I grew up at the same time and in the same place as skateboarding legend Jay Adams. He inspired me to ride pools and risk my life doing crazy shit with my board. He died on a surfing vacation in Mexico.
Jay Adams, the colorful rebel who helped transform skateboarding from a simple street pastime into one of the world's most spectacular sports with hair-raising stunts and an outsized personality to match, has died at age 53.
I had not thought of Jay in years, but then just a few weeks ago I exchanged stories with another skateboarder. We talked about trying to do a 360 inside of a huge water pipe at a construction site near Santa Monica. I tried 20 or 30 times and failed. I watched Jay try all day long. I was never that good.
Poet Maggie Estep died this week. I was a fan of sorts. I loved your poetry. I read every one. I was not a fan of your music and I did not connect to your books. But as a poet, back when I first hear you read, in the early 90s, you were something to me. I was saddened to hear of your death.
Egyptian Poet Ahmed Fouad Negm “el-Fagommi” has died (Obit) in Egypt at age 84. Negm was the “poet of the people” in Egypt. I found his work through an Egyptian friend just a few short years ago. I have a PDF copy of a few of his translated works. I’ve copied out an example below. He is amazing translated into English, but I wish I could read his works in Arabic.
(Uyun il-kalam)
A Poem, a Manifesto
If the sun were to drown In the sea of sad clouds If the earth were engulfed by a wave of dark shrouds And sight died away From all eyes and all minds And the pathway went missing Amidst circles and lines You might get around (You think you’re so wise!) Yet you haven’t a guide But the words’ very eyes
Reggie artist Junior Murvin died in Jamaica at the age of 67. I loved "Police and Thieves," and played it often during Reggae Friday at work. R.I.P. Junior Murvin and thanks for the tunes.
Fuck terrorism. What say you Islam? Is this just your bad actors? Is Islam really a religion of peace? I judge based on what Muslims do, not on what that say. I judge Islam to be a religion of death and hatred. I think I'm being fair too.
Poet Kofi Awoonor (1935-2013) wrote beautiful poetry. I've read a dozen or so of him poems and I am looking forward to buying his latest collection when published. A bullet from a Muslim zealot ended his life. It is so horribly unjust.
One of his final works is posted below. It's titled Across A New Dawn.
My wife asked me this questions when she walked in the door after work. My response was from the heart. "Ah hell… no fucking way." I loved Huell Howser. I loved his shows, his personality and his friendliness. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I'm sure he was a good guy. There is no way to fake what he brought to his viewers. R.I.P. Huel Howser.
The L.A Times does a much better talking about him. So does NPR.
I was listening to a random playlist of New Orleans jazz as I was driving to Newbury Park this morning. I usually start my commutes with music. It helps steady my nerves for the coming fight with LA traffic. I switched over to NPR after a few songs. The first thing I heard was that Bob French had died. Weird. Right?
Robert "Bob" French Sr., the longtime leader and drummer of the Original Tuxedo Jazz Band and an outspoken, at times controversial, WWOZ-FM deejay, died on Monday, Nov. 12, after a long illness. He was 74.
Bob French was one of those names that I always associated with New Orleans jazz. I am saddened by his passing.
To me, Horst Faas was the photographer who put a human face on the Vietnam War. I can remember a one-eyed high school teacher showing me a photo of a woman morning over the body of her husband. I first saw it in the 70s. It has haunted my dreams for years. When I think of the Vietnam War, the first image that comes to mind is this one
I was browsing a book on the war a few weeks ago. It contained a number of his photos; Including this one. Seeing it again evoked an emotional response. I could feel the woman’s grief. I stood looking at it for long time. Photos that pull on your emotions are rare. Faas produced dozens in his career.
Few people understand the impact Faas had on photography. He’s recruited and trained dozens of photographers during his time in Vietnam. Including the man who took the war’s most iconic photo.
My's younger brother, Huynh Cong "Nick" Ut, followed his brother at AP and under Faas's tutelage won one of the news agency's six Vietnam War Pulitzer Prizes, for his iconic 1972 picture of a badly burned Vietnamese girl fleeing an aerial napalm attack.
