Shutter Island

This movie is like a creepy Truman Show. Still, I talked to the manager about getting $1 back for every advertisment I sat through and he agreed to throw me out or I could wait for the police to do it. I don't think I'll write a whole review. I will say that Dan suggested that it's possible our entire lives are directed movie sets and I said, "That would explain so much."

Scorcese's No Direction Home about Bob Dylan's first 4 years making music is worth watching. That boy did a lot in a short period of time. It's unusual for a creative thinker like that to actually stay with music for so long. Most people get bored with it but Bob found a way to reinvent it. I saw another movie with a quote like "If you change the way you look at things then the things you look at will never be the same." Is that what Bob was thinking? I don't think so because after watching him I decided he's a corporate shill, A colombia records whore. His music wasn't revolutionary, it was coopted by the revolution, which later was defeated by Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon et al. But Dylan is no more revolutionary than Motley Crue or Ratt. It's music... people buy it, fuck while listening to it, smoke pot, drink, drive, sleep. The shit Dylan wrote even he admits has no meaning, but we make it mean something and then give Dylan credit. Colombia laughed their asses off. The music is inspired nonsense and it changed the world like The Illiad changed the world. It's a mistake to lionize a folk singer because he's associated with an era of social change. That was a coincidence. Dylan was asked many times, "What does your music mean." and he always said, "It doesn't mean anything. I don't know. Does it mean something to you? Then that's what it means."
That's a bullshit answer...but the more I watched the show the more I believed him...the music didn't mean anything. He was just a dancing monkey on a chain and people threw nickles at him and Colombia counted the coins. Every generation needs their anthem and that one chose Dylan's songs. He modeled Woody Guthrie to a point and then stopped. I admire his honesty...he was in his element playing music so that's where he stayed. But the same is true of Steven Tyler and he's no saint either.

Barter for piano time

Hello,
I gotta get my fingers on a piano and I will clean some of your house as a trade. Or do projects for you. I'll vacuum the church or dust the mirror. Make me an offer. If you have a piano laying around and like to hear some blues and jazz being practiced (I'm no Oscar Peterson) then tell me what you want done. I'm computer savvy, can teach piano and guitar and general music and I'll make myself useful. This is in Portsmouth. I don't want any money for the services, just use of a piano...acoustic is good or a weighted key digital keyboard if you want me to wear headphones. If you run a nursing home and have a piano I'll provide some entertainment for free. I like jazz standards.
my name is Oggy

Grandfather Time

This Westclox watch was the sole item I inherited from my mother's father when he passed on. I got it way back in 1998 and I wore it out. Old Sam Stevens had a bunch of watches that I remember and he seemed to prefer those metal bands. This one was probably not his last watch, I think it was just a watch that still worked but he had grown tired of so he kept it in a drawer like frugal men often do with change and handkerchiefs. I was starting my music studies at Humboldt State University when I learned of his passing and I soon received a box with some effects, pictures (he took thousands of pics and had boxes of slides), this watch, some postcards I sent to him years earlier "Hi Grandpa, I hitchhiked to Nevada today and slept in a ditch. Wolves or coyotes prowled around me and I had to light a fire to keep them away. Got a job working construction..."
Also included in the box was a brand new stick of deodorant. Like old spice or something like that. Immediately I recognized the importance of that stick of deodorant. See, it was brand new. The little plastic thing that keeps the wax fresh was still on it. If you are like me then deodorant takes months to finish. I don't like it because it is modern and false. But I wear it sometimes when I want to be modern and false. My grandfather wore it from tradition. I don't think he smelled, but he wore it even after his wife had moved into the nursing home. He always tucked in his shirt and shaved. I never saw him looking unkempt even after his rib cage was cracked open and veins were taken from his leg and used to bypass clogged arteries in his heart. He wasn't a military man, he just always looked properly dressed. Anyway, deodorant isn't the type of thing you go out and stock up on, not if you are 88 years old and never shop at Costco. So, Grandpa Stevens was probably down to his last one or two swipes with his old deodorant and was at the store picking up some pills or something for his wife and he thought, "Hell, I'm here, so I might as well get some deodorant." You see where this is heading? He bought this deodorant and it probably takes a few weeks if not months for him to use an entire stick...and he died before he pulled the cap off. There is a lesson there if you care to investigate but it has forever changed the way I look at deodorant. (I'm still using the same stick he gave me in 1998)

