This is the 2nd half of the entries for the year 2005. All of the code mistakes have been fixed. To return to the present time, click on the picture of dory boats above.

 

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DECEMBER 26, 2005

GOUDY KIMBLE AND HIPPY NEW BEER

And a joyfull Sol Invictus as well as a Happy Hannukah and a Wiccan Winter Solstice to all. Hope all of you got what was coming to you this 25th. We got a deluge of rain up to the 24th, which broadened out into a warm sunny day with everybody all bright out on the streets and the Semi-annual meeting of the Non-Compos Mentis Chapter of the Directionally Confused and Traffic Enfeebled well in progress.

Yes, those doughty drivers of the impossible are back in town errantly wandering across lanes, turning right from the far left turn signal, abruptly taking the right hand exit from the left hand fastlane, taking the exit halfway, only to dart across the divider back to the freeway, making seemingly arbitrary U-turns and generally stimulating the adrenal glands of the populace in the practice of the Stealth Turn Maneuver.

The 25th arrived with yet more downpours and flood watch warnings went out all over the Bay Area. All the more excuse to stay at home and snuggle up beside the tree.

 

ANOTHER TURNING POINT A FORK STUCK IN THE ROAD

This is the last entry for the year 2005, a most dismal year when we had thought 2004 could not have been worse. Two hurricanes out of a record-breaking season totally destroyed one of America's favorite cities, the Bush imbeciles persisted with bullheadedness in doing everything wrong, resulting in actual damage to the country, where in the past political malfeasance has only caused limited hand-wringing and regrettable circumstances.

Now we face what has been called a "Pinochet situation" in which members of our highest goverment leadership will be unable to travel for fear of subsequent arrest and indictment in any number of world courts for crimes against humanity even as the Administration balks and fights and snorts against the most common sense injunctions against such things as torture.

Still, signs have been posted recently indicating that there may still be forms of intelligent life in the Universe. The courts recently knocked down, using the strongest language, the ridiculous Creationism claptrap a Pennsylvania school board was attempting to foist upon innocent children under the name of "science." Rich Santorum has scampered under the furniture like the vermin he is after announcing he was all for this "intelligent Design" drivel and furthermore they should do away with unnecessary government entities like the National Meteorological Service. You know, the Service that predicts and tracks things like hurricanes.

Tom Delay has his hands busy handling the third or fourth indictment and booking for criminal activity and it does appear he shall not slip this one this time. Der Governator, Arnold, after trying to bully a group of nurses, a group of schoolteachers, and a group of low-level clerks, finally picked the state firefighters, the police, and the AFL-CIO to push around, and got his eyes severely blackened in an absolute donnybrook for this contemptibly arrogant and vicious Austrian. Every single one of his ballot propositions was not only defeated, each one was soundly defeated by well over 25%, and in some cases, over 75%. In fact, Arnold is so on the outs, his hometown Graz, has removed his name from its public edifices, accusing the Republican of selling out to the death penalty advocates in the coldest possible way.

In congress, a number of members found that courage so rarely seen in our seldom-serving public servants. Long time Marine and decorated war veteran Jack Murtha issued a scathing denunciation of the Iraq war and called for immediate withdrawal, and even the military southern states that depend heavily upon the income from the massive bases located within their borders began clamoring for an end to the continuing unreason. South Carolina, mind you, joined with Montana in requesting the boys come home.

Cindy Sheehan, one of ours, a true Californian with the steady determination and steel will that has pulled us through disastrous fires, earthquakes and floods for over 200 years, showed the purely stubborn and cruel Bush as well as the rest of the country and the world what real determination happens to consist of. Standing up in front of the big guys to demand an accounting, with no guns, no riot batons, no beefy rednecks plowing their bulbous overweight SUV's through rows of crosses commemorating the fallen so as to intimidate, that's what true grit is all about. A single woman demanding one man to account for his actions; that is what real intestinal fortitude is all about.

Yes, there are things to be proud of in America today, and sometimes good things come around again. We don't need new ideas or an agenda. We have common sense. And the knowledge that every day the bucket goes to the well. Every day.

DREIDEL DREIDEL DREIDEL, I MADE YOU OUT OF CLAY

Its the second night of that minor miracle when lamp oil burned in the temple for eight days of urban warfare so long ago. If you are making yontif you might recall that the letters of the dreidel form an acrostic for the words Nes Gadol Haya Sham (A great miracle happened there). It probably never happened, but it makes a good story, and that's good enough for most of us. Maybe you are like my neighbor upstairs, the Wiccan, for whom the annual evergreen hearkens back to the age old pre-Xian tree of life. Or maybe you prefer the Sol Invictus, involving drinking, gifts, overeating, acting lazy and generally being good natured for some 1500 years before the Xian era. On December 25th, no less. Then there is Celtic Samhain and everybody's winter solstice, not to forget Kwanzaa. Whatever. The main thing all of these share at best is, well that thing me own dear dirty Damsel says best with lights and stars.

Me, well, I guess I am just a little more obtuse and a lot more verbose. And that's just the way it is on the Island. Have a peaceful week.

 

DECEMBER 18, 2005

THERE IS NO DARK SIDE OF THE MOON. IN FACT, ITS ALL DARK.

This just came in over the AP wire service:

Saturday, December 17, 2005; Posted: 1:34 p.m. EST (18:34 GMT)

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Jack Anderson, the Pulitzer Prize-winning muckraking columnist who struck fear into the hearts of corrupt or secretive politicians, inspiring Nixon operatives to plot his murder, died Saturday. He was 83.

Anderson died at his home in Bethesda, Maryland, of complications from Parkinson's disease, said one of his daughters, Laurie Anderson-Bruch.

Anderson gave up his syndicated Washington Merry-Go-Round column at age 81 in July 2004, after Parkinson's disease left him too ill to continue. He had been hired by the column's founder, Drew Pearson, in 1947.

The column broke a string of big scandals, from Eisenhower assistant Sherman Adams taking a vicuna coat and other gifts from a wealthy industrialist in 1958 to the Reagan administration's secret arms-for-hostages deal with Iran in 1986.

BLUE XMAS CONTINUED

As a continuing service, we have been posting new and innovative sources for holiday gifts for those who really would prefer not to pitch pennies into the coffers of obnoxious businesses that insist on subsidizing Red State attitudes.

Beside your local arts & crafts vendors, whom you damn well know have nothing to do with contributions to Tom deLay's slush funds, there are a plethora of internet as well as brick and mortar businesses around. Get on over to Solano Avenue for their ongoing festival contribution, and then stop on by the T'graph holiday festival, which kicked off this weekend and continues through the next.

Right here on the Island we have a number of cute little shops packed with all kinds of neat, original stuff that begs to be snuggled under the tree for that special someone. From Vignettes, all the way down Park across from the firehouse, to the bookstores, curio shops, Video Maniacs further up there is something for everybody.

And for those still looking online, well here's a selection from www.coopAmerica.org

• Get green offers year round. Sign up for Co-op America's email newsletter.
• Search thousands of green businesses in the National Green Pages™ online.
• Find these offers on our website at www.coopamerica.org/go/holidaygifts

HAROLD PINTER WINS PULITZER PRIZE FOR LITERATURE

He was long a towering intellect in the theatre, and we remember well how his plays were anatomized in workshops to see the master craftsmanship in each beat of dialogue. Pinter has written twenty-nine plays including The Birthday Party, The Caretaker, The Homecoming, and Betrayal, twenty-one screenplays including The Servant, The Go-Between and The French Lieutenant's Woman, and directed twenty-seven theatre productions, including James Joyce's Exiles, David Mamet's Oleanna, seven plays by Simon Gray and many of his own plays including his latest, Celebration, paired with his first, The Room at The Almeida Theatre, London in the spring of 2000.

He has been awarded the Shakespeare Prize (Hamburg), the European Prize for Literature (Vienna), the Pirandello Prize (Palermo), the David Cohen British Literature Prize, the Laurence Olivier Award and the Moliere D'Honneur for lifetime achievement. In 1999 he was made a Companion of Literature by the Royal Society of Literature. He has received honorary degrees from fourteen universities.

Its no surprise that he would eventually earn the highest accolade in the world for his work and we congratulate the master of playwrighting for his recent award from the Swedish Academy. His acceptance speech, delivered via video from London where he is now battling throat cancer is downloadable from here or from his own website at haroldpinter.org. Right click on the photo and select download. We have converted the text into universal ascii text format so that MAC and LINUX users also can enjoy the pithy and typically no-holds-barred words from the greatest playwright to emerge from the last century.

HE KNOW'S WHO'S BEEN BAD OR GOOD, SO BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS SAKE

Let it be known that the IPD is out in force with Officer O'Madhauen romping and stomping in search of anyone who has had a tipple too many and dares attempt to put four wheels in motion about here. Formal traffic checkpoints will be set up on Webster and on Park Street, with the Webster Steet checkpoint now in progress in the hours after dark. With the recent crackdown on DUI, the penalties for being even .001 over the limit can START at thirty days in jail, plus three months probation, plus 40 hours of community service, plus another 40 hours of mandatory group alcohol counseling, plus the fine of several hundred dollars. And that is not including what will happen to your insurance rates.

We would advise you to carry a bicycle in your trunk if you dare plan on having even one single eggnog, for Officer O'Madhauen is not to be trifled with. And that bicycle better have a working headlight and taillight or he will still pull you over.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

You would think this time of year would mellow out the savagery in the Xians hereabouts, maybe fill this jaundiced fellers with a bit of good cheer and some joy for once, but Reverend Rectumrod has been fulminating most furiously from his pulpit of sulphur and old tires about what some people call "the Holiday Season." The other day, Eugene Gallipagus tipped his hat to the Reverend outside of Pagano's Hardware and wished the cleric a "Happy Holiday". Instead of a jovial, "Same to you!", the Reverend shrieked as if he had just caught himself in his own zipper and slammed the poor boy over the head with a Babtist version of the Bible, which, although being heavily edited, is known to be quite as thick as the King James version by reason of its interpolations and Jerry Falwell commentary.