I must admit that my appreciation of the Beastie Boys awoke late in life. I was not a fan in the 80s, but the 90s was a different story. My son Jon played them around the house all the time, I learned to like them, and then to love them. This song, So What cha Want, is my favorite. RIP MCA
I’m not a fan of Chuck Colson. I found his past life working for Nixon a national disgrace, and his born again life as a Christian incomprehensible. He billed himself as America’s foremost Christian thinker, yet I found his thinking shallow, bigoted and hard to follow. I did not even need to buy his books. He sent them to me to read and review. I could not make it through a single one.
Colson was not my enemy. I did not think ill of him. I simply did not consider his brand of Christianity authentic. And by authentic I mean based in love. He stands for America’s broken right wing conservatives whose misplaced pseudo Christian values are ruining our democracy and hurting the needy. He considered me and my fellow atheists a threat to Christianity. I simply do not understand his reasoning. He spent his time with criminals in an unsuccessful attempt to make them better people through conversion to Christianity. Yet his recidivism rates were appalling, He thinks I’m dangerous… I’m model citizen. He spent his life playacting at being a great man and succeeded.... at acting.
I never met Christopher Hitchens, yet I took his death personally. I’ve read all his books and most of his recently published articles. He’s been a intellectual partner for the last 15 years, although, the partnership was all one way. I respected him. He challenged my thinking, and through that pushed me to become a better person. Few other people have influenced me in this way; my wife, a mentor, a few friends, my grandfather, and the author Harlan Ellison, make the short list.
Hitchens fills my library. His words will continue to influence me until I join him in death. I will pass along what I’ve learned to my sons (and soon a grandson), friends, and readers. His ideas and influence will live on through thousands of other people just like me. What I will miss is his intellect, his wit, and his wisdom.
I had lunch with two Christians yesterday. Hitchens’ death came up. Their utter lack of compassion left me feeling empty. I realized later that the emptiness was already in my heart. RIP Christopher Hitchens.
My Great Aunt Pat died on Christmas morning. She was the last of her generation and also a stanch atheist, so I’m paying my respects here. She was always a bit of a mystery to me since I did not spend much time with her. I saw her more when I was a child visiting my grandparents than I did as an adult. I think she was the wild child of her generation. At least that is my impression since here stories all centered around stories from the early days of Los Vegas.
I did not find out Aunt Pat was an atheist until near the end of her life. I wrote about it back in October of 2008.
I spoke with my mother this morning. She and my sister had visited Aunt Pat at her rest home. In the course of the visit, Pat asked about my sister's relationship with me. My sister said that it was all good except for that I was an atheist and she was not. I guess my aunt dropped an unexpected bombshell with her next comment. She said she was an atheist too. She went on to say that we are all the result of an evolutionary process. I am so proud.
My Aunt Pat gave me the all time best Christmas present ever one year back in the 80s. She was never a person with money. In fact, I think perpetually broke is a good way to describe here. Yet she never forgot me at Christmas. Sometime it was only a card, but that was ok. It was nice to know she was thinking of my family. The best present ever… She sent me a tortilla warmer. I used it for twenty years.
The generations move forward with her death. My parents generation now becomes the oldest. Mine in next in line. Time goes by way to fast. You don’t this when you are young. I never did. I sure do now. Good bye Aunt Pat.
Ortho has died. He was my favorite character in Beetlejuice, which is one of my favorite movies. Glenn Shadix was a gay man. I listened to an interview with him once where he described his experiences with gay therapy as a youth. It is reprised here in a YouTube clip. It was the first time I had ever heard of gay therapy. I now think of the process as criminal.
I am also a fan of his voice work in Nightmare before Christmas. He played the mayor. “Jack, please, I'm only an elected official here, I can't make decisions by myself!”
I met John Chase once a long time ago. He died on last Friday. He was 57. Chase was an architect. He like to put parks and trees into his work. I admired him for that. He always considered what people needed to live in the spaces he designed.
I loved his mustache too. I wish I could grow one like it.
I’ve been reflecting on death since my father passed. I’m almost 50 now and have entered the stage in life where your friends start dying with increased frequency. In the last month I’ve lost 4. Life is short. You don’t realize it until the end.
