At least we got a long, detailed look at all sides of the exterior of the cathedral when we visited Paris. Were astonished at the huge number of individually rendered gargoyles all over the upper structure. Never felt the medieval-monster mindset so vividly. An agonizing reminder that fire is the enemy of beauty and history.
Gotta offer up thanks. Because there’s obviously many Timing Days From Hell in a year. Calculated in advance. Calculated the minutes while they were going by. Got the insane Boston/Cambridge driving just right. Avoided a Red Sox squish of epic proportions.
I don’t believe it will give me or the wheels any more edge, but at least it happened.
A nuanced, intricate look back that I think is quite necessary. Some thoughts:
If you were stuck in the sticks as I was, it took years to piece together exactly what happened, period. Could not have imagined that I would get to a place where, after I found out they wanted $700 for a ticket to their latest concert, the Rolling Stones were performers I could hardly bear to think about.
The worthy move now is to step away from the monster villains Hell’s Angels, the tainted, tormented, tortuous superstars, the cosmic cultural moment and focus on the key victim. And never again imagine that Meredith Hunter died because he waved a pistol around.
Captivating and charismatic as they come, but with a welcoming communal soul. Onstage, the English Beat were a magic spell that always lifted you to a superior reality that earned a permanent place in your heart.
One of the reviews I’m most proud to have written. Referenced a lot over the years.
Eternal thanks, Roger.
Mixdisc I made that I ran across in that pile of books and CDs on the floor of the office. I particularly like the slow-build numbers at the start, then the program gets rather wacked-out before calming down for the finish. But at any rate, it’s Very Me and here it is:
ELECTRORGANISM 2010
1. K. Leimer, “Aerial” (1980)
2. Supernatural Hot Rugs Not Used, “Spa World”
3. Earthmonkey, “The Breeder Belt Tar Hogs”
4. Ghost, “Motherly Bluster”
5. Giant Squid, “Megaptera in the Delta”
6. Zodiak, “Sermons”
7. Nels Cline, “Dirty Baby, Pt. 3”
8. Mofongo, “Tumbao”
9. Miriodor, “La Roche”
10. F/I, “Observation (The Eye on Top of the Pyramid)” (1986)
11. Bola, “Versivo”
Number 10 is a special goodie for “Gravity Falls” fans.
Got and read (the whole whopping 32 pages) his flat-out children book, Crictor (1958). I feel I have enough of his stuff now. Points:
Lovely that it’s set in a “little French town” where he can get the costumes and shops and landscapes intriguing and correct. Especially fun parts include: Madame Bodot feeding her “baby” boa constrictor milk from a bottle; knitting him a long wool sweater to wear in the snow; his diverse and clever interactions with French kids; and of course his foiling of a burglary in Madame Bodot’s apartment which makes him a snake-hero. Especially weird part: Madam Bodot being tied up and gagged by the thief reminds you of Ungerer’s bondage proclivities.
The ages recommended for the book are 4-8 and I was 6 when it came out. Wish I had read something by him at that time. Can’t imagine my reactions. But I know why he didn’t turn up in my elementary-school bookshelves.
The teachers sensed he was weird. Could cause waves.
The memory of you emerges from the night around
me. The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
I became obsessed with W. S. Merwin’s work and the man himself in late high school and early college. He wrote the earth-based but visionary type of poems I lusted to do myself (rather quickly I discovered I did not have the breath of the spirits in me) and his soaring translations of Pablo Neruda and Osip Mandelstam turned me on to both of them. The bucolic Buddhism flowing under his words is unmatched.
My book picks:
The Drunk in the Furnace
The Lice
The Carrier of Ladders (start with this one)
The Compass Flower
Opening the Hand
Merwin gave a reading at MSU in Bozeman my freshman year (1970) and of course I was there. Afterwards, I got him to sign the poster announcing the reading. He was naturally amused and thought it odd I wanted a poster and not a book, but, y’know, rock stars sign the posters of their concerts. He was a very gracious, generous and kind man who made sure the wobbly fan from the sticks did not freak out in any way.
I was blessed that the first two literary figures I encountered in person were William “Gatz” Hjortsberg and Merwin. I thought, “Wow, writers are very friendly and civilized people. Inspirations.” Little did I know. But the lovely fantasy made me want to do what they did.
Namaste forever.
With all the hoo-hah about rigged admissions to prestige colleges, I thought I would add a very long-term reflection on the process.
My Father was Amherst Class of 1912 (yes, he was born in 1890). His whole interpretation of what a college education meant was just, duh, accepted by me as a little kid, though resisted when it came time for me to do the thing myself.
For Dan Miles, the product of a relatively old-elite family in MA, a college degree certified your presence in the higher WASP orders. Very few were intended to get them.
For Milo Miles, the product of a relatively farmland-elite family in MT, a college degree was what the majority of high-school graduates who had their shit together needed for at least a middle-class future.
I’ve mentioned on Twitter how the news of a gay-rights demonstration at Amherst kept my dad from insisting I go there (that wasn’t all — he sensed that there was more freedom of choice for young-uns at the end of the ’60s). I decided that “going away” to college would shred my worthwhile MT roots (there’s more to it, but Nunya), so went to both MSU Bozeman and U of M Missoula.
I got the degree, with a couple buffs added. Dad died the next year (at 85). I’ve always thought that part of it was that he was determined to hang on until I got that college certificate, which meant that my work life would be taken care of from then on. At once a nice and nasty dream.
There are some really, truly rude people in this city area. Five times meaner and more abusive than anyone I’ve encountered in NYC or anywhere else. Well, they do remind me of the couple times I’ve interacted with obsessed monsters on isolated cult farms in MT. Psychopaths. Loud. Crazy. Funny how it’s always in traffic situations here. Was gratified to hear somebody yell, “Hey Tough Guy, yer just supposed to pass him.” (And let me park parallel.)
I don’t have the strength today to explain what happened. Let’s just say this was taken in our backyard around noon today:
Miles To Go 