I was standing just in front of Oakland City Hall late in the afternoon, getting ready to decide whether I would march to the port during the Occupy Oakland event. Just then, an older gentleman approached me and asked me if would take his picture, and offered to pay me. He said, “I told my wife I was going to come down, and she didn’t believe me.” I replied that I would be happy to take his picture but that he didn’t have to pay me. He took a few steps toward the building and turned to me.

After I took the photograph, he again offered to pay, and again I declined. So, he said, “You’ve got a box of bananas coming.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but asked him how I would get the pictures to him. He handed me a card with an email address on it. That’s when the box of bananas became clear. He is the owner of a produce company. The email on the card started with a woman’s name, which I inquired about. “That’s my wife,” he said with a grin. I said, “Well, won’t she be surprised?”

It is pure coincidence that after a lengthy hiatus, this next post is again related to the Berkeley Arts Festival. Dean Santomieri reprised his spoken word presentation from the previous performance and he was followed by jazz quartet The Glasses. Mr. Santomieri’s set was one piece shorter and all around tighter than last time.  The Glasses came together to perform songs penned by bassist Safa Shokrai. The rest of the quartet was: Chris Grady, trumpet; Larry Leight, trombone; Dave Mihaly, drums. I hear that the quartet usually includes a violin rather than trombone, but the arrangements and the chemistry for this performance were outstanding. Hopefully, we’ll get to hear more of them in whatever configuration they can muster. The light was low, but I managed to get a few decent shots.

Dean Santomieri at Berkeley Arts Festival, August 13 2011

When I was interviewing for my present job, the conpany’s live-work balance and tendency to hire interesting and creative people were offered as plusses. I didn’t think too much about it at the time. I was just interested in the job. But it turned out to be true; there seem to be a larger than expected number of musicians and artists working there. It has helped me to reconnect with art activity that I have lost touch with after years of grad school, parenting, and full-time work. A case in point was last Friday evening when I ventured out to the Berkeley Arts Festival to see one of my co-workers perform his spoken word/sound art. The venue presents visual works on the walls along with the performances on the stage.

Dean Santomieri is well-known in the performance scene around the Bay Area. I’m sorry not to have been familiar with his work prior to getting this job, chatting at work, finding lots of common interests, and exchanging recordings. In any case, the performance last Friday was wonderful. Dean is a great writer and story teller, and he accompanies himself with a battery of electronics and guitars, creating a aural environment that nicely supports the spoken word without ever getting in its way. The writing, what I might call magical realism, drew me in right away, eliciting a curious mixture of delight and trepidation.

And it was inspirational too. I’m not giving up photography, but I’m pledging to myself to fire up the old electronics and get back to work. And speaking of photography… I wish I had sat closer and gotten a shot of Dean playing that crazy, electric resonator guitar. I will next time.

The Complete Tiffany Transcriptions

In honor of Record Store Day today, I took our guests for the day, Sarah’s sister Carrie and BF Glenn, up to Down Home Music. As many of you know, this is one of the most important records stores around for folk, Americana, jazz, and more. The result was that I picked up the 10-disk box set of Bob Wills’ complete Tiffany Transcriptions. I was absolutely overjoyed to find it there. I had it in my shopping cart on Amazon for awhile and then it sold out. But the double joy today was that not only did I find it, but I supported an independent record label/company/store that’s a major player in documenting Americana and folk music from around the world.

If you didn’t do it today, get out there tomorrow and buy something from your local indie record store. And if you are in the SF Bay Area, definitely check out Down Home Music. Really.

Ever since starting this new job, I have been meaning to start biking to work. But, not having been on my bike for months, I was wary of just jumping on, riding the six miles or so to work, and then being in any condition to start working upon arrival. Some kind of warm seemed to be in order.

As it happened, I heard for the first time yesterday about the East Bay Bike Party, their ride through my end of the East Bay. But since I couldn’t find start details, I wasn’t sure whether I could even participate. I had sort of written it off. By the time Theo and returned from his Cub Scout pack meeting, it was after 8 pm. In fact it was just as we arrived home that we heard loud music and a gawd-awful racket outside. We went outside to look, and there it was: the bike party.

One of the organizers stopped to chat me up and give me flyer with the route on it. Hmmm… I decided to go for it. I went in and quickly through camera in bag, put on a hoodie, pumped up the tires and rode off into the night to catch up.

I caught up with the party at Cedar Rose Park and stayed with it until the final destination at Albany Bowl. I hate to be such a johnny-come-lately evangelist, but damn that was fun! Riding through the night, taking back the street, or at least the right lane, whooping and hollering is a great return to simple pleasures.

Still from It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

Having purchased the DVD in a bargain bin a few months ago, I managed to pass on to Theo another small part of my own childhood experience just last night: It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I first saw it on TV when I was about 8yo. Unfortunately I never saw it in the theater, since this is shot in some crazy-wide Ultra Panavision.

