Daily Blues & Views

 Like many of my generation, I found my way to a movie theater on Christmas day to see the opening of the new Dylan film, A Complete Unknown .  I'd read many of the reviews and seen the interviews with the actors, so I expected that the performances would be first rate, and the music would be worthy of its objectives.  It was.  We're going to see a few Oscars here before all the reactions die down.  I knew that this film only represented some critical years in the rise of Bob Dylan and was glad that it didn't attempt to be a complete biography.  I knew, too, that Dylan, himself had given his blessing to the film and wasn't critical of anything.   When history becomes a movie, many liberties are taken and facts altered for various reasons.  Fortunately that didn't happen here.  Yes, there were some changes made, and poetic license was taken here and there.  But at its core, the film is sound and solid.  For someone my age it can't he...

  Hey Mr. Tambourine Man ,     A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall , Like A Rolling Stone,     with no Shelter From the Storm , To uncover the Masters of War , who make Desolation Row,     and Don't Think Twice , with God on Our Side, The Ballad of a Thin Man , got     Tangled Up in Blue , from a Hurricane , that left My Back Pages Blowin" in the Wind. No Restless Farewell , the Times They are a  Changin ' and I Shall be Release d from the Gates of Eden .      A Simple Twist of Fate , left you Knockin' on Heaven's Door, Shouting I Contain Multitudes ,      And It's All Over Now Baby Blue ,    Yes, it's getting late, but it's Not Dark Yet,

 I see my home state is at it again. Book banning at some schools in Grant's Pass, Oregon.  his overprotective, curiosity killing sport lives on.  Funny thing is, though, all that ever results from attempts to keep books from readers is that they find other ways to secure the forbidden material.  Even funnier, however, is that some fairly well-known and award winning titles continue to make it onto the "Frequently Banned Books" list. I'm rather proud that about 60% of the books I taught to high school Juniors and Seniors are on those lists.  No, my classes did not contain books that were objectionable because of vivid sex scenes or radical political theories.  Yes, there was some violence, some expressions of affection for self and others, and certainly political statements.  There were also some Nobel Prized winners in the group as well. Today the offended school boards and their supporters are complaining about books that deal with themes of gender i...

 I must have done 35 Back To School nights in my teaching career.  Like an open house, a Back to School night occurs after the first month or so of the new school semester and gives parents an opportunity to meet their child's teachers and learn a bit ab out the expectations and curriculum for the school year.  Of all the post presentation comments I ever received from parents, the most memorable came from a parent who whispered something in my ear and then walked away.  Apparently her need to tell me something was greater than to stand in the modest line and wait her turn to talk with the teacher.   Still the comment did not fall on deaf ears.  "Thank you for reading to your class," she said. "Especially at this level." That latter comment meant that she believed just because they were high school Juniors in an Honors class, they weren't beyond being read to.  In my view, she gets it.  Reading aloud is a vital part in educating a person.  La...

 They disappear. People, treasured memories, cherished objects.  From car keys to one-time friends, to collections, to everyday items, things disappear.   Over a lifetime, a few chosen objects or people irritate the mind.  Where did they go?  We all have these mysteries.  For me it's a few folks I knew in college, my baseball cards, and accidental displacements. I had a robust collection of 1950s baseball cards between the ages of 8 and 12.  Lots from the glory years of 1951-1956.  They were in a couple of shoe boxes, the thin ones that originally held US Keds.  After I turned about 14, they went from my bedroom closet to the garage.  At least that's what I tell myself.  By the time I left my childhood home for good and returned to clean it out after my father's death, they were nowhere to be seen.  Nobody in my family would have thrown them out.  Nevertheless, like so many before me, they disappeared.   When I see 19...