So, I took his gold watch and wore it for 12 years. I asked my mother if it was an expensive watch and she laughed, "$9.99 at Sears." A couple times it stopped working but I messed with the complications (watch speak for "mechanism") and it started to work again. I glued a fake diamond back where it belonged on the face. Finally, in La Paz, it stopped working completely. I took it to a relojeria...watch shop, and asked if they could fix it. It was not practical to fix because you could just buy a new core and put it in the case. So I pondered this but decided to retire it because it wouldn't be the same watch. But I still had it and recently decided to make a necklace out of hemp and mount the watch on it as a centerpiece.

So I went down to the Water Monkey in Portsmouth where Roger showed me how to weave hemp. I got some beads at Bead Zen (it's closing down) and put some of those in it without getting a parking ticket. Then I went and got some glass squares to use as a slip knot and picked up Sam's watch out of the van and put it on there. And this is the latest incarnation for his watch. I thought about how I should set it and then looked up his birthday...and find out that this is his 100th anniversary. So, (if we imagine military time) I set it 19:10, the year he was born. I'm still trying to figure out the day he was born so I can put the date to that. Does anyone know?



Here's a more factual update from Sam's younger daughter. I don't get all the facts right but it was mostly in the name of readability that I skipped some details. Focus is key and if I only receive a stick of deodorant and a watch then that keeps my essay focused. But if you want to know some more details here they are in the voice of another. It was made in Japan model: LTX 226 038 pc32 sr626sw

That was fun to read! Wow, I didn't realize Sammy boy would have been 100 this year. But 88 is pretty darn good. He was very athletic as a young man, and if he'd married a woman so inclined as himself to keep active, he would have lived longer! But we can't always get what we want, as the song goes. He did have $4K in his savings account I believe, and J. and I sent $1K each to the 4 grandsons. He had paid into an insurance policy for years, but if you die of old age basically, the payout is paltry. I think it was $10K, that J. and I split to pay for our travel expenses. She was in Turkey, I in Hanoi. As 'estates' go, it was pretty simple and stress free. We gave away his posh recliner that he loved! We bought an American Flag for the Church Hill senior center to fly outside; their old one was in tatters, and it made Dad mad. And a bench for Edgewood Center. And that was that! I kept all his handkerchiefs, and believe you me, I use them in these sweaty countries! They smelled like Dad (Bengay, Old Spice) for a long time, through many washings!

He always looked at catalogs that sold watches. Of course, before the age of the Internet you had to go on marketing ploys and descriptions. Although come to think of it, he loved Consumer Reports magazine. I would say the watch was not from Sears, but from a catalog, and it was his only watch at the time. I didn't think it was working when I sent it to you, but I guess it did. I would guess it was a $50 watch in its day - as I remember the catalog. He had it a long, long time. But then it's easy to forget such things. You can look up Westclox on the web and see when they were last made. I wonder if it's made in China. If it was the US it cost more money. I wish it had been a Rolex for you! No one wears watches now with iPhones and cellphones. Your new necklace is a tribal kind of tribute. Eccentric and creative! I sent your email to J. to enjoy.

Bonnie's Big Portsmouth Adventure

Here's the text for a little book I gave to Bonnie's owner to commemorate our experiences.




