have The Basics here as BasiCs which may or may not be a reference to Bay Area Singers or Singers in Christ. Which reminds me there is also, to be documented here, and potentially Sweded, a 7-inch record co-produced by Earthwise and Wade and Kelly Baynham, of a Christmas carol and an original, with great Earth-themed art by the band. I think KSZU has this in their library, as does Earthwise itself.

Wow. It says here that a KZSU dj named Mayjahn Shlepping Cobalt actually spun “Go With Me To The Water” by The Basics, produced by Earthwise Productions label, 1996, in February, 2014, according to Zookeeper. Who knew? Besides the Omni-knowing, and the niternet.

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For best results read label carefully do not overheat

Posted on June 22, 2014 by markweiss86
Posted by Mark Weiss, a resident of Downtown North
10 minutes ago
Mark Weiss is a registered user.
How are we so stupid — I used the term “dented cans” in a previous post on this site — to not know that within 90 days of getting a non-conforming giant sign that these guys close with a Wall Street firm to try to squeeze like oranges out of the average joes $1 BILLION and that the only purpose of a Palo Alto location is not to sell year-old bran flakes to strapped single-moms but as a business-to-business play to Venture Capitalists and their ilk driving their kids up and down Alma?See this:

Web Link

 

 

 

Posted by Mark Weiss, a resident of Downtown North
0 minutes ago
Mark Weiss is a registered user.
I mean Berkeley-based entity, controlled by equity firm hiring two Wall Street firms to try to sell for $1 Billion and opening, in my humble opinion, in Palo Alto as a loss-leader to target financial players as they drive by, for however that helps these types of deals.The entire store is just a type of outdoor advertising.

Same point. If we the people are not led by “dented cans” that there is at least something hard to identify in our Campbell’s Soup of Democracy.

Alma Plaza is some kind of odd attractor for monkey business, as others have chronicled pretty thoroughly. An under-reported fact — the Post claimed it although the Weekly has not, and I have not perused the court documents with my own eyes — says that developer actually lent his first grocery tenant $500,000 rather than, for example, getting a security deposit, letter of credit or first and lasts. Sounds like a pretty cool landlord. Maybe we at Oak Creek should start asking Garson Bakar for $50,000 angel grants in lieu of first couple years rent, if he drinks the same Kool-Aid as the Alma Plaza guy. (The same guy who says the First Amendment is irrelevant when it comes to expression and gathering at Lytton Plaza, then says, at Alma, that his client wants a bigger sign).

The point is that the people with millions and yes billions at stake for whatever reason always get their way and we the people and our so-called leadership are always in the dark, a step behind or too distracted by big flashing green and sometimes red lights to do the right think.

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Distant relative of Obama can-doo hero of Belgian World cup

Posted on June 22, 2014 by markweiss86
World Cup hero Divock Origi, a distant relative of Obama

World Cup hero Divock Origi, a distant relative of Obama

Divock Origi, a 19-year-old distant relative of U.S. President Barack Obama, scored the finesse goal in the lucky 88th minute to defeat the Russians and send Belgium thru in World Cup play Sunday in Rio.

Divock Okoth Origi (born 18 April 1995 in Ostend) is a Belgian footballer who plays for Lille and the Belgian national team as a striker. He is the son of former professional footballer Mike Okoth Origi, who played for the Kenya national team.

His goal sent Belgium to the round of 16 for the first time since the 2002 competition. The goal made D.O.O. the can-doo striker and the youngest to score in this years fixture.

Barack Hussein Obama, as even the most casual sports fan knows, is descendent on his father’s side from the same African post-colonial nation, Kenya. D.O.O. was actually born in Warrington, UK, although I doubt his fellow countrymen, that chocolate, beer and art-loving people, are asking to scrutinize too closely his proof of birth.

In a related matter, perhaps only here in Plastic Alto, a blog named after an English-made white acrylic saxophone, played by Ornette Coleman, I checked and confirmed via the search-injuns, — if they are still reliable, I think they are — that the hero of the U.S. win, Brooks, is actually one of our three German ringers. I guess there are a lot of kids in Germany dreaming of growing up to knock one head-like for ol’ Uncle Sam. (And maybe there are young Yanks dreaming of being aced out, like Landon Donovan or Palo Alto’s own Andrew Jacobson, of World Cup dreams by a German ringer. There are more dreams of being dreamed of than even my philosophy, even in Plastic Alto. Also, this seems as good a place as any to crow about months and months ahead of the Santa Clara County Grand Jury, “something rotten” in Palo Alto: I texted some obscure message to four or five City Council members linking Stanford Theatre’s screening of Olivier in “Hamlet” at 221 University to the already funky-smelling announcement that John Arrillaga wanted to build a theatre and office tower on Stanford land that we zone at 27 University).

