Welcome to the 14th year of this weekly column that's updated fifty-two times a year, on Sunday nights or Monday mornings, depending on how well the booze holds out. If you've got any news, clues or rumors to share from around the Bay, or the world, feel free to send them to Editor@Island-Life.net or use the envelope in the masthead. For previous issues visit the Archives.

The Editor

Denby - Reporter

Sharon - Events

Chad - Coding

Hilde - Europe

FEBRUARY 12, 2011

NOTHING BUT FLOWERS

This week's photo comes from the garden by the Old Fence where Rachel's narcissus bulbs are enjoying the strange, uneven weather we are having by sending out a spray of aromatic stars.

ON AN ISLAND

You may have heard about the Susan G. Komen Foundation flap over their initial decision to stop funding Planned Parenthood, followed by a storm of protest that persuaded the Foundation to conduct an about face on an decision that apparently had been influenced by radical conservative groups seeking to destroy the system of clinics which provides health care to women.

You may not have heard that our own Fire Department, which normally raises thousands of dollars for the Komen Foundation, had decided to reroute their fundraising efforts to the local Breast Cancer Fund because of Komen's politically influenced initial move.

The IFD begins to earn good points again.

There is an initiative petition out which seeks to close the loophole that allows the Silly Council to swap parkland for . . . well, to be honest, for land that is parkland also, but not useful for land developers like Ron Cowan. The petitioners are trying to shunt another shady land-swap deal that will result in 100+ more houses here.

The Silly Council reviewed the rather obvious responses to the rather obvious recommendations presented by the obviously biased Grijalva report which studiously avoided pointing fingers or recommending anyone be punished or fired for the fiasco which resulted in 200 first-responders watching for over an hour as a man died offshore here last Memorial Day.

The reason police and fire fighters stated they did not rescue the man: it was not in their budget.

The main report recommendation appears to be that first-responders speak plain English to one another, instead of jargon gibberish. Some would say that seems commonsense during an emergency, but heck, we are just different here.

As a PSA, be reminded that the combined local and Primary Elections are scheduled for June 5, 2012. If you really want to give Ron Paul a shot in the arm, then is the time to do it.

Also, remember that THE BAY BRIDGE WILL BE CLOSED 2/17 - 2/21 during the President's Day Weekend to allow for rerouting as a function of getting the replacement bridge ready.

OLD LOVE LEAVE ME ALONE

So anyway, the weather has been moderately chilly for most of the days with some days sun busting through the thick pogonip. Early this week visibility in the AM was less than 100 yards, making for interesting commutes.

Got some squalls forecast for this coming Monday, so take your so'easter to work with you.

the cherry blossoms have been busting out all over

Because of the unseasonable warmth, the cherry blossoms have been busting out all over, causing the squirrels to become quite deranged. The daffydowndillies have become impudent and it does look like the jasmine is well on the way to becoming something early. The sweetpeas have started opening up with fragrant blood-red blooms above the tangles of thick vines as if they had something private to celebrate.

Perhaps Someone Upstairs was casting His own vote on the recent Prop 8 reversal by the 9th Circuit.

In a 2-1 ruling, the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals found that "Proposition 8 serves no purpose, and has no effect, other than to lessen the status and human dignity of gays and lesbians in California, and to officially reclassify their relationships and families as inferior to those of opposite-sex couples."

The law was passed in 2009 after it was approved on a statewide ballot by 52% of voters. Prior to that, California allowed same-sex couples to wed.

it was a fine evening on the deck with the ... semi-full moon

Tommy and Toby went out to their boat, the Lavender Surprise, which is docked at the Marina to break open the champagne with their friends, Lynette and Shelly. Because rain and generally unsailable weather still persists, the boat is all secured for the winter. Nevertheless, it was a fine evening on the deck with the still somewhat lopsidedly semi-full moon hanging up there among the slate striations of cloud.

"Should we get married again?" Shelly asked.

"Between the four of us, we have been married six times, but unlike the usual Californian, it has always been to the same person!" Tommy said.

"O lord, I do not think I shall know what to do with another cheese plate wedding gift!" Toby said.

Tommy suggested they donate them to KQED to be used as bonus gifts for people who contributed more than $100 during the pledge drive, but Lynette found the idea tasteless.

Shelly imagined that they could be used by the various hosts during their shows. Imagine Terry Gross on Fresh Air serving up canapés to Paul Wolfowitz or the director of the movie about Betty Page.

"These cheese-whiz things are to die for. I just love your boots, the ones with stirrups. Mmmmm!. . . ".

"I understand you really didn't expect things in Iraq to go so wrong, Paul. Here, have another stuffed olive . . .".

In the Old Same Place Bar, Eugene Gallipagus started complaining to anyone that would listen.

"This is a difficult time of year otherwise for most folks. The Super Bowl is all over -- somebody won, but its difficult to remember all that now. It might have been Madonna doing the Statue of Liberty pass there on the 10 yard line or maybe it was Lady Gaga who did that. Its a long way to the World Series and fishing season is way the hell off in the distance, so there is no outlet, no way to let off steam. There is hunting, of course, but by now all the game has gotten wise to what goes on and the deer in Marin are just too easy.

in Marin, where deer are generally considered to be rats with antlers

In fact in Marin, where deer are generally considered to be rats with antlers, you try and push a deer away from your prize lettuce they will hold some kind of sit-in protest, causing all kinds of ruckus and getting the ASPC involved.

It's gotten so bad in Fairfax that you cannot fire your gun within city limits, and its been years since anybody knew what those limits were.

We have not had a deer come visit on the Island for quite a while. The last one had to swim over here from Oaktown to get away from the drug dealers. Mostly the deer are afraid of the raccoons who patrol their territory with brass knuckles and lead-filled batons. Nobody wants to tangle with an island raccoon -- they get really ornery.

Times are tough even among the animal kingdom, due to all the cutbacks

You would think an island raccoon would have cause to be mellow, but no. Times are tough even among the animal kingdom, due to all the cutbacks. People have started rationing their pet feed, which is a main source of protein for city raccoons. They put out the bowl only for a little while, then, after Leo or Bowser is done with it, the people bring it inside and lock the petdoor. There is less to go around and now its a full bore Recession among the fauna.

The raccoons are going hungry, the opossum has empty pouches to show for his efforts, the earthworms are getting skinny, they cut down the trees on Park Street to make all the birds in foreclosure as well as homeless, the bees have gone on strike, and the spider is sitting there in that web wondering just what the hell the world is coming to."

"Man, that is the most damn foolishness I ever heard. Listen to the man go on about the birds and the bees, cute as a wet Bolshevik in the Bohemian Grove swimming pool!", Padraic said.

"Ah go on!" Dawn said. "The man is only missing his fishin' is all." She turned to face Eugene.

"Now how far off is the season for trout, pray tell?"

In answer, Eugene burst into tears until he put his head down sobbing.

Dawn petted the top of his head. "There there now. You could always fetch us some crab, done up all nice and boiled. . .".

Eugene thrust up his head, his hair in a tangle and pounded the bar. "A crab is not a trout and never will be!"

"O!"

Pearse and Connolly, the bar cats, jumped up from where they had been curled up together asleep and ran out the door.

They scampered down the street as a gentle rain finally began to fall after a long, leaden day of threat and bothersome chill. They ran through the night on silent cat feet, bypassing the T.S. Eliot Memorial Stone and passed under the window of Mr. Howitzer, which showed by its light the man was still up late, drafting documents and making plans.

Mr. Howitzer, the new Mr. Howitzer making plans? What sort of plans was Mr. Howitzer making on this cold, drizzly night under the lopsided moon near midnight?

He was planning nothing less than the end of all Island Life

He was planning nothing less than the end of all Island Life, as it is now and as it will be. No more kids playing stickball in the street. No more little girls bashing a birthday pinata under the Old Tree. No more Juanita's margaritas or barbacoa. No more independent bookstore with the cat in the window. No more Carnegie building ex-library and no more Free Library. No more League of Women Voters, no more Frank Bette Art Center, and no more quirky art sculptures on the lawn.

Harlan's mother, Juanita, had been pure Oglala Sioux

Earlier in the day, Denby drove past the old decrepit house where Harlan used to put up his wacky signs and he saw there an old man with an unkempt beard, wearing ragged clothes and sitting on the steps, shaking his head and weeping. Harlan's mother, Juanita, had been pure Oglala Sioux (this is, in fact, absolutely true). The Oglala mostly now inhabit the Pine Ridge reservation, and are mostly known for having originated the Ghost Dance. A ghost had come to the old house on Lafayette Street, for Harlan had been evicted a couple years ago.

Yes, there would be no more Harlans as well.

he was a property management man, and . . . he was odious

Why would Mr. Howitzer plan such a disaster for this sweet island that many love so much? Because he was a property management man, and because he was odious. In this place, the two are often conflated.

As the cats sniffed around the shrubbery, something spooked them and they darted off across the street into the dark night. Lit by the lopsided moon.

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the ominous waters of the estuary before wavering over the tender, remembering, moonlit grasses of the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its hard, hard journey to parts unknown.

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

FEBRUARY 5, 2012

SEE WHAT LOVE HAS DONE

Dave G., the owner of Pagano's hardware, does not come across as a romantic softie when you meet him. A sense of humor does come across, but romantic who owns hardware stores and drives a used Hummer he bought for $3,000?

This week we present the change of seasons and the next Holiday image in the form of Pagano's entranceway display window. We call this one, Ms. Wistful.

Is she waiting for her lover, or hoping one shows up by the luck of the draw? Is she recalling a fateful past romance that ended in some tragic way far too soon? No one knows, for she sits quietly, wistfully, either remembering or waiting, or hoping.

Yes, even in these bleak times, there is still hope.

PAINT A PICTURE

Blogs can be so impersonal. The more journalistic, personal detail folks toss in there like so much salad stuff -- what they ate for breakfast, who they going to meet for lunch, how exciting the concert/play/beach/strip show was, the more they sound just like everyone else. We all are pretty much the same save for mean people -- who suck. And nobody really cares when you brushed your teeth or anything about your vapid dish on some inconsequence.

Nevertheless, we been going at this thing some fourteen years now, and feel its high time to present our Staff in living color. Heck even the Grand Master in Red Shoes felt the need to make a movie of people doing a radio show. Besides some of us here are smitten with Heather Masse, who wrote a really sweet song that went "Just paint a picture of yourself so I can put it on my shelf then I never never ever will forget your face."

Um, well, stars like that are probably used to people tossing roses and intimate undergarments on the stage, so we will not get into that. It will all connect and make sense eventually. In show business, you just never ever stop, even when it gets really inane.

So anyway here are pix of members of our staff here in the Offices:

The Editor

Denby Montana,
news reporter and music desk

Sharon L'Fey
Social events, theatre desk, piracy.

Chad
Web design, Java code, incendiary devices, tippler

Hildegard
European news, Wolperdinger hunting, family issues, foreign intrigue (photo courtesy of Interpol)

Aunt Frailty
Founding Mother, icon, baked goods, inspiring symbol of California

Sorry we could not put everybody here. There's another five or six of us but lawyers pointed guns at us and made us cease and desist. As for the Editor, he would not put up with the photographer for 30 seconds, claiming the "lens made him look fat". This was all his idea; go figure. How vapid.

ON AN ISLAND

Once again we have a smattering of mini-matters already reported in other places. We will start of with an important PSA

PSA - BAY BRIDGE CLOSURE 2/17 - 2/21

VOT!?!? You got that right. Plan on celebrating President's Day and low traffic volume in Babylon that weekend. Here is the gist from CALTRANS:

As part of the Bay Bridge Seismic Retrofit Project, the Bay Bridge will be closed in the westbound (San Francisco) direction over Presidents' Day weekend 2012 beginning, Friday, February 17, at 8:00 p.m. The bridge will reopen by 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday, February 21. During the closure, Caltrans crews will complete a westbound detour near the Toll Plaza. Motorists will experience a slight alignment change as traffic is shifted to the south and away from construction of the easternmost part of the new East Span. This work will impact traffic going into San Francisco over the long weekend. Eastbound traffic will have full access to the bridge during the closure.

Please Note: Weather could delay the reopening of the westbound deck or postpone the closure to another weekend.

SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNI (Well, we just couldn't resist the pun, even though this is about the EBay, not MUNI)

While still on transit issue, we have this from Cynthia Vincit at ACtransit.

The East Bay Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) project moved a step closer to reality today with AC Transit’s announcement that the Final Environmental Impact Statement/Report for the project is now available for public review and comment.

The publication of the FEIS/R provides the public and other interested parties an opportunity to learn about a project that promises to improve the speed and reliability of bus service in the 14-mile corridor from downtown Berkeley to the San Leandro BART station.

The BRT FEIS/R will be available for public review from February 3, 2012 to March 19, 2012. The document can be viewed at AC Transit headquarters, 1600 Franklin Street, Oakland; online at http://www.actransit.org/planning-focus/projects-in-the-works/east-bay-bus-rapid-transit; and at public libraries in Berkeley, Oakland and San Leandro.

A copy of the report can also be requested by calling (510) 891- 7175.

DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY IN THIS LAND - REDUX WITH ADDITIONS

The Silly Council is reviewing the "independent" report on the Memorial Day drowning incident in which two hundred police, fire and coast guard personnel watched a man drown for an hour, with the IPD claiming afterwards that water rescue was not in the police department budget, the Coast Guard claiming they could make neither heads nor tails of the radio gobble-de-gook that passed as communications, and the fire department claiming their rescue boat was in dry dock. The East Bay Park service, which offered a boat, claimed no one asked for it.

The report, to be reviewed Feb. 7, contains such prize suggestions as in "don't talk like a fool on the radio so that people can understand you in a crisis, and "get a boat and put it in the water," and, "as this is an Island, by definition a land mass surrounded by water, do consider that you might find it occasionally necessary to save someone who is drowning. Don't count on calling a landlocked city for help."

O for pete's sake.

In a recent incident, the police impounded a man's car for failing to pay registration fees, then set him and his party on foot two blocks from the Bay Farm bridge at 4:43 a.m. A driver of a silver Lexus hit and killed Donnel Roberts as he walked along Doolittle Drive with the three other former passengers. The Lexus driver did not bother to stop, but fled the scene.

The official response is that Roberts had to have known he was driving illegally and that everything that happened was done properly according to the book. His family feels otherwise.

HOME. HOME IS WHERE I WANNA BE

The long-awaited process of transforming the Roach Motel (officially known as the Islander Motel) into an affordable housing center. For a long time the 40-year old structure has been a blight at the end of the otherwise charming Park Avenue area, serving transients, parolees, and sex offenders who had no other place to go. The police were frequent visitors there and neighbors reported constant problems with the place. Extensive renovations will create 62 affordable studio units funded by a mixture of state and federal tax credits as well as 8.6 million of those redevelopment funds that are soon to vaporize. The Re-Dev funding had already been allocated when Jerry Brown terminated the state agencies that used to handled these projects.

NOTHING OUT THERE

So anyway the weather locally has been confused and deranged. This might not comfort other parts of the country which are either laboring under piles of snow or unwonted expanses of barren sod and unseasonably warm temps. While the Sierra finally enjoyed its dump of snowpack in a matter of days, it seems the north territories are seeing odd warmish temps, while we are getting some pretty bizarre results around here. The sweetpeas have started blooming, while the tulips have already shot up green blades. After those perfunctory showers, it has been disturbingly dry.

Saw the seagulls coasting in over the palm trees to the East End this past morning and, sure enough, weatherman has predicted a dockwalloper with winds to body slam the Coast Tuesday onward.

Everything is unsettled and the barometer wobbles like a sick gyroscope.

Over at Marlene and Andre's household, where fifteen people live crammed into a one bedroom cottage because the local rents have become obscene out of equally obscene greed, the mood has been stark. If it were not for regular visits to the foodbank for handouts, the entire household would have starved to death long ago, for Martini's wage as sawboy at the Veriflo factory together with Suan's tips at the Crazy Horse and Tipitina's hourly minimum as an AA in the City hardly amounted to a hill of beans when Marlene had contributed her bookkeeping, Andre the door fees and tips from gigs at Gilman, and the rest their sandwich-board earned gleanings from begging and doing odd jobs.

It's the 21st Century and this is now the future to which everyone looked forward. 90 minutes to Paris lasted barely a few years and the wretched SST got mothballed after a couple incendiary disasters. People are forming Hoovervilles under the freeway overpasses to the Island with shopping carts and sleeping bags. Nearly every week the choppers hover over the ridge. A small riot today in Oaktown involves some 3,000 participants. It's morning in America and everyone has a hangover, hating the sun.

Of course people are cranky. The weather has gotten weird, the Fundamentalists are howling about the fundament everywhere, and then there is Rick Santorum, a man running for the highest office in the land whose very name evokes the most obscene spew imaginable and in that, there is no exaggeration with regards to the man's nauseatingly repulsive views on just about anything. Naturally everyone feels off their feed. Have some empathy.

Amid all this unruly brough-haha, comes floating without pretense and entirely without force the delightful powerful full moon, sailing amid the cloud-wracked skies with calm serenity.

Sitting on the porch near the burn-hole where Snuffles Johnson sleeps during the winters, Marlene and Andre watch the new full moon rise over the Bay while the humps of Babylon strung with pearls glimmer in the distance.

At that moment, Pedro Almeida stepped out onto the deck of El Borracho Perdido with Tugboat, his faithful lab to look at the moon above the unruly chop that signaled a storm coming in next day while the lovely lilt of a chanteuse singing a song on his favorite radio program wafted from the boathouse.

Just paint a picture of yourself
so I can put it on my shelf
then I never never ever will forget your face.

Take a picture of you instead
and I will post it above my bed
So every morning I wake to see your face.

In the depths of the Lunatic Asylum of St. Charles, all the hebephrenics and the chronics and the wacked-out psychos pause amid their ravings as Denby takes to his battered old Tacoma with one string tuned down to D.

Come a little bit closer,
hear what I have to say
Just like children sleepin'
we could dream this night away.
But there's a full moon rising,
let's go dancing in the light.

For a quiet time, all is silent and still, save for the quavering voice echoing through the asylum corridors and all the crazies look out the windows at She, glowing as she passes with her trails of luminescent gown.

But there's a full moon risin'
Let's go dancin' in the light
We know where the music's playin'
Let's go out and feel the night.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

Ms. Morales returns from the school and, after her supper with Mr. Ramirez, turns in to bed after the usual nightly rituals. She loves the children and empathizes with all of their problems. The lack of money. The beatings. The horrific abuse. The self-mutilations. But each night she sets out on this solitary walk towards dreams. She gets up in her nightgown and steps out of the door barefoot and walks through the silent houses down to the Strand where the ocean beats with its eternal rhythm and, with the full moon moonlight glowing up from the bright sands she walks out toward the lights of Babylon, which have become the fabulous lights of some distant, impossible city of Hope and Salvation and she is walking toward this City of Redemption across the waters of the Bay, impossible and yet possible. One day she will get there. But she is already fast asleep before she ever does. And so the teacher rests.

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the luminescent waters of the estuary before wavering over the sensual moonlit grasses of the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its journey to parts unknown.

That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week. And don't forget to dream.

