Back to Basics

I'm back. Thanks to the kindness and charity of a stranger.  I'll tell you the whole story sometime. Samantha is her name, a far-off voice behind a person of good heart, a trail angel. It could have been a terrible disaster. Everything is fine. Thank you, Samantha.

So I'm back, a bit banged up but on the mend. Throughout the summer nearly every part of my body rebelled against the complacency of wellness. It got comical. It also ruined my vacation. There were some good moments though. I enjoyed the company of my family: Dad, Paul, Dave, Don, Karen, Mike, Mario and Daniela. With time I'll forget how lousy I felt and remember the simple good times. Right now, however, I'm in a "give me medicine" mode.

Your question, of course, is: But are you back? Back to writing your so-called blog, back to littering the sea with bottles filled with messages so cryptic even you don't understand them anymore? We shall see. Right now I'm more interested in this personal newspaper than in the Facebook exhibitionism or the Twitter bombardment. There is too much. Must be. Too much means negative excess. "I love you very much" (sounds like an anniversary) is not the same as "I love you too much" (sounds like youthful infatuation). If you can recognise "too much" when you see it, you're okay.

I see everyone at the airport heads down pressing their phones and wonder what they could all be saying that is so vital. What are all those words disappearing into space like clouds? Why can't the man next to me on the plane turn off either of his phones? Laptop, tablet, video screen. I guess my thoughts, brilliant as they always are, need to cook and then cool before they can be offered. Wouldn't want to contribute to the flood of foolishness as this planet quickly dies and we ignore our incapacity to help Mother.

So we post absurd recipes and read about movie stars in bikinis and send messages to improbable friends like "Zup?" which really means I'm bored, entertain me. So much urgent desperation all around and we're bored. And can't sit still silently. Life is short, baby, gotta fill it up, fill it up. Emptiness (death?) is terrifying. But the secret everyone knows is that emptiness slows life down so that we can catch up.

So each summer I turn off the phones, the computers, the televisions and just hang out. Lay on my back in the pool, ride my bike right and left, cook my meals, read at the library, walk down the street. Anyway, I know you don't miss me. And now I'm back. For good? We shall see.

p.s. A huge thanks to all the friends who contributed to this year's California adventure. Couldn't a-done it without ya!

Happy trials, Martin


Mutt:  Heard any good police reports lately?
Jeff:  I was afraid you'd start telling your awful jokes again.
Mutt:  Nope. True crime stories. They arrested the monkey for throwing feces at zoo attendants. His charge? Turd debris assault.
Jeff:  They arrested the bartender for taking liquor home. I believe the official charge was "emboozlement."
Mutt:  They arrested the former chewing gum manufacturer for unlicensed ex-spearmints. 
Jeff:  They arrested the Chrysler salesman and he couldn't a-Ford bail. 
Mutt:  They arrested the owner of a threatening bull; he was brought up on charges.
Jeff:  They arrested a barber for running a clip joint. 
Mutt:  They arrested the hock shop owner for indecency. He was selling pawnographic materials.
Jeff:  Uncle.
Mutt:  Sorry, but crime is crime. Punsters deserve to be drawn and quoted, you know.

Jeff:  And a good pun is its own reword.

Mutt:  And seven days of punning makes one weak.

Jeff:  Have mercy!

The Last List of 2014

This year’s winners of the Earl Awards for best picture are:

Arthur Newman

Barbara (German)

Before Midnight

Detachment

Film Blue

Hitchcock

Man of Steel

Marilyn

Metropolis (complete restored version)

Night Train to Lisbon

Promised Land

The Hunt  (Danish)

The Impossible

The Master

The Spirit

THX1138 (director’s cut)

To the Wonder

 

That’s not as many motion pictures as in previous years because ...

Well I guess I was watching television. This year I saw some excellent TV shows, I hate to admit. But here’s the list of personal favorites:

Fargo

Fleming

House of Cards

In Treatment

Lilyhammer (Norwegian)

Profilage  (French)

Salamander  (Belgian)

Sherlock

The Knick

The Newsroom

True Detective

Wallander  (British)

 

That and my musical work were responsible for my list of books enjoyed being rather light:

A Poet’s Companion, Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux

American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis

Basho’s Narrow Road, Basho

Erased, Jim Krusoe

If You Want to Write, Brenda Ueland

Killing Time, Caleb Carr

Lost Stories, Dashiell Hammett

Oblique Prayers, Denise Levertov

Oceans of Wisdom, Dalai Lama

Old School, Tobias Wolff

Open Secret, Versions of Rumi, Rumi

The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke, Theodore Roethke

The Forgotten Language, Erich Fromm

The King and the Corpse, Heinrich Zimmer

Toward You, Jim Krusoe

Writing Better Lyrics, Pat Pattison.

