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ruminations on the resident...       9.30

yourstruly & the monkeePopz having a fine time, amusing one another with lies & tall-tales...
ourowndamnselves never made it to the How Berkeley Can You Be parade, & although we passed by the park where all the art cars were parked much later that afternoon, we were intent our getting ourselves back to the safety & comfort provided within the hallowed halls of chez d'monquis that we didn't stop for any picture taking activities. Still considering a road trip (brief one) heading North, and likely depart early tomorrow Am, quien sabe...
in the spirit of the Doonesbury cartoon linked over on the left there, we also came across this Michael Kinsley piece at Slate earlier this Am.

holy boy! where does the time go...       9.27
yeeeeesssssh, seems like only yesterday that the monkeeMomz flew into town, (& yes, her arms were tired...) now she on the plane heading back to W. Texass, our beloved monkeePopz be showing up tomorrow for more fun & games at chez d'monquis...
couple of things we don't want to miss making mention of, firstly, Ten Years of Critical Mass, big turnout expected tonight;
next item of note, if you in the neighborhood, time for the
How Berkeley Can You Be? parade,
many Art Cars already spotted thruout the city, & w/a little luck yourstuly will be out there with camera in hand to provide some peekchoors for our dedicated dozen readers.
okayokayokay, we gotta get our lazy monkeybutt in gear,
lots of opportunity on the horizon re making your voice heard,
some info here: National Network to End the War Against Iraq; if you've not bookmarked MoveOn.org yet, what the hell are you waiting for?
and for those truly working hard at paying attention to those administration shenanigans
National Day of Resistance, Oct. 6th & 7th, prime movers: notinourname.net,
and if nothing's happening in YOUR neighborhood, call up some friends
& make it happen!

the ugly realities of modern politics...       9.26
just cannot be avoided, no matter now much energy one puts into that avoidance;
caught a bit of the evening news yesterday evening after the monkeeMomz & yourstruly
had wrapped up our day's labors on the d'monquis estate, and caught some items regarding reaction to Washington Post story which describes statements by the resident demeaning Demos in congress (links at Washington Post kinda screwy currently, but if you're watching the news yourself you know what we referring to). What made us squirm in our seats was watching that hag Condoleeza speak out of every side of her mouth available in response to some very pointed questioning on this & other subjects, & next up (oh, we were watching the News Hour on PBS) another republican party mucky-muck also spewing verbal diarrhea in an attempt to say "no no no, that's NOT what our beloved leader said.". Liars, all of them, horrible to witness, terrifying to know that they are running the show, all those goddamned liars. Sure, democrats have lies of their own, but we are witnessing some particularly odious examples of realpolitik.
this next item from The New Yorker, Hendrik Hertzberg, Declarations
& as this be the monkeeMomz last day w/ourowndamnself, we gonna try
and have some fun. She'll be on the plane returning to W. Texass tomorrow,
and our beloved monkeePopz be winging his way here on Saturday for a weeks
stay in the city by the bay, maybe he & me make a road trip north for a bit...

the mother & child reunion...       9.25
well, not exactly, but we are reveling in the excellent companionship provided by the monkeeMomz, part of our Am yesterday spent on brief trip into the city, and nice to be there and not be heading to the j-o-b, relaxing & enjoying a beautiful September morning, got to say that part of our intention in having the monkeeMomz&Popz out here over the next few days is to also provide myowndamself with some diversion from the ugly realities surrounding us, & you must know we speaking about the chanting that putrescent cretin in the white house is doing-- Must Kill Saddam, Must Go to War, American Hegemony is our Mantra, 'cause believe me, without the diversion & comfort provided by their closeness right now, things be approaching the red zone on the Dire Straits Meter.
so...       nice to see some activity over at wood s lot once again, and we just a little worried 'bout our fellow curmudgeon in high dudgeon, the Texas Tornado hisowndamnself, S. Baum, wizard behind the curtain at Ethel; S., we hopes all is well & you just otherwise occupied. O'course we always stoppin' in to visit our faves & pleased to see many of them pretty actively provided us with info & lovely linky goodness a plenty, many of whom we speaking 'bout can be found hereabouts. Yourstruly has intentions of sitting here & rambling on about a few things been on our mind of late, but dear katz&kitteez, that will have to come later, for now tho', a little graphic item, shot yesterday while in Yerba Buena Gardens, the Martin Luther King Memorial Fountain there, one of the glass plates underneath the waterfall upon which are inscribed some quotes from Dr. King's speeches, so w/out further ado...

