The text came early last night from my 8-year-old grandson, Tallac. The one every grandfather awaits. The one in which a child actually asks an old man something about the life he lived long, long ago.
The question: “Do you have pictures of your bull-fighting endeavors?”
It was as close as I would ever get to “Grandpa, what did you do during the war?”
Or, in theatrical terms, it was my Peter Falk in “Princess Bride” moment.
And I guess I blew it.
Continue reading
I’m looking out over that Golden Gate Bridge
On another gorgeous sunny Saturday.
— Doobie Brothers, “Listen to the Music”
Most bridges, if they lead into a city of any size, lack pizzazz. Oh, they may be architectural gems, but you barely notice this.
Why?
Because most bridges are surrounded by distracting urban clutter.
High-rises, highway on- and off-ramps, shipbuilders, warehouses, industrial stacks, skyscrapers, condo towers — the stuff that makes cities be cities. This stuff bustles up against the entrances and exits of bridges. Suddenly, you are crossing a span with little sense of its architectural might. Rarely do you get to appreciate the majesty of a span uncluttered.
Continue reading
Walking along San Francisco’s waterfront, something about this row of fishing boats struck me as familiar.
Of course, I realized, this is the aquatic complement to the iconic Victorian “painted ladies” across from Alamo Square Park. Every spindle of tourist postcards in San Francisco has one of the “painted ladies.” They are as well-known as the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Coit Tower, and the homeless sleeping in Tenderloin doorways.
There are colorfully painted Victorians all over San Francisco but this row is by far the most iconic.
Continue reading
It was only Leiden’s second or third song of the night, a ranchera – the music of love, passion, heartbreak, powerful emotions. Powerful music. In fact, it was the first ranchera she’d ever written.
“My father said to me,” recalled the Mexico City-based singer, “if you are going to sing rancheras, you have to suffer to feel it.” She paused and smiled slyly. “Now I have a degree in suffering.”
(And she does, a degree in sociology.)
“I not only can sing rancheras, I can create rancheras!”
Continue readingBig guns, tiny hands, but that should suffice,
Look at me, Momma, I’m a captain in ICE!
I was no fool, loved skipping school
But some B&E’s and cops said “not so cool!”
Army wouldn’t have me, nor would the cops
Neck and face tattoos kept me out of the business opps
So I played my video games and smoked crack
Took to cosplaying GI Joe — thinking I was so jacked.
Saw the posters recruiting for the new breed of ICE
Realized I could leap that low entry bar at least by twice
They gave me a flak jacket, face mask, and my choice of a gun
“Don’t worry about training, boy, go out and have fun!”
“Round up tan and brown folks, bust in a door
Make sure your iPhone is set to ‘record.’
Your memes are worth money on the ICE home page
Ain’t about justice; it’s about stoking the rage.”
With its $75 billion, ICE is recruiting society’s dregs
Building a private army of loyal zombies and bad eggs.
When the time comes, they will march into key cities and towns
And arrest all those obstructing liberal clowns.
The current horror show is just a diversion
While they plan for liberty’s ultimate perversion.
Don’t be fooled by tiny hands and big dick energy (BDE) today
The real goon squad is training for another January 6 foray.
Some invitations are just too irresistible, like this one: Come join us out in the campo as we sterilize about 50 dogs and cats in the little community of San Antonio del Varal.
How could I say no to that?
The invitation came from Donna Lynes-Miller, the lifeforce behind Rosey’s Wish, a mobile veterinarian clinic on the front lines of the effort to reduce the number of abandoned and feral dogs and cats in San Miguel de Allende.
San Antonio Del Varal is a bit more than a half-hour away from, and a pleasant century or two behind, the city of San Miguel de Allende. An easy drive down the highway toward Queretero, and a sharp left onto a hard-packed dusty road that ends at the rancheria.
Continue reading
Act 1
Me, speaking into the Perplexity AI browser’s microphone: “How long is the French Camino?”
What Perplexity heard: “Hello, this is a test.”
What Perplexity replied: “Hello! Test received loud and clear. What’s on your mind?”
Act 2
Me, a little perplexed with Perplexity: How long is the French Camino?”
Continue reading“Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life” — Oscar Wilde in an 1889 essay.
In the avalanche of outrage and imagery pouring out of Minneapolis in the aftermath of the killing of Renee Nicole Good by ICE agent Jonathan Ross, one scene stood out to me, but not for reasons related to Good’s horrific shooting.
A video shows dozens of Minneapolis citizens sliding down an icy slope to join scores of other protestors on the far side of a wintry landscape.
Where had I seen this before?
I snagged a freeze-frame, and it took only minutes to recall.
Continue reading
Showing up late for a party stoned and tipsy wasn’t very original in late-1969, though I was getting damned good at it — and tired of it all — a rudderless college drop-out, dodging the draft, hiding out in Washington D.C. in the shadow of the Selective Service.
I was fast becoming a mess.
Nobody at John and Linda’s party noticed – even when I stumbled back against the bookshelf and slid to the floor while Jenny from West Virginia badgered me with her latest career dilemma: Airline stewardess? Or a psychologist?
Continue reading
I’m a little quick off the mark, but my first full-blown fantasy for 2026 is already in:
I want to buy a 20-bedroom castle on the Isle of Rum in the Inner Hebrides. (I think it might include the whole Isle of Rum. Not sure.)
I don’t think I need to say more.
But I will.
Continue reading
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 