David Shields is in San Jose Wednesday evening and Thursday nooner.
The Palo Alto Weekly ran an add Friday.
From Reality Hunger, 9: One author pilfers the best of another and calls it reality hunger
From Reality Hunger, 24:
In the twelfth century, French troubadours wrote love songs about thwarted love.
This a.m., on my way to Peet’s near Cubberley, I listened for the first time to a performance by Linda Ronstandt and Ann Savoy, “(The Song About)Renee”. I should ring Ann! Ann, come to Lytton Plaza and do a bit more fiddlin’ around, if you can mando’ it.
Also, there’s a lady from Lafayette who has a diner in SF, in Dog Patch, who said free beignets if we come by. (This is the place I went to lunch with Matt Gonzalez — WHO ENDORSED ME, WHO ENDORSES MARK WEISS FOR PALO ALTO CITY COUNCIL — and Jonathan Richman — something about mary -).
Which reminds: Frank Ford of Gryphn Stringed lives and works here and endorses me: thanks, Frank. Keep on picking.
edit, add its:
Now that you got me playing with my Moto-Android, here is Paul Jacobs, a pretty fair musician — he also endorses me, at the Gryphon. I was telling them that Terry and I had recently visited McCabe’s Guitar Store in Santa Monica, their rival.
Not sure how to segue, but I also, later that day, met a group of young South Koreans selling ground beef salads — not quite kimchi — at 250 Hamilton / City Hall / MLK Plaza — and I was having such a nice day I Paid It Forward for the next 10 comers, including a guy with an app to help fisherman, lil emu old friend John Liddicoat.
Vince Derillo attended Terman with me in 1978 and Gunn in 1980, 1981 and 1982, but I don’t think I had seen him since. I picked up two books from his yard sale — Karl Marx for beginners — with cartoon drawings — and something about the murals of Philadelphia. I also met his son. Good on Vince and them. Mabuhay.
A nice Vietnamese lady on La Para, married to a Jewish physician and with a nice garden yet too shy to sit for me kindly put me through about six poses to yield this shot, which also reminds me of taking a poetry class with Tom Sleigh, in 1985 and him admitting to me that some days he feels inferior, relative to the simple dandelion. (Most of us, including Richard Shindell, would be stuck with “it hurts” and “hey, doc, how about a refill?”).