And if I am not the only writer in the world linking Obama to Origi, I am certainly the only one mentioning Divock Origi and John Tchicai, the Danish sax player whose mother was Congolese. I admit that although I saw Tchicai live in Philly, at a Mark Christman show, I had to look up both how to spell the name and the distinction between his and Origi’s origins. I’m also the only one who thought that in honor of Barack Hussein Obama (BHO), the Palo Alto folk-singer Bhi Bhiman could change his name to BHO BHO-man. Good thing I am only a blogger and not a main character in Mark Twain’s “Diary of Adam and Eve”. Or that Sapir and Whorf are only so correct. Words shape reality.

On to reading the Grand Jury report itself, which should take me until second half of the 2nd match today. U.S. – Portugal (which uses Zoolander as a ringer, I heard local sports tv say) starts at 3, 3-plus hours into the so-called future.

An Aries, the ram, Origi shares a birthday with Conan O’Brian, the Harvard-trained comedic tv star and San Francisco-born K-pop star Jessica Jung.

outro, for origi, tchicai:

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The real grateful dead

Posted on June 22, 2014 by markweiss86

Kudos to Sarah Cahill for her concert event at Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland.

Terry took one picture I directed, down from the third floor to the second or first floor lobby where an electronica duo, one of whom named not Kjos like Andy the lawyer or my 9th grade basketball teammate Todd but Kojs — the same spot I think where they alternated with Pamela Z looping her vocal effects.

I took one photo with my Stupid Cell Phone, of Beth Custer, but I am not sure why the phone will not let me upload anything. I actually have a Smart Phone in the trunk of my car, a Motorola, but am still on the fence on whether I should go Android or iOS. I have not opened the FedEx box with the smart phone. (If that symbolizes my lingering ludditism: a phone locked in a box locked in a trunk, of a Chevy).

I came within 3 feet of Sarah Cahill as she was peopling the cd desk and meant to ask her for directions, in the labyrinth of Chapel of the Chimes. Meanwhile Terry had already connected with Alice, an actual Chapel associate, who got us sorted as we searched for Larney Fox, who Terry said she knew or knew of as a former Palo Alto Art Center (Palo Alto Cultural Center) operative.

I also caught a few bars of Miss Cahill at the piano. That would have made a great shot: I peered her thru the open top of her piano. The mind’s eye still catches so many things that even the ubiquitous digital lenses cannot.

This was the 19th or 20th edition of the event. Beth said she has played each and every, while Steve Adams of ROVA told me it was his first time (which, we should note, does not necessarily indicate it was ROVA’s first time).

If there were 2,000 music fans there, I doubt I was the only person who momentarily mistook Dan Plonsey and Friends for ROVA. I actually said to Mr. Adams, “Are you aware of any other saxophone quartets that might be here today?” and he suggested it was Plonsey. (It may have been Plonsey, Sheldon Brown and Steve Slusser — I knew they looked familiar).

I did catch up to Mr. Plonsey, who I had seen two or three times previous and spoken to by phone at least once or twice, maybe for as long as an hour — I am like that sometimes — surprised? — and said “Were you wearing a Giants cap?”. I cannot be the only person who has ever mistaken Dan Plonsey for Larry Ochs? I was thinking: Larry Ochs had long silver hair…This guy, in the cap, does not have long silver hair — but he does not have, for instance, curley dark bushy hair either – is this ROVA? Pretty weird logic. I heard two songs of Dan Plonsey group before concluding that I should probably “bug out” and re-enter the labyrinth to find #34 (Koufax number) ROVA.

I wouldn’t mind grabbing a few minutes of Ms. Cahill’s attention, even by email, to ask if she felt that people like me, we the 2,000, were indeed actually listening to the sound of 42 acts playing simultaneously? Arguably, the miracle of sound that is Garden of Memory, a solstice site-specific installation of new music, is the sound of 2,000 acts improvising and riffing off each other — I’m sure there were plenty of off-duty musicians in the crowd.

Eda Maxym.

