Off the Black & Townes Van Zandt

I happened to catch this little indie film on TV recently, attracted by Nick Nolte. Some of the reviews have called it slow and boring, but I'd call it slow and reassuring. It's a film that finds something to love in a man who has completely fucked up his life and thrown in the towel. Losers aren't necessarily worthless and uninteresting. Sometimes life is just too hard. In this case, a young man in danger of falling out of life is rescued by the last sparkle of humanity in an old drunk who uses the boy on his way out. What makes the film special is its subtlety. The characters blunder on, oblivious to their story.

At the end of the film came a song that broke my heart wide open. The last time this happened I discovered Tom Waits. This time I found Townes Van Zandt. The song was "If I Needed You." As the song credits scrolled past, I noticed the the same "written and performed by" on several, but I hadn't heard them. (I rarely do in the midst of a film.) I rushed to google him and get my hands on this amazing song and whatever else he'd done.

Thus I learned the sad tale of Townes Van Zandt and found a long list of albums, but every time I listened to "If I Needed You" it was sung in a whimsical, wistful, upbeat fashion with playful guitar. Nice, but I was looking for the slow, sad, heartbreaking voice of a lost soul that I'd heard in the film. I cannot find it! Where is it? Granted, I didn't hear every track of the song on every album that includes it; I lost patience. There must be another way.

The soundtrack of the film is apparently not available. The only thing I can think of to do is get the DVD from Netflix and hope the extras will tell me something. I'll also get a chance to hear the other songs.

Are there other Townes Van Zandt fans out there who can help me find the version of "If I Needed You" that I am desperate to get my hands on? Help!

Lazy days

The other day I decided to plop down in the shade in my back yard and watch birds. I didn't expect much. I'd only noticed the usual weedy birds in my yard before -- starlings, house sparrows, assorted blackbirds, mockingbirds, robins, pigeons. At least I could try to sort out the blackbirds and just watch everybody fool around. So, I was surprised when a brown bird with peachy orange on its belly wasn't a young robin after all. It had a rather stylish bearing when perched and was darting around in flycatchery fashion catching things in midair.

The novelty turned out to be a Say's phoebe, common around here but new to me and therefore a small thrill. Turns out now that this bird not only hangs around my yard daily but was nesting, as today she's feeding two fledglings perched on my electric box.

The nice thing about starting over in a new location is that so much is new to me. I get beginner thrills all over again.

Sadly, Starbucks doesn't want me after all. I got no call, and I'm "free to re-apply." I wonder if it's worth a try. Everybody tells me they don't see old fogies like me serving up coffee at Starbucks. Hmmm. Their loss.

Back to nature

Feeling good again! After two weeks, my Monday night yoga class was a joy, even though it seemed we were trying to unscrew our thighbones from their sockets. It does feel great to do that, really.

Tuesday was a beautiful day, partly cloudy and temp only 82, perfect for a hike. I chose Dreamy Draw again, as by the time I got around to it there wasn't much time left in the day for driving. I was early enough to find a parking space, as most people seem to go there after work for a quickie.

This time I took the low trail first, through mesquites, smiling at the hummingbird who seemed to take a long time figuring out I wasn't a flowering shrub. Mourning doves were whizzing around every which way, one with a caterpillar dangling from its beak giving off a cozy family vibe. I don't quite see why the doves overwhelmingly dominate Dreamy Draw. I thought I'd see more different types of birds there. Pooh, there I was with my brand new binocs and not that much to see. I practiced my aim, getting the binoculars up to see the same place my eyes were seeing without them. I was way off; got better.

Then I started a long climb uphill. I was pleasantly surprised that my legs felt even stronger than the last time despite nearly two weeks of inactivity. The limitation was my breath, having to stop to pant long before my legs were tired. Still, I was able to hike about the same amount of time as before but without feeling exhausted at the end. That's improvement, today's soreness notwithstanding.

Sitting up top with my tuna sandwich and cashews, I resignedly watched the ubiquitous doves, then suddenly there were three going by with big white patches on the wings. It's been at least thirty years since I was a pretty good birder, so I had to think twice to realize this was not the old familiar mourning dove at all. In the Peterson guide for the west I found a whole page of doves & pigeons, including the white-winged dove that matched my memory of what I'd seen. Whee! A new species for me. (Hey, doves are pretty. No snickering please. Fortunately most of the oddballs in the book are only found around LA; less dove confusion for this recovering birder.)

Tonight, Bally's.

Home again, sneezing

I went to Gainesville, Florida, to visit friends and came home with a sore throat and head cold. Damn!

When I say Gainesville, I really mean Lesbianville, as my old dear friend and her partner are lesbians, as are their friends. This time we did a lot of socializing: a birthday party, a lesbian variety show, a bird tour on a boat, a sweet coffee shop where friends gather, and we even flirted with a young kook of a waitress in a nice Italian restaurant.

The last time I visited I was a little jumpy about my marriage and fantasizing about some female action on the side. So, this time my friend had prepared the ground for me to hook up with one of her single friends. That was sweet, but I'm not in the mood for a fling any longer. Things are going so well with my guy that I'm finding great comfort in loyalty. Will it last?