feel like such a lucky guy sometimes...       9.22
but whoa boye, at other times, like whaleshit,
and you know that's on the bottom of the ocean.
what we gettin' at in somekinda roundabout way is the number of (and we'll not hesitate to use the word) friendships that have developed between our ol' simian self & a few other worldly blogsters out there. we'll avoid details but over this weekend we received notes from four of them all relating to various & sundry items, & in each instance a real pleasure to realize that we've now been familiar with one another nearly two years or so, and shared some parts of our lives thru this medium, the daily mention (or nearly daily) of the flotsam & jetsam eddying about us in whichever part of the river of life we be floating in currently, and speaking just for ourowndamnself, well, it's nice, ya know, nice... so, okay, this is important and we'd be amiss in a major way if we didn't mention it here (likely we mention it at American Samizdat as well). Whilst visiting various fave blogsters & miscelleaneous sites of note, we happened across news of a wonderful thing, courtesy Seņor Allen, the fine mind behind Textism, we were pleased to learn of an effort to provide some real assist to M. Woods (whom many of you know as the Wizard Behind the Curtain at wood s lot) that is being husbanded by a certain Euen Semple (HOORAY FOR EUEN!), the sterling individual responsible for The Obvious?, so, without any further ado, hie thyselves there, with great rapidity, & do the right thing.
otra cosa mas...
yourstruly reading a truly marvelous book currently, gonna share just a bit of it here:

          I had been noting that these people in the second village, desert folk, for centuries until a decade ago, had still not adapted to their new settings. They made a fire inside their house, which was certainly necessary with the mountain cold, but they had not modified the architecture from the way it was back down in the desert--still completely shut. Thus, the smoke accumulated to a horrendous extent. The village was filled with red eyes and tubercular coughs from the smoke. As soon as Cassiano had left for the night, I blew out the all-night fire he had left--my sleeping bag was warm enough, and the smoke was sickening. I went to sleep.

          Around midnight, I discovered the other reasons why they kept fires going all night. I awoke to a sound that will give me the chills for the rest of my life. I woke up thinking, Oh, it's raining. Then I thought, Oh, it's raining on me--I can feel the drops hitting my sleeping bag, my face. Then I remembered I was sleeping inside a hut. Suddenly, I was monstrously awake. Things were moving all over me. My hair was moving. I shined my flashlight around. The smoke was also meant to percolate through the grass thatched roof. This would drive away the giant cockroaches. In the absence of smoke, the cockroaches had poured in, all over the bags of maize meal. But this was not the real problem. Because following the cockroaches were the army ants.

         I would contend that army ants are the single most disgusting disquieting panic-provoking creatures in all of Africa. Their mere proximity leads me to twitch and moan and shudder and leap about with a Saint Vitus's dance of agitation. They came in swarms that cover square acres. They are huge with pincers that take pieces of meat out of you. They crawl all over you silently, before a single one bites, and then through some pheromonal alarm signal, they all attack at once. They eat your eyelids and nostrils and soft parts. They attack anything, kill invalids who cannot run away from bush hospitals. Once they dig in your skin with their pincers, they hold on so tightly that when you pull at them to get them off, the head detaches from the body, leaving the pincers still in you. The Masai use them to surture people--bad cut, and someone grabs an army ant, holds the two sides of the cut together, lets the pissed-off ant sink its pincers in, and, quickly, twists off the body, leaving rows of ant head sutures in place.

          But the worst thing about them is that when they attack, they hiss. A nightmare sound, the hiss of army ants, in the dark, sweeping over the field around you.

          The place was swarming with them, the raindrops falling down on me from the thatching. They weren't bothering with me. Yet. They were dismembering the zillions of cockroaches. There were roaches all over the maize sacks, and, horrifyingly, a three-dimensional bridge of ants, holding on to each other, had formed from the floor to the sacks, pulling off the cockroaches, ten times their size. I was covered, I was just furniture for the moment.

