It's Friday Night and...

Bobbie Gentry wants to sing "Niki Hoeky". It's mighty hot down here, do you mind if her boys take off their shirts?

Who Moved My Little Rock?

Ever reliable Strange Maps offered up this hilarious Kafka-esque view of the Union by Swiss Airlines. Mainly things have moved north, not a bad idea generally, but there are some other mistake here that are as intriguing as they are funny. It does make one wonder about those Swiss pilots managing to make the runways.

Polk Me Right Thar, Like I Likes It

Polk is one of my favorite nouns and proper names. Polk Strasse. President Polk. Polk salad. Tony Joe and this song figured very heavily in my puberty and endorsement of the line "Neil Young is a liar." If Nashville could still produce tunes like this and the Lee Hazlewood catalog, I'd be a huge C&W fan. Tim McGraw looks great in tight jeans and T-shirts, but his music is pretty Bleh.He's no Tony Joe "Gator's got your granny" is a lyric Sondheim only dreams of. The only other song that comes close is "Nutbush City Limits". This is the real McCoy.

I Love You Too Noodles

With this post, I meet my October quota of posting non-original YouTube content. This is my favorite episode of my favorite YouTube show.

Also, this dish is what I always order when dining at Chez Panisse in Berkeley and the French Laundry in Napa. Be sure to just ask for nouilles, poudre, eau et viande.

Clueless Cole

(Overheard while checking out at Cole Hardware this Friday at around 6:45 p.m. as Sweet Home Alabama was playing in the background, almost drowning out the rain.)

Clerk 1: Hey, dude, it's that song.

Clerk 2: Yeah, you're right.

Clerk 1: You know who does it?

Clerk 2: Sure, I saw the movie.

Clerk 1: No, I'm askin'. You know who does the song?

Clerk 2: Some band.

Clerk 1: Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Clerk 2: Oh. What kind of skinner?

Clerk 1: Lynyrd Skynrd with a Y. Do you have a Cole customer card?

Me: Not with me, but my phone number is 285-XXXX.

Clerk 2: Oh, yeah, that's the guy that Reese Witherspoon married.

Clerk 1: Debit or credit? No, it's a band. It's like the national song of Alabama or something now.

Clerk 2: I thought Reese Witherspoon was from the South not Albania.

Clerk 1: No, it's a band that wrote the song, not Reese Witherspoon. Do you need a bag?

Me: No, I'll put it in here.

Clerk 2: Whatever. I just don't get the stuff with Neil Young. He's not even in the movie.

Clerk 1: Of course not, he's Canadian.

Light a Candle for Janis

I am sad to report and to report more than a week late, that a true pioneer of pop music died on September 3. Janis Martin,for years having to wear the heavy moniker of the "female Elvis," was much more than that. Sadly, I learned of her late in her career through a documentary called Women of Rockabilly. I've never really like country, or even Elvis for that matter, but rockabilly and psychobilly and most importantly female rockabilly singers are top drawer in my book.

And much as I love Wanda Jackson and Brenda Lee, none of her peers came close to Janis. I have always liked my men to be a tad pretty and sweet and my women tough as nails and not willing to take shit from anybody. I featured Janis in episode six of Junk Thief TV. Watching her get down at 60+ with a beer bottle and a little rock and roll, suggest that to the final hour she lived her life the way she sang her music -- nice and rough. A beautifully brutal bright light was dimmed last week, a reminder that with all the hoopla this week about "fat" Britney Spears, she should have taken a few cues from Janis. Like Britney, she was a sexy southern gal who loved to party and eat a little biscuits and gravy now and then. But unlike Britney, Janis never begged for approval; she commanded it. Even in her sixties, she was 10 times sexier than Britney ever could be, because she knew without a doubt who she was and would never let anyone mold her into anyone else, even if that meant she had a few less record sales.

Come to think of it, those are qualities I admire in a man, especially when he is confident with who he is and doesn't resort to the same macho posturing that to me is a butch equivalent to vogueing. Drop the drag (butch or femme) and just be yourself, boy.

Thank you Janis, for carrying such a roughly hewn torch on this planet for six and a half decades. Your flame may have been extinguished, but I know the enduring embers will keep us warm for many years to come.

(Praise be to Ball of Fire on YouTube for posting these great videos of Janis. She was still rockin' even a few months ago. I sense that she did not go quietly into the night.)

