A Walk on the Wild Side

British actress Helen McCrory plays Polly Gray in BBC series Peaky Blinders on Netflix. McCrory unexpectedly died from breast cancer at age 52 during filming of the series.

I've been watching Peaky Blinders. It is a violent, ribald and intriguing story based on a real gang of gypsies who were involved in crime and politics in Birmingham, England during the early 1900s. Their charismatic leader, Thomas Shelby, is played by Cillian Murphy, who won an Oscar this year for his portrayal of Robert Oppenheimer in the award-winning film, Oppenheimer.

Wow. This series sizzles like a piece of raw meat on a hot grille. Murphy steals every scene in which he appears -- his blue eyes, round cheeks and pleasant good looks draw you in. His resonant Shakespearean voice seals the deal. But make no mistake, he's one shrewd dude, every nuance calculated.

Tommy Shelby

The Shelby family are the Peaky Blinders, named for their flat caps whose brims, pulled low, shade their faces. Legend tells us that inside those brims were hidden razor blades. Their tailored long coats flare like evil wings when the Blinders walk the shadowy streets of industrial, working class Birmingham evoking a chill in the smokey air, with potential violence at every corner.

"How can you watch this?" my lovely spouse asks, following a fury of spilling guts.

I have no answer other than I enjoy the tension and righteousness of a downtrodden class attempting to succeed. It reminds me of the cowboy movies I watched when I was young. My mother asked me the same question, even forbade me to watch those shoot 'em-up B-level flicks. I was more upset with my mother's censorship.

"Too much killing," she said.

"It's just a TV show. All my friends watch it."

My will was too strong. I had to watch.

I don't binge on Peaky Blinders. I watch one or two episodes and turn it off. When I prepare to stream another, part of me cringes, mindful of the raw violence and misogynistic sex, but once the episode begins I fall under its spell, beginning with the opening music, dark and foreboding, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. 

We are an interesting species that cannot seem to get along. These are our ancestors. Or many of ours.  Themes of despair, hedonism, revenge and identity strike nerves. Not so lost today, they make for good theater that ideally we can learn and evolve beyond. Modern Shakespeare. 

Esteemed British actress Helen McCrory plays Polly Gray, Tommy's sister, a beguiling gypsy cohort, expressing pearls of wisdom: "Sometimes the women have to take over. Like in the war." She is a major player. 

McCrory, 52, died from breast cancer, unexpectedly, during the beginning of the sixth and final season (2021). She kept it a secret. It was a devastating blow to the cast and crew who had to re-produce at least one episode, in which she would die. It is dedicated to her memory.

I don't know how the series ends. I can't believe it will be a happy ending. I have just begun the final season. No spoilers here.

My mother and I loved to stay up late and watch movies on TV, especially on Saturday nights. Her favorite actors were Joseph Cotten and Vincent Price, because of their voices. She would complain about British films, saying they liked to leave parts out, expecting viewers to pick up the story. This BBC production is guilty of same. Some of the scenes are meant simply for drama, like the dialog between Tommy and the Jewish mobster Alfie Solomon, played by Tom Hardy, whose cunning and dialect as Alfie are nothing short of fabulous.

Because the language is difficult to understand at times, I watch with English subtitles, and will stop and  replay a scene to fully appreciate the poetry. The story line includes historical events and characters including the U.S. Stock Market Crash of 1929, Prohibition, the oncoming of Fascism in Europe, the role of the early IRA (Irish Republican Army) and British statesman  Winston Churchill on his way to becoming Prime Minister. Five stars. If you've got the stomach. 

"I am as true as truth's simplicity, and simpler than the infancy of truth."  William Shakespeare

Fun Fact: The series was filmed in Liverpool, home of the Fab Four Beatles, including the neighborhood where drummer Ringo Starr grew up.

You Know You're a Geezer...

 

When the simple act of watching your grandson tackle a hot dog gives you pleasure.