          I had to get out. A movement, a stepping on ants on the floor, would trigger all those on me to attack, but there was no other choice. The only question was whether the ant column encompassed the front of the hut. If so, I would just have to run off into the jungle night until I cleared them.

          I counted, procrastinated, made my move. By the second step, your body suddenly catches on fire. Flames, little flames, everywhere. You slap, scream, pull at them, keep moving. One on my eyelid, lips, many on my crotch, goddamn it. I burst outside, yelling, ripping my clothes off, rolling on the ground. Thank god the swarm was coming from the opposite end. I flailed, yelped, pulled ants off, spastically leapt about hammering a body part against the ground in an attempt to squash the ants. Cassiano and the rest of the village emerged and, predictably, found my plight hilarious. Once I had gotten the last of the ants off, gotten my clothes back on, I sheepishly explained what I had done. Disdainful of the ants, Cassiano leapt into his house, got a fire going, and soon the ants and remnants of the cockroach ocean were swept back into the forest.

          At dawn, we left for the mountain. Cassiano, barefoot, led the way, macheteing a path through the forest, for the lack of a preexisting one, until we reached the actual rock wall. From there, we bagan to climb, somewhat straight up. Precarious footings, scrambles across seams in the boulders where a shower of rock fragments would come off. It felt kind of unlikely, but he seemed to know what he was doing. An hour, two hours, exhausting, sweaty, fun, and we cleared the top. The highest point in the Sudan. A cascade of dizzying sights below--other granite peaks with birds looping around them. Forest below with the steam lifting off of it. And in the distance, the desert.

          On top of the mountain, at the highest point, was a rock cairn. It was pyramidal, with a central core. With rapid motions, almost curtly. Cassiano motioned me away from it. Quietly, reverently, he knelt down. From behind his ear, hidden in his hair, he pulled out a small bird feather, which he placed in the heart of the cairn. At that moment, I deeply envied every animist his religion.

that, an excerpt from A Primates's Memoir, author Robert M. Sapolsky,
been on our list of books to read since May '01

holycannoli!       9.21
today is Saturday, isn't it?
plenty of diversions coming jp's way this week,
beginning w/ week long visit from the monkeeMomz
followed by another week w/the monkeePopz,
w/hopes their presence'll encourage us to get something accomplished
(actually, make that some things, some MANY things) 'round chez d'monquis.
experienced a little drawback this Am, a little worrisome,
altho not a major malfunction, just one of those pleasant little
kicks in the behind the universe provides one when you so sure
alles ist gut!
yah, right....       b u l l s h i t . . .
there is one thing we wanted to pass along to our dedicated dozen readers,
tippin' da ol'red fez at C.T's effort over at Looka for pointing out
The Stepford Citizen Syndrome: Top 10 Signs Your Neighbor is Brainwashed

a w w w s h i t . . .       9.19
man, are we gonna miss our daily fix of mark-y-ness...
in re the sudden plethora of "How To Blog" publications available,
there has seldom been a clearer example of that creaky bromide,
"Those who can, Do; Those who cannot, Teach"
as Mark's efforts at wood s lot, alongside a very few other examples.

one of the pleasures we've yet to deny ourselves...       9.18
is a daily fine cuppa, perhaps coffee, perhaps some variety of tea,
& in our brief tenure at peet's, again performing numbahwunncustomahsuhviss,
we received a pretty damn fine education in both those lovely comestibles,
know the difference that exists in the cup of coffee from recently roasted beans
that originate from a grower who cares & puts effort into producing a quality crop,
brewed correctly, well, a minor pleasure, but a great one nevertheless.
What is important to realize here is the disparity between the economic livlihood afforded
by those very important producers of the product in comparison to the profiteering that goes on by the largest of the companies selling coffee to consumers around the world.
This, again my friends, is someplace where we can make some kind of difference. Small gestures, certainly, but in cooperation with your friends, family, neighbors & co-workers, all of us together, the kind of thing that can bring about some change,
perhaps for the good of those in need.
from the Guardian UK, Oxfam Takes On the Coffee Kings;
courtesy Oxfam, Make Trade Fair;
yourstruly hopes you don't be buying your swill from s***b**ks,
altho they do support Fair Trade, we hope you support your local purveyor
of quality brewed beverages, BUT make sure you ask them
if they are supporting Fair Trade,
and if not, WHY!?

