All Elvis'd out

I used to have the soundtrack to "King Creole" on vinyl. I kept it solely for the nice portrait of Elvis on the cover and because I loved the way he sang this song:

Yes, it's a haunting call-and-response about a crawfish. And somehow it works.

Eventually, I got rid of this album, which I'm kind of unhappy about. But I move around too much--it's my fate, and records are heavy and difficult to pack and move, so albums with only one good song eventually have to go. It's my hoarding protection plan: moving every few years.

Let's delve further into "King Creole" musical territory, since I haven't heard this soundtrack in many years--these songs are like new again.

Love Doll

Throw-aways like this make the album ultimately disappointing.

New Orleans - entertaining but I think a more realistic treatment was this year's "Treme" on HBO. No matter--it's Elvis.


Title track. Why is a song about Crawfish so much more heart-felt than this? This is a Broadway tune. I guess I don't miss that record that much after all.


Is it a Quentin Tarrantino film that asks the question: are you an Elvis person or a Beatles person? At first, the answer seems obvious. Beatles. But when I thought about it, deeply (I'm unemployed and have a lot of time on my hands), I realize I'm actually an Elvis person at heart. Why? Because Elvis rocks. You can't tell from 90% of his films, but his early career is like watching a hard-rockin' Mozart emerge from the deep South.

Let's listen to Mystery Train.


And Good Rockin' Tonight. Indeed!


Baby Let's Play House is a good example of the rocking soul of Elvis. This song could easily be watered down for his later film career. It could have been produced as goofy, corny and cheap. But look what he and his Sun Recording band do with it. Such conviction. It's very sexual, yes? And somewhat dark. No wonder America was scared and thrilled all at once.

In celebration of fruits and vegetables

We all got a nasty cold this week. Congestion, exhaustion, dementia, in one three to five-day package. While I was recuperating, I had some real appreciation for fruits and vegetables. It was 95 degrees out today and that heirloom tomato from Safeway and fresh lettuce from our tiny garden were much appreciated--thanks natural world (and unnatural grocery-store world--one that would play Asia's Only Time Will Tell at top volume, causing me to race through the aisles at top speed so I could escape).

Even eating a banana today, I thought: Wow--I'm so lucky--I can get bananas whenever I want and they always taste so good. I can even get them at Target. I can buy deodorant, batteries and bananas all in one stop. I even got some succulents on sale there last week, but that's another post. So--what...? I told you I had cold-related dementia. So, fruits and vegetables--hooray.

I started a container garden for tomatoes, herbs, lettuce, greens and now future carrots. They're in seed form, awaiting sprout mode. It's excellent to grow food from seeds. The tomatoes are finally showing up after a very late planting this summer. We're lucky to live in such a mild climate, one that favors the Mediterranean diet. If these carrots make it I might branch out into peas. And possibly potatoes--it's the Irish in me. Did you know you can grow them in a garbage can? Charming!

I think this was my first exposure to opera. Thanks Sesame Street. Before sub-par celebrities like Katy Perry, SS used to feature animated singing fruit.


Have you ever seen "Veggie Tales?" Neither have I. It's a very popular animated Christian concept in singing-vegetable storytelling. Which makes about as much sense as a lot of the Bible, I guess. Sorry for sentence fragments. I do have a cold.


So far I've completely avoided "Annoying Orange," until now. Annoying Orange has over 32 million views. It's the Super Bowl of YouTube uploads.


The Vienna Vegetable Orchestra plays it with a straight face.


A carrot clarinet by Linsey Pollak. This carrot swings.

Oh no--Liberace Museum to close! World a little less shiny

So sad that the Liberace Museum in its nondescript Las Vegas strip-mall location couldn't make it in these tough recessionary pop-culture times. Can't someone step in and save this boundless camp experience (Lady Gaga...)? Though it was a pain to get to, off the main strip by a couple of miles down a boulevard of sunspot-causing concrete, the Liberace Museum was a glitzy, paean to tackiness. It didn't try to be Paris or Milan or even some crazy semblance of a medieval castle. It just tried to honor the man who would wear sparkly red white & blue hot pants at Radio City Music Hall.