Seems certain Xians just cannot abide the notion that some people make and buy gifts for one another during this time of year out of a sense of thankfulness, generosity, joy, and general good will instead of decent Xian fear and compulsion. To this end, they abhor the idea of wishing someone "Happy Holiday", for this smacks of Ygassril-derived evergreen trees, pagan solstice observances, and age-old winter Saturnalia observances stemming from the lull between harvest and planting.

To say nothing of Hannukhah. God forbid that anyone miss a single day of Puritan's work for a single night of Hannukhah, a notoriously non-Xian yontif.

Reverend Rectumrod wishes to force everybody to say "Merry Christmas" and if anybody does not kowtow, he'll collect his gang of archbishops and beat them into submission, goddammit. He even has taken to hazing his good friend Wal-Mart, which has reacted by lifting its great shaggy corporate head to regard him and his ilk like a mildly amusing set of dancing fleas, for Wal-Mart has a budget at least twice the size of the Roman Catholic Church and consequently does what it damn well pleases.

The commercialization of Xmas bothers the Reverend not a whit. In fact, Rectumrod endorses consumerism, for it supports the economy, chips into the coffers that help fight the Iraq war against the infidels, and generally mixes the spiritual with the profane in a way that the Reverend is absolutely positive conduces a win-win situation for his Party. After all, these people are all about success in life, wealth and power as being symptoms of evolved higher spirituality. Strength equals sanctity, in the Reverend's book.

We take this to mean that Mr. T and the former governor of Minnesota are to be appointed as deacons any day now.

The Reverend's policy on non-inclusiveness tends to be consistent, if nothing else and can be summarized in a statement from his most recent sermon: "We all gets to cakewalk up to heaven during a great Rapture 'cause we are the Select, dudes. The country has got more of us so we get to call the shots. The rest of you go to Hell."

That about sums it up: "The rest of you go to Hell." Both literally and figuratively.

As for Xmas, well, the "rest of us" will practice generosity, good will, inclusiveness, peace and joy with a sense of humor and see what comes of it.

I HAVE MY SHIP AND MUSIC IS HER NAME

Due to a rather savage touch of the flu, we have missed out on a wealth of stuff happening locally and lately. Houston Jones returned to McGrath's Pub Saturday while Roy Rogers teamed again up with Norton Buffalo down in the Fox Theater. Eli's Mile High Club threw a major shindig with the original lead guitarist for the John Lee Hooker Blues Revue. Baltimore's Favorite Son, John Waters, held his annual JW XXXmas at the Fillmore with the puckish Jonathan Richman opening. Los Lobos, not just another band from East LA, owned the Fillmore for Friday and Saturday night, and they are still hosing down the embers from that one.

Mike Stern, with Victor Wooten, is sure to dazzle with fretboard virtuosity over at Yoshi's in one of those rare "musician's musician" type of concerts for those in the know at Yoshi's from 12/20 to 12/23. This is one of those insider sorts of things, for the musicians involved are most involved with perfecting craft rather than pushing MTV video spots.

Be informed that Mark Hummel brings his 15th annual Blues Harmonica blowout to Yoshis from 1/13 to 1/15 and this typically sells out for good reason.

As for New Years, Phil Lesh and Friends hold forth at the Bill Graham Civic with John Mayer's Trio to preserve the 30 year plus tradition of a "Dead Eve." Local band Tea Leaf Green is handling duties at the Independent, which is developing quite a nice set of bookings. Cafe du Nord is doing a "hillbilly extravaganza" with Red Meat and others; go figure. For you gender-bender types, 12 Galaxies is having Fairy Butch usher in the new year. You who know and don't care about the dirt under your fingernails will enjoy Four Year Bender and The Mother Truckers at, of course, Benders, at 806 South Van Ness in the City. And for those of you with little imagination, there are always the canned-music turntable venues like Ruby Skye who plan on saturating your being with thick basslines and Whitney Houston/Brittany/Janet cloned-vocals.

Personally, we are looking hard at Lou's on the Wharf. With such a year as we have all suffered, it seems the Blues are the right ticket to kick this old bastard out for the new to enter.

GOT 200 MILES OF RAIN ASPHALT IN MIND BEFORE I GET TO SLEEP

Sorry to say to you snowbound folks somewhat east of here you got one hella dockwalloper coming your way. The temps dropped near freezing here Friday, before yielding to a powerful storm front that deluged the Bay Area with such a rain we have not seen for some twenty years, complete with thunder and lightning, oh yeah. It's flipped from strangely balmy weather to proper winter. When winter comes, even the die-hards shuck their sandals and shorts for shoes and impermeables. Winter in the Bay Area is a soggy affair which begins some time after autumn has pulled in its blanket of fogs and after a moment of leaf-swirling warmth called in other places "Indian Summer". Then ensue steady days of mild rain falling through almost balmy air. One year it did get so cold that snow fell on Mount Tam and all along Grizzley Peak Boulevard, to the dangerous depth of about a quarter of an inch, closing schools and snarling traffic down to Santa Cruz.

RING OUT SOLSTICE BELLS

Well, it's been a quiet week here on the Island. James Moskito of the Island assisted a team of divers who performed a humanitarian rescue of a 45-ton humpback whale which got entangled in crab trap lines off the Farallons this week. Quite unexpectedly, the animal remained quiet until being cut loose, then lifted each one of the divers out of the water one by one before departing, no doubt with a great deal of gratitude.

A man awoke from a Tuesday afternoon nap to find a man had entered his home through an open window. The burglar chased the home owner inside the house with a club before departing over a back fence.

Holiday Row is all ablaze with lights and the official PO Letterbox which sends its missives to the North Pole direct has been set out on the median strip, but the recent rain has put a kibosh on the usual rubbernecking down there. Still, Santa Clara and Grand Street are all ablaze with decorations. Went over to the recently opened Home Depot which was five miles closer than the place we usually go to fetch a tree but somehow the lot simply did not have the sincerity of the old place. Well, you know, its sort of like Linus and his Sincere Pumpkin Patch on Halloween. They had plenty of trees, of course, but most of them were all pre-wrapped in that plastic mesh and there was no way of getting a proper gander at the fullness of the thing. Besides, there were few people out there knocking about. It was all too easy, with no lines and no nervous comparisions between your fir and their birch or whatever. It just was not the same. And their bolt assortment for mounting the tree was pathetically slim.

So we hopped in the car and drove south to the same place we have gotten a tree for ten years running with all of its shouting kids and mixed families jostling and lines and two bored guys from Fruitvale working for a few bucks to cut the trunk and slip the properly inspected tree into the same plastic mesh encountered at the other place. What no price tag? Heck, here's one on the ground; they are all the same. Go inside there and pay. Okay, so we did that and shoehorned the seven footer into the four-footer trunk with a tag of red tape wound around the tip to satisfy Officer O'Madhauen and then made our way cautiously down Doolittle Drive back over the bridge to the Island.

After 14 hours working at the Clinic with crazies and drug pushers marking the alleys everybody was so wiped we stuck the tree in the storage unit and crashed out for work began earnestly at seven the following morning.

Finally, we got to it a couple days later and hauled the seven-footer up the crickety stairs to set him in the cast-iron stand and work the screws with only one bolt missing to finally achieve some sort of stability. Then there was sorting through strands of lights with burnt bulbs and the blown fuse and the wobbly plug connectors. Okay now, do it this way: go inside and then to the out now, here take the end now. What, go here now? No, no, up up now! Finally all the lights get strung on a daisy chain that would fright the UHL. Now everybody has the flu and rain patters the windows, but the tree stands there with ropes of lights prior to tinsel and ornaments.

So the kids, wherever they might be and wind up, will drift by in their rootlessness and find the same old tree there with the lights and the ornaments done up and maybe feel some continuity in their lives that pull more in details from the movie "The Squid and the Whale" than "Its a Wonderful Life". At least they have this much.

Meanwhile all down the row the bright lights battle the winter storms this weekend with typically Californian optimism which insists that no matter what, gold will be found in them hills one day. Somehow, things will turn out all right and karma will revolve the wheel of circumstance.

That is the way it is on the Island. Have a Happy Holiday.

 

DECEMBER 12, 2005

DA FLU BLUES

This week the entry is truncated due to illness among the staff.

NOT SO SAFE WAY

Anybody checked out the new "lifestyle" Safeways? One just opened here, and its clear that the old 1950's image of the grocery store is gone, supplanted by gigantism, soft lighting, gormet ready-to-eat foods, and, of course, higher prices

All this came to the Island which is struggling through a seachange of the season, what with the six-story parking garage to be built downtown, a ten screen cineplex, and massive revamping of the Webster STreet and Park Street corridors. And its a shame, for the charm of the Island has been its art deco facades, neon signs and a general sense of being lost in time.

NOT SO SILENT NIGHT

Went with the girls to our traditional Holiday concert, the annual Live 105 Not So Silent Night, held once again back at the Bill Graham Aud. This year, the concert returned to an eclectic lineup from its spate of solid thrash core punk which had rendered previous years a bit too much of a good thing. POD is fine. Linkin Park is fine. AFI is great. But put them all together with identical-sounding bands in a venue where sonic mud evolves from the hastily built soundsystems and one has, well a bit of tedium and sameness.

This year Live 105 put up on the stage Birdmonster, Autolux, Coheed & Cambria, Hot Hot Heat, Death Cab for Cutie, the White Stripes with the crowds clearly selling out the show primarily for the last two.

COHEED & CAMBRIA

We arrived shortly before the very loud and very energetic Coheed & Cambria took the stage.

The band has been labeled, a bit unfairly, with the tag "Emo rock", which tends to wallow quite a bit in self pity and similar vices. C&C however, present a powerful synthesis of prog rock and goth with a bit of wild metal tossed in. Their short set closed out with a remarkable ensemble intrumental reminiscent of -- god forbid -- The Grateful Dead's "Space" but done with edgy discipline and firm melodic structure, something never characteristic of the Dead even at their finest.