whilst we're still atop our soapbox hereabouts...      
eventually, push is going to come to shove on this issue,
el residente is way too confident that he's gonna shove hard enough to have his way
he needs to be reminded that his way is the wrong way,
so, goddamit, write your congressperson & senators & tell them what you think, PLEASE...
the preceding rant inspired by SF Chron/SF Gate story,
Some Bay Area Democrats may oppose Iraq attack.

as ephemeral as these things are...       9.17
we are often entertained & amused by them nevertheless;
from the official record of visitors, "i feel quite dumb".

ahhh, yahhh, jessferdahalibut,
today's Daily Bleed
okay, datz enuf fa' now, mebbe mo' layteh...

hallo to all youse katz & kitteez...       9.16
aghhhh, spent part of our weekend dogged by disappointment,
the other in an attempt at rising above that minor unhappiness;
uhhhh, anyone who happened across yourstruly late yesterday Am,
& found yourself wondering "hey dood, whasssup wit da hair, boye?"
well, we'd spent the morning on an extended traipse through
the wonder known locally as the bulb, but also often referred to as
the Albany Waterfront Park, & as it was a somewhat blustery morn,
we were as surprised as any of the witnesses were at the mighty
pompadour we were sporting as we were heading back towards
chez d'monquis, and, well, it would likely have been the envy of
many a struggling Elvis impersonator. Whoooo Hoooooo...
more about our adventures at the bulb later,
with peektchoors...
something we heard this Am on the way in to the j-o-b,
(and we miss Rod Sterling & his intelligence very much)
from npr.org, Present at the Creation: Twilight Zone
brief aside to thank those kind readers who've written
and provided linkage helpful in locating books in response
to mention last week of my desire to locate "Heavenly Discourse";
haven't picked up a copy yet, that is one of this week's projects, but hey,
Thank You! & you know who y'all are...

briefly now...       9.13
had to stop by here to make mention of
tonite's POV broadcast of Afghanistan, Year 1380
check your local PBS listings...

yourstruly developed the habit early...       9.10
in our life as a youngster, thanks to comic books and
then learning to use our public library. it must've been in
the eighth or ninth grade when we first came across a small book,
and largely by accident, cannot recall if anyone in particular was
responsible for our introduction to Heavenly Discourse by C.E.S. Wood,
unlike the certain knowledge of S. Partido's responsibility in introducing us
to Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn, particularly the "good bits", very possibly
around the same time. Ennyway, a preliminary & cursory search for data on that
little book by Mr. Wood brought forth a few results, some of which we will provide
linkage to in a moment, but nothing much about Heavenly Discourse itself (I think there
may have even been a second volume, but the dust & cobwebs in the vaults of memory
may be obscuring the actual recollection) yet has inspired us to visit some of our fave used
book purveyors and perhaps with some little good fortune we'll locate a copy of a book
we've some fond memories of. In the meantime, a couple of things from Mr. Wood:
circa 1902, Uncle Sam's Solo in the Concert of Powers
from The Century, May 1884, Chief Joseph, the Nez Perce.
we'll attempt to keep you posted re our search for a volume of Heavenly Discourse,
but for now, sort of inspired by the events of the last year, and yourstruly
firmly believes the less said about the occurrance of a year ago tomorrow, the better,
so we'll just leave you with a couple of items along with notice that we'll likely not
be back here till the weekend or thereabouts. peace, dear friends, I wish you peace...
On the Reign of Stupidity;
a fellow by the name of Fred Carter answers The Questionnaire;
and this one, jessferdahalibut...
not proselytizing, just saying there's another way.

a brief and minor aside here,
i was better than three quarters of the way thru this little effort,
when windoze decided to shut down all on it's own, FUCK ME! I shouted
(yah i wish!) and then a small miracle occurred, once we got the mongoose back
up and running, and launched HomeSite (where we prefer to do the lengthy pieces,
rather than in the pitas proggie) it had recovered and saved almost the entire effort,
and now, since I am feeling rather lucky & cocky about it, I'm getting the hell outta dodge and will be back in a few days. Ciao, amici mio,
be nice to one another while we're away...