You kids with your technos and vocoders just wouldn't understand. This man played a grand piano covered in rhinestones! This man was covered in rhinestones, most of the time. And you should've see his antique bedroom furniture. I didn't know the meaning of Baroque until I walked around the bedroom suite at the Liberace Museum. Who knew wood could curly-cue like that and remain so high-gloss over the centuries?

My one visit to the Museum was long ago, during the building of the great MGM Pyramid. Very elderly employees admitted me but with a warning that they would be closing in less than an hour. Thereafter, they followed me from room to room, whispering darkly, "We'll be closing in 30 minutes. See as much as you can but--30 minutes." As if I were touring the Smithsonian instead of a multiple-roomed strip-mall store-front. I wish Liberace had been alive to swoop down and say, "Ladies, ladies. Please. For my fans--we can stay open an extra 15 minutes. They still haven't seen my mirrored Rolls Royce and matching piano!" I managed to see the entire exhibit, my eyes wincing at the multitude of sparkles at times, and still had time to buy some fabulous nylon Liberace knee socks for Ms. Iconoclast (I hope she saved them!).

Some highlights:

The world's biggest rhinestone at 59 pounds.


Take the tour, America!


The kid from Milwaukee regales us with a polka.


Artist or technician? Who cares; for a few decades he made piano-playing almost cool.


Gershwin, represent!


Greatness will never truly be forgotten.

I'm in the mood for genius

When YouTube is working--it's really working.

Gogol Bordello - Immigraniada (We Comin' Rougher)

Gogol Bordello is made up of band members from Ukraine, Russia, Israel, China, Ethiopia, Ecuador and Trinidad. From the album "Trans-Continental Hustle," produced by Rick Rubin.

Punk immigration--interesting concept. In this political and economic climate, immigrants have to be tougher than ever. I dedicate this to all my former neighbors in Vancouver, WA, who came from Ukraine. Brief memories: one guy always wore shorts in the dead of winter while de-icing his windshield before the morning commute. The teen-agers down the street made a haunted house in their front yard every Halloween. Their sister would warn them when little kids were coming so they wouldn't jump out and scare them. Another neighbor was a stay-at-home mom with eight kids. Her sons were friends with my son and they were the only boys. Their dad was from Armenia so they knew three languages. Hats off.

Interview at BoingBoing

Kendra Smith - Stars Are In Your Eyes

Stars Are In Your Eyes from The Guild of Temporal Adventurers (1992)

Sometimes I wonder how long the Internet galaxy can hold up. This constantly updated and "improved" technological space probably doesn't have a long shelf life, considering you can't put it on a shelf except metaphorically. Which brings me to today's video. Kendra Smith had/has(?) one of the most haunting, ethereal voices in indie rock. She's really more of a soul-folk singer (soulk) than pop goddess. There's intriguing philosophical and spiritual questions running through her solo work. What? You don't know who Kendra Smith is? Actually, she doesn't seem to mind that, having been living in a rustic cabin in the Northern California woods for nearly 20 years. She was last heard from in 1995 when she toured exactly two dates for her solo album, "Five Ways of Disappearing."

"Under the Radar" would make a good album title for Kendra Smith. She was a founding member and played bass in one of the best Velvet Undeground-inspired bands of the 80s, the Dream Syndicate. But left that situation to start Opal with Rain Parade co-founder David Roback. This was a good thing on some levels because she started singing and her voice was much needed in the boy-world of alternative music. Unfortunately things didn't work out between her and Roback and she left the band abruptly mid-tour. He went on to form Mazzy Star with Hope Sandoval and Kendra released some solo work before disappearing from music for good.

Come back Kendra! I miss your lovely voice and deceptively simple melodies that are actually quite thoughtful and unique. Alternative music is even more boyish than ever. I need some dreamy yet grounded women singers in my life. You might too. You might not even know you need that, but I bet you do. The rumor is that Smith's house doesn't have electricity so the odds of her showing up in cyber-space are slim, and yet, here is the perfect place for a solo artist to reconnect with her fan base and find new fans along the way. Somebody track her down in the forest and tell her I said so. Thank you.

