Friday, April 16, 2010

From the Los Angeles Basin...

30 years ago premiered a late night show that was strictly and nearly by definition a "California" show. And, with the success of Saturday Night Live, ABC wanted in on the game. They weren't exactly meeting with producers and saying that, but it's what they wanted. The timing was ripe as well - by April of 1980, the original cast and writers of SNL were about to leave.

There's a very detailed history of the show here (if you can fight through the ads) but I'd like to focus on the premiere. As you can imagine, there's a lot of reasons why those of us here like this show (largest being that it's funny) but you simply can't deny the energy of this show. I'd like to think the scenery has a lot to do with it, but it's just as much the audience. Early SNL still had a bit of a theater vibe to it...but this was clearly a TV show produced in a TV town with an audience ready to laugh. That helps, and is also pretty rare for a 1st episode.

But how do you address the elephant in the room? You're a live late night sketch comedy show with musical guests. Sure sounds a lot like SNL. Might as well get it right out of the way...
























We first see the producers giving the actors a pep talk...only to cut to each cast member in an SNL's costume. As they continue to drill into the actors that they are NOT a clone of the show, they all nervously agree. Later, a crawl comes on the screen explaining why they did this, which in itself was something SNL did...and they address that too. They weren't going to ignore the inspiration, even if it wasn't admitted. Perhaps this was done just as much to put the audience at ease at well. There's no doubt it won them over, because most everything done in this episode was devoured.














The opening titles, unlike SNL, showed cast members around LA. We see a hot tub in the hills, the pier, Venice Beach, Flipper's Roller Boogie, and the Roxy. Lest we forget the two cast members who formed a relationship here on the show to pave their way for gold a decade later.
























Larry David and Michael Richards aren't the same in terms of comedic delivery, but there's no doubt that, with Seinfeld, they compliment each other with the zest of a burrito and cheese sauce.
























Kenny Loggins is the first musical guest, and in multiple analysis of this show I've heard that, due to the facilities, the sound on this show was excellent. Certainly beat 30 Rock for the go...but we're looking at a transfer of a show from 3 decades ago that looks like it was left in the sun. Plus, that picture on top actually shows the fade through sunset to the night. GOLD. On the bottom is Jack Burns, head writer and announcer for the show. While he wouldn't usually appear in sketches, he would start off the show and introduce any guests. And check out that Fridays satin jacket! I once bid on a Fridays jacket that wouldn't have fit me. But it didn't matter. I mean, look at that. That means L.A. business, right there.














Jack introduces Michael, who spends the first minute of his routine with false-starts and bizarre, nervous sounds. A joke or two is told. One of which, beginning with "knock knock" (and an enthusiastic "WHO'S THERE?!" from the crowd leads him to say "Oh, you've heard that one before?" The director gets on the horn and begs him to introduce the first sketch which is...
























A couple nervously awaits their daughter's visit, and her guest, Ken. After the initial embrace, in comes Ken...a cross between the hunchback and Igor. "You didn't tell me you were dating a...uh...monster." says Dad, while Ken takes another opportunity to freshen up. "We're not dating! Ken's gay." (Which, 30 years ago, gets laughs and applause) Ken reminds the couple that he's just a regular guy and, after showing his mime routine, the family goes out to celebrate.

After the sketch ends, we see everyone go off-stage to change and rabble-rouse. In later episodes, they did this with the musical guests once they finished, and it was always fun to see the hangers on and deal-I mean, "friends" of the band in their lounge.
























Furthering the thoughts of this being an L.A. version of SNL, is "Friday Edition" - their news update. The above piece shows a field story of the tragic annual "Muppet Hunt" in "Henson, CA" where they are killed for their pelt. And if there was any doubt of this process, they then go to Rodeo Dr. to see she latest Muppet fashion. "Once, they warmed our hearts. Now, they warm our bodies."













Following this, two old friends meet up at a bar for a drink...and while they have their conversation, each sip comes out of their mouths when they talk. Not exactly high comedy either way, but it was short and it got those initial laughs. Watching this likely reminded me of a double standard the SNL fans had in this brief moment (the start of the disastrous 6th season of SNL pretty much sent those people right to Fridays) would consider this cheap. Yet, SNL had just as tacky humor that is now viewed as "classic."













Kenny Loggins then performs his first song to an adoring crowd. Digging that "Hotel California" background, huh? Kenny finishes his second song, "This is It," by going right up to the crowd. His enthusiasm is rewarded with a standing ovation!
























