My Blog

Burning Man?

Mikal — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 20:28:12 GMT

(Written *almost fifty years ago*. Funny how Br. Tom's metaphors have become *literal reality* ...) Advice to a Young Prophet by Thomas James Merton Keep away, son, these lakes are salt. These flowers Eat insects. Here private lunatics Yell and skip in a very dry country. Or where some haywire monument Some badfaced daddy of fear Commands an unintelligent rite. To dance on the unlucky mountain, To dance they go, and shake the sin Out of their feet and hands, Frenzied until the sudden night Falls very quiet, and magic sin Creeps, secret, back again. Badlands echo with omens of ruin: Seven are very satisfied, regaining possession: (Bring a little mescaline, you’ll get along!) There’s something in your bones, There’s someone dirty in your critical skin, There’s a tradition in your cruel misdirected finger Which you must obey, and scribble in the hot sand: “Let everybody come and attend Where lights and airs are fixed To teach and entertain. O watch the sandy people Hopping in the naked bull’s-eye, Shake the wildness out of their limbs, Try to make peace like John in skins Elijah in the timid air or Anthony in tombs: Pluck the imaginary trigger, brothers. Shoot the devil: he’ll be back again!” America needs these fatal friends Of God and country, to grovel in mystical ashes, Pretty big prophets whose words don’t burn, Fighting the strenuous imago all day long. Only these lunatics, (O happy chance) Only these are sent. Only this anaemic thunder Grumbles on the salt flats, in rainless night: O go home, brother, go home! The devil’s back again, And magic Hell is swallowing flies.

Memorial Day

Mikal — Mon, 26 May 2008 19:16:49 GMT

(Note: the figures herein are several years out of date. As of today, there is only one [1] American World War I vet still alive. Too, there are probably two-million-odd fewer WWII, Korean and Vietnam vets alive since this list was compiled. (Whatever the numbers, today we recognize those men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for this nation. (P.S. As with last year's Thanksgiving post: if you have any hipster/contrarian snark ready to spew, please re-insert it in the orifice from whence it came.) Decoration Day, now Memorial Day. American Revolution (1775–1783) Total servicemembers 217,000 Battle deaths 4,435 War of 1812 (1812–1815) Total servicemembers 286,730 Battle deaths 2,260 Indian Wars (approx. 1817–1898) Total servicemembers 106,0001 Battle deaths 1,0001 Mexican War (1846–1848) Total servicemembers 78,718 Battle deaths 1,733 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 11,550 Civil War (1861–1865) Total servicemembers (Union) 2,213,363 Battle deaths (Union) 140,414 Other deaths in service (nontheater) (Union) 224,097 Total servicemembers (Conf.) 1,050,000 Battle deaths (Conf.) 74,524 Other deaths in service (nontheater) (Conf.) 59,2972 Spanish-American War (1898–1902) Total servicemembers 306,760 Battle deaths 385 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 2,061 World War I (1917–1918) Total servicemembers 4,734,991 Battle deaths 53,402 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 63,114 Living veterans fewer than 251 World War II (1940–1945) Total servicemembers 16,112,566 Battle deaths 291,557 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 113,842 Living veterans 3,242,0001 Korean War (1950–1953) Total servicemembers 5,720,000 Serving in-theater 1,789,000 Battle deaths 33,741 Other deaths in service (theater) 2,833 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 17,672 Living veterans 3,086,4001 Vietnam War (1964–1975) Total servicemembers 8,744,000 Serving in-theater 3,403,000 Battle deaths 47,424 Other deaths in service (theater) 10,785 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 32,000 Living veterans 7,286,5001 Gulf War (1990–1991) Total servicemembers 2,225,000 Serving in-theater 665,476 Battle deaths 147 Other deaths in service (theater) 382 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 1,565 Living veterans 1,852,0001 Global War on Terror (as of Sept. 30, 2006) Total Servicemembers (Worldwide) 1,384,968 Deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan 165,000 Iraq Battle Deaths 3328 Afghanistan Battle Deaths 507 Iraq Other Deaths (In Theater) 754 Afghanistan Other Deaths (In Theater) 313 Living Veterans 588,9236 America's Wars Total Military service during war 43,185,893 Battle deaths 653,708 Other deaths in service (theater) 14,560 Other deaths in service (nontheater) 525,930 Living war veterans 17,835,0004 Living veterans 23,976,000

Hitler Goes to Burning Man

Mikal — Thu, 22 May 2008 23:36:29 GMT

(Thanks to BnB of the RWB Tribe for this one -- definitely the funniest YouTube video I've seen in a LONG time!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CV4i7dWeu0c

Happy May Day!

Mikal — Thu, 01 May 2008 15:32:57 GMT

In the words of some anonymous wit: Hooray! Hooray! It's the First of May! Outdoor fucking begins today!