Losing people like John Chase hurts too. I want to live in the city he designed.
A great photographer passed away in Los Angeles yesterday. Herman Leonard, whose photographs defined the jazz era. I loved his work. He was know for documenting the birth of bebop. His instruments were a camera and light. I would love to take just one picture like him. The NY Times says this about him.
The artists he shot were titans or soon to be, so renowned that each can be conjured with a single name: Ella, Duke, Dizzy, Billie, Miles, Frank. Carefully lighted and meticulously printed, Mr. Leonard’s photos retained the quality of candids, catching his subjects in moments of powerful intimacy.
I once tried to buy one of his prints in an auction. I dropped out at $1,500. I had to settle for a book.
Frank Frazetta died today. I was a fan. I had your calendars, your posters, and way too many of your book covers. I’m holding my dusty old paperback ace paperback edition of The Son of Tarzan as I write this. I have them all. The same goes for many of your comic book illustrations. I loved your work. As I read Conan, it was your Conan in my mind’s eye. Arnold was a feeble copy. That’s the power of imagination, your work fueled my imagination, and if I remember correctly, the imagination of every 197os era Sci-Fi geek I knew. We all loved your work. We all decorated our walls with it. We all tried to copy it. None of use were up to the task. So few were.
74 no longer sounds ancient to me. It's the age of the next generation. It is too near to feel far away. Time moves too quickly.
Jim Marshall is dead. I was a fan. On my list of top 10 photos ever taken, Jim Marshall's photo of Johnny Cash flipping the bird finger is number 4. He took an amazing number of good photos in his career. I had a secret desire to meet the man.
I watched Dan Walker gather peaces of an American flag burned during the 1984 Republican National Convention. I was nearly moved to tears. His actions that day reminded me of the patriotism of my grandfather. It is something I’ve never really felt myself.
Over the years I’ve though about Mr. Walker from time-to-time. Particularly when our nation is experiencing time of strife. Most recently I asked myself what he would think of the insanity of the Million Moron March. I hope he would disapprove.
uth. Of course, Michael came of age as a pop star when I was a young parent, so my memories of him are a mixed bag of happy, sad, and perplexed.
I learned of Michael Jackson's death with my family in the cinema while watching Transformers: Rise of the Fallen. Like many significant events, I will never forget my wife telling me of his death. I was already boarded. Megan Fox was not on screen so I had no real interest in the move (just kidding honey). The movie was tediously long. By the end my thoughts kept running to my youth and the frenetic dancing of my sisters. I kept hearing the Osmonds' "One Bad Apple" echoing through my head with visions of my little sisters dancing around their bedroom while the 45 played on our little record player. They would alternate between the Osmonds and the Jackson Five's ABC as if it were a battle for command of the dance floor. For me, that's what Michael Jackson was, a touchstone to pleasant memories from my past. I have the similar memories from my son's early life. We worshiped Michael Jackson videos, when Jackson did the moonwalk, my son did his version. Jackson was an important part of our live then. I have it on video, so I know it is true.
As Michael Jackson grew older and stranger, he become a target of my derisive humor and outright contempt. His odd personal behavior and preferences for life with and as a child moved him from icon to scoundrel. I stopped paying attention to him. Now he's gone. As usual with me, I'll start listening to his music again. The good memories will replace the bad. Life will move on. Megan fox will run in slow motion for what seems like hours, did I mention that already?
Farrah Fawcett was who every girl I knew in high school tried emulate. The only girl to pull it off was my sister Kim. She nailed Farrah hair and the clothing to go along with it. I hate to say this out loud, but in my opinion, my sister was prettier than Farrah. (Oh god, there will be hell to pay for that.) I have two beautiful systers, one was a baton twirling beauty queen, the other was a Lynda Carter-esgue athetic superstar. I was the slacker. It's funny, my wife bills hereself as more of a Jacquelyn Smith type. She told me this just yesterday. It all makes sense now.
A closing comment on the Transformers movie. My youngest son and I spend a great deal of our attention trying to get s clear look at Megan Fox's thumb. We failed. Damn you internet.
I loved your poetry. I read every one. I was not a fan of 
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