I had not seen it since I was a child, which is to say, a long, long, long, long time. Consequently, this film held an exalted place in my idealized memory of childhood and of comedic film. In that sense, seeing it again after 40 years was ever-so-slightly disappointing, though I still enjoyed it a lot. (I would have enjoyed it more if we had a decent size flat screen. What we have is a small 30″ diagonal, and every once in a while, the size matters.) But more importantly, Theo enjoyed and managed to get through it despite it’s 2-and-half-hour-plus length. He even awoke this morning talking about it.

I’m still not sure who among this ridiculously huge and incredible cast steals the movie: Phil Silvers or Dick Shawn. Ok, or maybe Jonathan Winters. Or maybe it’s the automobiles! I was in awe of the array of vintage vehicles, from modest Dodge Darts to Chrysler Imperials, and most of them destroyed during the course of the film!

Still from It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

Still from It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

Gate to Caesar's Palace

I won’t pretend to have any grasp of the history of architecture. Nor will I assert that I know much of anything about principles of, contemporary trends in, or prominent figures of architecture. But, as is often asserted by the ignorant, I know what I like. And now I will admit that I was surprised to find that I enjoyed strolling the strip and experiencing some of the excessive, overblown buildings that bring so many people to this desert city year after year.

I’m not so much talking of hotels like Treasure Island, with its campy pirate ships, or the Mirage and its volcano. Nor do I mean the Disney-like settings of New York or Paris. Rather, I’m thinking of the tributes to classical achievements like Caesar’s Palace, or the interiors of the Venetian. There are some great scenes to experience. While over-the-top in their own way, they yet manage to recall something of architecture’s ability to inspire awe while bearing testament to the human spirit. Great buildings are a necessary expression in any culture’s attempt to establish some degree of permanence and project itself into the future.

The irony here is that the continual tearing down and rebuilding in the competition to be the latest and most outrageous, luxurious, or spectacular, undermines the sense of human triumph over mere mortality that grand architecture was traditionally able to inspire. The vanity and greed of these buildings’ origin and the decadence in and around them obscures this aspect in the narrative about Vegas and hides it from us.

Nonetheless, the fact that they still impress is testament to the fact that grand works feed the human spirit. That makes me just a little hopeful.

Caesars Palace

I’m having a bit of a reflective time here on this, my first real visit to Sin City. My presence here explains why this post is a day late. And why tomorrow’s post will likely be late. And the day after that, too. In any case, my former tendency to be dismissive in absentia of everything Vegas as a symptom of a sick culture is undergoing substantial scrutiny and reevaluation. Since I’m here now, and my typing is impaired, I won’t go into the details. Instead, I leave you with some images from which to draw your own conclusions. And I promise to get my thoughts down in a future post.

Angels

Meditation Window Display / © neo serafimidis

As we walked around the Mission last month with friends, we came upon this situation at Artists’ Television Access. Pairs of people taking turns meditating in the window. I was lucky enough to see the shift change, so I know they’re real. It just goes to show you, real refuge is in the mind of the refugee.

Rotunda of the Oakland Federal Building. Oakland CA, February 2011.

The post-9/11 security obsession had built to the point where photographers are routinely harassed and intimidated, and have their property stolen or smashed. A few months ago, TSA even published posters depicting photographers as terrorists. But just a couple weeks ago came some sanity when a man was found not guilty in a case stemming from his refusal to show ID and turn off his video camera in the airport. Reading that story, I learned some very surprising things that came out of the case. Perhaps they are surprising to me because I am too much of a rule follower. But the case placed on record that, for example: TSA checkpoint staff are not law enforcement officers and have no police powers; you have the right, recognized by the TSA, to fly without showing ID, and signs and announcements in airports saying that all passengers must present ID are false; you have the right, recognized by the TSA, to photograph or film anywhere in publicly accessible areas of airports including TSA checkpoints. Who knew?! Really, check out those links above or do your own web search. Let me know what you think.

The reason I am thinking about this is that as I left work today, the big doors around the rotunda of the Federal Building were open, making it feel truly public. Whether it is, I don’t know. It is outside the checkpoints to the entrances of the building. But I have long wanted to photograph the glass ceiling from directly underneath, and this seemed like a perfect time to do it. So, I walked to the middle of the floor and looked straight up. I took out my camera and shot the rotunda. I got one click before the nice guards with whom I had just exchanged “good night” pleasantries called to me stop immediately, that photography was not allowed. I sheepishly started to put my camera away. Just then another couple of guards who were standing outside in park area approached me and insisted I take the pictures I wanted to take. “It’s ok, take the picture, just don’t photograph the checkpoint equipment area.” He seemed to be in charge in some way and was quite adamant, and then went over to talk to the guards that had stopped me. So maybe sometimes people mean well but there is confusion and miscommunication. And, of course, other times people are power drunk,… and there’s confusion and miscommunication.

I looked at my camera display and saw that I had an ok shot, and anyway, the moment was kinda ruined now. So, I thanked the second guy and turned to head for the train station to go home. Perhaps I’ll try again another day, and the light will be even better.