Mikal the Nude Model

Mikal — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 05:21:55 GMT

Well, that's another "first" for me... Last Saturday night, I went to the "Gallerie N!ne" opening at the 285 Ninth Street space in SF. The Gallerie is a spin-off project from the Anon Salon parties, which promised "a more intimate and socially creative side" of that scene. Anon lately has relocated to the Outer Mission's Whisper club, for reasons I can't really discuss here, and this seemed to be an attempt to use the Ninth Street complex for a more art-oriented social gathering. That night the Gallerie started out rather slowly and sedately. Essentially it was a multi-artist opening with promised music and dancing in the later hours, and for the first couple of hours, the crowd was pretty much confined in little cliques around the displays and the donation-only bars. I wandered around a bit and chatted up a few folks, but was rather bored on the whole. The wild costumes and edgy energy of Anon just weren't there, and I wondered if they'd ever manifest themselves. I was about to leave around eleven, but Ninth Street gallery tenant, artist and Party Girl Dee Dee Russell told me to hold on a bit longer. "These parties don't *really* get going until midnight," she insisted, and based on my experience with Anon, I knew she was right. At her suggestion, I put on a black-and-white tiger-striped shrug and a string of fake pearls as a costume (the color theme for the evening was monochrome) to help get myself into the spirit, and decided to hold on until the scheduled "creative festivities" began at 11:30. And that was precisely when the costumed Anon regulars began to show up. The mood changed rapidly from art opening to party as the multicolored Anon-imites joined the drably-clad art crowd, live music kicked in from the small stage, and newcomers flooded the two bars. While wandering around the complex, I stepped into a brightly-lit room that seemed to be especially crowded, although not particularly noisy. There, nearly everyone's attention fixed on a young, blonde woman who was standing on a riser, standing perfectly still, and wearing nothing but a feather mask and black bondage boots. In front of her, seven or eight people were sketching with colored pencils and crayons on tablets. "Ah ha," I thought, "a live nude model must be part of the 'creative festivities.'" I returned to the room a few minutes later, and saw that the woman was taking a break: sitting on the riser and talking with Kelly, a woman who I'd chatted with earlier and who seemed to be one of the party organizers. When Kelly spotted me, she asked me if I wanted to model as well. "Why me?" I asked? "You're already half-naked," she observed (I was wearing the B&W shrug Burner-style over a bare chest). "Why not go all the way?" She had a point. And I was just buzzed and bored enough to meet the challenge. In less than a minute, I was out of my trousers and briefs, and mounting the riser alongside Steffi the female model, wearing nothing but the shrug and black cowboy boots. (Oh, and the Mardi Gras pearls, which a female, self-described "sex educator" had likened to female ejaculate a while earlier.) For the next hour, Steffi and I were bent into various positions by the room's ringleader, professional magician Marlow the Mystic, while he and the other artists sketched drawings of us. Maybe it was the fact that both of us were wearing high-topped, glossy black boots, but some of the poses we got into were very mildly D/S. For several of them, Marlow partly draped us with a satin sheet, leading more than one person to say that, with my short hair and taut build, I resembled a nude Roman gladiator who was holding his naked slave girl. The experience of posing naked and (mostly) motionless in front of a group of artists, while scores of friends and total strangers wandered in and out to gawk at us, was...different. Despite the fact I was pressed physically against a young, attractive and friendly nude woman, I didn't really have any embarassing physical reactions, probably because most of my blood, muscle and consciousness was focused on holding the poses. After awhile, my arms started to get very sore from the work, and I was glad for the short breaks when I could stretch, drink beer, and examine the sketches people had made of us, which varied wildly in style and technique. I'm sorry that I didn't take any samples back, as they would have made great illustrations for this post, as well as nice souvenirs. On the whole, the impromptu nude-model session seemed to work out well for all concerned. Steffi, who does this work for a living, told me that I was a natural, and couldn't believe that I'd never modeled before. The artists thought we both made great subjects, and were happy to have a gender balance to work with. And Gallerie organizer Joegh thanked me for volunteering. Who knows -- at the next Gallerie, I might do it again.

A Ballade of Suicide, by G.K. Chesterton

Mikal — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 02:25:18 GMT

The gallows in my garden, people say, Is new and neat and adequately tall; I tie the noose on in a knowing way As one that knots his necktie for a ball; But just as all the neighbours on the wall Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!" The strangest whim has seized me. . . After all I think I will not hang myself to-day. To-morrow is the time I get my pay My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall I see a little cloud all pink and grey Perhaps the rector's mother will NOT call I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall That mushrooms could be cooked another way I never read the works of Juvenal I think I will not hang myself to-day. The world will have another washing-day; The decadents decay; the pedants pall; And H.G. Wells has found that children play, And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall; Rationalists are growing rational And through thick woods one finds a stream astray, So secret that the very sky seems small I think I will not hang myself to-day. ENVOI Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal, The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way; Even to-day your royal head may fall I think I will not hang myself to-day.

Proclamation on the First "Official" Thanksgiving

Mikal — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 21:15:07 GMT

(As a counterpoint to various Tribesters, who've been trotting out the usual anti-American/-family/-Christian/-white/-meat-eating/-tradition rants during this holiday week, I give to you this proclamation. It's from a time when we were fighting a far bloodier and more divise war *on our own land*, and had a lot less of a shared economic, political and cultural infrastructure to take for granted and whine about. Happy Thanksgiving to all Tribesters. And the pale ghost of William S. Burroughs, as well as all the admirers of his vicious, spiteful, trust-fund-junkie nihilism, can kiss my 100% American ass.) PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S THANKSGIVING DAY PROCLAMATION, OCTOBER 3, 1863. The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften the heart which is habitually insensible to the everwatchful providence of almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign states to invite and provoke their aggressions, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict; while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised, nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the most high God, who while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American people. I do, therefore, invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that, while offering up the ascriptions justly due to him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation, and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity, and union. In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United Stated States to be affixed.