Steven Kent

Randy Porter

Bruce Ackley

Hilda Mendez

Laura Inserra I’m not sure I saw or heard, only that I felt compelled to pick up her card and, like in the Frost poem, leave that path for another day, my Mouth to God’s ear, or My Ear to God’s mouth. (edit to add: from Sicily, then Roma, now Berkeley; music for film, new instruments, musician, composer and creativity coach)

Kojs full name

a quartet or quintet set up across from each other, kind of like the way Mingus would rehearse his group, or so I hear from a pretty good source, of two or three electric guitars, a guy with a bunch of bowls. There was a little boy, whose dad had very long dark hair, like Mateo Romero, and he sat at the end of a row of urns, and there were these little poles that I guess you can use to open a glass case or retrieve some ashes or urns or some such nonesuch — a tool of that trade — and I at least touched one if I did not actually bang two together, but I did mistake this father and son for part of the act, or actual actors. in the 19 or 20 edition history of this event, has no one else actually wondered about the sound properties of these device?

Someone has got to mention John Cage and what his role is or was in all this. I would say that the facility designed by Julia Morgan, a converted train station, becomes itself, for four hours that one day a year, at least, a musical instrument. What would be, for comparison, the sound of 2,000 people quietly walking up and down all those stairs?

What is the ambient sound of the room when there is no one there?

To what extent does a human pick up by one of her five or six known senses the presence of organic matter than at one point in history was fellow flesh?

What is the total mass of the organic matter stored at Chapel of the Chimes?

What do the chimes sound?

If not responding to the organic matter per se, or in addition, what musician could not be responding in part to the concept of the dead, to the names and the way they are, as a type of ceremony or custom, organized?

And the architecture?

And the fans?

And each other, the ambient sound or the bleeding sound, so to speak.

As these are improvisers, to what extent is each performance already through-composed or unique each time?

How much would it improve the event — not that it is imperfect, it’s pretty fuckin’ perfect — to get some grant money to have people compose site-specific compositions and then debut them there and then?

Like Negativland and its’ deliberately clumsy screening of flammable old film stock, what about a musician at Garden of Memory debuting a piece, read from the chart and then burning the chart, never to play it again?

I also wonder about inviting Sarah Cahill to tour 45 6 University in Palo Alto — if she were given green light to produce an event there — here — how many musicians could play simultaneously in that space, even in its semi-desecrated current form — a historic theatre subdivided into office space above and empty shell below? I would say at least three: courtyard, first floor, second floor. I doubt you could fit those same 42, but what is the optimal number? Ten? (as compared to, and this is almost cruel Palo Alto World Music Day, where the musicians who lug sound reinforcement step on each other and or push back the small audience, the rigs are so poorly tuned).

Dohee Lee did not see. Although I did kinda stare at certain audience members trying to pick her out, perhaps between sets – I had seen Ochs, Lee, Scott Amendola and Joan Jenraneaud at De Young courtyard a few years back.

I counted 14 of 42 that rang some chimes in my small chapel of gray goo.

I had never seen Steven Kent on cello nor Beth Custer on trumpet.

Steven commented on my loudish snapping (and clapping) whether he was sincerely trying to complement me or not. I took it as a compliment.

At least two other parties at Little Shin Shin had attended, I could tell. The Vietnamese place Kent recommended turned at least two parties away, 9:30 on a Saturday night. I was comparing Piedmont Avenue commercial zone and neighboring residences to Uni Ave Palo Alto. We drove my Cesar’s which I believe is owned at least in part by Palo Alto-product Danny Sher.

I bought one cd, from Larry Ochs, who I thought was between sets, although Ackley started playing again on clarinet, wordlessly — I gestured a back and forth, one had with a sawbuck the other his cd and he took my money and fished out a stack of presumably smaller bills neither of us bothered to inspect, I still haven’t. The cd is as recent as 2013 and has he, Miya Masaoka and a couple others.

Henry Kaiser, did not see or hear, as far as I know.

Al Davis and John Lee Hooker in name and spirit, as far as I know.

I somehow flashed to Poseidon Adventure, trying to make our way up thru a disorienting set of stairs and ladders.

A man named Keith led us direct to Beth, nice of him.

I definitely heard and never saw a marimba act to which Terry pushed her way to the fore. My instinct is to retreat from relatively crowded sections of events and experiences like that.

