Cultural Whiplash - Attitash, NH

Seven days ago I was in a Texas honky tonk. Now I'm sitting, Bloody Mary in hand, at the base of Attitash Mountain on the outdoor deck at Ptarmigan Pub. I'm experiencing cultural whiplash here in the frozen north. I'm partying with New England yankees not Texas cowboys.

Driving out of Marblehead, Ma. this morning there was no snow on the ground. My thoughts revolved around raking the leaves I hadn't gotten to in the fall but a 2 1/2 hour drive north took me to a polar winter wonderland. The record snowfall in New Hampshire this year has left a 7 foot base of snow and 10+ foot snow banks. It's fantastical.

It's in the high 30's but my body is warm from a morning and afternoon of skiing. In front of me is an "ice bar". It's a 25 foot square snow bar built from snow blocks serving ice cold Tuckerman's Pale Ale.

Beyond it the ski lift silently carries excited passengers towards the white heavens as skiers float and carve their way down and across my view. Tree limbs are coated with the mornings snowfall highlighting the already majestic landscape. It's the the frosting and sprinkles on the cake.

It's a 1970's themed day at the mountain so Chic's "Good Times" is blasting it's refrain across the valley for all to hear. The mountain staff is dressed in afros and 70's costumes. To the left of me a drummer and bass player warm up for their afternoon session. My second Bloody Mary is gone.

More beer appears on our table. I buy a green afro seeing this is St. Patrick's weekend and we dance on the outdoor deck to the live band as they rip into Earth Wind and Fire's "September". There's no sitting down as Kool and the Gang's "Ladies Night" and burn baby burn "Disco Inferno" come next back to back. Awesome!! My son Dylan is embarrassed as any 15 year old would be but we got him up and dancing at one point.

I had a great time! Molly had to drive home. I love her. :)

Cafe Royale - San Francisco

I took a little walk tonight with a restful mind. I've been in San Francisco for 12 days now on a brutal work schedule. The weather has been awful, cold and wet but today it was 60 degrees and the sky was a brilliantly deep blue. Not a cloud in the sky. Being Sunday I still worked and now I kinda feel caught up.

I walked up Nob Hill looking for a neighborhood place and along Post and Sutter I found great neighborhood cafe/bars. The neighborhood reminded me of being in the heart of London or lower Manhattan with a comfortable architectural density. Corner cafe's and bars spill people out onto the sidewalk to enjoy el fresco dining, drinking, convivial conversation or a good book.

On the corner of Leavenworth and Post I found the serendipitous respite I was looking for. Warm light glowed out to the sidewalk through full first floor windows. Inside I saw a three piece combo in front of a royale red draped stage. Displayed on the window was a great wine list. I'm in!

What was the draw, the wine or the stand up bass? A stand up bass always stops me dead in my tracks, always lures me in. I remember my father always pointing out the bass parts in a song. I must have got that love of the bass from him.

The cool thing about San Francisco is you can just walk around and find music everywhere. There are sooo many three piece combos in SF. I've seem them in North Beach, Union Square, the Tenderloin, Nob Hill, ....everywhere.

Anyway, the guys in the window are 50 to 60 year old musicians, grey and bald. The bass notes come like soft rain on a tin roof while the electric rhythm guitar plays quarter note chords between turns of careening up and down the neck of his instrument, throwing notes like sparks off a welders torch. Behind it the drummer beats an old school drum kit to life. The bee bop syncopation fills the space between the raindrops and sparks of bass and guitar. My wine, Dona Paula Shiraz Malbec 2005 was everything I hoped for, full powerful, peppery. I'm jazzed like the music.

The small cafe'/bar is called Cafe Royale. A mosaic tile floor with two huge red circular couches form a comfortable sitting area in the center of the room. There is a zinc bar along the right wall as you enter and small candle lit cafe tables ring the opposite and outside walls. Straight ahead is the stage and above is a balcony that wraps around all four sides of the room.

After an hour, band spent, glass empty, Bob tired, I'm off to walk the two blocks back to my room. Eyes closed, brain off. Zzzzzzz

Cab Giant - San Francisco

I flagged down a cab and went to get in the back door on the driver's side but when I looked in I was surprised to see the driver himself in back seat. I kid you not. I went around the other side of the car and got in.

Looking over I see the driver seat is pushed back as far as it can go, crushing the back seat. It's leaned back so the driver's shoulders and head are even with mine. Darnedest thing I've ever seen. This guy must have modified the seat himself because seats don't normally push that far back. I imagine this guy pissed one day, squeezing himself in the car and by shear force pushing and bending the seat backward to fit himself in. Grrrr!

My cab giant guy is huge. He looks like the guy in the Bond movies named Jaws. Remember him? He was the giant with chrome teeth who could break you in half like a toothpick. I looked down the length of his prone body. Even "sitting" in the back seat his knees straddle either side of the steering wheel and are crushed against the dash. He's got to be 8' tall!

I wondered if this was a good move getting into a car with "Jaws" but it all turned out well. He didn't break me in half, he spoke like a gentle giant, we talked, I lived and he dropped me at the right address.