Reposted at Sunburn Sarah's request:

Mikal — Sun, 14 Oct 2007 01:12:47 GMT

YOU'RE ON MY FRIENDS LIST, I WANNA KNOW YOU...I want to know 36 things about you. I don't care if we never talk, never liked each other, or if we already know everything about each other. Short and sweet is fine...You're on my list, so I want to know you better! BE HONEST COPY FROM HERE THEN SEND DIRECTLY TO ME IN A MESSAGE THEN, REPOST THE EMPTY QUESTIONS AS A BULLETIN. 1.)Q. Can you cook? 1.)A. 2.)Q. What was your dream growing up? 2.)A. 3.)Q. What talent do you wish you had? 3.)A. 4.)Q. If I bought you a drink what would it be? 4.)A. 5.)Q. Favorite vegetable? 5.)A 6.)Q. What was the last book you read? 6.)A. 7.)Q. What zodiac sign are you ? 7.)A. 8.)Q. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? 8.)A 9.)Q. Worst Habit? 9.)A. 10.)Q. If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride? 10.)A. 11.)Q. What is your favorite sport? 11.)A 12.)Q. Negative or Optimistic attitude? 12.)A. 13. )Q. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me? 13.)A 14.)Q. Worst thing to ever happen to you? 14.)A. 15.)Q. Tell me one weird fact about you 15.)A 16.)Q. Do you have any pets? 16.)A. 17.)Q. What if i showed up at your house unexpectedly? 17.)A. 18.)Q. What was your first impression of me? 18.)A. 19.)Q. Do you think clowns are cute or scary? 19.)A. 20.)Q. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be??? 20.)A 21.)Q. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience? 21.)A 22.)Q. What color eyes do you have? 22.)A. 23.)Q. Ever been arrested? 23.)A. 24.)Q. Bottle or Draft? 24.)A. 25.)Q. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it? 25.)A. 26.)Q. Would you date me? 26.)A. 27.)Q. What 's your favorite place to hang at? 27.)A. 28.)Q. Do you believe in ghosts? 28.)A. 29.)Q. Favorite thing to do in your spare time? 29.)A. 30.)Q. Do you swear a lot? 30.)A. 31.)Q. Biggest pet peeve? 31.)A. 32.)Q. In one word, how would you describe yourself? 32.)A. 33.)Q. Do you believe/appreciate romance? 33.)A. 34.)Q. If you could spend 12 hours with me and ask/do anything you like, what would it be? 34.)A. 35)Q. Do you believe in God? 35)A. 36.)Q. Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same?

Burning Man 2007

Mikal — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 04:38:56 GMT

Well, I'm on my second day of recovery from Burning Man. As before, it was a week's worth of heat, dust, amazing art, bizarre experiences, stratospheric highs, catastrophic lows, nudity, bicycling, parties, dancing, beer, vodka, pot, art cars, costumes, desert sunrises and sunsets, and far too much else to list here. One dubious "first" for me: I had to visit the Med Tent after I spent a little too long raising shade structures and hauling equipment in the 105-degree sun. (Yes, I know I'd promised not to do this again, but I had committed to help another camp before I came to the Playa, and fell victim to my own compulsions and extreme sense of responsibility.) Luckily, all I had was a mild case of sunstroke, but it still ruined my Thursday, and strained BRC's greatly-overtaxed medical services that much more. So what were the highlights? Well, the Burn was particularly spectacular this year, partly because the Man had already survived a premature attempt to ignite him on Monday, and had been rebuilt a little TOO well, so that it took nearly an hour for him to collapse...and then only because he was forcibly pulled down by one of the guy wires. A couple of hours later, the "Oil Tower" -- a 100-foot structure a couple hundred yards out from 2:00 and Esplanade, also went up, this time with an immense mushroom cloud of fire that must have been visible from the Space Shuttle. And of course, I always enjoy my countless interactions with thousands of fellow Burners. Capitalist pig that I am, I do like the idea of having a special set place and time where *no cash transactions take place*, as it creates not only a "gift economy" where one becomes very conscious of others' needs and one's own surplus, but also a very different ethos and style of interaction when the constant buy/sell mode is absent. The kindness, creativity, resourcefulness, and humor of Burners never ceases to amaze me. Oh, about the RV -- definitely a wise investment. Especially when the white-out dust-storms blew through on Thursday and Friday afternoons (the latter one was followed by a short rainstorm). Next year, however, I might just rent a HardTent trailer, and take care of my bathroom needs with a privy and a sun shower. Here are some other highlights: * Marching with 70 other nude guys in the now-annual "Critical Dicks" parade -- "The PenIs Mighter than the Sword!" * The gorgeous, perfect double rainbow over the Playa after the Friday afternoon rainstorm * Partying naked (literally!) and drinking rudely-named vodka concoctions with Velvet Soulmine. Gotta love those gay Southerners! * Dancing around the fiery remains of the Man on Saturday night. * Smoking a "European joint" (hash and tobacco) with a guy from Bristol, England * Playing a deranged, hilarious game of miniature golf on the Esplanade with Leslie M. * The laser-beam art piece that played music whenever you ran hands through the rays. * Writing dedications to my late grandparents on the Temple walls -- surely the smoke of that edifice will ascend to their current home like a burnt offering. * A late dinner of sushi, noodles, miso soup, soy-flavored wheat-gluten faux-meat, and plum wine at Monticello Camp * and a lot of other stuff that I can't remember right now. And I'd like to thank the following people for making this year's BM such a great experience: Dave C. (my campmate); Heather, Seth, Todd and the rest of the Portland contingent; Blue and Teal; Leslie and Michelle; the Med Tent staff; Captain Erotica and his crew; Alice from SC; Velvet Soulmine; Campbell from Oz and his GF at Monticello; Coyote; Fletch from Marin and his Magic Boombox; Nekkid Jim and the Critical Dicks marchers and supporters; Jessy/Eris; the entire BM volunteer and paid staff; Gerlach, Empire and Nixon locals; and all of the 46,000-odd folks who made it out to the Playa this year. See you at Decompression! :-)

Tomorrow I'll be on the Playa...

