It’s THE ACE SHOW!! In living color! Whacky! and Heart-warming!!!

 

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I never watched an episode of Roseanne. And i never watched an episode of Cosby.

When I’d catch a glimpse of their act, they both always had one trait that turned me off.

You were always supposed to assume that these two people were so wise and wonderful and lovable and clever and — worst of all — cute.

And even the one or two minor character flaws they had were supposed to make them seem even MORE lovable. “See? These great people are still just human beings just like you and me.”

Sure. Too bad I can’t hire professional scriptwriters to make all the “quips” that dribble out of my mouth especially amusing. Plus a laugh track so that everyone knows that my quips were especially hilarious.

Coming soon. “The Ace Show.” Tune in to the latest whacky misadventures of that lovable homeless alcoholic curmudgeon Ace Backwords!!

Starring Henry Winkler as Ace Backwords!!

 

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More existential late-night moaning and groaning from good ole’ Ace Backwords!!

 

I sometimes get this “it-all-turned-to-shit” feeling. My life. My youthful dreams. The city of Berkeley. The state of the world. It all turned to shit.

I’m not sure exactly how I envisioned my life turning out. But not like THIS. That’s for damn sure.

I guess I had some vague image of ending up living in a little cabin in the woods somewhere. With a wife or a girlfriend. A fireplace in the living-room. And the walls of my study would be lined with all my books and record albums. Spend my later years writing a series of books. Or recording a series of albums. Maybe have a column in the local newspaper where I could share my crackpot opinions with the breathless public. And a little meditation area in the corner in the back of the cabin, with my incense and Shiva statue and guru photos and a pillow to sit on. . .

I wonder how many people started out with a vision of the life they hoped to have, and actually attained it. Or even exceeded it.

And how many people watched haplessly as their youthful dreams crashed and burned.

Or all the people who didn’t have any ambitions in the first place. They just wanted to get through life as simply and painlessly as possible.

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Real life athletes

With the clock ticking down, she made a split-second decision, pivoted to her left, and dashed down the street, and made the game-winning play!!

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Pappy’s was packed like sardines for game 7, Golden State Warriors vs Houston Rockets.

The highlight, the best play  of the game, for me?

The young black couple that were sitting right in front of me decided to leave at halftime. This Asian woman who jumped in there to get their vacated seats noticed that they had left their wallet on the floor. She grabbed the wallet. Looked around. “They went that’away,” I said, pointing down the street. She ran outside and chased after them.

When she came back I said “Did you get em?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Sweet!” I said.

We high-fived

GO WARRIORS!!

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Quick Klutz

 

I sometimes refer to myself as a “quick klutz.” Because I often do stupid things. But I’m also quick at reversing myself. Like sometimes I’ll accidentally drop something with my left hand, but I’ll catch it with my right hand. Stuff like that.

So anyways, today I was at the library and i like to drink my morning coffee while I’m on a computer. So I always sneak my to-go cup of coffee into the library in a black plastic bag, to hide it from the security guards and librarians. Now nobody ever told me you CAN’T drink coffee in the library. But I suspect they would frown on the practice. Because, well, some idiot might spill his coffee all over the table or the books or the computers.

So I go to the front desk to sign up for a computer. But when I put my cup of coffee on the counter, the bottom of the plastic bag wasn’t level and the cup tips over and all the coffee spills out onto the counter and spills down all over the floor. Making a big fucking mess.

But fortunately, a lot of the coffee spilled into the plastic bag. Which I quickly grabbed and held upright to prevent further spillage. And even more fortunately, I happened to have a bunch of paper towels in my back pocket. Which I used to quickly mop up all the coffee on the counter and the floor. And then I dumped the whole sopping mess into a nearby garbage can.

And I pulled the whole thing off so quickly and nonchalantly, that the three librarians standing behind the counter just a couple feet away from me, didn’t even notice me or what I had done.

Quick klutz.

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Time warp

Ghosts of Sproul Plaza past.

It’s 1AM Friday night. And for some inexplicable reason I’m sitting by myself on top of the Sproul Plaza steps.

And if I squint my eyes real tight I can see the ghost of Mario Savio standing on top of a cop car in 1964 and sticking his ass into the gears.

Or I can see Charles Manson on the steps of the Student Union building down there with his guitar in the fabled Summer of Love (so-called) of 1967, wooing his first Manson Family member hippie chick.

Or I can see myself as a kid coming to Berkeley for the first time at age 17 in 1974.

Or I can see myself 20 years later in 1994, bashing away on the drums in Hate Man’s drum circle.

Or I can see myself still sitting here in year 2018. . . .

 

It’s like I’m stuck in a time warp.