JANUARY 29, 2012

IN THE WINTER / FAR BENEATH THE BITTER SNOWS

WHATS THE BUZZ

We got loose items here, most of which you know already, but which should provide some historical basis going forward, as this "blog" tends to have persistence that may aid researchers in the future.

There were tears in Muddville when the Island struck out on getting Lawrence Berkeley Labs to setup their 2nd facility here on 50 acres of former Navy Base. Hopes ran high, as a non-residential option of that quality at the Point seemed ideal for us. Folks came out by the hundreds for boosters and BBQ info-gatherings, trying to elevate the good vibe feel. Unfortunately, LBL already owns land out at Richmond and there they have no traffic bottleneck issues which are already bedeviling the West End.

On the upside, the nearly 1000 acres of land remain choice property in a bad market and the Navy agreed to let loose this prize of excellent waterfront real estate for the price of nada. So we Islanders have money in the bank, and it remains for us, and our Silly Hall leaders, to use this resource wisely.

Some folks trying to protect their children -- and in that enterprise there is no end -- have commented that crossing Grand Street near Franklin Elementary has become a parlous endeavor. Cars whizz by, ignoring kids and any sort of pedestrian in the crosswalks. Indeed, some of our staff have commented that ignorance of the crosswalks seems endemic here. One of our own staff was hit in the crosswalk down at Otis and Grand, suffering the driver to scream recriminations like an howling baboon for daring to be standing there. Of course, we sympathize, witnessing countless other crosswalk violations. The parents want crossing guards and more control lights on what amounts to a boulevard thoroughfare at times and much of that seems reasonable. Not all of it, but much of it.

When it comes to kids, we here think the proper thing to do is do the right thing. So what if those Outlanders call us "CrawlAmedans". Slow down the traffic and get those speedfreaks out of here. We don't need them and we want our kids to walk safely to school.

You may or may not have heard the helicopters this past few days, as alleged Occupier folks tried to secure an empty building in Oaktown on Saturday in an episode that got really ugly. Some reports state some two thousand protesters got involved with storming City Hall, where they trashed some offices, and with causing a fair amount of mayhem in the streets before tearing down perimeter fencing so as to "occupy" the abandoned building.

So much is general.

The official stats have over 400 people arrested, which indicates that far more than " a couple hundred" were involved.

It seems there was a gathering of some "bandana types" that swelled quickly when OPD overreacted with tear gas, beanbags and grenades. So one side overreacted, which propelled the other side to overreact and smash up stuff in City Hall.

This brought in the hard-core riot squad types who started indiscriminately arresting everyone, including KGO radio reporter Kristin Hanes, who objected despite presenting valid press credentials.

The problem with these situations is that when one party chucks the rules to the side the other feels free to chuck the rules as well. Now Mayor Quan is blaming "outsiders" in a weird and unintended evocation of Nazi rant. There might be some "black bandanna" thugs among these folks, but 2,000 people is not a number to be sneezed at in a city of some 400,000.

Everyone talks about how the freeway offramps seem designed to shunt people away from the Island access points. The signage, the routes, the ramps all send people to Timbuktu rather than Park and Central. In response to a rather obvious situation, the MTA and Caltrans are finally getting together to create sane access corridors here. In fact, construction at 23rd and 29th is expected to get underway this year. Right now, anyone getting off at the 29th Street exit must negotiate a labyrinth of access streets to get here. Some like that situation. Others do not. Caltrans estimates that the changes will result in an increased backlog of 10-20% along Park Street.

You just might want to pitch your own voice into these proposed changes.

PIECE OF MY HEART

So anyway it's been a quiet week on the Island, relatively speaking. The Island is our hometown set here on the edge of the San Francisco Bay. The pogonip has been heavy in the mornings, indicating a change of season is coming on, and the recent storm clouds have yielded to moderately striated horizons in the evening. Temps have hovered in the comfortable for San Franciscans 60's while the Sierra seems to have revived with a series of blizzards to hearten all the snowbunnies and such that really like to jump up from a warm stove to go scooting around in the snow and ice with hardly any brakes on.

Madness, but what can you expect from Golden Staters gamboling up there on the slopes where god had no plan for such shenanigans.

Here on the Island we have our outdoor ski rink all set up where the Good Toyota saleslot used to be, and on 1/29/12 that whole thing gets taken down and that will be the end of Winter. We don't take chances with parking a car out on the lake ice and taking bets. The Island is far too conservative for that kind of daring. We schedule the end of winter by the calendar, and by god, we will adhere to that design. Will he or nil He.

Fun needs to have some kind of regimentation in this district.

The temps being mild, no one here has any "pump-handle phobia", a peculiar syndrome that affects much of the industrial Northeast and Minnesota in particular.

Day in, day out you would find youngsters licking pump handles with abandon, however as the man said, those items -- pump handles are few to find around these parts.

In fact, on the Island there are no more than two houses left which pull their water from wells, however that anyone does so at all in the Bay area speaks volumes about what we are all about.

If any of you are lost on this issue and all these references, please let us inform and educate, often two very different things.

Once upon a time, when the plains were dotted with nodding "horse-heads", the winters were colder everywhere. Hard to imagine, but it's true. In Winnipeg, an herd of horses escaping a stable fire, ran into the river and froze there in mid-flight, all of them solid as rocks with their gaping mouths fixed in solid terror for months. Local society groups held excursions out onto the ice of the river to marvel and take photographs among these subzero statues plunging in tableaux, and many a union was trothed -- and consummated -- among those heads until the breaking of the ice-dam in May carried all of it away forever.

Yes children, cold was really cold in those days. You could spit and your noogie would tinkle as it hit the ground. Few dared to mark their names in the yellow snow, for the fear of It freezing solid permeated all of the males.

"What happened here?" says the doctor. "Whoops! Looks like it just kinda broke off... "!

So it goes with the pump handle phobia. There were many pump handles then, and the great fear was that one's tongue would become fixed by the terrific minus forty cold to the bare metal, either by compulsion or by . . . strange desire.

Yes, if a man were to apply his tongue to a metal pump handle under subzero conditions, the consequences would surely be terrifically horrific.

We have queried any number of our gayer friends about pump handles and their response is always the same.

"Dude, you are really weird."

It is that kind of world when your gay friends find you, a perfectly red-blooded American, quite odd.

Californians tend to suffer different phobias and entertain other crotchets. When the native son was late getting out of bed to milk the cows, the pump handle was used to gush a sufficiently cold amount of water into a pail, which the native father emptied upon said native son in his formerly warm and dry bed.

Now you may begin to understand what drove that feller in East of Eden and Giant to be such a cussed animal.

You are down there in the pillows of dreams, riding the haywagon with Valerie of the golden suntan, just jouncing along in a surrey with a fringe on top, or riding Valerie on the sunned and jouncing wagon with a tanned fringe on top, or . . . whatever. Then this abrupt ice-cold shower yanks you up out of that better place of dreams to a place of sodden bedding and cow's udders and no breakfast, which on a working farm is serious departure. No breakfast on a working farm in California in those days and you have lost 1/3rd of the benefits.

No wonder patricide was so common in the old days. Sons went about popping their sires in the heads with any old sort of thing: shotguns, the deer rifle, crossbows. Slaughtered patriarchs were left littered across the bloody landscape. It was ghastly.

Ah yes, the good old days. When the weather behaved itself and murder was commonly accepted. You would think the Republicans would embrace this idea instead of their fantastical fiction of ersatz history which is no more real and no more remembered than anything else here. It is far more realistic and closer to the truth.

On his boat, El Borracho Perdido, Mr. Almeida paid scant head to the Conservative babble. He could not, for times were hard and he had to work for a living, unlike most of the conservatives around these parts who lived off of government supply in a number of ways,

He turned the dial of the radio and listened to this week's broadcast of his favorite radio program, Pastor Rotshue's Lutheran Variety Hour while waiting for the nets to spool out.

At the end of it, he thought the show was not bad. It could have been better but it was not bad. The piano player certainly had some gift in him, but Pedro liked the guitar player very much and there was very little for Pat to do this week. Fortunately, that gospel woman had cut loose with some promise. Yes, it did seem that gal would go far.

At the Pampered Pup, Arthur was enthused by the same show and there to talk all about it.

"Man, that gospel gal sure got something going about loving it up" Arthur said. "That there old time religion is really all about Love and Love."

"Arthur," Lionel said, "You need to get over that crush on entertainers from Minnesota. She is just a voice on the radio."

"No man, I can tell she got soul! It just shines on through. What about you and that Jacqueline? You going to the Valentine's Ball this year?"

Lionel said he wasn't sure. He was thinking about it.

"You think about it long enough both of youse be ninety feeding at pigeons in the park on opposite benches, man"

"You don't know nothing about it."

Down at the Old Same Place Bar, Babar still has been holding forth as the True Conservative Candidate in the Greatly Orotund Party against Nick Vilespew, of the National Association of Zenophobic Issues. Vilespew, originally out of Pennsylvania, until the good people rode him out one dark night tarred and feathered upon a rail, has enlisted all the surviving members of Howard "Doomsday" Campion's church and a few adherents of Reverend Rectumrod's 1st Church of Very Severe Baptists.

Vilespew maintains that since all homosexuals and illegal aliens are going to hell, they have nothing to live for, therefore they should all pay for everyone else's medical bills. This is Nick Vilespew's idea of reforming healthcare.

"After they pay into the system, we send them off in containers provided by the railroads to locations where they will be kept separate, but equal, from the general populace and there fully cared for without contaminating our sacred youth. I call this the District IX Single Payer Final Solution!"

Babar objects to this scheme upon solid constructionist grounds. The scheme is clearly unconstitutional for it expects and demands private industry to provide resources to Government in the form of cattlecars, gratis. That is clearly a no-no.

"They could be repaid by means of gold-fillings extraction," offers Vilespew. "We also have a Soylent Green option in our plan . . .".

"No, no, no," Babar says. "Any compulsion of private industry to do anything is anathema in my book."

"O drat!" said Vilespew in a snit. "You are such a silly!"

It must be said that both candidates seemed to lag far behind in the Primaries, while Eft Gregorian and Bud Rummy seemed to be dueling neck and neck for Most Conservative Dingus.

Old Schmidt came trundling in the way he always did, plotzed there on a bar stool and ordered a Fat Tire and a bump.

"So Schmidt, you gotta date for that Native Son's Valentine's Day Ball," Dawn O'Reilly asked from behind the bar, with her bar rag and her look.

Old Schmidt did not answer at first but drank deep of his draught and smacked his lips behind his beard before speaking.

"About zeese luff sings, I know nossingk, nossingk, nossingk!" Ja!"

Meanwhile the lovely Suzie mooned out the window at the brand-new crescent moon below which burned sharp a single bright star, brighter and better than all the rest, but for her, so far away.

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the rain-dappled waters of the estuary before wavering over the sensual moonlit grasses of the Buena Vista flats stroked smoothly by the wind as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its journey to romantic parts unknown.

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

JANUARY 22, 2012

DON'T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON ME

This week's photo comes from staffer Chad who took this sunset photo at the Strand several months ago. Time does not matter. The Island sunset looking toward distant Babylon is eternal.

LIKE THE WEATHER

Everyone is talking about the weather. Therein we have a world of news. Two weeks ago we had drought conditions looming over the Sierra and many mountain businesses lamenting the lack of snow, while city fathers patrolled their reservoirs, lamenting the below-normal levels. Be succored. The Mother of All Snow Storms has dumped a load on the Sierra from Oregon down below and all the ski slopes are jubilating with the change in fortunes and local water district officials have been dancing in the streets with the renewed supply.

A quick glance across the board for five agencies, from the NOAA to local KTVU, shows rain forecast through to Monday, followed by sunny days for the next five.
Meanwhile all the ski-bunnies are gearing up for another season on the slopes. There will be schussing and hellz-a-poppin' in the firewood ski lodges enough to scandalize the entire Romney entourage and make Newt Gingrich look like a saint -- which he is most certainly not. Go for it girls. And try to not get pregnant. That only adds fuel to the fire and encourages the Enemy.

WHATS THE BUZZ TELL ME WHAT'S A HAPPENING

Speaking of bonking and devices designed to frustrate Nature, the latest flap coming from Lala Land is that the Bluehairs have got the Freelove folks with their panties in a twist by way of a law demanding that porn stars all wear condoms while working.

This whole scenario is just too bizarre for words. And, although both sides come off (no pun intended) as flaky wack-jobs (no pun intended), it appears, funnily enough, that the porn moguls have common sense and decency on their side in this issue.

Firstly, there is the enforcement issue, which conjures up images of Officer Popinjay dropping into the local porn stageset (which surely must be listed in the Real Yellow Pages) to declaim, "Ah, Johnny Longdong you are sheathed as I detect. Keep up the good work!"

Johnny Longdong promises to keep it up as long as he is able.

One can imagine scenarios better acted on by Cheech and Chong to carry this one through.

The porn industry has responded with pragmatic clarity.

"Look. This is wild, off the top fantasy. It has nothing to do with reality. Your preservatives just get in the way of imagination. What is wrong with you folks."

Well yes. Few of us imagine that meeting a fabulous babe who overlooks our age, our paunch, our lack of hair, and our dweebness, will result in a torrid 5 hour marathon of sensual debauchery that ignores any number of other physical deficiencies with any sense of reality. Maybe these sorts of things happen to the likes of Garrison Keillor, but any of us? Nah!

One item of reality is that the porn industry brings in some 8 billion dollars per year to the Golden State and somebody better rethink their priorities here if they want to keep solvent.

In other arenas of unreality, we have the GOP primary battle, which is creating amusement and fodder for dull news programs everywhere.

You know, you must fault the Democrats for being substantially boring, save for Bill Clinton, and his moment really consisted of making bad choices for sex partners, which consisted of the chilly Icewoman Ms. Clinton on the one hand and the trailor-park trash in the blue dress on the other.

If you were President of the biggest nation on earth who could have sampled from the scads of Hefner bunniers and Oui posers, why the hell would you pick the Pillsbury bosom of a doughy Lewinsky? Go figgur.

The GOP, on the other hand, features a wild smorgasbord of flaming fingernail-painted harpies (Bachman) to the flaming polygamous types of Gingrich. They got the flying saucer god Romney and the jack-booted thuggishness of Santorum whose very name evokes vile and depraved fluids oozing from the bunholes of those he condemns and reviles. (Just google the odious name, and you will see.) Whats up with the GOP this year? Can they not come up with somebody who is halfway normal? Jeez.

From the gallant KPFA folks we have the following interesting upcoming event:

KPFA Winter 2012 Author Event Series

Wednesday, January 25, 7:30 pm:
THOMAS FRANK
“Pity the Billionaire: The Unlikely Resurgence of the American Right”
Hosted by Richard Wolinsky
Berkeley Hillside Club
2286 Cedar Street, Berkeley, CA
$12 advance tickets: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/216731 :: 800-838-3006
or: Pegasus Books (3 locations), Mrs. Dalloway’s, Moe’s Books, Walden Pond, DIESEL, A Bookstore, in SF - Modern Times Bookstore ($15 door)
Information: www.kpfa.org/events

From the bestselling author of What’s the Matter with Kansas? – a stunningly insightful and sardonic look at why the worst economy since the 1930s has incurred the inchoate wrath of tea party conservatism.

Economic catastrophe usually brings social protest and demands for change, but when Thomas Frank set out in 2009 to look for expressions of American discontent, all he could find were loud demands that the economic system be made even harsher on the recession’s victims and that society’s traditional winners be given even grander shares. The American Right, apparently moribund after the election of 2008, was peculiarly reinvigorated by the arrival of serious hard times. The Tea Party movement demanded not that we question the failed system (as the Occupy Movement insisted) but that we reaffirm our commitment to its worst excesses. Republicans in Congress embarked on a grim strategy of total opposition to the liberal state.

In Pity the Billionaire Thomas Frank, wily chronicler of American paradox, examines the bizarre mechanism by which dire economic circumstances have delivered wildly unexpected political results. Using firsthand reporting, a deep knowledge of the American Right, and a wick sense of humor, he provides the first full diagnosis of our dangerous cultural malady.

BLEAK MIDWINTER'S DAY

So anyway it's been a quiet week on the Island, our hometown set here on the edge of the San Francisco Bay. The weather has been colder than we are used to around here. Not so cold as other parts of the country, or even the Sierra regions of the Golden State, but certainly not tee-shirt weather for the sane. A dockwalloper set in at the start of the weekend, which turned into a periodic sizzler, and reports of heavy snow slamming the Sierra came in welcome.

A drought in the breadbasket of America is nasty business; believe me no one from here to Hyannis Port wants any of that right now. So even though things are grim, everyone is suffering cutbacks and far too many people think the hideousness of Rick Santorum is attractive, it does appear that the drought is staved off for now.

Decisions about the golf course have been postponed until better weather, the hospital continues to struggle, UCB remains mum about where to place its lab extension, redevelopment is assured to continue -- whether we like it or not, at the Boatworks area and Park Street and people are discussing what kind of trees to plop on Park Street.

For the record, the Editorial Board is stridently against non-native palm trees. Palms are not endemic to this part of California, they are not especially attractive, they do not provide close shade and we do not want our Island turned into a semblance of Miami, Florida. We do not have balmy breezes, we have strong, vigorous winds here. We do not march around in flip flops; we wear birkenstocks and harness boots. We are NorCal. We don't tan as an occupation. We do not want our island turned into some ghastly imitation of Long Beach. We are the Island and we have our own history of oaks and boxwoods.

That is our choice and we stick to it.

The Editor has been pulling the remains of his white hairs after the Offices got robbed in a daylight escapade by the notorious Toshienarita Yakuza band, who all stormed in waving sharp ginsu knives. Because the Offices are largely non-profit and nobody ever has any money anyway, the gang got away with not much more than several Raybans, a chiropractic backbrace, several hundred dollars in small change from the cash drawer, and a carton of half-and-half, but not much else.

They all rushed in, screaming all sorts of obscenities in Japanese, and demanding money in English, but finding everyone poor as churchmice, left in great disgust after trashing the place.

The IPD, finding no traffic ordinances had been affected, refused to pursue the matter.

The Editor, nevertheless was incensed. His domain had been robbed, after all. This was insult and umbrage and all of that. All of these hooded ninja-heathen running wild all over the place, rummaging through his files. Ugh!

But he had stood firm, protected his reader's IP addresses, their personal information, blocking the path of the savage nipponese ninjas as they stood firing off their guns into the innocent roof.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, but spare your country's data," he said.

And so he stood with his hands clasped, old fat man with white hair surrounding his balding pate in an aureole. Here I am, so take me now. Today is a good day to die.

"A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that man's deed and word;
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

The ninjas left wreckage and disorder. Chad's java code was left strewn in a heap. The Editor stood at the window, a broken Coriolanus lamenting his fate.

Amid the mayhem, missed the last few issues of PHC emenating out of the Fitz up there on Summit Avenue. Hope the old feller is still kicking ass with common sense and Lutheran rectitude.

Down in the Old Same Place Bar everyone watched with dismay on the big screen as the last chances of the 49'ers vanished amid the kick-returns and fumbles. Consider this a rebuilding year. Next year we will trounce those Giants firmly, putting them Bostons into their rightful second place.

