Sunday, July 22, 2018
Saturday, July 21, 2018
Whenever I write anything slightly political Bradford starts writing me notes repeating Maga Maga Maga like we are at a football game and it's going to lead our home team to victory.
But I just don't like the way Trump is going about it, all this winning. In fact, honestly, I despise the guy.
Hope Melania gives him a little Lorena Bobbitt special treatment one night soon when she finally wakes up and figures out where he was sticking the salami while she was knocked up.
Yada yada yada, yes, I hate hum just as much as you hated Obama, who I wasn't exactly in love with. But Trump has not done a single thing I like, endorse or respect. I know he is a liar and he also may very well be a highly placed Russian mole. Think Kim Philby or better yet, Bill Haydon.
He has a serial aversion to the truth, he is wreaking havoc on both the environment and the farm belt, his judicial appointees are troglodytes and he is hell bent on alienating every ally we have while sucking up to the meanest strongman dictators on the planet. Every closet racist in the country now thinks he or she has carte blanche to act out on the closest gay or minority without the risk of opprobrium.
Please Jesus, send us the piss tape, stat.
My buddy Jim stopped by today. I love Jim, used to work with him, he moved out of town a year ago. Last time I talked to him on the phone, the normally centrist Republican was going off about evil George Soros and how great Trump and the stock market were doing. I couldn't even respond because the chasm is just too wide now. He had gone way off the deep end. But I guess if you are making money in an economy there is a lot of stuff that you are willing to let slide by. And I am one of those people that pays attention to this stuff.
Today he told me that I should be happy about Trump, and show a bit of occasional optimism. Just can't do it Jim. Sorry. Hope Mueller can put the screws to him before he completely wrecks my country.
This recording was made at the Keystone Palo Alto in 1979. A band called the Cobras from Texas shared the bill that night. The guitar player for the Cobras, Stevie Ray Vaughn, bowed down to Fats after their set and called him Sir Fats. My old pal, the late Jose Kent, was a good friend of the band and once took me to see them. Fats was the real deal.
The Serfs were an excellent sixties band from Kansas that included the amazing Mike Finnegan on Hammond organ. Mike has played with everybody, is quite astute politically, loves basketball and I am proud to say even occasionally reads this very blog.
Friday, July 20, 2018
I am back from my long road trip to Portland. Unfortunately the show didn't really fire for me, barely made expenses, not figuring cost of goods. But I can't say that I hadn't been warned. I am not going to get into a lot of spleen venting today, don't think you require a full post mortem, do you?
I picked up some paintings on the way up in Santa Barbara and then stopped in Oakland and stayed with Melissa and Gary the first night.
Melissa is of course, the best chef and cook Leslie and I know. She made eggplant parmigiana and polenta. Beurre de baratte from Normandy and good bread. Still like my Belgian butter better.
Day three and a relatively uneventful drive led me to Portland. Portland has a reputation as a weird town and it stayed true to form.
Passed a guy under a bridge dancing on the top of his car. Marijuana dispensaries everywhere. I smelled weed practically every place I went. I am no prude but must admit that I am taken a bit aback by our brave new world. I like pot as much as the next guy but it is an occasional indulgence, not my entire life. Read a book, or maybe even a newspaper, learn a little geography, darn a sweater, perhaps even consider getting a new hobby. Weed, weed, weed is a total bore. And all the dabbing and waxing, honestly I find the stuff pretty dangerous, frankly. Far too strong these days, I am worried we are breeding a new zombie race of stoned idiots. I am strictly old school, a joint guy.
I get the entrepreneurial opportunity but is there anything we have to look forward to in this country beyond weed and tattoo shops?
I set up my booth the next day. Uneventful. Sort of a junky show, lots of old signs, knick knacks. I quickly became aware that these folks were not exactly servicing a high end clientele.
Perhaps that collecting culture does not exist in the northwest, or if it did, was well buried. I had heard that the residents were quite cheap and it was borne out in my experience. I had to give it a shot, the summer is long and there are fewer and fewer opportunities extant in my business. Now I know.
Did see a lot of folks I hadn't seen in ages, decades in some cases. Felt like I was back on the old gypsy caravan, I have a lot of respect for those hardy souls who are working it somewhere in the nation every month. Met some folks I knew in their eighties who drove out from Alabama. Now that is a far piece. I am sure that there are lots of wins and losses and that they are better emotionally prepared for defeat than some of us "softer" folks.
