These sticks were made for walkin’…

An accident put me in surgery, then rehab. From bed to wheelchair, to walker, to cane. And now I forget where I put my cane(s) and have to look for them. Progress! But the canes are the story here. First, the one that Freddie bought me; a wonderful item with a spring-loaded tip that serves as a probe (it depresses slightly, maybe a half-inch, and this helps me to control it somehow) and I recommend it highly. Its brand name is Upperstate. (link) It’s stout, light and quite ergonomic.

 I call the other cane my dress cane—for times when I wear white tie and tails, or a cape and top hat against the infrequent Kansas morning fog. Or to the barber, or when I just want a cool, elegant item in hand to impress the septic tank guys when they come to snake the cleanout. Aahh, country living.

 This latter cane is pure art, as well as useful. Museum-grade art. Sleek, strong chrome/molybdenum alloy with brass fittings, rubber tip and the doorknob handle is etched. This one was made by Kevin Lee to aid his get-arounds after a motorcycle accident. He is a fine artist, and a serious one; nothing is halfway with this man. Whether a lamp, a painting, or a full motorcycle rebuild, the end result is (always) stunning.

 He had to shorten it a bit for me, but it retains its full elegance. It came by way of Freddie Express with a note from Kevin, which read:

 “Bottom to top it’s a length of 4130 Chromoly, stack of washers alternating brass and stainless…and an old doorknob I scavenged from someplace I’ve forgotten. I drew the rabbit jumping through an ouroburos. Couldn’t tell you what it means exactly—assign your own meaning I guess.

 “The words are from a Jawbreaker song, “Accident Prone.” (link) It’s a great band and Blake Schwarzenbach is a hell of a writer IMO…but I know telling someone to listen to music you like rarely ends well.

 But backing up, I made this after my motorcycle accident. The thought was to, one time, walk into a place I’m familiar with, using it. I’ve checked that box. I no longer need it. The hope is for you to get that same window of use from it. From there, do whatever you feel is right with it.”

 It will be a wall piece. In a place of honor. And thank you, Kevin.

Ten books…

 …I’m reading now or have read recently. Graham Greene’s Comedians. I reached back in time for a re-read, and it was worth it—can he write! Takes place in Duvalier’s corrupt Haiti and presages today’s mess. Michael Herr’s Dispatches. A classic of reportage from the Vietnam quagmire. Masterful. Breathtaking. Then and now. Greene’s Our Man in Havana. Another re-read. He called this one “an entertainment” as opposed to his more serious books, and it sure is. And just as well written. American Cosmic. D.W. Pasulka, professor of religious studies at UNC Wilmington takes a spiritual look at the UFO commotion. Quite interesting viewpoint. Basquiat. Graphic novel by Paolo Parisi. A respectful, interesting take on the prolific artist’s short life and sad end. The Freaks Came out to Write, by Tricia Romano. Fascinating. She gives new voice to The Village Voice with actual interviews and oral history. My Search for Warren Harding.  My high hopes were dashed by Robert Plunkett’s mean-spirited “humor” touted as “a comedic masterpiece.” Erasure by Percival Everett. Found a new vein of gold in the authorial mine. I am captivated. He wrote a lot of books and I guess I’ll have to read them all. Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey; at times annoyingly glib but smart in many ways. Bite-sized life lessons. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong. Had to see what all the high praise was about, and found it to be deserved. And that’s ten. More next time.

Ten Caddys…

 Time to revisit The Cadillac Ranch. I’ve been under the spell of Caddy Stonehenge for years. What a vision. Those iconic zoom-tailed cars stuck in the ground, one after another, changing slightly with time. Now they’ve been rattle-can colorized, grafitti-ized, and it hasn’t hurt them a bit; it may help preserve this desertlike installation. May it always reign where it rarely rains, and time to rein in the puns, right? Right. Drop in for the latest look at these canted Caddys. (link)

Meet Angel Otero…

 I’m glad I did. In this short, informative video (link), he discusses his “First Rain in May” show. Toward the end of the video he explains the naming of the show, and it’s a charming story; it has to do with playing in the rain, which his grandmother bade him to do for good luck. It seemed to work for him. Angel has a studio in his native Puerto Rico and in New York and he shows his work in some impressive venues like Hauser & Wirth where he shares his thoughts and stories with a group of young people.

Music I encountered and liked: Waxahatchee

Without further adieu or is it ado? Without any more of it, anyway, here’s the link to “Right Back To It,” a restful sorta cooling swamp floaty tune.

Last, and not least (at least for me): The trifecta of lit rag acceptances…

 Like a lot of writers, I send my stuff out—months later the rejections come back. This time was different. On the same day of the third leg of the 2024 Triple Crown race at Saratoga (usually Belmont, but that track was under construction of some sort), the only three horse races I watch (and consistently lose money on) are the Derby, the Preakness, and Belmont Stakes. This habit stems from Derby parties in the past, and from knowing a Derby winner, and all the attendant adrenaline this stuff brought to the fore in those fun heady days. Anyway. On the day of the third race, I was notified that an essay of mine was accepted. Then another, a few minutes later. Then another later that day as my monetary loss (a sort of rejection) had come in. Trifecta!

 These essays, The Reflecting Pool And Other Brushes With The Unexplained, After Basquiat, and Beware of Winning, will run in some pretty darned good lit mags in late 2024 or early 2025. I will notify on social media at that time. Sure will. Three cheers. 1.Yayyy. 2.Yayyy. 3.Yayyy.

That’s all I got. Stay coolio en Julio. XXOO  G