 After my lifelong friend Kenny died, his partner sent me some of his books, records, and fly fishing gear.  Kenny and I met at age 9 in the dugout of the Sun Valley Little League during the tryouts in 1956.  Through Jr. high and high school we remained friends,  Even though we went to different colleges, we stayed close.  In fact it is during those years between the ages of 19-22 that we cemented our shared interest in the burgeoning folk/rock music scene, beat poets, foreign films, and baseball.  Living in LA in the late 1960s we had a wonderland of opportunities to see iconic blues and jazz artists.  We frequented small bookstore readings, music clubs, and small cinema houses that featured many films from the iconic European filmmakers.  Kenny read widely and most of the time, had his own car and knew the geography of the vast LA basin.  In later years from the 80s to early 2000s we went on fly fishing trips together, camping and exploring...

 These eyes are deep brown, They've seen for decades. Sights include: Those who hate (heard too) Emotional darts thrown at the vulnerable. Poverty from aging wooden homes, Whose walls have child-eyes, Empty kitchens, Clothes long gone, cheap highs in the gutter, Catatonic, clinging survivors, unemployment waiting rooms, unnecessary wars, Prime of life interrupted, Friends gone too soon. Then too,  meadow streams, Alpine lakes, Crystal rivers, Love returned, isolation, watercolor worlds, gleaming coat of a thoroughbred, Black spotted golden Redside trout, Fluorescent blue/pink spotted Brook trout, Black/tan Brown trout, Willie Mays play, 100,000 people in the street, Iron gate at the White House, Coffins on the Capital steps, Texas, Montana, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, Newark, New Orleans, Baltimore, Portland, Atlanta, Dallas, Los Cabos, Mex. from above, Son House, Lightnin' Hopkins, Howlin' Wolf, Elvis, Arthur Crudup, Miles, Brownie and Sonny, Big Mama, Donovan, Dylan,  Ap...

 It was a moment in time.  Something that could hardly happen again.  Imagine going into a place to look at and probably buy some records of some of your favorite artists, and seeing one or two of them right next to you in the store.   In the late 1960s I spent a lot of time in and around the famed LA folk/blues club, the Ash Grove.  It was where I could see performances by legends like Son House, Howlin" Wolf, Elizabeth Cotton, and Big Mama Thornton.  The place was a living museum and gave me an opportunity to see many influential performers in the last years of their lives.  People like Sleepy John Estes,  Yank Rachel, Lightnin" Hopkins, Hedy West, and Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup all played there.  Crude was the bluesman who wrote and recorded "That's Alright" in 1947, well before a young Elvis Presley took it and added a rockabilly beat and soon became the "King" of Rock and Roll." If Presley was the King, Crudup was the Father. Presley m...

 As the clock winds down on the 2024 Presidential election, the mood is tense and foreboding.  It wasn't always this way.  Still, a quick look at the history of our elections shows some striking similarities.  This election is the most crucial in our lifetime...they all say.  As a 7th grader in Jr. High I recall how the Nixon/Kennedy race of 1960 was described that way.  The week before the vote the popular sit-com "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis even ended its program with a giant question mark.  If we only knew how both those candidates would end up taking their place in history!  You can watch that episode here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvV8xaL8TIY I recall, too, how we debated the issues in my classes.  Those activities were spirited, to be sure, but nothing like the climate today.  Back then we all took Government classes with a big-ass textbook.  We learned about the 3 branches of government, the various intricacies of ...

He said it was like a dart.  Like being hit by a dart.  He was talking about being on the receiving end of a racial epithet or being the recipient of prejudice when someone speaks.  I concur.  I find dart to be a perfect metaphor because it probably won't kill you to be hit by one, but it stings, it's sharp, and you've become a target.   When Trump uses terms like "poisoning the blood," and "vermin," he's throwing darts.  Today we call them "dog whistles" but darts is a better term because they stick, they cause pain, and they are meant for specific targets.   Ever been hit by a dart like this?  If so, you know the sting never leaves.  I recall a few very specific darts thrown my way during childhood.  Once, while walking home from Elementary school, a girl in my neighborhood announced she had a $10 bill.  To a 9-year-old, in the 1950s that was a small fortune.  Apparently her parents were getting divorced and her father had re...

