I told the mighty editor last Tuesday morning that I’d been to Reggae on the River, and he gave me an incredulous guffaw as if I’d confessed to joining a Robert Bly men’s circle. His…
Posts published in “from the archives…”
For one reason or another, I’m on a mission to document the trials and tribulations, the travails, of an adult musician (me) in his (my) efforts to work, even exist, in a small town whose…
Two middleaged men are sitting at a sidwalk table at Enrico’s in North Beach. Their mood seems foul as if they have been stewing in their impotence for so long the broth has begun to…
I keep seeing her name at all these environmental/political events. "Tribute to Judi Bari: Join Dolores Huerta, Utah Phillips, Alicia Littletree and more." O.K. I know who Dolores Huerta and Utah Phillips are, but WHO…
For the second week in a row grand jury representatives paid a call on the Board of Supervisors (June 17). They were present to recount various activities revolving around the GJ's annual report which is…
My dreams have become very significant in my life these days; some of them seem to be very spiritual. Sometimes there is a message, and then at times there is help in a critical situation.…
My wife and I recently took a 3,100 mile trip through a piece of the American Southwest: Highway 50 (“the loneliest road in America” — debatable) through the basin and range country of Nevada to…
In the fall of 1971 I was about to be cut off at the knees if I didn't “do something productive” with my life. I was 17 and had been out of school for a year, a casualty of “dress code” politics. (I'd braided a foot-long eagle feather into my hair in honor of the first Native American Week, and when I refused to take it out, they kicked me out.)
It was raining Sunday, nobody else from the AVA wanted to go, I would miss the 49er’s game on television, and I had almost no confidence in the leadership abilities of the persons organizing Headwaters…