Tag Archives: The Band

2016 on last.fm

lastfm-2016 Continue reading

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ramblin’ ron

tonight? tonight i’m going to a cave party. Continue reading

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Baby, Let Me Follow You Down

what is San Francisco?

where is it? why is it? who is it?

well, it’s named after St. Francis of Assisi, popularly known as the Italian dude with a weird haircut and lots of animal friends. it is probably not coincidence that today’s Italians, dudes with weird haircuts, and animal friends are all welcome in the little loving boundaries of San Francisco.

i like San Francisco because it’s so walkable. if you really want to, you can walk pretty much anywhere you’re going–just plan an hour or two for the really long distances. but most won’t even take that long.

maybe i’m just antsy, or maybe it’s because this city’s so walkable, but i can’t wait for buses. (don’t talk to me about taxes; nobody has that kind of money, i just bought a summer flight to Europe.) if the bus ain’t coming this very minute, i just start walking. now, the funny thing is that i walk along the bus route, so eventually i hop on the very same bus that i would have hopped on had i just waited at the first stop. i guess i’m just antsy.

after leaving my girlfriend’s house this afternoon, i made it as far as the Fillmore before my bus came. the 31 picked me up, along with a girl/woman i could not even remotely guess the age of (15? 30? 45?) and a father with his little five-year-old sunshine.

i wasn’t even settled onto the bus before this older woman started chatting me up.

“you know, you have very beautiful hair.”

“why, thank you. that’s very sweet.”

“are you married?”

“no… are you?”

“i was. 17 years.”

“that’s a long time.”

“it is. a long time… what’s your name?”

“ronny.”

“i’m Cat, but call me ‘Miss Kitty.'”

i didn’t get much of a chance to call her anything, what with the bus rattling to a stop and shuffling passengers in, out, and all around. the father pursued his daughter as she squeezed past me and a few others. when Miss Kitty saw her, our conversation was over: “well hello there little sunshine!”

a few steps forward and i had a bar to lean on. another older woman started talking to me.

“you such have beautiful, brown hair.”

“why tha–”

“i’ve always wanted brown hair.”

“how c–”

“beautiful, brown hair. so long too. i have dark hair, almost jet black. not as nice as brown hair. i’ve always wanted brown hair but you can’t really dye it yourself. you never really do it right when you dye it yourself. suppose you could go get it done but i just don’t know, my eyes are brown so it would probably look nice having brown hair. it’s amazing how brown hair looks.”

eyes glazed over, staring directly out the window, and endlessly chatting… she didn’t need me to respond or even acknowledge anything she was saying. good thing too, considering i could only hear half of her thoughts and words as they enmeshed themselves in the overall sonic landscape of the windy, clunky, wheezy, chatty hell of a bus.

who is San Francisco?

why, where, what? Continue reading

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The Last Waltz

just two posts in blank verse, and it’s already difficult to write normally. every sentence i write–nay–every insignificant gathering of words renders in my head a certain rhythmic value. a-SIR, ten-RHY, thmic-VAL, you see? Ovid has volleyed me off my whatever rickety rocker i had left to lean on.

thankfully, i’ve finally finished reading his Metamorphoses. it’s a bittersweet feeling. sweet because after reading fifteen books, a thousand lines each, about the creation of the universe, the turning of the sun and the moon, the war and peace of brother and sister, the wailing of bloodshed, the blossoming of milk and honey, the reasons why there are birds, the reasons why there are beasts, the madness of men, the madness of the gods… you start to get a bit worn out. bitter, though, because it’s the finest fucking literature i’ve read since i left Oscar Wilde a few months ago. and it’s easily the best poetry i’ve read in the past year.

you know it’s been 2,005 years since the thing was originally published. i mean, Jove!

i feel so peaceful, like when rosy-fingered Aurora first rises in the dawn, but Ovid can’t be completely to blame. Muddy Waters neither. my bass neither. no, the reason has been written on this thing before, and i’m almost afraid to talk about it.

how many times can i talk about it? how many people can i tell? i need a meadow. i need a pasture to wander, so i can sit on stumps, and proclaim my love to any daffodils that would bother to listen.