Mikal — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 03:58:32 GMT

If you're Burning as well, I'll see you there. If not, you'll be in my thoughts, and I'll see you again around Labor Day. }'{

Doing Burning Man in STYLE

Mikal — Fri, 29 Jun 2007 04:46:42 GMT

At the end of last year's Burning Man, I was a less-than-happy Burner. Sure, there'd been the usual plethora of amazing art, friendly folks, fun doings, and once-in-a-lifetime experiences. But they'd been somewhat outweighed by the discomfort of Playa camping, especially as part of a 150-person major-art-installation group. I joked later that the whole thing was like a week-long bivouac with the Army Corps of Engineers. Too much time was spent humping 80-lb boxes of tools and supplies back and forth, wrestling with sputtering generators, or re-erecting blown-over three-person wooden shower structures. And I was trying to hide from whirlwinds, dust storms, and 100-degree heat (sometimes all three at once!) behind the thin vinyl skin of what Big 5 laughingly refers to as a "three-person" tent. I know, I know...putting up with the hardships and working on cooperative projects is supposed to be part of *The Burning Man Experience*. But I'm getting into the age and income bracket where I just don't feel like roughing it any more on the Playa as part of some labor-intensive mass-art project. So I went looking to rent an RV. Trust me, folks -- this is NOT something you want to wait until June to do. The few rentals that were available were being snapped up fast, and were fetching outrageous prices, especially for the peak-week of late August. But through persistence and good luck, I finally nailed down a rental: a 2001 26' RV C-Class (that means it's got a bed area over the cab). This is a luxury apartment on wheels: private bedroom, 3/4 bath, full kitchen, generator, lots of storage area, auxiliary sleeping places for guests, and most importantly, air conditioning. It's not cheap, but since it's being rented out by a reasonable private party, I'm only paying about half what some agencies are charging for similar vehicles during the Burn. At this point, I'm trying to line up either a roommate/traveling-partner to share expenses and space during the Burn, and the drive there and back...or at least someone to pick up along the way, preferably in Sacto or Reno, to chip in gas money. A few people have expressed interest, but nobody's made a solid commitment. Of course, any of my Tribe.net pals will be most welcome to stop in at the RV during BM, grab a cold Tecate and maybe even chill out (literally) in the AC-cooled space. One restriction: NO SHOES in the vehicle, as I'm trying to keep the dust contamination to a minimum. I have no idea whether I'll be part of an organized camp this year, but I'll keep everyone posted on details. See ya on the Playa!

"I saw the Stooges/Covered in bruises..."

Mikal — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 07:30:27 GMT

(post title from "Who Will Save Rock N' Roll," by the Dictators) It's not often that I fork out good money for live music these days. The punk scene of my misspent youth holds little appeal for me as a middle-aged semi-hipster. And the likelihood of me risking injury and embarassment by wading into a mosh pit is virtually nil. But I threw the rulebook away this one night, in honor of a band whose sound and image has loomed large in my consciousness ever since I discovered them almost thirty years ago. The legendary Iggy Pop, spiritual patriarch of punk rock and the man who invented the stage dive, the head walk, and pretty much every other dangerous show antic known to post-Sixties rock singers and fans, recently reunited with the surviving members of his original band the Stooges to record new songs and play concerts for several generations of fans. Touring to support their first album since 1973, THE WEIRDNESS, they opened a two-night run at the Warfield this evening. Figuring this might be my only chance to see this hugely influential and exciting group, I plunked down a yard for two floor tix, and headed out to downtown SF to catch the band who'd been a huge part of my personal soundtrack as a younger man. It was well worth the three-decade wait to finally see them play. Although Pop and the Ashtons are all on the brink of 60, they still have the fire and fury of teenage rockers, along with the skill and chemistry of performers with countless shows under their widened belts. (That crack actually doesn't apply to Iggy; his bare-chested physique is a mass of sinew, although he's got the face of a hard-living sexuagenarian.) All hyperbole aside, this was one of the best concerts I'd ever attended. The Stooges played a deafening, earth-shaking, balls-out 75-minute set that combined songs from their first two albums with tracks from the new CD (my favorite, for the title alone: "My Idea of Fun [Is Killing Everyone]"). And the packed house responded in kind, going wild when the band opened with "Loose," and not letting up until well after the house lights came on. As with so many other unique talents, it's hard to really understand the awesome rep Iggy's had since the late Sixties until you see him live. Although old enough to be the grandfather of some of the fans, he was a non-stop ball of crazed energy, roaming all over the stage, shouting out the lyrics, drenching himself with water bottles, humping the amps, diving into the audience, and even inviting several dozen audience members to rush the stage and dance and sing along to "No Fun." At once sexy, threatening, obnoxious, silly, vulnerable, and charismatic, the Igster works the audience's energies like a dynamo; like his hero, Jim Morrison, he seems to feed off the noise, excitement, and mass adrenaline-buzz of the crowd, and plays it back to them, cranking the level even higher. The reformed Stooges complemented him perfectly. Ron and Scott "Rock Action" Ashton sounded, if anything, even tighter than they did on the old records. And former Minutemen/fIREHOSe guy Mike Watt rounded things out very nicely as both a strong bass player, and a symbolic link of California hardcore to the Michigan boys' proto-punk. The show was SO good that, the first time in a quarter-century, I went down to the main floor and braved the mosh pit, spending most of the set just a few feet away from the stage. Although the swaying and surging of the crowd was pretty wild, it was still far easier to handle than the hardcore slam-jams of my youth. The whole thing looked and felt more like a mass dry-humping than the human demolition derbies of years past. And I should mention the rousing opening set by the Sistas of the Pit, three African-American women whose sounds moved effortlessly from funkified rock, to Detroit-style hard rock, to balladry, to spooky atmospheric stuff. I don't envy anyone saddled with the task of opening for Iggy and the Stooges, but these ladies more than matched the challenge. I emerged from the Warfield drenched in sweat, sore, ears ringing from the red-zoned amplification...and convinced I'd seen one of the greatest rock bands ever. Saturday's show is sold out; PRAY they stay together and swing back through the Bay Area for some more shows!