& I ask myself...       9.9
how would I manage if in the same situation?
not with as much aplomb & savoir faire, I'm afraid...
gail a. shares a very worrisome day with us;
and yesssss, we are so glad only the milk was lost...
so now, in another part of the world,
the news can make your head spin & boy, am I dizzy...
US backs Colombian rights record;
from Amnesty International,
Columbia: Behind a Wall of Silence.
and for an extra measure of chewy, linky goodness,
they're getting on Tony's case, oh joy, oh rapture...
possibly require surgery to remove the PM's nose
from its position snugly & firmly ensconced within
the cheeks of a certain moron's posterior...

yah, that pretty well sums it up...       9.7
courtesy the magnificent Riley Dog,
The Fellowship of the Ring,
from The Hand Puppet Movie Theatre

later pm mention...       9.6
of fine poetry event taking place on Saturday (tomorrow)
WATERSHED, Environmental Poetry Festival
thanks to the fine folks at Poetry Flash

funky friday fricassee...      
team USA gets beat again, tol' ya dose boys cannot play defense...
including some linkage here that's been cluttering up the desktop for a while:
we always enjoy visiting the Sole Proprietor's Journal;
and continuing in the spirit of images/photos to peruse,
the Camera Works site from the Washing Post;
mebbe not new to you, but foto8 is new to yourstruly;
we'd also not been aware of auroraphotos.com previously;
& here's another place to peruse some worthwhile material,
association of alternative newsweeklies;
local stuff for local folk, right in our neighborhood this Sunday,
the 2002 Solano Stroll, be there or be elsewhere...
we may or may not be back here later, depending on the tenor
of the day, could be busy here at the fishwrap,
but for now, some goodies from Sierra Magazine, On-line,
The Big Book of Bush
and whilst on the subject of warmongers & those individuals
in service to the furthering of their own personal fortunes,
Mr. Morford weighs in on a certain vice-resident

don't be cruel now...       9.5
appears yourstruly'll be wearing bi-focals before too much longer;
as we nearing the half century mark (WHAT!?), we thought it
most opportune to attend to our health & physical welfare,
step one being a visit to the U.C. Berkeley School of Optometry,
where we always feel well attended to & that we're actually contributing something
towards somebuddy's future out in the world. It had been some long while
since we'd last had an eye exam/update on the prescription, nothing
surprising, some changes, and have accomodated ourself to the fact that
these old eyes need some additional assistance, especially when
it comes to that teeny, tiny typeface some of you SO fond of. ennyway, enuf of dat...
so the team USA hoopsters got beat by Argentina. Way to Go, Argentines.
what a waste that USA squad is, the Sparks could beat those guys, and what ugliness to witness, when someone gets beat like a drum on a play, and as they turn around to come back down the court, PURPOSELY steps on the back of the player who beat them Like A Drum. O'Neal (and we not talking the Shaq-ster) you are a Punk!
we hope the bad-dream team gets their butt kicked a few more times actually.
More positive sports news that you won't usually find mentioned here. GO A's. I enjoy baseball a lot more towards the end of that interminable season, the tension in a good playoff race, the wonderful contests that appear between a pitcher and the opposing team's best hitter/s, the split second teamwork involved in double & triple plays, oh yah, and having been in the Bay Area since the old Charly Finley Oak-town A's days, well, we have a soft spot in our heart for those fellas, and the post Giambi A's in particular, well, we SO happy to see them have opportunity to extend this marvelous streak once the nonsense & stupidity of a strike was hurdled, & last night, well, we tuned in early, saw they had a substantial lead and thought to ourself, oh good, number twenty is in the books and didn't realize till this Am how close they came to giving it away yet ONCE AGAIN, the latest of late inning heroics allows them to walk off the field with a 12-11 winning score and the twentieth win in this steak. Yah, boye, we appreciates that and we be very happy for all of those young fellas on the A's squad, well done.
oh, and in light of our visit yesterday to the eye doc,
this at Poetry Daily, today

late breaking Am news for local guitar lovers,
California World Guitar Show 2002 (San Rafael),
September 7-8 at the Marin Civic Center, Avenue of the Flags, in San Rafael.
For more info call (800) 453-7469, (918) 288-2222, fax (918) 288-2888.
Co-sponsored by Vintage Guitar magazine.
found the news in today's Chronicle, discovered this link online,
but so far no luck with that texasguitarshows.com link...

