Wednesday outtakes

Mellon man

Words are not my thing. It has never been more clear. They are unreliable, obtuse, demanding bastards and tonight I am really too tired to deal with them so, instead, here are a few outtakes from our day in downtown San Jose. The first one I took though the dirty window of a cab as we drove through the coke a cola district. Not a very safe place to walk, even during the day.

Time warp

What century is this? The sight of these two people smoking over their meal in a Peruvian restaurant gave me the feeling that we had somehow made an unexpected turn and ended up back the '40s. Crummy photograph but a strange scene, especially as there was a body guard type guy standing just outside the door. That's his coke bottle still on the table in front of us. He ate at a tiny table right at the entrance. When he finished he went outside and leaned by the door with his foot on the wall and waited for his boss, a huge man who came out about a half an hour later with a couple of equally oversize friends. The body guard/driver escorted his boss to the Mercedes parked directly in front and they drove off. It fit right into the intrigue of the afternoon's distorted sense of time and place.



Costa Rica is the cleanest country we have visited in Centroamerica but it is not without its heaps of trash. The difference between here and other places is that, generally, it will be picked up. I took this photo through the sweaty window of a bus.

Wooden horse

We have spent most of the last two days sitting in the dentist office waiting room. The appointment was 9 am but we didn't get out of there until after 7 pm. What can I say? Things are different in Centroamerica. We did enjoy our lunch at the Peruvian restaurant. The second day we ate at Vishnu's downtown. Much cheaper and vegetarian.

I especially like the photo of the giant chicken...

Between the raindrops

San Jose graveyard

We walked downtown today. It's about four miles away. We took the bus back. The afternoon rain had started by then plus we didn't want to go back down through hell's bottleneck, that's what I call it, the ravine below the graveyard. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, we were about a foot away from traffic the whole way through.



M. Lee took this photo of me before we hit that stretch of the road. We didn't know what we were headed into but even so I was wondering about the wisdom of smiling before an open grave.

Wild bananas over the cemetery wall.

Street kid, probably strung out on glue.

Street dogs under a Harvest Moon

Tonight, night of the Harvest Moon, the muffled voices of three dogs playing in the street attract me to the balcony. They look up, wary for a moment, then quietly return to their play. They have the night and life to themselves. The street is a stage in amber light. A frustrated fourth dog shouts and whines from the wings as they trot out of sight.

Outtakes

Naturally, we must start the journey with the standard... photos from the plane.

LA night. Just so you know, capturing the red flashing light on the wing tip was really really hard but you're worth it.

Morning star, Guatemala

Guatemala sunrise

Strange fruit, Costa Rica

Man and bird, San Jose Saturday market day.

Arrival

We were met at the San Jose airport by Jim, our host. He was carrying a bouquet of red carnations for me but, luckily, managed to do it without being embarrassing or serious. And already he and his wife Bibi have made us feel completely at ease in their lovely B&B/home a feat because it is not at all in keeping with our usual, preferred funky style, but more about that later.

Besides us, there are also a couple of permanent residents living here, both named John, both American expats. One is a guy, turned poet in later years, who hung out in the North Beach clubs during the '50s so, almost undoubtedly, heard M. Lee's dad play back in the day. Yes, we had a mini poetry reading over breakfast coffee, sticking to a couple of poems each. We have very different styles but it was fun.

The dogs are barking at the wind tonight. It howls restlessly over the rooftops. It's the rainy season here but there has not been much rain. We're going to the Saturday market in the morning. I'm sure it won't be as interesting as the Mayan market in Antigua but we'll get some fresh vegetables and I'll get some photos.

We're sitting at RenoX waiting to board a Southwest flight to LAX and after that we leave for Costa Rica at 1:30 am. It's going to be a long night. There was lots more running though my head earlier but it's gone now. I forgot my (favorite) pink shirt and left my water bottle in my friend's car. It could be worse. Maybe it is but it's too late now. After much deliberation, Buug was elected to accompany us. He's delighted. That little fellow loves to travel. Well, gotta go.

Through the looking glass

Bugsy in the backroom

By the end of the day my bag will be packed. That is my promise to myself. In the meantime, for your entertainment, I posted a few more photos from our recent trip to the Great Basin at flickr ... if you're interested. I'll post more here later, after my bag is packed.

Defunct Currant Cafe
Currant, Nevada

Currant is a ghost town along Nevada's Hwy 6, a road that makes Route 50, the so-called "Loneliest Highway in America", look like a traffic jam. The Currant Cafe and Motel are currently one of Mother Nature's little reclamation projects. It's my kind of place.

Currant Cafe, on Nevada Hwy. 6 

Currant Cafe, a once friendly stop along Nevada Hwy 6, the real "loneliest highway".

Currant Cafe, caught in the looking glass

Currant Cafe, a lost world

Currant Cafe interior

Currant Cafe through the looking glass

Currant Cafe, another dead Nevada roadside attraction

Costa Rica countdown

Five days. I only have five days now to pack. Five days to do all the things I could have done five days ago. Should have done ten days ago. And so it goes. And yesterday, what did I do with yesterday? Burned the whole day ... out ... when I should have been home, preparing flash drives and backup flash drives, sorting through clothes and pencils. Damn.

