Daily Blues & Views

II Personal ads filled the classified sections of various publications.  From the literary periodicals like the New York Times Review of Books to the New Republic to the free local alternative publications in every major city, these attempts at reaching out to find a friend, mate, or just a temporary romance, flourished.  They could be a fascinating read. People who would never answer an ad made a point to read them.  They offered a full exercise in fantasy.  Who might this person be?  Could there be someone out there I'll never know? Often the challenge and attraction of the ad were in the voice and word selection.  An example would prove useful here.  From a published collection of personal ads from New York city comes the following: Within a few square inches, lies all that is positive and negative about these ads.  Their unpredictable truths and falsehoods lie ready to be revealed.  And, all the while, whether that slim, attrac...

A story in 5 parts I. "I want you to do something for me," said Martin on this rare telephone call.  Those words have never been easy for me because the foretell something either secretive or a request that leaves me little choice in the matter. The last time I heard those 8 little words was when my sister converted to Catholicism.  I was to answer all questions from the Monsenior who would soon call.  "Do this for me and please don't question my motivation," Donna said.  "I'm doing this for my husband, can I count on you?" She could. But there was Martin, my Berkeley friend with his New Jersey accent asking me the same question. "What is it you want from me, Martin?" "I want you to go on a date, not with me, but yeah with me and some women?" This couldn't be simple, but I was intrigued. Martin explained that he'd answered a personal ad in the East Bay Express.  3 women were looking for 3 men to join them for d...

It's like going to the dentist or sitting in a waiting room waiting    to discuss blood tests with your doctor, Longing to hear about the health of your car,    Only the only dent is in your checkbook. I don't want another vehicle, I don't mind    walking, only it's raining today. It's like receiving a Dear John letter,    wondering how much is true and how much an air sensor really costs and how long it takes to install one. It's not my heart or my blood sugar, maybe it all comes out even some day. A neighbor once gave me a large grocery bag of Chanterelle mushrooms he'd gathered in the woods. $28.00 a pound; does that help balance the books? Lots of ways to weigh it up,    even more when you appreciate trading smiles nobody gets hurt, nobody dislocates their attitude This car dealership is a plantation,    social justice can't be deducted from anything worthwhile.

I first read about Satchel Paige when I was in the 10th grade.  Through the Scholastic book club, I bought a paperback copy of his autobiography aptly called Maybe I'll Pitch Forever.  I'd heard of Paige because a kid in my neighborhood once traded with me some baseball cards from the early 50s and I recall a Satchel Paige card when he was with the St. Louis Browns.  Wish I had that card now, but that's for another time. Paige was a legendary player from the Negro Leagues when apartheid in America was called Jim Crow and athletes with promise and potential had to play in separate leagues that somehow managed to fund their existence from year to year despite all the obstacles against that. Paige was always the stuff of folklore.  Stories abound about the speed of his fastball, the "hesitation" pitch he used to fool some of the game's greatest hitters, and the times he called his outfield in after they committed too many errors and then proceeded to strike ...

This is the day we take stock.  Depending on where you are on the graph of longevity, you focus on the past more than the present or perhaps the present and future are the privileged view. We adore change when it might bring positivity, in our view.  But with the beginning of 2018 comes the chance to re-set.  For many, seeing 2017 go away can't come soon enough. It's only the feeling that we can begin again, with fewer mistakes and more alert than before, but it is something. Something needed. Something welcomed. In our commercial culture, we'll be mugged by all the advertisements for weight-loss and ancestry, newer, bigger sales, and the latest models of everything from cars to phones. It's what we do. Many folks will marvel at just being able to be...here...again. It's been that kind of a year. But for the uninitiated, the inexperienced, the folks who would rather not look back, they'll still have to be wary of what it is that just might be gaining...

Dawn is only a few hours away The airport is no movement empty I sit in the dark Hearing only “Early Morning Rain” in my head Got the lyrics down now My plane is on time and I’m to let myself onto the tarmac Shopping mall door slides open Braniff Air taxis up from the mist Flight attendant appears from behind silver door Yellow and brown hot pants at 2:29 am I’m in and on and belted Four stops before Chicago 3 now Witchita is snowed in In 3 months I'll appear before my draft board For now, a window seat next to a returning vet we smile hello, nod and then sit back, Our paths cross in the frozen wind

I recently watched the new documentary about the creation of Rolling Stone magazine.  Like the music and community it documents, Rolling Stone has survived and flourished for decades.  Aside from the many behind the scenes film and video clips, and the stunning photography the film employs, what resonated most with me was a comment by the founder of this iconic publication.  Jann Wenner was talking about some of the young, unpublished writers that were assigned various pieces early on.  In one case, he took a young journalist aside after he'd written a noteworthy piece.  No, he didn't offer constructive criticism or even express disappointment in the piece.  Conversely, he liked the piece and recognized the obvious talent in his young charge.  What Wenner did was grab a book off of his shelf and tell the inexperienced writer to go home and read it and then use his considerable talent and write like that.  The book was Slouching Toward Be...