Last weekend, my friend Greg invited me over to listen to his copy of Ten of Swords, the classic 20-side Dylan bootleg. It contains a comprehensive — no, exhaustive — selection of live shows, alternate takes, and demoes from Dylan's most groundbreaking years — 1961–1966. The highlight is the infamous Manchester show from 1966; it's filled with murmuring disapproval of Dylan's electrification and reaches a climax when an audience member shouts "Judas!" right before the band kicks into "Like a Rolling Stone." (A side note: One of the most satisfying things about No Direction Home, Martin Scorsese's biopic of Dylan, is the revelation that Dylan, after hearing the taunts, shouts to his band: "Play it fxxking loud!" as they launch into the song). Since the release of Ten of Swords, many, if not most, of the tracks (including the entire "Judas!" show) have been mined by Columbia and assembled into official releases (with better sound quality, it should be said), but this didn't dampen the thrill of hearing tracks like "I Was Young When I Left Home" on the original, illicit vinyl. All I could think afterwards was: Thank goodness there was no eBay during the height of my Bob Dylan craze. UPDATE: An informative Salon article about the 2004 release of the Rolling Thunder bootleg.UPDATE: Damn you, eBay! As I was getting a sense of what Ten of Swords might cost nowadays — curiosity, nothing more, I swear — I noticed a Beatles bootleg set called The Complete BBC Sessions, a sort of Beatles-oriented Ten of Swords in response to the official version called Live at the BBC. The numbers: 10CDs, 239 tracks and a variety of chatter on the Complete Sessions to 2CDs, 60+ tracks, a little chatter on the official release. This NYT critique of Live at the BBC issues some pointed criticism at the Beatles' label: "While Apple has fiddled and litigated, bootleggers have catered plentifully to collectors interested in these things."
Like most things in New York, the Park Slope Food Coop is exclusive, filled with beautiful people, and a source of high drama in the lives of everyone involved with it. Most everyone I know in Brooklyn is a member, and all of them are on some sort of weird coop probation because they're behind on their shifts. Skipping shifts is really naughty, and the lengths to which some members will go to get out of them has become the stuff of folklore. On the other hand, others seem almost pathologically conscientious — in a recent issue of the newsletter was a story of a member who had written into the coop to explain his absence. You see, he was in prison for eco-terrorism. So he may not, you know, be able to cover that Tuesday afternoon produce sorting shift.
Google calendars & World Cup
I've been bugging out on Google calendars recently, and I found a really nifty one for this year's World Cup. Others: Bottom of the Hill shows (rock n roll!), Giants games (hey, batter), Dolores Park movie nights (bring: jacket, beer).
I put some new photos on my Flickr page recently. This one is from a recent trip to Houston. I took it while driving around (I believe it's called) The Beltway. The photo makes Houston seem empty, which, as I recall, is like the opposite of what it is. Especially the freeways. I don't recall more than a few moments when I wasn't sitting in traffic. Which makes me wonder: Did I really take this picture? How did it get into my phone?
In the Silver Jews song "Trains Across the Sea," there's a line that goes: "In 27 years, I've drunk 50,000 beers, and they just wash against me like the sea into a pier." That's 5+ beers a day from birth until your 28th birthday. If you start at 16, you're drinking a 12-pack a day to get there. (I didn't account for leap years, actually, so you'd have 2–3 days to let your liver recover during those 11 years).Recently, I came across a diary I kept in 1994, the year I moved to California. I was clearly obsessed with the Silver Jews at the time, and I'd done a little math in the margin to calculate how I matched up to them, beer-wise. (I was 22 at the time). Shockingly, I found that I had to cram roughly 40,000 beers into the next 4.5 years. That's a little over one case per day, everyday, i.e. a true 24x7 sort of endeavor. Did I make it? Short answer: No. However, I did predict that I'd be getting there by the time I was 33, my current age. Am I there yet? In my estimation, no. Probably not, anyway. My revised calculations put me at the landmark somewhere around my 43rd birthday. I'm coming for you, Dave Berman! Watch your back!
Bike-to-work day 2006
Today is Bike-to-Work Day, which means that Market Street was slightly more alive this morning. As everyday is bike-to-work day for me, I would really rather see the "energizer stations" (PDF map of the Bike Coalition's coverage) out there during the winter, when the wind is howling, the streets slick, and the cyclists few in number, but still, it's nice to see a few more people out there dodging potholes and Muni tracks, and the snacks were tasty. Thx, SFBC.
"Why would I put on a hat if my best friend just got blown up in front of me?" An excellent question posed by Jason Schwartzman's character in Wes Anderson's excellent Amex ad. In just under two minutes, the ad encapsulates the brilliance of Anderson's vision: it's filled with snappy dialogue, exquisite production design, and perfectly pitched non sequitors. It begins with a car explosion. Anderson shouts "Cut!", acknowledges that it's an ad ("Anyway, American Express ad"), and poses the question, "Making movies. How do you do it?" He then strides through a series of vignettes while attempting to give directions: "First, think up a good story," but he's then interrupted by a PA who wants to introduce him to the daughter of a man who loaned the a sportscar to the production. "Two, how do you tell it?" he says and then directs a propmaster to put a bayonette on a .357 magnum. "Next, there's your collaborators," while a PA is telling him that the producers won't pay $15000 for a helicopter rental. As he prepares for the next shot, he concludes: "You mix it all together and that's more or less it." Slate posted an admiring review yesterday.
Baseball / Bonds-ron
As Barry Bonds approaches Babe Ruth on the lifetime homerun list, he's getting a heckuva lot of ambivalent coverage: Veterans express ambivalence and skepticism (SI), even San Franciscans souring on the event (AP via ESPN), but baseball has seen worse, though not by much (ESPN). I figured I'd do some first-hand investigation this afternoon, so I rode down to AT&T Park during lunch. When Bonds came up to bat, there was the requisite "Bar-ry, Bar-ry," but even this seemed pretty half-hearted, like everyone felt that they kinda had to chant along. Cynical comments rippled through the crowd. It seems weird to say this, but maybe you don't have to like Bonds as a person to feel drawn to his achievement. Or, how about this: Maybe there's a whole different kind of enjoyment that one derives from watching villains break records? Whatever it was, it was definitely not 2001 all over again, when a Bonds at-bat sent palpable electicity through the crowd. In 2006, it's more akin to watching Enron execs lie their asses off in court.
The roots of (modern) urban gardening can be traced to the Liz Christy Garden on New York's Lower East Side. (Some good 70's photos of urban hippies getting their hands dirty). When I visited, the cherry blossoms were going off.
Architecture / 560 Mission
I ride down Mission Street everyday, and I always admire the JP Morgan Chase building at 560 Mission between First and Second Street. Most buildings in downtown SF are earth-toned, and riding among them can feel like flashing back to the Gap in the early 90's — putty, mauve, beige, taupe, moss. In contrast, the Morgan building has black steel-and-glass facade with a greenish tint, pleasantly blending erector-set orderliness with an aquarium-like glow. Today I found out it was designed by Cesar Pelli, aka the guy/firm behind the Petronas Towers. Each architect in this review of recent architecture in the SF Business Journal describes 560 Mission as their favorite recent SF project.