Happy Easter!

Mikal — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 21:09:29 GMT

A Happy Easter to both my brother and sister Christians, and to peoples of all faiths (or none). Here's my favorite Easter sermon, written over 1,600 years ago: The Easter Sermon of John Chrysostom Pastor of Constantinople (~400 AD) Is there anyone who is a devout lover of God? Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival! Is there anyone who is a grateful servant? Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord! Are there any weary with fasting? Let them now receive their wages! If any have toiled from the first hour, let them receive their due reward; If any have come after the third hour, let him with gratitude join in the Feast! And he that arrived after the sixth hour, let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss. And if any delayed until the ninth hour, let him not hesitate; but let him come too. And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour, let him not be afraid by reason of his delay. For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first. He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, as well as to him that toiled from the first. To this one He gives, and upon another He bestows. He accepts the works as He greets the endeavor. The deed He honors and the intention He commends. Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord! First and last alike receive your reward; rich and poor, rejoice together! Sober and slothful, celebrate the day! You that have kept the fast, and you that have not, rejoice today for the Table is richly laden! Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one. Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith. Enjoy all the riches of His goodness! Let no one grieve at his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again; for forgiveness has risen from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Death of our Savior has set us free. He has destroyed it by enduring it. He destroyed Hades when He descended into it. He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh. Isaiah foretold this when he said, "You, O Hell, have been troubled by encountering Him below." Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with. It was in an uproar because it is mocked. It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed. It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated. It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive. Hell took a body, and discovered God. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see. O death, where is thy sting? O Hades, where is thy victory? Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated! Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down! Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is Risen, and life is liberated! Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead; for Christ having risen from the dead, is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen! --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chain Mail for Passover

Mikal — Wed, 04 Apr 2007 03:03:32 GMT

[Got this from a friend. And if anyone thinks he, I, or the author are overreacting, check out what's happening in the British school system: http://tinyurl.com/2jgn8w ] It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the six million Jews who were massacred. Now, more than ever, with Iran , among others, claiming the Holocaust to be "a myth," it is imperative to make sure the world never forgets. This e-mail is intended to reach six million people worldwide! Join us and be a link in this memorial chain and help us distribute it around the world. Please send this e-mail to people you know and ask them to continue this memorial chain. Please don't just delete it. It will only take you a minute to pass this along - Thanks!

Tagged! Eight things about me

Mikal — Tue, 04 Jul 2006 04:01:43 GMT

(Got the following from Linda awhile back. Only now am I getting around to answering it...) You've been tagged!!! Here's a fun game we've all been playing. > RULES - Once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog (see my blog) with 8 facts/things/habits about yourself, saying who tagged you. In the end you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names and then send them a message so they become tagged. > > NO TAG BACKS! Love, Linda Okay, here goes: 1) I live on the San Mateo coast, just 100 yards from the Pacific Ocean. I grew up in Santa Monica, and have always lived within two miles of salt water, so I feel very much at home here. The City is only fifteen minutes away by car or bus, so I can take advantage of SF's economic and cultural features without having to endure big-city living 24 hours a day. 2) My heritage is, as far as I can figure: 50% Southern Italian, with probable Spanish, Jewish, French, Greek and Arab elements in the mix; 25% Swedish, with a large dollop of Suomi (Lapp), which would explain my high cheekbones and patchy facial-hair patterns; 21% Welsh and English 4% Creek Indian, which, along with the Suomi and Welsh background, may contribute to my sympathies for small nations and ethnic groups that get swallowed by expansionist forces. 3) Although I love beer, and require coffee to function properly in human society, my #1 favorite drink in the world is lemonade. I have yet to find a liquid that is as fully thirst-quenching; there's something about the combination of citric tartness and sugar that puts even Gatorade to shame when one is dehydrated. 4) Speaking of consumables, I have an unhealthy fondness for what others call "comfort food" and I call "gratification food": the fat- and carbo-laden edibles that satisfy the palate and stomach in a way that none else can. In this category I put: cheeseburgers; Mexican food of all kinds; steak; roast beef; fried chicken; fish & chips; and (of course) beer. I like dessert foods as well, but they just don't hit the spot in the same way that the entrees do. 5) I am a cultural hybrid. I maintain a relatively "mainstream" appearance, career and demeanor. But I am also fascinated by "fringe" stuff of all kinds, and have been involved in one kind of subculture or other since my days as an original punk rocker in late-70s L.A. My circle of friends ranges from Marina-dwelling corporate types, to gypsy-like neo-hippies and artists; I find that I learn from all of them, and always try to contribute something to their lives as well. Life is too short to be a walking stereotype. 6) Which brings us to POLITICS. Because I have offbeat cultural tastes, and come off as relatively well-informed and articulate, it's often assumed on first glance that I'm a leftist. Think again, kids. I consider "progressive" politics as practiced now just as mindless, misinformed, and one-dimensional as anything proffered from the so-called "Right". To me, most Western leftism is a form of quasi-religion for people who don't believe in God, with the radicals and ideologues being the fundamentalists. (I'd expound on this a bit more, but I'm trying to keep the answers relatively short...) My own politics are essentially old-fashioned, classical Liberalism, from the era before "liberal" became synonymous with "Marxist lite." My political heroes are the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Lech Walesa, Thomas Jefferson, and Victoria Woodhull. 7) Did I mention religion a minute ago? Spiritually, I veer between Catholic Christianity, and classical Greco-Roman Paganism. This one is so complex and personal, I'm going to give it even less space than the political entry. Suffice it to say I appreciate both traditions, and combine them in my own observances. 8) I value my online friendships on Tribe.net very much, and am glad I've met so many interesting people, and shared in so many fun events, by way of joining this community. Okay, now it's MY turn to spread the lurrrve. The following Tribesters should consider themselves Tagged: * Karina * Caitlin * BadKitty * Rose * Lucius * }'{

