I was walking in the park, late one night When my eyes beheld an eerie sight For creatures appeared just over the rise And suddenly to my surprise
They did the mash, they did the San Miguel mash The San Miguel mash, it was a graveyard smash They did the mash, it caught on in a flash They did the mash, they did the San Miguel mash
— Apologies to Bobby “Boris” Pickett
Tell me. And be honest. When you go for a walk, do you come across sights like this?
Now, I’m not talking about those days when you light up a ginormous blunt, or drop way too much Psilocybin or Ayahuasca. Lord knows what can be seen on those days.
No, I’m talking about your normal everyday walk through the woods when you encounter dancing skeletons, talking rabbits, bobble-headed Scotsmen, cabbage-headed kings and queens, and struttin’-stuffin’ dogs. Accompanied by a Mariachi band with some pretty hot licks.
Just know that I walk these cobblestone streets and … I see things.
Things I can’t explain. Things that need no explanation. Things that are new to me but are as old as time. Things that are marked down 20 percent for this day only. Things that are here today and gone tomorrow, probably back to the United States. Things that say something. Things that have nothing to say but will buy you a drink, just for the company. Things that I find interesting but my dog doesn’t.
Give a child a paintbrush … and you’ll be wiping down walls for months.
Ah, but give a child a paintbrush and a mission and soon enough the child will be creating art.
On Sunday at Belles Artes, there was a whole lot of art going on. Two stories worth of bristling, carefree, happy kids unleashed into a crafty and colorful world of creativity.
Editor’s note:In a newsletter for former Union-Tribune newspaper staffers, a colleague in San Diego recently recalled a review I once wrote that outraged the mayor and her staff. Jack Reber, the editor of the newsletter, asked if I would fill everyone in.
Glad to do it. But, as in my online days with SignOnSanDiego.com, I take great pleasure in scooping mainstream media.So, you will read it first, here on my own blog. My newspaper friends may get it at midnight tonight. (Sorry, Jack. I can’t help myself.)
Ah, the Russian Arts Festival of 1989. Gather round kids and I’ll tell you as much as is permitted by the several nondisclosure agreements I signed to gain a generous separation bonus from the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Obviously, I kid. There was no bonus.
My one assignment during the Festival was the Tiblisi State Puppet Theatre, under the direction of the great and late-Rezo Gabriadze (below with some of his creations). Georgean puppets aren’t like the Muppets, Shari Lewis and Lambchop, or Punch ‘n Judy. They tell real and elaborate stories, often tragic, and even violent or sexually mature.
Zara Fernandez, director of the Instituto Allende, stands before the site that will contain the Rodarte artist and artisan bazaar this weekend. Revenues from the bazaar help fund art teachers and art supplies sent out into the community.
“What goes around comes around.”
The expression has always carried a negative connotation. Long before Justin Timberlake grabbed the idiom by the tail and turned it into a hit song of bad love and betrayal with the help of Scarlett Johansson treating each other badly.