Next, a PSA on helping the inner city residents. This man used to be a part of this group of people until now...he's spending his time in Beverly Hills, "helping" people. Or, "affluent honkies" as the acronym for this program mentions the joy of serving food poolside, or watching your just-cleaned Mercedes leave with a happy teen and his friends peeling out the driveway. This is living, as the program helps blacks to help whites, "the way God wanted it to be." This kind of satire was done in a slightly more muted tone on SNL. I would guess that Garrett Morris would be game for such a sketch, but by this time writers there had him actually dressed as a monkey in a Wizard of Oz sketch.













Next is the first bomb of the night: office workers demand "it." They want "it." A doctor then comes in, strips to the above outfit, and does some version of a tribal dance. This satisfies Larry's character. End of sketch. Um...yeah.













Michael Nesmith and William Dear, who would in the following year deliver their own sketch comedy program, made the above commercial parody. It sneaks up on you, that camera angle.
























The winning streak returns when a man who claims to be consistently ignored arrives at a plastic surgeon's office because he's read this doctor can make you look like celebrities. His desired celebrity? Howdy Doody. "Can you handle the responsibility?" The doctor refuses to do the surgery ("I won't have this doody on my conscious"), but the man will pay in cash, so...the transformation is above and a complete success!
























Being a famous celebrity (or looking like one) has its advantages. You can score tables at fancy restaurants. You can hold your breath in punch bowls. Ah, Mr. Doody! Hello, Mr. Doody! Sadly, this is a "no ending" sketch as we just see Howdy walk down the street, accepting accolades while the v/o of his doctor continues to ramble. There's no way you'd know how far they would take this sketch...it was used in many episodes randomly in the future. We'd see someone complaining to the police of lewd conduct...but then who walks down the street? "Well, hello Mr. Doody! Have a good day Mr. Doody!" It's an interesting idea...it plans on you already knowing the first sketch, yet if you DON'T know it, makes you not want to be an outsider. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. I had a boss once who used to greet me this way. Inside jokes are the best.













Next is a sketch of the first day of class of the Los Angeles school for doormen. As we know, Larry has a comedic soft spot for doormen. You can imagine how long the class (and sketch) lasts. But, it gets the laugh and moves on.
























The final sketch of the night is one that's placed here in the show for a reason (as you'll see). It's poker night, with their wives at a movie. As each guy boasts of how other women want them, the doorbell rings. What a surprise, it's well-dressed women...whores! "Hi, we're whores. We came by to talk to you about our product." After handing out menus, the guys immediately begin to have second thoughts. "Are you really whores?" "Well, they prefer us to use 'genital engineers' but whatever is fine with me." Things seem to be out of their price range, so they suggest a "group plan." One by one we see each guy's face with their final thought: "What if I'm gay?" (Again, more laughs) "Wait, our wives!" Oh, well, then you won't be needing us. Back everyone goes. Yet another sketch I can't see anyone at SNL doing...or probably getting to air.

























Cast member MaryEdith Burrell says goodbye for the cast and highlights their musical guests in the upcoming weeks. Planned or otherwise, she left out The Clash, who would be on in a few weeks. That video is around the internets...I highly recommend it. For the credits of each episode, you see a Polaroid picture of whoever's name scrolls by. Really cool idea, and gave them another chance to sneak in something.

Critically, the response was to hold this up to the current SNL and claim it nothing more than the sham that, in development, it might have been. SNL producer Lorne Michaels had the same agent as the producers of this show (and MC Jack Burns as well). The fact that this agent represented everyone was not lost on ABC, and therefore taken as a personal hit by Michaels. He didn't watch the show. As for the viewers, with new episodes running through to the summer, it cultivated its fan base to the point where its ratings were higher than SNL. Again, that link at the start of this article gives detail on the rise and fall of this show.

It was a brief run - 2 calendar years. It likely wouldn't be nearly as remembered had not Larry and Michael gone on to larger fame. But when it comes to gold, specifically that from California, there are few shows that combined the two so well. Wait...I can think of more...I'd better stop.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Words and Music by Dennis DeYoung

(Ed. Note: Recently we sent Stan Grossman as far away from GoldLand as we could - to the foreign shores of Nippon - in an effort to recalibrate his posting schedule and burn a few weeks' vacation time. He roundly rejected the idea of an article, and instead posted these "vignettes", most of which are outright lies)

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We awoke to a crash and a serpentine hiss. The air had gone foul with burned sake. Was that breakfast on the griddle, or a ramen bowl heated in darkness by drunks? The night was not nearly over. 3:30am, and we were in a fighting position. Jetlag, my ass. The only thing lagging is my confidence. Out onto the street by 5, and you're damn right it's smile time.

