Melancholia

 
 

Where's it all going to end, I wonder?  

Sad news just came my way.  Kinda putting things in perspective, here.

Sitting at the MFN nerve center.  Sun going down.  Hunky Dory in my face (that's a famous album by a strangely talented hermaphrodite name of David Bowie, mom).

                    "Homo sapiens have outgrown their use."

Despite the fact that resident fishwife Camilladilla, is out of town, I resisted the temptation to pursue Lana Turner last night. This knowing fully well where and when she (Lana) was running... having actually received "the golden phone call, from someone who calls himself: "Fillipino Eddie." 

Act 1. Sc. 1

    MFN H.Q., Lombard sits at desk. The phone rings. Lombard answers it.

Lombard Of The Intertidal

Hello?

  Fillipino Eddie

Hello, is this monkeyface Kirk?
 

Lombard Of The Intertidal
 

Yes, I suppose it is.

Fillipino Eddie
 

Hey Kirk it's Eddie.
 

Lombard Of The Intertidal
 

Eddie?
 

Fillipino Eddie
 

You know, Fillipino Eddie. From South City. You told me to call when the fish is running.

Lombard Of The Intertidal
 

Oh okay.  Are they running?
 

Fillipino Eddie
 

Yeah. RIGHT NOW, MAN!  At ______________.  And the night smelt is here too.  Okay, I gotta go, bye!

 

Gotta Love

Anyway, you gotta love a guy that refers to himself as "Fillipino Eddie from South City." As if he's the only Fillipino Eddie in South City. Still, the fact that any member of this storied and excellent population of fishmongers and bait casters would deign to call me, (and give me an inside tip) makes me feel pretty durned good about myself. I mean, my Fillipino-phile tendencies aside, it's nice to know I'm in the loop.
 

 

What else... this just in. Another black sea bass was landed just outside the gate. Always good to hear. Odd though with the water so cold.  Maybe it was something else... but what?

         Stereolepas gigas

  

Aw shite... Can't deny it.  Sad right now.  Not like weepy.  Just sad. Melancholy.  It's all so fleeting.  Life I mean.  Which is to say I've been counting my casts lately.  Since Lana #1 it's been 223.  I'm trying to figure out my catch per cast ratio.  I think it's going to come out to about a thousand.  One thousand casts for a three minute high.  Sounds kind of like smoking crack.  Only without the crack, the hookers, the high speed chase, the blood and the broken glass.  

One thing for sure, it really sucks not having speakers connected to this computer.  How the hell am I supposed to listen to Life On Mars at this volume?  Not to mention Ween, AC/DC or even Little Walter!

The Great One

 

Before

 
           After    

Since I'm kind of meandering around various topics I might as well take a minute to sing the praises of Walter Marion Jacobs. I should add that in our lowly MFN opinion Little Walter was not merely the greatest harp player ever, but one of the most important musicians of the 20th century. If you consider that he was really the first person, (or at least one of the first) to actively and purposefully distort his instrument then you begin to comprehend the enormity of his influence. (Listen to the track below, "Juke" which was originally released as the flipside to his number one hit: My Babe).

Muddy Waters said Walter had it all:  talent, charisma, good looks... but he blew it on wine, women and song--mostly wine. The pictures above represent a sort of before and after type of thing. The second one was evidently taken just before his tragic and premature death at the age of 33. Having succumbed to multiple head injuries sustained in a beating outside a south-side Chicago night club. Looking at that second picture just makes me want to weep. Every time. Case in point, there I go.

Anyway, this is all commonly known stuff.  Just thought I'd add a Youtube link to those who may have, somehow, missed out on Little Walter over the years.
 

Thinking About My Grandfather 

It was my grandfather, glaucoma-blind, lying on his side of the twin bed, in his apartment on 16th Street and 6th Avenue--a vista of bricks and cinderblocks outside the bedroom window, watching the Wide World Of Sports, regaling me with stories of steelhead and quail and his uncle Toots Breschini, and his great grandfather's founding of a town called Watsonville, and his friendship with John Steinbeck, and Paul Ash, and walking the stage with Mae West, and being such a dignified and lighthearted old man, that got me into fishing.

Milton Watson... 

Anyway, thinking about my grandfather. A man who caught more fish, sang more songs, hit more notes, shot more quail, dug more clams, appeared in more Broadway shows, and knew Groucho Marks better than any person reading this blog. (Not that anyone would deny it, just feeling kind of combative--must be the Little Walter).

Anyway, it's kind of cool that as I sit here thinking about him, I can hit a few buttons and hear his voice, with all its rolled r's and its scratchy wonderment, calling out from the distant past... here's to the wonders of modern technology!  Anyway, hit it Gramps (singing starts at 1:17):

Where was I?  Oh that's right... thinking wistfully of the man who taught me to fish.  Methinks it's time to wax poetic...

Haiku #1

Grandfather. Fishing.

In the San Lorenzo Creek

Fifty trout a day.

Steelheading, back when. 

That's what he told me.  50 steelhead a day.  25 before school and 25 after.

His dad was the town butcher, Santa Cruz cerca: 1900-1919.  Somehow I

don't think the family was much into catch and release.  So if you're looking

for someone to blame for the decimation of the Ca., steelhead... look no

further.

The San Lorenzo... isn't that the pathetic little sluice that runs through S.C.?

Hard to believe it ever had water, let alone steelhead.

Sorry for the digression... 

Yikes, look at the clock.  Gotta go.

From the land of meandering thoughts, melancholia and memory lane, this is

Lombard Of The Intertidal for The Monkeyface News, signing out.

Comments

[Rol]

Bravery lies not in always presenting a "brave face" but rather in having the true courage to confront also the dark moments that haunt us all, bravo.

[Scott Parker]

I'm quite faniliar with malancholy, although sometimes I think the lassitude is more akin to languor or perhaps jejune. I hope the sad news was not devestating, but merely the trigger for your, hopefully transitory, melancholia. Likewise, I also wish you speedy recovery and pray you are not literal in your word choice... http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/melancholia

[Finesmell]

With that dire title and opening pic, I thought you'd touch on the subject of the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico ... while I'm glad you didn't add to the ever-present imagery of the onslaught on some our nation's most productive wetlands, you certainly covered a lot of bases here, Home-slice - very thought-provoking.

I am reminded of when I was 15 years old, and was doing bong hits with some friends in an attic. Our host's mother unexpectedly ascended the attic stairs, causing most of us freeze in fear. She looked to her son, and calmly stated, "Ed, I just want you to remember one thing: MODERATION."
A huge, collective sigh of relief eminated from our adolescent guts as Ed's mom returned to that part of the house normally inhabited. I think the transformation in Little Walter's face speaks volumes to the value MODERATION: he sure looks a lot older than 33 in that second picture. Thankfully, Ed and I took his mother's words to heart; I can't speak for the other guys in that attic.

Embrace your fish-wife immediately upon her return.
It's sure to help.