tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31292012011-05-04T09:50:30.495-07:00Sore beset, Paul put his heart into that quintet.What befell Paul during his travels in this wide world...
Reply? PaulBackhurst97@gmail.comPaulnoreply@blogger.comBlogger491100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1166386061242955812006-12-17T12:04:00.000-08:002006-12-17T12:07:41.253-08:00Great SF Fall Weekend (Not Too Recent But)What a lovely Columbus or Indigenous Peoples Day weekend it’s been! All week at work on Market St I’ve had to put up with low flying Blue Angels overhead—pretzel patterns and vapor trails are one thing but the deafening scream just short of a sonic boom is another. I think that SF isn’t yet another Gaza Strip but the spectacle-crazed crowd goes wild Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1103997785465725072004-12-25T09:57:00.000-08:002004-12-25T10:03:05.466-08:00I left my backpack at Karen’s Temescal Cohousing home last night,
where I’d gone for a community dinner in the new common house. Very beautiful stucco job with cantilevered second floor flat and first floor dining room—with a simple but gorgeous acid-washed concrete floor— kitchen, kids’ playroom and laundry facilities. Because all parties added a significant dollop to their hefty mortgages to Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1083254718388043052004-04-29T09:05:00.000-07:002004-04-29T09:10:07.200-07:00Dialogue: Iraq and Vietnam—Analogous Wars?
Schultz: I get my hair cut by a Vietnamese lady. She's entertaining, cheap, and the haircut doesn't matter much—it’s hard to badly cut really great hair!
I arrived early the other day and she was running late. To accommodate early birds she has a couch, a wooden folding chair, and an old cabinet-style TV gathering dust in an adjoining room. When I Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1082228276793177862004-04-17T11:57:00.000-07:002004-04-17T12:00:50.420-07:00Depression-era Comedy, Making It Brand New
Set in Winnipeg during the Great Depression, Guy Maddin’s The Saddest Music in the World is so contemporary a film [part of the concurrent 47th San Francisco International Film Festival] it conflates the comedy-musical-melodrama genres into one wired pastiche that works. Mostly shot in black and white through a blue filter, the film oscillates with Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1078334188816980132004-03-03T09:16:00.000-08:002004-03-03T09:25:52.280-08:00Fairness & Accuracy in NYT Haiti Coverage?
Your Haiti coverage today ["Haiti President Forced Out; Marines Sent To Keep Order" 3/1/04] leaves a lot to be desired. Who forced President Aristide out? Rebels controlling an ever greater portion of the country while the US sat idly by, or the US itself? The salient facts enabling a poorly informed person to make sense of the Haiti situation--most Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1078334048779061362004-03-03T09:14:00.000-08:002004-03-03T09:29:47.186-08:00Your skewed coverage of the Haiti crisis continues today [3/2/04]. We learn "Aristide, Now in Central African Republic, Has Harsh Words for the Haitian Rebels" in Michael Wines's article but what we won't find is any coverage of Aristide's telephone calls to prominent Americans like the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Representative Maxine Waters of California, where he says he was kidnapped by military Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1078333946702982682004-03-03T09:12:00.000-08:002004-03-03T09:23:46.700-08:00I wrote yesterday that Michael Wines had implied President Aristide of Haiti was a dictator, well, today he writes ["The Host Of Aristide Is Uneasy" 3/3/04] that he was "a leader condemned by many as a dictator." Who are these "many"? Has the New York Times simply stooped to defamation of character or are you willing to document and allow the cross examination of your sources? Is this Michael Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1077049965090350252004-02-17T12:32:00.000-08:002004-02-17T12:34:39.246-08:00"Let me not to the marriage of true minds/ Admit impediments"
You’ve got to hand it to dapper Gavin Newsom, recently sworn-in mayor of San Francisco through a squeaker election over progressive Matt Gonzalez: he’s pulled off a crowd pleaser for Valentine’s Day! And on an overcast or downright wet President’s Day I was there to witness the hundreds still gathered in front of SF City Hall, and Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1074799337347661722004-01-22T11:22:00.000-08:002004-01-22T11:23:45.373-08:00Birthday Greetings
Morning featured iced tracery on the windowpane above my bed, and, while I bicycled to a Bette’s breakfast, Berkeley weather was crisp, clear, and cold. At least there wasn’t much wind. I’ve been paying close attention to the pavement as I ride because, lately, my tires have been glue for glass shards, causing a record number of flats.
