After the dryness of California, the greenness of New York is vivid. Flying in, everything looked so green. Weather perfect here. The park was — voluptuous, if you will. What an incredible park. The bridges, stonework, lakes slabs of granite, green meadows. Half the city must have been there. Here’s the memorial to John.
Places to eat, espresso, music, art, theater, bookstores, buildings, adventures?
And am I excited! Born and raised in San Francisco, the most beautiful city in the US, but, but…it never fails when the cab crosses the river and we enter Manhattan, my pulse kicks up a few notches. I like to take the red eye, can never can sleep on an airplane anyway, get in to the hotel around 8AM. Half the time a room will be available, but if not, I check my backpack suitcase (Rick Steve’s model that fits easily in overhead bin — I’m never checking baggage on a flight again — got my gear stripped down) and hit the streets. Years ago I discovered that if I go for a run in the park, after about 45 minutes and sweating, the jet lag is side-stepped. I stay up until that night — no naps –and voila, I’m on NYC time.
I’ve probably been to NYC 50 times, used to go at least twice a year when Random House was our distributor. Hotels of note over the years: Gramercy Park Hotel in the ’70s; then for some years, the Pickwick Arms, in east ’60s, around the corner from Random with very small cheap (like $60) rooms. It’s been redone as the iPod or something. Then the Mayflower at the southwest corner of the park (my fave part of park), wonderful hotel, big rooms, European feel, good restaurant.
I hit the streets with zest. All the years of running training have given me manuevearble street skills. Watch the traffic, not the lights, I tell my kids. In my fanny pack, a camera, notebook, pen, phone, glasses, magnifying glass, etc. Last week I was walking around in the Valencia district in SF with friends, a great part of the city nowadays, but it seemed bleak in comparison with, say, the Village, with its trees and density of people and shops and restaurants.
Now as Hank Williams is singing Hey Good Lookin and it’s a windy clear day, I’m getting ready to go.
Watch for dispatches from NYC next week.
“Hello Lloyd,
Thought might enjoy this Bob Dylan´s Subterranean Homesick Blues video found here.
Joe”
There was an article on Liberace in this morning’s Sunday NYTimes, and it reminded me of a prank in 1954, when I spent the summer at my friend Buster’s house in Denver. There was a Liberace concert at Red Rocks out door amphitheater. Buster and I went early and climbed up to a ledge on the western cliff above the stage, where we were partially hidden. I took my banjo.
Liberace came out and before playing, was talking about a critic in the Denver Post who’d said something unfavorable about him. I starting played “Ain’t She Sweet” on my banjo. He stopped talking, the crowd was hushed, and he looked up and said, “Well, I guess she brought along her banjo.” Everyone laughed and I shut up. Respect for such quick wit.
I fiddled around with playing the jug (as well as ukulele and washtub bass) in high school. I have a box bass (sort of a wooden washtub bass) and a jug in the office these days. Often, when I hear something on the radio, I’ll play along on the box bass. I feel like I’m in the band.
Or, once in a while I’ll put on the Memphis Blues Band or Gus Cannon and His Jug Stompers and play along on my jug. I’ve tried out dozens of jugs, and this brown ceramic one has the best tone.
The Memphis Jug Band is, they say in liner notes, was “…the best jug band ever recorded.” I was stunned when I first heard them (courtesy of my friend Louie). It was all so — familiar. They’re part of blues history that not many people know about. Interesting that they preceded Robert Johnson.
Why, there’s a change in the weather, there’s a change in the sea… We had a week of hot weather, and then yesterday afternoon, clouds moved in and the temperature dropped about 25° and we even had a few drops of rain, but not enough to matter. I tell you, if we get some real rain, I’m going to be out dancing in it. A local surfer/fisherman said to me the other day, “Everything I do involves water.”
Work, work… I’m actually out here working seven days a week, or at least every day that I’m not traveling somewhere. I love it all, really — e-mail, blogging, feedback, working on this new book — but I’m looking forward to taking some time off to do other things next year. Fishing, hiking, a trip to some warm water, probably Hawaii; gardening, foraging. One of my goals for the next few years is to greatly increase the amount of food I bring home from fishing, hunting, and foraging. It’s doable, it just takes getting away from the keyboard.
Rock ‘n roll in Mill Valley Sweetwater was a great nightclub in Mill Valley for many years. For example, I walked by it one afternoon maybe 10 years ago, and the chalkboard outside said “Tonight: Pinetop Perkins.” Holy shit! I went, and was he great. 83 years old, immaculate purple suit, lavender tie, sparkling piano, flirting with young women. (Oops, I think I’ve written this before — whatever.) Sweetwater was then closed for a number of years, but now it’s reopened in a larger venue, and is maybe even better than ever. Good food, good stage visibility, good vibes.
Friday night I got a pass from a friend who works there, had a couple of really good sliders, a very dark beer on tap and, along with packed house saw the band Zepparella, a 4-woman band channeling Led Zeppelin; it was a good show.
Confession I suspect I repeat myself, not too infrequently, these days. Here’s the reason: memory is not infinite. You can’t recall everything you’ve ever done (or written) in the past (unless you’re one of those geniuses portrayed on 60 minutes a few years ago). So as daily experiences, and the years, accumulate, the memory part of your brain has to dump something out to take in the new stuff. Right?
(I have a feeling I’ve written this before.)
Lovesick Blues by Hank Williams on Grooveshark
From a great Hank Williams album: Low Down Blues