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When that virtual reality shit took hold in the 90s, we thought this sort of ad would be alive. Literally, that some stoned-to-the-bazzer-belt anime chick would walk up to us on the street and offer us a free token at Taiyo for the new Suntory game where all you had to do is get enough ball bearings down the chute and they'd let you take a picture with a bottle of whiskey. Not drink it though... that's for downstairs. Anyway, they haven't perfected it yet, so our mockings aren't being recorded. For now, anyway.

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An entire ad campaign was born this night.

"Thought things would be different by now, didn't you? Black Barrel."

"Ah, midnight and only time for one more decision tonight. You want to correct this evening's mistakes? No? Black Barrel."

"You want to improve your predicament in life? No? Black Barrel."

"Thinking you're too good for a watered down whiskey in a can? Those shoes you're wearing are telling a different story. Black Barrel."

"Like good tasting whiskey? No? Black Barrel."

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Even the dirty parts of town seem like the fair. I don't mind keeping this stuff behind white plastic curtains, but your eyes can only hide so many places. This place made us fight a teddy bear who had an ice cream in his hand in order to gain admission. Pass. They're giving away free tours down the street, at the Sony Building.

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It takes the average human brain 30,000 years to generate enough electricity to power Shinjuku for an evening. So how exactly are they doing it? Beats me.

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I didn't think I'd like a beer that was "All Malt". But then that, like most everything else, turned out to be lies. If it was all malt, it wouldn't be liquid, right? Anyway, they serve it in 60 gallon cans in Ebisu (a city which got its name from Yebisu beer), and you can't buy one unless you can run around one in less than a second. I learned after this picture was taken that the locals use the "whip" like in roller derby. Whatever, I was able to huff the fumes.

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Inside the Museum of Modern Art. Each of these is filled with a glow stick. It's called "An Homage To Rave". Pink is the national color.

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The street crossings are the only time you can stop and take a picture.... the foot traffic just moves too fast on the sidewalks. This intersection was the sight of our 3rd knife fight (our first draw, to bring the record to 2-0-1) but it wasn't a bad evening. We were given tea and shown photos of Africans in a curbside gallery. Not an english word was spoken during the transaction.

(ed. - See? Can you spot the lies?)

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Mount Fuji is revered as the God of Snow in Japanese folklore. Once a year, the snow melts under the immense heat of it's molten iron core. This is when most people just look the other way out of the trains. It is taller than Mount Everest, if you count in hectares.

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This riverwalk in Osaka is just like the one in San Antonio except nobody actually goes down to the river and one building is designed to look like a beer can. But you can get a decent burrito down here. (ed. note - YOU DEFINITELY CANNOT DO THIS)

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The quietest street in Osaka. Just an average Tuesday afternoon.

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They call him the Moss Man, and people on their way to work stop and throw water on the statue for good luck. As such, he and his friends are covered in moss, even on the driest of days. Our tour guide told us that this shrine is actually a mini-sized replica of one on the bottom of the Japan Sea. I said "yeah right, there's no such thing as the Japan Sea".

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"They do have an intimate knowledge of the streets."

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Being that this was our honeymoon, we thought it appropriate to not make a mockery of EVERY national treasure. And plus, we were in Japan JUST AS THE CHERRIES WERE STARTING TO BLOOOOOOOM.

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This was a store that sold Honda and Daihatsu tires.

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"You like sports?"
"Sure"
"You like sports?"
"Uhh, yes. Yes I do."
"You like sports?"
"YES."
(yelled from the back of room) "WHAT!!!"
"Ah yes, WHAT sports you like?"

I offended this man with crazy talk about American Baseball. He gave me what I deserve - a face-bite.

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Mocking the deer in Nara. Like they're going to do anything in retaliation. What, eat more?

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This is probably the spirit of a 3000 year old Samurai. I should NOT have pretended to give it my Kudos, only to yank it away and laugh.

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A clock tower that raised up at 5pm and began spinning and putting on a play. No, seriously. The clock tower started doing a play, with animatronic actors and fairy music.