Talk swung again to the topics of Politics and Religion, which seem to be dismayingly interlinked these days. Babar, of the Greatly Orotund Party, held forth on the consequences of the recent South Carolina Primary escapade. It's getting into January now, and still no GOP frontrunner is in sight. Eft Gregorian seemed to have pulled ahead in the state known for savage inbreeding, where his seven wives seemed not to affect his pull on the conservative pulpit.

In that darned South people get married to their sister and their cousin six times or more, so Eft's pecadillos mattered very little at the hustings.

Fascistic lunatics like Santorum, whose very name evokes vile fluids oozing from the bumhole, are common as dirt down there, so nobody in SC stood up to say, "Y'all know this feller is a wackjob extraordinaire."

Problem is, most common folk in America just want a President who is sane. The Grody Other Party just wants a screaming extremist.

The result is that, with no clear winner in the GOP, the savage infighting will continue another several months while the Dems have all the time in the world to deal with whoever comes out on top of what everyone knows is a dungheap of ridiculousness. Chris Christie and Paul Ryan figured that one out long before everyone else.

It may come to pass that even the incompetant and boobish Dems will have no trouble at all dispatching the bloodied, battered, exhausted, repudiated GOP contender that staggers forth from the arena to call like some Monty Python knight who has had all his arms lopped off, "Come on now! Come back and I'll bite your legs off!".

It will all be just like a fantasy vision of Paul Wolfowitz or a Peter Jackson version of a battle with Orcs. Just wack their heads off and you are done. So easy. Democracy will bloom with a thousand flowers.

Although Babar really prefers Stephen Colbert, he does recognize that realities will lead to the Mormon taking the brass ring. After that, since folks are wise now to electronic tomfoolery and ballot shenanigans, anything goes. Because of those darned complicated computers, they can't stuff ballot boxes like they used to.

Suzie stepped out back to the yard with the trash bins and the high fence. A slight rain fell down under the half moon scudding among the sea-wrack clouds. Denby, also disgusted by all the political talk which never ever seemed to go anywhere people really cared about came out and sat under the eves, strumming a Neal Young song. It was an old-fashioned waltz-time.

Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Just like children sleepin'
We could dream this night away.

Dawn came out and stood there with a washrag in her hand while the clouds rushed across the yellow-lit sky. The spoken-vomit of politics had driven her to seek the clean night air.

But there's a full moon risin'
Let's go dancin' in the light
We know where the music's playin'
Let's go out and feel the night.

Suzie grabbed Dawn's hand and hauled the big woman into the yard where the two began to dance under the pelting rain as Denby sang in his keening, off-tune voice.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

Somewhere on the Island a dreamy girl's arm reached up to turn out the light, all savage greed of landholders and atavistic savagery of powerbrokers forgotten in the night of love.

Down on Santa Clara Mr. Sanchez rolled over to embrace the former Ms. Morales, his new wife. Even in the deepest night of the Captain's authority, the rule of the General's mirror-sunglasses above his proud uniform with epaulets, during the hardest of hard times, the cruelest gray-hearted regime with its stamp of jackboots and savage religion, the moon floats transcendent.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the rain-dappled waters of the estuary before wavering over the moonlit grasses of the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its journey to the lunar landcape of parts unknown.

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

JANUARY 15, 2012

BEEN SEARCHING FOR A HEART OF GOLD

Had this week's photo in the files for a while, but then all good things take time to . . . ferment. And we wanted to post this one before the Time of Blue Valentines. It's a photo of Ocean Beach by the ever delightful Jodet. As in the game of Life v.1.0 itself, the challenge is to find the golden heart.

WHAT'S THE NEWS TELL ME WHAT'S A HAPPENIN'

Got a brand new year underway and no special reason to find fault with that. Other than the usual misery and deprivation, however, we will give it time. Yes, give it time.

Got news a while back from Terry that the talented Les Waters is leaving Berkeley Rep, where, as Associate Director for the past eight years, he has helped turn a local theater into a contender on the stage for world-class productions easily matching quality with London's Theatre in the Round and New York's National Theatre.

For many reasons we are sad to see him go, but he goes on to even more ambitious digs at the Actors Theatre of Louisville.

Throughout Waters’ tenure at Berkeley Rep, his shows garnered great acclaim, routinely ranking among the year’s best in publications such as The New Yorker, New York Times, Time Out New York, Time Magazine, and USA Today. He has a history of collaborating with prominent playwrights like Caryl Churchill, Charles Mee, and Wallace Shawn, and champions important new voices such as Will Eno, Jordan Harrison, Sarah Ruhl, and Anne Washburn. In 2009, he made his Broadway debut with Ruhl’s In the Next Room (or the vibrator play), which began in Berkeley. His other productions at Berkeley Rep include the world premieres of Concerning Strange Devices from the Distant West, Fêtes de la Nuit, Finn in the Underworld, Girlfriend, and To the Lighthouse; the American premiere of TRAGEDY: a tragedy; the West Coast premieres of Ruhl’s Eurydice and Three Sisters; and extended runs of The Glass Menagerie, The Lieutenant of Inishmore, The Pillowman, and Yellowman. Waters has numerous credits in New York, his native England, and at theatres across America.

Well, it sucks to see such a talent fly the coop, but we wish the man all the best in his new career.

Got news that the current conditions of bare rock will soon change as a storm moves in this week for some badly needed local rain, followed by even more badly needed Sierra snowfall. Up to now, this has been the driest year on record, with the Tioga Pass open in December and folks clambering the hiking trails which normally sit under eight feet of snow this time of year. No snow means drought conditions going into the Spring, so hope for the best.

We have reports from other parts of the country of bare snowslopes, so the situation is not unique, despite the radical conditions reported from Nome, Alaska.

Proving that we live in curious times -- once more -- we learned that an outpouring of outrage and objections prevented the tattoo chain called "Inkies" from placing a salon on Webster, where once tattoo parlors held dominion along with strip bars and check cashing establishments.

What is interesting is that the main resistance came not from folks against the idea of a tattoo parlor, but folks whose livelihoods feature "getting ink done". Seems "real professionals" regard the Inkies chain as crude, inartistic, larcenous, disreputable folks lacking taste and decent aesthetics.

In talking with a few artists at various East Bay parlors, we learned that tattooist can be highly gifted and talented artists in a variety of media, including traditional paint and ink on paper and that the best tattoo artists can convey vivid original images freehand according to their uniquely developed styles.

One complaint about Inkies by established tattoo artists was that a large portion of their standardized designs have been stolen from an entire style of Indonesian drawings and the workers do very little, if any, creative work.

This attitude of reducing fine art, which happens to be highly personalized, to the level of an Andy Warhol soupcan really ticks of local tattoo artists who pride themselves on their artistic originality.

We asked one artist if he ever continued what seems to be an highly personal relationship established by the process by some sort of contact, and he said that seldom happens. He said it was enough to know that his work was walking around, live, showing itself or being secretive as the case may be. He felt confident that what he had done had been at the time the best he could do. He had made a work of art and cast that work out into the world.

NOT ANOTHER FOODIE

Do you not hate those reviews of restaurants where "the presentation is all"? We do.

Recently, some high-profile people in the food world have offered opinions on what we can eat in the name of causes like saving the planet and pushing boundaries. Rene Redzepi, chef of Noma in Copenhagen, aka the world’s best restaurant, recommended that people in the States start eating squirrel (he hashtagged them “rabbit of the sky” on Twitter, someone else suggested "chicken of the trees").

And "Bizarre Foods" hero Andrew Zimmern came back from a trip to Beijing energized by a 10-course donkey tasting. “Donkey should be on everyone’s plate in 2012,” he says.

Recently an East Bay Express piece focussed its lens on eating insects, as in ants, grasshoppers, and maggots, which apparently are quite tasty. Turns out the main problem here is surprisingly making the diet cost-effective. You want fried ants, I got ants. But just try making those critters pass FDA rules, honey. Yeah, that is indeed a problem.

COULD HAVE TOLD YOU VINCENT

Oakland Art Murmur is pleased to announce a series of guided walking tours, taking place on the third Saturday of each month, as a way of introducing visitors to Oakland's rich array of visual art venues.

Tours are led by prominent Oakland gallery directors, curators, writers, and artists, and are based on a different theme each time. The tour guide will pre-select five exhibitions that include work relating to their theme. At each venue, the group will enjoy a brief presentation about the gallery and the current exhibition from the gallery director and/or artist whose work is on view.

Oakland Art Murmur ran several of these tours during the second half of 2011, and due to the success of the program, has decided to make it a regular event for 2012.

Tour groups meet at Farley's East, a café with rotating art shows, located at 33 Grand Ave, just east of Broadway, at 2:00. Participants should be ready to walk a distance of four to eight blocks over the course of the afternoon. Tours are free and conclude around 4:00pm.

2012 Tour Schedule

JAN 21 Photography, led by Irene Imfeld, Director of PHOTO gallery
FEB 18 Tour moved to Saturday February 25th
FEB 25 Ceramics, led by Joshua Margolis, Artist and member of FM collective
MAR 17 Drawing, led by John Casey, Artist and member of Oakland Art Murmur's Board of Directors.
APR 21 The influence of CCA & Mills on the Murmur community, led by Marianna Stark, Arts Writer
MAY 19 Current Trends in Contemporary Art led by Danielle Fox, Director of SLATE gallery and Oakland Art Murmur
JUN 16 Living with Sculpture and Conceptual Art, led by Charlie Milgrim of Mercury 20 Gallery
JULY 21 Collective Art Spaces, led by Maya Kabat of Mercury 20 Gallery
AUG 18 Collaborative Art Projects, led by Susan Sharman of Studio Quarcus
SEP 15 Identifying how art impacts our lives - personally, locally, globally, led by Lonnie Lee, Director of Vessel Gallery
OCT 20 "Coda" art as it relates to musical signature, led by Stan Peterson of Creative Growth

For more information on the tours and other free Saturday events including artists talks, receptions, and concerts, check Oakland Art Murmur's Saturday Stroll Page: http://oaklandartmurmur.org/calendar/saturday-stroll

ONE IN THE NAME OF LOVE

It is difficult each year to come up with a sincere and honest appraisal of a man commemorated by this holiday fixed for now on January 16th. Every time, we are halted by memories and by strung-out emotions.

The Wikipedia has this to say:

"Martin Luther King, Jr. (January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968) was an American clergyman, activist, and prominent leader in the African-American Civil Rights Movement. He is best known for being an iconic figure in the advancement of civil rights in the United States and around the world, using nonviolent methods following the teachings of Mahatma Gandhi. King has become a national icon in the history of modern American liberalism.

A Baptist minister, King became a civil rights activist early in his career. He led the 1955 Montgomery Bus Boycott and helped found the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) in 1957, serving as its first president. King's efforts led to the 1963 March on Washington, where King delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech. There, he expanded American values to include the vision of a color blind society, and established his reputation as one of the greatest orators in American history. "

Well that sure sounds all historical and objective and distant as Heroditus.

It sure does not recall the sense of acid fear in the gut, the astonishing sight of what turns out to be the bright splash of your own blood on asphalt and the way it turns dark in a few minutes, and it hardly presents the weird sensation of being surrounded by a savage howling mob of snarling faces.

If you have never had that sensation, praise MLK you never do. It is not a good one.

There are people still alive who lived through the tumultuous Civil Rights Era. In fact, Jesse Jackson was standing just below the balcony on that day when King was murdered by a racist maniac. We have friends who had to enter department stores through doors separate from the main entrance, which had been reserved for Whites Only. They had to use separate water fountains, separate schools, and sit separate in just about any public place, including buses. At any time, any one of them could be pulled out of line or from their homes to be beaten, tortured, and murdered.

People today talk about racism here as a function of name-calling, employment discrimination, club exclusions, etc., however we only this this far because of men and women like Martin Luther King. Anyone visiting any one of our larger American cities can clearly see by the composition of neighborhoods that discrimination still exists. We have a long road still to go, but at least we are on it now and enjoying the fruits of labor as beneficiaries.

Many of our most superb athletes, scientists, statesmen and women, soldiers, are honored Black citizens who contribute immensely to this country and to society in general.

Monday is a holiday, and for many who do know know these things, that is something for which to be grateful.

It took a lot of people working very hard and at great cost to make the possibility of a Black Man as President to become a possibility. We can say with pride that this possibility became a reality. And that sort of pride is far more justified and true than any foam finger waving or baselessly inane "We're Number One" chanting. All of those people, indeed the entire Nation, owes a debt of gratitude to Martin Luther King, Jr., a humble pastor who never really wanted to become famous or gain a great name for himself. Before he arrived to gently lead our benighted Nation via pacific means into a more enlightened era, an entire segment of American society lived lives no different in quality of freedom than those in the most vicious Communist regime that ever existed. And for his pains he was murdered in cold blood.

Just think about that for a moment. Enjoy your holiday.

SO FAR AWAY

So anyway, the temperature has been chill and the pogonip lingering these past few days. When the sun came out a chill wind forced everyone quickly indoors. Word has it that a big storm is heading this way, which will surely rectify all inequities.

It will not, but at least it will be something different and maybe put snow in the Sierra.

The new Mr. Howitzer, spreading his wings and just establishing himself in Society here, sent Dodd out in search of truffles for a particular recipe he had in mind.

e had found a receipt from Sonoma Farms for 1 live pig

Dodd said that raw truffles were not to be had in this district at the grocery, to which Mr. Howitzer responded that Dodd had better find some or else and besides he had found a receipt from Sonoma Farms for 1 live pig. It is commonly known that pigs are employed to find truffles. Where had that pig named Hermano gotten himself?

"Hermano was not the truffle-pig sort, having been bred as the rashers and ribs sort of supplier", Dodd said, and so absolved his friend from responsibility once more. Hermano, snorting and snuffling in a pen located in up-county Sonoma, appreciated this consideration.

Berkeley had long ago put the foo in fou-fou

Wearily, Dodd climbed into his battered Citroen to head up to Berzerkeley to find that the posh Andronico's had fallen victim to the Great Recession. Berkeley had long ago put the foo in fou-fou, so Dodd went searching.

While Dodd hunted truffles, Mr. Howitzer checked in on the work being done to repair the building that had caught fire. While at the site, he instructed the electrician to run the power lines so the hall lights would be on the circuit of one tenant, the porch lights on another's, and the maintenance sockets on yet another's.

"Ah señor, where do I put the ground?" Ferñando asked.

"O don't bother with that."

"Ah, señor, I do not think that is so legal," the workman asked. He was not a licensed electrician, but he did know a thing or two.

"I am not going to pay for it," Mr. Howitzer said. "I'll put one in later. Here's five dollars. Forget about it, I tell you."

"But . . .".

"Hrrumph!"

"Okayyyyy . . .".

The mains may have been grounded at one time, but the inexperienced Ferñando could not find it, so he ran a line to the metal clothesline pole. That sort of worked for now, but Ferñando made a mental note to avoid the place in the future.

When lunchtime came around, Ferñando went in search of a food truck, but the City Council had not yet granted its blessing to this necessity. Fortunately, he found Lionel tending the counter at the Pampered Pup hotdog joint.

Lionel was trying to explain to Arthur about how things had changed since the old days.

"These kids running around with their pants hanging down and slouching like no-accounts complain about nothing I tell you," Lionel said. "They just don't know what it was like."

Arthur sighed.

"How things going between you and that Jaqueline? You get past first base yet?"

"And that's another thing . . .", Lionel began.

"O for pete's sake. . .".

"Where's the romance gone today? These kids! Where's the subtlety, the . . . the . . . I remember when it was "Signed, Sealed Delivered" instead of Baby baby I wanna hump you now. There was Ain't No Mountain High Enough, Stop! In the Name of Love, and Heaven Must Have Sent You. . .".

"Sounds like the same old song . . ." Arthur said.

"Four Tops. You betcha. They just don't write songs like they used to. Everything is all sex and drugs and 'hoes and violence."

"Si," Fernando said. "Like La Pistole y mi Corazon."

The two guys just looked at him.

the Annual Golden Poppy Valentine's Day Fundraiser Ball

At the marina parlor of the Native Sons of the Golden West the planning committee was gathering ideas and taking stock of resources for the Annual Golden Poppy Valentine's Day Fundraiser Ball. Wally had got out his hunting bow as well as an 180 pound crossbow and they were thinking of having a live cupid running around, first on Park Street as a sort of ad for the charity ball and then at the Ball itself.

The crossbow was nixed as looking really unromantic and Wally regretfully put it away.

"Now who do we have who is fat and still looks good naked?"

Roberta was shocked. "Is too cold to run around without any clothes on!"

Rachel was contemplative. "Who says he's got to be fat? Put some vine leaves in his hair whoever it is." She was thinking in her head of a couple dance instructors who would look dashing with a quiver of arrows and not much else. They would do it, too.

"They have to wear some pink," Sharon said.

"They have to wear some pink," Sharon said. "At least pink shoes. I adore pink. That's the main reason I like Valentine's Day."

"No, no, no we can't have naked people on Park Street," David said. "This is not Berkeley."

Various members of the City Council were bandied about, but only briefly. Nobody wanted to see any of them nearly naked, not even Mayor Marie, who is must be admitted was a far better-looking Mayor than the Island had enjoyed for quite a long time.

we already know Jessica looks good in a bathing suit . . .

"Who says Cupid has to be a guy?" Abraham said. "Let's get Miss Island! She is civic-minded with her recycling programs and we already know Jessica looks good in a bathing suit . . .".

"Well," David said, "We could drive her around in a compost bin on wheels. . .".

"I can see it now," Abraham said. "The theme for this year can be 'Go green this Valentine's Day!'"

"God!" Rachel said with disgust. "Just think of the wretched color scheme -- green and pink!"

"Or it can be, just imagine, 'The Recycled Heart!'" Wally said. "Don't just throw your heart away, recycle!"

The possibilities began to pour through their minds. Everyone except Rachel, who could not get the image of hearts being used to compost a worm farm out of her head.

"It's just like Love," Sharon said. "You pour dirt on it and . . . it just blooms!" She sighed. "Ah romance!"

Abraham really liked the idea of Miss Island being driven around while wearing nothing but strategically placed refuse. Okay, so its Valentine's day -- strategically placed hearts.

"Can we get, like, pink champagne for this?" Sharon asked.

The bolt snicked past the tree branch to severe a guy-line

Bored, David went outside with the crossbow and, seeing the tempting sight of a plump "tree chicken", fired a bolt, missing the critter who scampered up and away with a flick of its bushy tail. The bolt snicked past the tree branch to severe a guy-line for the mainmast to Mr. Cribbage's new 40-foot ketch. With impressive power the bolt continued on its way to pierce the transformer up on the utility pole at the far end of the marina.

Wally and the others came out of the clubhouse.

"The heater stopped and all the lights went off," Wally said. "I think the power went out."

The Island, from 8th Street on west went dark as sparks began a little show of pyrotechnics up on the pole, noticed only by David.

David handed the crossbow to Wally. "I gotta run. Patricia is having a chiropractic social and I gotta be there. Talk to you guys later!"

"What happened to the power?" Sharon said. "Hey! Look at the pretty sparks over there!"

talk turned from the fire that started at Washington Park

That night at the Old Same Place Bar the talk turned from the fire that started at Washington Park, caused apparently by a power pole accident, to politics. The Presidential primaries were coming up and the battles between the various factions of the Conservative Party, the Very Conservative Party, the American Taliban Ultra Conservative Party and the Ultra Ultra Conservative Pee Tardy Party had gotten fierce. Michelle Schockman had already bowed out when her main campaign manager spent most of the campaign budget on sunglasses for their poodle, Froufrou Pink.

