Thank You, Guitar Center

I hate Guitar Centers. I hate chain stores. And I hate chain restaurants. I guess I hate chains. I particularly hated the guy in chains and pimples that made me wait for an hour at the Guitar Center in San Francisco.

I had brought in my travel guitar last Thursday to be fixed because I couldn't get any sound of the headphone jack. I figured it was nothing serious, and wasn't looking forward to the bill, but I wanted the guitar in working order for the trip. It's lap sized, for playing in a car or in spots without space or electricity. I was informed a week ago, on the 30th, that someone would call me in the next couple of days and that the repair wouldn't take more than a week. Well, yesterday was a week, and since I'm moving Saturday, I decided to just go get it back and say thanks for calling, eat a candy bar out of my ass, or something witty like that.

When I stepped up to the counter and showed the guy my receipt he was confused.

"You say it hasn't been fixed yet?"

Yes, I told him. He couldn't believe it had been a whole week and no one had worked on it. That never happens, he said. He said he'd go get it from out back.

He was gone at least 15 minutes, and when he got back he couldn't figure out how to void the transaction in the computer and so had to call his manager over. His manager was half his age, had straight black hair falling over his shoulder, a nose the size of an orange, a mustache of patchy black hair and a beard of pimples. After about 5 minutes of fiddling on the computer, he was unable to void the transaction as well.

I asked if I could just go, with my guitar, because there hadn't been a transaction. I hadn't given them any money and nothing had happened.

The manager said it would be a red tag on the computer so he had to have it voided properly. I assume he meant red flag. He said he was going to try it on the other computer and was gone, literally, 30 minutes. I know this because there was a big neon clock above the strings and picks. When he got back, he still didn't have it voided, so he said, "You can just go." Golly, thanks so much.

At the Guitar Center on Van Ness in San Francisco, they're extremely paranoid about thieving, so much that you have to check in and check out everything on your person. When I went to leave, the girl at the front counter stopped me to check my guitar, to make sure it was mine. She took it out of the case and while reading off the serial number asked: "Where's your receipt?"

So, while she went off to find the manager I zipped up my guitar case and left.

I spoke to my brother on the phone later that night, and he mentioned a similar problem he had with a guitar years ago. He suggested I remove the headphone jack and pieces under it, clean them, put them back on and make sure everything is tight. I did that and now the guitar works fine. Thank you Guitar Center.

Inscriptions

Had a weird dream last night. I've forgotten most of it, but at one point I was moping because my writing was so bad. And my mom was telling me, "it's not that bad, you can write my eulogy," which cheered me up, or cheered up my dream-self, for some reason. Then she said, "why don't you take all the inscriptions and make a book out of them?" which struck me as a good idea, and still did upon waking up. I'm going give it a shot.
On a side note, I threw that shitty blue laundry bag away today. Actually I left it under the table at the laundromat because the bag itself is still in OK condition, it just won't retain it's shape and will no longer fold. There are a few bums that go in and out of there so maybe one of them will take it and put it to use.

Bob Dylan Theme Time Radio 11/5/08

What a great day. Obama is President, Free Zoo day (though I didn't go because I've already been three times and had packing to do), The Onion comes out on Wednesdays and so does Theme Time radio hour.
The topic this week was beginnings, middles and ends. "The three stages of being," Dylan borrows, and jumps in with a quote by Winston Churchill.
Now is not the end. It's not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
I like to think I'm at the beginning of the beginning, but I'm probably not.
The first tune of the show was Anita Day's "I Can't Get Started," a classic by Gershwin. "You're my Waterloo," and "Superwoman turns out to be a flash in the pan," were two of the more memorable lyrics. Likely why Dylan selected it. There was nothing transgressive or terribly interesting about the instrumentals- it wasn't adult Disney either- but it was the lyrics that made the song.

Here's an interesting subject that Dylan segued into, somehow. The topic was a rare neurological paralyzatin called Locked-In syndrome. There's a lot to it so I just created a link to a page that contains more links if the subject interests you. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a book by Jean-Dominque Bauby, who suffered from the syndrome. Not sure how I'd never heard of this. He was paralyzed with the exception of limited movement in his left eye. His book was written with the help of a transcriber who recited a specialized alphabet to Bauby, who would blink when he heard the letter he wanted. It was a frequency-ordered french alphabet (E, S, A, R, I, etc.). One cannot help but blush at this loud reminder of the incredible feats of the human spirit.

A Dylan favorite, Peggy Lee, sang "I'm Beginning to See the Light." Dylan said it was recorded in the same session as "Fever," her big hit. You could definitely hear it. Had a similar vibe.
On the subject of beginnings, middles and ends, Dylan tried to come up with things that lacked all three. One example is the Oroborus. That's a fancy name for the serpent or dragon that eats it's own tail. Apparently to sustain life or so it can roll like the fat kid in Hook, it's hard to say. I suppose if I had a tail I might chew it, but not to symbolize anything. Then we heard Manfred Mann The One in the Middle, a skiffle sound with a backing keyboard that sounded like a chirping, maybe dying, insect. It reminded me of the Them.
Dylan then played Ray Charles' "Smack Dab in the Middle" because it had the best snapping he'd ever heard on a record. What, Dylan asked, is smack dab in the middle of the United States? The answer is a spot in a small park in Lebanon, Kansas. This was discovered by a low-tech method, and it's something you can even discover on your own. Cut out a piece of cardboard in the shape of the continental 48. Now, balance the cardboard on a point. This may take a while, but once you have it perfectly balanced, mark the point's spot with a marker. Now simply lay the cardboard over the map or the other way around, and see where the spot lands. This is a good method for determining the center of any complicated shape.
Dylan accepted another "miscellaneous" call, this one from a man named Frank George. Dylan asked him "do you have a middle name Frankie?" "Yes," said Frank. "It's Carl."