(ed. note - Why tell the truth HERE? His credibility is shot)

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Well, yeah. It was Noodle Goo. And it's still safely wrapped in cellophane at the 100 yen store. And will be for the next 4 years.

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To call this stuff "sardines" is to imply that I have eaten sardines in my life. And, excuse me, but I think I would know if I had ever eaten sardines, thank you.

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The sign upon entering "Big Echo" said "Happy Happy Happy". Exactly. Finding Mr. Roboto on the playlist was a miracle (being that the songs were categorized by their Japanese language spelling). We gave it everything we had, and left it all in the karaoke room.

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Pagoda, temple, moon. Quote the photographer: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

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The least crazy thing we saw in all of Japan.

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Wednesday, March 03, 2010

"Breaking News!" : The Big Wave Diary




















Memory is hazy on exactly when it happened that island life connected into my brain. Maybe it was the realization that Gold was meeting Gold, and this time it wasn't in a smoked-filled casino...or in a syrup-worn diner. I remember being in a convertible, and next thing I know I was in the water, making a big mistake by looking at the beach, and turning my back on mama earth. Had it not been for fellow Gold warning me of impending doom, I'd certainly not be typing this right now. Even with the warning, and my own "preparation," I was shoved aside. The waves had their way with us, as they did to Smiley, and to all the other people on the beach...and with everyone else for the history of time. We were good and loopy, and whatever phrase we said to each other ("Alarm clock's goin' off!" "Table for 20!" "Batten down the HUUUGHGH" "Big Jim Slade!" "Aw Hell's Bells!" "She's crestin' wide, son!") it didn't matter. Point is the ocean, like life, washed all to the shore. This meant the planning of a feast and strong drink. Hawaiian Gold's for all, even those who couldn't hack it, because we were all too happy.

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"Shakin' his hips on a G Lean! Get there!"

We shake to the rhythm of it all, unending is this wave-pound. The last thing I remember is shouting "Watch this!" and then it was all white. They say to avoid The Sick you are supposed to focus on one point on the horizon. Christ hell, is it the vanishing point? Because out here, you're on the edge of it, knowing fuck all about what rests beyond the vision. A quick glance at a map will tell you that you are thousands of miles away from any form of arable land. And that's comforting, I suppose. Knowing that we're here, and most people aren't.

When the sun shines the same every day and temperatures only fluctuate between "Gold" and "Holy Gold", it is hard to notice any time pass. Days literally melt into night, the sun softly sucked down into that glowing abyss, the night falling like rain from the hills. To look around and say nothing is the same as shouting your praises. To yelp like dogs at the dancing maelstrom taking place in the Tahiti booth is the same as quietly contemplating your reflection in a waterfall. That is to say: things change. The chemical makeup of the human body is altered every second out in the land of the blue. More salt in the air, not as much in the Bigg Dogg Burgerz, and we find ourselves floating easier, eyes clearer, sun and shade combining into one giant veil.

Raise the arms and salute. Gold used to be in the hills; now it's everywhere.

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It could be that the whole "permanent vacation" vibe that is so often refrained by those people who do actual work for a living originates here. Because, shit, it's not like motivation ever leaves your body. Even Duane in Humboldt has motivation...sure, it might be to get "extra" bacon, but at least it's there. And I knew I was on such a vacation, but it was difficult even getting the spirits to plan activities while in Oahu. We talked of things, and we did them, but it was an end to a mean: beach, drink, lounge. Occasionally, I would return to the shore and read of 1970s movie studio swankness...and if ever briefly my brain would shift east to California. But then I remembered how rare it is to say Dealville is east of anything, so back to the waves I went. Unknowingly, I had created a paradise conundrum! I want to have fun, share with all, laugh and drink and frolic. But things were SO good...the weather SO nice...I wanted silence. To feel the sun renewing my brain, to hear the waves clear the thoughts. Was nature purifying my bloodstream, or did I have too much to drink? There's nothing wrong with me, right?

No, there isn't. Guilt shouldn't shame you into anything, least of which feeling sorry for those who aren't where you are. That is not over-confidence, or a jaded mindset. You have to stop and think that if you have goals for your life, with comfort being very high in the list, you shouldn't be surprised when you find yourself in a cold but very still pond. Surrounded by tropical flowers, you deftly swim to the waterfall. You sit under it...but when you do, you face a handful of onlookers who aren't looking at you but are looking at you. And you try not to look back, because you are taking it all in. A wealth of emotion comes over me now when I think of it but at the time, it was a giddy realization that I'd made the right choice. It's nice to know that can still happen. Mr. Hamilton gave good advice.