 

That’s enough.

 

Happy trials, Martin

 

 

 

Mutt:  For the academics: The difference between theory and practice in practice is greater than the difference between theory and practice in theory.

Jeff:  Today is the day for decisive action! ... Or is it?

Mutt:  I used to think I was indecisive ... but now I am not sure.

Jeff:  The first ninety percent of the task takes ninety percent of the time, and the last ten percent takes the other ninety percent.

Mutt:  For people who like peace and quiet: a phoneless cord.

Jeff:  Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.

Mutt:  Shin: A very sensitive device for finding furniture in the dark.

Jeff:  What first appears to be a sloppy or meaningless use of words may well be a completely correct use of words to express sloppy or meaningless thinking.

Mutt:  Blessed are they who have nothing to say and who cannot be persuaded to say it.

Jeff:  Nothing to say.

Not the Last Lists of 2014

When I was a little kid, my mother read me stories from the Shirley Temple fairy tale book. There was a picture on the back of her with her son. She was the same age as my Mom, similar looking. I confused the two in my day-dreams; I wanted to be myself and the son of Shirley Temple, Miss Bright Eyes grown up to be perfect.

 

I can still remember some of those stories fifty-five years later, which I re-read and studied twenty years later for an M.A. in folklore. And I still like her movies. We need more innocence and joy, not more cynicism and sarcasm. Shirley Temple Black died this year.

 

So did a lot of great musicians, writers and others. Here's my annual list.

 

Alberta Adams

Arthur ‘Guitar Boogie’ Smith

Bob Casale (Devo)

Bobby Keys

Bobby Womack

Bud Spangler

Claudio Abbado

David Lamb

Dawn Sears

Don Lanier

Franny Beecher (Bill Haley’s Comets)

Fred Ho

George Shuffler (Stanley Brothers)

Gerald Wilson

Gerry Goffin

Herb Jeffries

Horace Silver

Ian McLagan

Iola Brubeck (Dave Brubeck’s wife)

Jack Bruce

Jay Traynor

Jean Redpath

Jerry Vale

Jesse Winchester

Jessica Cleaves

Jimmy C. Newman

Jimmy Ruffin

Joe Cocker

Joe Frazier (Chad Mitchell Trio)

Johnny Winter

Larry Henley

Little Jimmy Scott

Lorin Maazel

Maria von Trapp

Millie Kirkham (Elvis)

Paco de Lucia

Paul Horn

Paul Revere

Pete Seeger

Phil Everly

Ronny Jordan

Roy Campbell, Jr.

Sean Potts (Chieftains)

Steven Fromholz

Tim Hauser

Tommy Ramone

 

Writers:

 

Allen Grossman

Amiri Baraka

Carolyn Kizer

Claudia Emerson

Curt Gentry

Diann Blakely

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Galway Kinnell

Joe McGinniss

Jonathan Schell

Juan Gelman

Justin Kaplan

Lorenzo Semple Jr.

Mark Strand

Mary Rodgers

Maxine Kumin

Maya Angelou

Nadine Gordimer

Peter Matthiessen

Rene Ricard

Thomas Berger

Vern Rutsala

Wynn Chamberlain

 

Others:

 

Alvin Dark

Ben Bradlee

David Brenner

Don Pardo

Eli Wallach

Elizabeth Peña

Garrick Utley

Gerardo D’Ambrosio

Gregory Jacobs (the S.F. bushman)

James Garner

Jay Adams (Z-boys)

Lauren Bacall

Mickey Rooney

Mike Nichols

Paul Mazursky

Philip Seymour Hoffman

Ralph Waite

Richard Attenborough

Robin Williams

Rubin “Hurricane” Carter

Ruby Dee

Saul Zaentz

Shirley Temple Black

Sid Caesar

Stephen Gaskin

Tom Magliozzi

Tony Gwynn

Virna Lisi.

 

Happy Trials for 2015, Martin

 

Mutt:  2015, that'll be my year. I'm sure of it.

Jeff:  Year to do what?

Mutt:  That's what I'm not so sure of. But it's gonna be big.

Jeff:  A big bang. Big wind.  Don't forget my friend: Never start a vast project with a half-vast idea.

Mutt:  Oh yeah, I forgot. Heard any good jokes lately?

Jeff:   The same old duds.

Mutt:  Doctors tell us there are over seven million people who are overweight. These, of course, are only round figures.

Jeff:  What is the purpose of reindeer?

Mutt:  Got me.

Jeff:  It makes the grass grow, sweetie.

Mutt:  Darling, the other day I sent my girlfriend a huge pile of snow. I rang her up and asked, "Did you get my drift?"