Terry suggested that the people-watching was notable. I saw Derk Richardson taking a smart phone film of Plonsey, on the terrace. I wonder if he posts all that. He was wearing green or yellowish Converse. (Beth said he was the most handsome music writer on the scene, although she was describing spotting him suddenly at an event an untold or unheard number of years ago — if I have not seen him sense I recall reintroducing myself to him at Montalvo, at a songwriter event organized by Wayne Horvitz and Lee Townsend and Knox maybe featuring James McMurtry and Buddy Miller. Before that I might have done the same at Oakland’s Kaiser Hall at a Bill Frisell Mark Ribot co-bill by SFJazz, backstage pretending to help Andy Heller the sound guy load-in. It’s always a trip to talk in person to someone whose voice you’ve heard on the radio many times.

Sarah Cahill I believe I have spoken to exactly once in person. I for whatever reason stopped her after a Martin Luther King Day event at Oakland Kaiser, the day that Cornell West spoke there (he held my handshake a beat too long by my count) and Vukani Mawethu sang. This was a couple years before I started putting on shows. Sarah Cahill is a musician and composer who also hosts a radio show and writes about music and more. The program notes claim that she was writing an article on interesting places for a citizen to relieve his or her bladder and she wandered or wondered into the chapel and heard some organ music coming from a hard to place direction. That moment triggered what has become such an intense and curated and really indesricbale (sic) experience for so many, lets just say, 50,000 of us. I hop ego to get back there some day (Frost again) and to see if I cannot bring some Cahilism to 94306 then at least I absorbed some of it that I can translate back even half-badly. (And as I write that I hear the door of this Peet’s squeak. This Peet’s that was once, if memory serves, THE St. Michael’s Alley. Or at least very near by.)

Brian Swimme said, at least once, because I was there, the universe is a place not a story.

Sarah Cahill, Beth Custer, Steve Adams, and 4,000 sets of marchers to 4,000 sets of drumming say, in microcosm that this is a song, part improvised and part thru-composed. Both.

 

 

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MIRV in Palo Alto, fall, 1995

Posted on June 22, 2014 by markweiss86
The mailing address is still good the phone not so

The mailing address is still good the phone not so

The posters for the Cubberley Sessions (also known as Palo Alto Soundcheck) were conceived of a series by Lane Wurster and Chris Eselgroth, the two-man art department for Mammoth Records in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, which eventually was sold by Jay Faires to Disney / Hollywood Records for $20 million, in a move that in essence laid off Lane and Chris, even as Lane was Jay’s original employee, creating flyers — not as nice as these — for Jay when Jay was not a media mogul but just a Dartmouth dropout putting on all ages shows.

Even when Lane and Chris became unavailable and too busy (for example, designing a Grammy-nominated album cover for Squirrel Nut Zippers) to continue working for Earthwise via fax and shipping, Jonathan from Bill Graham Presents preserved the original concept — slightly retro, two-color duotones, and we soldiered on for a while.

If the Cubberley Sessions comprised 150 shows, there were about 75 posters. It still has me in a quandary whether to sell them, store them or destroy them — I pay a storage fee each and every month for them, as I have for about 100 months (before that they were in my parents’ garage, the over-runs).

The design concept here was “something Mirvy”. Actually some people do not like this poster at all. Who wants to see a crying young person? Why is this person, apparently, in military fatigue? What is a Bimbo Toolshed?

I think Mirv’s actual name is Mark. I know that his sideman or partner in crime (?) is named Brian Kehoe. I think their music is or way kinda surfy and humorous? They are or were friends of Les Claypool of Primus, who had an imprint at Mammoth called Prawn Song. I think Mirv or Mark is a South Bay native, as opposed to Les Claypool being East Bay, and a high school classmate of Kirk Hammett if you can imagine that. I do not know Les Claypool — if I stood three feet from him one night at Slim’s I doubt I was introduced. It is true that I wrote a grafitto in pencil on the wall of my bedroom, of my parent’s house actually: PRIMUS. I used to fantasize that that was how I would know I had arrived, when Primus played a free show or benefit, not at Cubberley but maybe at Rinconada or Mitchell Park. Anyways, MIRV is not Primus — I’m sure they hate it when people fixate on that connection.

Prawnsong also, by the way, published The Up and Down Sessions, which included a performance by Don Cherry, which means a lot more to a lot of people than Les Claypool.

This whole trip is making me want to quote Ozymandish or whatever it is called, about monuments crumbling in the sand and the impermanence of all this. It is also wanting me to quote my neologism, a ELA (eighteen letter acronym) by Groucho Marx about rhubarbs and applesauce.