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It's an upside down world out here... too far from shore to be considered America, and too damn developed to be anywhere else. Most things move easier in this climate, but it's backwards. You can live on the North Shore, basically the epicenter of all feel good vibes on Oahu, and know that you are sitting right on the main nerve. One look around tells you all you need to know. But the city? The attitude is twisted, disfigured. They're chasing it down there, but I don't know what. They come up here in droves during weekends and holidays, but when speaking about this place, they say it's the "country" in a derogatory way. They speak of the commute as though it is impossible, the surroundings as though I live in a stoner colony where we all do yoga on the beach while high. And shit, we DO do those things, but we also volley questions to the ocean on long walks and try to Figure It All Out, just like everyone else.

Motivation is a tricky thing here. I'm from a land where motivation lacks, but when it's shown, you get what you want. Oh, you want to be a videographer? TRY HARDER. And then, boom, you are. You want to be a teacher, a mechanic, a window washer? If you try, you will make it. This place is different. "It's not what you know, it's who you know". I live my life pretty much in complete opposite to that sentiment... it's why I read Walt Whitman and William Blake in my free time. When looking for "light", I switch to The Name Of The Rose. None of these things makes me popular, or able to talk to other human beings. But that shit bangs around in my head every night when I go to sleep, and I get good ideas from it. I'm no closer than anyone else to figuring out the natural cycle, but at least I'm keeping the brain churning. I like things like my resume to stand on their own merit... for my knowledge and experience to actually mean something. I don't want to have met the manager before hand. In order to work at a surf shop, I don't want to have had to be a frequent customer. Shit, I was my own boss once, and got out because money started to become meaningless. Now, it still has little meaning, but if there was simply a way to GET SOME, we might not have problems.

But never mind all that, we speak of these things between 'Tais at the Royal H. We memorize the closing times of liquor stores and walk in the darkened sand. For here, any worry that pops up can be immediately blunted by salt air. If this is what it takes to be a "local", it's not a hefty price to pay. Slow it down and flatten it out. So that when you come over that crest, and your goggles go foggy and you can't really make out what it is that you are seeing, you can trust in the fact that your eyes aren't even supposed to work at this depth. And eventually breathing returns to normal, and the lenses clear, and you get a good look at all this going on just beneath the surface. We're here now, short though it may be, and soon we will be there, and nothing matters in the world other than this very moment.

Drink it in. It's only the rest of your life.

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Editor's Note: Stan Grossman contributed to this report. If you don't like the fact that both members of Pacific Gold wrote one story...IT'S OFF.

Friday, January 22, 2010

A decade of decadance



Dealville wasn't a life-long goal, but it was the whole reason I was in college: to get here and begin to make it happen. In terms of timing, I was lucky in one respect: it was 2000, not 2010. Good fucking luck making it a-fresh in this shitstorm. But this was the glorious beginning of another decade, where millionaires were made "instantly" and problems were minimal.

Upon arrival, I drove a rental car (pacing up and down the street of the apartment) to let off steam from the flights. I turned on the radio and "Hotel California" began. Was this some sort of deal from Enterprise? Do all the cars do this? No, they don't...I just figured this coincidence was actually the ground rules of what would become my life.

For the first months, I stayed at an apartment complex with 26 buildings. It was quite the spread, and I'd lie if I said I had a care in the world. I was an intern while I took "classes" but that was merely the daytime life. At night, there was a new swanky world and hot tubs. By the end of this "semester" I was in a tent at a campground just miles from Mexico with a girl I'd recently met. That's insanity! How would I ever end up in that kind of situation? Was I changing, or was LA changing me?

Returning from graduation, I saved enough cash for a few months, including rent. Deals were approached left and right. Again, this was in a deal-friendly time, one where websites were the future...television, film studios, these were all the past. I felt like Homer Simpson just showing up when the plant opens. I knew I was lucky, but I was also prepared. And as Robert Evans says, luck is when opportunity meets preparation.

The majority of my initial friends out here were left-over from college. I should say "acquaintances" since in most cases, all we had in common was our alma matter. The fact that I found work so quickly was met with some distance. I received the usual inquires (simply about a job - who cared what I did?) along with the passive aggressive nature that keeps so many people alone.