Catalog Haiku

Well that was a refreshing computer vacation. Very little computer usage for the past several days has left me feeling almost fully human again. I played a little two-square, drew some pictures with chalk on the sidewalk, went for walks, visited with friends and family, even talked on the phone a bit. Crazy times.

Oh yeah, I started that young-adult novel I promised myself I'd write over 30 years ago (and have started and re-started four or five times over the years). This time I'm going to stick with it, until the next re-start. I'm getting good at that.

Meanwhile, I was able to focus more intensely on the mail. That stack of paper that comes in the little house on a stick in the front yard most every day. Everyone complains about spam, leaving the original spam--junk mail--on the back burners of our minds. But it's there and it's clogging up our lives and recycling centers, costing us trees and valuable time that could be wasted in more productive ways. I'm thinking about all the mixed drinks that had to be put on hold; the children who were ignored; the neighbors who were shunned, because we were too busy, tossing and shredding the mail.

What to do? Make haiku--particularly catalog haiku. It's time has come (five days a week).


Eddie Bauer
Wrinkly rumpled
khaki brown adventure wear
for slender posers


Home Trends
Simplify your life
with 700 products
Microwave Must-Haves


Urban Outfitters
Gangly sullen
teens draped on costly patchwork
furniture; Grump-wear


Brookstone
Need that massaging
radio-controlled bean bag
Recession be damned


Land's End
Middle-class basics
Choose from primary colors
stripes or polka-dots


The Vermont Country Store
Autumn chills the air
and that flannel granny gown
looks mighty good now

Old School for Back to School

Randomly selected off the top of my cerebral cortex.

August 2010 was simply faboo

When you're staying home all summer, taking care of a recuperating kid, at some point there is light at the end of the tunnel. For us that was in August. It's almost over and August, we will miss you.

This was the month that Jackson really started bouncing around again. Literally, because I took him to his first bouncy house in four months and he went crazy in there. The lady running it let all the kids stay in for an hour even though they had only paid for 15 minutes. "Eh, the event's almost over anyway," she explained. I love volunteers at kid festivals. This was a super deluxe bouncy house with obstacles, a slide and a basketball hoop in the bouncy part. It doesn't get much better than that.

But yes it does because we had lots of other fun-filled outings all in the latter part of August. And even around the house, he's jumping on the couch and smooshing into me and knocking me over with aplomb. He also admits that he's ready for school to start because it was getting a bit boring around here. Sorry. I guess he's not as into Spirograph as I am.

Nothing states, "I am feeling better now" than cruising around in an inflatable alligator vehicle. After a few false starts, this was one smooth ride.
This is a room full of balloons with a wind element to keep them aloft. Simple yet effective entertainment (until the volunteers yell for the kids to get out). The teenagers who manned this attraction had to blow up balloons all day to cover for poppage. They are the unsung heroes of Family Fest.

One day last week Jackson dragged me (kicking, screaming) to his new favorite hang-out, Paddock Bowl in Pacheco. Where? Just head past the mall into the land that bowling-time forgot.
I mean, look at this place (*salivate*). It's 1981 all over again with several 70s (and 60s!) elements rolled into one 20-lane adventure.
Jackson says Paddock Bowl is great because it's like "stepping back in time." He's eight.
He also got hang out with his cousin, who flew in from Houston all by herself just to see him. We traveled to the wilds of Mt. Diablo and Tilden Park, Berkeley, to perch in wind caves and in steam trains respectively. We visited the Exploratorium with my friend May and her son. Only the very healthy and energetic should brave the Exploratorium on its annual free-admission day. There was some kind of kid fest in nearby Crissie Field that day too. We were surrounded by festivals throughout the month, without even trying.

And we even got to pet these bunnies! Jealous?
In your face. With bunnies!

