Carlifornia
On January 13, I left Sciacca for a trip to California, to visit my good high school friend Carl. Initially I had planned to fly out and spend a few days with him in December, but as he was going to be a bachelor for three weeks in his beautiful setting near Berkeley in January, and because I had air miles to make the trip for little cost, I decided to put off that trip until the kids left Europe, I had caught my breath, and then make it a longer stay.
I overnighted in Chicago, as I did not trust the Chicago weather or Alitalia for me to make a connecting flight on a different airline in the middle of winter. It was a good thing that I did for two reasons. First of all, a cousin of my friend Calogero Colletti at Paneficio Americana wanted some cheese forms, or cheese molds, from Sciacca so that he could make his own Ricotta. I was able to drop those off to him when I was in Chicago. It was fun going through customs, and then getting everyone worried as I had checked that I was indeed carrying molds with me, and then seeing them shake their heads when the molds were plastic, and not living things. That is one of the fun things about American Security. I also got a good night's sleep at the hotel, which was very nice indeed. I had cracked a rib in early January, and it was difficult to sleep on the plane, and not really easy to sleep at the hotel, but I managed.
The flight to California was without incident, and Carl and I had a grand time. Music. Poetry. Wine. Art. Who could ask for more.
Bassist Marcus Shelby had organized a Music and the Arts event at the beautiful new art museum in Golden Gate Park. The museum was well designed, and I wish that some of the displays had been better hung, or that they had better art work there. When the interface between live jazz and paintings started, about 300 people crowded around the entrance hall, more interested in talking with each other than the good music being played. It was a bit of a disappointment, but I did get to hear and see Marcus, whose music I have enjoyed for several years now, both in Sicily and in the states.
Other musical highlights included two open mic nights at the Freight and Salvage Coffee House in Berkeley. The first was for folk singers, and it was the sort of collection of folks that give open mic nights a bad name. There were a few good acts, and a lot of faces apparently familiar to the usual crowd. However some of the music was just plain bad, and other bits of music were worse. The second was an open mic for singer songwriters, and the quality was much higher, and the new folk songs quite good. So if you get a chance, go to the first for a laugh or two, and go to the second to hear some good music. We were tempted by some of their other singers, but never got back there for one of their name brand shows.
That did not stop us from going to an open mic poetry slam at the Plow and Stars, also in Berkeley. Again, the performances were mixed, with some of the folks doing a pretty good job, and some of the slam poetry also making some good poetry. At the end of the open mic, and before the quarter finals to see who won the slam, two invited slammers got up to do their shtick, and one of them was excellent. The other was better than okay.
And that did not end poetry for us. We also drove one Sunday afternoon to the far side of Walnut Creek, where there was a small poetry reading at a little coffee house in a shopping mall. I actually read a poem there. It was no worse, and I think no better, than the average poem of the afternoon. I think the best part of that experience was when six policemen came in, each ordering some sort of drink that required mixing and grinding, making it almost impossible to hear the poetry being read by soft voiced, gentle poets of the California hills.
And there was so much more. Of course we had to make our pilgrimage to City Lights Books (and of course I had to buy far too many books there), and Carl took me to see how a once great bookstore in Berkeley had gone down hill when bought by a conglomerate. So sad to see such things happen.
We also went to a wine tasting in Oakland, by the container port. The wine was good, and the place disorganized enough so that they doubled our order on one wine at no charge. Unfortunately, we had only ordered one bottle, but it tasted especially good to us. Then we got a call from a friend of Carl's about a Dry River winery that had just changed hands, and they were trying to get rid of some of their old stock - being the current years bottling. So we drove up there and got three cases of wine that used to be 15 to 20 dollars a bottle for three dollars a bottle. Again, the wine was good, and the prices sort of reminded us of our days in high school, and Les Dorner's liquor store at the corner of May Street and South Avenue (or Frost Liquors, on East Genesee Street).
There was also time with Carl's son Josh and his bride of nearly six months. Josh had finished the first draft of a pretty interesting novel, and Carl and I read it and critiqued it, and Josh said he would work on a revision, if his studies in early childhood education, and Jewish cultural studies did not get in the way.
Claudia and Kyla returned to California from a three week adventure in Australia (they said it was Australia, not Austria, because there were kangaroos), and we watched Kyla prepare for her third year at Long Beach State. We also managed to go to a jazz club in North Beach where David Fathead Newman was playing. If you have seen the movie Ray, he is the sax player that was with Ray Charles at the very beginning, when he was into only jazz, and he is the one who had such a bitter break up at one point. Newman has lost none of his chops, and is still going strong at 75 years old. Bravo.