In time I moved to Hollywood. It sounds nice, doesn't it? But every neighborhood, even dripping with gold, has a realistic level. The address was just as much to be within the tricks as it was likely feeding something inside to show off. Maybe not as much as Maurice "T.T." Rodriguez and his want to show off for his Puerto Rican family, but there. Naturally, no one gives a shit about that in town. It's all about price. You could live in the best house in the best neighborhood but if you're paying through the nose (sometimes literally) you're treated as the moron you are.

I found this out when I moved toward the westside. I was actually in a very nice area in a nice place not paying too much (relative for the area). When I'd tell someone where I'd live they'd say "Oh - Beverly Hills adjacent." What the fuck is that? More than real estate jingo, it's the band-aid of battered pride. Sure, I guess I live adjacent to it, but I live in Los Angeles. That's what my mail says.

Work sent me to Burbank...that "beautiful" zone just over the hill, and it usually brings shame from others living in a castle. Oh I understand - but commutes can kill you out here. When I had my most traffic-filled drive, I twice bumped people at a stoplight. (One of which, the girl in front of me looked out of her car pissed...frantically looking for something wrong while I apologized she said "Are you fucking kidding me?" and drove off) I got rear-ended with large damage to ol' Bess while the guy behind me hit the bricks. This is madness. Living close to work is a necessity if you can hack it, so I pulled the plug.

Since this occurred, I've grown to love the quiet of the 50's style suburban feel of this nook of Dealville. The calm (especially late at night) has been my best friend, and I average 12 hours of sleep in odd shifts. There was a time where I would give a fuck about something like that. Now, I cherish it and tell others of my bunker. Hmmm...has this decade in Dealville made me better or worse?

Life is a natural process in this town, no matter what the outsiders say. And the outsiders LOVE to talk about Dealville and point out its faults. (Or fault-lines) They are a jealous and angry bunch, and you are best to ignore them. But when I wrote "flight home" in my calendar back in 2000, I wasn't foreshadowing. I wasn't projecting a false vision of my future. I was stating the facts: that my life was as I wanted it.

And what have I wanted and seen in my life in this decade? It's been the whiskey-aided thoughts clouding my surroundings in good and bad times. It's drug-fueled ramblings when I speak of good fortune. It is an ambling attitude that the good life, if not here, is right around the corner. It takes work, and no one said it would be easy, but it's life. It's home. It's Pacific Gold.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Saltwater into Wine

Things are becoming hazier in the Pacific, as swells rise and blood oxygen levels drop, we see a fluctuation in brain waves not unlike housing prices. Forever up, on the rise, only when it's not.

A smart man once told me that everything works if you let it.

We're back in that place now, the ancient Zone, free from clutter and window dressing, just out, doing, going. It's not passive, nor active. We are fabric now, stretched and contracted, moving in unison with all other fibers. Deals are made with ease, everything tinted with gold, the future spreads out before us like an endless fruit plate.

The call this place the "country", but if you get beyond the roosters and stray cats, it's really more of a thought pattern than a geographical area. Are we far away from the city? Well sure, as far away as Maple Grove is from Anytown USA. But aren't we far from everything out here? The sun, moon, stars... all at impossible distances. Our remoteness gives birth not to loneliness, but to perspective. Ah, that word again. You heard it here about the Land of the Long White Cloud, and here it is again. Up the mountain, flatten it out, get underneath it... whatever you've got to do, just give it some perspective. So when you're there, you can't really talk about "there". You can only go elsewhere and look back. That's what makes climbing cliffs so fun... you get to go, and come back. But at least you get to Think. Something that is often missing back in Ye Olde Nort.

Adventures here are a way of life, you take your life into your hands every day, and you can't help but move and explore. That's the reason for all this green... a constant churning of life and water, land and tide, produces a fantastic realm of imagination. But you don't have to imagine shit - it's all right here. Every 30 yards there is another beach entrance, another hidden cave, a secluded walk. They don't write about these things. You drive up to the edge with your car and then you drive further. If land gets boring, as it is immovable, into the surf we go, breakers be damned.

I suppose it is like a prayer, or at least a mantra. Only when it becomes a way of life does it truly start to matter. I can dip my toes in, I can stick my whole foot in, but until I feel it wash over me and fight like all hell to keep it from pulling me to the brink of death, I will not understand it. To sit on a board out here in the rising swell is to commit to this Way. I'm an outsider, sure. But you can't tell me this isn't living.