Coming Soon...

...the Civil War finally reconciled.

Celebrity Junk Drawers and Fish Rodeo

JunkThief knew he just couldn't let the show Celebrity Junk Drawer at 111 Minna Gallery come and go without dropping in and paying homage and was glad to know that ever dapper and witty Bryce Digdug was interested in going. (Halfway there, JunkThief realized that he'd forgotten to write down the address but managed to find it by dumb luck.) Upon arriving for the gallery's "art happy hour" imagine the horror as the doorman checked the IDs of the mainly 20-something crowd but waved Bryce and JunkThief in despondently and told them to put away their wallets! Though the velvet rope outside was a bit much, those horse heads made them feel as if this were "21." Or "Twin-tea-one" as the true inner circle call it. (JunkThief still lunches there when in Manhattan and feels the need to dish dirt with old chum Lee Radziwell who loves to recount stories of her 1967 TV appearance in the title role of Laura.)

Since it was a free show and Bryce and JunkThief didn't imbibe except for the sights, they really couldn't afford to complain about the music volume level and young 'ins blocking the view, oblivious to the fact that this was a, uh, you know, gallery and not just another bar. While disappointing that there were only 7-8 of Mecier's works on display, the ones there were great fun. Kathy Griffin against a backdrop of Clay Aiken was a particular treat. Mecier also does great things with keys as a medium. However, there are even more over here on Mecier's site. It was too bad that the show doesn't include Charo, Carol Channing or Morgan Fairchild.

Regardless, Mecier's work is really clever and often stunning and made from real junk -- matchbooks, curlers, pencils, food package, gum wrappers, you name it. And he doesn't seem to ever resort to painting the junk but grouping the found objects to create ranges of one shade.

Having Bryce captive for a while, JunkThief had to ask about that dapper gentleman in his Frappr photo on the right. Well, it's not really Bryce, we're sorry to reveal (though Bryce has been known to hang out with the yacht club crowd) but someone at the Louisiana "fish rodeo". Most of us have never heard of such an animal, but apparently that's where embattled Louisiana Senator David Vitter met one of his madams. Only in Louisiana, apparently.

Speaking of Frappr photos, Bryce pointed out the curious shot of the young man from Morocco offering his phone number on the right. JunkThief doesn't know a way to get rid of a photo once it's on there. The bigger question is, do you think that's his thumb or (as Bryce thinks) is he showing...oh, we don't want to go there.


UPDATE: Call it irony, call it kismet that this entry was posted hours before the announcement of Tammy Fae (yes, the second image with the dog) leaving the living. In case it's been a while since you hear it, here is a portion of her classic "The Ballad of Jim and Tammy Fae"

Northern Comfort - Southern Apologies

There is a nice fog lingering over Twin Peaks. It's in the upper 50s with perfect Mediterranean blue skies in The Mission. I'm enjoying the perfect caffeine fix in my nifty new "Sugar Bugger" cup that I nabbed (translate: bought not stole) at Currents last night. There's almost a healthy chill in the air on the first day I'm wearing one of the three to four short sleeve shirts I own. In other words, it's an almost normal day in San Francisco again after wacky, horribly hot weather. My virus is about 90% gone now that the temps have lowered in concert with my improved health.

Meanwhile the Hollywood Hills burn. Spooky. Something for some reactionary politician to say Sodom brought on itself.

I think an earlier post may have been misconstrued when I made reference to San Francisco feeling like a "shithole city in the South," suggesting that this statement was a generalization about "the South." Living in a state that has Needles, Barstow and Antioch, I am in no position to make such broad generalizations. There are plenty of cities in the South (Atlanta, Austin, San Antonio, New Orleans, Charleston, Savannah) that I truly love, but then there are some that truly qualify as shitholes. But I will refrain from naming them or trying to guess if there are any that could top Barstow for the s-town honors. If I've offended any Barstow readers, I am sure you're lovely folks but I won't retract my statement about your town.

JunkThieves: The Case Continues

In the wake of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, teenage boys were forced to wear signs admitting to their crimes, as noted in this historical account.

This week, a judge in Attalla City, Alabama, decided that what worked for early 20th Century Barbary Coast was good enough for Wal-Mart, according to this London Mail account.