For the last day of summer vacation, we headed to Aquatic Park during a fluky heat wave. A true Mediterranean weather-system summer's day.

Here's to September.

Technical Difficulties - Please Stand By (this hamster playing with marbles)

I almost forgot I had a blog last week. Could'ja tell? While we got Jackson all situated back at school, my Internet life was put on hold--probably a good thing once in a while. Meanwhile, enjoy this hamster playing with marbles. And if she's a little blurry, well, that's how hamsters roll.

Master Links Miniature Golf - Concord, California

We miss mini-golf around here. There was a spectacular course on Clayton Road when I was growing up called Master Links. But we all just called it miniature golf; as in, "Let's go miniature golfing." It was run by one old guy and every few years he'd repaint everything in wild, crazy colors. There were blue-tinted fountains and copious landscaping throughout. This was the creme de la creme of miniature golf courses.

There were two courses initially, the Castle Course and the Volcano Course, and yes, each contained respectably, a pink castle on a hill, and a volcano topped with lit plasticine flames. But that was the extent of the theme concepts. The rest of the holes were a hodgepodge of off-kilter houses seemingly built for a Buster Keaton gag, a pastel spaceship, the ubiquitous molehills, ramps and water traps, and apropos of nothing, a life-sized polar bear. At some point during my childhood, a third course was added, the difficult Dragon Course. This is what made Master Links so great--it was a random mix of insanity and golf. The owners were good about upgrading the putting "greens" (and reds, blues and oranges) too, so we looked forward to lush, spongy and colorful adventures every time we played.

We didn't know it at the time, but we were also partaking in what's now known as vintage pinball in the pointy-roofed arcade. The bing-bonging of the ball hitting the bumpers is such a nostalgic sound to me now. We took this whole place for granted. It was already there when we arrived in town in 1969 and it stuck around well after I left for college.

I even went back after I graduated and shot a Barbara Manning music video there (and watched in amazement as a busload of elders showed up on shooting day, completely dressed in white, playing really good golf like putt-putt aliens looking for their pastel spaceship). One day, poof, it was gone. The owner retired, sold the kit and caboodle and it's now the site of a retirement home. How appropriate. A salute to Master Links--the Bay Area is less without your presence.

Look at this attention to detail. Once in a while the plaster would crumble off the chicken wire and you could see the frame-work underneath--like our own Palace of Fine Arts, San Francisco. It would be quickly repaired and repainted pink. No matter what changes were made at the course, this castle was always pink.




The roof of the arcade where many an ice cream sandwich was bought. You could also buy these business cards from vending machines that said "Where did you learn to park, asshole?" You were supposed to leave them on car windshields of bad drivers. A very useful service.



Folks who grew up in the area fondly remember Master Links and log in their comments on Claycord.com. Eye-opening, behind-the-scenes information, people. Like so many entrepreneurs in 70s-era Contra Costa County, the owner, Cal, had his dark secrets when it came to employing teen help; adds a touch of mystique to miniature golf. Thanks to "The Mayor" for publishing the photos on his site.

Barbara Manning - "Still?" 1994 (featuring scenes from Master Links)

Playland Not-At-The-Beach is Heaven on Earth

My friend Todd just had the most epic 50th birthday party at Playland Not-At-The-Beach in El Cerrito, CA. Where? Here's the link. Just go there. You pay one price at the door and all 30 pinball machines inside are free. FREE! I was so busy playing pinball, I didn't take any photos except for this one.

Playland was an amusement park at the beach in San Francisco that closed in the early 70s. My parents took me there a few times but I was too little to remember it. Everyone in the Western Hemisphere is sad that it closed though. Even people who never went there and even people who did and admit it got pretty "seedy" near the end. My much-missed Grandma Tocha loved it and she also loved roller derby and televised bowling events so that proves how awesome it must have been.

El Cerrito Playland is 9000 square feet of hallways and rooms, full of vintage arcade games, new and old pinball machines (free!), dioramas of circus life, a haunted house, and special screenings and lectures on magic shows, animated films, the history of Playland, and other such wonderful stuff. The stuff that dreams are... Just go, GO to Playland Not-At-The-Beach.