Greg Eft, of the Ultra Conservatives looked in pretty bad shape after news of his seven wives in seven states became public.

all these so-called conservatives were just posers

Babar, present in the OSPB at the rail commented that all these so-called conservatives were just posers. "A true Conservative wears two pairs of pants, uses the right Grecian Formula on his hair and the right plastic on that of his spouse of many years. A true conservative does not travel abroad to any place save Germany, which is held as a modal of how hard work and innate talent lead inevitably to success and the fall of evil socialism. German food is known to be Conservative in nature.

A true conservative does not really believe in starving government to nothing for government can be useful for handing out pots of money to wealthy friends. A true conservative goes to church, but not often and never talks about it, because all churches are always looking for free handouts.

When asked for whom Babar would vote, other than himself (he, himself is, of course, considered America's Best Conservative, for his very physique embodies the heart and symbol of Conservativism) the Candidate considered briefly.

"The most intelligent and clearly superficial candidate is Steven Colbert."

With that, the long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the shining sea waters of the estuary before wavering over the amber waves of grain at the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its journey to the purple mountain's majesty and parts unknown.

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

JANUARY 8, 2012

THE JOSHUA TREE

Nothing says the holidays are over quite like the sight of the dried-out xmas trees left on the curb for the recycling truck. Nothing quite says "unwanted" quite like this feller who has an untold story tied up in his never celebrated branches, left out in front of an apartment building here on the Island. Did someone die? A sudden need for divorce cause the family to scatter to the four winds with their presents all shipped back to Walmart? What disaster cancelled this one's Xmas?

Of course it could have been a matter of a sudden resurgence of the heart caused the woman of the house to impulsively throw her arms around her boyfriend/Significant Other with the boxes of decorations all there in the hallway and the tree just brought in. She says, "O Brad, I so loathe all this consumerism and hectic madness!"

"Me too, Janet. I hate Xmas!"

"Let's just turn out the lights and stay in bed for a week instead of all this running around and getting into stupid arguments with one another. Let's just enjoy each other for once."

"Great idea Janet! Let's get naked right now!"

"O but what shall we do about the kids?"

"Drown 'em? Like puppies?"

"No, Brad."

"I know. We can sell them to UCSF for scientific experiments. Just for the Holidays!"

"O Brad, what a great idea! I love you".

"Dammit Janet. I love you."

[They kiss. Fade out.]

THE ROSES IN THE WINDOWBOX HAVE TILTED TO ONE SIDE

In our annual retrospective of the deceased in 2011 we neglected two very important and very unlike individuals, one whom was an angelic creature, the other a repulsive cad.

So lets balance the yin with the yang here and start with the Good Man of Babylon, Warren Hellman.

F. Warren Hellman (July 25, 1934 – December 18, 2011) was a private equity investor and co-founder of Hellman & Friedman, a multi-billion dollar private equity firm. Hellman also co-founded Hellman, Ferri Investment Associates, today known as Matrix Partners, and started and funds the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival. Hellman passed away on December 18, 2011 of complications from his treatment for leukemia.

Hellman, although born in New York City, stems from old-line California stock -- his grandfather, Isaias W. Hellman, a Jewish immigrant from Bavaria, launched the family into its financials business after failing as a dry goods merchant in Los Angeles during the early days of the Golden State.

His family moved to San Francisco after the "difficult" boy who just could not put up with authority spent two years at a military academy that was intended to discipline his wildness and teach him some rules -- it did not work. He went on long, pell-mell, hell-for-leather horseback rides, told bawdy jokes, and set himself on fire with a kerosene lantern while sneaking into a room late at night to steal a toy belonging to someone else. In SF he graduated from Lowell High School to go to UCB where he triple-majored in economics, political science and history in 1955.

After serving in the US Military he hard-charged though 15 years at the now defunct Lehman Brothers, earning a reputation there as an aggressive wildman and an equally wild partier. By report he and a friend tried to hide from cops after tearing up a few well-manicured estate lawns in their sports-car by climbing up onto the roof of a house. That didn't work either.

Mr. Hellman built a fortune as an investor and seemed determined to spend much of it. He poured millions of dollars into local causes, some political, some personal.

He bankrolled San Francisco ballot measures that reformed the city's pension system and created an underground parking garage beneath Golden Gate Park. He funded the San Francisco Free Clinic and helped set up an endowment to support aquatic sports at UC Berkeley, where he played water polo as a student. He gave money to the Mills College cross-country team and the Jewish Community Endowment Fund. Concerned about dwindling local news coverage in the Internet age, he helped form the Bay Citizen online journalism site.

And in 2001, Mr. Hellman sponsored a free, outdoor concert devoted to bluegrass music, a love he had nurtured for years, the now wildly popular Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, which began humbly in a City College Auditorium and several classrooms there, catering to an initial audience that numbered in the hundreds. By 2011 the Festival was held in the formerly named Speedway Meadows (now re-named by the City Council as Hellman Meadows) on six stages over three days, with well over one half million attendees on Saturday alone.

A couple years ago he announced on stage during the last performance of the series that year he had created an endowment fund so that the festival could continue "after I croak". That year, the amateur banjo picker performed himself on a side stage with his band, the Wronglers.

His daughter Patricia Hellman Gibbs confirmed Sunday that "yes, the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival will go on!"

"He was truly a Renaissance man, excelling in so many aspects of life," she said. "He was a phenomenally successful businessman, a lifelong competitive athlete, a community leader, a dedicated musician, and fiercely devoted to his family. He and Mom were the yin and yang that made our family whole, complementary to each other in so many ways."

Mr. Hellman seemed to enjoy talking about his philanthropy more than his business deals, and often said that collecting expensive cars or art didn't interest him.

"What does move me is the philanthropic stuff," he told Forbes magazine in 2006. "Giving really does move me. Part of it is selfish. It's fun to be appreciated. But the other part is that good things really are growing."

Despite his bronco-buck youth he remained a loving and devoted husband to his wife, Chris, producing four children, some of whom had become somewhat famous celebrities in their own right.

He may have been a wildly successful financier, and in some circles there are those who consider that important, however he will be longer remembered for the wonderful gift of the HSBF long after all those ticky tack "lucites" commemorating big business deals have crumbled to dust.

As for his daughters, they will remember the fairy-tale story of how their father met their mother, at that time a ballet dancer for the London Festival Ballet Company, on the deck of the Queen Elizabeth, and how he would entertain all of them singing funny songs he had written himself, while playing the banjo, and how he possessed a vast repetoire of off-color jokes so funny he could make the milk snort out of your nose.

So much for nice. Now for the naughty. How could we forget the proto-type for stupid bad guys everywhere had passed away this year? Well, it was not exactly by natural causes.

Saddam Hussein Abd al-Majid al-Tikriti (28 April 1937 – 30 December 2006) was the fifth President of Iraq, serving in this capacity from 16 July 1979 until 9 April 2003. A leading member of the revolutionary Arab Socialist Ba'ath Party, and later, the Baghdad-based Ba'ath Party and its regional organisation Ba'ath Party – Iraq Region, which espoused ba'athism, a mix of Arab nationalism and Arab socialism, Saddam played a key role in the 1968 coup, later referred to as the 17 July Revolution, that brought the party to long-term power of Iraq.

Well, there is a lot to be said about the man's bone-headed misdeeds and nasty cruelties that seem all too typical of ruthless bloodthirsty dictators everywhere, but that has been documented well enough, from his use of chemical weapons, first against Iran during a nasty war and then against his own countrymen, the restive Kurds, to his brutal suppression of dissent, but most of that has been described ad nauseum.

In 1990 he invaded and looted Kuwait.

In 1990 he invaded and looted Kuwait. An international coalition came to free Kuwait in the Gulf War of 1991, but did not end Saddam's rule. Whereas some venerated him for his aggressive stance against Israel, including firing missiles at Israeli targets, he was widely condemned for the brutality of his dictatorship. His army was thrown out of Kuwait by an international force that saw very few casualties although losses on the Iraqi side topped well over 83,000 soldiers killed.

In March 2003, the U.S. and U.K. invaded Iraq

In March 2003, the U.S. and U.K. invaded Iraq, after U.S. President-Appointee George W. Bush accused him of possessing weapons of mass destruction and having ties to al-Qaeda. No such weapons were ever found and the al-Qaeda connection between Saddam's firmly secular government and the religious fundamentalist organization has been widely discredited as puffed up excuse for a war Bush wanted so as to keep himself and his conservative Republican Party in power. Most Mid-east experts consider any link between someone like Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden to be wildly preposterous, given the natures of their extremely divergent public persona.

Saddam's Ba'ath party was disbanded and the nation made a transition to a somewhat more democratic system. Following his capture on December 13, 2003, the trial of Saddam took place under the Iraqi interim government. He was convicted of charges related to the 1982 killing of 148 Iraqi Shi'ites and was sentenced to death by hanging. The execution of Saddam Hussein was carried out on December 30, 2006.

Those are the overt facts every American knows about. There are however, a few interesting factoids to review, especially in view of the astounding truth that Saddam actually believed the US would do nothing about the invasion of Kuwait.

And that he had some pretty solid, historical basis for holding such a seemingly preposterous idea.

Lets go back to 1968, and the 2nd Ba'ath Party coup led by Ahmed Hassan al-Bakr that set the stage for Saddam's rise to power.

Iraq was a strategic buffer state for the United States against the Soviet Union, and Saddam was often seen as an anti-Soviet leader in the 1960s and 1970s. Some even suggested that John F. Kennedy's administration supported the Ba'ath party's takeover. Although Saddam was al-Bakr's deputy, he was a strong behind-the-scenes party politician. Al-Bakr was the older and more prestigious of the two, but by 1969 Saddam Hussein clearly had become the moving force behind the party.

As Saddam consolidated his power by both increasing emphasis on modern technology and bolstering the national oil production capability, he sought to eliminate the age-old inter-tribal animosities which have bedeviled so much of the rest of the world by ruthlessly eliminating opponents, among those, the true socialists and the communists.

The combination of anti-communism, oil production, and vastly increased stability made Saddam highly attractive to the West.

With the help of increasing oil revenues, Saddam diversified the largely oil-based Iraqi economy. Saddam implemented a national infrastructure campaign that made great progress in building roads, promoting mining, and developing other industries. The campaign helped Iraq's energy industries. Electricity was brought to nearly every city in Iraq, and many outlying areas.

Before the 1970s, most of Iraq's people lived in the countryside and roughly two-thirds were peasants. This number would decrease quickly during the 1970s as global oil prices helped revenues to rise from less than a half billion dollars to tens of billions of dollars and the country invested into industrial expansion.

1979 proved to be a watershed year for Saddam, who had ascended to General over all of Iraq's forces. In a quiet putsch, he had 68 members of the Ba'ath party ruling assembly accused of treason, including the ailing al-Bakr. 22 were sentenced to death by firing squad immediately, and hundreds more were executed in the following months, making Saddam the defacto dictator and exclusive ruler of Iraq.

That hullaballoo went fairly unnoticed here for the US developed an interest in Iraq's neighbor, Iran.

In early 1979, Iran's Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi was overthrown by the Islamic Revolution

In early 1979, Iran's Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi was overthrown by the Islamic Revolution, thus giving way to an Islamic republic led by the Ayatollah Khomeini. The influence of revolutionary Shi'ite Islam grew apace in the region, particularly in countries with large Shi'ite populations, especially Iraq. Saddam feared that radical Islamic ideas — hostile to his secular rule — were rapidly spreading inside his country among the majority Shi'ite population.

The US embassy was stormed by Iranians and a number of officials there taken hostage, initiating a long and painful episode that featured failed rescue missions and the eventual, temporary, discrediting of President Jimmy Carter's administration.

When Saddam announced in secret meetings at the United Nations he intended to invade Iran and overthrow the Ayatollah, the US responded with some pleasure.

In September of 1980, parts of Iran were invaded and annexed as "new territory of Iraq" with Western approval.

With the support of the Arab states, the United States, and Europe, and heavily financed by the Arab states of the Persian Gulf, Saddam Hussein had become "the defender of the Arab world" against a revolutionary Iran. The only exception was the Soviet Union, who initially refused to supply Iraq on the basis of Neutrality in the conflict, although in his memoirs, Mikhail Gorbachev claimed that Leonid Brezhnev refused to aid Saddam over infuriation of Saddam's treatment of Iraqi Communists. Consequently, many viewed Iraq as "an agent of the civilized world". The blatant disregard of international law and violations of international borders were ignored. Instead Iraq received economic and military support from its allies, who conveniently overlooked Saddam's use of chemical warfare against the Kurds and the Iranians and Iraq's efforts to develop nuclear weapons.

In the first days of the war, there was heavy ground fighting around strategic ports as Iraq launched an attack on Khuzestan. After making some initial gains, Iraq's troops began to suffer losses from human wave attacks by Iran. By 1982, Iraq was on the defensive and looking for ways to end the war.

the United States ... supplied Iraq with "satellite photos showing Iranian deployments"

Iraq quickly found itself bogged down in one of the longest and most destructive wars of attrition of the 20th century. During the war, Iraq used chemical weapons against Iranian forces fighting on the southern front and Kurdish separatists who were attempting to open up a northern front in Iraq with the help of Iran. These chemical weapons were developed by Iraq from materials and technology supplied primarily by West German companies as well as the Reagan administration of the United States which also supplied Iraq with "satellite photos showing Iranian deployments" and advised Hussein to bomb civilian targets in Tehran and other Iranian cities. France sold 25 billion dollars worth arms to Saddam.

The bloody eight-year war ended in a stalemate roughly sometime in 1988. There were hundreds of thousands of casualties with estimates of up to one million dead. Neither side had achieved what they had originally desired and at the borders were left nearly unchanged. The southern, oil rich and prosperous Khuzestan and Basra area (the main focus of the war, and the primary source of their economies) were almost completely destroyed and were left at the pre 1979 border, while Iran managed to make some small gains on its borders in the Northern Kurdish area. Both economies, previously healthy and expanding, were left in ruins.

It was this economic and moral support from the West which led Saddam to foolishly believe that he could recover the economic losses by seizing the assets of Kuwait, which government he disliked for opposing his urging of OPEC to rein in production so as to drive up the price of oil. So, stymied in getting quick cash via oil production, he decided to leverage his Western friendships and simply take what he wanted.

the USSR was becoming less a threat as Brezhnev's health began to fail

Problem was, the USSR was becoming less a threat as Brezhnev's health began to fail (he died January 1981 after several years of declining faculties), Iran was quiescent at that time, and Iraq had become less of a military strategic necessity. Prior to 9/11, many in the US felt that the season of violent instability was coming to an end, for the USSR offered remarkably friendly terms for arms reduction in Europe among many other concessions. Only later did people realize these measures were desperate last efforts to hold the Soviet economy together by the Politburo members, among them the moderate Konstantin Chernenko, who would become President after Andropov's brief 15 month stint. Gorbachev succeeded Chernenko after 13 more months. At the time, the Politburo simply acted independent of the largely incapacitated leader while waiting patiently for the man who had once pounded a lecturn with his shoe during a speech to finally pass away.

U.S. ambassador to Iraq April Glaspie met with Saddam in an emergency meeting on 25 July 1990, where the Iraqi leader stated his intention to "give negotiations only... one more brief chance before forcing Iraq's claims on Kuwait." US officials conveyed successive messages of "non-involvement" in Mid-East affairs, which Saddam took to be a green light for invasion.

U.S. President George H. W. Bush responded cautiously

In fact, he was fairly close to becoming right, save for countries other than the US got involved with concerns for regional stability. U.S. President George H. W. Bush responded cautiously for the first several days. On one hand, Kuwait, prior to this point, had been a virulent enemy of Israel and was the Persian Gulf monarchy that had had the most friendly relations with the Soviets. On the other, everyone who knew anything about the Middle East other than Bush was concerned for regional stabillity.

The invasion ... triggered world-wide fears that the world's price of oil...was at stake

The invasion immediately triggered world-wide fears that the world's price of oil, and therefore control of the world economy, was at stake. Britain profited heavily from billions of dollars of Kuwaiti investments and bank deposits. Bush was perhaps swayed while meeting with British prime minister Margaret Thatcher, who happened to be in the U.S. at the time. Finally, the Soviets realized this adventuring would not do, and that Saddam would prove a poor ally under any circumstances. The Soviets joined with the US in passing resolutions in the United Nations Security Council giving Iraq a deadline to leave Kuwait and approving the use of force if Saddam did not comply with the timetable.

Ultimately, the concern that Saddam's Western-outfitted army, the largest in the region, would attack Saudi Arabia and destabilized the minority monarchy there put the nail in Saddam's coffin.

Saddam ignored the UN timetable and the rest is history.

WELCOME BACK MY FRIENDS / TO THE SHOW THAT NEVER ENDS

As we get longer in the tooth, some of these song references start getting really obscure the further back we reach. So anyway it's a brand new year with a brand new full moon hanging up there and more stuff continuing the same as the old stuff. This would not be the Island it is if we started up doing things any different from what we did twenty-five years ago.

Soon as the last potential shopper had fled on the 24th with their potential pocketbook in hand, work re-commenced on the "streetscape" project that decimated 120 big trees on Park Street. Plans are to put in about half that number along with parking meters that are more efficient at extracting dollars for the city and bus shelters with different curb arrangements. Driving along Park has never been a fun job, and right now with the construction, its best to bicycle in or stay off of it entirely.

Speaking of which, the area between Fruitvale and High Street, including the 35th Street passage is snarled with massive construction and destruction going on as part of the 880 earthquake retrofitting. Best to avoid trying to cut through there from the Island to Oakland, as you will encounter quite a lot of impediments. Another onramp is blocked entirely as well, so with the 8th street one gone, there is no way to get onto the Nimitz unless through the tube, Park Street or Bayfarm/Harbor Bay Isle. Man, its like living on an island lately . . . .

Janet Kern arrives to take on the embattled position of city attorney in a time when everyone -- including former city attorneys -- have been taking legal potshots at the Island. Best of luck Janet. You are going to need it.

Planning Board is looking at allowing Target to put in 140,000 square feet worth of store at the former Fleet Industrial Supply Center site. This is the same site where a massive fire destroyed a three-story medical supplies building a couple years ago. 700,000 square feet have already been designated for office and retail space at that location. We generally think its a good idea, as Target has more of the price structure and inventory that match the real demographics and purchasing habits of Islanders here than the more fou-fou boutiques.

HOW CAN A POOR MAN STAND SUCH TIMES

So anyway, the weather has moved from the heavy coat of fog and chill to splendid days of striated blue skies and temps ranging into the seventies. Thinking its all over for now, the squirrels have come out, plump as furry balloons, but lacking their usual frisky behaviors, moving a bit like someone just getting going before the first cup of coffee on Monday morning. The Canadian geese have been going to town over at Washington School during the holiday recess, gabbling and pooping happily on the playing field there, so we expect there will be some sqwawking and fluttering when the kids come back.

As mentioned before most of the gang got seasonal work over in Babylon. Jose and Javier got jobs wearing green pants, curlicue shoes and hats with bells to the store Santas. This year the store hired three Santas to cover the shifts, and Marlene got to be Miss Sugarplum Fairy so long as she covered up her tats with body makeup and removed the facial hardware.