The other funny thing about this poster is that it says this show is $6 but for $10 total you can come back the next night and watch Cake. I don’t think anyone beside me and my four or five-member crew (especially David Womack, stage manager) actually saw both shows.

I would also say that I would have benefitted letting Lane Wurster or Jonathan pick more of the found-images instead of insisting on doing it myself so many times.

Jumping around a wee bit: I just viewed what I had taped a few days ago, David Letterman interviewing Seth Gordon, who was Alice Cooper’s manager and the subject of a film by Mike Myers called “Supermensch” I think. Maybe I will see that today even.

If anyone wants a free copy of this MIRV poster, just ask. (This offer will expire in 7 days, or June 29, 2014). The original run was about 500, but a lot of them got posted by a sub-contractor on telephone poles in San Jose and lost to the graffiti abatement squad there (rightly) hours later. Speaking of Oxymandish or whoever.

 

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Sixty minute triple-item on Mencken, Twain & Salinger

Posted on June 22, 2014 by markweiss86

This is the enhanced version of a previous post, “20 Minute Triple Item on Mencken, Twain and Salinger” which actually took me about 40 minutes, making us, ultimately, an hour behind our schedule to get to Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland.

I am going to cut-paste my previous entry and then build it up a little, not unlike Jay Defeo and her famous Rose. I typed the brief excerpts below; two of the three were sections I had underlined 20 years ago. I may have missed a syllable here or there; reminds of the performance art piece where audience members prompt the actor in her recall of a Patty Hearst speech. There will be plagiarism as well. Why not? Great artists write, better ones steal, according to Shields. Somewhere I hope to circle back to, like chasing its tale, the source of shaggy-doggism, which could be a religious practice somewhere.

In a parallel universe, I would actually read all three texts; that would take me easily 40 hours; which might take 6 weeks. But 20 minutes plus 60 minutes total of 80 minutes yields, I hope you agree not an indecent proximation of goodness.

This is my 712th post (or actually 710 and 712) reminds of Ruth-Aaron numbers. And why was I factoring 441 recently 3 x 3 x 7 x 7 ???

It doesn’t go here at all but Steve Cohen sent me a photo of one of his gigs so what the hell:

(to come — i tried to drag it here but may have obliterated it into 50,000 random bits of info)

 

1. The fact is that some of the things men and women have desired most ardently for thousands of years are not nearer realization today than they were in the times of Ramses and that there is not the slightest reason for believing that they will lose their coyness on any near tomorrow…the whole earth is set off like a gigantic bomb, or drowned like a sick cat, between two buckets. (“The Cult of Hope”, from Prejudices: Second Series, in Prejudices: a selection 1919/1955 pp 85-86 I had underlined this passage, in 1984.

although mine has a picture of him by Alfred A. Knoph

actually while searching and hoping to cutting-pasting the same photo, I found a wordpress blogger, writing on graphic design, who had the actual book cover:

Mencken paperback on Vintage designed by Paul Rand

2. Gentlemen, I used to have a cat here, by the name of Tom Quartz, which you’d a took an interest in I’d reckon-most anybody would. I had him here eight year – and he was the most remarkable cat I ever see. He was a large grey one of the Tom specie. an’ he had more hard natural sense than any man in this camp (natchral)– ‘n’ a power of dignity– he wouldn’t a let a Governor of Californy be familiar with him. He never ketchet a rat in his lifetime — appeared to be above it. (Roughing It, The Works of Mark Twain: Volume II 1872/1972 pp. 390-391 Chapter 61

3. I pictured myself coming out of the goddam bathroom, dressed and all, with my automatic in my pocket, and staggering around a little bit. (Catcher in the Rye, ch 14, p 104.

 

 

Every now and then, in these days, the boys used to tell me I ought to get one Jim Blaine to tell me the stirring story of his grandfather’s old ram–but they always added that I must not mention the matter unless Jim was drunk at the time–just comfortably and sociably drunk. They kept this up until my curiosity was on the rack to hear the story. I got to haunting Blaine; but it was of no use, the boys always found fault with his condition; he was often moderately but never satisfactorily drunk. I never watched a man’s condition with such absorbing interest, such anxious solicitude; I never so pined to see a man uncompromisingly drunk before. At last, one evening I hurried to his cabin, for I learned that this time his situation was such that even the most fastidious could find no fault with it–he was tranquilly, serenely, symmetrically drunk–not a hiccup to mar his voice, not a cloud upon his brain thick enough to obscure his memory. As I entered, he was sitting upon an empty powder-keg, with a clay pipe in one hand and the other raised to command silence. His face was round, red, and very serious; his throat was bare and his hair tumbled; in general appearance and costume he was a stalwart miner of the period. On the pine table stood a candle, and its dim light revealed “the boys” sitting here and there on bunks, candle-boxes, powder-kegs, etc. They said:

“Sh–! Don’t speak–he’s going to commence.”