It's too bad their lyrics, which have a number of critics raving, got entirely lost in the usual sonic mud of the Civic, but that ten minute closer really blew the doors off of the place..

HOT HOT HEAT

Hot Hot Heat hail from Victoria, B.C., a town best known for imitating the queen's England in the service of tourism. And in truth, with the guitarist and bassist done in the best of English mod style with pointy shoes and black tuxedos, we all thought they had just hopped across the pond. Their music, however, fuses punk, new wave and British synth pop, with vocalist Steve Bays rocking out on a center-stage synthesizer piano. Bays proved to rise about the sound system with clearly understood vocals backed by lean and tight rhythm section, indicating that real pros know how to handle the problems of a difficult venue. These guys are a fun band who enjoy performing their very danceable music.

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE

Much attention has duly been focused on singer/lyricist Ben Gibbard, who has risen above the rest by attending to the musicianship of his vocals where others simply resort to screaming. In fact, his voice is very reminiscent of early Donovan. He fronts a Seattle-based quarted that is most often described and picking up where Built to Spill left off in the indie-pop realm. They are a little more thoughtful than Built to Spill, their intimidating band name nothwithstanding, and they are very listenable. And that Ben Gibbard has all the women melting under that doe-eyed gaze of his, so these guys are very likely to continue to do well and most likely, after well over a decade of paying dues, will emerge with their latest effort, "Transatlanticism" into the top 40.

WHITE STRIPES

The sold out venue was fully packed by the time the odd couple from Detroit of Meg and Jack White took the stage. The White Stripes have all the critics raving and many of the critics snarling in such a way that its difficult to be objective from the get go. The band is nonexistent: its just the two on stage, with Meg White rapping out the beat and not much else on the drums, leaving Jack to perform vocals and guitar. It's a stripped sound for sure, but in reality Jack makes so much noise with a slight echo effect on the vocal and definite fuzz on the amp that they sound like a quartet.

The crowd obviously loved them, although signs of trouble in this outfit preceeded them to the stage.

In style, Jack's playing is much like R.L. Burnside, and it was no surprise to find he has covered more than a couple of the late great bluesman's songs. He does not get flashy, or engage in finger flourishes with which so many capable musicians pack their songs. It's just straight ahead blues rock. That being said in their favor, the extremely offputting aspect about them is their arch, self-conscious pretension. They affect costumes of white and red or red and black and their stage instruments were self-consciously designed with those visuals in mind: black piano, red guitar, red & white drum set, red and white tubular bells, etc. Well, all right, that's a schtick and its all show business.

But apparently they are seriously, deadly earnest. Here's a quote from Rolling STone: "Jack and Meg White are without doubt the strangest, most fascinating couple to surface from the US in the past four years.

Jack's life in particular has become something of a soap opera. There's been brawling (with Jason Von Bondie), a Hollywood romance (Renee Zellweger), car crashes and now his sudden marriage to 25-year-old model Karen Elson on the eve of this latest release. All very odd but completely engrossing stuff."

Then there is the habit of the two in presenting silly misinformation, such as the statement they had been married, followed by a denial and a statement that they were brother and sister. And Jack's hissy fit when he stalked off of the stage after a balloon hit him mid-song. Oh really.

Yeah, well. All of this backstage antic stuff is really boring and hardly shows a candle to the excesses of so many others, and ultimately is a real turn-off. Just put on some jeans and play your damn guitar, Jack.

The best analysis of the duo was done by an obscure blogger at happyrobot.net. This fellow loved the WS when he first heard them, liked them alot the second time, but the third time, the sheen was off. A band that runs as a schtick gets old and the circumstances that elevated them in the first place have changed. They are no longer the new strange kids in town.

In fact the reviewer was of the opinion that in Jack's refusal to evolve and Meg's refusal to play the drums they are willfully self-destructing. Well, self-destruction is hardly new in rock music as well and so we are left with predictable spectacle about to happen. Sure wish it wouldn't for the same reasons that everybody loved them from the start: they were new and fresh and dared do something different while skipping the formulas.

Here are some of his closing comments:

"They're through because of their stupid, self-defeating rules about rules. Though I doubt they'll suffer -- it's obviously a death-wish. It's not the artificiality of it that irks me, it's the romance.

There's something dishonest about The White Stripes, something high. I've read that Jack White is not ironic. Whatever. But let's not assume that he's without device. Sure, I think he's serious about what he does, and far be it from me to lay claims to his tastes, his influences, or his real true inner being. They turned down a Gap ad -- an act that in today's culture is the mark of spiritual superiority, though it's semantics to me. The Stripes are talked about like they're the Holden Caulfield's of rock because they reject the modern world -- well, parts of it anyway. Their exclusions might carry more weight if they weren't so easy and negative. I'd be more likely to be impressed if instead of the liner notes reading No computers were used during the writing, recording, mixing, or mastering of this record, they read, No phones were used in the booking of any of our shows. Come off it."

And this is all from a guy who says he likes them. Of course we like them: they are still energetic and fun and quirky. Just wish they would come down from the high horse and play the music. After all, at the end of the day, its really all about the music. And its only Rock and Roll.

BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I ROCK AND ROLLED YEAH

This coming back from rock concerts at 1 am becomes more a rarety as one gets older. The lesson here is clearly, "rust never sleeps". Got the flu bug in the worst way and the usual panacea of two quarts of whiskey doesn't seem to be working as it should.

Going to take my chicken soup and go. To bed. That's the way it is on the Island. Stay healthy and have a great week.

 

 

DECEMBER 4, 2005

POST POODLESHOOT WRAPUP

Hope all of you are done with turkey soup and sandwiches by now. Don't keep that jellied cranberry sauce in the back of the fridge too long or it will be come the singing and dancing subject of a Garrison Keillor monologue.

Yes, we must confess we too are addicts of the Prarie Home Companion and have fallen in love a little bit with that particular Swedish-American voice that always ties up the end of the Noir detective bit. "Up on the 12th floor of the Acme Building sits Guy Noir, pondering the mysteries of the universe." How can you fall in love with a voice? Well, its hard to explain and you would really have to love Radio in a way people do not seem to do around here anymore. Maybe they still do out there in the Heartland, where the sturdy man has no time for TV on the job, but flicks that dial and goes about his business among the hay bales in the steaming barn for long hours at a stretch and where the Radio is the sole human glue, as it was for years for millions of Americans, binding them all together in some wierd amalgam at the same time long ago.

Somewhere in the packed masonry of states a transmitter was sending out hourly ads for the King Bisquits and the folksy talk of long past wisdom culled from the Farmers Almanac. The DJ would say, "Got a little Skip James for ya. Think you'll like it." And then you would be off and running. All along the fretboard.

As for that voice, well, sometime just ask your Main Squeeze, your Significant Other, your Companion there, to read something. Maybe say, "Honey, my eyes are not so good tonight. Would you read this back to me so I can get it right."

And for god's sakes don't pick something like "Electrostatic Fluctuations within Isotonic and Non-Isotonic Solutions", for that would be a bad idea.

You might listen to the voice and if you listen well enough, well, you will understand.

Now, bear in mind we offer no condolences or insurable liability for what might ensue or any consequences thereafter. It would be well to visit a comfortable pharmacist in advance so as to be prudent.

Now as for the Poodleshoot -- this section is about the Poodleshoot, if you recall -- many thanks to all who participated. No real horses were hurt during the devising of this BBQ. The author of Fat City is safe at home in the woods of Marin and he has done far worse things to himself than blowout the windows of a schoolhouse or attempt to kill a poodle. Professional stuntmen and imbeciles for hire were employed to make the more dangerous scenes. And of course, lawyers make us say, kids, don't try this at home.

The winners of the annual awards as well as the rules will be posted here: www.island-life.net\poodleshoot.htm.

Now as an eZine is much like a radio show in that people can tune in regularly or not and you don't get to see the principal characters without some imagining, we now fade out to . . . .

OH I THINK HE'S AN ANGRY ELF

Just saw the Will Farrell vehical "Elf", and was most enchanted. The little angry feller in the boardroom reminded all of us of particular someones. For those of you who have ever spent time in a high corporate boardroom and watched someone behave like a, well, like a petulant angry and mollycoddled dwarf, this is the movie for you. And Will Farrell was eminently believable as a simple minded guy who gets himself put into the wrong place. For those of you who like movie trivia, the rehab convict working in the mail room who gets drunk on the job and makes friends with Farrell is Jeff Bridges, he of the "Great Lebowski".

All the Bay Area lit up this weekend despite the recent calls by radical fundamentalists to murder foreign heads of state and otherwise ruin the true spirit of the season: shopping and practiced magnaminity.

Where some -- like us -- value heartfelt magnaminity, generosity of spirit, warmth of soul, tolerance and freedom, some others around here and there prefer foremost relentless efficiency, agressive competence, rules-ordered behavior and personal satisfaction as well as personal power over others to the aforementioned values. Was it not one of Bush's people who once said "Scrooge was misunderstood. He really did all he could as an employer in Victorian England."

Yes, well, that line was last used in reference to Adolf Hitler. "He liked ballroom dancingk!"

In any case, here we had our official tree-lighting ceremony with season songs and the original tap dancing xmas trees who are too bizarre for words. Remarkable is too mild a word to describe twelve ladies dressed in costumes making them out to be decorated trees complete with little stars on top and all tap dancing at once. They have been reported in this space before, but you can see photos of them in past years for they are a continuing Island tradtion and have performed before Presidents and at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Yes, they have travelled East even beyond Chicago.

The tree-lighting event began at 5:30 with the closure of the ice skating rink in the parking lot of City Hall -- which still has not regained its lost bell tower -- and the launch of music from a stage on a closed portion of Santa Clara Avenue in front of City Hall itself. Some 800 Islanders showed up with many a toddler hoisted on high. The Great Man, Santa himself showed up and the countdown to the lighting was shouted by the enthusiastic throng. In short, a grand time was had by all.