TELEGRAPH AVENUE STREET CALENDAR 1995: “Women of the Avenue”

After the “Naked Guy” calendar in 1994 I felt we couldn’t top the zaniness of that one. So I decided to go the opposite direction in 1995 with “The Women of the Avenue” calendar. It was much more sedate and sober and even dignified than its predecessor. Instead of focusing on the “crazy, whacky, colorful” Telegraph street characters we just focused on the diverse types of women that were part of the scene back then. Predictably it sold only half as many copies as the Naked Guy calendar. But it always had a special place in my heart among the pantheon of the 15 issues.

Katie was the January calendar girl. A flower child for the ’90s. 16-years-old when she hit the scene, it wouldn’t be accurate to call her a “runaway.” She was more like a “run-to.” She was bored with high school and living with her parents, and eager to kick-start her adult life, so she jumped into the ’90s hippie street scene with an innocent enthusiasm. Going from the Grateful Dead tours to the Rainbow Gatherings and to Telegraph Avenue — which was a must-see stop on the circuit back then.

Tragic little Robin hanging out with her boyfriend Paul.

For several years I thought Nora was a homeless bag lady, because she was often pushing a shopping cart full of junk. And i would sometimes give her a couple bucks. Later I found out she actually owned several homes and was a pack-rat who obsessively collected junk. Every inch of her front and backyard, and every room in her house was packed from floor-to-ceiling with piles of stuff.

Another tragic one, Pam, hanging out with Duncan at our vending table. A victim of the psychiatric industry who ruined her mind by over-prescribing psychiatric drugs.

The Hat Lady, a Telegraph street vendor who sold beautiful hand-knitted hats. She was a nice, friendly person. But I never met anybody who could talk like her. She would literally talk at you for HOURS. And non-stop. One long run-on sentence, with no pauses in between the sentences. Just one long endless sentence. Which made it very difficult to get away from her once she corralled you. Finally you’d just have to be “rude” and walk away mid-sentence. You had no choice. It was impossible to get in an word edge-wise.

The ladies of People’s Park, the activists Lisa Stevens and Terri Compost.

The Two Amys. Two UC Berkeley college students who were part of the street scene back then, hanging out at our vending table in front of Codys Books.

The Hair-Wrap Girls (and Freedom Fighter Jim). Some adorable high school girls who made some money on the Ave doing hair-wraps.

Beautiful and mysterious Asian Kim, hanging out with her friend Skye on the Berkeley campus.

Debby “Slash” Lang, pushing shoulders with Hate Man. Slash was a fearsome, self-described “gangster chick from Hell! I’m from Oak-town, fool!! REPRESENT!! REPRESENT!!” She hung out with a rough crowd and could put the fear of God into the Hate Campers whenever she showed up. One night she actually challenged Hate Man to a fist fight, and they’re sparring back and forth on Sproul Plaza, throwing and dodging punches like Ali vs Frazier. One more surreal night at Hate Camp.

Punkers on the Ave.

Vicki — Craig’s beautiful blonde girlfriend at the time — hanging out with English Davey at his jewelry vending stand.

The enigmatic cosmic cowboy Wrong Tree, hanging out late at night with his beautiful girlfriend.

And of course we had to end “The Women of the Avenue” issue of the TELEGRAPH AVENUE STREET CALENDAR 1995 with Julia “the Bubble Lady” Vinograd, the grande dame of Telegraph Avenue. When the CBS News interviewed Julia for a feature on the calendar, they asked her “Did you ever think you’d end up a calendar pin-up girl?” To which she quipped, “Why NOT, buddy??” Ha ha.

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LOU REED: A LIFE: a book review

LOU REED: A LIFE by Anthony DeCurtis

 

Probably nobody has acted like more of an asshole, and yet ended up more beloved by more people, than Lou Reed.

As one of the first rock stars to openly sing about gay themes in the 1960s, many of Lou Reed’s songs became anthems for the burgeoning gay rights movement of the ’60s and ’70s, the Stonewall riots and all that. And Reed was considered a hero and an inspiration to many people in the gay community. When Lou Reed became aware of this — ever the contrarian — he said: “For my next album I might write a song ‘Get Back in the Closet You Fucking Queers.'”

Ha ha. Fucking Lou Reed.

People constantly speculated about Lou Reed’s sexuality. He was an enthusiastic participant in the NYC gay underworld; the gay bars and bathhouses and S&M clubs. And he lived for 3 years with a drag queen boyfriend. But he also married 3 women and had long-term relationships with women.

My hunch is that he was primarily sexually attracted to men. But was attracted to women as mother figures and nurturers. Not to get too Freudian, he hated his father who was a cold person, while his mother always worshiped and doted on him.

 Its interesting how highly esteemed Lou Reed was in the rock world, considering he mostly had middling record sales. Only a couple of his albums sold really well. Most of the rest of them were disappointing commercially. And he only had one hit single “Walk on the Wild Side.” Which was probably more because of David Bowie’s golden touch as producer than Lou Reed’s commercial appeal. And yet Lou Reed was considered a legend and one of the all time greats by his peers.