My hotel was said to be 1.6 miles from the show. That 1.6 miles took over 26 minutes to drive the first night. Traffic in Portland is excruciating, especially on the 5. When I got to the hotel I quickly became aware that I was in a foreign land. I had to sign a paper attesting that I would not be vaping marijuana in the room. That is a first for me. When they told me to sign the bottom of the page I mentioned that there was no line, they said that I was in Oregon and they were environmentally aware. It would have taken a second piece of paper to create a signature line so I was told to just sign it anywhere.
I helped save a tree. Nice.
This was a serious fail, I would not have my tripod for the trip and a lot of the photography work I had planned on doing would be seriously curtailed. Oh, well. Have to settle for snapshots. Hopefully I won't make that mistake again.
Show was a funky blur. One morning I went up to the river to see if I could catcha bird or two. Guy rode up on his bike and asked what I was doing. "Nothing." I said. Nothin? With that lens?
I told him that I liked to shoot birds and raptors and he directed me to a spot a mile down the road where there was an osprey nest he had been checking out with at least two chicks. Told me where to park and walk.
Ospreys are everywhere on the multitude of rivers in Portland. Will take a while to see what I have captured.
Brad was a cool guy, originally from Montana. He had fallen off a cliff some years ago and was paralyzed for five years. Ballooned up to 475 lbs. He rehabilitated. Now he was walking and has dropped over 250 lbs. Great guy, great story.
Postcard pretty. Kicked myself again for forgetting my arca swiss plate.
Caught the Venus/Moon conjunction on the way home.
I proceeded to head forty six miles north to Longview, Washington and then west to Astoria, Oregon. I would slow play my return.
Fairly close to the coast I saw a sign that said Eagle Preserve. I doubled back. Hot damn.
I stopped at the Twilight Eagle Preserve, named for a famous pair of eagles that returned year after year to the Columbia River.
I saw eagles in the mudflats but they were pretty far away.
Which was okay. Not like they were performing for me. No one signed a contract. I am not desperate for money shots. I enjoy taking it as it comes. I hung out for about forty five minutes and simply felt great to be alive.
Stood on the beach and watched the terns fly elegantly overhead. Dangled a few participles.
I watched herons fly over and saw eagles perching on nearby rocks. Just really liked the feel of the place.
I slowly made my way down the Oregon coast. And I mean slowly. Had I made a mistake attempting this? Road was stop and go and quickly stopped being fun. But eventually things cleared up and the cars started moving.
I ended up stopping at a huge number of bays and vista points. It was so awesome I just couldn't drive by and not stop.
Picture postcard pretty, even in the morning fog. The Oregon coast is just really beautiful. And I drove practically every inch of it. And the more I drove, the happier I was to have made the trip. Good for the soul, if nothing else.
I really hadn't spent much time on the Oregon coast since I hitchhiked through in 1974. Those experiences, along with Klamath Falls, were the worst hitchhiking experiences of my life, people trying to run me over on at least five occasions in both Gold Beach and Newport.
People spitting at me and throwing beer cans at me, even shooting rifles over my head once in Klamath Falls. I had a pony tail then and they didn't really take to hippies. Finally rescued by a cop who told me he thought they would kill me and that he had to get me out of there.
Much better now and more beautiful then I remember. I stopped in Bandon mid morning. An interesting rock arch there that I wanted to shoot. A gorgeous locale. Had to put a coat on for the first time in a couple months, California and Portland both suffering under the same intense heat, this place downright chilly.
And offshore structure.
I walked up the steep stairs three different times to grab lenses. Don't know how I missed it, it was right in front of me.
Blind I guess.
But the air traffic controller turned ranger I had spent five minutes talking to had walked right by her too.
|Get back, get back, get back to where you once belong...|
A stranded harbor seal pup. Slightly distressed. I found the ranger and walked him over to the poor creature.
The protocol is to leave them until the next tide. Unfortunately that was about eight hours in the future. The ranger brought a wheelbarrow of barricades to surround the seal and give it a safe space.
Up close and personal with my zoom lens. And so damn cute.