Our roving correspondants, Jim 'n Sue report that the Island "Best of Broadway" went off smashinglyl well with nearly a full house over there at the old Island High Auditorium. Built in the early 1920's, the Romanesque structure can seat some 2,000 people. The elegant Frederica von Stade served as emcee hostess for this benefit evening wherein the full orchestra and conducter donated their time and industry to assist Hurricane Katrina survivors.

 

BLUE XMAS AND ONWARD

Yes, we know, you can't box spirit and put it under a tree. The kids won't buy that for a second.

Continuing the BLUE XMAS report, here's a nice place to click on over to for a wide variety of gifts.

www.coopamerica.org/go/holidaygifts

Got a musician in house? A present and future Eric Clapton air guitarist? Can't go wrong with the following:

Kaki King - Wunderkind from the rubble of NYC voted "Best Guitarist in US" by several leading periodicals. She is 17. She has one CD. Get it.

Bruce Cockburn - Speechless - This extraordinary lyricist has put down his Shure mic to compilea delicious selection of instrumentals.

Leo Kottke and Mike Gordon - 99 Steps - The long-time incomparable master of the 12-string has teamed up with the former bassist for the trippy band once called Phish to make a remarkable series of smooth covers with really remarkable re-interpretations.

Neal Young - Anything the Grandfather of Grunge comes up with has to be good. This time he returns to his Harvest days with his latest offering.

KFOG Live from the Archives Vol. 12 -- This annual benefit for the Bay Area food banks consists of live, rare performances by local and international artists. They are all hyping the Train medley of Led Zep tunes, but really the stand out on the CD is a burning hot track from . The CD typically sells out and becomes a collector's item fetching hundreds of dollars on the grey market later. Available from Tower Records.

IF JESUS DROVE A MOTORHOME

Rolled in late as a consequence of viewing "Crash" with the gals. Began to think Big Hollywood had lost its ability to make anything of quality anymore, but this movie had us old cynics gasping and crying and gripping the seat cushions with white knuckles it was that good.

Back from the mean streets of LA, the quiet streets of the Island checkerboard the neat little Edwardian houses bordered with wisteria and half-lit apartment buildings while stray cats make their rounds on this suddenly frosty evening. The house down the way has limned its frame and shrubbery with season lights and the Garden Nursery across the street has done the same.

All is quiet here on the Island. Because that's just the way it is. Have a great week.

 

UPCOMING EVENTS

The Island will have an exclusive Open Studios the weekend of the 3rd-4th, in which artists based here will throw open their studio doors for all to see. Because of the high rents and basic ruthlessness of the rental situation across the water in Babylon, artists have been leaving the City in great numbers to settle here in the East Bay, where the weather and the people are more congenial. The weekend promises to be a delightful experience for those people seeking the new and the unusual, for the Island has become host to quite an array of ceramists, metal workers, glassblowers, and textile artists of all kinds. Do come and enjoy.

We note Sweetwater in Mill Valley is back with lots of excellent stuff going on in that intimate venue. Jules Broussard performed there this weekend.

Get your culture, hot, Californian, and Latin-influenced, from Ozomatli at the Fillmore Dec. 1-3. The Warfield fights back with the stupendously talented guitarist Trey Anastasio 12/2- 12/3. Taj Mahal again takes over Yoshis from 11/29-12/4. And who do we see following the Great Man in the West Coast's premier jazz club, but our own little Natasha Miller 12/12! Goodness girl, you go!

Speaking about girls, there is local jazzband Girl Talk at Anna's Jazz Island in Berzerkeley December 1st, 8-10 pm. Check http://www.annasjazzisland.com for details. Club location is 2120 Allston Way. This refreshing little band does a little Brazilian-inflected sound with some some nice Afro-pop vocals and is very work checking out. They are doing a number of benefits during this season and you can learn more about them at http://girltalkband.com/

And since people will be looking to NYE starting about now, note the String Cheese Incident will hold forth for two nights at the SF Concourse with at least 12 other bands. Go to WWW.seaofdreamsNYE.com for info. As mentioned before The Dead will again take stage at the Kaiser Aud. in a tradition that is now 36 years running. For Yoshis, jazz trumpeter Arturo Sandoval blows open the doors.

DAMN RIGHT I GOT THE BLUES

Checked into McGrath's on a slow Saturday night to see Ron Thompson performing solo. Ron Thompson has been around for years and watching him perform is watching a rhythmic hot fusion converting base matter into energy. The man lives and breathes pure music and every performance is electrifying.

Ron has performed with and recorded for legends like Big Mama Thornton, Sonny Rhodes, Luther Tucker, Jimmy McCracklin, Pee Wee Crayton, Carla Thomas, School Boy Cleve, Percy Mayfield, Etta James, B.B. King, and Jimmy Reed. Then there is Fleetwood Mac, Chris Isaak, Carlos Santana, Bonnie Raitt, Elvin Bishop, Bill Medley, Huey Lewis, Dr. John, songwriter Bobby Womak, The Fabulous Thunderbirds, Robert Cray Band, Z.Z. Top, John Lee Hooker, and many others.

Ron Thompson is a legendary blues guitarist and master keyboardist whose career began in the rough and tumble world of East Bay nightclubs and bars in the early ‘70s. After touring coast-to-coast for seven years with John Lee Hooker as band leader, Hooker was quoted as saying, "Ron Thompson, he's my main man!"

Mr. Thompson plays fingerstyle without pick or thumb-hammers, steadily drumming the bassline in the old Carter-family style while executing the melody and inserting some pretty amazing flourishes and etudes that should be studied by anyone seriously interested in the guitar. He also proved himself a fairly good talent on stride and barrelhouse piano. If your taste runs to Robert Johnson, Skip James, Bukka White, Son House, and the old school of blues before Chicago turned everything into predictable dunta-duntas, Ron Thompson is the man for you.

A main stage headliner for the prestigious SF Blues Festival, Grammy nominee many times over, the man easily fills stadiums with his band The Resistors, but he will play small venues like McGrath's as Peter counts the man as a personal friend. He is about to begin a national and international tour, part of which is to include the "Blues Cruise" that will stop at several countries in the Caribbean and South America. His final US dates are listed below.

 

 

BLUE XMAS

In our continuing series we provide alternative sources for original and traditional gifts for this holiday season which act responsibly and in good faith, thereby avoiding the detestable and the Scrooge-like stores who open their coffers to the obnoxious, wreck the environment, and otherwise behave reprehensibly.

Southwest Indian Foundation - www.southwestindian.com (One of the neat things about this group which uses funds to assist native Americans is that, since it is a nonprofit, a portion of the expense is tax-deductible as gift to charity 501(c)3.

A greater gift, SERRV International - www.agreatergift.org

National Green Pages, published by Co-op America. Check these guys out at www.coopamerica.org. They are very very comprehensive and very very good at presenting information clearly.

True Majority has a nifty little shop at http://www.truemajorityshop.com which benefits this worthy cause.

No need to turn beet red this Xmas season. Be True Blue.

WHATS RED AND WHITE AND SPINS AROUND IN THE CORNER?

Speaking of holidays, Pagano's Hardware has once again done their storefront up to match the Season. Now, this may not be on the scale of Macy's in Union Square, but then Macy's is a corrupt old gouger helmed by thousands of underpaid and slatternly females who tiredly peddle overpriced baubles under the severe and very watchful eyes of Mr. Smith who occasionally grabs a shrieking salesgirl to violate anally in the stockroom from time to time. While Pagano's remains a happy and carefree place of hardware and garden fertilizer. It's hard to be duplicitous about hardware.

You can take your pick.

In any case, we note the change of seasons by the change in the Pagano's storefront windows on Lincoln Street. It's a twenty-foot long window and it is quite amazing what is done by the little elves overnight. And at first glance, the scene appears to be a normal Norman Rockwell scene of jolly Santa surrounded by little babes frolicking beside the Xmas tree.

A closer look indicates some curious items among the presents.

Something does not seem to be quite right about this scene. Something seems amiss.

Now we have here three lovely babes on a settee with some odd powertools. Is this quite safe? Is that a chainsaw?

Good Heavens! The one child is playing with a butcher knife beside a complete steak-knife set while the other child is cradled by the arms of a set of sharp hedge trimmers!

Just about the only thing that could cap this disaster in the making would be a child playing with matches and starting a fire amid the chaos.

 

NOVEMBER 27, 2005

THE POODLESHOOT THIS TIME

The day dawned gloomy with Matrix-like storm skies and proper November weather as the official bugle tooted its toot and the official toast of the Hunt -- served up in the official beverage, Wild Turkey, -- was downed. With a jolly crescendo from the horn section of the Hoophole High School Marching Band and Classical Orchestra, the annual Island Poodleshoot and BBQ had begun. Soon, the merry sounds of the hunt drifted across the Island: shouts of "Poodle there!", the sharp crack of freshly oiled Winchester rifles, the occasional sputter of automatic weapons and machine guns and the frequent Whump of percussion grenades. A couple caballero's from San Francisco clattered down Otis Drive, armed with riatas and lances. Peter, from McGrath's, set himself up near the Washington School with a small nine-pound howitzer stuffed with grapeshot, while Leonard Gardner from Marin showed up with genuine black powder blunderbuss.

Not to fear for Leonard's safety, as he also packed a Colt .45 revolver should the thing fail to ignite in a pinch of poodles.

We had a number of celebrities among us, beside Mr. Gardner for the renown of the annual affair has spread far and wide. It may be the accidental torching of the entire Strand the year Artie brought in a flame-thrower pulled from US Army tank and mounted on the back of his truck, or it may be the destruction of several thirty-footers in the Marina when Hans Brinker employed mortar rounds that started the buzz that the Island is THE place to be on Thanksgiving.

