Thursday, November 19, 2015

Gavin on Guns. Me on Guns.

I've liked Gavin Newsom since he opened up San Francisco City Hall for gay people to get married in 2004. I also like that he's not so into guns. I always open Gavin's emails. They're well written and make sense. I loathe politics and spam, but somehow he and his emails transcend both. Maybe he's an evil genius and I should be scared because he got me listening when no one else has. Or, he's just smart and a gen-x-er like me. We speak the same language.

Just now, I clicked through his email to a form about gun control. I was asked to tell my personal story about guns, why I'm not into it, why I want more control, which, yes, means more government.

What I wrote:

That favorite saying of many gun owners, "guns don't kill people, people kill people" is just dumb. Of course guns kill people. Without guns, people wouldn't die from other people shooting them. Which brings me to the next tiresome defense.

"If we the people aren't allowed to have guns, only the criminals will have guns." 

I say, while that may be true (may), there are still less guns and that means less shooting. Consider the "war on drugs." It's a disaster riddled with lies, BUT there are less people on "drugs" than there would be if one could run down to 7-11 and grab some opiates for a headache. Same reasoning with guns. 

Less guns = less shooting. I'm terrible at math, but isn't that an accurate equation?

On a personal level, I was nearly shot by my beloved grandfather when he proudly showed me his gun. I was 24 years old, he was 80. I was sitting in his lounge chair when he approached me from the side and lowered the gun towards my line of sight...but it went off before I could get a look. The bullet lodged in a window frame. I was deaf for an hour or so, while my grandfather descended into a terrible depression. That near-miss wouldn't have been possible if he didn't have a gun. Simple. So simple. 

Ok now, let's talk about getting some opiates in 7-11 because I get massive headaches and my back is fucked up. Just kidding.

Thursday, November 05, 2015

From the desktop of ...Lou

This table wants to abduct me and take me to its mothership.

I'm developing a crush on this old punk rocker.

This table is the rich cousin of the table made of two gasoline barrels and an old door.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

"There's a dragon with matches that's loose on the town"

The Valley Fire in Middletown, CA left most people without a home. But spared our property.

I was just tearing around this vineyard, up and down the rows on an ATV. Care-Free. The horror barely touched us. The fire stopped at the cinderblock retaining wall right next to the house, and took just a taste of a corner of the vineyard. Really, did we deserve that mercy?

And the sky. Meant to kill.

We were able to save the horses, but had to let the cows and the goats and the chickens fend for themselves. You're set free loves, now RUN. 

Sunday, October 11, 2015

AC/DC in Town

When I got the email, "Who Wants To Go?" One thing came into my mind and that was "BACK IN BLACK!" and so obviously I said, I do.

But then the day came and I imagined being amongst all the nostalgia players and felt like I might feel selfconscious. I might have a good time, and also sometimes feel like I'm in an uncomfortable time warp. Plus it cost $144. So, I told my friends fuckit and sold the ticket.

Later that night one of said friends sent this image.

Jim Carrey's on a trip and I wanna go

Thursday, October 08, 2015

Finding rare music before the Internet Age

Looking at Rdio right now, scanning the 27 Duran Duran albums up for download, I'm reminded of the beauty and wonder finding a song held during the '80s. "Finding a song" was completely different of course. Finding a song was more than tapping into the search bar, it required WORK.

First you had to find imported music magazines or books at the book store at the mall. Within those pages you'd learn about record pressings that held out of circulation recordings. Once that knowledge was acquired—and it wasn't easy—you would search out the 7" or 12" single at the record store. There, you'd find one tiny bin labeled "IMPORT" and start shuffling. You would shuffle until your fingers were black with dust. The real rare record came in a plastic sleeve. The clerk would pull it out from behind the counter and take a lazy swipe at the dust on it. And hand it to you. And you would gasp in surprise and pure joy, and pay $30 for it.

I don't remember exactly where or how I found my rare Duran Duran records, but I remember the  work and dedication it took. I didn't know anyone else who did it. These records were such treasures—like finding a diamond at the beach—they would be kept for...what time is it? 33 years so far.

And now we have Rdio, etc. and you just tap "play." The old way was anticipatory and rewarding.

The hunt.

And with this sigh, I will now listen to the first of those 27 records Duran Duran produced. The one that was the hardest to find, the one with "Late Bar." Here we go...


Friday, October 02, 2015

Friday, September 25, 2015

Restrain this copywriter

This brain of mine is so full of lyrics and song titles and band names, it's impossible to avoid some of them slipping out and falling into my corporate writing gig.

Today I'm writing about place settings. Oh, my life is so hard. I can't believe I just said that and it's true. What slipped out today:

Oops, just lost another pop culture reference. Maybe if I wore a hat, they'd stay in my head.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

"The One That Has All Those Teeth In His Mouth"

"I was a maĆ®tre d’ at a restaurant for thirteen years. But one week I got a really bad case of pneumonia that put me in the hospital. While I was lying in that hospital bed, I was thinking about how I really didn’t want to go back to work. Then that motivational speaker came on TV. You know–the one that has all those teeth in his mouth. And he said: ‘Think back to what made you happy when you were young! That’s what you should be doing!’ Well I grew up in the country, and I always had a lot of dogs, so I thought that nothing would make me happier than to be a dog walker. But I knew I needed to distinguish myself. So I decided to make a uniform. I smoked a joint and came up with this outfit. I wanted people to look at me and think: ‘If this man is walking our dog, and there’s some sort of major disaster, he’s going to survive. He’s going to fish for those dogs. He’s going to build a bunker and shelter those dogs until it’s safe to bring them home.’ After I finished the design, I got four of my friends to wear the uniform, and we borrowed all the neighbors’ dogs, and we walked them down 5th Avenue while handing out business cards. I got five customers that first day.”

--from the Humans of New York photo series/project

VW, I Love Thee

WHY do i not care about what VW has done? only that VW doesn't go away?

Is it because gen x grew up with parents who drove VWs, so it's not just a major element in my life but in most of my friends' lives? Is it because of the logo? Is it because VW cars look good even when they're looking like everything else? Am I shallow? Am I only about art? Do I love VW because of the great ads I used to read in Rolling Stone?

If VW ceased to be I don't know what I'd drive.

I'd stop driving.