Wanda Jackson was next, In the Middle of a Heartache. Wanda sounded like she was 5. And in the middle of a heartache nonetheless. Probably from Texas and in love with her older brother. It was a straight country song.
Than the subject was Jules Verne. At age 11, Jules ran away from home and snuck onto a ship, planning to work as a cabin boy. His parents discovered him before the boat retrieved it's anchor. He was mentored by Alex Dumas, the guy who wrote Count of Monte Cristo. Verne's first success was Journey to the Center of the Earth. Verne had a crazy nephew, Gaston Verne, who was kept under house arrest due to his unstable mind. One day, Gaston escaped, stole a revolver, and went to uncle Jules's house, ostensibly to kill his uncle. Jules tried to wrestle the gun from Gaston when he arrived, and in the process was shot just below the right knee. He survived, but walked with a cane for the rest of his days.
Nick Lowe, Half a Boy and Half a man, sounded like a mix between an Armed Forces (E. Costello) track and a Beach boys song. A cruisin' melody over a rocking (like a cradle) organ and bayou drums.
Dylan talked about hermaphrodites, and recommended Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Dylan said, sardonically, that he read it because it was part of the Oprah book club.
Next was Skeeter Davis' The End of World. It's one of those indisputably great pop tunes. It was a remarkable success, reaching #2 on the Billboard Hot 100, #2 on the Billboard country singles chart, #1 on Billboard's adult Contemporary chart, and #4 on the Billboard rhythm and blues chart. A top 10 finish on four separate Billboard charts (not to mention top 5!) has never been duplicated by a female artist.
The end of The End of the World reminded me of the penultimate scene in Edward Scissorhands, when the old Winona Ryder finishes telling the story of Edward to her granddaughter, coupled with shots of Ed hanging around in the mansion looking depressed and making snow carvings. Listen to the last part of the song, when Skeeter reads two bars rather than singing them and you may agree. The key is only a half-step off too.

Theme Time switched to the subject of Native Americans and mythology. Paiute Native Americans, of Southeaster California originally, believed that the white man's world and all it's works would one day roll up like a carpet and disappear, and the land would once again be teeming with buffalo and all the Paiute dead would rise again to hunt and run. A romantic idea. Another good song, thrown in there somewhere, was J. Geils band's Start All over Again. A live cut, it sounded like the Stones in the 70s before they started writing computer anthems.
And of course Buddy Guy with This is the End. Guitar licks like fiery ribbons and a voice big, high and loose.
Dylan ended with a poem by Robert W. Service called The End of the Trail. Here it is:

Life, you've been mighty good to me,
Yet here's the end of the trail;
No more mountain, moor and sea,
No more saddle and sail.
Waves a-leap in the laughing sun
Call to me as of yore. . . .
Alas! my errant days are done:
I'll rove no more, no more.

Life, you've cheered me all the way;
You've been my bosom friend;
But gayest dog will have his day,
And biggest binge must end.
Shorebound I watch and see afar
A wistful isle grow wan,
While over is a last lone star
Dims out in lilac dawn.

Life, you've been wonderful to me,
But fleetest foot must fail;
The hour must come when all will see
The last lap of the trail.
Yet holding in my heart a hymn
Of praise for gladness gone,
Serene I wait my star to dim
In the glow of the Greater Dawn.

Michael Crichton, 1942-2008

Michael Crichton died of cancer today. Crichton wrote Jurassic Park, Andromeda Strain, Timeline, among others, and created the show ER. Crichton obtained his MD at Harvard, lectured on anthropology and biology- but I've already devoted a blog to his multiple titles and accomplishments. Crichton was also an unabashed supporter of Bush and refused to accept the notion of Global warming. He also didn't believe secondhand smoke was harmful. Though I don't agree with him on the former point and don't know much about smoke, you have to respect him for standing up for his beliefs. Conservatism and fiction writing rarely co-exist, if you think about it.
I was really hoping for Jurassic Park 4.

New Prez

It's hard to believe but I'm actually excited about the outcome of a Presidential election. For the first time in my life, the obvious choice to me was also the overwhelming popular choice. I would go as far as saying I feel proud to be an American today.

When I was driving through Oakland last night, after watching the election results at a friends, people were celebrating in the streets. I'm sure that's a first, at least in a long time, following an election.

Hopefully Obama can be true to his word and do what he sets out to do. I'm not usually one for acceptance speeches and political filibuster, but the one Obama gave last night after McCain conceded, was damn good. I noticed that he used the word enormity when describing the task that lies ahead for him and the country. It's strange because George H. W. Bush, our 41st President, used the same word to describe his sweeping victory in the 1988 electoral college. He meant to comment on the great scope of his victory, the immensity, or what he should have said: enormousness. What he ended up saying was he was surprised at the wickedness or atrocity of his landslide victory. A fitting malapropism.

It's not a big deal, but I am glad our new President knows the meaning of the word. I'm betting he didn't realize that it was likely the first word H. W. screwed up upon becoming Prez.

Thanks Pennsylvanians and Ohioans.

106

Sad news about Obama's grandmother dying. Just one day before the election and a chance to see her son become President. I was thinking that if McCain's grandmother were still alive she'd be at least 106.

Screaming Drunk Guy

Drunk guy staggering up and down my street tonight, yelling "fucking faggot asshole!" and "you fucking bitch!" from 11:30 till about 1 am. He was weaving up the the middle of the street and then he kicked out at a cab. On his way back down the street, which is very steep and a tough climb even for a sober pedestrian, he took a mighty fall, legs splayed out, the kind of fall usually reserved for rollerbladers. He crouched in the shadow of a telephone pole for a few minutes and then went on. A couple people across the street were watching from their balconies too. It was really amusing.