Happy birthday, Todd. You barely look 40, if that.

- The wacky fun-filled calendar of events.
- The impressive and entertaining slide-show of attractions.
- Oh, and Frank Biafore, one of the founders, is the President of the Eartha Kitt Fan Club. Just go.

Some free pinball at you-know-where.


Original Playland, 1960.

Songs stuck in my head

What songs are stuck in your head? Here's a sampling of what was stuck in mine for the past week. Some of these were going in loops in my mind for days. Others, just hours. Why? Oh mercy, I don't know. If you stop the song stuck in your head and go over the lyrics, it often tells you exactly what's going on with you. But these were kind of a mystery, as if I was strictly thinking in music and not words at all. The many moods of ear-worms...

Just the guitar solo from "Iron Man" (at 5:29! Black Sabbath was so arty, really).


Look, I'm really sorry about this one. Just the chorus was running through my head, for DAYS. I didn't even know what he was saying, I swear. When I read the lyrics, I realized it's even lamer than I thought. Then I found out that someone I'm working with is about to tour with these guys for a journalistic profile. MIND MELD.


Musical pleasure! Musical treasure!


Wii Sports Resort 100-pin Bowling Theme--this actually isn't stuck in my head--it's just on continual play around here for real. What's the difference?

Artwork-a-day - Marbelized Shaving Cream Prints

My artwork-a-day project got slightly delayed. I'm afraid on some days this month, there was no art. But there were always artful thoughts and I counted cooking because taste is essential. Now that berries are in season, my freshly made fruit juices are truly works of art, in my opinion. Be that as it may...

Jackson has suffered a couple of migraines in the past two weeks. And when I say migraine, I mean, MIGRAINE. The poor kid--Jesus. His dad used to get the same symptoms which I won't go into here. Anyway, Jesus. So we've been taking it easy just gaining a foothold on health once more and it's going well. Today was a sit-under-the-patio-umbrella day (finally it got hot outside--there was even a blimp over our house--I don't know why), so we made some messy art, which was actually fairly clean because it's shaving cream art, people. That's right: scented, soapy spray foam. That's what I'm talking about.

I learned how to do this on the Artful Parent blog. That name is a little bit pretentious but it's a cool blog with good ideas. I will now walk you through the steps and lest you think I'm being a too domestic (and artful), I will admit that shaving cream art conjures up images of youthful vandalism that I won't divulge here, save to say, I can't remember which eats auto paint more, shaving cream or whipped cream. So I just won't use those things on autos anymore, even in fun.

Get some cheap shaving cream at the dollar store or at Big Lots! like I did. Then squirt it in a tray for a while. This part was fun so we did two trays.
We had some liquid watercolors in droppers so we used those. You can also use food coloring or acrylic paints. Jackson chose to use all the colors, of course. Swirl them around with your hands (goopy) or a stick.
We both agreed, this part looked very cool. Jackson just wanted to keep this as the art.
But process beckoned. Press your paper gently on the shaving cream.
Peel it back. Eww, kind of colorfully barfy, but nicely scented.
Let it sit for a few minutes (I went longer because my landlord showed up to fix some plumbing--you know how THAT goes). Then wipe off with something. I used a micro-fleece towel which actually worked well. The actual instructions recommend a ruler or cardboard scraper. That would have been more fun in a squeegee sort of way.
Wah la! We tried shiny paper and regular. I used the regular for wrapping paper for my niece's birthday presents. The shiny paper will probably be cut up for cards. Barbisol-scented stationery--that's the power of art.

Time Out for a Broccoli-eating Hamster

Taking a little time-out this week from blogging while we figure out medical situations around here. Please enjoy this photo-documentary of a broccoli-eating hamster in the mean time. And remember: never eat greens on a hot date. This second photo illustrates why.


Dana Carvey's classic, "Choppin' Broccoli." I sing this to our hamster all the time.