Jeff:  I don’t know, did she?  And where do you find giant snails?

Mutt:  I know. On the ends of giant's fingers.

Jeff:  Why is Saudi Arabia free of mental illness?

Mutt:  Obviously because there are nomad people there.

Jeff:  Question: How did Christopher Columbus finance his trip to America?

Mutt:  Answer: With the Discover Card.

Jeff:  Thought so. So show me where Stalin's buried and I'll show you a communist plot.

Mutt:  So four fonts walk into a bar. The barman says "Oi - get out! We don't want your type in here"

Jeff:  I was on an elevator the other day, and the operator kept calling me 'son.' I said, 'Why do you call me 'son'? You're not my father.' He said, 'I brought you up, didn't I?'

Mutt:  Well?  You know, without geometry, life is pointless

Jeff:  Happy New Year to you too.

 

 

 

 

Losers Cry

We, and I say we when discussing the San Francisco Giants because the players always say they couldn’t have won without the fans so I accept that responsibility, we really stunk in June and July. We lost over and over; the whole team in a slump, a blue funk, unexplainable. Slowly we crawled out of the grave by our claws, but this season wasn’t pretty. We had so many wins from the spring that we could keep a short distance behind the Dodgers right up till the end when we were allowed to play a sudden death match against Pittsburg for the wild card. Pittsburg was picked to win, we did. Then we had to play 5 against the Nationals, who were favored to win the World Series. We won. Then we took on the other strongest National League team of the last few years, who regularly chews us up and spits us out, the Saint Louis Cardinals. We won. Then the World Series against the Kansas City Royals, another underdog, another wild card winner. Where is Kansas City? Who are these guys? They aren’t famous, like a team out of a cornfield. And they had an up and down season too. Maybe the two teams are too similar for one to dominate, without 'maybe'. In game 6 we lost 10-0 to these upstarts, ugly ugly. We won game 7 by using our secret weapon, an ace pitcher that is nearly an unhittable pitching machine. Oh, we won.

 

I stayed up all night every time there was a game on because they were broadcast live in Italy starting at 1 or 2 am. One game went 18 innings and almost 7 hours. I loved every second. My students thought I looked tired. But what I want to talk about is something that happened after our victory. In 2010 we were shocked and giddy that our scrappy cast-off team of nobodies had actually beaten all the best. We hooted and laughed for the first time in our baseball lives. In 2012 we had a solid team of, well, Giants and we swept Detroit unceremoniously. We cheered our heads off and shook our fists. You unbelievers take that. Still calling it 'luck'?

 

This year we were considered ‘most unlikely to’, so that the only believers in our skill and will were our own players, staff and fans. Outside San Francisco everyone was paying attention elsewhere. So when all of the above happened, the news crows pounced on our players to interview them with the usual “how does it feel?” Or rather, “Nobody thought you could win, how does it feel?”

Larry Baer, our fearless leader, had bloodshot red eyes when he appeared in public to accept the trophy. Brian Sabean, a tough SOB, cried like a baby. Bruce Bochy, a big grizzly bear, cried on camera. Grown men. Pablo Sandoval, who some people think will be a future Dodger, cried during his interview. And Jeremy Affeldt couldn’t keep it together enough to even talk. Not to mention guys I didn’t see: Dave Righetti, Tim Hudson, Jake Peavy, Travis Ishikawa, Ryan Vogelsong, Hunter Pence, Joe Panik, Lou Seal, Ashkon, and so on. Or shortstop Brandon Crawford pictured above at age 5. Plus about 1 million fans. Why all the tears of joy? Enough to fill AT&T to the upper deck? Me included. Why?

Because the whole baseball world called us LOSERS. They said we didn’t have a chance in hell. The experts had already picked the World Series winner as LA or Baltimore or Oakland or somebody, anybody but not the Giants, a so-so team with a couple better-than-average players. Vindication is sweet. Yes, yes, yes.

Happy trials, Martin

 

 

Mutt:  Whoa, he’s back!

Jeff:  Let’s not make a big deal out of it. It’s probably an oversight.

Mutt:  Sorry, I misspoke.

Jeff:  I was reading some interesting definitions from my college dictionary.

Mutt:  Lay ‘em on me.

Jeff:  MIDNIGHT OIL: (n) What you make popcorn in.

Mutt:  I’m hungry.

Jeff:  WRISTWATCH: (n) That device on your arm that lets you know which class you're currently late for.

Mutt:  The boss wears one in his pocket.

Jeff:  WEEKEND : (n) Two day period during which your growling stomach makes you really wish you'd signed up for the seven day meal plan.

Mutt:  I voted for Obama because he said: Yes Weekend!