If you could pray to yourself, what would you ask for?

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

The Cycle of Sunshine


It was roughly 10 years ago, near Christmas, when I braved a snowy Boston train ride to the airport. I was on my way to southwest Florida, supposedly stopping in Atlanta on the way. When I arrived I saw that Hotlanta was covered in shitty weather...so I figured I'd talk to a desk agent to see if I needed to be on a later flight, or something. (Remember, this is in the innocent flying days) This man looked at me bewildered and said "why don't you take the non-stop flight?" Next thing I new I was at my destination earlier than thought. While I could have been stuck in line at some belly-busting airport "cafe," instead I sat in a hot tub, viewing the sun setting into the Gulf of Mexico. I was happy at my good fortune, but what I didn't know was that it set into motion a streak lasting nearly two years of luck on my side.


This deus ex machina within my life came to mind as I returned to that very spot of land. It was a decade later. Now, I could look back at that turning point with perspective. At the time, there was much unsettled about my life. I knew that I'd be in LA soon, hustling. Now, of course, I'm...ugh. Not exactly the same but...yeah. Well, look at the peaks and valleys of things. Perhaps as beautiful as this area is, I need to further break away. Find me somewhere off the path...hell, can we find somewhere that has no path?

Yes, you can, if you're willing to look. The Everglades, and the few routes that travel these parts, are a unique mass. At first sight, it appears to be a boring horizon. Perhaps more pleasing than the patterned cornfields of the midwest, but similar all the same. Unlike that area, however, if you look closer there is movement. Animals moving and changing at their own pace, likely having been there their whole lives. Same, I found out, as the people.

For many years, you couldn't make it to Chokoloskee by car. Either you had a boat, or you knew someone who did. There were gators abound, of course. This likely kept away the riff-raff, even if they really wanted to get down there. Even today, which is relatively fluid with transportation, it's a small town barely touched by the outsider. And, oh sweet Moses, we thank the heavens for that.



Please allow me to be selfish for a second to say that this area was exactly what my psyche needed. Put me in the middle of nowhere in warm breezes with people who wouldn't dare judge you because no one wants to hear the results. We needed a clubhouse; a headquarters. Somewhere that isn't as touched by the tourists...if at all possible. Immediately I was reminded that it was hard NOT being a tourist here. And they want you, because it's tough making a go of it here. But shit, I figured, dive in: Pass the alligator. People try to soften the blow by comparing this (and other) sea delicacies as tasting like chicken. But to me, in this moment, it tasted like moonshine, boat chases, and beer. Waiter! More!

Others were ready to keep the day moving, but I was more than glad to find some of the local color. Since the road arrived decades ago, there are hucksters to your right and left. Pose for photos with odd animals! Buy a baby alligator head: suitable for framing! Contact the Everglades busiest taxidermist!


Once sufficient photos were taken, I was driven to an airboat tour trailer. My guide would be Darryl. Unknowingly, I was about to have my world altered.

Darryl's shades likely never leave his face. His voice, thankfully, has been crafted by a lifetime more interesting than I can ever dream. He eases back, handing us fish as pelicans arrive. I am not holding bait, but it doesn't stop a pelican using its wooden chops arcoss my palm. "Yeah." says Darryl. He may or may not have been referring to me.



At the every turn, he is frightening the women of the boat to everyone's comedic delight. He guns it in-between narrow trees. He picks up a gator by the mouth with his hands. I want this guy to share more of his tales, but I'm nervous to prompt such a tide. I sense he's still sizing us up...as if we're worth it. Thankfully, we are. He tells of how, after many beers, he took his airboat to top speed, jumped the beach, and slid right into a gas station on the road. Immediately, this man has reached legend status with me. Then he tells of how he's a licensed pilot as well...and he knew he had to quit drinking when, in his prop plane, he buzzed one too many rooftops. His wife (do we even dare ask?) said he was going to get that stunt wrong one time. That was the mid-80s. Whatever I might have been doing at the time, it certainly wasn't that.

Then, maybe to show us he still has it (unlikely he has to prove it to himself) he speeds to the shore, only to pull a Rockford-style J turn at the last moment. Most clutch in fear. I turned around and clapped, which he smartly took as "Encore, Encore." It was done again, just as impressive.