Lou Reed’s songs were deceptively simple. Probably nobody got more mileage out of 3 chords (and a limited vocal range) than Lou Reed. But as simple and repetitive as they could often be, at their best they were incredibly catchy and nuanced. Especially those songs he wrote for the Velvet Underground in the 60s, and his classics (Sweet Jane, etc ) in the 70s.

So distinctive and singular was Lou Reed’s style, he was virtually a genre unto himself.

As a person Lou Reed was incredibly prickly, abrasive, arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic. In a typically grotesque scene in this bio, Reed is being interviewed by a writer who is going to write the liner notes for a very prestigious boxed set of Lou Reed’s work. During the course of the interview Reed has to go to his bank to get some money from his ATM. Reed is waiting on line at the ATM when he notices a homeless guy sleeping in the vestibule. “THAT’S DISGUSTING!” says Lou Reed. He actually goes into the bank and tells the bank manager that he wants the homeless guy kicked out immediately.

The writer of this bio — who was otherwise a huge Lou Reed fan — was repulsed by this exchange. “No question the image of Lou Reed, of all people, kicking a needy person out of a bank into the freezing cold is like something out of Dickens — just so that he could have a more pleasant experience as he waited to withdraw his money. It’s as potent a symbol of 1% selfishness as can be conjured.”

Lou Reed was always a paradox and a contradiction. Self-destructive AND self-affirming (“their lives were saved by rock’n’roll!”). Degenerate nihilist (“Heroin!!”) AND idealistic romantic (“I’ll be your mirror.”).

Probably very few artists ended up being more identified with the city where they lived than Lou Reed and New York City. Reed was the quintessential New Yorker. On 9-11 Reed was living about a mile from the World Trade Center. He climbed up to the roof of his apartment building and watched as the buildings burned and people jumped to their deaths.

Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson.

Lou Reed was definitely ahead of his times when it came to the ’60s drug culture. Reed was smoking pot and taking speed, eating peyote, and even slamming heroin when he was still in his teens in the early ’60s way before drugs hit the mainstream. Precocious bastard. He caught hepatitis from a dirty needle when he was still in his teens. And it eventually killed him. But he somehow made it to 71.

“Lou was always more advanced than the rest of us,” said a childhood friend. “While we were looking at girls in Playboy, Lou was reading The Story of O. He was reading Marquis de Sade, stuff that I wouldn’t even have thought about or known how to find.”

When he was 17 Lou Reed had a complete nervous breakdown. So his parents forced him to undergo electro-shock therapy. In the hopes that it would “cure” Lou of his depression and homosexuality (which was considered a form of mental illness back in the 60s). Lou Reed said the electro-shock mostly just wiped out large parts of his memory. And he hated his parents for the rest of his life for inflicting that on him.

The bio was written by a longtime fan and admirer of Lou Reed, and one of the few critics that Reed genuinely liked. The author shows Reed’s “asshole” side but its not a hit piece. Its a well-rounded portrait of an artist and a man. And if you’re a Lou Reed fan you’ll probably love the book.

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The art of the deal

 

Donald Trump has often trumpeted his negotiating skills at “the art of the deal” as one of his primary qualifications for being president. For some reason that reminded me of his negotiations with the NFL when he was the owner of the New York Generals in the competing USFL (the United States Football League).

The concept behind the USFL was that they would play their games in the spring. The logic being that there were so many fanatical football fans who wanted to watch football all year long.

 

I’m not sure if the concept would have worked or not. People are so used to watching football in the fall. But they never really got a chance to find out. Donald Trump — of all people — virtually single-handedly sabotaged the USFL.

After a couple of relatively successful years of spring football, Trump argued that the only way to survive was by going back to playing football in the fall. And Trump had enough power to bend a room full of powerful men (the other owners) to go along with him.

Of course it was suicidal to go head-to-head against the mighty NFL. And with an inferior product, and without the tradition of the NFL teams. Plus, it was “changing horses in mid-stream” and completely destroyed the basic concept and reason-for-being of the USFL in the first place (spring football).

So Trump, in a last-ditch attempt, launched a big all-or-nothing anti-trust lawsuit against the NFL, claiming they violated the anti-monopoly laws.

Well, the USFL actually won the lawsuit. And were awarded a whopping $1 in damages. Or in other words, nothing.

And that was the end of the USFL.

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You ever notice how “homelessness” is a non-issue to the politicians in Washington DC?

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Donald Trump made his first big fortune taking rent-controlled, low-income apartments, throwing out all the tenants, and turning them into luxury condos.

Nancy Pelosi has spent her career representing the city of San Francisco, and watching haplessly as the homeless crisis grew to epidemic proportions during her watch.

In other words: Don’t expect much from DC.

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The aging punk rockers are still pissed off about the poseurs.

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