Part I: Bonnie and Oggy get Acquainted

Bonnie is a curious dog. The day I picked her up she got in the car and immediately climbed into the passenger seat and leaned up on the armrest to get a better view. She did this so naturally it was almost like she wanted to hit the window button with her paw and roll her window down so she could feel the wind in her face. Maybe she was trying to escape. I pulled her out of the window and tugged her closer to me while I rolled the window back up and locked the window buttons. She got in my lap and then tried to get inside my coat making it impossible to drive. At a stop sign I pushed her back into the passenger seat and the dog leash managed to get wrapped around the transmission stick and pulled the car into neutral. As I gunned the engine and didn’t go anywhere I took a moment to explain what was going on.
“Bonnie, I’m driving. That means you need to sit in your seat and behave.”
Bonnie licked my finger. I put the car back into drive and drove home. Bonnie proceeded to eat cracker crumbs off the seat.

Part II: Bonnie Takes the Elevator

The Stairs: Bonnie didn’t like the stairs one bit. The first time she saw them she stepped up the first two stairs and turned around. I put a dog biscuit on the third stair but it was not enough of a temptation to get her to leave the ground. So I picked her up and she clawed the air while I climbed the stairs in the rain. We made it to the top porch and hugged the wood like a repentant sinner.

Part III: Bonnie Finds Room on the Bed

Sleeping arrangement: The dog bed was no comparison to the king sized foam and down bed so Bonnie slept near me. I woke up with a ball of white hair in my mouth and I thought for a second I had gone completely gray overnight but it was just Bonnie’s fur. What a relief!

Part IV: Bonnie takes Oggy for a Walk

6:30 am is a time that I have not been acquainted with for many years. Bonnie insisted I become intimate again with post dawn morning. She ran back and forth while I got dressed and was so eager to go down the stairs into the main house that she forgot that the only exit is down the outside stairs. It took some effort to convince her that we could not go down the perfectly safe stairs inside the house, but rather we had to go outside first. Once outside, she tried to get back inside. I pulled her to the edge of the stairs and she made no attempt to descend them. I demonstrated how easy it was to put one foot after another but she was adamant in her refusal. I pulled her closer and her claws left trails in the wood as she scratched away from the stairs. Finally, I picked her up and brought her down the stairs and onto the grass. We walked down to the empty dog park and Bonnie had dreams of chasing squirrels in the park. Then we walked back to the house (Bonnie again walked up two steps and turned around, leading to my carrying her up again) Since I was already awake I decided to go to the labor hall where I found forgettable work at a moving facility. (At one point the foreman told me very slowly, “You find a box with the word Kennebec on it and put it near the word Kennebec on the floor.”)
I even refused a job washing dishes at Philips Exeter Academy because it started at 11 and went to 7.
“I’ve got a dog,” was my excuse, so they offered me the job at the moving place in Greenland.
Bonnie was happy to see me (though still refused to walk down the stairs) and we made a long walking tour of colonial Portsmouth.

Part V: Bonnie gets a New Name

The next morning I was stiff and sore from moving several hundred kitchen cabinets destined for Home Depot and Lowes so Bonnie and I took the day off and toured the dog park where someone said, “What a pretty dog. What breed is she?”
I said, “Who knows? Sheep Dog, Labrador, Poodle. There’s no telling with these mutts.”
“Aw, that’s not nice.”
“She’s deaf.”
“What’s her name?”
“Castalia. I named her after the intellectual utopia in The Glass Bead Game.”
Bonnie was sniffing an old plastic bag.
“Uh….”
After that, we slept until noon. In the evening, I set about unpacking the many boxes I had dumped on the floor when I moved from Laconia. After an evening walk I went downtown to play some music at the Press Room. I came back to discover that the antique latches on the cabinets were dog friendly and Bonnie had investigated all the trash and even had separated it into categories on the floor. Empty boxes were pushed aside and under the refrigerator. Banana peels were licked clean. Anything edible was eaten. Fortunately, I love chocolate too much to throw any away. I’m the world’s worst disciplinarian. I think I said, “Bonnie? What were you thinking?”