I wouldn't have said, or even thought about it at the time. (Or, moreover, in that moment) But I knew my return to Dealville would come in time. Though, what I didn't know then I wonder if I would be happy if I didn't have to know now. That is, there's a lot of ways to make it happen. Sometimes you have to overturn a lot of rocks to find gold. Ay yingo, could I use some. Greedy? Simply realistic. Pass the rum. I have seen a glimpse, and I need all the strength I can get.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Sun and Sand and All That Gleams

(ed. note: Dee Louis has recently relocated to the Northernmost Shore of Oahu. The day he arrived in this Pacific Isle, it was 3 below zero in his homeland, causing a massive split in his psyche. These images and messages are arriving at what could be called a "trickle")

We face north here, looking on a straight line to Mother Russia, away from the rest of this time zone, and into Oblivion. The darkness comes on like a firecracker in the night, the rise is a flame from the mainland. Everything is saturated, the world can hold no more color, it gives it off in fits. The eyes open wider, the taste of things changes, and our Inner Selves are less and less responsible for our environments.

The cable has been cut. Away we drift.

We landed here a week ago and received a text message from the city of Minneapolis. "SNOW EMERGENCY DECLARED". Well, that's perfect. The sun was blazing right from the get, and now it's a companion. We have yet to eat a meal inside, and sweet god, is that even an option? The constant bake slows everything down and we have to get acclimated to it... else we are likely to end up sucking wind and keeled over like Ma and Pa Horsenhiemer. So we play by the South Island rules: move slower, walk with purpose, don't look up. After a few days, we're in. Skin has been ionized, tires have been summarized. Now, about those sunglasses...

You can look at the Infinite Blue for only so long before her call becomes too strong. It's time to charge in. Hearty waves and things that sting only heighten the excitement, focus the laser. It's not a battle for your life, but in many ways, all problems find a resting place here, 30 feet out. Look back at that land and you are liable to consider the pointlessness of all conflict. Look the other way, and, well, Melville called it "Terra Incognita", saying that Columbus sailed over 500 "new worlds" before arriving at his artificial one. Deep and vast beyond calculation by the human eye, we can only measure by tools, and that removes us from it.

It rings true here, as nowhere else, that life waits for everyone, and that wavelengths of personality all answer to the one True Hymn. Maybe that's the rhythm we are all missing. That drum line sinking and diving underneath all else, emerging only to give depth to the message. If we all hear it, then it's made for us.

Sun and sand, earth and fire, water and sky. Here we are, on the precipice. A blank mind is our reward.

Saturday, December 05, 2009

Keep An Eye Out For The Border Patrol, Checkin For Drugs And The So-Called Aliens

Water, they say, washes away your sins. Well, a special kind of water anyway. This is easy in the Land of the North, where lakes and streams flow easy and free (at least in the special "summer" months). And you Baptists? If you can find a creek or gully or gulch or whatever in backwater GA, then you've got yourself a holy land. And really, that's the human way. We're all wired into that, it's our makeup. The world, our bodies, hell our symbols and empires, born of the great agua.

So tell me somethin, son - when the only water you get is from the sky, and the Rio Grande ain't so damn grand in December, what then? Who is saved?

It's desert here, but it's desert everywhere, so the only difference is elevation. And what a difference it makes. From this height you'd think you'd be able to see something different, but it all just goes up or down, and never the same. See, that's where we came from, and soon will return. The flatness. The vision of a thousand miles. Not in New Mexico. Not on these peaks.

People live here, it's true, but the land swallows all. Great swaths of sand and scrub brush eat up the great majority, leaving one to wonder things about desert oceans and sand rivers. We pass over innumerable "dry washes". They're probably wet for 2 days of the year. This country's hard on people. And it shows.

When you get here, you can drive up and keep going, or you can, as they say, head down to the crevasse. Huge canyons hold as much spectacle as towering peaks, you just have to work harder on the backend. The sun is closer up top, but burns hotter on the floor of the gulch. Ebb and flow, back and forth, and all you can do is go forward.

That's why we're here. Why we strike out on another gallop, why we put the flame to the killer and see how hot it gets. Life is sustainable at sea level, sure. But it moves quicker on the slope. We've been there, and now we're here. And soon, we'll be there again. The birds sing songs of laughter, truly. Our earth-bound gravity can only yield so much.

It's not a renewal. It's not a rebirth. I'm not born in an image, and I have no one to find. But still, if you could excuse me, I'd like to take a bath in that salty mirth, and let it cleanse what it can.