The Interview

Mikal — Mon, 19 Jun 2006 04:40:36 GMT

THE GUIDELINES: 1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." 2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions. 3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions. 4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. 5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. (These questions are from LaSara Firefox) 1. What/who is god? Personally, I like the answer of a Kabbalistic Rabbi that I know: "A word." Although if I have to give personal impressions, I'd say: the ground of all Being; the Absolute; the Sum that is far greater than all the parts of the physical universe. Being an (admittedly) unorthodox Christian, I tend to use the Trinitarian formulation as well: the Father (the Absolute and Transcendent); the Son (the Manifest and localized form, in the Persona of Jesus of Nazareth); and the Holy Spirit (the non-localized Essence). 2. How "crazy" are you? If you mean by the standards of this society, fairly "sane," actually. I work a relatively mainstream job, pay my bills and taxes, haven't been legally cited for anything worse than speeding, and generally maintain a "conformist" image. However, there are certain aspects of my behavior and personality that are a bit askew. I am something of an exhibitionist, and have run naked in San Francisco's annual Bay to Breakers 12K in front of thousands of people. I am rather obsessive about punctuality, and still have problems understanding the "fashionably late" social concept. And I am a diagnosed and medicated clinical depressive; this condition has shaped much of my rather dark world view and need for periods of isolation from the rest of humanity. 3. What secret are you willing to share with us? I often consider my dream world -- a place with definite physical features, discrete locales, and its own logic -- just as "real" as waking life. 4. Which three people (living or dead) inspire you most, and why? First up, Jesus Christ. The ultimate Teacher, Healer, and Self-Sacrificing Warrior who (at least to us believers) redeemed fallen humanity and relinked us all to the Transcendent Divine. Another biggie: Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. At once a disciplined, serious revolutionary; a profound American patriot, and an absolutely spellbinding orator. For #3, I'd have to say William Shakespeare. I don't know if any other human being will be able to translate the human condition into words more beautifully. 5. What are you most thankful for, and why? My life. At the grand old age of 45, I am all too aware of my mortality, and try to treasure each day, and see the value in pain and sadness as well as in pleasure and joy.