“there is a girl, my friend,” i’d say, lifting an errant lock of hair away from my face.

“oh?” the daffodil would reply.

“yes, yes, there is a girl, and i do believe i love her.”

“and how is that?”

“well, when my eyes meet her eyes, it’s as if though the skies have fallen to the earth–rain, aether, stars, gods, all–banishing every disharmony in the universe into a puff of nothing that never was and never will be.”

“my!”

“yes, and when i wrap my arm around her little light waist, light as a breeze in golden summer’s heat, the waves sloshing inside my veins tune together into a perfect symphony, beating, racing, pressing on in perfect time.

“i do enjoy a light summer breeze!”

“yes, and when i press my lips against her lips, two eternities of poetry pour from our eager mouths, unheard by neither but felt by both; it is divine, little daffodil, it is divine poetry when we kiss.”

“there is a girl indeed! but i have a question.”

“what is it?”

“though you truly adore this girl to such fiery, passionate ends, how can you stand these moments away from her love?”

“ah, my pretty friend of a daffodil, you funny thing. my love for her knows such great bounds that it rebounds and resounds throughout my life, wherever and whenever i may go. at night, when i bathe alone, dipping my toes into steaming water returns me to her feminine warmth, encircling me like a sleepless lioness in the savannah. in the afternoon, when i bite into the juicy nectarine delivered to my beggar hands by Gaia’s grace, i taste her love. in the morning, when i wake from life-stealing dreams, i breathe in the day’s first breath of life, that is, her love. even now, sitting upon this simple stump in this ordinary pasture, i see her radiant peace resting upon your yellow face.”

“me!”

“yes, you and the grass at your feet and the soil beneath and the rock further down and the blazing core and burning Helios in heaven and the bright eyes in the night sky and the air we breathe and the water we drink are all otherworldly manifestations of my one true love. she is my death every night and my life every day.”

sometimes i get nervous because i imagine the only people reading these words are either ex-lovers or my lover. if you’re an ex-lover, just know that i love you still. if you’re my lover, ignore that last thing i said.

this weekend, i’m doing that thing where i drive to the suburbs to watch over my friends’ dog and house. i will drink water, eat food, read poetry, play bass, listen to records, savor the hot tub, and hopefully love my love of loves. flying the suburban spacecraft solo is a trip, but i don’t do it solo unless i have to.

this past monday, i bought a Technics SL-1200M3D, meaning i now have two wheels of steel. sunday, i helped plan the next Daft Brunch, our (apparently) quarterly disco party in the Mission sun. saturday, i digitally djed a coworker’s wedding in California wine country. friday, i spun vinyl at a strange “underground” party in the Sunset.

based on this series of events, i’m starting to think i’m actually a dj.

oh yeah, i’ve also decided to host (and dj) the family new year’s party at my house. didn’t really consult anyone but my mom and roommates on that one. it just makes sense. that, as i explained to Natalie the other day, is part of what i consider being a dj. some people might define it as whipping out a laptop (or maybe some other equipment) and combining a bunch of tracks together over some duration so as to make a mix of music. maybe some would take their definitions a step further and declare the purpose of this being to make people move their feet against the ground. it’s so much bigger though. first of all, you’re correct, we’re all djs. anyone that’s ever plugged in their phone in the car to play songs on a roadtrip. hell, anyone that’s ever sat in the back on the roadtrip and said, “please change this piece of shit song.” if you’ve brought speakers or guitars to the park or if you’ve made someone a mix cd, you are a dj. but more… there’s more… if you’ve ever opened your mouth to make a sound, you are a dj. if you’ve ever walked around or brushed past a clangy fence, if you’ve ever felt the wind against your face, if you’ve ever breathed, you are a dj.

we’re all in this together, spinning subtle space tunes. Continue reading

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