I won't complain

Stevie Wonder is blind. He has forty-two albums to his name, of which some are compilation albums. I have them all, now. It's almost too much to deal with. Maybe I should dedicate the entire month of February to Stevie and listen to one album a day. I could prepare in the remaining week of January with some compilations, or maybe a snippet of the Christmas album. I don't think I can stand listening to a Christmas album for an entire day having suffered through the holiday season in the States.
Stevie Wonder is pretty much the only man I really know who is blind. For some reason, when I listen to his music, it makes me think what some things must be like for Stevie. Like the concept of being black without being able to see the difference in people's skin tone. Or how he sees his wife and children. Or what it feels like to be left on a stage without anyone being able to guide you to the back during an award show. Things a blind person deals with that I don't take the time to dwell on normally. Things Stevie deals with all the times. It gives me more compassion for him than any other artist, without trying to say I pity him of course. No way to pity Stevie.
I took a class on the senses last year and the age old question arose again: would you rather be deaf or blind? I love seeing colors, landscapes, people interact, different shades of light, and I also very much like to see traffic when I ride a bike, or all of the steps on the stairwell. But if I were to be deaf, I would never be able to dedicate an entire month to a musical genius, his voice, and how he plays the keys.

So, to bless the fact that we don't need to make this horrendous choice, a video of the good man singing at his friend's funeral. And take the lyrics to heart.

One half hour

Today, as I changed over from the BART to the Muni at Civic Center, I put my headphones on and pressed play. The Allman Brothers Band began their live version of the Mountain Jam, 33 minutes and 41 seconds of instrumental jamming recorded at the Fillmore East in February, 1970.
I stood on the platform waiting for the N-Judah to roll into the station, and was quickly joined by quite the character. I had seen him before on the train, and it's hard to miss him. This guy is super tall with long blond hair but the most striking thing is that he wears protective shields all over his body, and a long green cape. The shields, from knee caps to shoulder pads to elbow protectors make him look big and muscled, and the combination with a cape makes him look like a warrior from outer space. I may have been influenced by watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy yesterday but in stead of being put off by what most people would think of as a complete nut, I felt drawn to his appearance. Subtly, without trying to catch his eye, I tried to read what the tattoo on his left cheek said. As a train arrived, I thought I heard it was the K, and the warrior boarded it. As he turned around he looked me right in the eye, gave me a faint smile. The tattoo read 'VERITAS' and I noticed a crucifix drawn above his right eyebrow.
It took me a minute to realize that it was actually my train that he had gotten on. The next one would be twenty minutes.
I continued waiting, and listening to the guitar and organ and drum solos in my ear. Small thoughts crossed my mind, like how I felt my jeans slowly creeping south and that I really need to buy a belt. Or what time the Obama inauguration might start tomorrow. Or what the concert hall looked like at that specific concert in February 1970. As the jam continued I drew deeper into the sounds, but I kept being disturbed by a homeless guy asking me for money for food (I had none). You know how when you stand around for a long time they just keep asking you, probably because their memory is nonexistent or they think maybe you'll change your mind or I don't know what it is. There are many many many homeless and drug addicted people in this city and even my big headphones are no way of stopping them continuously asking me for a cigarette or money. If they keep it up they may be responsible for me smoking a lot less, seeing how the street is the only place where you are allowed to smoke and I get really tired blowing people off all the damn time. Anyway, the poor guy was coughing his lungs out and I started thinking he may have really been asking for money for food. It's a good thing I had so much time on the platform. All of a sudden I remembered. In my bag was almost an entire hamburger. I ordered it in Berkeley with a friend but it was so greasy I couldn't even eat a quarter of it. Somehow they convinced me to bring it in a doggy bag, even though I knew I probably would put it in the fridge until I would have to throw it out a few days later. This time it was me who approached the man and carefully handed him the hamburger. He was really happy, and held it in his hand as he boarded his train. I hope he likes sauteed mushrooms and artichoke on his burgers.
I was home thirty minutes later than I could have been. It was another sunny day in California and tomorrow we welcome a new day. I am in no rush.

