Letting Go Of Steve

steveJobs had been teaching us to say goodbye to all that for decades — we just didn’t know it.

… in these final years, when the auditorium lights in would go down and the crowd would go wild for Jobs, who increasingly greeted his followers and touted the latest neat, new thing even as he wore the look of a person who was not going into that future with us.

He would be getting off here; we were to proceed without him … Let it go and look ahead was the message all along.
Hank Stueval in the Washington Post

Okay, I’m going to cry some more.

Such a lovely piece. Not that Steve’s death has sunk in—I can’t think of anything weirder than seeing the words Steve Jobs and Dead together. Was there ever anybody more alive, more publicly embracing of this temporary condition we call our lives. And Jobs and I had so much in common. Hippies who wouldn’t take direction from anybody, the kind of people who have to do things their own way. Perhaps that’s what made it so personal; I recognized his star—you know, the one by which you set your course. Not that my own outcome didn’t fall apart, but still, if you are born that way, you are. Continue reading “Letting Go Of Steve”

January 28 1986


“She was also planning to conduct two classes from space, including a tour of the spacecraft, called ‘The Ultimate Field Trip’

It took some time for the meaning of that splitting vapor trail, that spectacular, beautiful cloud, to sink in. Even as we watched it unfold, my daughter and I, she a teacher. There was something so sweet, so anchoring to everyday life that an ordinary teacher was going up. My daughter had entered the competition, way back. I was ill and depressed, that morning. L sat by my bed, on the floor. The launch was excitement itself, and, as I say, the excitement didn’t abate, the high didn’t disperse even as the television told us what our own eyes could see. Something had gone terribly wrong. There is a shot of Christa McAuliffe‘s parents watching the explosion, her mother is shading her eyes with her hand and her expression slowly changes, as the beautiful cloud of the explosion forms over her head and down range. Not to tragedy, everyone was slow to take it in, but from wonder to … puzzlement.

I think the point is ,  beauty makes us stupid,. For  for a while anyway. Here’s that emlematic image. Much later, one could accept, in theory anyway, that those little bits of falling matter to the right were things like, the Challenger‘s wings. The shuttle cabin. I seem to remember reading that the astronauts were said to have died in seconds, and that they were found at the bottom of the ocean, the seven of them still strapped in. That one of them was an ordinary grade-school teacher, well, it broke our hearts. The TV had to say it again and again before one could begin to accept.

Our Invented Past

The past that Frank Capra helped invent. The past the seemed to ennoble America—when what we know now is that we are nothing special. People who can go either way.

Tom Englehardt provides a sobering look at Obama that is painful and important to face.

In other words, if you can’t go to court and get the punishments you want, the solution is simply to create courts jiggered in such a way (and surrounded by enough secrecy) that you’ll get the decisions you desire. If that isn’t a striking definition of American justice, I don’t know what is.

Continue reading “Our Invented Past”

Sorely Remiss

the post formerly titled “When This Battle Is Over”

From the 1969 LP, “Accept No Substitute”. This is the only film of D&B on you tube and the only music video they ever filmed for Electra records. Delaney & Bonnie first met Eric Clapton when the pair served as Blind Faith’s opening act. Prior to their marriage and collaboration, Delaney had been a well-regarded LA session musician, and Bonnie had the distinction of being the only white Ikette.

What was I thinking. This, I hope, sets things right.

Thanks, Dean.

{ fin }

Well Dammit, Delaney

Why’d you have to go and die. Delaney and Bonnie have been like, just forever. As is everything one ever loved.

You were part of the beginning. Rest, forever, in peace.

Delaney Bramlet, 1939—2008

{ fin }

As I Write This Letter

… what middle aged cranky beatle fan it was who wrote it.

John Lennon replies. 1969.

I was reading your letter and wondering what middle aged cranky beatle fan it was who wrote it. I resisted looking at the the last page to find out. I kept thinking who it was, Queenie? Stuart’s mother? Clive Epstein’s wife? Alan Williams? What the hell, its Linda!

Wot the hell, it’s Linda! Continue reading “As I Write This Letter”