Pages of The New York Times are filled Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1062436028645162822003-09-01T10:07:00.000-07:002003-09-02T15:12:24.180-07:00Ostensible Reviews: Les particules élémentaires beside 'Ashûrâ’: This Blood Spilled In My Veins
I’m attempting a sort of critical review of both a documentary and a novel that are linked in my mind by common serendipitous reference to the French philosopher, Gilles Deleuze, whose work and thought I haven’t previously encountered. Here goes.
1) Reading The Elementary Particles by Michel Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-1060622064286130262003-08-11T10:14:00.000-07:002003-08-13T10:21:03.876-07:00Living in the Material World—Some Product Endorsements
As I rode my bicycle back from a “farmer’s scramble” breakfast at Bette’s Oceanview Diner in West Berkeley this morning, I thought about which purchases—over the years—have stood me in best stead.
What first came to mind, of course, was that amazing instrument transporting me without much effort over the residential avenues of Berkeley. I Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-947055562003-05-21T14:48:00.000-07:002003-05-21T14:48:50.343-07:00[Even the kitchen sink could find its way into a Weblog: here's:]
The Job Application (Un)Cover Letter
Right up front I’ll say that my interest in working as publishers’ assistant at Cleis Press is partly sparked by the premise—naïve or not—that I can be openly more myself at a lesbian-run publishing house. A quick review of my résumé will sketch a person with accomplished English language Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-936106392003-05-01T12:15:00.000-07:002003-05-01T12:24:30.000-07:00Streets of San Francisco III: Lockup
I thought there was some mistake when the standard-size city bus pulled away with only about 15 protesters—the women of our affinity group in the rear and four men occupying separate bench seats in the middle. While there had been some speculation that we’d be taken to the pier near Fisherman’s Wharf that serves as an auxiliary city jail, the bus headed southPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-935032562003-04-29T19:00:00.000-07:002003-05-23T10:00:33.000-07:00Streets of San Francisco II: Citicorp[se] and after
That Thursday morning our affinity group drifted away from the Bechtel campus, having achieved the small objective of closing the corporate offices for the day but having failed to get arrested for our effort. The scene on Market Street was positively Felliniesque: it was topsy-turvy with endless giant-handfuls of mostly young people cavorting Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-913269432003-03-24T21:08:00.000-08:002003-04-29T19:08:58.000-07:00Streets of San Francisco I: Bechtel
[The reminiscences that follow (or precede) are a series of forays, not unlike the tactics on the San Francisco streets on Thursday, March 20th, and are intended to convey a little of what it felt like to be there.]
After hurtling us through the submarine tube below the San Francisco Bay, BART efficiently delivered us at the first SF station, Embarcadero. We Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-905571552003-03-11T17:34:00.000-08:002003-03-11T20:28:25.000-08:00The Media War Corollary of Why Corporations Donate to Both Parties Before Elections
Dear Editor [of the New York Times],
Having read your paper carefully each day for over two years, I've become interested in the news you find "Fit to Print" in a given day. Let's take Sunday for example. I was pleased with the editorial taking a stand against the upcoming game plan for Iraq, even if your Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-885430492003-02-04T10:41:00.000-08:002003-03-11T20:20:25.000-08:00Bush League
He wanted to be commissioner of baseball
but, like daddy, would be president.
Because words afflicted him with nuance,
9/11 was a clarion call for massive armament.
Though some cautioned restraint,
he’d identified a tricycle
on axles of evil leaving the gate.
First smite Saddam for daddy,
then corner Beloved Leader Kim Jong Il.
Now that Defense=Homeland Security,
The Defense Dept Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-882820822003-01-30T11:23:00.000-08:002003-02-02T09:39:24.000-08:00Bodega Bay Journal
I got back yesterday from an overnight in Bodega Bay with my pal Karen Hester and her friend Diane. I drove and they absorbed the costs of lodging and food—not a bad deal. Karen has a friend whose mother owns this 3+ bedroom home overlooking the ocean beach (well, high hedges prevent your seeing the perfectly artificial 18-hole golf course between the housing development and Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-881228652003-01-27T15:30:00.000-08:002003-01-27T15:30:02.243-08:00No Way—Not In My Name
[Here's another letter to elected California representatives that I was moved to write. You're welcome to tailor it to your uses.]
