row, row yourself to the port of amsterdam

and sit back against the ale stained wall, and watch the sailors and wenches fall by.

hoist your drink, set your sail and be glad you are alive.

a little get together

it was a bit slow last night, and critter and i dared to dream. when we did, over a pot of serbian mountain tea, this attached vision came to mind. and it kept coming, in wave after beautiful wave. we share this with you today so we can all walk on sunshine, if just for a little while.

A very handsome fellow...with a long moustache.

Critter and I stayed up late last night, thinking about where to start and how it might end. Full from a delicious Cranberry Casserole we sat watching a little TV and this came on. We both fell asleep knowing there was still so much right with this world.

The other side of the earthquake, and a great green sea.

Critter and I came home to rest a spell, after a few days chasing the sun up the coast and trying to track the elusive dan blocker, whose smile and soul alone could cut through this drape of pacific fog that hugged our hearts. We couldn't catch him, or the sun, but heard he wasn't far off and we could feel his spirit close , like the hum of a car waiting around the bend. It was quiet back in the house. I was downstairs, trying to find the courage to pay a few bills while Critter was sitting with some of my potted flowers upstairs on the patio. They talk up there, on my patio, whispering to each other...gossip mostly, small talk, as they try to keep their conversation out of ear shot of the big trees standing guard in my front yard. It is light fare, rumors and flower chit chat , literally about the birds and the bees. Sometimes i think Critter plays shrink to those flowers, coddling their precious pastel egos but what do I know. They clam up around me and seem to only smile when i water them. Critter isn't afraid of those trees (lightweights he says) but, since we have to pass them every day to get to the van or the ocean, no need to create any unnecessary trouble. The trees here get a little resentful of him anyway, he says, as they think he is a little snobby, having hailed from raw depth of Oregon forests. anyway, he was chatting them up and thinking about what kind of berry plate to fix for supper when we the hair on both of our necks stood straight, and when you are talking about critter, that is some serious hair to consider. the earth trembled, i shrieked, critter ran downstairs to stand near me, we both trembled and watched as dinner plates inched their way closer to death, followed by my clay coffee mugs and and an autographed picture of Joan Jett. And we trembled some more. 16 seconds I heard later.

And forgive me here for a second as most of the time I don't like to report on the mundane,recount stories you can hear anywhere, stories like earthquakes and who becomes president and which foods have more calories than others and the like. those aren't stories really, they are just mundane things, lifeless dusty rocks that anyone can pick of the road. stories you can only find if you move a few old books aside, open a notebook, or talk to that old lady down the street who scares you because sometimes she forgets to put her teeth in.

anyway, the earth finally stopped bending and I took a look around my kitchen to see everything more or less intact, except Critter. there was an even deeper sense of quiet about him that i had ever felt...he far more still than those trees out front and his eyes opened into a depth into which i was scared to go. being six feet from him almost felt too close, as if i would fall further than any height i had fallen in a dream.

"critter, you ok?"

"I am ok, but the earth just spoke. spoke in its loudest voice. to tell us we need to take care. to tell us we need to worship it and ourselves. to tell us we need to celebrate her and ourselves."

i have been hearing that kind of talk since my i went to that hippy pre-school as a kid, but never did i believe like i did coming from the a 9ft yeti in my kitchen.

"ok man, i am into it, what do we do"

" we leave now, we get out of santa monica and head for home stopping for nothing and for everything"

"home like oregon home?"

"yes, Matt, yes"

then we made some tea and he painted a picture of his home with words and not words, that looked a lot like the one I put up top this entry.

"far out, i am in, as always"

driving away, closer to home

Critter finished his story, remembering that he and his friend spent four beautiful summer days with Cornelius before their hometown hamlet sent out a search party looking for the two young Yeti. They found the youngsters napping in the white sand under the yellow sun, bellies full of the strange, new fruits of the sea and their heads full of adventure. Over time, the food gets digested but the smell of the Pacific and the idea of unmapped trails and unseen vistas never fade, floating on the crest of Critter's brow. His friend, who Critter respectfully referred to as Jim Doe (i kept telling him it was John Doe and Critter flatly said "not where i am from") went back to the comfort and safety of the heart of their forest where he would learn to harvest delicious berries and tree fruits with his family and continue studying trees, the stars, the rivers and rocks that form the seasons of a the Sasquatch. But for Critter, upon his return, could not be still...and being still is a large part of being a Bigfoot. Often when a young yeti gets out of line the reprimand is "Be a tree." Critter could hardly pretend to be a roaring let alone an oak. He had to leave and so he did.

Which sort of bring us to now except how Critter got from Oregon to my doorstep is another story. Naturally I asked him and he just looked at me and turned up the Hawkwind 8 track and looked out the window, at a sun playing little games with with an ocean at recess. I put my head back and let Critter drive.

I am you CAPTAIN!

Before I forget, you can catch a glimpse of Dan in this extraordinary clip as he helps Grand Funk Railroad get ready for Shea Stadium. It started as a summer job and became a way of life. Sit back with your first class ticket to hotness. Feel the sizzle.

sing to me, your siren song, hwy 1

Open your heart Hwy 1, and show us your golden child, your beloved knight errant, the mythical gatekeeper to every dream we haven't yet had. Take us to Dan.  

Hwy 1, be our sea, and Dan Blocker, our Captain, and the life of adventure, our white whale.

I sit staring from the passenger seat of a Chevy Van, watching the Pacific Ocean hypnotize every asphalt mile we drive, together nodding in a rhythm, lightly adorned by high pitched cries from Steve, Peter and the rest of Humble Pie. I smiled as I watched Critter smile as we both watched the rest of the world smile right by us, a sun soaked conveyor belt of summer dreams flying by us, like kids running past the teacher and through that door on the last day of school.

Summer baby, Summer. So beautiful and so right, I knew that morning when I felt the first tiny, dry timid kiss of summer move down my right ear, that it was time join Dan, the sultan of swashbuckling, our hope eternal, the man that seemed to walk right out of every poster I hung as a kid... every surf spot, that Aerosmith concert your mom didn't let you go to, that older brother you didn't have who had all access to the sweet smells behind the curtains of Cal Jam 1, 2 and all the small boogies held in the faded light hills behind Hollywood. Dan is part of  all the sunsets California ever saw, painted on the side of vans, t-shirts and etched across the minds of soul searchin' free people. He was natural born boogie. 

And yup, you know this, Critter and I want to dance.

I hadn't seen Dan in ages but it didn't take Critter long to understand him, and what he was about.   Looking out over the Pacific, his eyes hidden by the brim of Paul Bunyon baseball hat, Critter turned down the Humble Pie tape and summoned a story from when he was younger about one of his nation who left home young to never return. Critter said his name, losely translated, was Cornelius.  He moved from the dark green of the deep forest to a tiny stretch of coast that rubbed up against the great woods.  As Critter moved into his teens (which is like 85 years old in human years), he and a close friend snuck away from their Bigfoot hometown and walked west, toward the sweet warm scent of the sea and sun.  The trail was soft on their  feet like  an afternoon nap, they moved, drawn to something big bright and open.  Finally, in front of them, peering throw the edge of the canopy, golden curls from the sun pried their way through the trees toward them.  galloping, they tore free of the forest to see a blue vastness they could never guess at, and laying in the fine white sand, propped up by a grey rock, was the Bigfoot know as Cornelius.

All he said to them. in that first moment, was "welcome to sea, sit down with me and you might never come back."

And all that live long day, me and Critter were drinking black coffee, freshly ground and fully packed!