When you get a speeding ticket and you think it's cool. You broke the speed limit!

When nobody laughs at your jokes. You're considered funny for other reasons.

When you have a 54-year-old daughter, and a 22-year-old granddaughter graduating from college, a life-opening accomplishment too long ago.

When you go to bed at 9 and think you've stayed up too late. Not so much from fatigue, more your bio- rhythms have shifted.

When you can't remember your neighbor's name, even though you spoke to her yesterday and asked.

When you realize that you're shrinking.

When you make a pact never to drive at night because it's dark, the time you once went out to party and drive fast.

When you flirt with elderly women (or men).

When you read the same book over and over and there's no exam coming up. And it seems vaguely familiar. You've been here before.

When you translate a QR code as Quite Ridiculous.

When you remember the phrase "I Like Ike" as though it was yesterday. Beware of the military industrial complex.

When news of the world scares hell out of you.

When you wake up at dawn and your body creaks like a rusty hay baler.

When you know even vaguely what a hay baler might be.

When you remember before the iPhone and the remote control there was the far-out grooviness of the clock radio, which started and ended your day. AM radio. All the hits. Dodger games.

When you start laughing uncontrollably for no reason.

When you discover that you really do have a great singing voice. But nobody wants to hear you sing.

When you tell your grandkids that something is "bitchin."

When you realize that you are smarter than everyone else.

When you begin playing ukulele with senior citizens.

When you spend an afternoon with your 5-year-old grandson and feel like you've competed in an ironman triathlon.

When you can't decide whether it's better to walk, drive or just relax in a swing on the porch.

When you look back over the years and admit how fortunate you've been to be able to smell the roses, run with the wind, listen to great music, play with good friends and still be hanging around.

If you’re a geezer or geezerette, feel free to add your own wisdomry. We can even make up our own words!

Blowin in the Wind

Following the Presidential election of Barack Obama in 2008, Bob Dylan, now a Nobel laureate, told a Minnesota audience, "I was born in 1941 the year they bombed Pearl Harbor. I've been living in a world of darkness ever since. But it looks like things are gonna change now."  

The results are in. Generational Flip has occurred. We are now the Establishment.

By "we" I mean Boomers. This is not news so much as confirmation, as evidenced by the Robert F. Kennedy, Jr campaign to get on the ballot for President in all 50 states. The former Democrat has started his own political party, We the People.

Leader of Anti-Vax and scion of the famed Kennedy clan, RFK JR is fast appearing everywhere, fueled by the technology fortune of his choice for VP-running mate, Nicole Shanahan, who will be 39 in September.

Former spouse of Google co-founder Sergey Brin, Shanahan brings not only mucho denaro to RFK's campaign, but anti-establishment bona fides. She pooh-poohs medical science with beliefs that include "natural light therapy" for autism. She reportedly had a fling with Elon Musk. She introduces a Libertarian flare to politics and she surfs!  

Campaign rallies, documentaries and social media posts are being fed to a wide audience including youngsters who are members of the new Anti-Establishment that used to be us, or me. Although I see no comparison between Joe Biden and Dick Nixon. I canvassed for Senator George McGovern against Nixon in 72 and lost big time. The Establishment won.

Encouraged by a family associate, I picked up a copy of RFK Jr's book, The Real Anthony Fauci, a hit piece purportedly proving that Fauci is a fraud and huckster. The book is dense and mean-spirited written in the style of a supermarket tabloid. I tried to follow the so-called evidence but it bogs down into circuitous studies and footnotes. The Kennedy family, firmly established in American culture and the Democratic Party, disavows the opinions of Bobby's son.

He has struck a sensitive anti-establishment nerve in our country, members of whom I know and love.

This all leads to a third-party candidate who speaks to those disenfranchised by our cumbersome and elderly political leaders. Who wouldn't want new blood, new ideas, a new empowered future for a better country and world? I wanted anti-war McGovern, who served as a fighter pilot in WWII and came with knowledge and experience of war-time conflict. He spoke for the Anti-Establishment (a tad more coherently) in the same way that Kennedy speaks today. He reflects their conscience and desire for a better world. I understand his appeal.