Berkeley's "Naked Guy" dead of suicide in San Jose

Mikal — Sun, 21 May 2006 20:38:04 GMT

(...from the SF CHRONICLE. I met him once during the height of the Berkeley-public-nudity fracas. Nice guy; it's a shame that he had to end up this way. First Leigh Ann, and now Andrew -- two great East Bay free spirits dead in less than a week...) SAN JOSE Champion of nudity found dead in jail cell 'Naked Guy' won fame in Berkeley, challenged values Carolyn Jones, Chronicle Staff Writer Sunday, May 21, 2006 The Naked Guy, whose au naturel jaunts through Berkeley spurred a nudity revolt in the early 1990s and earned him national fame, died in a San Jose jail cell, apparently of suicide. While many chuckled at the exploits of Andrew Martinez, friends and family of the 33-year-old talked Saturday about a troubled man who struggled for years with mental illness. "He was a person with tremendous gifts and charisma who could have been a great asset to our society, but instead I feel like society -- me included -- failed him," said Martinez's best friend, Bryan Schwartz, a civil rights lawyer in Washington, D.C. "It's such a waste." After his days as the Naked Guy, Martinez spent the next decade bouncing among halfway houses, psychiatric institutions, occasional homelessness and jail, but never getting comprehensive treatment, his family said. His life ended in an apparent suicide Thursday morning. "It was an endless cycle of trying to get answers but never getting any," said his mother, who requested that her name not be used. "It was endless, endless, endless." Doctors were never able to give Martinez an exact diagnosis, and he struggled for years with his medication. Some periods he was his familiar, lucid self, but other times his mind "seemed to be commanded by an alien spirit," Schwartz said. But before his mental illness wreaked havoc on his and his family's lives, Martinez was a bright, charismatic, sweet-natured youth with a promising future. "He was such an adorable little boy, such a joy," said longtime family friend Lee Ann Fagan, a nurse in Sonoma County. "His entire childhood his future seemed so bright." A star defensive lineman and straight-A student at Monta Vista High School in Cupertino, Martinez was a popular -- if nonconformist -- figure on campus. "Everyone loved him. He was warm, positive, brilliant. He was a math whiz even though he barely studied," Schwartz said. "All the girls were asking him to the prom." He never adhered to social norms, however, always "staying true to himself," Schwartz said. That originality and self-confidence endeared him to his classmates, largely because he was such a kindhearted person. He planned to study business at UC Berkeley, but once he enrolled he became more interested in academic subjects like rhetoric and sociology. Martinez earned the moniker "Naked Guy" in 1992 when he was a sophomore and started attending class in the buff, give or take a book bag and sandals. His nakedness was a form of free speech and a challenge to what he called the sexual repression of Western society, he told reporters. At 6-foot-2, with an athletic physique and handsome face, he gained instant fame on campus and beyond. He appeared in Playgirl magazine, on national TV talk shows and in dozens of newspapers. "He wanted us to question the things we take for granted about Western values," Schwartz said. "He wanted to us challenge the norm." In typical Berkeley fashion, Martinez's nudity soon hatched a political movement. In September 1992, Martinez organized a "nude-in" on campus, in which about two dozen people stripped down to their birthday suits to exert their right to free speech. Martinez became a hero to nudity advocates and garnered a devoted following, including the Berkeley performance troupe X-plicit Players. But unlike many Berkeley radicals, Martinez was never preachy or hostile. He was good-natured, easygoing and upbeat, and didn't try to force his opinions 0n others, friends said. Martinez's run-ins with the law began in the fall of 1992, when he was arrested for indecent exposure while jogging naked near southside dormitories at 11 on a Saturday night. The charges were dropped, but he was arrested again when he showed up at his court date naked. Three months later, he was expelled from UC Berkeley for violating a campus code of conduct. Martinez continued with his academic and athletic activities, however, for about two more years. He competed in judo and was writing a book until his mental illness threw his life into disarray. On Jan. 10, he was arrested after a fight at a halfway house where he was living and charged with two counts of battery and one count of assault with a deadly weapon. He was in maximum-security custody in Santa Clara County Jail in San Jose. On Wednesday night, a guard checked on him at 11 p.m. and he was fine, but a few minutes later other inmates reported hearing sounds coming from his cell. An officer returned at 11:19 and found Martinez unconscious. He was taken to Valley Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead early Thursday. Martinez had been through horrible times in the past 10 years, but even in the throes of psychosis he retained his charisma and generous spirit, his family said. "I'd send him stuff in jail and he'd give it all away because he knew that so many people there have nothing -- no one to visit them, send them things, fight for them," his mother said. "He always had friends." The last time she saw her son was three weeks ago, when she visited him in jail. "He was sad. He was tired. He said he had had enough," she said. "I alerted everyone, but nothing happened." "You could see it in his eyes -- the meds were taking a lot out of him," Schwartz said. "It's just such a waste. This never should have happened." E-mail Carolyn Jones at carolynjones@sfchronicle.com.

Leigh Ann Hussey, 1961-2006

Mikal — Thu, 18 May 2006 01:13:55 GMT

A longtime acquaintance of mine has checked out from this life, in a particularly gruesome manner. Leigh Ann Hussey, a Berkeley-based musician and occultist who I knew through the East Bay neo-Pagan/ritual-magick scene, was killed last night while riding her motorcycle on the 580. Here's the story: http://www.contracostatimes.com/mld/cctimes/news/breaking_news/14596956.htm Truth be known, I never *really* became true friends with Leigh Ann; I guess our individual temperaments didn't quite mesh. However, we shared enough common ground to be on relatively friendly terms, and I always enjoyed her music and her house parties. Leigh Ann was a woman with a tremendous thirst for good beer, a huge lust for sensual pleasures, a powerful appetite for knowledge, and a fervent passion for life. Rest assured, she lived her 45 years fully and well, and our world will be noticeably less colorful and interesting in her absence. In a tribute to Leigh Ann, who dubbed herself "motogrrrl" on various Web sites, I present these lyrics about a hard-riding, hard-living woman of an earlier time. (Sorry about the grisly third verse, but unfortunately this is how too many bikers' lives end. Let's all keep a better watch for motorcyclists on the road, okay?) -Motorcycle Irene- written by Skip Spence, for Moby Grape There she sits a-smokin' Reefer in her mouth Her hair hanging northward As she travels south Dirty, on her Harley (But her nails are clean) Super-powered, de-flowered Over-eighteen Irene I've seen her in the bare Where her tattoos and her chains Wrap around her body Where written are the names Of prisons she's been in And lovers she has seen Curve-winding, bump 'n' grindin' Motorcycle Irene Ground around like hamburger Layin' an a splat 'tis Irene, her sheen I seen In pieces crumpled flat Oh, the feet were in the bushes Her toes were in her hat Stark-raven, un-shaven Motorcycle Irene The Hunchback, the cripple Horseman and the Fool Prayer books and candles and Carpet, cloaks and jewels Knowing all the answers But breakin' all the rules The stark-naked, un-sacred Motorcycle Irene ----------------------------------------------- Ride free forever, Leigh Ann. We will all miss you.

Hooray! Hooray! It’s the First of May! NAKED RUNNING begins today!