The Island tends to be rather peaceful most of the time, but there is something about the atavistic blood lust stirred up by a really exciting poodlehunt that beckons the imagination to romp in full glory.

In any case, we had the honor to have among us the Chief Advisor to the President of the Bums and main architect of the War on Terriers as well as the invasion of Newark, Karl Manley Stovepipe. Mr. Stovepipe showed up in his usual regalia of full camo pants and jacket with camo spats, waistcoat and patterned boots of the most martial kind. His Clint Eastwood eyes glared coldly with the ferocity of a natural born killer from underneath his helmet and he chomped a cheroot with such savagery that one could almost pity the poodle that would encounter this superior species of Republican. It was well known that he had the skull and crossbones tattooed upon his naked pate. About his virile chest he strapped bandoliers of hollow points, dumdums, bear slugs, explosive shells and armor-piercing bullets. By his one side he strapped a two-foot long Arkansas toothpick and on the other he sported a modified 45 caliber automatic pistol which had a circular loading cartridge that held 24 shells. It looked like something from a science fiction movie and in order to shoot it, normal men had to tie their arm to a tree to handle the kickback. Mr. Stovepipe's main weapon of choice that day was a simple hand-held anti-tank bazooka. Clearly he did not care much if his catch was totally destroyed. The man loved war and killing, purely and simply.

Padraic showed up with a barrel of his special home brew, which he rationed out, but Mr. Stovepipe would show his spunk by downing a double portion. And when Padraic was not looking, he tapped yet more of the keg into his hip flask, for as mentioned, he was a Republican and that is their way.

Padraic did not have a chance to say anything of the part that keg had played in the infamous Poodleshoot of 2001 or that this liquor was minimally 150 proof. No he did not.

It was over by Chipman Middle School that things went badly awry. Besides the explosion over by the former W.W.I memorial at Crab Cove; that was another story with unfortunate consequences.

There, across from the schoolyard Officer O'Madhauen pulled the two caballeros over and cited them for exceeding the speedlimit in a school zone and turning left without signaling. The men were riding palominos at the time, but choice of vehicle matters not to this vigilant officer of the traffic law, for this is The Island and on this Island, traffic enforcement exceeds all others in priority. As a consequence, we have the same accident rate as Berkeley, which is notoriously not an island, proud defenders of the Department have said.

The Island Dogwalker's Association -- a rather unruly and provacational bunch in the best of times -- had gathered to watch from the schoolyard, and on such a day, they were all armed with umbrellas and other secret weapons.

"Look Fifi! Look at the horsey!", one of them said.

In any case, while the Officer was inspecting one vehicle for possible code violations, the unfortunate beast relieved himself of internal gaseous pressure. This caused the Officer to jump back. In fact he jumped back so far that his foot caught on the curb there and he fell flat on his back beside the stone sign there. That stone sign with its vegetation that makes such a perfect hiding place for a hunter looking to draw a bead on Fifi. Startled, the hunter there, for it was Mr. Gardner, dropped his match into the pan and accidentally discharged his gun. Which harmlessly broke a school window. But which also startled the horses.

Unfortunately for the horses and also for the caballeros, these were not true caballeros, but a couple of homeboys from Fruitvale and they had gotten their silver-studded outfits with sombreros from a costume supply shop. More importantly, they were a bit unclear on what to do exactly about a spooked horse.

Not to fear, for the riders need only lasso a tree and tie off the horse until it calmed down. Which one rider did quite successfully. The other however discovered he had made a terrible mistake when the bush began screaming as it got dragged along the ground. The man had not lassoed a bush; he had lassoed Mr. Stovepipe, who had been steadily finishing the last of Padriac's home-brew on the other side of the concrete marker among the real trees.

As he was being dragged along the grassy baseball field there, the pistol on his hip started firing, adding to the ruckus and everybody ducked down with dogwalkers throwing aside their leashes and impermeables this way and that so as to take cover for their lives.
About the time the bullets ran out of the gun the horse reached the Dogwalker's banquet table and leapt right over it, dragging Mr. Stovepipe through several angelfood upsidedown cakes as well as a large and formidable tub of that substance found inevitably at Rotarian and Kiwanis Club picnics, the misnamed "ambrosia".

This trivia is not so significant compared to the fact that although possessed of poor taste and questionable morals, the Dogwalkers Association did not consist of overly cruel individuals. An enterprising Mr. Beasley tied a couple leashes together to make his own lasso with which he captured the horse who had run into the baseball backpen area and gotten confused. After much discussion and the employment of mini-scissors, a pocketknife and tweezers, the rope attaching horse and man was cut in the middle while the man part lay semiconscious amid a crowd of yapping, yipping and licking dogs and there were poodles among them.

Some of the hunters came up, having regained their courage after a few more nips of the bottle and the cessation of random bullets, but being so near the school they could not discharge their weapons.

"I think it rather a good idea to call it a day all around," said Mr. Beasley. And he added, "We have your man in our power."

The hunters were rather concerned about the potential ramifications of this affair involving the President's Chief Advisor, so they eagerly agreed to halt the proceedings. Everyone was called back to the BBQ, where Padriac supplied the drink from his cask and the meager grill with seared Ahi, so nobody went home hungry that day. Or sober.

And that was the end of the 2005 Annual Island Poodleshoot and BBQ.

As for Mr. Stovepipe, he not only survived his wounds, but would brag about them and the incredible battle he had enjoined against superior numbers with his back to the wall, armed only with his Arkansas toothpick. He told everybody who would listen that he gave the enemy a damn fine licking.

We hope you had a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving. That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.

 

NOVEMBER 20, 2005

ITS NOT EASY BEING GREEN

While Eugene Shrubb is visiting foreign countries in the time honored tradition of scampering off on "statesman" activities when the going gets hot and unpopular at home, we should not forget Laura, the First Bum Lady, who also has been trying to keep busy by inviting famous artists, poets and prose writers to the Off-White House, but with little success as virtually everyone of importance has refused the invites, not wanting to be associated in any way with these particular bums or their administration, widely seen as fostering a culture of corrupted incompetence. The Poet Laureate for the Nation was heard to remark in his tart refusal, "Madam would you please govern your husband!"

First Bum Lady Laura however is not to be undone by this, for she too has taken to the foreign circuit and has managed to score a coup of sorts in the successful invites to foreign dignitaries -- who, of course, have no other place to stay although it appears from the following photograph the ambassador from one foreign country managed to substitute another for his place in a recent visit.

 

 

BAD NEWS FROM SOFT DANGEROUS SHORES

Snagged reference off the radio this am about a "sad situation" concerning personal favorite and maestro of open tunings Chris Whitley. On investigation found that all of the man's concerts have been canceled for he is bedridden and in the final stages of lung cancer. The chain-smoking guitarist started losing weight some time ago but like most musicians who basically pay their own way as self-employed salesmen, his health insurance was minimal at best and a doctor visit only served to give him his last one-way ticket information. This very talented musician is not expected to survive into the next year.

His brother has responded on chriswhitley.com to well wishers where you also may send a line.

THOSE DARK FORCES ARE THE SAME THAT BURN CROSSES

The latest flap on the Island is all over the metal artwork hanging on the fence at Washington Elementary School where some people have complained that at least one figure was offensive. The life-sized figures referenced are in general featureless metal silhouettes painted in Day-Glo colors meant to represent children engaged in play activities, such as chasing a ball, jumping rope, etc. The three particular figures that caused the ruckus were yellow depictions of a girl with braided hair jumping rope. Principal Knoth had the figures removed when, after they had been up a year, someone complained that the figures seemed to depict Black children as "pickaninnies".

Local artist Jeena Wolfe designed the artworks and she feels that the Principal acted inappropriately, although she is willing to redesign the works.

Meetings have been held on the issue, with the next one to be held at the school at 7pm on the 29th.

This issue is quite serious as this Island has been accused, sometimes justly, of reserving bad racist attitudes.

TO NEW AMSTERDAM

Well its been a quiet week here on the Island. On last report the City Council modified the outrageous plan to build skyscraper parking garages and an immense cineplex in the downtown so many moviemakers find "charming" for its small town atmosphere. After a modest uproar involving torches, cudgels, vats of bubbling tar and several lengths of stout hemp, the Council agreed to change things a bit and this week they have been mopping their collective brows with damp hankies.

Pedro Snoerrer has been gathering the members of the Island Civic Duty Association for the annual Turkey Day Benefit Dinner while Peter Snarling has been busy all about town organizing for the Annual Island Poodleshoot and BBQ, which never fails to astonish everyone as the affair inevitably fizzles and bangs with chaotic distemper each and every year no matter how much Peter runs about making plans. This may have much to do with the vastly more efficient Island Dogwalkers Association.

Mrs. Poshwaddle is planning not much more than conjuring her special recipe for creamed yams topped with marshmallows for the aforementioned CDA dinner. This year the benefit is in support of the lost and found parakeets of Louisiana, left in quite a state, apparently, due to the two hurricanes which devastated the region. The idea was suggested by the former head of FEMA before his abrupt departure, and the Association has a letter from Michael Brown typed on official government stationary which makes this item one of the more cherished items among those kept in the CDA's treasury of historical memorabilia.

The dinner is expected to be a great success and has Pedro all bubbling over with good will. "Just imagine the looks on their faces in New Orleans when we tell them we raised all this money for the birds!", he was heard to exclaim.

Whatever the result, it shall certainly be a fitting legacy for Mr. Brown.

We've had a spate of really warm weather here, quite unseasonable and thoroughly confusing to the ground squirrels who have come out to dig up the yard in a state of squirrely irritation at this break in their naptime. Still the early darkness and shortening days remind us to fetch the old acoustic ax from the dusty corner and once more dive into an erratic version of Lawrence Juber's old chestnut "To New Amsterdam", written during the holidays one year while riding a train to his grandmother's house.

Well, that's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week. Eat well and for god's sake avoid the creamed yams.