Slick videos in support of Kennedy have been appearing on Facebook. Paid for by his campaign. They’re high-quality, and difficult to avoid or escape once you click into his posts. I assume this is due to Shanahan's contribution. She's a savvy techie with deep pockets.

Curious about how his presence on the ballot for President might effect the National Election, I've engaged in a very unscientific, random "poll."  I have read lots of comments made by his supporters. Many are hopeful and well-intentioned. A few still support Donald Trump. Some comments are by people who voted for Trump and are looking for something new. I haven't seen any express that they are former Biden Democrats. I'm sure there are those.

Our two-party system of electors makes it nearly impossible for a third party to win the Presidency. Essentially, it's a vote between two major candidates of the two established parties. A third candidate's only effect on the election is to take a vote away from, or give a vote to, one of the two major candidates. Third-party consumer-advocate Ralph Nader in 2000 swung the vote, a very narrow margin, to George W. Bush over Al Gore. In 1992, third-party candidate Ross Perot swung election for Bill Clinton over former President George H. W. Bush.

There are three third-party candidates this year -- Kennedy, Green Party candidate Jill Stein and People's Party candidate Cornel West.

How this will influence our National Election and the two major candidates is a guessing game at this point. It's only April and the Election is in November. Trump could have a criminal record by then. I don't want to consider numerous other calamities and surprises that could or might happen.

If I were going to place a bet in Vegas today, based on the simple facts that I have gleaned, I would not put my money on the anti-establishment Donald Trump, who seeks vengeance and wants to be king. My money would go on the most establishment of all candidates: Joe Biden. 

I am currently a tax-paying member of the once reviled, I-swore-I-would-never-join, Establishment. I still believe in peace and that we shall overcome. Unfortunately, the country was not ready for President Obama, who was blocked at every turn by the opposing Republican Party, which has fallen apart.

Have You Checked Your Email?

Me and Red

I don't know how excited most folks are about technology and how it makes our lives easier, but I am one step away from suicide. Modestly, of course. I won't be hanging myself in the bathroom or asking my wife to run over me in the driveway with our island car. One more blip of a QR code, forgotten password or demand for another app so I can connect a speaker to my laptop and I'll probably just swallow a bucket of nails.

Sometimes you feel better when you really feel the pain.

I can't believe I said that. But that's how I feel.

Technology is supposed to be easy, save time, provide more choices... yet it doesn't do that at all.

Life used to be so simple. I would connect my speaker wires to my amplifier. And I had really good speakers! I had a sound component system with a turntable and a deep collection of LPs of my favorite musical artists. Those records came in jackets with cool art on the front and liner notes on the back that told a story about the artist. I would rest the needle of the tonearm onto those vinyl platters and sweet, rich music would fill the air.

I traded my two table-sized speakers for two little ones, each smaller than a two-slotted toaster. I swapped a load of LPs for a few measly CDs that never sounded as good. I was saving space, trying to be more modern, attempting to save my marriage.

Even that seems like another lifetime. The entire component system went the way of the rotary phone. CDs are now relics. Try to find a use or application for the lowly nickel (once worth a Snickers or Baby Ruth).

I paid cash for a couple of malassadas at the bakery the other day and the clerk could not for the life of her figure how to give change for a twenty dollar bill. Young people don't do that. They have screens and apps and facial recognition. Wow.

Even if I could figure out how to connect my speaker to my laptop I know the sound would be inferior to those records I had. 

So I sit in silence lost in sweet, wistful memories.

About 20 years ago I heard a famous NY magazine editor being interviewed on the radio. He was elderly. He said his days were pleasant and wonderful because he could conjure memories of his youth, hear the ring of bells at Christmas time, smell the pine scent of the tree and hear laughter of children playing in the street. He didn't know what technology had in store for us. He didn't know about the thousands of emails we sort through each hour of each day.