She covered the tats with her costume and heavy foundation, but no way was she going to be taking out all the metal. Which was fine, as the nose piercing sparkled delightfully after she borrowed a stone from the jewelry department, and most of the time she kept her mouth shut, which is really all that certain kinds of retailers want out of any woman in general anyway.

Wow! You got something magical in your tongue Miss Sugarplum Fairy!

Marlene, was, however, the only Sugarplum Fairy with a piece of steel piercing her tongue. Some of the younger kids really loved it. Wow! You got something magical in your tongue Miss Sugarplum Fairy!

My boyfriend thinks so too, said Marlene. Here, have some magic dust! And she would shake her wand so that glitter fell all about and the kids laughed and clapped their little hands.

When the Holiday Season came to an end, quite abruptly on the 24th around nine o'clock when the Manager, Mr. Stint, showed up and fired everybody all at once. He did this at nine so that there would be no "getting ready to go" and so that everyone could turn in their uniforms, check out all the equipment and still have time to spend what they earned in the same store. Also, anybody still shopping for something on December 24th after nine sure as heck was bringing in no kids to play with and urge to prod parents into buying yet another pink iPoodle device with the Barbie attachment.

Stint had, in fact, carefully trained all the Santas with scripts that included lines like, "So that's what you would like for Xmas, Jeremy? Wouldn't it also be neat if you got a Guitar Hero kit from the electrics department? That's the 2nd Floor, Jeremy. To get to the elevator just go past the bakery where they have perfectly scrumptious cupcakes with blue frosting for just two ninety-nine. . . "

Or this. "I bet your dad would really like a brand new Black and Decker cordless 20volt reversible drill with keyless chuck! Wouldn't that make him laugh and clap his hands!"

Jose and Javier and Xavier had all been coached as well in how to look adorable and sing "Away on a Manger" and "Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel," but none of them could remember the words in English, so they sang "O Tannenbaum" in Spanish, replacing the key words sometimes to make it interesting.

"Los necessitas, los nessessitas, que verde son sus paredes de baño!"

Marsha joined them as a sort of uni-sex elf and taught them all a few words. Their version of Feliz Navidad featured Yiddish and Hebrew and was wildly unprintable, but began

Bris milah!
Bris milah!
So happy is the moholem
At Bris milah!
Oy!

So on the 24th they all joyfully collected their paychecks and, marching well away from the ongoing chaos in the Departments fled that place where guys were punching each other in the aisles over the last Air Jordan shoes and women were pepper-spraying each other over Tickle Me Elmo dolls, one of which turned on amid the melee of savage kicks and tears and screaming.

"Ha, ha, ha! That tickled! Do it again! Do it again!"

Mr. Howitzer was gone on to his final reward

So the Holidays of 2011 passed with little event. Little event save for a somber and short funeral procession that left the Baptist chapel where Reverend Rectumrod spoke to a sparse collection of relatives, insurance adjusters, attorneys, and basic leeches as well as our man Dodd. For his former employer, Mr. Howitzer was gone on to his final reward as related previously.

Dodd, with his usual efficiency, had hammered everything together in a nick of time, dispensing with any wake or lying in state -- dispensing with the cost and bother of embalming entirely in fact, much to the disgust of the undertaker, Mr. Black, who, since he had gotten nothing from Mr. Howitzer in life, neither well-wishes nor remuneration, imagined that he was owed something from the wealthy man after his passing.

Dodd, knowing no one had ever cared about the man, chose the economy model casket, and chose a casket only because Mr. Howitzer had already a pre-paid plot waiting for him in Colma (the Chapel of the Chimes cemetary had been too pricey).

It was the quickest funeral ever done by Mr. Black. They were out over the bridge and back in time for tea. No one paused by the open grave, no one sought condolences. This was all about looking at who you might have to sue to get a slice of the pie left behind.

He had not spoken with his brother for well over twenty-five years

As it turned out, there were no slivers. It all went to Bob Howitzer, Harry's brother. Mr. Howitzer had struck out name after name on his will as this one or that one had incensed him, along with long notes as to his reasons for displeasure, meant to be read at the whatever reading of the will might happen. Since most did not show up for that, such ceremony was brief as well. He had not spoken with his brother for well over twenty-five years, so there had been no occasion to strike off his name.

His next closest relative, Aunt Withers, lived in Wrinkled Neck, New York and refused to attend any of it. "Look sonny," said the woman. "Stepping in front of a bus is the best thing the jerk ever gave me."

It was a firetruck, ma'am, Dodd politely corrected.

"I'll send a basket of wine and fruit to the entire firehouse," Aunt Withers said. "What's the address?"

O for pete's sake, Dodd said.

One could do better than leave behind a legacy such as this. Some people find it very little trouble to set up a bluegrass concert series in the park, for example.

So anyway, Dodd found himself in the study facing what turned out to be his new employer, Mr. Howitzer #2, who turned out to be nearly a carbon copy of his brother and every bit as blunt.

the right people always come out on top. What say you to that?

"I made my money the old fashioned way," Mr. Howitzer said while sorting through papers at the big desk. "I inherited it. And just when things were looking a bit thin, I inherit some more. Just goes to show you, the right people always come out on top. What say you to that?"

"Uh . . . yes, sir."

"Hmmph. Glad you agree. So you do what around here?"

"Everything, sir. Pretty much everything."

"Ah! Good! Then keep doing it."

"Yes, sir."

"Now go. Do what you do. But be ready if I need you."

"Yes, sir."

When Dodd got home, carrying an object wrapped in brown paper Barbara asked him if his former employer had remembered the man who had served him hand and foot for over fifteen years.

He had.

Dodd put the package on the kitchen table and unwrapped a silver serving tray with several hard candies. Dodd stopped Barbara from unwrapping one to eat it.

O those are quite old. From the early eighties I think. He got them in case any children dropped by on Halloween. None ever did so they just sat there year in and year out.

There's an inscription on the plate, Barbara observed. They pushed aside the candies to read what was there.

Princess Coq-au-Vin Memorial Races, Fuselli-on-Tine

O Dodd, Barbara said and put her arms around him. Dodd began laughing.

I am really glad the old bastard did not remember me at all, he said. And I still have a job.

Just like the old one.

Just like the old one, he agreed. Let's go to Chevy's for some fresh Tex-Mex.

In going out, Dodd dropped the plate and the candies in the trash.

After dinner they came out to walk on the short pier there in Emeryville while egrets plashed in the tidepools on the edge of the turquoise water that rippled out to where Mt. Tam bulked under the sunset slashes of azure, crimson and gold fading on up to the heaven of stars.

Look! Barbara said. There is a beautiful full moon!

It is the first full moon of the new year, Dodd said.

They stood there a long time looking at the moon, the sea and the stars before heading back to the Island.

While the couple lay in bed, looking at this moon, Padraic also looked at this same moon from the doorway of the Old Same Place Bar. Inside the bar, even though the moon looked distinctly white, or pale yellow at most, and most certainly not pink, Denby played the Nick Drake song. Dawn and Suzie also came out.

Old Schmidt also came out and said something in German. "Der Mond ist noch hell heuteabend."

"What's that about hell," Padraic asked.

"Ach, hell means light in German," Old Schmidt explained.

"So a Hellman would be a man of light," Suzie said.

"Ja, ja. I suppose so."

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the star-spackled waters of the estuary before wavering over the moonlit grasses of the Buena Vista flats with the wind as the locomotive wended its way from the tall gantries of the Port past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its journey to parts unknown in the new year.

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

JANUARY 1, 2012

BENEATH THE SOUTHERN CROSS

This week's photo comes from friend and associate Jessica McGowan, variously of Marin and New York, and is of a prow of a boat crossing a river in India.

The well-travelled Jessica has visited China, Australia, and India among more than a dozen foreign countries. She recently returned from that country where she hooked up with alum friends from Colgate University.

All indications that this particular bright class will consisted of some earth-shakers and prime movers in the years to come. In these dark times we look to the stars of the future with some hope. The kids are all right.

NOTHING CHANGES ON NEW YEAR'S DAY

Knecht Rupecht has come and gone, all the menorahs have been snuffed out and put away for another year, Kwanzaa is winding up and the Wiccans and druids have packed up their robes until the next time the light changes. Xmas happened last week and we sincerely hope all of you got what you deserved and what you deserved was what you wanted.

In the wan light of dawn after a muted and somewhat cutback New Year's which saw many Islanders huddling close to home so as to avoid lunatic drivers, heavy-handed authoritarian police action, and wretchedly nervous jumping up and down in favor of close circles of dear friends and family keeping close to the Hobbit hearth this year's New Year's passed with a decidedly more subdued presentation than in years past.

The Island had minor events going on to help keeping home on the holiday's a bit more engaging, including an ice rink, complete with genuine "Zamboni" that periodically sallied out on the deck to do what those Zamboni's have been wont to do for ages. The rink, appropriately enough, is located on the lot of the former Ron Goode Toyota, which fell a victim of the Great Recession this past year as did pretty much all of "auto row", save for the scooter shop a few blocks up.

The first few bottle rockets went off a few minutes before the midnight hour, followed by the usual patter of fizzlers, whoopers, M-80's, black cats, and whatnot, however, the really big explosions were absent this year, there were few, if any, crackles from AK-47's and Mac-10's and no sky-high highly-illegal, fiery magnolia fireworks -- at least around here -- and by 1:05am the place was as silent as the fabled stables of Bethlehem from San Pablo Bay all the way down to Fremont along the water.

By the admission of most folks, 2011 really sucked. Mostly because 2010 and 2009 had already been such huge disappointments that people had retained the fond hope, "surely next year would be better".

It was not.

This year around, all across the country we noted there was more a sense of "good riddance" and a resigned determination rather than a sense things are going to improve.

In Times Square somebody set up a "Good Riddance" interactive display that proved to be wildly popular to thousands of New Yorkers.

The comments ranged from global concerns . . .

to deeply personal ones.

We thank the Alameda Sun for doing such a good job providing a retrospective of the year to the extent we feel there is little to add other than commentary. Too bad Lauren Do (Blogging Bayport) took a holiday, but the girl deserves a rest and she, too, noted that celebrations this year were mellower than in year's past.

If you didn't get the Sun, let it be remembered that the City coffers took a badly needed boost from the transfer tax when Jamestown, an international real-estate management firm, purchased the Southshore Mall for a pretty penny and restored the original name from its preposterously pretentious "Towne Centre" temporary appellation.

A threat to draw up the draw bridges at night to save money got the kibosh by the Coast Guard, proving the Semper in Semper Paratus means something, and so also ended the wistful fantasies of every boy and girl -- of a certain age and generation -- which held that was precisely what They did every time a crime was committed on the Island: They would raise the drawbridge to prevent the malefactors from escaping. There is no Santa Claus either, guys.

In February, City Auditor Keven Kearney stirred up a brough-haha by honestly stating the obvious: he was "not optimistic of the financial future of the city . . .". That just means Kevin is not destined for a life in the mendacious world of politics . . . .

April is the cruelest month, or so said that starchy Bostonian T.S. Eliot, yet nobody thought Ron Cowan's land swap proposal to be very poetic when he offered to give the City 12 acres of useless land for 12 acres of land now employed by the Mif Albright Golf Course, which had been the subject of furious legalistic hand-to-hand combat by various parties seeking to tear a piece loose from the embattled golf course. Cowan wants development dollars.Kemper Sports wants total control of the complex -- with perks added in. The neighbors want peace, quiet, parking and open space. Surprise! The golfers just want to play golf. On the existing course.

Typo there in May, you guys. That was "Paul's Newsstand" that enjoyed a restoration after service on that corner since 1939. Larry Trippy operated the stand from 2006 until his death in 2010.

Most municipalities would balk at inviting a major medical university to install a major lab facility, with all of its potential toxic and ethical consequences, however times are tough and the Island came up as one of six major contenders to host the Berkeley National Laboratory extension, largely because it would be nonresidential development at the disputed Point and, quite frankly, we need the money.

The site, also quite frankly, would be ideal for the lab, given its road access, its naturally protected boundaries, the low crime rate, and the local friendliness to such endeavors.

Memorial Day provided the event for which the Island will be known for quite a long while. We are still getting messages over the transom from all over the world about the horrific event that claimed the life of citizen Raymond Zack. On Memorial Day, Zack walked out onto the offshore mudshelf to stand there up to his neck in frigid seawater for over an hour while nearly two hundred private citizens, law enforcement, fire department and Coast Guard collected on the beach to watch the man die.

Because of alleged "bureaucratic difficulties" first responders failed to act to get the man out of the water before hypothermia incapacitated him and he drowned.

A private citizen, risking police censure, dove into the water to retrieve his body.

The event sparked a national furor over what the first responders could have done to save the man. The official response from the fire department was that due to budget cutbacks, no funds for land-sea rescue training had been available and the FD boat had been dry-docked. A subsequent audit revealed that training funds had been present, but unused for several months.

If that were not enough, our Island's own Howard Camping created an international sensation when he predicted the end of the world in the form of something he called "the rapture" on May 22. People gave his ultra-fundamentalist church millions of dollars, believing that it would all be useless after that date.

If you are reading this, you are not saved.

If you are reading this, you are not saved. We repeat: if you are reading this you have not been saved, you have not been raptured, you are not in Heaven right now, the world goes on and you need to get back to work on Monday. And you just might be going to Hell in a handbasket with the rest of us. Sorry about that.

In June the local Firefighters Union 689 and the City concluded big contract negotiations which heavily favored the City. The Police union soon responded with similar concessions. In subsequent months, it was revealed that members of City Hall and the Mayor had all received significant campaign contribution sums from both unions during negotiations.

As a result, Adam Gillit launched an initiative to strip fire fighting responsibilities from the local agency so as to hand over the task to the County.

Towards the end of the year, City Council began postponing debate and vote on the Cowan land swap deal as each deadline approached. The cities of California initiated a lawsuit to stop the State from robbing local coffers by canceling funding programs originally created by State entities, and only recently this lawsuit was tossed out as "invalid" by a Supreme Court justice.

Things went from bad to worse during negotiations between the USD and the teacher's union, which drama was preceded by quite an opera which took place at the School Board, featuring full-bore shouting matches and slung insults. Time out! you guys.

On the upside, Governor Brown dropped in to our very own Island with a corgi to visit "Xmas Tree Lane" (nee Thompson Avenue).

Sadly, it was one of our own who proved to be the last homicide victim in Oaktown. Five year old Gabriel Martinez, son of a food truck owner, was shot to death, an apparent bystander victim of stray gunfire intended for someone else on Friday around 8:30pm. Gabriel became the 110th homicide victim of the year. He is the third child in Oakland to die by gunfire since August.

On Friday night, 5-year-old Gabriel, who often played in the parking lot while his parents worked, scampered amid the usual crowd of customers while his father unloaded soda. He beckoned his son to return a few minutes later.

“Time to go,” he said, Martinez recalled.

Seconds later, with Gabriel almost at his side, shots rang out. Martinez tried to comfort his son, “Don’t worry, don’t be scared,” he said, according to Jorge Martinez. Then, he realized, Gabriel had been shot in the chest. He scooped his bleeding son into his arms, crying.

The man fled to a light-colored, four-door American model sedan, according to police, driven by a woman. The suspects remained at-large Saturday night.

Friends and family said they believe the gunman was targeting someone else in the lot where the truck was parked. Police are still looking for the suspect, who they describe as black, between 20- and 29-years-old, about 6 feet tall and 160 pounds, with short hair, a light complexion, glasses and wearing dark clothing. They say the woman is black, between 20- and 25-years-old, about 5 feet 7 inches tall, 130 pounds, with long hair and wearing a red jacket.

The boy’s father was born in Mexico and moved to the United States more than 20 years ago, a member of a tight-knit family in the East Bay that owns many catering trucks and restaurants. He has a 2-year-old daughter with another woman, and owns the truck and a seafood restaurant down the block, friends and family said. The family lives on the Island, where Gabriel was expected to begin kindergarten.

DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY

Okay, we'll keep this one short. Here's the list of those celebrities who have passed on this past year. A buncha folks passed away just in the past month, so we missed all of those, but here goes . . .

Jack Lalanne (September 26, 1914 – January 23, 2011) Fitness guru. Lalanne was an American fitness, exercise, and nutritional expert and motivational speaker who is sometimes called "the godfather of fitness" and the "first fitness superhero."[1] He described himself as being a "sugarholic" and a "junk food junkie" until he was 15. He also had behavioral problems, but "turned his life around" after listening to a public lecture by Paul Bragg, a well-known nutrition speaker. During his career, he came to believe that the country's overall health depended on the health of its population, writing that "physical culture and nutrition — is the salvation of America."

He became famous for completing prodigious feats of strength and endurance from middle age well into his eighties.

On his 70th birthday in 1984 he swam handcuffed, shackled, and fighting strong winds and currents, towing 70 rowboats, one with several guests, from the Queen’s Way Bridge in the Long Beach Harbor to the Queen Mary, a distance of 1 mile

Elizabeth Taylor (February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011) actress. Once considered the premier beauty of Hollywood, the stunning actress also became known for her often stormy marriages, including the tempestuous relationship with actor Richard Burton.

Taylor has been called the "greatest movie star of all," writes biographer William J. Mann. A child star at the age of 12, she soon after launched into public awareness by MGM and a string of successful films, many of which are today considered "classics." Her resulting celebrity made her into a Hollywood icon, as she set the "gold standard" for Hollywood fame, and "created the model for stardom," adds Mann.

Other observers, such as social critic Camille Paglia, similarly describe Taylor as "the greatest actress in film history," partly as a result of the "liquid realm of emotion" she expressed on screen. Paglia describes the effect Taylor had in some of her films:

An electric, erotic charge vibrates the space between her face and the lens. It is an extrasensory, pagan phenomenon

Although gifted with beauty, and given in her younger days to a lavish, glamorous lifestyle Taylor was not an empty head. She lamented the insipid, foolish roles selected for her by MGM and engaged in a wide number of worth causes as she matured.

Taylor devoted consistent and generous humanitarian time, advocacy efforts, and funding to HIV and AIDS-related projects and charities, helping to raise more than $270 million for the cause. She was one of the first celebrities and public personalities to do so at a time when few acknowledged the disease, organizing and hosting the first AIDS fundraiser in 1984, to benefit AIDS Project Los Angeles.

Taylor was cofounder of the American Foundation for AIDS Research (amfAR) with Dr. Michael Gottlieb and Dr. Mathilde Krim in 1985.[55] Her longtime friend and former co-star Rock Hudson had disclosed having AIDS and died of it that year. She also founded the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation (ETAF) in 1993, created to provide critically needed support services for people with HIV/AIDS. For example, in 2006 Taylor commissioned a 37-foot (11 m) "Care Van" equipped with examination tables and xray equipment, the New Orleans donation made by her Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation and Macy's.That year, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, she also donated US$40,000 to the NO/AIDS Task Force, a nonprofit organization serving the community of those affected by HIV/AIDS in and around New Orleans..

Taylor was honored with a special Academy Award, the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award, in 1992 for her HIV/AIDS humanitarian work. Speaking of that work, former President Bill Clinton said at her death, "Elizabeth's legacy will live on in many people around the world whose lives will be longer and better because of her work and the ongoing efforts of those she inspired."