 

 

 

 

NOVEMBER 14, 2005

DON'T BE A GHOST, BULWORTH

The recent Special Election held here was seen by many as a bellwether of support for Der Governator Arnold, who called for the election when, as he claimed, he was frustrated in his attempts to reform state government along lines to his liking and as endorsed by the more radical elements of the Republican Party. Well, things did not go well for Arnold at all. Here are the results as posted by the Secretary of State for California.

State Ballot Measures
100.0% ( 17726 of 17726 ) precincts reporting as of Nov 9, 2005 at 7:27 am

Pass (Y/N)	Propositions	Yes Votes	Pct.	No Votes	Pct.
N	73 Minor's Pregnancy	3,130,062	47.4	3,465,629	52.6
N	74 Teacher Tenure	2,987,010	44.9	3,662,932	55.1
N	75 Public Union Dues	3,092,495	46.5	3,551,011	53.5
N	76 Spending/Funding	2,522,327	37.9	4,115,388	62.1
N	77 Redistricting	2,673,530	40.5	3,920,487	59.5
N	78 Rx Drug Discounts	2,719,999	41.5	3,821,957	58.5
N	79 Rx Drug Rebates	2,523,803	38.9	3,950,763	61.1
N	80 Electric Regulation	2,189,126	34.3	4,182,374	65.7

Even some of the "red" areas of the State rebelled against the costly ($55 million) and largely unnecessary Special Election, which nearly everyone across the political spectrum saw as a grandstanding foolish action foisted on the taxpayers by an out-of-control and inexperienced Governor who had been elected on the basis of moderation. Quite the reverse of moderation, Schwarzenegger has consistently proposed draconian measures that fit entirely within the Neo-Con playbook, and his typically hamfisted slaps at just about any large and powerful group which happened to disagree with him helped him not a jot.

The former bodybuilder B-movie actor has called respectable members of the legislature "girly men", told representatives of various medical unions he was going to "kick their butts", labeled teachers as shiftless and lazy, threatened to yank firefighter and police pensions, and generally behaved boorishly while in office. As if to cap the boy's frustrations, the increasingly embattled President Bush showed up for a fundraiser in the state only days before the election -- and the Governor wisely (for once) refused to meet with this politician who is increasingly a liability to his own party.

"I wish he hadn't picked this time to come here," Arnold reportedly said (United Press).

Prop 73, not presented by Arnold, was drawn up by some radical Fundamentalists from the NeoCon camp and as it presented itself as a proposition that seemed to logically require MD's to inform parents of minors 48 hours before performing abortions got shot down in its bad verbiage and methodology. The Proposition would have been a Constitutional Amendment, for one thing, not just law, and it would have inserted debatable definitions for the tissues involved which almost certainly would have resulted in many savage court battles to come.

Prop 74 introduced questionable probation extentions and an even more questionable provision to pay teachers based on "job performance" without specifying how this performance would be measured. It was poorly thought out and poorly written.

Prop 75 had the odd double wammy of slamming the unions for political donations -- while exempting the bosses from the same limitations. You work for Clorox and can tell the Union where to put your money, but you can't tell Clorox itself not to give to the GOP? It was a pure and brazen attempt to bust the unions who are increasingly lining up against the Arnold.

76 was another of a long line of attempts to channelize the budget such that money's must be strictly allocated with no account transfers of any kind. Almost all of these attempts have been intentionally badly written so as to allow program cuts at the balance book level rather than at the general budget level where there is more discussion. It went down in flames.

77 was a typical GOP attempt to wrest power from places where they typically have had less or none via gerrymandering, pure and simple. The thing is, in this state, redistricting could easily go the other way, for tiny Orange County gets state reps in Sacto and Reps to Washington DC. It could easily be subsumed into San Bernardino, deluting its power, or it could be joined to another GOP district, halving the number of GOP reps from SOCAL. Everybody hated this one.

The two drug reform props fell victims of Drug Company misinformation and bitter infighting among people trying to handle the increasing morass of the American medical system in general. Neither one was especially good, but 79, written and endorsed by the biggest manufacturers was an obvious boondoggle.

Prop 80 was another example of an industry drawing up its own proposed legislation to benefit itself all the while calling it one thing while it really was another. This prop claimed to be restoring "regulation" to a state which has suffered notoriously from the GOP-driven deregulation that produced the ENRON disaster. The proposition was actually about hamstringing and limiting people's abilities to choose small, independent supplies regionally, such as our Island has successfully done to its great benefit.

This whole Special Election cannot be seen as a trend one way or another other than a general recognition that with the Governator, the honeymoon is long over and its politics as usual and people are just sick of it all here.

WORKIN' ON THE HIGHWAY

This is a public courtesy notice. Caltrans and the ADPW will be digging up and resurfacing the parts of Oak that go by City Hall and the Police Station so as to lay in underground lines. This is extensive work and is likely to continue through the new year with accompanying traffic disruption. Barricades have already been put up and some work has begun.

WHERE DOES THE LOVE OF GOD GO WHEN THE WAVES TURN THE MINUTES TO HOURS

We can't answer that question posed by Gordon Lightfoot about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, but we bet one particular Florida resident can. Here is a story pulled right off of the wire

"A man whose boat capsized in rough seas off the Florida coast treaded water for six hours, watching his friend die, while two boaters refused to pick him up apparently thinking he was an illegal immigrant from Haiti.

Rogers Washington was eventually saved by two other boaters on Thursday who spotted him frantically waving his arms and shouting "I'm an American! I'm an American!"

"It would have been very easy not to have seen him," said David Pensky, 61, who saved Washington. "At first, I wasn't sure if he was a diver trying to make sure I didn't hit him." he told The (Annapolis) Capital, a Maryland newspaper.

Pensky and Richard Holden, 63, noticed the fisherman, orange whistle to his lips, floating with the aid of a cooler lid and a small life vest shoved under his arm.

"They are the best men in the world," Washington said on Friday. "They are God's children."

Washington said he capsized while on a fishing trip with Robert Lewis Moore, 62, also from Florida, after two large waves hit his 22-foot (7-meter) boat. The boat went down quickly, leaving the men clutching life vests.

Moore probably had a heart attack and died when a shark began circling them, Washington said. He tried resuscitating Moore, but it didn't work. He held onto his friend for about 45 minutes.

"I had to let him go so I could try to survive," he said.

Washington floated alone in the choppy seas for about five more hours, the coastline visible in the distance. A hammerhead shark came within 5 feet (1.5 meters) of him. Two boats, a charter and a sailboat, passed within a couple hundred feet (60 meters). No one on those boats offered to help.

"They waved at me. I know they saw me," said Washington, who is black and believes the other boaters thought he was an illegal immigrant from Haiti."

TINY BOXES ON THE HILLSIDE

Went with a group of Concerned Citizens to see the MoveOn.org sponsored movie on Wal-Mart. Must say, for a documentary on the life of a corporation, the movie was pretty gripping. Obviously, the movie makers had a polemic to make here with a pretty easily seen point, but it seemed pretty obvious that making the points on Wal-Mart's behalf would be pretty difficult. Much of the movie features the CEO speaking on behalf of his company in the form of various speeches, and even when directly addressing specific issues, the guy falls flat on his face. He just cannot figure why people don't love his company to pieces.

About the best one can say about Wal-Mart is that it makes money for its owners, but does nothing else for anybody else, including its employees, many of whom -- from mid-level managment to the sales clerks heap absolute vitriol upon the often blatantly illegal labor practices the big box giant conducts nationwide.

Essentially, Wal-Mart's strategy is to slam into a small community with the aid of $500,000 per store government subsidies, underhire and underpay the staff while demanding unpaid overtime, drive virtually every other local business into bankruptcy through savage price undercutting aided by this aforementioned subsidy and cheap goods made by sweatshops in China, then, when the local governments request the chain to make good on any number of extravagant promises made before the groundbreaking, they close the immense store, lay everyone off, and then build another one just inches on the other side of city limits to exempt the building from property taxes and keeping promises.

The subsidies, in the form of state and local tax waivers, outright no-load financial grants, interest-free loans allowed to default and other measures cost the American people a bit over 1.5 billion dollars a year, not including the costs created by its systematic direction of underpaid employees to State and Federal assistance programs, including food stamps, Medicare and Medicade, WIC, etc.

The company, which imports some 15 billion dollars worth of goods each year from the People's Republic of China essentially uses the government to fund its medical insurance plans.

Some people might say, well all companies do things like this, but few are the companies that do everything, all of it: from fouling the environment, cheating on pay, forcing unpaid labor, demanding extended work hours with no extra pay, illegal surveillance, unfair competition, use of sweatshop labor, deliberate supression of ethical standards in management, systematic sexual abuse of women, sexual harrassment, racial harassment, allowing known dangerous work environments, failing to protect customers on its property, disdain for court consent decrees, unfair and illegal hiring and retention practices, union busting with threats and intimidation, and practically anything you can name besides. These people do everything all the time. The original founding family (founder Ray Walton died in 1998) now has four of its members among the ten richest people in the world.

Well, they just might be among the ten most contemptible people in the world as well.

Recently Target, which is a sort of Wal-Mart wannabe was recently told an emphatic No Thank You, when they tried to horn in here on the Island. You can still see the empty site right across the water over there in Oaktown where they pulled the same sort of Wal-Mart trick of build and abandon.

THEY'LL NEVER MAKE A SAINT OUT OF ME

By now its all over but for the old guy who runs the Zamboni-like thing over the field to pick up the bottles, wrappers, roach clips, and underwear that tend to get tossed during such affairs. Yes, the absolute bona fide biggest rock 'n roll band in the world -- and one of the most long-lived -- has come to town, filling Pac Bell Park to capacity in each one of its slots that cost about $125-450 -- if bought legally. By the time Mick and the boys took the stage, scalpers were offering seats at a cool $3,000 a pop -- and they got it.