I found a seat at once, and Blaine said:

I don’t reckon them times will ever come again. There never was a more bullier old ram than what he was. Grandfather fetched him from Illinois–got him of a man by the name of Yates–Bill Yates–maybe you might have heard of him; his father was a deacon–Baptist–and he was a rustler, too; a man had to get up ruther early to get the start of old Thankful Yates; it was him that put the Greens up to jining teams with my grandfather when he moved west. Seth Green was prob’ly the pick of the flock; he married a Wilkerson–Sarah Wilkerson–good cretur, she was–one of the likeliest heifers that was ever raised in old Stoddard, everybody said that knowed her. She could heft a bar’l of flour as easy as I can flirt a flapjack. And spin? Don’t mention it! Independent? Humph! When Sile Hawkins come a browsing around her, she let him know that for all his tin he couldn’t trot in harness alongside of her. You see, Sile Hawkins was–no, it warn’t Sile Hawkins, after all–it was a galoot by the name of Filkins–I disremember his first name; but he was a stump–come into pra’r meeting drunk, one night, hooraying for Nixon, becuz he thought it was a primary; and old deacon Ferguson up and scooted him through the window and he lit on old Miss Jefferson’s head, poor old filly. She was a good soul–had a glass eye and used to lend it to old Miss Wagner, that hadn’t any, to receive company in; it warn’t big enough, and when Miss Wagner warn’t noticing, it would get twisted around in the socket, and look up, maybe, or out to one side, and every which way, while t’ other one was looking as straight ahead as a spy-glass. Grown people didn’t mind it, but it most always made the children cry, it was so sort of scary. She tried packing it in raw cotton, but it wouldn’t work, somehow–the cotton would get loose and stick out and look so kind of awful that the children couldn’t stand it no way. She was always dropping it out, and turning up her old dead-light on the company empty, and making them oncomfortable, becuz she never could tell when it hopped out, being blind on that side, you see. So somebody would have to hunch her and say, “Your game eye has fetched loose, Miss Wagner dear”–and then all of them would have to sit and wait till she jammed it in again–wrong side before, as a general thing, and green as a bird’s egg, being a bashful cretur and easy sot back before company. But being wrong side before warn’t much difference, anyway; becuz her own eye was sky-blue and the glass one was yaller on the front side, so whichever way she turned it it didn’t match nohow. Old Miss Wagner was considerable on the borrow, she was. When she had a quilting, or Dorcas S’iety at her house she gen’ally borrowed Miss Higgins’s wooden leg to stump around on; it was considerable shorter than her other pin, but much she minded that. She said she couldn’t abide crutches when she had company, becuz they were so slow; said when she had company and things had to be done, she wanted to get up and hump herself. She was as bald as a jug, and so she used to borrow Miss Jacops’s wig–Miss Jacops was the coffin-peddler’s wife–a ratty old buzzard, he was, that used to go roosting around where people was sick, waiting for ‘em; and there that old rip would sit all day, in the shade, on a coffin that he judged would fit the can’idate; and if it was a slow customer and kind of uncertain, he’d fetch his rations and a blanket along and sleep in the coffin nights. He was anchored out that way, in frosty weather, for about three weeks, once, before old Robbins’s place, waiting for him; and after that, for as much as two years, Jacops was not on speaking terms with the old man, on account of his disapp’inting him. He got one of his feet froze, and lost money, too, becuz old Robbins took a favorable turn and got well. The next time Robbins got sick, Jacops tried to make up with him, and varnished up the same old coffin and fetched it along; but old Robbins was too many for him; he had him in, and ‘peared to be powerful weak; he bought the coffin for ten dollars and Jacops was to pay it back and twenty-five more besides if Robbins didn’t like the coffin after he’d tried it. And then Robbins died, and at the funeral he bursted off the lid and riz up in his shroud and told the parson to let up on the performances, becuz he could not stand such a coffin as that. You see he had been in a trance once


