The Trifling Blog

http://www.lunagitana.com

Livin that roady life again. Although I am not sure that “roady” is spelled with a “Y”. For that matter, I never had a great deal of confidence in the overall literacy of the roadys I have encountered. But then again, one should never judge a book by its cover, or a band by it’s roadies. Looks better with an “ie”. And truth be told,  I was not an official roady, but rather was the guy at the CD table adjacent to the bandstand where the real money is made. Seriously, I sold a butt load of their CD’s. Go the web site and give them a listen. You will want to own some of this music.

My friend and room mate Sterling Branton provides vocals and violin. The music is an eclectic mix of Latin, World percussion, Opera, Beatles and a little funk. All played simultaneously.

This was the coolest of outdoor festivals cause it was the big BALOON festival in Santa Paula. I remember Santa Paula because it is a small inland town where my grandmother lived. I can remember driving there early some Saturday morning’s with my dad. This is what we drove

How bitchin was my dad! Well, not actually but it would have been exponentially more interesting growing up if he had decided to be a low rider. Somehow, thinking of my dad in a hairnet with a tear drop tat just doesn’t resonate. Imagine that. But I digress.

Ah, the aforementioned Grandmother. We only knew her as “Bernice”

Indeed what I remember most about “Beece” was her hair. I often wondered if perhaps her head was shaped that way. She was an interesting lady. While I did not know her well, what I can say in her behalf is that she was very instrumental in bringing up my oldest sister Sherry, who is….the balm. And a truly beautiful person. Shout out to Sherry and to Liz.

Back to Luna Gitana. The festival was a kick. Good crowd, beautiful day, and lots of fun in Santa Paula

And that’s the news from Santa Boo Boo. Be well and namaste.

I woke up at the crack. Not exactly sure why I do this, but it seems to be engineered into my molecules. I headed down Mission and got on the 101 going north. Destination – Lompoc. There are a few memories that are seared into the cells of my grey matter. One of the, a very very early one is of a 50′s style diner that my folks took us to eat at when I was barely old enough to eat real food. One of the most powerful images in that kaleidoscope is of a table top juke box. Thanks to google images, here is exactly the jukebox that I remember…

This is by no means the most amazing thing about my junket today. The most amazing thing is the next picture. This one is for my sister Trink.

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I hope to type a much more detailed post tomorrow. The day was really amazing. Many more pictures and stories to come. Stay tuned.

Yes, California really does look like this. I remember now, hitting fog so dense that I had to drive on the while line with my car door open, just to stay in the middle of the road. But that was years ago. That fog seems to have lifted now. Metaphorically, other fogs will lift too we hope.

A word about travel. When you look at a map, and you see any road marked “Hwy” – this is not the same as Freeway. Freeway’s are those long stretches of road that traverse this great country of ours, making it convenient to get from one CityState to another. A HWY conversely is based solely on the route taken by Lewis and Clarke. HWY’s are where all cows live. They don’t have guard rails, rest stops, towns, phone wires or cell towers. They do have lots and lots of vultures circling overhead waiting for the unsuspecting traveler to break down. Fortunately – I did not. It was an adventure though. So, if you ever have the opportunity to travel Hwy 58 from just south of Fresno all the way to the coast – respectfully decline the invitation, and stay on the more beaten path. It is easier on the psyche.

Oh, and a shoutout to my brutha Tim – thanks for the quadruple hi-cu. I dig it the most.

Unnoticed in earlier blog postings, this photo clearly shows a brand new Emmett sighting. Skeptics may assert that this is another case of a photo being modified digitally, but this reporter has verified the authenticity of the photograph. Furthermore, no clowns were harmed in the making of this blog entry.

My sister has lovely neighbors. They are Pat and Chuck, and Pat’s baby is a 55 Tbird. And this isn’t like that room in your mom’s house that no one ever went into, that had plastic covers on the cushions, oh no. She is the real deal. Pat takes her out weekly to give innocents like me a tour of the 1950′s when life was simpler and car hops wore roller skates.

Thanks Pat, thanks Shink, Kevin, Beck and kids. We’ll be back soon. For now we gotta move on down the road. Later today it’s on to Lompoc – the backdrop for W.C. Field’s “The Bank Dick” and the home to a host of my own childhood memories.