I wrote you in August detailing five compelling reasons not to invade Iraq. I offer another reason today, which hadn’t somehow occurred to me then, when I had not yet completed the first anniversary of my layoff as a book editor. Besides my Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-870681192003-01-07T09:42:00.000-08:002003-01-07T09:42:29.580-08:00Motor City Journal: 4) The Tour
On my brother David’s annual urban-renewal tour of city center, we confirmed the reported removal of concrete barricades from the GM Ren Center entrance and a new strip park extending to Cobo Hall along the river shore. Apart from Greek Town, the stadium developments, MGM Casino, and Compuware seem forbidding structures, plunked down arbitrarily, wary of their Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-870323102003-01-06T16:33:00.000-08:002003-01-06T16:35:26.000-08:00Motor City Journal: 3) Interior Space
If the flash of my digital camera slightly distorts interior colors—the light blue living room on Audubon may in reflection now have a lavender cast—outdoors the bare trees, thin snow covering, and monotone sky drain color to a narrow range of gray. During the Great Lake winter color doesn’t distort and the bare forms of things—trees, demarcating fence and Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-869813122003-01-05T16:48:00.000-08:002003-01-06T10:01:00.000-08:00Motor City Journal: 2) At the Movies
Films viewed over Christmas offer little solace—fewer simplified answers—for folks shell-shocked from higher continual levels of unemployment than any experienced since The Great Depression, while our representative government shifts resources relentlessly toward aggressive foreign war.
Scorcese’s final shot of standing Twin Towers culminates Gangs of New Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-869293122003-01-04T11:01:00.000-08:002003-01-04T15:50:17.000-08:00Motor City Journal: 1) Puzzlings—Degas
The problem with the poorly made jigsaw puzzle, “Lighthouses of the Great Lakes,” was the large number of almost perfect piecings. While the lake outlines with colorfully depicted brick, fieldstone, or clapboard beacons resolved quickly (no chance of siting the Whitefish Bay house on the Ashtabula shore), the tan lands of the physical map, with faint Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-851291442002-11-26T14:10:00.000-08:002003-01-04T15:57:27.000-08:00File under—Cash (Credit or Debit Card) & Carry
Since I’m not finding writing/editing work—not producing—I’m tempted to prove my good citizenship (You guessed it!) by consuming. Earlier today I headed to IKEA, truly a global corporate winner in these hard times, which even trickle up to negatively affect the availability of capital and the large venture capitalist. (Don’t worry, Mr. Bush will Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-832575102002-10-20T11:04:00.000-07:002002-11-29T15:03:44.000-08:00Rio Journal: Landforms
Rugged coast adjoining the oval bay once mistaken for the river of January boasts fabulous beaches, defined by Yosemite-scale rocks, which are only adequately described through folktales—consider the anvil stone of Gávea, Two Brothers, Sugarloaf, or the Fingers of God below Teresópolis.
The blending arco-iris (rainbow) of African, European, and Indigenous peoples who livePaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-801605932002-08-12T17:04:00.000-07:002002-08-13T13:03:56.000-07:00No More Genocide in Our Names!
[I know that I'm back from vacation when I feel the pressing need to write a letter with political content. In response to the recent Pentagon project for Iraq first floated Thursday in The New York Times, I decided to write that newspaper. I figure it could be at least as effective as writing representatives or the current Administration. You're welcome to use anyPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-800428842002-08-09T14:22:00.000-07:002002-08-11T12:13:04.000-07:00Vallarta Journal: 3) Yelapa
Since I was the last paying customer still aboard, the water taxi revved directly toward Yelapa, ignoring such intermediary destinations as Boca de Tomatlán, Las Animas, and Quimixto. Though still planing along the south shore, we were west of that ephemeral spot where the northwest defining point of Banderas Bay, Punta Mita, protects you from southerly Pacific winds:Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-798643652002-08-05T16:00:00.000-07:002002-08-10T08:53:14.000-07:00Vallarta Journal: 2. Los Arcos
The water taxi, soon planing smoothly on the almost placid bay, sped its few (four or five) passengers, arcing southwest toward Los Arcos.
Along this coast beyond Conchas Chinas, the visible escarpment of the Sierra Madre, which I'd figure at 4-6 thousand feet, plunges vertiginously to the rocky shoreline, with white-sand beaches lining the concave mouths of Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-797382002002-08-02T09:04:00.000-07:002002-08-10T08:50:54.000-07:00Vallarta Journal: 1. Some Impressions of PVR
Our Night of the Iquana was a small taupe-colored gecko discovered in the morning clinging to the shower tile, which must have entered through the ventilation louvers.