Can I tell you that we bonded? Sort of a special moment.
And sea gulls of course. Seriously, I hope the baby seal eventually got back in the water without much distress.
I took my leave and continued, taking pictures until the early afternoon. I think I stopped in Newport for chowder and the best crab cocktail I have ever eaten. Horseradish blew a piece of my lip off. Waitresses may have been a bit skanky and dentally deficient but you run into that in Oregon. Hit a lot of cool towns. Like Florence a lot. Could probably live there.
Day one ended up holed up at a cheap motel in Coos Bay.
Speaking of teeth, I met some interesting folks this trip. Stephen said I am not supposed to make friends with them, I am supposed to sell to them and he is of course right. But I find people interesting occasionally.
This particular one was a college offensive lineman in the sixties. Logged for years, said the mortality rate in the profession is much higher than Vietnam was. Had a big old gold tooth right up front, white guy.
Ended up salmon fishing, but the farmers shut the taps on the rivers and the fish and business suffered. So he sold his boat. Now he helped his wife sell antiques and junk Instantly liked this guy. Real people, hard worker. Met a black dude who chastised me for saying african american.
"Well what is it?" I asked nervously. "What would you prefer, colored, black, negro?"
"We're Israelites man. The jews stole it from us. They all from Europe and sh*t."
Was flabbergasted. I sort of hauled off and let him have it verbally. Both barrels. Went into a minor dissertation. Explained how my endogamous genetic E M-34 branch had left Somalia 22,400 years ago and I had proof of same.
He looked at me and said, "I dig, you're dark, look at your curly hair, not talking 'bout you, it's those other ashkenazi cats..."
I gave him a quick jew 101 primer, told him there were plenty of us came from the motherland and he really softened. He came back the next day and sincerely apologized. He said, one race, human race and I heartily concurred.
I continued down the coast, really settling into a groove. Something pretty around every corner. My only regret is that my wife could not share it with me but I hope that we can make the drive one day together. Maybe my aesthetic standards are exceptionally low but I saw so many things I found visually interesting and took literally thousands of shots.
I explored the Oregon coastline. Even in the rather harsh midday light, the natural bridges north of Brookings are spectacular.
I stopped for lunch in Brookings, the best crab melt I have ever tasted at the Albatross.
I headed south and was quickly in the redwoods. They are very intoxicating. I was blessed with a heavy fog which caught the suns rays just right.
They do not do well with climate change and drought, nourish themselves in a foliar way. May not stick around for the good lord's return.
Some redwood facts: The coastal redwood is the tallest living thing on earth. They lived 160 million years ago in the Jurassic era. Approx. 5% of the world's old growth redwood survive. 95% are in California.
I photographed three Roosevelt Elk herds in the park.
Ranger told me there was a black bear sow and cub around but I never saw them.
Boogied down to Eureka where I dined on sumptuous duck in cherry sauce with haricort vert at Oberon. One should not live entirely on crab.
I left Eureka at first light. Not my favorite town, lots of street urchins on the corners, especially near the courthouse, was glad my van was intact. I parked right next to the office so that they could keep an eye on it.
I followed the slower Avenue of the Giants at every opportunity, all the way to Garberville where I bought coffee and a pastry.
At that point my plans had been to bolt home, maybe even cut over to the five at some point to save time.
But it was so beautiful, I had to keep the buzz going. Impetuously, I hooked over to the twisty mountain road that said Ft. Bragg, 49 miles. May have been 49 miles as crows fly but it took a couple hours. But I was loving every second of it. I would drive down the Mendocino coast too, When would I get another chance? No time like the present and all that. Supportive wife, go for it.
It was a beautiful drive out to the coast.
I hadn't been to Mendocino in decades.
I made the company of a pony. After many years of owning and working with horses, I have an exceptional and very credible whinny.
Hard to decide which pictures to share, there were so many gorgeous vistas and experiences. I only wish I had more skill as a photographer and could better convey what I saw with my own eyes.
Westport, Fort Bragg, Elk, the towns and vistas rolled on by. I was to drive about fourteen hours this day, ending up in Santa Nella.
The road between Ft. Ross and Jenner was treacherous, the fog obscuring what was already a steep and dangerous road.
No choice but to drive right through the fog.
Like one or both of the Baggins said, "I'm back."