Twinkle - San Francisco

I'm having breakfast on the 46th floor of the San Francisco Hilton on O'Farrell St. It's 6:30 AM and it's still dark. The city is twinkling like the lights of a Christmas tree as a jazz rendition of "Santa Baby" plays. The Golden Gate bridge stands as a lonely sentinel against the inky bay and Marin Hills. Across the Bay a million lights combine to blanket the east bay hills. In between the hills and the city the bay slowly turns lighter shades of blue to match the brightening horizon but the crown of the sky remains a majestic navy blue with one shining star as the O Holy Night becomes the magical morning.

A Little Bit Country and A Little Bit Rock-n-Roll! - UK

I'm sitting on the train out of London heading up to Milton Keynes. Blue sky, sunny, a little cold but nice.

There's a dude across from me with the side of his head shaved and a pony tail.
He's wearing wild black and white loafers with black and red checkerboard socks. Rock-n-Roll! I love English rockers. It reminds me of the glory days of college and the bleeding edge of punk rock and new wave.

I took a walk to the Chelsea district of London the other morning to find the infamous Kings Road. I was at ground zero for the punk rock movement. I stood looking at the storefront that used to be Malcolm McLaren & Vivienne Westwood's shop called SEX. It soon spawned the Sex Pistols and the rest is history. It's now a vacuum cleaner store or something!

Back out the window, the country side is GREEN. The train beats out a repetitive rhythm matched by the visual repetition of green fields, village, pub, green fields, village, pub. The patterns are interrupted with cool little canals that carve up the countryside. Evenly peppered across the landscape are little canal boat communities of 10 or so boats. The canal boats are long skinny affairs and people actually live on the boats. European's live in smaller spaces than we do but wow, this would be a bit cramped.

I like how England is settled. There isn't the sprawl we have. There are beautiful little villages, closely settled with houses and townhouses check to jowl with a High Street (Business District) full of shops and the inevitable and inviting pub. The edge of town is literally the edge of town. The same is true for a big city like London. When you get to the edge of London (which is 40 square miles!) the city stops abruptly and there's a field with horses. That was an incredible view for my American eyes.

In between the villages are ancient farm houses and country pubs surrounded with a smattering of outbuildings and trees, dirt lanes and gates. Farmers walk the fields in their wellington boots, old men fish the canals and on the lonely country roads, framed by hedgerows, little European cars and tractors wait at crossings as we pass.

After the day's work is done I find myself at a canal side pub with a huge deck out the back. We sit under outdoor patio heaters as the canal recedes into the horizon before us. Just past the deck is a verdant green lawn that leads down to the canal. Trees line the left of the canal and to the right open fields glisten with dew and a hovering layer of mist.

I order Guinea Game Hen. Tastes like chicken...pretty good. I always try to eat the local indigenous species but truth be told I try not to order beef in the UK to avoid Mad Cow disease. (Hopefully my brain doesn't rot when I'm old)

After a couple pints of London Pride my brain rots anyway...but in a good way.

Ta ta for now.

For all UK posts click here

New York country

May 26th, 2005

Last time I was hanging in a New York Country Song my Uncle John was dead. We had always had great adventures with Uncle John and our cousins so there was no question about going to his funeral. Afterwards me and Unca Dan went to his house, a rambling broken down federal style farm house at the end of a Steven King road. There was a HUGE barn across from the house and a children of the corn field surrounding everything. Big as an ocean, with a star filled sky covering everything like a blanket. All told, very cool and comforting...very Uncle John-ish.

After hanging with the extended family for a while we found ourselves at a roadhouse, drinking drafts, listening to Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd and eating pickled eggs. I'll never forget those eggs for as long as I live! God they were bad! Sour and cardboard-ish.

Naturally, that was a great time! Hanging with my bro. Telling stories of Uncle John, Bernie & Timmy; spinning straw to gold, crushing coal into diamonds, molding Kodak moments into my mind.

Fog City - San Francisco

Fog City Diner on a decidedly non foggy night in San Francisco was the right choice tonight. I just walked 45 minutes along the Embarcadero from 3rd St in SOMA taking in the fading light reflecting off the bay and watching the Bay Bridge twinkling to life. I kept an eye out looking for the right place for a respite from the day's grind. Hot and hungry I was lured in by the gleaming polished chrome facade and shining neon sign of the Fog City Diner. Soon I had a perfectly cold glass of Anchor Steam beer and a menu.

Seated at the bar I struck up a great conversation with a law professor in town from Washington D.C. about photography. He was going to see a Hiroshi Sugimoto photography show at the DeYoung Museum. We talked about composition and abstraction, and the talent to see a picture and create art where others don't. I reflected about Ansel Adams and Annie Leibowitz and all the great photographs I try to create myself.

The Fog City Diner is not a diner in the traditional food sense. It's a beautifully detailed restaurant with a dark wood and arched beadboard ceiling. The bar is an underlit marble top with a polished chrome ceiling and a chrome and mirrored back wall. The walls are dark polished wood and the floor is a beautiful tile framed with a checkerboard pattern. It has the feel of a luxury club car from the twenties. The waiters and chefs all wear white chef's coats.

People don't come too look at the surroundings though. It's the food that's the magnet. I had chipotle crusted pork tenderloins with grilled asparagus and roasted corn coulis along with a salad of butter lettuces with spiced walnuts, pears and blue cheese. Not that I don't appreciate an open faced turkey sandwich or a burger and fries but yeah, this is not your "fathers" diner.