 I walked down to the Post Office this morning.  It's about half a mile round trip from my house or a couple thousand steps on the ol' step-tracker.  As I crossed the street behind my home and approached the main drag in my little section of North Portland, I noticed that the guy who regularly sleeps on the sidewalk was there, but just in front of him, another guy was bedded down.  Usually they just lay on or in sleeping bags, but this morning they had built a couple of little shelters from large cardboard boxes.  In fact between them they had about 4 little cardboard rooms.   There is a motorcycle dealership that specializes in Vespa scooters across the street.  They often receive their new vehicles in large cardboard boxes and then put them on the curb for recycling.  I've no doubt that's where the "cardboard bedrooms" came from.   I stepped deftly around the sidewalk sleepers and went on my way, but a thought struck me. My first reaction w...

 With the recent passing of my lifelong friend, Ken, I started thinking of some memorable times we had together.  Ken was an artist and extremely well read.  He unabashedly love living in Los Angeles.  He knew the city well and was a frequent visitor to galleries, museum shows, and concerts.  In high school we both shared one art class together.  It was an elective called Art Crafts taught by a rather quirky teacher.  In this class we created various projects, some required and some left to our own devices.  I remember discovering the tedium and magic of a crow quill ben and India ink in this class.  I took a photograph of the bark of a dead oak tree and painstakingly drew a tree whose truck was composed of thousands of little squiggly lines.  I got lost in the minute patterns, even writing a message of love to my girlfriend that was hidden in the fine patterns. Halfway through that school year John F Kennedy was assassinated and I vivid...

 I've been thinking of offering a writing workshop for older adults.  My peer group now.  It occurred to me that many of the prompts I used over a 35 year teaching career would work well with mature writers.  I think that's because aside from stimulating the memory and offering some critical thinking opportunities, writing helps one save their life...literally and figuratively.  There are other simple benefits too. Even writing by hand helps maintain fine motor skills and of course, writing helps people process their thoughts.  In the words if one if my favorite quotes, "How will I know what I think until I see what I say."  Just substitute write for say and there you have it.  I don't think E.M. Forester would mind. I'd decided to start with a simple writing strategy I'll call a childhood table of contents.  If you look at the table of contents of many books, the chapter titles are often fascinating...a world in themselves.  In my class...

 Disneyland in Anaheim, California, opened in 1955. For young Baby Boomers, this was Nirvana.  The popular Disney TV show had become a reality that they could visit.  All the familiar characters were there as well as the various "lands" they knew from the TV show.  You could actually go to a place called Adventure Land, or Tomorrow Land, Frontier Land and even Fantasy Land, complete with Sleeping Beauty's castle. Two brothers down the street from me went to that opening day.  Their father worked for Technicolor and folks in the movie industry were among those privileged to go to the opening day.  My sister and I went a few years later thanks to the generosity of a New York uncle who worked for a media agency and sent us credentials for complementary tickets.  Even the E ticket coupons, the hardest to get.  I was about 10 years old and my sister 11.  We went with our parents and my Aunt Dorothy and her husband, my Uncle Clery.  They had n...

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

 I received an email from an old friend last week.  We'd been sharing memories of a mutual friend who recently died.  While I haven't seen her in over 40 years, I do recall a brief visit when she was passing through the Bay Area in the late 1970s.   I used to date her sister and she dated my best friend.  These were teen-age dates, mostly, but their importance and dare I say significance has surfaced since we've been talking about our lost friend.   It's about the music.  Those dates from the mid 1960s until the early 1970s revolved around the music scene in Los Angeles.  While those years are most notable for the Rock and Folk-Rock groups that emerged, it was the small club scene that we frequented.  The Ash Grove was a small folk music venue on Melrose Blvd. in Hollywood that emerged as the place to go.  Here we saw many of the blues greats in their prime.  The irony, of course, is that many of these performers were well into thei...

 If someone said to me, "You look like you just lost your friend," I'd say you're right.  I wear it on my face.  While I don't like to rate things, especially friends, by comparison, (good, better, best) I did have a very long friendship with my late friend KO who died last Saturday.  60+ years is an accomplishment for loyal friendship.  So, when it ends, there is a hole that goes unfilled.   Like all human relationships, there were ups and downs.  Not living in the same place since 1970 also threw in a few challenges.  Yet we prevailed.  It helps when a friendship this long features both participants having the same birthday.  We exchanged many fine gifts over the years.  I have books and records and a few other things that will keep KO in my life for the duration.  A note on sharing the same birthday with a friend: it's important not to get so caught up in your own birthday that you forget about the one you share it with. ...

