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…
Anderson Valley Advertiser
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)…
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…
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…
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…
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…
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” —…
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…