She converted from Catholicism to Judaism, claiming the Catholic church was unable to provide serious answers to her personal questions about suffering and death. Taylor subsequently helped to raise money for organizations such as the Jewish National Fund; advocated for the right of Soviet Jews to emigrate to Israel and canceled a visit to the USSR because of its condemnation of Israel due to the Six-Day War; signed a letter protesting the United Nations General Assembly Resolution 3379 of 1975; and offered herself as a replacement hostage during the 1976 Entebbe skyjacking.

Ironically, MGM was unable to complete filming the classic Cleopatra in Egypt because the government barred her from entry because of her religion.

In March 2003, Taylor declined to attend the 75th Annual Academy Awards, due to her opposition to the Iraq War. She publicly condemned then President George W. Bush for calling on Saddam Hussein to leave Iraq, and said she feared the conflict would lead to "World War III".

On December 1, 2007, Taylor acted on-stage again, appearing opposite James Earl Jones in a benefit performance of the A. R. Gurney play Love Letters. The event's goal was to raise $1 million for Taylor's AIDS foundation. Tickets for the show were priced at $2,500, and more than 500 people attended. The event happened to coincide with the 2007 Writers Guild of America strike and, rather than cross the picket line, Taylor requested a "one night dispensation." The Writers Guild agreed not to picket the Paramount Pictures lot that night to allow for the performance.

Taylor won two Academy Awards for Best Actress, for her performance in Butterfield 8 in 1960, and for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in 1966. Additionally, she received the Jean Herscholt Humanitarian Academy Award in 1992 for her work fighting AIDS.

Taylor received the French Legion of Honour in 1987, and in 2000 was named a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DCE). In 2001, she received a Presidential Citizens Medal for her humanitarian work, most notably for helping to raise more than $200 million for AIDS research and bringing international attention and resources to addressing the epidemic. Taylor was inducted into the California Hall of Fame in 2007.

A dual citizen of the United Kingdom and the United States, she was born British, through her birth on British soil and a U.S. citizen through her American parents. She reportedly sought, in 1965, to renounce her United States citizenship, to wit: "Though never accepted by the State Department, Elizabeth renounced in 1965. Attempting to shield much of her European income from U.S. taxes, Elizabeth wished to become solely a British citizen. According to news reports at the time, officials denied her request when she failed to complete the renunciation oath, refusing to say that she renounced "all allegiance to the United States of America."

Dorothy Young (May 3, 1907 – March 20, 2011) Harry Houdini's stage assistant.

Dorothy was an American entertainer who worked as a stage assistant to magician Harry Houdini from 1925 to 1926. She left the act two months prior to his death on October 31, 1926. She appeared in the 2005 television documentary, Houdini: Unlocking the Mystery.

Geraldine Ferraro - politician, ex-candidate for President.

Osama Bin Laden - Criminal. Nobody misses the guy. We are only sorry that we never could convince the principals to agree to a mud wrassle match between Bin Laden and former President-Appointee George Bush, so as to settle all of the ugly disputes.

Gil Scott-Heron - (April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011)proto-rapper, musician. He was an American soul and jazz poet, musician, and author, known primarily for his work as a spoken word performer in the 1970s and '80s. His collaborative efforts with musician Brian Jackson featured a musical fusion of jazz, blues, and soul, as well as lyrical content concerning social and political issues of the time, delivered in both rapping and melismatic vocal styles. The man who coined the phrase "The revolution will not be televised". He is generally credited as the father of the hip-hop style of music.

Albertina Sisulu - (21 October 1918 - 2 June 2011) Ssouth African antiapartheid activist. Her husband, political activist Walter Sisulu, was found guilty of high treason and sabotage by the apartheid government of South Africa, but was spared the death sentence. He instead spent 25 years in custody on Robben Island alongside Nelson Mandela, whom he had brought into the ANC, now South Africa's governing party. While her husband was on Robben Island, Albertina Sisulu raised the couple?s five children alone. She spent months in jail herself and had her movements restricted.

They were married for 59 years, until he died in his wife's arms in May 2003 at the age of 90.

Dr. Jack Kevorkian (May 26, 1928 – June 3, 2011) - Physician. Commonly known as "Dr. Death", he was an American pathologist, euthanasia activist, painter, author, composer, and musician. He is best known for publicly championing a terminal patient's right to die via physician-assisted suicide; he said he assisted at least 130 patients to that end. He famously said, "dying is not a crime".

Beginning in 1999, Kevorkian served eight years of a 10-to-25-year prison sentence for second-degree murder. He was released on parole on June 1, 2007, on condition he would not offer suicide advice to any other person.

As an oil painter and a jazz musician, Kevorkian marketed limited quantities of his visual and musical artwork to the public.

Kevorkian was hospitalized on May 18, 2011, with kidney problems and pneumonia. Kevorkian's conditions grew rapidly worse and he died from a thrombosis on June 3, 2011, eight days after his 83rd birthday in Royal Oak, Michigan. According to his attorney, Mayer Morganroth, there were no artificial attempts to keep him alive and his death was painless. Judge Thomas Jackson, who presided over Kevorkian's first murder trial in 1994, commented that he wanted to express sorrow at Kevorkian's passing and that the 1994 case was brought under "a badly written law" aimed at Kevorkian, but he tried to give him "the best trial possible"

Clarence Clemons (January 11, 1942 – June 18, 2011) Musician. He was an early member of Bruce Springsteen's E Street band and soon made his signature wailing sax sound indispensable, helping to broaden the sound of popular American music from its limited guitar, bass, drum arrangements. In his final gig he appears on a Lady Gaga video performing his horn on city tenement stairs.

Peter Falk (September 16, 1927 – June 23, 2011) Actor. Best known for his role as the perpetually rumpled Lieutenant Columbo in the television series Columbo. He appeared in numerous films such as The Princess Bride, The Great Race and Next, and television guest roles and was nominated for an Academy Award twice (for 1960's Murder, Inc. and 1961's Pocketful of Miracles), and won the Emmy Award on five occasions (four for Columbo) and the Golden Globe award once.

His character was a shabby and ostensibly absent-minded police detective lieutenant, who had first appeared in the 1968 film Prescription: Murder. Falk described his role to Fantle:

"Columbo has a genuine mistiness about him. It seems to hang in the air ... [and] he's capable of being distracted ... Columbo is an ass-backwards Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had a long neck, Columbo has no neck; Holmes smoked a pipe, Columbo chews up six cigars a day."

The genuinely modest Falk was astounded to find that the crime series was popular all over the world, and would speak of amazement that villages in Africa that possessed only one TV set knew all about him.

His signature squint was caused by the fact that Falk's right eye had been surgically removed when he was three because of a retinoblastoma; he wore a glass eye for most of his life.

Everyone who worked with him found him friendly, helpful and easygoing. He played himself in Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire, in which he is the only mortal who somehow perceives the presence of the angels, and in one memorable scene has a long running delightful talk with one of the angels in a coffeeshop and then by the abandoned Berlin train station. "I know you are there. I can't see you, but I know you are there . . .".

Betty Ford (April 8, 1918 – July 8, 2011) Socialite, former First-Lady, social philanthropist.

Throughout her husband's term in office, she maintained high approval ratings despite opposition from some conservative Republicans who objected to her more moderate and liberal positions on social issues. Ford was noted for raising breast cancer awareness following her 1974 mastectomy and was a passionate supporter of, and activist for, the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA). Pro-choice on abortion and a leader in the Women's Movement, she gained fame as one of the most candid first ladies in history, commenting on every hot-button issue of the time, including feminism, equal pay, the ERA, sex, drugs, abortion, and gun control. She also raised awareness of addiction when she announced her long-running battle with alcoholism in the 1970s.

Following her White House years, she continued to lobby for the ERA and remained active in the feminist movement. She is the founder, and served as the first chair of the board of directors, of the Betty Ford Center for substance abuse and addiction and is a recipient of the Congressional Gold Medal.

Amy Winehouse - (14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011) Soul/R&B pop singer. What can one say about Ms. Winehouse except that this was one tragic story everybody who knew here knew the ending for long before it happened. Watching the troubled and extremely talented singer with the powerful deep contralto voice perform was like watching a gorgeous train-wreck you just knew would prove fatal. From her bad-girl early teen years through binge drinking and drugs and endless rounds of detox rehab, her voice never quit. It couldn't have time, for she was dead at 27 of the usual suspects.

Steve Jobs (February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011) Apple founder and former CEO. Visionary and genius.

American businessman and inventor widely recognized as a charismatic pioneer of the personal computer revolution. He was cofounder, chairman, and chief executive officer of Apple Inc. Jobs was cofounder and previously served as chief executive of Pixar Animation Studios; he became a member of the board of directors of The Walt Disney Company in 2006, following the acquisition of Pixar by Disney.

In the late 1970s, Apple cofounder Steve Wozniak engineered one of the first commercially successful lines of personal computers, the Apple II series. Jobs directed its aesthetic design and marketing along with A.C. "Mike" Markkula, Jr. and others.

Jobs's birth parents were Abdulfattah "John" Jandali, a Syrian Muslim, and Joanne Carole Schieble, a student at the University of Wisconsin where Jandali was a professor. They surrendered Steve for adoption in 1954 because of their unmarried status. They later did marry, however soon divorced and separated.

Arik Hesseldahl of BusinessWeek magazine stated that "Jobs isn't widely known for his association with philanthropic causes", compared to Bill Gates's efforts. After resuming control of Apple in 1997, Jobs eliminated all corporate philanthropy programs initially. Later, under Jobs, Apple signed to participate in Product Red program, producing red versions of devices to give profits from sales to charity. Apple has gone on to become the single largest contributor to the charity since its initial involvement with it. The chief of the Product Red project, U2 singer Bono cited Jobs saying there was "nothing better than the chance to save lives," when he initially approached Apple with the invitation to participate in the program.

In October 2003, Jobs was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which generally has a poor prognosis for recovery. Despite medical advice, Jobs postponed professional medical help for nearly a year, preferring to try alternative medicine first. He later regretted this decision, which most professionals state clearly cost him years of life. He died peacefully at home in California.

According to his sister, Mona Simpson, Jobs "looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life's partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them". His last words, spoken hours before his death, were:

"Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow."

Bert Jansch - (3 November 1943 – 5 October 2011) You might not recall the name of the Scottish folk musician and founding member of the band Pentangle. He recorded at least 25 albums and toured extensively from the 1960s to the 21st century. Jansch was a leading figure in the British folk music revival of the 1960s.

Jansch's work influenced such artists as Al Stewart, Paul Simon, Johnny Marr, Elton John, Bernie Taupin, Bernard Butler, Jimmy Page, Nick Drake, Graham Coxon, Donovan, Neil Young, Fleet Foxes, Beth Orton and Devendra Banhart.

“With the release of his first album in 1965 he completely reinvented guitar playing and set a standard that is still unequaled today,” Johnny Marr, the former guitarist for the Smiths, wrote in a foreword to the paperback reissue of the 2000 book “Dazzling Stranger: Bert Jansch and the British Folk and Blues Revival,” by Colin Harper. “Without Bert Jansch, rock music as it developed in the ’60s and ’70s would have been very different.”

Neil Young, who included Mr. Jansch on his American tour last year, once called him the acoustic equivalent of Jimi Hendrix as an influence on guitar players. Donovan recorded a cover version of Mr. Jansch’s protest song “Do You Hear Me Now” on his “Universal Soldier” album and paid tribute to him with “Bert’s Blues” on the album “Sunshine Superman” and “House of Jansch” on “Mellow Yellow.”

Jimmy Page, who succumbed to the spell of Mr. Jansch’s first album when it came out, did his own instrumental version of “Blackwaterside,” a traditional song from Mr. Jansch’s third solo album, “Jack Orion” (1966). Retitled “Black Mountain Side,” it appeared on Led Zeppelin’s debut album.

It is not known if Jansch ever earned a penny from that recording.

Jerry Lieber (April 25, 1933 – August 22, 2011) Lyricist half of the tinpan alley songwriting team of Lieber and Stoller.
Cliff Robertson (September 9, 1923 – September 10, 2011) Hollywood actor
Jane Russell (June 21, 1921 – February 28, 2011) actress, pinup, Hollywood "sex symbol" of 1940s and 1950s.
Bob MacKenzie - KTVU Channel 2 News reporter.

Don Kirshner - Music producer and promoter
R. Sargent Shriver - politician
Nate Dogg - singer, rap artist

Andy Rooney (January 14, 1919 – November 4, 2011) tv/radio commentator

Joe Frazier - boxer, world heavyweight champion

Evelyn Lauder - social activist, inventor of the AIDS pink ribbon symbol.

George Whitman - Parisian bookstore owner, Shakespeare and Company

George Whitman's life was packed with the type of adventures that filled every nook and cranny of his bookshop, Paris' iconic English-language Shakespeare and Company.

A bohemian traveler, Whitman was once nursed to health by Mayans in the Yucatan during a 3,000-mile (5000-kilometer) trek across Latin America and sometimes bragged that he had lived in Greenland with a beautiful Eskimo woman.

At home, Whitman was best known as a pillar of Paris' literary scene. For more than half century, his eclectic Left Bank shop was a beacon for readers, who spent long hours browsing its overflowing shelves or curling up with a good book next to a drowsy cat.

Shakespeare and Company was also a haven for every author or would-be writer passing through the City of Light.

For them, Whitman reserved a welcome that turned Yeats' famous verse — "Be not inhospitable to strangers / Lest they be angels in disguise" — into deed: He took in aspiring writers as boarders in exchange for a helping hand in the store.

Vaclav Havel (Oct. 5, 1936 - 2011) Czechoslovakian dissident, playwright

The end of Czechoslovakia's totalitarian regime was called the Velvet Revolution because of how smooth the transition seemed: Communism dead in a matter of weeks, without a shot fired. But for Vaclav Havel, it was a moment he helped pay for with decades of suffering and struggle.

The dissident playwright spent years in jail but never lost his defiance, or his eloquence, and the government's attempts to crush his will ended up expanding his influence. He became a source of inspiration to Czechs, and to all of Eastern Europe. He went from prisoner to president in 1989, the year the Berlin Wall fell and communism crumbled across the region.

Shy and bookish, with a wispy mustache and unkempt hair, Havel helped draw the world's attention to the anger and frustration spilling over behind the Iron Curtain. While he was president, the Czech Republic split from Slovakia, but it also made dramatic gains in economic might.

Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth, born Freddie Lee Robinson (March 18, 1922 – October 5, 2011)

Shuttlesworth was a U.S. Civil rights activist who led the fight against segregation and other forms of racism as a minister in Birmingham, Alabama. He was a cofounder of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, was instrumental in the 1963 Birmingham Campaign, and continued to work against racism and for alleviation of the problems of the homeless in Cincinnati, Ohio, where he took up a pastorate in 1961.

Shuttlesworth participated in the sit-ins against segregated lunch counters in 1960 and took part in the organization and completion of the Freedom Rides in 1961.

Shuttlesworth originally warned that Alabama was extremely volatile when he was consulted before the Freedom Rides began. Shuttlesworth noted that he respected the courage of the activists proposing the Rides but that he felt other actions could be taken to accelerate the Civil Rights Movement that would be less dangerous. However, the planners of the Rides were undeterred and decided to continue preparing.

After it became certain that the Freedom Rides were to be carried out, Shuttlesworth worked with the Congress of Racial Equality to organize the Rides and became engaged with ensuring the success of the rides, especially during their stint in Alabama. Shuttlesworth mobilized some of his fellow clergy to assist the rides. After the Riders were badly beaten and nearly killed in Birmingham and Anniston during the Rides, he sent deacons to pick up the Riders from a hospital in Anniston. He himself had been savagely beaten earlier in the day and had faced down the threat of being thrown out of the hospital by the hospital superintendent. Shuttlesworth took in the Freedom Riders at the Bethel Baptist Church, allowing them to recuperate after the violence that had occurred earlier in the day.

We'll just single out a few more folks here for special mention. We would like to start with two men who knew each other quite well, Pinetop Perkins and David "Honeyboy" Edwards.

Pinetop Perkins, one of the last old-school bluesmen who played with Muddy Waters and became the oldest Grammy winner this year before his death at his home of cardiac arrest. He was 97 and planning to do a gig the next day.

The piano man played with an aggressive style and sang with a distinctive gravelly voice.

B.B. King said in an emailed statement that he was saddened by the loss of his friend.

"He was one of the last great Mississippi Bluesmen," King said. "He had such a distinctive voice, and he sure could play the piano. He will be missed not only by me, but by lovers of music all over the world".

Perkins was born in Belzoni, Miss., in 1913 and was believed to be the oldest of the old-time Delta blues musicians still performing.

In an 80-year career, he played at juke joints, nightclubs and festivals. He didn't start recording in his own name until he was in his 70s and released more than 15 solo records since 1992. Many of the old bluesmen recorded under alternate names so as to glide by label contract restrictions upon income, which were especially onerous in the so-called "race records" labels until Chess Records came along.

David "Honeyboy" Edwards (June 28, 1915 – August 29, 2011) was the last man alive to have played with Robert Johnson. And by odd turn of events was the last man to see Robert Johnson alive, for he was present the night the master bluesman died.

Edwards was a Delta blues guitarist and singer from the American South, according to the Wikipedia. "Edwards was the last Delta bluesman before his 2011 death."

That sentence contains a world of emotional, cultural and historical import. The Mississippi delta gave birth to a raft of musicians who forged modern American music into what it is today. After the War Years, musicians gravitated up from the South to Chicago to make the distinctive I, IV, V sound that is so characteristic of American Chicago Blues, and which inseminated the early generation of Rock and Roll.

Before all that happened, a vibrant world of music was already in place.

He described the itinerant bluesman's life:

“ On Saturday, somebody like me or Robert Johnson would go into one of these little towns, play for nickels and dimes. And sometimes, you know, you could be playin' and have such a big crowd that it would block the whole street. Then the police would come around, and then I'd go to another town and where I could play at. But most of the time, they would let you play. Then sometimes the man who owned a country store would give us something like a couple of dollars to play on a Saturday afternoon. We could hitchhike, transfer from truck to truck, or if we couldn't catch one of them, we'd go to the train yard, 'cause the railroad was all through that part of the country then...we might hop a freight, go to St. Louis or Chicago. Or we might hear about where a job was paying off - a highway crew, a railroad job, a levee camp there along the river, or some place in the country where a lot of people were workin' on a farm. You could go there and play and everybody would hand you some money. I didn't have a special place then. Anywhere was home. Where I do good, I stay. When it gets bad and dull, I'm gone."

Tom Keith lived a very different life from these guys, but he is important to Island-Lifers.

He had been a longtime associate and dear friend to Garrison Keillor, host of the popular currently running Prairie Home Companion, a radio variety show with some 3 million regular listeners.

From a note penned by GK:

"He was an engineer at Minnesota Public Radio in 1971, when I did the morning show in the studios in Park Square Court in Lowertown St. Paul, and he took the name Jim Ed Poole, did the sports segment, and talked about his pet chicken, Curtis, who lived with him at the Hotel Transom. When "Prairie Home Companion" started in 1974, he engineered most of the first two seasons, using a five-channel mixer, and then graduated to the stage where he played three roles in the ongoing "Buster the Show Dog" the dog, Father Finian, and Timmy the Sad Rich Teenage Boy. He was Maurice the matre d' at the Caf Boeuf and he was Larry who lived in the basement under the Fitzgerald stage.

