TerrallCorp Dispatch #9

Good afternoon, good evening, or good morning, depending on of course on when you are reading this opening line. I’m fine, thanks. And how are you?
I hope you can stop by the recently re-opened Green Arcade to stare at books and chat, even if that means risking your sanity by flying cross country in cramped plane. Though note that I’m about to leave for the Hobble Against the Variants East Coast Tour 2021. I will be again be perched behind the Arcade’s register after August 10.
We all need a little time travel now and then, and what better way to experience it than with a 45 rpm record? Look no further than my workplace! Visit the Arcade and hear Joe Williams backed by Count Basie and his orchestra as they perform “Everyday I Have the Blues” on the store’s jukebox. Then stick around to hear Arthur Prysock, Billy Eckstine, Charles Brown, Nina Simone, and Aretha Franklin. Get as comfortable as you can while surrounded by chattering tourists and dig Dean Martin singing “Busted,” Gene Pitney belting out “Town Without Pity,” and Eartha Kitt purring “I Want to Be Evil.” A powerful balm indeed for us pandemic-fatigued humanoids.
Obviously the jukebox is to die for, but it’s nice to be talking to customers again too, even the most annoying regular who griped at me about our masks-on policy (for anyone encountering a similar whiner on the job, do as I did and point directly at your antagonist while yelling “variants, baby, variants!”; it worked like a charm). Yes, talking to engaged people about books sure beats watching another minute of YouTube or Zoom, or staring at that bizarre spot on the ceiling for the umpteenth time.

But, as Tom Waits says to his appreciative audience on Nighthawks at the Diner, I want to pull your coat about something. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the matter at hand really gets my goat, to employ a metaphor that, sadly, reeks of animal husbandry.
Like most people not still hunkering down in paranoia and washing all their vegetables to avoid COVID cooties, I’ve had my spirits buoyed by being able to exist as an at least moderately social animal again. Last month I even dined indoors at a restaurant with fellow members of my drinking club (most of the members barely imbibe, what a disgrace!). I got nervous when the place started to fill up with maskless strangers, which led a one of my crew to assure me that since we were all double vaxxed there was nothing to worry about. It was indeed a pleasure to relax and be weird and goofy with a group of friends again, not to mention participating in conversations that didn’t involve staring at a Hollywood Squares-style formation on my laptop.
Soon after that meal I went back to one of my favorite places in San Francisco, Artists Television Access, a wonderfully old school, off the beaten mainstream path haven for underground cinema (literally, as the joint’s vast collection of 16mm films is stored in its basement). My jefe Gary and I took in a screening of shorts curated by toastmaster and filmmaker extraordinaire Craig Baldwin. As usual Craig was hilarious, jumping out of his skin with enthusiasm at being the presenter-in-chief again.
V. Vale, publisher since the 1970s of wild-ass books documenting punk and other subcultures, was also there to discuss the featured attraction, a half hour documentary about a 1978 show at Napa State Hospital which he had witnessed. San Francisco’s own The Mutants and the psychobilly from outer space combo The Cramps rocked the psychiatric facility’s residents on the big screen, both bands encouraging crowd participation which quickly erased any boundary between audience and performers. Lead Cramps vocalist Lux Interior, who I was fortunate enough to see in action with his partner in grime Poison Ivy on a handful of transcendent occasions (R.I.P. Lux!), was as usual in fine form, sharing the mic with patients/inmates and generally going nuts. Clearly a good time was had by all at the happening; the same was true for the ATA audience.
We were also treated to soundies, short films shown in the mid-twentieth century in what can best be described as celluloid jukeboxes, which included footage of an all-female WWII jazz orchestra which looked to be The International Sweethearts of Rhythm. Also wowing the room was a wonderfully off the wall performance by Spike Jones and his deranged band of merry men. Spike’s checkerboard carnie three-piece outfit was so visually compelling that I couldn’t help but yell “I want that suit!”
And there was more! Lip synched music video precursors gave us a pre-teenage Michael Jackson dancing his ass off and Eric Burdon standing stock still. What more could we ask for? Well, there was additional material but I’ll be damned if I can find the program to prod my swiss cheese-like memory, and internet searches require seconds of work.
I noticed audience members dropping their masks, that is those who were wearing them, to imbibe oddly named cocktails. I thus felt ok about talking off my wraparound nose and mouth protection in order to keep my glasses from fogging up, feeling quasi-relaxed enough to enjoy a window in which the damn virus doesn’t strike fear into our daily lives. Alas, those pesky variants are spreading like wildfire, paralleling the beginning of California’s less than fun blazing forest season. This depressing combination feels way too much like dystopian ecological sci-fi, and that window I mentioned earlier suddenly doesn’t seem quite so open.
I’ve babbled, both to myself and others, for hours about the pros and cons of taking calculated viral risks to avoid a non-shut in life. Those risks are obviously greater for the non-vaccinated, as us sharp characters who were medically jabbed for protection do not get as sick from contacting the Delta COVID strain (perhaps we should start calling it the Mississippi Delta variant in order to blame it on southern Republicans). But my err-on-the-side of caution doctor stressed that some those double vaxxers have been hospitalized. And do I really need more brain fog than I already have?
Yes, I know that wearing a mask, perhaps two, can likely protect me from such travails but it’s easy to fall into negative rumination in an age where that tendency seems very much du jour. Soon I will be on a cross-country Amtrak train and I can forget about it by sinking into the massive Victor Hugo novel which is most famous in this dunderhead country for being made into the smash musical my ticket scalper employer of yore called Les Miz, which I somehow managed to miss.
I’ve been told by several fellow train enthusiasts that the quality of the food served onboard has declined significantly since I last took my favorite long distance conveyance so I’m bringing enough fresh chow for a day or two. Besides, since I am astute enough to also tote pens, paper, magazines, books, and several pounds of hi-test French Roast coffee I can brave even the lamest non-meat foodstuff.
I’ll also be taking pre-paid USPS postcards to help remind voters to get off their couches (i.e. register and vote anti-fascist). Hey, electoral politics isn’t going to solve all our problems but we’d better preserve what we have while we still have it. Since the notes below for a portal to more information about that project.
At this point I really should bum you out with my Cyber Ninja watch, but since I need to catch that damn train I’ll just stick a link below to a very cheerful article about that group of phony auditors who are, incredibly, providing a model for other right wing lunatics throughout this fucked-up land of ours.
Instead I’ll close with another T. Nugent item. Fortuitously enough, upon beginning this rushed dispatch I noticed an announcement in Metal Onslaught magazine that a previously unreleased Nuge project will soon be hitting stores and streaming platforms. Hold your socks or they soon will be knocked off. It turns out that a recording of a forgotten l976 live collaboration between Mr. Huge and the Boston Pop recently crawled from under a rock to wow the masses. It’s called Catch Scratch Fiedler. You can’t make that stuff up! Or maybe you can.
Platonic smooches until next time.


Notes
I love this group, and they’re not asking for big donations:      https://act.progressive.international/defend-the-amazon/

Don’t read this if you’re having a bad day:    https://www.economist.com/united-states/2021/07/03/state-level-republicans-are-reforming-how-elections-are-administered

Those zany L.A. boys in blue:      https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2021-07-01/terror-panic-lapd-explosion-hits-neighborhood

Save what we have before it’s too late:       https://postcardstovoters.org/