Arcade Fire - live on YouTube tonight as directed by Terry Gilliam

Yes, this is an ad of sorts for Arcade Fire. Yes, I'm giving out the free publicity to Arcade Fire and Terry Gilliam. No, they don't need my help in that department at all. No, I don't even listen to Arcade Fire all that much--I'm not that big of a hipster. I'm more of a nerd with punk tendancies. But hell, it's live from Madison Square Garden. It's tonight. And it's directed by Terry Gilliam. That's kind of interesting and fun, in theory anyway. Perhaps this YouTube thing might take off. You never know.

It's here at 10 p.m. Eastern time. I'm assuming that means 7 p.m. Pacific Coast time.

Happy Psychedelic Duck Day

We met my friend Joseph in Golden Gate Park for a paddle-boat ride on Stowe Lake this weekend. Just a normal, friendly, family outing, right? WRONG. Because before we could even load up the boat with overly salted popcorn and moldy-smelling life-jackets, Joseph spotted this duck, doing some paddling of his own among the regular duck folk. Leaving me to ponder, was this duck tripping? Or were the other ducks tripping when they gazed upon it? Were we ALL tripping? Are we tripping RIGHT NOW?


Some official-looking volunteers walked by us on the path, carrying rakes and garbage bags. We asked about this duck. They said they'd never seen it before. They had no idea what this duck stood for, or if it was just a duck for duck's sake. I always think people walking through parks, carrying large garden tools, know everything about the park, but Stowe Lake proved to be too mysterious for them and for us. It's not the first time either...

Artwork-a-day - Reality TV Haiku

I've watched too much reality TV this week and it's affected me. Inspired me. Poetically. Haiku is the perfect art form for when you're tired, run-down, taking nature walks and watching reality TV. It fits all this criteria and more.

No one should win
HGTV's Design Star
Because they all suck

Bravo's Work of Art
Artists are in it to win it
Goya would be proud

I'm sorry to say

Jersey Shore is back, bitches

Situation: dire

On Project Runway
judges deliver harsh news
with vim and vigor

The Real Housewives of ________
Giving housewives a bad name
wealthy yet bankrupt

On The Road With Aus-
tin & Santino
America needs dresses
Lifetime needs filler

Say Yes To The Dress
For six grand you really need
to insist on sleeves

Artwork-a-day - Comics

At last--it's comics time. I drew comics for more than three decades (starting at age 7). Then I took a break. You'd think I'd be amazing at drawing comics, but I kind of hit a wall back in the early 90s. I'm not going to be much better than that, is my guess and that's OK.

Although it is heartbreaking when the Pro White dries up in the jar, and pencil lines won't erase clean, and the elbow in panel three has "drawing issues," there's something very satisfying about making comics. It's an almost total-mind-body artform. You have to come up with a story or joke, then you draft it out so it hopefully makes some kind of sense, then you arrange your ideas in storyboard form and start the actual drawing. It's done! Not so fast, Mister, you still have to ink it, you know. *Sigh* Then there's erasing and fixing. More inking and probably a typo or two to deal with. It's epic, I tell you! And then if you're lucky--publication in one of thousands of readily available magazines. Just kiddding! We're not in the 80s any more!

Most likely, it's going to go up on the Web, which is a terrible medium for comics. You're either clicking or scrolling to read them and they never reproduce like the sloppy little drawing you can hold in your hand. Oh well, it's still a kick. Especially for the natural-born wiseacre. Not that I know anything about that.

Oh Betty Draper, you are a delight

Every time I watch "Mad Men," I want to hug my kid. Then I want to hug my mom. Such is the power of Betty Draper's vacuum of evil parenting. Beth Stebner of New York Magazine waded through the muck of Betty's suburban witchiness to come up with this delightful montage.



Critics have countered that Betty better get something going on--either show a sliver of redemption or go all Medea--but I've known a Betty or two while growing up, and they rarely make the effort in either direction. Just knowing that everyone around them is equally miserable seems to satisfy their life's work.