He was an ex-Marine (who could do a fine drill instructor), a good golfer, a sturdy, reliable, can-do colleague, a gifted performer with the unassuming demeanor of a stagehand. Whenever Tom came onstage for a sketch, I could see the audience's heads turn in his direction. They could hear me but they wanted to see Tom, same as you'd watch any magician. Boys watched him closely to see how he did the shotgun volleys, the singing walrus, the siren, the helicopter, the water drips. His effects were graceful, precise, understated, like the man himself. All of us at the show are shocked by his passing and send our sincere condolences to his family and also to the listeners who enjoyed his work so much."

Independent of that official information, we know that Tom Keith was a constant creative presence on the Saturday variety show, which first aired in 1974 and is distributed by American Public Media on 600 radio stations.

For the 4 million weekly listeners who tune in to hear about the news from Lake Wobegon, the travels of the philosophizing cowboys Dusty and Lefty and the misadventures of the hapless detective Guy Noir, Mr. Keith was not a technician but a comedian in his own right.

A former sound engineer, he received little training in acting but had an innate talent for mimicry. He was able to produce almost any sound requested by Keillor, who writes the scripts almost entirely on his own, usually the day before the live recording, cast member Sue Scott said.

For the past decade, Mr. Keith participated mainly in recordings made at the show’s home venue, the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul.

In the early 1970s, he was a sound engineer on Minnesota Public Radio’s “Morning Show,” which Keillor hosted. When bad weather delayed Keillor’s arrival at the studio, Mr. Keith filled the air with music.

The two men bonded over the crack-of-dawn recording sessions, Mr. Keith’s sister recalled, and Keillor invited Mr. Keith to join the show as an on-air personality. He became the voice of the poultry-raising Poole brothers, Ed Jim and Jim Ed (one specialized in roosters, the other in attack chickens, according to the magazine Minnesota Monthly).

Mr. Keith followed Keillor to “A Prairie Home Companion,” first as an engineer and then, beginning in 1976, as a sound-effects man. He also took over from Keillor as a co-host of the “Morning Show,” a position he held for about 25 years before stepping down in 2008.

On October 15, 2008, Keith announced his intention to retire on December 11. The Morning Show was discontinued after a final live performance at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul that morning.

Tom Keith was one of the last and one of the best of those continuing the traditions of old time radio.

Finally, hard times came to some very distinguished local businesses. Boniere Bakery, which served hot rolls and other baked delicacies on Park Street for 150 years closed due to intransigent landlord and the bad economy.

Borders Books at South Shore Mall closed when the bad economy killed the national chain.

SEE YOU IN THE CELTIC NEW YEAR

So anyway, its been a hard year and no one is sad to see it go. Word came down about Andre's release and Marlene scrambled to get herself and a bag and Adam and everything else to go down there to Oak Street to pick up her man who had spent the so-called Holidays in stir.

At the end of the year, people either contracted inward with friends and relations, much like sea slugs, or took whatever gig looked to be the best or the first in line so as to make some kind of money on this.

Jose and Javier landed gigs playing elves

Jose and Javier landed gigs playing elves for Santa in Babylon for iMagnin, while other members of the financially-strapped household secured jobs as tableaux figures for Macy's in Union Square. Macy's had the idea of dressing up its windows with figures from California history, so we had Martini portraying Portrero, Tipitina portraying a bearded Junipero Serra, and Pahrump presenting Chief Joseph and Chief Marin on alternate days, it being difficult to obtain a genuine Native American to stand in a storefront window portraying a Redman icon during the Holidays.

Something about History has something to do with this.

Arthur portrayed Leidesdorf, the first American Black millionaire, and Rolf, wearing a gum-glued beard, portrayed Sigmund Freud, who never had anything to do with California, but nevertheless had a great influence, it must be admitted, upon the Golden State, especially up in NorCal, and upon the Holidays in general.

Festus got a gig portraying a 49'er in another window and Xavier got a plum portraying General Vallejo. This was excellent, for that window earned a smorgasbord of a groaning table of California's produce, of which Xavier availed himself throughout the day until the window wonks remembered to lay the table of abundance with wax fruit and plastic hams, spraying artificial food scents that drove him near mad until lunchtime.

Marlene stood before the gates of the Big House

While these petty dramas played themselves out to their respective pathetic consequences each to each as the wretched year dragged itself down to oblivion in an atavistic thrashing of blood and violent flailing of limbs, as each segment of American looked to succor without relief, Marlene stood before the gates of the Big House with Adam in hand, a ruined Madonna with child, just like the original, a mother with a child not allowed her own, gifted with an unusable womb, just like the original, although made so a different way. So to speak.

The doors opened and Adam emerged, wan, beaten, cold and clutching the few belongings left him after Those Who Consider Themselves God had riffled through them, taking whatever pleased them.

Having little to start, he was lucky to have lost only a Cat Stevens tape (which he detested) and a silver-turquoise amulet. As well as all of the five dollars that had been in his wallet. Many who have been taken by those who consider themselves god have suffered far worse and lost far more.

"You a-hole what the 'eff were you thinking?" Marlene said.

"You a-hole what the 'eff were you thinking?" Marlene said.

"Eff you," Andre said, tiredly. He was not in the mood for arguments.

For a long moment the antagonistic couple stood there looking at one another with red-rimmed eyes, everything salty and crusty with time and tiredness.

Adam broke loose from Marlene and ran to embrace Andre about the legs. "We still got turkey from the Food Bank and gravy and fixings. Food aint no good in there. I sure knows it."

Out of the mouths of babes. The couple slowly gravitated to one another like necessary planets. Each person revolved on their predetermined axis. Each fated to the eternal revolve designed each to each. Each fated to link orbits for all eternity. For Andre there could be none but Marlene to hoop within his gravity. For Marlene, none but Andre could cause such eccentricity.

"Hey, Marlene got sammiches from Snob Hill. Day be super cool! Let's go eat some!" Adam was hyper.

"Snob Hill? We can't afford that kinda shit . . ."! Andre said.

"O eff you," Marlene said. "It's the New Year."

"Eff you," said Andre. "In that case."

The two of them kissed there on Seventh Street with the cars going by and Adam dancing on the side.

Some say that the moon once had a sister

Some say that the moon once had a sister who gradually approached over time and collided, ever so gently, or so gently as moons may do, so as to produce our present-day lopsided moon with its mountain ranges on the dark side and its bland flat plains that face us on the other. NASA is looking into it, but we know that the moon shall remain mysterious, impenetrable and effulgent with poetry, for its main purpose is to shift the tides of ocean and heart.

"Some people like to go out dancing", Lou Reed used to say.

New Year's eve, the Editor stood at the Island-Life Offices window while the fireworks went off all over the place and people whooped it up. "Some people like to go out dancing", Lou Reed used to say. "Other people like us gotta work."

The offices were largely silent, dark rectangles looming in the darkness where busy copyboys and writers worked during the day and for most evenings. Lately, because of the hard times the Editor has been allowing people to scoot when deadline evenings fall in the middle of holidays. It was hard enough keeping body and soul together in this time of usurious rents and declining income while still working for a non-profitable news agency.

Besides, something about seeing Jose wearing green leotard pants, curly shoes with bells and that stupid elf cap really irritated him.

Hrmmph! The Editor shifted his cigar from the one corner to the other corner of his mouth and returned to the cubicle where the lamp made a pool of light on the desk and the machines hummed quietly with their LED lights gleaming almost like Xmas.

He longed to have gorgeous Scandinavian women hanging on his arm

He felt he had chosen the wrong profession, for he longed for the impossible. He longed to host a variety show attended by fabulously talented friends, a show admired by millions across the country. He longed to have gorgeous Scandinavian women hanging on his arm as he grew older dispensing sage wisdom, witty quips, enchanting stories, lectures on the book circuit to promote his latest successful book about a semi-fictional small town nestled somewhere in middle America, a town of quirky characters and warm, homespun emotions and traditions.

He longed to crinkle the eyes of a dour bachelor farmer with laughter.

He really wished his singing voice had gotten better with time instead of much worse. How wonderful it would be to share a mike with some vivacious young thing just out of Nashville! He longed to enchant instead of plod. Plod like a goddamn dray horse.

He longed to hold the lovely red-haired girl called Fame in his arms

He longed to hold the lovely red-haired girl called Fame in his arms and dance in waltz-time wearing bright red tennis shoes as Time collected its due and he got older.

Instead, he simply got older. That part happened all right.

Somewhere a last fizzler went off, sizzled, cracked and then was still.

From the open window of the Lunatic Asylum of St. Charles drifted the strains of Denby's guitar and the croak of his voice as he finished up a plaintive blues song past midnight.

Will you please, remember me
if we never meet again
Will you please remember me
I'll always be your friend

I want to go, go back home.
I cant' find my way
I want to go, go back home.
Maybe I'll get lucky some day

Once I had a few good days
They're all behind me now
Once I had a few good days
I'll get by somehow

I went down one ole lonesome road
couldn't find my way back
I went down one ole lonesome road
Wasn't nobody cryin' about that.

That feller sure gets depressive, the Editor thought to himself before relighting his cigar. The Editor bent over his desk into the pool of light, finishing up the last bit of business for the proofreader to handle on Monday, wondering if there were a fellow mind out there in the beyond where all was darkness and cold distant stars.

Will you please, please remember me
if we never meet again
Will you please remember me
I'll always be your friend

The Old Year lay down on the dark roofs of the little island town and slept before taking the train to leave. Above the dark hills of the coastal range tattered cloud carelessly daubed the sky with incipient pinks and golds as the new day of the New Year approached.

I wonder if I should pay to have Denby take singing lessons or . . . take them myself, the Editor wondered. A new year has begun. Anything is possible.

The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the newborn grasses of the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its hopefilled way past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, heading off on its own journey to parts unknown and to an as yet unknown future ripe with opportunities and potential.

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

DECEMBER 25, 2011

LIGHT OF THE WORLD

Here is an image of the season. It's the traffic circle at Palmeria Court, which tends to show a lot of spirit from year to year during the Holidays. While our photographer was down there on Christmas night, a bagpiper by the name of Everett (of the clan MacGregor), and all of ten years old, came marching down the way followed by all the clan behind. The luminaria bags lining the circle also lined both sides of the street. They contained real tea candles.

AROUND THE WORLD

Seems appropriate to wind up the year will one of our news surveys of what folks are talking about around the world right about now.

MIDDLE EAST

Well this year has been the year of the Arab Spring, so it behooves us to check in on Al Jazeera and have a look-see.

Big headline there is all about a rash of church bombings in Nigeria.

"At least 25 people have been killed by an explosion outside a church near the Nigerian capital during Christmas celebrations, according to a relief worker.

Witnesses also reported a string of other attacks, including a bomb and gun attack in the central town of Jos, two explosions in the northeastern town of Damaturu and one in the town of Gadaka, also in the northeast.

Boko Haram, an extremist group that advocates the enforcement of strict Islamic law in Nigeria, claimed responsibility for Sunday's church bombings.

Other headline stories went as follows:

Sudan army kills Darfur rebel leader
Sudan's army kills Justice and Equality Movement leader Khalil Ibrahim along with 30 of his troops in North Kordofan.

Suicide attack strikes Afghanistan funeral

This one got picked up by several countries.

Syrian activists denounce 'siege' of Homs.
The opposition Syrian National Council has appealed for the Arab League to immediately send observers to the besieged city of Homs and other areas where the Syrian government has used military force to stamp out dissent.

"Since early this morning, the [Homs] neighbourhood of Baba Amr has been under a tight siege and the threat of military invasion by an estimated 4,000 soldiers," the SNC said in a statement.

"This is in addition to the nonstop bombing of Homs that has been going on for days," the council, the main umbrella group of opponents of President Bashar al-Assad, said.

The central city of Homs has been a focal point of the Assad government's crackdown on nine months of anti-government demonstrations, as well as the site of fierce clashes between the army and former soldiers

Thousands rally for Pakistan's Imran Khan
Turnout in Karachi further cements cricket legend's status as a rising force in politics. Pakistan and Egypt both have recently seen large demonstrations by the people who demand the military relinquish power.

Egypt's military rulers are studying a proposal from their own advisers to bring forward parliamentary elections by two weeks after demands from protesters and politicians to speed up transition to civilian rule, an advisory council member said on Sunday.

Many Egyptians believe the army is no longer fit to manage security on the ground and carry out difficult reforms at a time of political and economic crisis.

Yoshihiko Noda, the Japanese prime minister, has reached Beijing for a bilateral meeting, but regional security - after the death of North Korean leader Kim Jong-il - is expected to be high on agenda.

"I would also like to make sure that Japan and China will work closely so that the peace and stability on the Korean peninsula will not be negatively impacted," the Japanese prime minister said on Sunday.

Noda will hold talks with China's President Hu Jintao and Prime Minister Wen Jiabao during the visit, his first since coming to power in September.

Ties between the two regional powers have been dogged by economic and territorial disputes, but Kim's death has shifted the agenda to global worries about nuclear-armed North Korea, where Kim's young son Kim Jong-Un appears to be taking the reins of the state.

As for AJ's take on the US, there was, besides sports (they care about b-ball in Bahrain? Yep: "The signing of Paul from New Orleans Hornets could be a game-changer for the Clippers"] their report on what next for the Occupy movement here.

As presidential candidates and journalists descend upon Iowa once again for the US' first set of caucuses, another group of individuals are hoping to grab attention.

Occupy Iowa Caucus, a splinter group of Occupy Des Moines, has been busy organizing activities that they hope will have a greater impact on the rest of the 2012 presidential campaign season.

Similar to the broader Occupy Wall Street movement that began in September 2011, organizers of Occupy Iowa Caucus have been "occupying" streets, parks and financial districts to have their voices heard. This time, however, protesters are targeting presidential candidates at the beginning of their election and reelection campaigns.

Protesters have already begun staging sit-ins at party headquarters in Des Moines. On Monday, eight protesters were arrested at the Democratic Party headquarters after occupying President Barack Obama's reelection headquarters on Saturday. According to local newspapers, protesters said they refused to leave until Obama vetoed the National Defense Authorization Act, which allows US citizens to be detained without cause, and began prioritizing communities over corporations.

More sit-ins are planned at the end of the month to target Republican candidates.

"It doesn't matter if you're liberal or conservative... we are coming after you", chuckled Jessica Reznicek, one of the organizers who also heads Occupy Des Moines, explaining that all candidates, regardless of political affiliation, need to be held accountable.

There was also a continuing series on the military's rough handling of Wikileaks provider Bradley Manning.

Because it is Holy Week for many, where better to knipse your images than the place where it all began -- for Xians anyway.

Here is a shot of Manger Square in Bethlehem.

Near the wall that seperates Xian from Palastinian enclaves.

This is Jerusalem.

The Syrians have suffered much, but joy never stays down for long.

GERMANY

Anonymous hackt US-Sicherheitsinstitut Stratfor

Germany, also, reported on the continuing Manning Affair, albeit via the hacker group that calls itself Anonymous. Seems the whimsical hackers, who have appeared on video wearing masks imitating the one used by the actor in V for Vendetta, which itself was supposed to mimic the features of historical figure Guy Fawkes. About 400 years ago the man attempted to blow up Parliament with dynamite, failed and was executed for his incendiary efforts. The movie concerned a charismatic anti-hero who is fighting against a (somewhat) futuristic oppressive fascist regime.

In any case the hackers busted into the credit-card database for an American firm called Stratfor, supposed with the demand that Manning be allowed to enjoy a free meal at a chic-chic restaurant. Manning has been in harsh detention as his case moves toward a Military War Court. Or not as the case may be, for as we know, citizens can now be detained indefinitely without trial. And some people are upset about that.

Kalifornien
Hunderte Amerikaner landen wegen Verwechslung im Knast

Ein Justizskandal erschüttert Kalifornien. Laut "Los Angeles Times" sperren Polizisten fast täglich Menschen ein, nur weil deren Namen ähnlich klingen wie die von Tatverdächtigen. Einige der unschuldigen Opfer schmorten gar mehrere Wochen hinter Gitter, ehe die Verwechslung aufgeklärt wurde.

We are not sure if all California is really "shaken" by the courts scandal mentioned here, but Der Spiegel reports that the LA Times carried a piece on how police are locking up hundreds of innocent people because their names "sound similar" to those on arrest warrants, sometimes for weeks at a time.

Währungskrise
Banken rüsten sich für den Euro-Notfall

Finanzminister Schäuble verspricht, die Euro-Krise sei 2012 vorbei - doch manche Banken sehen das offenbar anders. Laut "Wall Street Journal" bereiten sie sich auf den Ernstfall vor: die Wiedereinführung nationaler Währungen in Europa.

Sounds a lot like our own wonks claiming the Great Recession is over -- when in fact, it is not -- when Minister of Finance Shauble declares the Euro-crisis is a thing of the past. Yes, tell us another one. A lot of banks, according to the report that quotes the Wall Street Journal, are dubious as well.

Wertpapiere: Luxemburgs Notenbank beichtet Panne

Just when you thought the small countries had all checked in with financial troubles here is another potential bankrupcy contender: Luxemburg's Notenbank.

Todesurteil in Iran: Hängen statt steinigen

Der Fall sorgte weltweit für Empörung. Vor Jahren verurteilte Iran die angebliche Ehebrecherin Sakine Mohammadi Aschtiani, sie sollte gesteinigt werden. Nun wird der Richterspruch offenbar umgewandelt: Der Frau droht der Tod durch den Strang.

Sakine Mohammadi Aschtiani made a mistake by enjoying adultery in Iran, which of course runs things by the inhuman Sharia law. Good thing those mullahs listen to world opinion and know mercy, for instead of being stoned to death -- surely a beastly and medieval action -- she now gets to enjoy death by hanging instead.

Nigeria: Mehrere Anschläge auf Kirchen - viele Tote

In Nigeria haben sich mehrere schwere Explosionen ereignet, die Anschläge richteten sich offenbar gegen Kirchen. Mindestens 40 Menschen kamen ums Leben. Eine radikalislamische Sekte hat sich zu den Taten bekannt. Viele Gläubige flüchteten aus den Weihnachtsmessen.

This one is all about the multiple Xmas bombings in Nigeria that have claimed a minimum of 40 dead.

* Kim Jong Ils Tod: Nordkorea wirft dem Süden mangelnde Trauer vor

The death of the dictator in North Korea causes a fair amount of anguish to the South, albeit not because anybody seriously misses the jerkoff. Every country we looked at is concerned about how the transfer of power will go to the twenty-something heir apparent to the dictatorship. South Korea has some reasons to be concerned.

* Ägypten: Militärs lassen Blogger frei

Ongoing reports on Egypt's post-Arab Spring response generally focus on what the military is going to do next. This report describes the release of bloggers who had been arrested for the usual bogus crimes. There is a lot of public complaint about the heavy-handedness of the military in Egypt, and mass demonstrations have been occuring to urge the military to release its grip on power and stop its more egregious abuses. One report focussed on the targetting of female protesters. Here a photo from Der Spiegel shows outrage at systematic rape.

