Chico is a blues town, a poor man’s Austin, but rarely has it seen such pedigree. Cotton may well be the last surviving blues master.
In 1973, it was $73.00 per semester to attend a California state college, and $225.00 per quarter at U.C. Berkeley (where they smoked pipes in tweed and played chess). I went to three schools, contingent on a proffered couch or artistic collaboration. I was escaping my insane father, and staving off the workforce. Like today’s […]
MANAS ART SPACE My laundromat’s adjacent, so I learned of the “pay to display” exhibit from one of a rotating cadre of eccentric hippie mamas, a la Dragnet 1969.
“Indie Rock” is a euphemism for weak, tepid drivel, espoused by seekers of a key-ring limelight. The Maltese is the go-to bar for this.
My family was not content to pull the rug up from under me, they wanted me to sell everything I owned, or give it to them if I tried.
We were supposed to focus only on the now, and not what was happening outside or on Facebook or who was texting us.
Didn’t Poe’s Roderick Usher torch the place when the house, his family, and his own mind turned on him?
“You must eat almonds and romaine.” -My mom’s Hindu friend, before reincarnating
Now I can take the lowlife-infested hour-long bus to Chico and hang with the homeless in the Park Plaza waiting for hot fish to fall (you know what I think of the fish from that store). Maybe “cementized” rocks will pelt some pitbulls and they’ll go insane like when it thunders.
I was in the ‘Dangerous: Keep Away’ market (Shemp Howard would pronounce it with an Australian accent as ‘DANGEROO: KEP AWAI’). The manager, customer service rep, checkers, and baggers were braced for my attack. I felt I had it in me, but merely muttered “FUCKING IDIOTS!” (Like Daniel Baldwin, I weighed 210), slamming my Cossack […]