Mikal — Mon, 01 May 2006 18:52:46 GMT

Well...actually it began yesterday on May Eve, in Golden Gate Park. And Yours Truly was one of the initiators. Somebody had posted a notice on Squidlist calling for a “Flash Mob” (remember those?) to assemble at the Stanyan Street entrance to GG Park at 2:00, Sunday afternoon. According to the plan, at exactly 2:22, the Mobsters would strip down to running shoes, and then do a mass streak from the entrance, to Hippie Hill. Well, the “Mob” didn’t quite materialize as planned. In contrast to last month’s organized-chaos gathering – a mass-pillow-fight at the Embarcadero that involved hundreds of people – only about ten folks had shown up by 2:15. Although the nekkid-park run had been promoted on Squidlist and tribe.net, there seemed to be no organizers or coordinators present, and nobody at the staging area claimed to be, or even knew, the originator of the notice. While we waited for the last-minute arrival of a cadre of organizers to direct the action, or (better still) a flock of co-participants to join our little throng, three USF students quizzed us about our “protest.” Apparently, said students were doing a class project on San Fran public gatherings, and were curious as to why we were running starkers in GG Park, and why we’d chosen the Haight as the starting point. I gave them my own version: that we were celebrating the arrival of May and spring weather; that I, personally, was not pushing a political agenda; and that the Haight had a historic association with Dionysian revelry, per the hippies. They seemed vaguely dissatisfied with both my answers and our small numbers; needless to say, they remained spectators rather than participants. When 2:22 arrived, we were wondering if we’d come to the wrong place, and if we’d suddenly be swept aside by hundreds of naked runners emerging from some hitherto unsuspected corner of the park. No such thing happened, so we decided we were “it,” and began to prepare ourselves. At this point, several of our number chickened out, and left the park. I can’t say as I blamed them – doing battle with cushions in public is one thing, while streaking a crowded park on Sunday is definitely another, and I’m sure that fact also contributed to our small numbers. So we were down to five brave SF freaks: myself; an orange-haired, colorfully dressed young woman named Sadie; a young couple; and another young male. To diminish self-consciousness, and add to the element of surprise, we decided to disrobe behind a clump of trees just above the park entrance area, and then run down a path, onto the asphalt walkway, through the Fourth Avenue tunnel, right at the soccer field, and then out to Hippie Hill. I more or less “organized” our tiny contingent, stressing that we should stay together, and then giving the signal to strip and run. At the signal, we quickly wriggled out of our clothes; save for the female of the young couple, who wore a bikini, we were all nude but for shoes and socks. The run itself was short, fast, and exciting. As soon as we emerged from behind the trees, people whooped, yelled, and applauded. The other lone male of our little group forgot our plan to stick together, and took off on a jackrabbit sprint far ahead of us, while we jogged through the tunnel to the astonishment of a group of tourist-types who got up-close, full-frontal views. When we hit sunlight on the other end, we heard a loud shriek rise from the area of Hippie Hill, and deduced that our front-runner had already made it there. At the family-heavy soccer fields, we made a sharp right turn towards the Hill, while the cheering and catcalling continued. I stuck most closely to Sadie, and the two of us yelled out “Happy May Day!” to passersby. Finally, at the base of the Hill, we slowed down, let out some lusty war-whoops, sat down on the grass, and got dressed. Several people came by and complimented us on our bravery and spirit, and one guy said he’d photographed us for his Weblog. (He refused to provide details, leading us to suspect it was a soft-porn pay site.) Our frontrunner rejoined us, saying he’d had such a huge adrenalin rush at the start that he couldn’t control himself, and had to run at maximum speed. We all understood; the freedom and pleasure of being able to jog naked in public on a beautiful May Eve day – even for less than 200 yards – was absolutely intoxicating. Eventually we walked back to the starting point and said our goodbyes. I felt a little strange having done this with people who weren’t even alive during the Golden Age of Streaking, but I guess participating in things like this keeps this 45 y.o. from becoming a dull, doddering old codger. And…it was a good warm-up for the ultimate nude run, happening in less than three weeks: “Bare-2-Breakers”! More on that as it approaches…

The Mohammed cartoons...

Mikal — Sat, 04 Feb 2006 20:06:57 GMT

...that have caused all the furor can be seen here: http://www.humaneventsonline.com/sarticle.php?id=12146 I can see how Muslims might be offended, but putting up with satirical or tasteless depictions of holy things is something Christians and Jews have to deal with on a weekly basis as the small price of living in a free society. (For example, here's one charming enterprise who, to my knowledge, have never been firebombed or fatwa'ed by followers of Jesus, Moses or Buddha. http://www.divine-interventions.com/index2.php And speaking of that -- notice any religious figures who are conspicuously absent from DI's line of offerings?) For just a small sample of the reasoned and measured response by Islamicists to these cartoons, click here: http://michellemalkin.com/archives/004448.htm Note that this demonstration wasn't held in the West Bank, Tehran or Riyadh, but in LONDON. And, for the second time in seven decades, it looks like the Danes are once again standing alone against a psychotic mass-murder machine disguised as an ideology. To support this small European nation against the fanatics who have burned its embassies and are attempting to cripple its economy, go to this Web site: http://skender.be/supportdenmark/ Standing up for the West, and for the free press everywhere, Mikal

Wilson Pickett, R.I.P.

Mikal — Fri, 20 Jan 2006 04:08:57 GMT

My favorite of the Sixties soul singers has passed on, from heart failure, at the age of 64. In my not-so-humble opinion, NOBODY could whip up the energy in a three-minute song like the Wicked One. His Stax sides still stand up to the best soul and R&B out of Memphis, Detroit, or anywhere else. Commemorate him today by playing "Mustang Sally," "Land of 1,000 Dances," or any of his other hits at top volume. [The pic is a shot of Pickett singing at a 1966 Atlantic Records party. Yes, that's a pre-Experience Jimi Hendrix on guitar!]