 Some say we've raised a generation of "snowflakes." That is, kids who have been overprotected and are not ready for some of the harsh realities they are sure to face as adults.  To be sure, corporal punishment is not the answer, but to  toughen up many young people, some changes will need to happen. My parents were loving people.  Perhaps why I received the "empathy gene."  Of course my personality is only part heredity, but the environment I experienced taught me to consider the feelings of others consistently.  Yet, as a child I received, on rare occasions the sting of a hand or a belt.  My sister and I called it "the strap." It was an old leather belt of my father's and it hung inside on the door of a broom closet.  Of course we weren't hit with the buckle of the belt, but that leather strap stung just enough.  Today, thinking back on those times the strap found my arms or legs, I'm mildly shocked.  It seems incongruous that kind peo...

 Suddenly there is new life in the Presidential race. Suddenly the Republican party has the older candidate.  The youth vote has been activated and the results is new hope and new life. Perhaps it is life that comes before hope.   How sad that the race is so close.  How sad that a large portion of the American people cannot recognize a psychopath, a narcissist, much less a huckster.  The uneducated have a chance of having the last word.  People are wearing their despair  on their sleeves.  The orange man has already given hints that if he gets in again, he is not leaving.  We know he means business, he has already shown us who he is.  It's beyond me sometimes why his supporters continue to back him.   Oh I know all about the red meat eating base.   They are an open book.  The orange man speaks their language.  He's anti-intellectual, crass, cruel, and fearful.  His racism and lies only feed the fire.  But wh...

 Journalists and pundits warned years ago that politics and entertainment were slowly merging.  That melding seems to now be complete.  Even before actor Ronald Reagan first ran for political office there were entertainers in politics.  Some ran for office, some endorsed candidates, some simply gave financial support.  But the warning was not just about those who participated it extended to how politics was conducted and conceived.   Last night when Kid Rock performed and Hulk Hogan spoke at the Republican National Convention, the transformation was complete.  Of course the presence of Donald Trump further strengthens the notion that politics has become entertainment.  Ratings, ratings, ratings.  Surprised? No, this seems like a natural progression in our culture.  Perception becomes reality.  Image is everything.  You get what you pay for.   What struck me this past week, with the assassination attempt on Trump, was the i...

 It was the summer of 1965. Out of high school for just 6 months, with one semester of college under my belt, I went to a pool party in Southern California.  Typical fare, hot dogs, hamburgers, and lots of dips and chips.  About 25 of us, once so close, now found ourselves beginning down multiple paths.  Some in college, some into the work force, still others into the military or soon to be engulfed by the draft.  The party was to celebrate the union of two of our number who were hurriedly wed and soon to be parents.  She, the party thrower, he soon to be shipped off to Vietnam.   Some swam, most others stood around talking and listening to music.  The Beatles still dominated, but there were others on the horizon.  I was 19, 3 months away from dealing with my mother's terminal illness, and about to start a summer job that would pay me minimum wage: $1.25 hour.  Most of the couples that were hanging on from high school would not last the ...

 I'd like to see some changes made. Especially in electoral politics.  Not in the counting or the campaigning.  How about the qualifying?  We are all too willing to pass tests in the classroom, for the DMV, evener skill levels like Karate or advanced degrees.  Those tests can be written or oral.  But not for political office.  Not even the highest office in the land, the Presidency.  Given the power of the Presidency, I'd like to see some proficiency standards set.   A Presidential candidate should be able to qualify for the ballot in a few key areas. Most notable a President should be a reader.  I'd go so far as a reading list for the office.  What 10 books would you put on that list, and why?  Given the composition of the current Congress as well as some of those who would be President, I'd like prospective office holders to pass a psychological screening test. That way we could eliminate the plethora of sociopathic contender...