Well, Rawk and Roll is not quite what it once was during the age of the doo-wop and duckwalk, and The Rolling Stones are, well, unkillable as it seems. In an age and a business where two hits in a row really makes the artist stand out, KFOG played a solid six and one half hours of RS on Sunday, and every song was recognizably familiar. Sir Mick (age 62) has come a long way since the days of doing Muddy Waters tunes for a couple dollars per head in pubs. We should all be so lucky in our choice of careers.

Returned to the Island in the wee hours, missing entirely Mike Powers' Sunday Night Jam as well as the deadlines, but felt the Wal-Mart thing was worth a shot. MoveOn.org picked Sunday to be a day of general screening in theatres and in homes where people across the nation who had bought the DVD ($10) gathered for anti-Wal-Mart parties. All the racoons were snug in their beds. Sat and read a book on island postcards until a complaining Dr. Friederich curled up in our lap and went to sleep. A nearly full moon peered through the blinds from its crowded cloudy position. All fine down there. Very good. Ta ta. That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.

 

 

NOVEMBER 6, 2005

WALKING WITH A GHOST REDOUX

Halloween weekend went with the gals to the Fat Lady in Oaktown by Jack London. Like many Bay area residents the owner takes the annual festival quite seriously as these photos of part of the decor will attest. The Fat Lady closes for only two days each year, both of the consecutive days devoted solely to the erection of the Halloween decor.

From the outside, the establishment appears no more irregular than many of the places at this time.

Entering the foyer, one encounters the following warning.

Further along one encounters the "head waiter".

Perhaps you may settle in the main dining room and look about you. Only to notice at least one corner has something disturbing haunting its nooks.

In such circumstances it is not surprising you may retire directly to the bar and look up. Only to see overhead . . .

And above this fellow a few more. . .

Behind you you have this scene . . .

While above the bar you observe this . . .

O horrible, o horrible, most horrible.

 

EVERYBODY DESERVES MUSIC

The above phrase is from Michael Franti's new CD and we opened some wide eyes the other day in conversation saying it. Turns out we were talking with members of the band at the time. Who proceeded to spend some wonderful hours practicing downstairs from us. Franti's Spearhead brings its rasta world-beats to the venerable Fillmore from the enviable slot 25th-27th with each night featuring a different warmup band.

Bruce Cockburn has an excellent all-instrumental CD out, an unusual departure for the very outspoken and excellent lyricist, but no sign of when he will drift by locally.

Personal faves, Social Distortion virtually dominate the Fillmore for five days this month, from the 9th to the 15th with a two-day break for My Morning Jacket, now riding high on some tasty acoustic sets performed at KFOG.

Our Household resumes the annual tradition of attending the harder edged former home of Big Rick Steuart, Live 105's Not So Silent Night. This year the multi-band extravaganza returns gratefully to the Civic from the execrable San Jose Arena and includes a wider range of music than the insistently persistently thrash-core heavy metal. The White Stripes and the funnily named Death Cab for Cutie are the two biggest names headlining this year. This partial benefit typically sells out each year and has featured some eye-opening headliners in the past.

One of our favorite moments was when one year Hole's Courtney Love emptied a bag of white powder an audience member had tossed on stage onto the floor. When the bassist tried to lick it up, she kicked him. It was the one moment we have seen her behave with some dignity and sophistication. Well, at least for her.

Also this month, Susan Tedeschi returns with that whiskey-voice of hers that no teenager ever should possess, this time singing a collection of Motown-style songs as well as her inimitable Blues. And you know, we break for the Blues.

Jethro Tull is unforgotten and will skate away on the ice of a new day at the Paramount this 11/11/05. Violating the boring formula of three power chords and drums, Ian Anderson will rock you with guitar-accented flute. No kidding.

The Independent in the City is looking up with a fine booking series and Yoshis has stopped publishing its sold-out lineup until after the New Year, which is probably gone, gone, gone by now.

THE BBQ MAN

The crisp air stirs the blood in this time of year and a young man's fancy turns to stirring walks along the hedges, the autumn leaves beginning their slow revolve with a hint of snow upon the air, the acrid scent of fresh rain coursing through the eaves, and taking out his spiffy 32-20, oiling up the stock, polishing the barrel and squinting the sights in fond reverie of blowing Fifi to joyous little bloody pieces. Ah, the camaraderie by firelight, the quick sharp tang of fresh booze on the tongue mingling with the smoky scent of seared dogflesh and the anguished howl of slaughtered puppies.

Yes my friends, another year has passed and it is coming, that special event for which all good boys and girls and devoted readers look forward all year: The Annual Island Thanksgiving Poodleshoot and BBQ. Each year the Island hosts a special event in which all manner of firearms and armaments are displayed in the seasonably honorable tradition of hunting the species known as "Fifi", immaculately barbered and delicately coiffed, so as to purge the island of bad art and worse hair styling.

As to those who might object we would answer quite reasonably, why on earth would any sensible person take their dog for a walk on such a day when it is well known that any and all poodles are fair game for the BBQ grill. Use common sense people.

Rules and highlights from previous years can be found here.

IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

Well it's been a quiet week here on the Island. High fog, mist and falling leaves remind us of the advancing year. Across the street the vine maple stands like a static explosion, a freeze-frame of a great ball of red and yellow fireworks, astonishing in its vividness. Reverend Rectumrod gave everyone hell during his sermon, and everybody felt so bad that the entire congregation went down to the Old Same Place and got good and drunk and the Mariana sisters each went home with men who were not their husbands. As did a number of women who were not even married and a few men as well, so everybody wound up feeling quite jolly at the end of it.

So you see it turned out all right in the end.

Eugene Shrubb is all in a wax about being totally rejected at the South American Bum Summit, where the Argentinians gave him the Bum's Rush while a crowd shouted out some rather rude names to the President Appointed. Things just don't look well for old Shrubb these days, with his invasion of Newark going all to pot, his nomination of his Nursery School Teacher, Harriet Merely, to the position of Chief Justice sunk like a depthcharged U-boot in a bad movie dream sequence, and his Chief of Staff, LIbby Favabeans, tossed in the slammer for vagrancy and objecting to an Officer. Well, there are some who would argue that being the President's Nursemaid is hardly sufficient credentials to be a Court Justice, but those people are picking nits as we are sure the woman is a fine lady. Then there's Thomas "The Icepick" Putoff's arrest -- for the third time -- on charges of being a basic bum in the third degree, as well as violations of the Public Decency Code. Putoff has managed to wriggle out of trouble before, but this time it seems unlikely he can Delay punishment any longer. It does not look so good that the head of the majority party keeps getting arrested.

Then there was the unfortunate response of Michael Ochre, head of the Femur Department, when the dust devil caused a disaster at the Hoophole High Picnic in which there was loss of life, destruction of property, nervous jumping up and down and the catastrophe of mules. Ochre's response was to hand out free drink tickets for the Old Same Place to the kids, which many people felt was really useless as the kids were all underage. Handing out free liquor to kids seems about the speed of this Administration.

It's gotten so bad that the Press has started reporting the news again.

It may be that President Shrubb has just been the unfortunate victim of a string of bad luck -- lasting some six years -- or it may be that he is just an incompetant bum with few moral principles, but we leave that judgement to you.

That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.

 

 

 

OCTOBER 30, 2005

I AM WALKING WITH A GHOST: PLEASE DON'T INSIST

This weekend has been full of strange apparitions and ghostly manifestations, as well as the Bay Area's typically fun-loving bevy of parties and general costume folderol. House Handyman headed off to the City to check out the Bernal Heights Illicit and Probably Illegal Soapbox Derby. It's after dark and old Neal is not home yet. Padraic was last seen on his old bicycle in search of accoutrements for a Popeye costume.

Tomorrow the still sea conspires with the night to breed a silent wind of tiny monsters, all clambering along the sidewalks and doorways like some infernal, galloping, hopping, hooting, shrieking, slithering, saraband of a nightmare from JP Lovecraft. All while the covens convene up in Marin and at that certain spot over there nigh unto to Cliff House where angels fear to tread and where pentangles are found lined upon the ground come dawns early chilly light without explanation or wheretofore.

Our long-time resident Satanist, Anton LaVey, has passed into that other world, where no doubt he and Satan keep one another glorious company, together with Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, in all the best possible spirits, given the circumstances. Nevertheless, he is fondly remembered. I mean Anton, of course.

Recently we have heard words from Anton's widow expressing concern over the state of Evil today. And we can understand that concern, for the GOP consists these days of such a gamut of pikers and incompetants, that one becomes quite anxious about how things are going at all times of the day. O, they try their darndest, but they just cannot seem to do anything right, including the sending of copious souls to Hell, as is the sworn duty of Republicans everywhere.

Apparently, it has come time for these wastrels, who have so often scoffed at the idea of balancing a budget, to pay the Devil his due.

Meanwhile, in a dark garrett, somethere in Washington, a pale and sweating Karl Rove gazes at the stars and impores "Festina lente ye horses of the night . . .", while a confused and distraugt Libby makes ready for the Infernal Carriage that will carry him and his Mephistopheles down, down, down to that Other Place of sulphur and eternal torment.

Barbara has been incensed for weeks about the scent of sulphur about the place and has fired five contractors assigned with eradicating the smell in the White House, from carpet cleaners to drapery steamers, and all of them have failed miserably. The stench in the White House will take a lot more than a spritz of Spot-Off. This one will take a new Hercules to divert a river to sluice out the corruption.

Tomorrow, the kids plan to have their fun.

WORKING FOR A BETTER WORLD RESOURCES

This section is somewhat truncated, due to recent snafus among the research staff, but we shall not leave you entirely without.

Those of you looking to spend your dollars wisely during this critical time when 90% of the retail merchants in the United States make 80% of their annual income, can still make a difference by attending to where you shop.
Instead of buying what is expected, which the receiver can usually obtain better on their own, why not buy your gifts with some spontaneous creativity. Why not make shopping for gifts FUN for once?

Isn't that the way it is supposed to be?.