oh, dem changes...       9.4
right here, right now, wanna say "Thanks Mark!"
& we be speaking about the bright mind behind wood s lot
because for a long while now we have admired his way with a weblog,
and here very recently, have found some kind of otherworldly
(cue the Twilight Zone theme music here) co-inky-dinky stuff happening when
we visiting said effort of the esteemed Mark. Over the weekend,
for example, we watching AMC and caught their broadcast of The Last Waltz
during their weekend long music in the movies extraganza, and yourstruly's
sitting there watching Van Morrison, remembering back in the day when we
first picked up guitar, involved in our first band, working out in the garage,
one of the first songs we learned to play was Gloria, by Them,
later, when walking home from football practice after school,
carrying transistor radio (WAY back in the pre-walkthing day)
hearing Brown Eyed Girl for the first time, and all the years since,
aware of Van & his music, how much of it makes up the soundtrack
behind this primate's life, and later that night we stop & visit Mark's place,
well,
imagine our astonishment at the moment of realizing it happened to be Van's B.D.

back on the killing floor...       9.3
firstly, J. Carroll,
History will look back and say, Jeeminy Yow!;
secondly, happy 3rd Anniversary to J.@ footprints,
& an aside to J. re J. Lewis,
yahhh, several somebodies if you ask yourstruly... ;
WHAT? Tony Blair? Really?
Blair's Summit Rebuff to Bush
damn, Tony, didn't know ye had it in ye Laddie...
& oh yah, re that waste of good space in the white house,
some interesting numbers re el residente

hey, are we havin' fun or wha'?       9.2
NOT...
so, we get a nice notification from the nice folks at morons.org
oh, mebbe every week or so, & as we're surrounded by the bastards,
perhaps you ought to be more aware of their activities, too.
at the moment we've been frustrated by attempts to
add another post to American Samizdat this Am so
we'll just post the item here for the time being whilst
cursing the contrariness of the proggie known as blogger.

oh what a mighty tool blogger be...
a mighty piece of shit at times, a mighty pain in the arse...
so, we'll give this post another attempt and perhaps it will work, this time
yourstruly attended this late April event, and was reminded of it this Am
when visiting the Atlantic On-line and noticing announcement of winning
National Magazine Award in catgory of Public Interest
for Ms. Power's Bystanders to Genocide.
Coincidentally, we also happened across
C-Span re-broadcast of Ms. Power discussing her book
over the course of an uneventful weekend at chez d'monquis.
We're also obliged to offer up thanks to the esteemed S.J. Green,
who's now also a fellow harbinger & contributor here, for his inclusion
of link to Crying for Justice at his own excellent effort, Plep,
truly a motherlode of chewy, linky goodness.

yessssss, yourstruly feelin' sorta cranky & out of sorts at the moment,
depressed & angry monkeys tend to fling shit around when
they feelin' that way, so Watch Out!

sunday, & the first of september...      
brief mention of a few items, first, from the N.Y. Times,
'The Writer and the World': The Blunt Opinions of a Professional Provocateur;
something about something new from one of our favorite scribes, Paul Auster.
it has always provided us a frisson of pleasure to be included in
the list of back-scratching links at the Paul Auster, The Definitve Website

next, a leftover from yesterday evening's late entry,
late Sat nite heads-up...      
yourstruly believes this country'd be alot better off
if good stuff like this wasn't only scheduled on
holiday weekends and only viewable on C-Span,
Howard Zinn, Live, on In Depth, Sunday 9am PST
okay, the rest of you can go and watch amurrican idle &
all that network crap-ola now, stay dumb, stay numb...

and this last, in memory of a departed friend,
it was on a sunday morning a year ago...