Didn’t remember his clown’s name until I read the Wiki which is extracted below. I didn’t expect any of the odd parallels that I observed between my weird life so far and the existence of the clown made famous by Emmett Kelly.

But since I have opened this can of worms, I might as well paddle with the current.

A few months ago, I took a job, an assignment rather through my wife’s company in the coal fields running a fitness center. The gentleman who was the Executive Director reminded me of Emmett Kelly. We’ll just call this Emmett sighting number one.

A few weeks prior to that, in a conversation which must have had some reference in a dream, I used a vague and distant allusion to Emmett Kelly in a conversation with my son. Another Emmett sighting.

Finally, as I began this recent sojourn of the soul, my first stop was Dayton Ohio. When I arrived at my Xwife’s house, she opened the garage door only to reveal…standing there…FACING THE DOOR…as if placed carefully by the art director to garner maximum attention in the frame….my 1959 20″ Emmett Kelly doll. Emmett Sightings always happen in threes.

What does all this mean you may ask? I have no freakin idea yet. But the sad clown of my life will be heading down the road soon to see some places I have been, and some ghosts of Emmetts and others.

Every sojourner should have a talisman, and so Emmett comes along in the rubber tub in the bed of Ranger Rick. I don’t want him to escape, although on long stretches of road through the desert I was bothered by his constant scratching at the container (that one is for you Douglas). But really folks.

The bottom line here, is that if Emmett doesn’t cough up the real dope, he suffers the fate of his brethren his next address will be on ebay. To think that one’s childhood could be cashed in for under a hundred bucks. Such, the price of obscurity.

(From Wikipedia) He started working as a clown full-time in 1931, and it was only after years of attempting to persuade the management that he was able to switch from a white face clown to the hobo clown that he had sketched ten years earlier while working at an art firm. “Weary Willie” was a tragic figure: a clown, who could usually be seen sweeping up the circus rings after the other performers. He tried but failed to sweep up the pool of light of a spotlight. His routine was revolutionary at the time: traditionally, clowns wore white face and performed slapstick stunts intended to make people laugh. Kelly did perform stunts too—one of his most famous acts was trying to crack a peanut with a sledgehammer—but as a tramp, he also appealed to the sympathy of his audience.

From 1942–1956 Kelly performed with the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus, where he was a major attraction, though he took the 1956 season off to perform as the mascot for the Brooklyn Dodgers baseball team. He also landed a number of Broadway and film roles, including the role of “Willie” in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Greatest Show on Earth (1952). He also appeared in the Bertram Mills Circus.

Kelly was a Mystery Guest on the March 11, 1956 broadcast of What’s My Line? and answered the panelists’ questions with grunts rather than speaking yes or no. When the round was over, panelist Arlene Francis mentioned that Kelly was not allowed to speak while in makeup.

Kelly is depicted in a famous photograph, still in full clown make-up and costume, trying to extinguish the flames of the devastating Hartford Circus Fire that struck the Circus on July 6, 1944, and killed 167 people during the afternoon performance in Hartford, Connecticut. According to eyewitnesses, it was one of few times in which he was seen crying.[1]

Emmett Kelly died at the age of 80 of a heart attack on March 28, 1979, at his home in Sarasota, Florida. He is buried in the Rest Haven Memorial Park, in Lafayette, Indiana

Kelly’s son, Emmett Kelly, Jr., did a similar “Weary Willie” character; the two were estranged for many years as a result. Kelly, Jr. claimed that his version of Willie was “less sad”, but they seemed quite similar to most observers.

Kelly’s boyhood town of Houston, Missouri, named Emmett Kelly Park in his honor and hosts an annual Emmett Kelly Clown Festival, which attracts clowns from across the region including Kelly’s grandson, Joey Kelly, who returns every year to perform as a special guest.

I am always amazed when a philosophy or principal of nature, or even when my basic thinking or intuition is validated by the universe. It occurred to me today that hell must indeed be real. It must be real by extension. By this, I mean that in order for somthing to be “raised” that “something” must be real. At least in the sense that it exists in our manifest consciousness. Below you will find a picture of an old friend, one Mr. Tim Haapala and his lovely wife Karen. While Karen did not herself raise hell along with us; Tim and I, it can be said, raised plenty of hell for all. You’re beautiful my brother. What fond memories you bring back. How lovely your children are! And soon to be a Gran papa! – You rock my buddy. Ya done good.

Check back often for “More from the Road”