Well, hie yourselves to WWW.BUYBLUE.ORG to check out the latest info on who is NOT giving to the war complex this year.

Hey, mention you heard about it here and earn yourselves some karma points.

Also, you may be suprised to note that COSTCO is one of the friendlier big box stores, giving a substantial tithe to worthy Blue Stater causes. Barnes and Noble, as well as Sharper Image and Borders all give substantially to the Democratic Party.

 

WIND, SUN, SAND AND STARS

Antoine De St.-Exupery is most known for having written "The Little Prince", long time a favorite among children and adults who have not lost their imagination. He did write, however eight other books of deep philosophical import, as would come from someone who had survived having his plane shot down in the middle of the African Sahara, only to disappear during World War II during a routine mail run. Somewhere over the African desert, a Desert Fox gunner brought down his plane near the end of the war, this time for good, not knowing he was terminating the life of a brilliant philosopher and writer, believing, no doubt, that he was being a good soldier and very obedient in shooting down this obviously Enemy airplane.

"The LIttle Prince" , something of a story for children overlaying a complex allegory regarding the various alternatives man has to face life and eternity, was occasioned by Exupery's first plane crash. In fact, the second section of the book describes the author "having trouble" with his plane in the middle of the Sahara and that the situation was a matter of life and death.

Generations afterward have preserved Exupery's name and his writing as a precious jewel to be kept luminous and alive. There is no one who has read any of his books, besides "The Little Prince", who will disagree with the statement that Exupery was a brilliant, lively and completely human writer of the first degree.

Heard some climbers found a feller up on Mendel hard by where we usually find ourselves in the late summer. Was reminded of Exupery's anonymous passing. Mendel is right up against our traditional route to the Evolution Valley. Turns out four or five planes have crashed thereabouts in the forties during the war and this fellow is almost certainly from an AT-7 that crashed November 18,1942. May have strolled right by the fellow buried deep under ice and snow. In fact, here he is. His name, most likely, was Leo Mustonen.

 

And here is my own shot of Mt. Mendel, as seen from the canyon below. He was found on the opposite side of the the second high peak you see to the right. On Nov. 18, 1942, according to military accident reports, Mustonen was one of three navigator cadets aboard a Beech AT-7 training plane that left a military airfield near Sacramento, Calif., on a routine training flight that was bound for Corning, Calif. The three other men on the plane were pilot 2nd Lt. William A. Gamber of Fayette, Ohio; Cadet John Mortenson of Moscow, Idaho; and Cadet Ernest Munn of Sacremento, CA.The plane's engine and other components as well as dogtags for Mortensen were found by a climber and a subsequent search party in 1947 at an elevation of 13,700 feet. Mendel is 13,710 feet in elevation.

It's not much of a scramble from the summit where the man died to this spot, as you can see. Perhaps forty minutes clambering down the chute and another ninety minutes getting down over that talus to where this picture was taken, but in 1943, it must have felt like a million miles from everywhere at 13,700 feet. And from the canyon its another full day's hike to get up over the unmarked pass and then down, assuming you knew exactly where you were. Military records indicate the plane was 200 miles offcourse.

I would like to think that the man understood the difference between a large hat and the image of a boa constrictor swallowing an elephant. and was able to draw, in some form or other, a lamb in a box, for whoever might happen to have arrived in his last moments. These things are very important, although Big People seldom understand them. After all, if you have not learned to draw a little sheep upon command upon the hour of your death, we would have to say your life has not been well employed.

Ah well, perhaps you must read the book to fully understand.

LES GENS ONT DES ETOILES QUI NE SONT PAS LES MEMES

All people have the stars, but it is not the same for all people. In recent years, that appears all too obvious. You may put yourself in whatever camp you wish but your actions will reveal soon enough your take upon the stars you own. This week, due to the Special Silly Election, Island Life will have one of its Special Issues.

Other night we went out to take the air and happened upon the local Racoon family, numbering some seven souls, gamboling about the Pagano's parking lot. Stood a while and watched the kids tumble about on the asphalt and snoop the edges for candy wrappers. What great mysteries enfold in the racoon family's ramble!

Eventually they noticed us gawking by the gate and humped off with bear-growls and snurfing amongst themselves.

Stood a while after that admiring the great wheel of Orion through the Milky Way overhead while the sound of the freight trains passing through Jack London came drifting over the water.

That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.

 

OCTOBER 23, 2005

MONSTER MASH

Its come around to that delightful season when ghosts and gremlins howl about the chimneys as the dead leaves fall. Tiny monsters breed in the alcoves and everyone around here makes ready for El Dias de Muertes with sugar skulls and altars In Memoriam. It may be that all this focus upon the imaginary ghoulish and fake gory is all a shift to the side to avoid staring at the very real fact of Death's inevitability as well as the quite horrific events taking place around the world that require no movie studio "Freddie" to horrify with special effects.

In any case, the Bay Area takes this opportunity to begin a series of long parties lasting weeks long, including the infamous Exotic Erotic Ball and the associated "Hooker's Ball", both of which feature the stars of erotic entertainment and a cast of thousands letting it all hang out, with many in suggestive costume and others in no costume or clothes all all.

The Island tends to a more sedate enjoyment of this time, however every block has its display, grown increasingly more sophisticated and complex over the years, to present to the passersby. Spiderwebs some twenty feet long hosting immense spiders the size of Shelob in Lord of the Rings suddenly appear to clash with yards of smoke machines and dry ice in kettles boiling before cackling witches and animated skeletons.

Yes, the Island likes to have fun in a serious way.

Including Paganos, which has long presented each holiday season award-winning display windows replacing the staid arrangements of the average hardware store.

No Halloween here is complete without reference to the theme of bondage.

After last year's Lord of the Rings spectacular introduction of Best Spider Ever, its not surprising to find the order of Arachnidae well represented.

After a storefront window some twenty feet long displaying such scenes one is grateful to enter the relative sanity of a good old-fashioned hardware store. You approach a clerk who's eyes begin to glow as he cackles and that's when you notice he is bearing a platter of rats. Norwegian variety, if you must know.

Take a walk down the street to admire the sure sanity of suburban lawns and one is almost certain to be taken aback.

Halloween is less a seasonal event for kids than an entire Season in itself all for adults, complete with holiday spirit, joy and feasting, loads of parties and, of course, costumes. The premier event each year is most certainly Perry Mann's Exotic Erotic Ball, now in its 26th iteration. It is most definitely a keep-the-kids-at-home kind of thing, with this year's Special Host, famous editor and unusual First Amendment proponent, Larry Flynt, who helps turn this lovable smut-fest into a decidedly political event this year. Festivities kick off downtown on the 20th, before shifting to the 2-day "Adult Expo" and culminating in the actual Ball at the Cow Palace, which proves to be the only venue left in town to hold the astoundingly increased numbers of attendees.

Roving reporter, Rachel, reports that the Fat Lady, a jazzy bistro on the edge of Jack London Square, has been doing Halloween to the nines every year for years. On a drive by we noted eight-foot skeletons, immense spiders and similar garish adornments guaranteed to stimulate the palate there. Our reporter mentioned that the main attraction is a life-sized witch who glides above the diners as they, um, dine. Seems we need to return to sample the popcorn shrimp there sometime soon.

Our contact in the Solano Business Association, Ms. Bulwinkl, indicates that the Solano Avenue merchants will be hosting a marvelous weekend on the Avenue up in Albany with respect and irreverence toward the dead with a heavy lean to the Mexican El Dias de los Muertos, which also occurs at this time of year. Expect candlelit altars in memory of the departed, sugar-skulls, intricate paper cuts, dioramas of skeletal mariachis, and much more besides. You cannot call yourself a Bay Area Resident if you have not experienced the Day of the Dead, Mexican style

Ms. Bulwinkl writes:

"Solano Avenue business owners Penny Opal Plant of Gathering Tribes, Memo Robles of Casa Oaxaca, and Mike Silverman from What The Traveler Saw brought their culturally diverse stores together to create the first Berkeley event last year which attracted over 100 people.

On Friday, October 28 at 6:30 p.m. Solano Avenue will again be hosting a night of remembrance and everyone is invited to participate. Gather at the top of Solano Avenue in Berkeley at The Alameda to honor departed loved ones. Bring a photo of those you wish to remember, a candle, flowers, or food to feed their souls. Aztec dancers will lead a candlelit procession on the sidewalk until it reaches Peralta Park at 1561 Solano Avenue where all are welcome to create a community altar or Ofrenda that will be blessed by the dancers. Personal items may be added to the altar in memory of those who have journeyed to the other side. Since the altar will be up only for one evening, bring items you can leave, or retrieve before leaving.

Dias de los Muertos is usually celebrated each year on November 1st and 2nd. On these days it is believed the dead come from the beyond to visit with the living. Special foods are prepared, breads are baked, and flowers of the season are collected. In many villages processions are made to the cemeteries where family graves are cleaned up and a feast is held along with prayers. All the things that the dead liked while living are offered. It is a time for merriment. The first day of the festival is for the spirit of infants and the second is for the spirits of adults.

The acceptance of Catholicism into Mexican culture introduced a fear of death and Hell that were represented, respectively, by the images of a skeleton and the Devil. Later, at the turn of the 20th century when the tradition of "Calaveras" or satirical reviews became popular which made fun of politicians, traditions, and social or artistic notables, death again was seen to be more of an extension of life than an end to it. This was truer to Mexico's Aztec and Mayan roots. It was at this time the famous engraver, Jose Guadalupe Posada popularized the figure of death in the world of art. His image of the woman known as Catrina, who wears a fancy hat with flowers, is one of the most widely recognizable symbols of Dias de Los Muertos."

The fun for the Bay area begins in the middle of the week and rollicks through the weekend.

Nice hat, Catrina. You be lookin' fine.

MARRAKESH EXPRESS: 19th BRIDGE SCHOOL BENEFIT

This year the juicy lineup for the Season highspo