Technology is moving so fast that what you purchased yesterday is practically obsolete by the time you receive it in the mail. I receive an online notification nearly every hour of something new I need to download or upload or reply to or delete, or be left stranded in the dark. Or penniless. Does a reference to pennies have any connection with our modern world?

For some of us it does. A penny for your thoughts A penny saved is a penny earned.

Today it's a bitcoin purchased is a bitcoin never seen, touched or smelled. And you must consider NFTs (non-fungible tokens). Why are they so popular? What does fungible mean, anyway? What's the point of something not fungible?

It sounds like something to go with pickle ball. One of the few things today that is not digital. But you won't find me playing pickle ball, either. I'd rather fall into soft water than onto hard court, thank you.

I know I sound like a cranky old man. I plead moderately guilty because I feel like I've earned the right to be cranky. I fashion myself cranky but wise. The Hawaiian culture shows respect for the elderly. We're called kupuna. We have wisdom from our years of living, we tell cool stories and strum our ukuleles.

Just keep me away from technology. I could be dangerous.

Island Refuge

Barbs and Mors

It’s like we here yesterday. Our friend Maureen picked us up at airport and placed fresh flower lei on Barbara that she made with blue-green pedals from jade vine, a traditional aloha welcome for friend.

I’m always impressed by kindness of Barbara and her amigas, as they call each other. Why can’t we all be amigas and amigos?

Mors, or Mo, her surf nickname, has lived on island for maybe 10 years, same as our daughters, B (now Isabel) and T-Dawg. Grow up in small surf town and you get nickname. And you may move to island.

The connection with Santa Cruz is strong throughout Hawaiian chain. Kauai may have more Santa Cruz expats than waterfalls. That could be exaggeration. Many waterfalls are hidden and hard to find, one reason why helicopter tours fly into big canyons of Waimea.

Weather has been cooler than normal, hovering in high 60s, playing hide and seek behind moody clouds. Visitors arriving for short vacation with sunshine may not like.

Here are photos snapped over first week on north shore. Bonus video at bottom. Boca Bob not from Santa Cruz. He's expat, poet/upcycler from Florida. Hope you like.

Surf break at Pinetrees on Hanalei Bay during annual longboard contest. Scene look like painting. See photographer with tripod at bottom left.

Lineup of old logs decorate Pinetrees Longboard Contest.

Sign on tree trunk honors longtime local, Bugsy, who passed away recently. His white van was landmark parked next to tree.

Hanalei River mouth with sandbar. Light rain makes small circles on water.

Outrigger canoes at Hanalei Canoe Club

Remains of old Canoe Club Cafe on river bank. PHOTOS:KCS

A Final Aloha

Rick Carroll

We’re back on the island. Most of the time you don't feel like you're on a small volcanic rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But pick up a map or consult a globe of the Earth, and the rock appears as a speck amid voluminous blue water. Maybe that's what makes it so special. We could blow away at any time.

That's how I felt paddling out into the rough, high-surf advisory waters of Hanalei Bay on Thursday to say a final goodbye and aloha to my friend Rick Carroll who passed away in August. Somewhere out beyond the buoys in the rocking grey-colored drink, I met the six-man outrigger canoe, Ho'ohaniAmelika, with steersman Christian Marston. I also met Noah, a much younger man than I on a surfboard. We bobbed and sloshed, sang a Hawaiian chant, making brief the sacred paddle-out.

Christian Marston blows conch in preparation for ceremonial paddle-out for Rick Carroll. PHOTO:BBS

"We've got to get back in," said Christian, directing a turn-around of the canoe. "The big waves will be coming."

I had Rick on my mind the whole time. "Brother, this is for you. I wouldn't do this otherwise."