And there was more that we did. The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art was wonderful, and the exhibits varied from interesting to breathtaking. The one thing that really bothered me was a photographic exhibit of war re-in actors. These folks were recreating parts of the Vietnam war in an area of Virginia. I can not imagine the folks who lived through that mess wanting to be a part of it again. Ah me.
I overnighted in Chicago, as I did not trust the Chicago weather or Alitalia for me to make a connecting flight on a different airline in the middle of winter. It was a good thing that I did for two reasons. First of all, a cousin of my friend Calogero Colletti at Paneficio Americana wanted some cheese forms, or cheese molds, from Sciacca so that he could make his own Ricotta. I was able to drop those off to him when I was in Chicago. It was fun going through customs, and then getting everyone worried as I had checked that I was indeed carrying molds with me, and then seeing them shake their heads when the molds were plastic, and not living things. That is one of the fun things about American Security. I also got a good night's sleep at the hotel, which was very nice indeed. I had cracked a rib in early January, and it was difficult to sleep on the plane, and not really easy to sleep at the hotel, but I managed.
The flight to California was without incident, and Carl and I had a grand time. Music. Poetry. Wine. Art. Who could ask for more.
Bassist Marcus Shelby had organized a Music and the Arts event at the beautiful new art museum in Golden Gate Park. The museum was well designed, and I wish that some of the displays had been better hung, or that they had better art work there. When the interface between live jazz and paintings started, about 300 people crowded around the entrance hall, more interested in talking with each other than the good music being played. It was a bit of a disappointment, but I did get to hear and see Marcus, whose music I have enjoyed for several years now, both in Sicily and in the states.
Other musical highlights included two open mic nights at the Freight and Salvage Coffee House in Berkeley. The first was for folk singers, and it was the sort of collection of folks that give open mic nights a bad name. There were a few good acts, and a lot of faces apparently familiar to the usual crowd. However some of the music was just plain bad, and other bits of music were worse. The second was an open mic for singer songwriters, and the quality was much higher, and the new folk songs quite good. So if you get a chance, go to the first for a laugh or two, and go to the second to hear some good music. We were tempted by some of their other singers, but never got back there for one of their name brand shows.
That did not stop us from going to an open mic poetry slam at the Plow and Stars, also in Berkeley. Again, the performances were mixed, with some of the folks doing a pretty good job, and some of the slam poetry also making some good poetry. At the end of the open mic, and before the quarter finals to see who won the slam, two invited slammers got up to do their shtick, and one of them was excellent. The other was better than okay.
And that did not end poetry for us. We also drove one Sunday afternoon to the far side of Walnut Creek, where there was a small poetry reading at a little coffee house in a shopping mall. I actually read a poem there. It was no worse, and I think no better, than the average poem of the afternoon. I think the best part of that experience was when six policemen came in, each ordering some sort of drink that required mixing and grinding, making it almost impossible to hear the poetry being read by soft voiced, gentle poets of the California hills.
And there was so much more. Of course we had to make our pilgrimage to City Lights Books (and of course I had to buy far too many books there), and Carl took me to see how a once great bookstore in Berkeley had gone down hill when bought by a conglomerate. So sad to see such things happen.
We also went to a wine tasting in Oakland, by the container port. The wine was good, and the place disorganized enough so that they doubled our order on one wine at no charge. Unfortunately, we had only ordered one bottle, but it tasted especially good to us. Then we got a call from a friend of Carl's about a Dry River winery that had just changed hands, and they were trying to get rid of some of their old stock - being the current years bottling. So we drove up there and got three cases of wine that used to be 15 to 20 dollars a bottle for three dollars a bottle. Again, the wine was good, and the prices sort of reminded us of our days in high school, and Les Dorner's liquor store at the corner of May Street and South Avenue (or Frost Liquors, on East Genesee Street).
There was also time with Carl's son Josh and his bride of nearly six months. Josh had finished the first draft of a pretty interesting novel, and Carl and I read it and critiqued it, and Josh said he would work on a revision, if his studies in early childhood education, and Jewish cultural studies did not get in the way.
Claudia and Kyla returned to California from a three week adventure in Australia (they said it was Australia, not Austria, because there were kangaroos), and we watched Kyla prepare for her third year at Long Beach State. We also managed to go to a jazz club in North Beach where David Fathead Newman was playing. If you have seen the movie Ray, he is the sax player that was with Ray Charles at the very beginning, when he was into only jazz, and he is the one who had such a bitter break up at one point. Newman has lost none of his chops, and is still going strong at 75 years old. Bravo.
And there was more that we did. The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art was wonderful, and the exhibits varied from interesting to breathtaking. The one thing that really bothered me was a photographic exhibit of war re-in actors. These folks were recreating parts of the Vietnam war in an area of Virginia. I can not imagine the folks who lived through that mess wanting to be a part of it again. Ah me.
posted by Steve at 5:14 PM
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