Mark Twain at Villa di Quarto, Florence, Italy, 1904
Mark Twain at Villa di Quarto, Florence, Italy, 1904
Courtesy of The Mark Twain Project, Bancroft Library, Berkeley

before, when he was young, and he took the chances on another, cal’lating that if he made the trip it was money in his pocket, and if he missed fire he couldn’t lose a cent. And by George he sued Jacops for the rhino and got jedgment; and he set up the coffin in his back parlor and said he ‘lowed to take his time, now. It was always an aggravation to Jacops, the way that miserable old thing acted. He moved back to Indiany pretty soon–went to Wellsville–Wellsville was the place the Hogadorns was from. Mighty fine family. Old Maryland stock. Old Squire Hogadorn could carry around more mixed licker, and cuss better than most any man I ever see. His second wife was the widder Billings–she that was Becky Martin; her dam was deacon Dunlap’s first wife. Her oldest child, Maria, married a missionary and died in grace–et up by the savages. They et him, too, poor feller–biled him. It warn’t the custom, so they say, but they explained to friends of his’n that went down there to bring away his things, that they’d tried missionaries every other way and never could get any good out of ‘em–and so it annoyed all his relations to find out that that man’s life was fooled away just out of a dern’d experiment, so to speak. But mind you, there ain’t anything ever reely lost; everything that people can’t understand and don’t see the reason of does good if you only hold on and give it a fair shake; Prov’dence don’t fire no blank ca’tridges, boys. That there missionary’s substance, unbeknowns to himself, actu’ly converted every last one of them heathens that took a chance at the barbacue. Nothing ever fetched them but that. Don’t tell me it was an accident that he was biled. There ain’t no such a thing as an accident. When my uncle Lem was leaning up agin a scaffolding once, sick, or drunk, or suthin, an Irishman with a hod full of bricks fell on him out of the third story and broke the old man’s back in two places. People said it was an accident. Much accident there was about that. He didn’t know what he was there for, but he was there for a good object. If he hadn’t been there the Irishman would have been killed. Nobody can ever make me believe anything different from that. Uncle Lem’s dog was there. Why didn’t the Irishman fall on the dog? Becuz the dog would a seen him a coming and stood from under. That’s the reason the dog warn’t appinted. A dog can’t be depended on to carry out a special providence. Mark my words it was a put-up thing. Accidents don’t happen, boys. Uncle Lem’s dog–I wish you could a seen that dog. He was a reglar shepherd–or ruther he was part bull and part shepherd–splendid animal; belonged to parson Hagar before Uncle Lem got him. Parson Hagar belonged to the Western Reserve Hagars; prime family; his mother was a Watson; one of his sisters married a Wheeler; they settled in Morgan county, and he got nipped by the machinery in a carpet factory and went through in less than a quarter of a minute; his widder bought the piece of carpet that had his remains wove in, and people come a hundred mile to ‘tend the funeral. There was fourteen yards in the piece. She wouldn’t let them roll him up, but planted him just so–full length. The church was middling small where they preached the funeral, and they had to let one end of the coffin stick out of the window. They didn’t bury him–they planted one end, and let him stand up, same as a monument. And they nailed a sign on it and put–put on–put on it–sacred to–the m-e-m-o-r-y–of fourteen y-a-r-d-s–of three-ply–car–-pet–containing all that was–m-o-r-t-a-l–of–of–W-i-l-l-i-a-m–W-h-e–”

 

Jim Blaine had been growing gradually drowsy and drowsier–his head nodded, once, twice, three times–dropped peacefully upon his breast, and he fell tranquilly asleep. The tears were running down the boys’ cheeks–they were suffocating with suppressed laughter–and had been from the start, though I had never noticed it. I perceived that I was “sold.” I learned then that Jim Blaine’s peculiarity was that whenever he reached a certain stage of intoxication, no human power could keep him from setting out, with impressive unction, to tell about a wonderful adventure which he had once had with his grandfather’s old ram–and the mention of the ram in the first sentence was as far as any man had ever heard him get, concerning it. He always maundered off, interminably, from one thing to another, till his whisky got the best of him and he fell asleep. What the thing was that happened to him and his grandfather’s old ram is a dark mystery to this day, for nobody has ever yet found out.

 Now that’s about two thousand words, so it might take some of y’all 60 minutes to read it.

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