Looking back

My mother's diary sits on a shelf next to my morning sitting place. It is red and has a little brass lock and key. Had a little brass key. That is long gone. My brother gave me the book a few years ago saying, "Here. See what you can do with this." He gave me her little black diary as well and a couple of faded old, fancy candy boxes full of letters, some written by her and some by other members of the family. A few of the letters are over one hundred years old, written in pencil, and still readable. I get a deliciously strange feeling reading them. He had them for years and could never bring himself to go through everything. I have yet to do it myself but, by chance, I peaked at her September 22nd entry this morning. She was 18. Today was Sunday in 1935, following a very late Saturday night. She wrote. "Speaking of the last roses of summer - I know just how they feel."

Swami and Bugsy

Morning chat at the Currant Motel.

Swami has friends all over the world.

I still don't have time to post photos from the Grant Range trip. I realize that must nearly ruin your day but this one of Swami and Bugsy lounging at the Currant Motel will have to do for now. I am very in the rears on all that but, at the moment, I must finish a newsletter. It's not anything interesting, just a vehicle for minutes and a treasurer's report, but I try to add something extra each time. It's crazy though. I was up past midnight last night looking for the right image that will, at best, get a passing glance. Can't help it. Anyway, we're leaving for Costa Rica on the 30th and I haven't even begun packing. My brother and his wife pack about an hour before they leave for the airport. Experienced travelers, they. Also, where they go, they can count on buying whatever they need. Not always so in Central America. The neighbor over the back fence is blaring Country Western in his yard, which kind of fits the mood of this blue sky September morning. I hope you are making the most of your day. It's what we've got. Today. Nothing more or less.

Nevada resident

We're back from five days in the Grant Range. I'm on the run but will post more photos later. We saw lots of wild life, including this shy fellow who wasn't at all happy about being photographed. I shouldn't have done it. Harassing wildlife is lame and, with rattlesnakes, stupid but I forgot both manners and sense when he came by.

Home away from home

We're in Tonopah for the weekend.

Again.

Downtown Tonopah without the
Mizpah, Nevada's most haunted hotel,
as the centerpiece.

This is my 13th assembly here in seven years. On the surface nothing's changed much although, since we were here last, the town has put up a spiffy new official sign on 395. You can see it in the first photo. And, by the way, the Mizpah Hotel will be on the auction block September 16th. That's just a few days away! Just think. It could be yours for a song.




The Ramada didn't have our reservation so we're at the Economy Inn for half the price, $35 a night. It's not as bad as it looks from the street plus it has free wi-fi and a great view if you like defunct mining/desert ghost town scenarios. However, the clowns next door carried on until 6 in the morning. Given the volume of their voices and the number of "fuck him, fuck thems and fuck hers" they had to be out of their pea brains on speed and booze.

The sticker on the windshield of the Mustang parked outside their door explains that the car is being moved from Vegas to Portland by a hired driver, so hopefully they are, by this time, gone. Otherwise the manager promised to move them to the front, a place he reserves for Assholes.

Desert elan

Of course, changed or not, I photographed the same old roadside apparitions we pass every time we take 395... Luning and Mina which are wide spots in the road which are well on their way to becoming ghost towns and a roadside brothel called Playmate Ranch.




You will be happy to hear they are all doing well, ie they are still inhabited.

Playmate Ranch (brothel)

White limo at gas station next door to Playmate Ranch

My favorite photos from the trip so far are of the fat, flat, white clouds drifting east although they suggest rain by Sunday, which is exactly when we head out into the Great Basin for a week of camping. Lovely. Well, rain here usually evaporates before hitting the ground but we shall see. We're leaving early tomorrow morning.

Toulouse Lautrec

Today is the 108th anniversary of Toulouse Lautrec's death.

The artist

He died of complications from alcoholism and syphilis at the family estate in Malromé at the age of 36. A couple of years before his death he tried "drying out" but soon returned to hard drinking, despite a series of paralytic fits. According to Wikipedia, his last words were, "Le vieux con!" ("The old fool!") This was his goodbye to his father.

Self-portrait

I liked his work the minute I first laid eyes on it back in high school. And I suppose his glamorous depiction of the seamy Parisian nights in Montmartre, its brothels and, in particular, the Moulin Rouge, helped lock in my childhood notion that to be an artist one must be willingly and tragically lost. Certainly the fascination helped him to an early death. At least I avoided that.

Self-portrait at the Moulon Rouge

Salude Toulouse.

Outtakes

Me! That's who wants to know.
Portland

Here are a few photos from the last few weeks. Locations range from Portland, Reno, the Mohave, and LA to the lateral universe wherein dwells the Invisible Theatre.

Baby Thea x 2

Glow Boy
Spice Rack, Indian grocery in Reno




Burning Man van


Carson City. NV

Mohave cloud

LA cloud
Station  wildfire

One last round of Bánh mì sandwiches
for the road from the pigeon friendly
Saigon Bakery in San Gabriel's new China Town


Perfunctory Hollywood sign shot.
See it through the smog way off, up on the hill?


Headed home


Mohave hills


~WINNER~
Bad Grammar Sign of the Day Award

Invisible Theatre
Uncle Monkey, Baby T and the Gang