The final approach to Puerto Vallarta follows the swollen, switchbacked, silt-clouded Rio Ameca southwest through a break in the steep coastal Sierra Madre to the deep, west-facing Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-789085172002-07-13T11:11:00.000-07:002002-07-14T09:31:04.000-07:00An Addendum to 13 conversations about one thing(the film)
I was invited to dinner this week by an acquaintance who had introduced Peter and me to Kyle--back in the early 90s. This friend, Keith, reheated a refrigerator-load of steamed vegies and brown rice, and we feasted. His partner(s) had rented a house on Fire Island for the week, so he was on his own.
Mid-meal I asked about Kyle and Rick, Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-757788562002-04-24T12:54:00.000-07:002002-08-05T15:32:53.000-07:00End Weapon Sales to Israel!
[Another missive to elected "representatives"]
I urge you to sponsor legislation to immediately cut off military aid and suspend other forms of assistance to the present government of Israel. Unfortunately, I have almost no hope that you will take this principled action, but I lay out here my reasoning why you should.
Although Prime Minister Sharon—with the Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-113119252002-03-31T09:34:00.000-08:002002-03-31T09:37:48.000-08:00Holy Land Analogy
[Please consider sending an e-mail to President Bush and Secretary Powell to demonstrate that we're not all completely ignorant of the region's history.]
I request that you cut off all military aid to Israel, sending the strongest possible signal that strafing refugee communities with U.S.-supplied F-16s is not acceptable—that the de facto occupation of the Palestinian areas Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-106972882002-03-13T09:13:00.000-08:002002-04-01T09:23:21.000-08:00Severe (Need To Write Legislators) on the Homeland Terror Warning System
[In case anyone reading this would like to send a letter to pertinent elected representatives, I offer mine (below) as a possible template and for encouragement. Congressional addresses are readily available through search engines on the Web. I sent the following letter Tuesday to my California representatives plus I Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-106970492002-03-13T09:05:00.000-08:002002-03-17T12:03:26.000-08:00Live at the Fillmore
To reward myself for toughing out unemployment, albeit so far unsuccessfully, I went to the Rufus Wainwright concert at the Fillmore on Sunday. (My first and perhaps last time for that legendary venue; performers need to be as good as Rufus was to have this mature man stand the length of a performance.) Although I need to remember I'm a contemporary of his words(l)inging dadPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-97693662002-02-15T13:24:00.000-08:002002-02-15T13:26:19.000-08:00Lost in Translation
Last night I went to the Pacific Film Archive to see a recent documentary by the Algerian but French-born director, Yamina Benguigui. The Perfumed Garden “is a journey into the myths and realities of sensuality and sexuality” in the “Maghreb” countries of North Africa—that is, Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. Her title derives from a classic erotic text from Tunisia, “the Arab Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-96976632002-02-13T15:17:00.000-08:002002-02-22T12:56:49.000-08:00A Timely Riff on Work (after Doris Lessing)
Methodically sweeping his wand, which emits hot pressurized water, along the seams of the library’s raised white granite that edges the landscaping, the maintenance man cleans both square-patterned façade and sidewalk. He pauses longer and presses the nozzle closer to a resistant bit of defilement. From my 3rd-floor window he takes up just two, 2’x 2’ Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-83955452002-01-03T21:32:00.000-08:002002-01-30T08:47:12.000-08:00Report from the Rust Belt
I’m back in a very wet, slightly balmy Berkeley after spending the week of Christmas with my brother’s family in a seasonally cold, appropriately snow-dusted Detroit. If neighbors and business associates had bestowed any more plates of candies, cookies, pies or racks of choice meat cuts on us, none would have risen later from the Barca-lounger. We ate at home, saw a fewPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-70657542001-11-12T12:14:00.000-08:002001-11-12T12:40:46.000-08:00Unexpected Birding
On Saturday, Marty, Jeff and I lit out from Muddy Hollow (at Point Reyes) along an undulating trail north into overcast, estuary country. Since the Mt. Vision Fire—about five years ago—you won’t find many live, mature trees along the seaward trailing ridges from the Inverness backbone. This is open country of wetland drainage and sandy brush—blued in spring by vast mats of Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-70655692001-11-12T12:06:00.000-08:002001-11-12T12:06:20.916-08:00Delta Aren’t the Only Blues
Here’s a bit I like from John Pareles’s NYT review today of The North Mississippi Hill Country concert Friday in Brooklyn Heights, featuring Otha Turner, T-Model Ford and Jessie Mae Hemphill, among admirers such as Lucinda Williams:
“Jessie Mae Hemphill, 64, is recovering from a stroke and no longer plays guitar. Instead she steadily tapped a tambourine on her thigh,Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-69972702001-11-09T11:45:00.000-08:002001-11-09T11:45:37.990-08:00The Media Is The Massage
However discouraging it is to see how little dissent makes it into the Nightly News and other media, it’s still a real joy to read a newspaper like the New York Times. Sure there’s the editorial viewpoint (most often noticeable in the headlines) and “correct” spin that up-and-coming sycophantic reporters give their pieces, but there are also in-depth articles by Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-68925152001-11-05T14:27:00.000-08:002001-11-07T08:52:57.000-08:00Well Beyond the Beltway
This weblog is beginning to suggest that the only reason I’m Sore Beset is September 11 and its aftermath. Yet the economic downturn that lent a plausible cover for my layoff began well before the “terrorist attacks.” Still, for a member of the ‘70s generation to witness recent events in light of lived-through history, which as niggardly dispensed by the media has been Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-67420842001-10-30T15:48:00.000-08:002001-11-04T13:14:40.000-08:00Reading Around II
Another fine writer who looks unabashedly at roots of terrorism in the U.S. “homeland” and the subsequent war in Afghanistan is the Indian, Arundhati Roy. Her South Asian woman’s perspective, with her impressive array of facts, persuasively, artistically, and morally presented, is without peer. My friend Karen has forwarded two impressive essays on the current crisis, the Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-64429802001-10-18T14:45:00.000-07:002001-10-18T14:51:58.000-07:00Reading Around
Well, the Nobel Peace Prize-recipient United Nations, promising as it is, will need revamping before it can fulfill its mandate:
“In 1968, two months before a bullet killed him, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. declared that his country was ‘the world’s greatest purveyor of violence.’ Thirty years later the figures bear him out: of every ten dollars spent on arms in the Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-64102202001-10-17T10:52:00.000-07:002001-10-18T08:21:08.000-07:00God’s Country (a rant)
If I have to wrap myself in a flag, let it be a green field with the circular blue earth as seen from space, with some swirling white cloud cover. After economic and significant political globalization, and with the consciousness that war—rather than solving any human problem—exacerbates often-legitimate grievances, now cultivated with war’s effects (not least being Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-60393872001-10-01T13:19:00.000-07:002001-10-17T15:32:44.000-07:00Anne Frank Huis
I was surprised how little seeing it moved me—especially compared to the riveting documentary I’d seen several years ago that cobbled interviews with surviving friends and Dutch enablers with historical footage and photographs: Anne Frank Remembered. The “secret annex” behind the foodstuff company that Otto Frank managed seems an unlikely place to hide. The annex itself is a Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-58776152001-09-24T02:51:00.000-07:002001-10-01T13:23:20.000-07:00Dutch Masters
Zaterdag By now I've (selectively) viewed two art museums, the ornate Rijksmuseum, with its vast treasury of Dutch art, and the Van Gogh (pronounced like a gutteral "hock"). The Steens and Vermeers sharpen and suspend moments of life in ways more profound, and creepier, than Madame Tussaud's wax exhibits (a popular attraction here). But the sheer numbers of Rembrandts and Van GoghsPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-58248462001-09-21T07:25:00.000-07:002001-10-01T13:24:04.000-07:00Amsterdam Interval
Through my hotel window I view the Prinsengracht (Prince's canal), at once subdued but also with colors varnished by the light rain. On a red bicycle wearing a red slicker with brushcut red hair and a ruddy face arrives the post (young) man--startling to see a person entirely red as a matchtip. On Kerkstraat, dodging the bicycle traffic, I'm rapidly overtaken by a Paulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-56528812001-09-12T18:36:00.000-07:002001-09-13T20:28:20.000-07:00America Under Siege (a rant)
Provided flights are then on schedule, I will fly to Amsterdam on Monday, September 17, and return on September 26, for a little respite from all the turmoil. I speak of the dislocation of my being recently laid off, rather than the vast human tragedy of the skyjack air-torpedoing of the twin-towered World Trade Center and the Pentagon yesterday.
But, like millionsPaulnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3129201.post-54321612001-09-01T20:08:00.000-07:002001-09-12T18:45:29.000-07:00Announcing Another Life Blip for a (Difficult?) Person
I’m sitting in Pete’s Café at the San Francisco Art Institute in North Beach—with great views of Alcatraz Island and the Bay—writing this. On Friday—not my customary day off. Two extremely large American flags are whipping horizontally in mid-distance, partly blotting my direct view across the strait of the remaining, defunct prison Paulnoreply@blogger.com