I watched the long, narrow canoe built for speed and efficiency maneuver quickly away toward the river mouth, like a large fish with six-fins in motion.

Paddling back alone on my belly toward the distant shore on my 9' 6" surfboard, I rocked in the swell troughs, losing visibility of the beach, then rising again to spy the tiny pier as my marker. I lost track of Noah on his board, as he no doubt lost track of me. Dark clouds overhead appeared ominous.

I was reminded of the story of legendary surfer/lifeguard Eddie Aikau who, in an attempted rescue of the stranded voyaging canoe Hokule'a, paddled toward the closest island of Lanai on his surfboard for help. He was never seen again. The crew survived, discovered by the U.S. Coast Guard.

You see the bumper sticker in his honor: "Eddie would go." And a major big-wave event called "The Eddie" is held at Waimea on Oahu's North Shore when the surf rises to the size of large cruise ship. 

Mine was a much more benign situation, if you can use that word under the circumstances. Strong currents are always circling Kauai, the northwestern most of the Hawaiian chain. 

The day we arrived a story appeared in the local newspaper of two drownings off local beaches. One was a 69-year-old man who had a heart attack after bumping his head on a rock while boogie boarding. In the other incident, a 20-year-old woman was caught in a current while swimming off the shore of Lumahai, a beach made famous as the location for the movie South Pacific. It's one of our favorite beaches. Stories like this are fairly common. It's easy to be lulled by the magnificent beauty and seemingly tame conditions.

"I couldn't see you out there," said Barbara when I got in. "The canoe was barely visible."

The canoe crew and Noah arrived back on shore long before I did.

Back on land we headed for the Tahiti Nui tiki-bar cafe in Hanalei to further celebrate Rick's life with family and friends -- including Rick's gracious wife Marcie and his daughter Shannon. The Nui has been in the capable hands of Christian's family for generations. It was cameoed in the movie The Descendants with George Clooney and Beau Bridges.

Entertainment was provided by Michael Keale and the omnipresent ambassador of Hawaiian music and aloha, Koko Kanealii, once a drummer for vocalist Don Ho. Michael, a singer with a voice as soothing as a tropical breeze, is a neighbor at Puamana where Rick and Marcie have resided following years of travel adventures. Christian and Rick go way back.

I had jotted down a few notes expecting to say a few words at the indoor memorial but the enthralling music put everyone in a state of island bliss that Rick would have loved. I recalled tears welling in his eyes during an evening of Hawaiian music five years ago at the Nui, shared with Marcie and Barbara. 

At the celebration wonderful photos of Rick and an array of his many books were displayed, including the coffee-table-sized edition of the Voice of the People that he authored about Israel Kamakawiwi'ole, aka Bruddha Iz, best known for his Rainbow Song, a medley rendition of Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World, which mesmerized a worldwide audience.

Rick had been in the midst of writing a piece about Israel and his musical contribution requested by the Library of Congress. Marcie, a talented writer herself, and daughter Shannon, hope to complete the work.

Since I've talked about Rick in several earlier blogs I will not go into our relationship any further than to say I felt so fortunate to have met him and become close friends over the past few years. He had been an idol of mine from the time I was 23 years old at my first career employment at the San Jose Mercury-News. A longtime close friend remarked that she had never seen Rick angry. His smile could disarm the meanest hombre in the room. That toothy smile and his ceaseless curiosity were his ticket to getting the best stories.

I smile when I consider the serendipity of meeting him on this tiny island in the Pacific. Our paths had finally intersected. And this day I had paddled into troubled waters in his honor.

Ha'ina 'ia mai ana ka'puana. Aloha nui loa, my friend.

Bon Ton Roulet

"Don't go," she says. "You're getting too much exercise. You're always tired."

The chill dawn sky has segued from purple to magenta to orange to yellow. Sunlight sneaks through grey clouds.

"I become more tired when sedentary," he says.