I bought myself a nice, lightweight pair of binoculars before the bird trip. It's an investment in my back-to-nature movement, along with all the work to get my legs strong enough to really hike again. I learned to tell a few species of shorebirds apart, but the highpoint was a small flock of white pelicans. I had no idea the white ones are so huge! When they went airborne in synchrony, slow and graceful, I swooned with pleasure at the sight.

The plovers and sandpipers and other brown speckled things were like reading fine print, another category of pleasure but less glorious. We didn't see anything rare or even unusual. The guide said the tide was unusually high & early and the birds weren't where he usually finds them. (I thought tides were utterly predictable, so was he putting one over on us?) He said it was his worst bird tour ever, but I'm so out of practice I didn't notice. We had a great time zooming and pausing around this little key on the Gulf coast whose name I've already forgotten.

Now I'm allowing myself to be grumpy and lazy with my little head cold.

Shine a Light!

Oh those Stones... I sat real close to the IMAX screen so I could drown myself in it. I could see right inside Mick Jagger's mouth to the inner surfaces of his teeth. They don't look so good on that side. Maybe I was too close.

Charlie Watts has the only real hair and looks so normal he's probably the looniest. The others are dyed. How they can strut around with their real faces and be afraid of gray hair is a mystery. Jagger's is wild chic, Richards has nappy bed hair, and Woods' impossibly sleek, shiny, thick, unmoving black locks must surely be a wig.

These guys are just totally awesome. I can't think of a better word. How can they be so old and so hot? Jagger isn't just energetic, he's muscular and flexible like a dancer or a yogi and aggressive like a fighter. He never smiles. Richards is like a gypsy, all smiles and bangles and rags with sweet secrets in his eyes. His eyeliner is spooky. Woods is hidden, just the guitar. He and Keith always have something going on. Watts is another country.

I love them, love them, love my idea of them, especially Keith, but I don't know them at all.

Thank you, Marty Scorsese.

Dog wash

I did it. I took Homie to the self-service dog wash. It's a tossup who came out wetter, but I liked it. The best part is not having to bend over. The second-best part is controlled temperature water, just about body temperature, with a nifty sprayer that is just the right intensity and shuts off smoothly because it isn't corroded or cracked or stuck from being baked in the sun while wet and dirty. The third-best part was the plump soft-voiced gal with no hair who kept an eye on us and was always there when we needed something (like lifting).

Homie acted like he was expecting to be burned with cigarettes.

He was lifted into a metal box like an elevated horse trailer, the door closed behind him, his neck leashed to the wall. This is the me not bending over part. He went rigid and bent into a c-shape, butt against the wall farthest from me, his hind legs crouched into a Z like a Lipizzaner stallion. This made it hard for me to wash all sides of him. I had to put my arms around him and scoot him like a sofa.

They provided a nifty rubber curry comb to get as much hair out as possible before washing so it wouldn't clog the drain. Shampoo (very dilute) and conditioner were provided in squeeze bottles. As I worked away, Homie's hind legs unbent very, very, very slowly. By the time we got to the towel part, his favorite, he was almost normal. He leaped down on his own, neatly avoiding the towel laid out for him so he wouldn't slip.

Then came the drying room. I had tried using my hair dryer on Homie once at home. He wasn't having any. But here he was once again made helpless and choiceless. The room was filled with long countertops divided into three-sided cubicles. We lifted him into one and leashed him to the wall. There was a long hose and an electrical switch in each cubical. The air was only very slightly warm, though noisy. Homie was suspicious but had to admit it wasn't half bad.

The wash was $13, not unreasonable, especially when compared to me carrying jars of warm water from the kitchen to the back yard and bending double for half an hour for all those coolish months of weekly medicated baths for the Demodex. Of course I also picked up $20 worth of frozen raw bison & rabbit chunks on my way out. This was a result of my dog fart research, raw food recommended for their microbial contributions to gut health. Sure, they had beef and chicken for a little less, but why not go all the way? I know they have to cull the bison herd at that park in Oklahoma.

Thumbs up for the dog wash!

Oh, Starbucks!

So far, my quest for a job at Starbucks is frustrating. I'm giving up on the one nearest my home after trying twice to apply.

They interview people in groups one day a week. I was instructed to show up any Wednesday between 3 pm and 5 pm. I showed up the next Wednesday at 4 pm, which in my reckoning is just about literally "between" 3 and 5, application in hand. Sorry, interviews are over. You should have been here at 3 pm. I looked so disappointed they gave my a free drink.

The following week, I showed up at exactly 3 pm. Oh, sorry, interviews are canceled today due to unforeseen circumstances. You should have called first to make sure.

You know, I was really sort of excited about the idea of working there. Now I'm feeling frustrated. What's with all the too-late should'a's?

I drove directly to another Starbucks and asked about applying for a job. This one has interviews from 5 to 7 pm on Tuesdays. Burned not once but twice, I probably sounded dopey asking if they meant I should show up at 5 pm and not between 5 and 7, and asking if I should call first to make sure. Oh, no! We do actually mean anytime between 5 and 7, and they never get cancelled!

Hmmmm. Does this Starbucks have better management than the other one?

I picked up a fresh application. On the first one I had been a bit sloppy about my work experience, thinking who cares what I did more than 20 years ago. I got the bug to do it right this time. By the time I had patched together my complete work history going back to 1967, it was three pages long, jumping back and forth from office work to biology work a half dozen times. Maybe I'll end up in the office instead of making coffee delights.