the happy easter wk in pared-down prose

->I-5. buds: blue, gold, white, violaceous. paleta, rompope with raisin. santa cruz: pure sky, boardwalk, rides, shrieks, thrills, sweet fried smells, mechanical laughing sal. bathhouse soak, meeting, maralise, woody, tostada, sleep. san francisco: rainy sutro baths, cliff house, bratwurst & sweet mustard at tommy’s joint, bargain hotel on lombard, coit tower, exhaustion, tv, nap, tv, walk the castro, pecan & ginger cookies, sleep. run in cow hollow/marina, best breakfast on lombard at home plate w/scones, homemade jam, fresh eggs; mission, valencia, haight st, ok crepe, outer richmond, twin peaks, nap, hiking yoga!
->deserving its own graph: met very tall & super-fit owner eric kipp at ferry bldg & we took off, hoofing it from the embarcadero to coit tower via steep, verdant staircases w/yoga stops in between; the only student for this particular class, i felt like i had a personal trainer for 75 mins! it was exhilarating, oxygenating, thrilling, allowing a person to see unusual, beautiful pts of the city, amazing vistas, to hike like mad, to learn better hiking & yoga form. highly recommended: www.hikingyoga.com
->brian wasn’t yet ready to pick me up, so hiked wearily, legs trembling, back UP to north beach, wandered to stay warm, got a slice of the most delicious hawaiian pizza, stood at a corner near café trieste bleary w/fatigue, just gazing at the city & munching pizza, lovely; crashed & slept like a happy corpse.
-> rain, rain, great breakfast at joe’s java house at pier 30 (swing music; swell, nostalgic open setting; free parking; million$ vw of bay; cheap grub), frustrated in berkeley trying to find amtrak, hostel; b goes home to bako. am a bit sad, but he wants to get back to the barn, as b does, & we have had a very happy trip already.
-> walking, walking, walking university ave, i admire a thrift shop proprietor’s purple eye makeup & she replies, “ooh, you, too, honey. You got that SWOOP goin’ on!” walk to shattuck, then telegraph, find amoeba where will listen to music, walk past people’s pk where someone strolls by loudly selling acid, nearly cliché in that setting. get $1 milk tea, pink gloves against the cold; at hostel, make bed using all the sheets & comforters (private rm), crash. soon enough, time to walk to amoeba for the music show...
-> dex romweber duo at amoeba: amazing!!! am so happy to be there!!! dex looks little like his professional photos, short/stocky & all head, a born performer that way, w/suffering trout maw & thick swoop of graying hair, compelling, mournful, dignified, wild, shredding away at an acoustic guitar like a love-mad elmer gantry, a house on fire, these beautiful intense songs about romance gone wrong & longing & death. he is “roy orbison mixed with jello biafra,” switching from rich, passionate baritone to rockabilly animal snarl in the same breath, his sister sara playing a cajon drum box, & w/just that & his romantic vox & wild guitar, they swell up that room: you can feel it on the back of your neck, like love or murder or ocean or soaring.
-> immediately after, sara jumps up from the cajon & looks right at me: “you wanna see it?” she asks, meaning the drum box. “YES!!!” i enthuse, & jump on the stage. this cajon is made in sta barbara & basically is an amplified wooden box containing metal strings so that when you hit the face, the strings vibrate, creating a snare sound. a center o-hole, when struck (w/hand or reversed foot pedal) activates the kick. sara is so cute (looks exactly like her photos, a skinny tomboy rockstar chick) & way nicer & more down-to-earth than she needs to be. i turn & dex is waiting there, & when i look into his sea-hued eyes, he is far away; they are the wild distant eyes of the passionate music-mad man, steeped in it; he partially is not there anymore because the show is over. his speaking voice is so-lovely southern gentlemanly; they are both kind & sign my cd & i’m high as a kite for quite a while, riding the music roller coaster.
-> dinner at angeline’s new orleans café: salad w/walnuts, cup of gumbo, chicory coffee. huge nighttime fun walking the berkeley streets & visiting ½ price books, so romantic, so alive… the hostel, on frat row, is noisy all night long w/young partiers.
-> get all clean & showered up, pack up, lovely breakfast at crepes-a-go-go, walk walk walk to kill time, bart to richmond because was told that would be all-train, no bus, get on amtrak, THEY WON’T TAKE MY TEXAS VOUCHER!!! pay for ticket ($45), settle in for long long long ride home.
-> pouring rain in bako! friendly smiling b, cody, doggies pick me up; ice milk at dewar’s; get in pajamas & crash while they watch bolt. man, what a great trip it was, & i’m so glad to be home, warm & safe.
-> next a.m. is a blur. somehow i dress for the show, make set lists. mark & phil arrive & do those guys look handsome! smiling, joking, dressed up, great to see them. we caravan to kern river belle/inn, right over the oildale bridge, unloading 400000 lbs of gear, rick arrives w/his gal patty. the dark, tiny place has food & friendly waitress/cook; the crowd is all-biker. we start to play & a tall man comes up w/a ladder to switch on the stage lights. “i paid for em, we’re gonna use em,” he laughs. it’s bob, owner of the joint these past 6 mos. bob sets the tone; it’s a wonderful gig! the burly bikers come & go all afternoon & many stay, drinking, cheering, laughing: the vibe is so positive & happy & upbeat! b & c drop in for one set, along w/olen; it’s great to see them all! one fellow in leathers, tim, stays all day. he is very much a gentleman in expressing his enthusiasms for the band & i; what a nice thing! 3 chord whore darcy’s mom penny shows up; she loves prof longhair! i love penny! we talk a little music. tammy & byron show up, visiting from the bay area!! tammy requests some tunes… they are the cutest hippie-punk couple i know, great folks! bob & jackie want to hire us back for a full wkend. we make a bunch of friends, the kind you’d definitely want to watch your back if things got hairy. patty & others say we're “f***king awesome.”
-> in no way could some fancy hollywood show’ve been as cool unless the people were that warm & friendly & enthusiastic. the audience made all the difference. wow!
-> consider supporting the kern river inn (address below on flyer) & venues like it, the ones that support live local bands & actually pay them… am so sick of these places that only support tv sets blaring sports & karaoke djs & nothing for the bands. i mean, how does a dj’s effort & ability compare to a musician’s? it just flat does not. paying a dj more than a live musician, who practices, works, toils, labors, struggles to create & produce & manifest soul for others’ enjoyment & even transcendence – well, it’s immoral!!!!! yes, clubs/bars are businesses, which only recalls for me the slogan painted at the people’s park: “down with corporate capitalism.”
-> we loaded out, caravanned to various houses to drop off gear, dined at dave's bbq ... too worn out to eat, i just enjoyed the cajun/rockin' blues soundtrack that makes me love going to that place. home, we watched ram mass: fierce grace & then i collapsed into sleep. happy easter, felice pascua to anyone still reading.