The pull of the ocean. He sees peaks rise on the surface. They could break. And there's only a single person out. Or is that a seal? A dolphin? Or a swimmer, one of those mermaids or mermen who enter frigid water bare-skinned? They're undaunted. And old. That gal, the one with the hour-glass figure, is in her eighties!

The invitation. The urge. The call goes unattended.

Ralph Anybody on the radio reminds that it's Fat Tuesday. Plays Clifton Chenier, his Zydeco number with accordion, Bon Ton Roluet. Let good times roll.

Party today 'cause Lent starts tomorrow. Splurge before fast.

The call is too great, despite the low-40-degree air temp. He slips into the neoprene suit, zips it tight, slides his 10-ft white, single-finned vessel off the rack. 

She waves from inside the house. He waves back. 

At the shore he walks on sand, still firm from the tidal rise. A young, pale woman in black one-piece suit, stands staring at the watery horizon. He believes she's going in. Will she?

The one from outside is coming in.

"Catch any waves?"

"Not much. Just cold hands."

He recognizes the guy, seen him in the lineup.

The surface of the water begins to texture from the offshore that is blowing cold air through the micro-fibers that cling to his skin. He knows he'll warm up once he starts paddling.

"It's always a blessing," the guy says.

He nods. "For sure." Thinks the guy must be Christian, acknowledging to himself how we interpret words, place labels on others without really knowing them. He's Christian for sure. Knowledge based on experience, like the guy from IBM who would always say, "Have a blessed day." It annoyed him. Like he's selling something. Why was he so prickly? She would say that about him.

Lying on his stomach he paddles into the bumpy bay water, feeling free from the ground, floating, thrust  by his arms and shoulders rather than his legs. A release from gravity. Part of the sea.

He believes man comes from water. Amniotic fluid. Considers all the sea-farers who discovered new worlds -- the Polynesians, Europeans, Sumerians.

His body warms with motion, riding up and over small swells. Loose relaxation. He is surprised by how quickly he distances from the beach.

Breeze is colder than water. Sun rising, peeking behind clouds. A large harbor seal fans out of water, their home. Those guys have fun, the wilder the conditions the happier they seem.

He paddles, his shoulders and back stretching releasing stiffness. Tide has filled in. He pauses to observe the scene he’s seen a million times yet never appears exactly the same, the phenomenon of nature, our ever jostling environment of waves and wiggles, net of jewels.

Lineup markers of cypress and palms, cliff caves and rooftops, how different their relationship to waves becomes with the shifting sands on the bottom that determine where the waves break. Kelly Slater says he carefully studies each surf break before every contest. Knowledge is key.

Sitting upright he becomes colder. Lying prone he avoids wind. He remembers wind surfing here 40 years ago, being blown like a leaf out to sea.

No waves today. Too cold to bob like buoy.

Catching the barest of surface currents when the swells roll through, he paddles toward the beach, into the biting breeze, stopping occasionally to observe coordinates, arriving at the shore with a rush of white water.

He steps quickly across the firm sand, empty, save for the guy who is scratching a birthday message into the sand with a rake. His business comes from hotel guests who observe the beach from above:

Happy Birthday

Ter...

His body shivers as he completes the name in his mind, Terry, or is it Teri? Male or female? A Mardi Gras birthday!

Lent begins tomorrow. He wonders if the blessing guy will be making a sacrifice, a fast of some kind? Giving up an earthly pleasure to connect with something transcendent? 

Will he, himself? 

His hands hurt from the harsh air as he peels the skin-tight rubber off, anticipating the comfort of a hot shower.

She welcomes him home.

"How was it? she asks.

"Cold. Very cold. It feels good.”

He feels so good that he reconsiders his judgment about the blessing guy. Maybe he had a difficult situation, the loss of a loved one, even a child, and he called upon his faith, a higher power, to help him cope. It worked as a gift to him, a blessing. The guy found strength, a transcendence.

He vows that he will try to see the good in everyone he meets, no matter what they say, at least until Easter.