Scorched Earth

Thanks to Chris Clervi of the USFS for these aerial shots taken August 23 of various burned out sections of the Los Padres National Forest.

Check Your Head

my name is D yall, and i dont play, and i can rock a house party til your hair turns grey
so watcha sayin?
i explode on sight, im like jimmie walker, im DYNOMITE.

I explained to my wife that in my dwindling years, the twilight of the life that was my former self, certain experiences were remarked upon at the coffee shop of my consciousness. Some things just leave a mark on you. Like that time I hurdled over the hockey boards at a Beasties show at Madison Square Garden and fell eight feet to a concrete subfloor, landed on my hip, and had to scurry into the crowd lest the evil fascist security pigs got me. Or that time during a Rage show where I nearly suffocated at the middle front, fought my way out with the very last of my strength and oxygen to get pulled out the side by the security guys and hustled to the EMTs for water and O2. Three songs later I was right back in the same spot for Bullet in the Head, surfing and moshing. How about the time I saw Public Enemy open for Run DMC, and in the hallways around the Providence Civic Center it was mayhem. We were maybe six strong but there were fools running around all over the place screaming and whooping. I was in the back of our group and about ten guys come sprinting past us like they were running from a liquor store robbery and one of them just clocked me in the grill as he ran past. Nobody saw it but me, and I didn't even see it. No knockdown, though. I lived to fight (the power) another day. These are the experiences you remember. These are the things that you will not tell your grandchildren one day.

And so upon you are placed the burdens of everyday life, and your existence is a smattering of similar days and nights, all melding into an image of normalcy and contentment and age. At 35 you start to think that maybe those great days, those visceral experiences of your youth, are truly finally behind you. You may not rock it like that ever again. You get nostalgic about the last ten years before the last ten years have passed. But then in the night a small light appears. Announcements are made and tickets are sold. The date is far off on the horizon but when it arrives you are ready. Call it reincarnation or rebirth or any other existential tag; you are alive again in America if even for only one truly vivid moment.

Last week I Rocked the Bells and was reborn to "Here I Come" by The Roots. Tonight my epiphany will occur during the first few riffs of "The Maestro." Or "Tough Guy." I've always despised Bill Laimbeer.

At what point will you return to the time when your whole life is in front of you? On what note will you accept the clarity of the present moment? "Live at PJ's"?? "Paul Revere"?? I hope you don't wait until "Sabotage." They always close with "Sabotage."

By the way I need a ticket. Any extras? I'll be scouring craigslist until I get one. See you at Noel's.

MC Confrontation

Gone

A rough month. I know it’s not a sentence, but it is what it is. A break from the madness into another madness. This is my life. My emasculation was completed Wednesday, August 1, when by spousal mandate I returned the Dude to the shelter from whence he came. The debate was over something about what evil he was capable of doing to our new child, our close friend’s children, and a plethora of deliverymen. Not one to put supertight canine-human connection above human paternal responsibilities, I relegated the Dude to a shelter in Fillmore, where we got him. It was the most difficult action I have ever undertaken; it was really tough. But it’s done, and I must move on. Posts to come; I’m climbing back up on it.