Jeff:  VENDING MACHINE : (n) A coin operated device for dispensing breakfast, lunch and usually dinner.

Mutt:  Still hungry.

Jeff:  YALE: (1) (n) A well known ivy league university. (2) (v) What southern cheerleaders do.

Mutt:  Rat own!

Jeff:  YEARBOOK: (n) A book containing student pictures that will keep getting nerdier and nerdier as the years go by.

Mutt:  I styled my hair like Cindy Lauper.

Jeff:  Farrah Fawcett. YESTERDAY: (n) When the 12 page paper you started tonight was due.

Mutt:  More college humor?

Jeff:  ZERO: (n) The number of times you've gotten to eat most of the pizza you ordered.

Mutt:  Were we roommates, I can’t remember?

Jeff:  We never went to college, just Hard Knocks High.

Mutt:  I flunked out.

Jeff:  Me too. ZOO: (n) What dorms would look like if they were a little neater.

Mutt:  If my wife and your wife got together and hired two maids.

Jeff:  I saw that film. The Little Mere Maid.

Mutt:  Shut up.

 

Mutt and Jeff to the Rescue

Mutt:  Think the boss's unwell?
Jeff:  Why? Cuz he ain't written his stupid blog in a while?
Mutt:  Like a hella long while.  Oowah!
Jeff:  An embarrassing long while.
Mutt:  Maybe he's super-busy with some super-important project.
Jeff:  Maybe he's just a super-lazy slacker. A gold-bricker. Layin' down on the job.
Mutt:  Yeah. As Confusedest says: Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off until the day after tomorrow.
Jeff:  And just who is Confusedest?
Mutt:  Ancient sage from New Jersey.
Jeff:  So what do we do till he gets his (euphemism alert) ACT together?
Mutt:  Keep the boat afloat, baby. It's up to us now.
Jeff: Okay, baby. Let's see, heard any good jokes lately?
Mutt:  As Peewee Herman would say.
Jeff:  As Jimmy Durante would say: I got a dozen of 'em!
Mutt:  Adjusted for inflation.

Jeff:  You're a scientist, do you know Cole's Law?

Mutt:  Enlighten me.

Jeff:  Thinly sliced cabbage. 

Mutt:  If a parsley farmer is sued, could they garnish his wages?  

Jeff:  To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other.

Mutt:  Well put. Did you read about the truck carrying copies of Roget's Thesaurus that overturned on the highway?

Jeff:  How terrible!

Mutt:  The local newspaper reported that onlookers were "stunned, overwhelmed, astonished, bewildered, and dumbfounded." 

Jeff:   I would have been shocked, stupefied and shook up.

Mutt:  Did I ever tell you how many existentialists it takes to change a lightbulb? 

Jeff:  No, but I bet you will.

Mutt:  And you can't stop me. It takes two. One to screw it in and one to observe how the lightbulb itself symbolized a single incandescent beacon of subjective reality in a netherworld of endless absurdity reaching toward a maudlin cosmos of nothingness.

Jeff:  For the love of Mike.

Mutt:   I also know that the parts of speech are lungs and air.

Jeff:  The inhabitants of Moscow are called Mosquitoes.

Mutt:  A census taker is man who goes from house to house increasing the population.

Jeff:  Define H2O and CO2.

Mutt:  Way too easy: -- H2O is hot water and CO2 is cold water. 

Jeff:  A virgin forest is a forest where the hand of man has never set foot.

Mutt:  The general direction of the Alps is straight up. 

Jeff:  Are we on a roll yet? 

Mutt:  Say: ... Where do baby storks come from? 

Jeff:  Oh my, I don't know. Maybe I'll go jump off the bridge ... of your nose.

Mutt:   I'll jump on your mug first. Put up your dukes, you scallywag!

Jeff:  That does it! I'm not telling you my best joke then.

Mutt:  Aw, come on, please Jeffy, please.

Jeff:  After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up into the belfry to begin the screening process. After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day. Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous."You have no arms!" "No matter," said the man. "Observe!" And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment; convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below. The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before. As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?" I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell." 

Mutt:  Say 'Happy trials'.

Jeff:  Happy trials.

The Changing Light by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The Changing Light by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The changing light
                 at San Francisco
       is none of your East Coast light
                none of your
                            pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
                        is a sea light
                                       an island light
And the light of fog
                   blanketing the hills
          drifting in at night
                      through the Golden Gate
                                       to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
       after the fog burns off
            and the sun paints white houses
                                    with the sea light of Greece
                 with sharp clean shadows
                       making the town look like
                                it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o'clock
                                     sweeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim
                  when the new night fog
                                        floats in
And in that vale of light
                      the city drifts
                                    anchorless upon the ocean