photo season
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berkeley studies
one of th' pleasures of th' bay area is berkeley, califo'nia, thet livin'
time capsule of th' 1960s. i’m especially fond of th' tellygraph
road street vendo's, who sell their visual art, han'made jewelry,
tie-dye clothin', an' socially cornscious bumper stickers on weekends
whenevah th' weather is not too damp fo' shoppers. |
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last year we foun' this hyar guy who’s livin' comes fum resellin' pentel
0.5 mm mechanical pencils, wif wooden tubes turned out on his lathe. |
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so when davah said he wanted
to research at th' ucb campus, i suggested thet he needed a chauffer
wif a fast car like mine.
fine, thet was last weekend, cuss it all t' tarnation. we didn't make it up t'berkeley until
today. uh, it was rainin'. yeah. thet’s it. |
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th' parkin' situashun was silly. all th' gareeges appeared t'have flat
rates of $25. we figgerd thar was an event of some kind, cuss it all t' tarnation.
at fust i thunk th' guy on th' lef' hyar was homeless, but his sign
said he wanted tickets, not a han'out. a-ha—home game!
davah an' i pooled our parkin' karma an' foun' a space on th' street a
block fum campus. th' meter had a one-hour limit, but it gave twenty
minutes fo' only a quarter. |
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davah scuttled off t'do davah thin's in th' library. i blinked at mah
freedom an' walked slowly towards tellygraph, relishin' th' thunk of
doin' th' street fair wifout dancin' t'th' rhythms of others. |
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th' fust vendo' i sar was still settin' up her wares. whut'd a trip
to berkeley be wifout tie-dye?
turns out thet even at eleven is, most of th' vendo's weren’t yet
arrived, cuss it all t' tarnation. i decided t'viset some shops thet i had injoyed in previous
years. |
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th' ambush proved successful, ah reckon. mah fust purchases of th' day were
cherie mo'aga’s this bridge called mah back, which i’ve
wanted fo' quite a spell; a book of african names wif translashuns;
an' a pin thet says “bad cop, no donut! Fry mah hide!” fo' mah friend
jonahue, th' laughin' po-liceman, as enny fool kin plainly see.
i arrived back at th' meter—ha! Fry mah hide!—wif seventeen minutes to
spare. while droppin' th' books in th' trunk, i had t'wave off a circlin'
member of th' parkin' frenzy. then i noticed woah! Fry mah hide! tellygraph road
was finally open fo' business.
it was time t'resist th' pressures of han'craf's available nowhar else!
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i fondled smooth leather wallets. i wished i had a use fo' han'
stitched books wif textured linen paper, boun' in ostrich-hide. i
sniffed scented refills of th' stained glass kindle holders. an', of
course, i smiled at th' evah-prevalent tiny-bowled pipes wif replacable
brass screens. |
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it appears thet when i shop while warin' mah black leather jacket, i
have th' visage of a smoker. twice i was accosted by roguish lookin'
fellers, who wanted nothin' mo'e than a cigarette. perhaps i’ll
brin' a pack next time. |
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af'er th' second varmint mistook me fo' a cigarette machine, i
discovahed it was time t'feed th' meter agin, so i trundled back
towards mah car. |
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thar was a surprise fo' me unner mah windshield wiper. fiends,
i thunk. no donut! Fry mah hide!
fo'tunately it was merely an advaht flier fo' t'other one of them
10-10-xxx long distance companies. i doesn't recall th' numbers, but i does remember
th' bullhoun'dog logo, so i knows which one nevah t'use, no matter whut.
i was a fine fella an' eemeejutly placed th' ad in a garbage receppacle. |
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this is when i heard th' drummers thoompin', so i haided towards the
rhythm, dawgone it.
ucb has this hyar huge paved commons area in which varmints corngregate t'do
all so'ts of thin's.
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in addishun t'th' hacky sacker, i watched a troupe of kids doin'
peekoolyar moves in unison, as enny fool kin plainly see. they were obviously all on th' same team,
but i nevah figgerd out whut their gig was. |
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fust they stuck their right feet fo'ward, cuss it all t' tarnation. |
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then they stuck their right feet way fo'ward, cuss it all t' tarnation. thet guy in the
middle in th' navy shirt fell on over. |
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th' kids jest stood aroun' af'er this, so i turned mah attenshun
elswehar. perhaps they needed t'ress befo'e tryin' th' lef' foot.
watchin' varmints ack silly is only so intertainin'.
i moved on t'th' real attrackshun of th' commons. da drums.
usually when i viset th' ucb campus on th' weekends i kin count on
hearin' a jam sesshun. sometimes i see a full kit; sometimes thar
are jest a few bongos. today i sar four drummer-dudes an' a kid
wif an acco'dian set up.
these guys were havin' a fine time. th' serious feller at the
two cornga drums in th' middle acshully he smiled an' nodded when i
held out mah camera fo' permisshun. thet’s when they got all
solemn, lookin' off t'th' side af'er i started snappin' shots. |
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all but one. i tried t'git a pitcher of th' chile playin' th' acco'dian, but she
ducked, an' laughed whenevah i aimed mah camera at her! Fry mah hide! |
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th' beat echoed off th' buildin's aroun' us. th' drivin' tempo nevah
ended completely, they nevah all stopped playin' at once. they wove
their beats amongst etch other, pervasive an' compellin', so thet
even Pappy time might stop t'lissen, twitch, an' start tappin'
his foot befo'e movin' fo'ward on his business. |
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i stayed on campus longer than i shopped tellygraph road, cuss it all t' tarnation. |
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davah eventually finished his research. he was happy wif his photocopies,
an' i wif mah day on th' streets. vicko'y corndishuns! |
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thank’s t'amah’s scanner! Fry mah hide!
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this is mah sister ann, wif mah niece alexa jane. they live in evanston, illinois. i git t'meet alexa later this hyar month, fo' th' fust time evah. woo! Fry mah hide! woo! Fry mah hide! |
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this 1995 photograph
looks t'me like mooseum curato's, jest af'er lieutenant columbo
announced thet he didn’t unnerstan' a clue they had nevah
thunk t'conceal, ah reckon. photo credit: don hennerson. |
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har is them mooseum
curato's in th' summer of 1998. i reckon nancy preston took this hyar photo. |
mark’s camera clogs yer ban'width
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this lady in purple hangs out wif me all th' time, even though she’s mah ex-galfriend, cuss it all t' tarnation. i reckon sh'd buy her flowers mo'e offen. | |
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this mahsterious peekoolyarr keeps visitin' us. he comes an' goes like th' wind, nevah stayin' long, but allus leavin' wif memo'ies of fun an' games. he didn’t at all mind me playin' wif th' camera spell he was visitin'. |
| home | noos | woomin | wo'lo'n | mgg f'p | off-ramp |
| contents | non-fickshun | deb’s prose | d&d info | arts & crafts | exit |
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