August 3, 2014

August 3, 2014

As a child my role model was Dennis the Menace.  Mostly due to his rebellious nature and the cowlick on the top of his blonde head.  I wasn’t blonde, but I did have the cowlick, as well as assorted stripped t-shirts and blue jeans.   The other famous item that Dennis owned was a sling-shot, and that too was part of my uniform when I was around six years old.  I remember that it was extremely important to keep the sling-shot in the back pocket. I never actually used it, but it was an essential fashion accessory for me at the time.  As an only child, I often went out and played with only my imagination as my guide.  Without a doubt, the first character that I took on, was Dennis.  It was the first time that I didn’t depend on my true identity, but adopted myself to another identity.  The truth is I was a very well behaved child, but with the identity of Dennis, I can act out my aggressions against the world, with just my clothing and sling-shot placed in the rear pocket.

As I got older, I became aware of the TV series “Dennis The Menace” starring Jay North.   The casting was perfect, and he was totally believable as Dennis, but still, I was more attracted to the comic strip than anything else.  The 3D image of Dennis was hard for me to take, and I could only really accept the Dennis that was drawn on a page on a dirty newspaper.   Also I started obtaining mass-market paperback editions of the Dennis cartoons.  So over a short period of time I came into possession of a “Dennis” collection.   When we lived as a family in San Francisco, we used to go to the North Beach district to eat and go to City Lights Bookstore.  At one of the coffee shops nearby Chinatown, I approached a pair of police officers having coffee at their table.  My parents were in the next table, but they let me go to them.  The police officer patted my head, and asked what I wanted to be when I grow up.  Noticing that both of them had guns, I told them I wished to be an assassin.  At that point, I think my parents pretended that they didn’t know or own me.  Nevertheless I was taken into a role of my imagination where the character Dennis was a killer, but he killed with his sling-shot.  Now bear in mind I was totally aware that this was role playing, but still, perhaps not the wisest thing in the world to approach two tired cops on a coffee break.

Although not a fan of the TV series, I did follow Jay North as he went on to another series called “Maya.” The TV show was about a boy who wandered around India with a Hindu boy played by Sajid Khan and their elephant and her baby calf, a sacred white elephant.  The narrative of the white elephant in Hinduism is the fact that it belongs to the god Indra.  King Bimbisara had one white elephant and he gave it to his son Vihallakumara which caused a certain amount of jealousy for his other son Ajatasatru.  Eventually it gave rise to two of the most horrible wars in history known as “Mahasilakantaka & Ratha-musala.  As far as I know this has nothing to do with the show “Maya.” But on the other hand North and his co-star Khan became teen idols, and as I was a regular purchaser of magazines like “Tiger Beat” and “16” I pretty much followed the party line and became fans of both actors as well as their show.  But at this time, I had to give up the sling-shot, but still kept the haircut as well as the stripped shirt.

“Maya” was my initial introduction to India.  I never visited India, and I slightly knew of India probably through various Kipling tales as well as Sambo’s diner, which the restaurant’s mascot was taken from a South Indian literary figure.  So it is safe to say I knew nothing of India.  My actual introduction to an Indian from India was going to the Santa Monica civic to hear Jiddu Krishnamurti speak.  There was no fee or charge to go to the civic, which struck me odd, because I have gone there numerous times for rock n’ roll shows, which of course one had to pay to get in.  But here, it was free, and I’m not sure why I went with my dad to see Krishnamurti.  For me, it was probably to kill time, but what was interesting to me was his personality.  A woman from the audience came up to the stage and sat in front of Krishnamurti’s foot.  Krishnamurti was very straight forward to her that he didn’t like her to be seated in front of him in such a fashion.  Many years later I read about him, and regardless of the fact that I never read any of his books, I was impressed that as a youngster he was the chosen one by the Theosophical Society to lead or become “World Teacher.” Eventually Krishnamurti denounced that specific role, due that he claimed allegiance to no nationality, caste, religion, or philosophy.  He also disbanded the organization that chose him as a leader of sorts.

For me there was something wise about Dennis the Menace, and I think he may have a soul-brother in Krishnamurti.  The ability to act out as a child when I was actually a little boy brought me closer to who I am.  Krishnamurti I believe was told to act out a certain role that would please those around him, but he said “nah” and stayed focused on his inner talents.  He didn’t want to delude his message or questioning of the world in front of him.  There is a purity in both characters.  Yet, overall, it is but a journey from one destination to another.  As the English poet Rupert Brooke once wrote: “,Well this side of Paradise!… There’s little comfort in the wise.”

February 24, 2014

February 24, 2014

My all time favorite album is Michel Legrand’s “Play For Dancers” which is the U.S. title for “Archi-Cordes.” So when I woke up this morning to do my regular ritual of putting this album on my turntable, I noticed two things.  One, my turntable was missing, and two, the album was gone as well.  In fact, 1,406 pieces of vinyl were gone, missing, not in front of me, and not in the house.  I slowly looked up from the space that was formerly occupied by my record player and I noticed that the Sony wide-screen TV set is as well, now an empty space.  I had to sit down as panic slowly crept up from the left arm to my neck and eventually settled in my brain.  

Although a total surprise, I shouldn’t be.  As I wrote in a previous journal entry, we have been having trouble with a borrower's issue, where our thoughts were kidnapped and then returned to us.  When I walked around the house, I noticed that all the windows were secured and the doors were locked.  I immediately felt that an ex-girlfriend who had a key may have came in and took my precious items away.  Having my first cup of coffee, I realize that this is not the situation due that my wife has strict rules about me making keys for ex-girlfriends, and two, I really don’t have an ex-girlfriend.   This case was getting more troubling to me as the minutes dragged on.  Especially when I noticed that the only piece of art that I have in my collection (of one) is missing as well.  Richard Hamlton’s painting of Mick Jagger and Robert Fraser being arrested called “Swinging London, 67.” Shit, how much more pain can one take on a Monday morning.  The fact that someone (and let’s face it, we have to presume it's the Borrowers at this point and time) took albums, that I think only I can care about.  For instance is there anyone out there that would want the entire vinyl catalog from Paul Jones?