Normally a dog would shrink away because digging through the trash is never allowed, but Bonnie seemed to think it was completely amusing and I didn’t have the heart to scold her. I think we both understood that the rules no longer applied. This was a vacation and Bonnie was going to have a chance to do all those things she had never been allowed to do. She was going to sleep on the bed all day, eat trash, pee on the carpet, get carried down five flights of stairs and at the end of it she would be lavished with belly scratches and biscuits and bits of grilled cheese sandwiches. It was like a dream come true for her. Little did we know that two days later we would be struggling to survive.

Part VI: Bonnie Goes to the Beach

The next day we drove to New Castle to do a photo shoot at Fort Stark but the gate was closed and no dogs were allowed. So we went to Ordione Point but found the gates closed. So we went to Rye Beach where dogs are not allowed and the wind and rain lashed us while I clicked a few pictures. Just a passing squall, I thought, but Bonnie seemed to know something was coming.

Part VII: Bonnie Survives the Storm

The rain continued through the next day and when it was too late to matter I decided to drive to Stratham to cover my van with a tarp since the windows leak. It was dark and cold and the rain was blowing horizontally and I lost feeling in my fingers before I even got one side of the tarp up so I abandoned that project and went inside where I found Bonnie exiled to the garage and my brother carrying a pile of paper towels saying, “Keep that dog out of here!” It seems Bonnie had held her bladder over the soaking wet lawn and parking lot so she could relive herself in the dry, posh comfort of Brooklyn’s bedroom.
The last thing Brooklyn said to me was, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

So, I drove home through an increasing storm and stopped by my friend’s house in Greenland where I made some bead necklaces while Bonnie got acquainted with Rufus, a muttish bloodhound that lived there. My friend’s daughter immediately fell in love with Bonnie and fell asleep with her on the couch while we watched a music concert until the power went out. Hoping to avoid an incident like at Nathan’s house I took Bonnie outside at the height of the storm and I am proud to say her survival instincts are still working because while a hurricane force storm was blowing trees down all around us and the rain lashed us like needles, we hid in the lee side of the garage and Bonnie drank rain water from an overturned trash can lid half filled with ice and pine needles. I’m sure she was thinking, “If they could see me now.”

We stayed until the storm passed and I drove home through the complete destruction of Greenland. Most of the mailboxes were smashed by trees. Emergency vehicles came from all directions. There was no power in Greenland and no power on the way to Portsmouth and no power in Portsmouth. Traffic was diverted around dark traffic lights but the side streets were filled with tree limbs. At my house there was a gigantic pine tree that fell down in the storm. I carried Bonnie up the stairs to safety and Bonnie ate her last dinner in Bella Vista and we slept as the rain pelted the window.

Part VIII: Bonnie Almost Conquers the Stairs

The next morning we walked around Portsmouth to see the destruction. The ballpark was under water; trees had fallen all around the park. The dog park was empty and I took some pictures of the post storm landscape. Back at the house, Bonnie surprised me by carefully walking up the stairs, one by one. I encouraged her and she made it to the second platform before her courage failed. With a few more days I think she could’ve made it all the way up on her own.

Park IX: Bonnie Goes Home

Not long after that, you returned and Bonnie’s old life began again. I like to think I showed her a different side of life and that she was enriched by the experience. I know I enjoyed her company and would take care of her any time. I also hope this description of our time together will explain any unusual behavior.

Surf Motel RIP

It's one o clock. Time for a meatball sub!




You know, there is probably live footage of the fire that destroyed a block of Hampton Beach last thursday night. But this is the footage of me destroying a suds n soda meatball parm sub. That's a good sub. Suds N Soda doesn't always offer the same sandwiches. This time they had meatball and a couple other options. Last time they had sausage and peppers. I lay waste to that meatball sub as I watched people gawk at the blackened ruin of Hampton's famous triangle block, the one with salt water taffy, an arcade, a motel, seashells and some other things. Those will be replaced by something this summer. It's quite a mess. This land is your land...


This picture is for Hobo junk man on the left coast. It's as iconic as the Yokens whale is to us Portsmouth folk. Again, notice the ubiquitous American Flag in the background.