A SoCal Forth of July

I've lived in California long enough to know that heading for the beach on the July 4th weekend can be a recipe for disaster. Nevertheless, to the beach we did go. Parking was hard to find, traffic was at times horrific, and throngs of people milled about Huntington Beach, aka "Surf City USA."

But luckily, kettle corn was in good supply.

Beach volleyball near the pier at Surf City USA.

One could get away from the masses and have a pleasant walk along the back streets. The day and the air were fine.

The Balboa Island grand old flag waved proudly.

Contrary to what many Easterners might think, Californians are quite patriotic. Even those "San Francisco liberals."

And so our day draws to a close...

The Miami Herald Song

Rochester Slim has, in the past few days, received quite a bit of attention from an old song he did in the mid 90s titled The Miami Herald Song. Apparently a cassette tape that sent to my sister, who worked at The Herald at the time, turned up during a recent office move. Then it started spreading via email and blogs. I'm kind of amazed, amused, and pleased at the same time.

Dave Barry blogged about it and received a number of comments - a mixture of admiration, perplexion, derision - just what any hard-working artist would love to get.

"ow"

"Oh. My. God. The Rock Bottom Remainders have got to cover this (Dave Barry's band)."

"Oh dear Lord. Who is this???... punctures eardrums with sharpened pencils"

"Does Gerald deliver the Herald to NC? I thought it was kind of catchy but when I started playing it my lab got up and left the room. Everybody's a critic." (ain't it the truth!)

"From the inaugural and (as it happened) last episode of "Everglades Home Companion."

"Who pronounces Herald as "Hear-ald?"

"Someone should force Barry Manilow to listen to that over and over, so he'd know how it feels to suffer like that."

"I knew they were getting desperate for sales in the newspaper industry, but I never knew it was THIS bad."

"It would have been a darned shame to have inadvertantly thrown that one out, huh? What was that originally produced for? It actually is pretty good, except for the fact that newspapers aren't usually big on jingle-type audio promotions."

Greg Cote did another blog about it today. He said: ".... the oddest song you have ever heard or ever will ... I believe it actually is an unearthed demo from a 1970s promotional campaign that never aired. And with good reason...The song probably is not Top 40 or dance-floor material. If only we could have found this in time to have Michael Jackson overdub a hiccup or a hee-hee. Nevertheless, remember that, although times may be dark for our industry and this song sounds oddly and perhaps presciently funereal, always, for God's sake always remember, no matter what: The Herald is your friend!"

Well. My late sister Liz Donovan who worked at The Herald for many years. I wrote and recorded the song for her amusement I think around 1996. Liz was my favorite person in the world. It was meant to be funny, but I guess it had a point about newspapers that now in 2009 is all too evident.

I was in the early stages of figuring our recording technology and used a small, cheap 4 Track cassette recorder. I did it quickly, warts and all, and sent her the crude copy of the cassette. I know she found it funny enough to play it for then-publisher Dave Lawrence, who actually wrote me a letter telling me that "it made my day."

I always though that The Herald should use the song for a TV spot - a gospel choir in the Orange Bowl singing the chorus to a packed crowd at a Dolphins game. People would have thought that The Herald was hip and circulation would have grown accordingly.

One Last Day on the Road; One Last Photo

West of Flagstaff I got off of the interstate and took old 66 for 100 miles or so to Kingman, Arizona. A storm passed over and for awhile it was quite dark and threatening. But I got this last picture looking West on Route 66. Times have passed it by, but it's still a marvelous road.

From Kingman, I headed down to Lake Havasu, then across the nearly completely empty desert highway 62 to 29 Palms, Joshua Tree, and home. I could have taken scores of pictures there, but I was near the end of a 13 hour drive that day and enough was enough.

Out With the Truckers and the Kickers and The Cowboy Angels

After a night in Amarillo, I hit the road early and passed into New Mexico - my first blue state since Virginia. I was getting off I-40 for the first time and headed for Chimayo to visit my favorite cousin and artist extraordinaire George Zarolinski.

South of Santa Fe, looking northeast.

I would have liked spending some time in Santa Fe, but I had one more long day on the road and home was calling loudly to me.

Chimayo is a quiet place, except for the nearly constant barking of dogs in the distance.

And while I was there, another dog was added to its population. George rescued the dog on the right (Shorty) from the local shelter and he came home with her that day, joining Buster (on the left) who was clearly very excited about the new addition to his pack.

Buster and Shorty - kinda sound like a couple of tw0-bit gangsters from Prohibition days....

Following the Ghost of Tom Joad

"The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it." - John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

"Yes as through this life I've wandered I've seen lots of funny men
some will rob you with a six-gun and some with a fountain pen"
- Woody Guthrie, Pretty Boy Floyd

Leaving Little Rock early in the morning, I rambled West through the Ozarks and then into Oklahoma. I passed through Woody Guthrie country and then Oklahoma City, where I caught up to the old Route 66. From there, I followed the route taken by many before me - in the Dust Bowl times particularly - on the way to the Garden of Eden called California. I simply had to get off the interstate several times to check out some of the few still existing sections.

Although the historic highway more or less remains only in memory, there remain sections of the old road here and there all the way to California, with one particularly long section in western Arizona. In other places, one can see glimpses of the old road bed in the median strip of I-40.

Pushing ever West.

It was very quiet.

They called it "The Mother Road."

The West Texas Panhandle.

Along part of old 66 in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Happy Motoring!

One can see a long way off.

The La Mesa Motel in Santa Rosa.

The precursor of the Visa card.

Little Rock

After leaving Memphis, I crossed the Mississippi heading for Little Rock, where I planned to check in early and take a nap. After that, I had some time in the afternoon to wander around downtown. Little Rock seemed southern, friendly, and (for me) surprisingly hip. I kinda wished I had some more time to spend there.

I had an excellent fish dinner at Flying Fish. I felt the spirit of Bill Clinton. I watched the Arkansas River flow. I slept well, and dreamed of the 90s.

The market area along the river.

The ghosts of old Little Rock.

Down by the river.

The Clinton Library.

"Just a Half a Mile from the Mississippi Bridge"

Hitting the road around 3am, I left Knoxville and headed West on I40 determined to get at least as far as Little Rock. It had rained most of the night, the cable was out on my hotel, dinner options had been few, so I wanted to get some miles behind me. I blew through Nashville at predawn and missed the traffic. Memphis was a few hours away.

My IPod shuffle mode was remarkably in sync with my travels as if some hidden microchip was in touch with higher beings. As I drove past the Manassas battlefield in Virginia it chose Wilco's version of When the Roses Bloom Again with its Civil War theme. In the Shenandoah, it played Bill Frisell's instrumental of - Shenandoah. Just outside of Memphis, home to Al Green, it played - Al Green. As I drove past Woody Guthrie's hometown on Oklahoma, it spit out - you guessed it. Entering California, it remarkably chose Wilco again, bookmarking the trip with their version of California Stars.

Having never been to Memphis before, I had to pull off just short of the Mississippi Bridge to explore, albeit briefly. I wandered around downtown for awhile. The general mood of the day was sleepy. So was I, but I was wired after six hours of driving.

Beale Street was nearby - an easy stroll. Few folks were on the streets.

Clean up from the revels of the previous evening were proceeding.

Elvis had left the room.

Most places were still closed at mid-morning.

Drink enuf of dis stuff and yo' ass will be big!

Sun Records - where Sam Philips first recorded Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and others. A place of worship to those of us who worship at the alter of rock 'n roll. I should go and record there one day.