Also over the years, I have been slowly collecting all films and TV appearances from my favorite actor from the late 60’s and early 70’s, Pete Duel, who starred in the TV series “Alias Smith & Jones.” He was born with the name Pete Deuel, but had it changed because he consulted a numerologist who advised him that his original name was unlikely.  Nevertheless the troubled actor shot him self and died in the morning of December 31, 1971.  

Now, noticing that my old VHS tapes of Duel’s performances on “Alias Smith & Jones” were missing like my record collection, I decided to take stock of my life at this moment.   Ever since I left my job one and a half years ago, I have been just focusing on working on my memoir.   But it seems that every fifth page of writing, I noticed the amount of money in my bank account would go down as well.  The more I spend time writing, the less money comes in.   I thought “fuck it, ” I’m moving to Tokyo.  My wife and I purchased tickets to leave for Japan on February 26th, hopefully in time to see the cherry blossom trees on Meguro Dori, as well as trying to locate the old Michel Legrand and Paul Jones albums from the local record shops in Shinjuku and Shibuya.  It is time to make a fresh start.  The one thing I know how that I must keep up on my writing of this journal, and finish off my memoir.  After that, I will let fate take over my life.

January 31, 2014

January 31, 2014

Today is January 31, and the way I see this date, it’s 31 days of failure. Since January 1, I have worked on a novel that is based on the life of actor James Franciscus who starred in the 1950’s TV show “Naked City.” I know nothing of his private life, but his face over the years stayed with me, as if it was glued into by brain. It is his face that I first think of when awake in the mornings. Mind you it is no longer a nightmare, but something about his features gives me comfort.

I’ve been formatting the narrative every day since the first. At first, I based a narration from one of the many “Naked City” episodes. Which by the way is a fantastic show. Mostly filmed on location, one sees New York City as if it was shot by Weegee. There is one episode where he shoots a criminal, but feels really bad about it. It was the first time that in his career as a cop, where he had to shoot someone. Even though it was a life and death situation, if he didn’t shoot the guy, he would have got shot. But still, he couldn’t erase the feeling of dread due to the actions of the thug as well as his response to the creep. I thought of this narrative on a regular basis and I was trying to write my own version of the story, but it always came out bland and pointless. It was at this time I wondered if I had the talents to become a writer, and actually if I had the talent to write a novel. 

The insecurity that swelled up inside me was almost too much. Once I get that nagging feeling I immediately try to make of something else. Usually I put on the vinyl copy of “Diamond Head” by Phil Manzanera who is also the guitarist for Roxy Music. From 1972 to maybe 1976, this was a band that couldn’t do wrong -either as a group or as solo artists. I always looked up to Bryan Ferry and company as a platform of excellence. But for my taste, Manzanera never let me down. He and Johnny Rotten are probably the two music figures that I admire the most. When I tried to be a visual artist, I did an oil portrait of Manzanera and Rotten sitting on a park bench in Echo Park by the man-made lake. The painting struck me as pretentious so I never finished it, which of course caused anxiety and depression. I then thought of making a statue, in sort of Robert Graham style, of both of them, standing tall and shaking hands. It would have become a commentary on the nature or relationship between prog/glam and punk rock. But this as well, failed, due that I don’t have any talent in making sculptures.

My novel I’m writing is slowly killing me. It looks as though I am so focused on Franciscus for no real reason. Now I have the fear that readers will think i 'm putting this character in for no reason, and perhaps they’re right. Writers make terrible decisions, and readers are always right. They can smell a phony writer or artist a mile away.

What makes this current ‘failure’ the worst, is that I left my job of 25 years to write this novel. I reckoned that if I did something so drastic as to cut my line to economic security, it will somehow make me a better writer, or in a sense to put out or shut up. Now I feel that the public will expect me to shut up.

I pretty much stay in the house, just to focus on the writing, but at times I feel I need to go out and sort of see the world in a fresh light. I took the 92 bus to Spring Street, and hung out at The Last Bookstore. I wanted to buy some records there, but regardless of the fact that the prices were inexpensive, I felt I shouldn’t spend any money right now. I left the store and headed towards Broadway, where I come upon a bar/restaurant called Les Noces du Figaro. It was happy hour, and I thought. Wow I need a glass of wine. I went in, and there were not that many people there, which is the way I like a bar. I ordered a glass of wine, which came to $4. For whatever reason, I thought that this was the best $4 investment I made since the first of this month.

TamTam Books' Tribute to Korla Pandit

Korla Pandit maybe a required taste type of artist, but there is something so powerful in his music and of course image. While working on my memoir I often play the album down below that just came out on El Records. It's a superb collection of his music that was recorded sometime in the early 50's.



I have a faint memory of seeing his TV show, but it must have been a dream of some sort. As a family we didn't have a TV set till the late 50's or early 60's. So I must have seen some of this footage on a TV show about early programming. I am not sure but I think the footage down below was a show only for the Los Angeles market.



The opening number to his TV show.

They said women were under his spell while watching this show. I would like to think that was true.


"Miserlou" 1951


"Kumar"

I met him briefly in the 90's Both of us were at a party for Buzz Magazine. I felt strange meeting an icon from my childhood.