* Afghanistan: Schwerer Terroranschlag nach Trauerfeier

More terrorist activity in Afganistan. This one is about the one that claimed lives at a funeral.

FAIRYTALE OF EAST BAY

So anyway, this is the last Island-Life entry for the year 2011, which started out badly, got fairly miserable and wretched towards the middle, veered wildly into the horrific as the months advanced and ended up with a number of people dying but with a number of positive developments as well.

The Solstice passed this week for those pagans among us and each celebrated the annual shifting of the light according to his and her wont. Toni of the KQED transmitter engineer's booth got together with a few of her sisters to sing in the new year and put aside all the old regrets, much as good Wiccans are wont to do down by Crab Cove. This time they put out a lookout for Eunice, but Wootie Kanootie's sometime wayward moose remained this time penned up with the herd underneath the Park Street Bridge in the corral there where it was safe and warm as the weather had gotten brisk latterly and all the forecasters predicting rain.

Eugene Gallipagus got himself stinking drunk in the Old Same Place Bar as part of his own personal celebration such that Padraic had to call a cab to haul the reeling man home past the DUI checkpoints. Although he had failed to bag his limit this year at the Annual Island Poodleshoot and BBQ, he was full of a story about he had a beautiful Russian Silverhair 15 pounder in his sights just before all hell broke loose and they all had been surrounded during a torrential downpour which had soaked everyone's powder. Indeed that was one which had gotten away from the man to his great regret.

children . . . are known to be much larger than what entered in the first place.

As most folks know Hanukkah rolled around this year coterminously with the goyishe holiday about the startling Virgin who had to have lost all that upon giving birth, for children -- even tiny godlike things -- are known to be much larger than what entered in the first place. In any case Eugene celebrated the Festival of Light by getting good and plastered once again with Myron, even though it was already the third or fourth night and he is not in the slightest bit Jewish and Myron is normally a good boy.

Ross . . . is sort of a clothier's version of the Monty Python cheese shop skit

So after the Jews in town started their 8 crazy nights, all the shiksas in town got together with their own bubbes and their sighing spouses to jollify for their own celebration even as all the retailers rubbed their hands and extended their hours to further torture their hapless employees with boisterous holiday glee. Even Ross, which here is sort of a clothier's version of the Monty Python cheese shop skit stocked its shelves in an unaccustomed manner for the duration. You could actually enter the men's department and find not just one, but two sizes of socks for a change, which many found to be a miracle.

Naturally, this sort of thing needed some celebratory juicing, so Eugene got good and soused with Frank Spats, the admin assistant for the buyer for Ross. That was on Friday. Getting to work on Saturday was a lead trailer for the certain hell that awaited that good Catholic boy and he failed to make the Midnight Mass.

Well, the Main Day, as most folks know and a few refuse to admit, happened on a Sunday, which found Eugene getting good and wrecked with The Man from Minot and a case of Fat Tire and then on to the Old Same Place Bar, where Achmed sat waiting patiently in his turban and his cab for the boy to be boosted out of there in what seemed to be fast becoming a tradition.

"Man, I had that puppy right in my sights," Eugene said. "He was big enough to win the prize. I coulda been a contender."

"Yeah, yeah," Achmed said. "You know what I think?"

"What you think?"

"I think you should celebrate Ramadan. It would be far, far healthier for you."

"I think you should celebrate Ramadan. It would be far, far healthier for you."

"No kiddin? You drink a lot for Ramadan?"

"O no meme sahib. We do not allow alcohol at any time! That is against the Koran!"

"Yeah well, they grow a lot of poppies over there where you grew up." Eugene said.

"The Prophet said nothing about poppies or opium." Achmed said.

Tradition. Everyone has their own and in this time of Holidays there are many. Mr. Howitzer stood in the foyer on Saturday evening while his employee, Robert Ratchet tried to explain that the report could not be done because the server had crashed.

"It's 5 o'clock, sir. On Saturday night."

"It is not night, sir. I look out there and I see trees and houses perfectly well," Mr. Howitzer said. "It is not night but afternoon, or evening at the worst perhaps. It is not night!" Mr. Howitzer rapped his walking stick upon the tiles.

"Woof!" said Eisenhower, his dog, expecting something to happen.

"Sir, it is difficult to obtain assistance right now. . . ".

"Difficult? I am difficult! I reserve that cheerful attribute for myself. Offer sufficient fee and things can be made to happen. Money changes everything. I wish to have my report in hand by morning and I will have it!"

"Sir, it is Christmas Eve. Sir."

This is the problem with America today. People do not wish to work.

"What of that!? This is the problem with America today. People do not wish to work. That is simple. Some people do not wish to work. Mark you, if every one of those on the unemployment rolls would simply start working the entire problem would be solved! Now see you!"

Mr. Howitzer rapped his stick again upon the tiles.

"Sir there is nothing I can do. The Server is down and . . . ".

"O for the sake of god be out of my sight. For you offend my eyes. I'll get someone capable to do the work. Until then, you can consider yourself let go. Begone!"

"Sir, I am only saying . . .".

"Dodd! Remove this man! Like you handled the pig. That pig you know. Ah!"

Mr. Howitzer turned and ascended the marble staircase to his studio.

Mr. Ratchet stood there aghast and trembling until Dodd approached. Dodd had dealt with Mr. Howitzer for quite a while and he knew his master's issues.

"I have just been fired, Dodd! On Christmas Eve on the day I am supposed to be off anyway!"

"It's all right," Dodd said. "I know the man. Just go home and enjoy your family. I will handle it."

"Thank you Dodd! God bless you! Thank you!"

The pig to whom Mr. Howitzer referred was Hermano

Dodd sighed and heavily ascended the stairs. The pig to whom Mr. Howitzer referred was Hermano, who had been intended as the main course one memorable evening until the entire luau had imploded during an invasion of local raccoons, resulting in Hermano being sent back to the farm, there to while away his days in happy pig slop porcine happiness.

Mr. Howitzer had already locked himself in for the night into his studio with a bottle of South African port, and nothing more was to be done. The server would have to wait as well as the report and Mr. Ratchet's ultimate fate.

Dodd descended the staircase, which had been the model for a Fred Astaire scene with Ginger Rogers way back in the day and left the manse to attend to his own personal Holiday demands.

Alone in his studio, Mr. Howitzer fell asleep in his plush leather chair as the illegal fire crackled in the fireplace, this being a Bay Area Spare the Air day.

Mr. Howitzer awoke in his chair to the sound of someone coming into the room.

Sometime shortly before midnight, Mr. Howitzer suddenly awoke in his chair to the sound of someone coming into the room.

He looked at the clock on the mantel - 11:55pm. The door was locked but someone had just come in! In a panic he stood to go to the desk, but the man stood there between him and the drawer which held his loaded revolver.

"Who are you? What are you doing here!" shouted Mr. Howitzer.

The man lifted an old-fashioned kerosene lantern and as he did so, Mr. Howitzer heard a rattling of heavy chains.

"Good god, Jacob Burbage! It's you!" Mr. Howitzer exclaimed.

"No need to shout Harry," the figure said. "I may be dead but I can hear you well enough. Indeed, everyone in Hell can hear you nearly every day."

Shackles bound his arms to his ankles

The figure standing their wore a business suit which had seen better days quite a while ago. It was torn at the shoulders and the elbows and his tie was wrinkled and stained as well. He was covered in dust from his tangled hair to his scuffed brown shoes, even his lined, careworn face, lean with deep eyesockets from which unhealthy yellow eyes looked at Mr. Howitzer by the light of the lamp. Shackles bound his arms to his ankles, however the chains were long enough to allow him relative freedom of movement. The chain that linked his ankles together was so long that he carried the loop behind his back and over his left shoulder.

"How is this possible? I went to your funeral. I saw you there in the casket wearing your Elk's club ring! In the name of god what . . .!"

"Oooooooooooooh!" Jacob Burbage wailed and the hairs on the back of Howitzer's neck stood up. "Oooooooooh do not speak that name! He cannot help you now, Howitzer! You must help yourself!"

"Ah, yes, quite right. Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps is what I say. . .".

"Idiot!" Burbage thundered.

"Shhhhh! You'll wake the children . . .".

"Eh . . .". This brought the specter up short. "You HAVE no children!"

"I mean the neighbors. The property values are already bad enough around here . . . ".

"Oh shut up! You were always a fool in business as well as everything else. . .".

"Well I never liked you either . . .".

"In the name of Moloch be quiet! You have just one chance to save your miserable, parched soul this night or you too will be condemned for eternity to walk the earth in chains and visit numbskulls like you!"

"What's your plan, Burbage? I don't have all night you know."

"Oooooooooooooh . . ."!

"O for Pete's sake . . .".

I can see your end and it will be lugubrious and pathetic!

"Oooooooooh! Your time is shorter than you think! I can see your end and it will be lugubrious and pathetic! Pathetic!"

"Really!? What's the way, if I may ask?"

"It shall be . . . lentil soup!"

"Lentil soup? I don't even like lentil soup . . .".

"Oooooooooooooo! Mark my words! You shall be visited this night by one Spirit of Christmas. And you had better pay attention!"

"Well that's the usual way the story . . . wait a minute! You said one Spirit? Just one?"

"Yes!"

"Why just one? Are there not usually three or four? I think I deserve more than just one!"

"Oooooooooooooo . . .! Cutbacks!"

"Cutbacks?"

"The salvation program has been cutback, just like all the others. Mostly because of pinchpennies like YOU! To tell you the truth, the Board decided you just are not worth the extra expense."

"Now really . . ."!

"This is what you get when you cut back government to nothing, Howitzer. Everything, and every body, goes to hell."

"Please don't tell me the Hereafter is run by a bunch of liberals. That really would be Hell . . .". Mr. Howitzer began to complain.

"Only you can save your soul now, Harry Howitzer. Oooooooooooooo!"

There was a flash and Jacob Burbage, his old business partner was gone, leaving behind a faint odor of sulfur.

"I wonder how he did that echo effect with his voice"

"I wonder how he did that echo effect with his voice". Mr. Howitzer said to himself. He went to his desk, made sure the pistol was there, then left the study to go to his bedroom. He hesitated a moment and then returned to the study to fetch the bottle of port. Down the hall he had another mental revision and returned for the pistol. So with pistol and bottle he returned to his bedroom. He set down the pistol, snapped back two slugs of port in quick succession, then snapped back two more.

He started to feel more courageous and, pointing his head up at the ceiling, said loudly, "I just want you to know I don't care about the god damned curtains!" Then he wondered who he might really be talking to, so he downed a couple more shots of port and, looking down between his feet said, "I don't care about the curtains! That was Scrooge! He turned out to be a damned liberal in the end anyway!"

"Who the devil are you talking to, if I may ask, with all due respect," a voice said.

Howitzer grabbed the pistol. "I'll fix you!"

"I doubt that." The voice came from a figure near the window.

Mr. Howitzer gasped. His pistol had turned into a brightly colored macaw in his hand. Which reached around and bit the meat of his thumb.

Mr. Howitzer shrieked and the bird flew over to the figure who stepped forward into the light. The bird landed on his shoulder. He wore black horn-rim glasses, a funereal-looking black suit, had a lean look to his face, and seemed to be barely thirty years of age.

"So you are the Spirit of Christmas Future, I take it," Mr. Howitzer said. He sucked his injured thumb.

I do deal in futures . . .

"Well, no. I do deal in futures, but not yours. I am not the spirit of anything in particular."

"You are an angel?"

"No."

"You are a devil?"

"No."

"What are you?"

"I am an accountant."

"An accountant. They sent me an accountant. And this is about my soul."

"That's right."

"I do not understand. Who or what are you?"

your soul is seriously in arrears

"I work for the Temporal Salvation Agency. The Spirits are all out handling more valuable merchandise right now. People with souls worth saving. Wounded soldiers. A couple Stateswomen who really need it. Children of course are always more valuable than old geezers like you. As for you, your soul is seriously in arrears. You have not paid anything into your account for years and years."

"I cannot believe I got sent an accountant. . .".

"Fair" is a word you types often use

"They thought you would understand. A man like you. Someone who believes you cannot spend beyond your means. Someone who insists on a balanced budget, no matter what the real cost happens to be at the end of the day. We only want to be fair. "Fair" is a word you types often use when you really mean hard and mean-spirited, but we really do mean fair."

"Fair. . .".

"Believe me, Mr. Howitzer, I cannot tell a lie. That is simply not possible."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You . . . its really what you want to do for yourself, you see."

"Give me a few suggestions".

"You could start by fixing up the place on Otis so that it is more habitable, patch up that burn hole in the porch . . .".

"There is a hole in the porch? How did it get there? Who is responsible . . .".

Fortunately no one died.

"Don't ask. It was Javier's fiftieth birthday and things did not go well. Fortunately no one died. In addition to fixing up the place (as well as being happy for your tenants no one died during that incident) you could lower the obscene rents there and in a few more places . . .".

"Never!"

"You could also pay the bail to get Andre, your chief leaseholder there, out of jail."

"That miserable punk is in jail? He probably deserves it."

"He does not. As for most of those who have a run-in with Officer Popinjay. You could have some sympathy for a boy who is spending a cold night on Christmas in a jail cell with no blanket."

"What did he do to get in there?"

"O Howitzer, it does not matter. He cussed out Officer Popinjay."

"Well, he deserves it. For one, he is disreputable, for another he has tattoos and that looks back on the neighborhood, and for another, malefactors must be punished."

"I guess you are not going to lower the obscene rents . . .".

"Not on my soul . . .". Mr. Howitzer said, before he quite realized what he was saying.

"You probably do not think so much of the Occupy Movement either."

"They . . . they interfere with business. They all need to get a job! Simple as that."

"Yes, well I can see how people protesting high unemployment and their own unemployed status would be best off changing that condition," the accountant said dryly. "That logic certainly fits together nicely. And as for Andre in jail?"

"Why should I pay the debts of a man who needs to pay his own way out of his situation? He's a malefactor and he needs to pay for it. Learn his lesson the hard way. It will stick."

"All malefactors should be punished?"

"Of course."

"I agree. I am an accountant after all. Good evening, Mr. Howitzer."

"That's it? That's all? No more visits? No jolly man in a red suit?"

"No, that's it. That's all we could afford."

"No creepy Mr. Death and visits to the graveyard or Tiny Tim or peeping in on weeping parents?"

The accountant laughed. "No, there will be no Mr. Death. Not like that for you. This is all we could afford."

"Cutbacks."

"That's right. Cutbacks." The bird croaked the word as well.

Mr. Howitzer awoke in his own bed holding a banana in a bandaged hand. The following week passed pretty much as usual until New Year's Eve.

A blind man stood in the middle of the intersection of Park Street and Santa Clara.

A blind man stood in the middle of the intersection of Park Street and Santa Clara. He held an orchestra baton in one hand and what looked like a long horn in the other. Because he was blind, no one could see him and the cars passed through the intersection as the light changed, narrowly whispering past his hips as he stood there. Because it was New Years Eve, the sidewalks and street were thronged with traffic.

From someone's window somewhere the sound of a slow oompah with timpani drifted on the air.

Susan and Lynette came down the way on their bicycles, stopped in the alley that goes to the post office on Park Avenue, and chained up their bikes. Lynette unstrapped a tureen of lentil soup from the back of her bike and the two went up the way, laughing and chatting to one another. They paused at the light across from the Slut Hut Coffeeshop and several people joined them while waiting for the light to change, including a fashionably dressed woman leading a Pomeranian on a leash. The Pom sat obediently.

The blind man gestured with his baton. Still, no one noticed him.

The light changed and the blind man waved his baton to usher the pedestrians into the crosswalk, where, he gestured again as Eugene Gallipagus, nursing a hangover from the week's festivities, holidays, and all whatnot, sipped a hot cup of coffee with bleary eyes in his pickup truck heading down Park Street.

Mr. Howitzer stepped out of a property he had been inspecting over on Park Avenue, a place where tenants had been complaining about a strong electrical smell for no apparent reason for a while, and rounded the corner of the Firestation there to head up Park Street from the opposition direction as the blind man beckoned him with the baton.

That fixture blew up with a most spectacular flash.

Behind him, in the building he had just left, a tenant plugged an electrical cord into another, smaller electrical cord and then plugged that into a 2000 watt space heater of late 1970's vintage. When it went, it went all along the suddenly superheated electrical cords to the outlet, which Mr. Howitzer's nonunion electrician had fitted with a bogus three pole fixture without hooking up the ground. That fixture blew up with a most spectacular flash. Everyone in the place ran out and smoke billowed from a half-open window.

A laughing couple came down from Yumi Ya, which is on the second floor there. They carried a warm doggie box of unagi, Kobe beef bento, and lobster roll.

The Man from Minot, finishing up a foundation stabilization job came towards them carrying a couple 6 foot 3 by 4 boards over his shoulder.

A knot of friends stood in the doorway of Juanitas, talking and laughing.

Mr. Howitzer's macaw, which had escaped a few years ago from its cage, flew in front of Eugene's windshield, startling him into dropping the coffee in his lap just as he approached the light. Eugene screamed, loud enough for the Man from Minot to hear. The Man from Minot half turned to look at Eugene who slammed on his brakes short of the crosswalk.

The couple quickly ducked beneath the boards which had nearly hit them in the face, but lost the bento box which broke open and scattered across the pavement.

The blind man waved his baton. The oompah music played on the air, almost as if he had direction.

the fatal tureen loaded with lentil soup, went flying into the air

The Pomeranian, seeing Kobe gold scattered there, broke loose from his leash and dashed for the vittles, tangling up Lynette's legs as she stepped forward. She spun, the blind man twirled, the tureen, the fatal tureen loaded with lentil soup, went flying into the air, up up it went, almost as if levitated by magic. But then gravity held sway and the thing came crashing down to shatter into a thousand pieces of lentil and soup and ceramic.

It was this sight, right in front of Juanitas, which caused Jose and Javier coming out of the place after paying for their goat barbacoa to pause with the door open.

The blind man raised the trumpet to his lips and blew.

A gust of wind whipped through Juanita's to snatch up Javier's ten dollar bill and carry it out the door between the people gathered there right past Jose's nose and down the sidewalk.

Jose, eye's lighting up, ran after the sawbuck.

Mr. Howitzer, having seen the tureen break apart had paused to cross over the street to the other side - hah! lentil soup indeed!

So, after successfully avoiding the fatal lentil soup, he now saw Jose and the ten spot and, as fire sirens started up somewhere, the spirit of capitalist competition got into him. It could be no other way with Mr. Howitzer. The strongest and the fittest get the prize. With Jose racing after the money from one side Mr. Howitzer ran from the other, figuring he would use his walking stick if necessary when he got there.

The blind man puffed lightly on his horn and the ten spot danced coquettishly into the street, performing a little jete and a pirouette right in front of the two men. Mr. Howitzer thrust his stick at Jose, saving his life in fact, as he, the champion of property and capital, the somewhat successful business man and chief owner of the property management firm of Howitzer and Burbage, stepped right out there into the street to seize what was his due.

Right in front of the oncoming firetruck.

As the blind man took his bow to invisible applause, the long howl of the throughpassing train ululated across the fateful grasses of the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive wended its way blindly past the shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, as it headed off on its own holiday journey to parts unknown and to meet its own destiny.

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

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