What twenty bucks buy you at..

The Chinese shop:

4 cucumbers
1 grapefruit
2 cans of tomato sauce
1 red pepper
1 green pepper
1 tofu
1 piece of butter
2 red onions
4 potatoes
1 big bag of strawberries
1 lemon
1 orange
2 roma tomatoes
1 bushel of fresh rosemary
0,790 lbs of feta cheese

The Cheese shop:

1 piece of Old Amsterdam aged cheese.

Miktor & Molf

I visited Miktor & Molf a few times when they still had their studio in a trailer in a warehouse. I would bring beer and cigarettes and licorice and once, the Hitkrant. Most of the time I would just sit there and read a bit and bum smokes from Matthijs or the other way around. Sometimes they took off their shirts for mysterious reasons, sometimes they fought, sometimes I would get my skateboarding lesson but they did most of it, not me. And I guess sometimes they work. They are getting their shit together and showing their stuff at places like Sid Lee Collective (of which I have absolutely no clue what it is) and SPRMRKT (some clothing store). Way to go boys, way to go.

Miktor & Molf come up with the funniest titles for things ever.
Miktor & Molf love me, and I love them too.

It's that time again

By Stephane Kaas 2008

I just can't help myself. For as long as I can remember I have gigantic piles of clothing everywhere. Hard to imagine I worked in an organized clothing store for years. Maybe that's kind of the equivalent of cooks never making themselves dinner at home. Who knows.

Dune

I was quietly browsing craigslist for cars and jobs, when I heard the front door open and voices speaking in Spanish. I keep getting caught off guard by the fact that we have two cleaning ladies. They both listen to the name Maria and they come once a month on Thursdays. Having maids really weirds me out. It's understandable from my roommates point of view, she works all the time and she has the means to hire them. I on the other hand, am seemingly always at home in sweats when they come in. The last time they were here I was so intimidated that I didn't dare ask if I could use the bathroom (because they were cleaning in there) so I sat in bed 'till they were finished, by which time my teeth were floating.
This time I wisely decided to flee the house and bike over to the beach. Biking down there is easy. It's twenty blocks downhill and it was a beautiful day. The waves of the Pacific get pretty intense and I found my little spot on a dune where I can just sit and stare at the water for hours. I made a promise to myself to go down here more often while I still live in the Sunset. It's so close and so nice. If I had to live anywhere outside of the city I am positive it would be in the dunes. Proximity to water and forest (if you're lucky) makes it smell really good and the sunsets are truly marvelous. If you're on a west coast, anyway.
While I was sitting on my dune I read a little in the book my father gave me for Christmas, selected letters from Neal Cassady. A great book for anyone with a fascination for the Beat Generation, like me!
After a gruesome bike ride uphill back home, I find my room cleaned and the Maria's made my bed. I think they even sort of organized my bedside table. Wow.
I need a shower.

I wonder what happened to Nicole Wray

I have a professed love for R&B music. Not only the R&B that Ike Turner used to make, but also the later kind. I guess my little last.fm chart over here on the site makes it pretty clear.
I don't share this love with many of my friends. Most of them listen to cool obscure music and classic oldies or you know, anything not produced by Timbaland or Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis.. (That means you, Femke!)
With a lot of spare time, a new MacBook and finally figuring out how to use a torrent program, my love for this music is blowing up even more. People have ready made collections like '100 Best R&B and HipHop Songs of the 90's' and I spend my evenings like a teenager listening to Mary J Blige in my room on my headphones while dancing and singing along with no sound. At least I don't use my hairbrush as a microphone and having an airbed prevents me from jumping on the bed, so it's not thát bad.

Anyway. If any of you have a secret urge to listen to some classics, download this mix by Sotu the Traveller. It has Mark Morrisson, Ginuwine, Keath Sweat, and Jodeci among others. And if anyone gives you shit for it, remember he's a part of Appletree Records. That'll give you some credit.

I leave you with one of my favorites. Mazzel!

P.S. Don't download the new Beyonce album(s)! It SUCKS.