Category Archives: The Perpetual Student

The (Short-Fingered) Man from the Tall Building

Soon we’ll be two months into the Turmp (it’s how my typing fingers want to spell its name) Administration. What we should fear more than anything…is happening—it’s normalizing. No good will ever come from this president, cabinet or congress being accepted as normal. So what to do for myself to make sure I do not succumb to finding those faces and voices normal?

First step. Thank Odin (my personal god) for Coursera. I’m taking a course, The Holocaust – An Introduction: Nazi Germany: Ideology,The Jews and the World from Tel Aviv University and Yad Vashem (Israel’s official memorial to the victims of the Holocaust). It does not matter which political side one is on these days when considering the Israeli/Palestinian situation (I’m personally on the side of the Palestinians anytime settlements come into the picture); very little in the history of world horrors has equaled the Holocaust.

We study the Holocaust in school; at least I’m hoping it’s still studied, but details become blurry over time. This is a good time to revisit the reality of the Holocaust when our new “leader” and his minions seem to reflect a time and ideology we thought we had, at least partially, put behind us.

The class is simply excellent with a professor of great and fluently-shared knowledge who manages to present dispassionately, a story horrific beyond belief. And…hey folks…it came about gradually throughout the 1930s and early 40s. Hitler did not stand up one day in 1933 and say “I intend to take over a big part of the world, kill all of the people whom I personally consider inferior, and leave Germany and much of Europe a bombed out, starving disaster zone.” No, indeed. He just told the German masses it was all about the Germans and that he alone could fix whatever they believed to be broken in their lives, and make Germany pure and great again. And the rest is history, isn’t it?

 I so very highly recommend this class; it’s midway through right now but you could still catch up; it will also be offered again.

I named this piece after The Man in the High Castle which I’ve just started watching (what if the Nazis had won WWII is the premise); I planned to watch more but the reviews aren’t great so I’m not sure, and as a result I don’t know if “The Man…” is a good or bad guy. In any case it’s a good title I think.

More later on about bingeing on The Americans (Russian spies!) and starting to reread a very good Jackson biography to see if Turmp is just following in Andrew the Populist’s  footsteps, as Melissa McCarthy’s fake stooge Bannon has appeared to claim.

I took these photos around 2005 on a visit to Poland’s Auschwitz Birkenau German Nazi Concentration and Extermination Camp (1940-1945). I’ve visited the Genocide Museum in Kigali, Rwanda too, and there’s just no way to feel enough at these sites. It seems like we would come away and devote our lives to the ending of racism, xenophobia, hate, genocide but we manage to go back to our normal lives…

A PERPETUALLY OBSESSIVE STUDENT…CAN’T SEEM TO CHANGE: Part 2 – MOOCS AND ME

The Following Photos have nothing to do with anything, they’re just from around my work building on Thursday—and I’m always uncomfortable when posts are photo-less. I need to get over that…

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Last week I declared some of the best days of my life to be when I registered for college classes. Well we can all return to those thrilling days of yesteryear if we so desire by simply googling something called Coursera. We can go back to school by clicking ‘enroll’ next to any of the hundreds of possibilities that appear before our greedy eyes. It’s a candy store of information/topics/ideas/stuff that inquiring minds surely want to know. My current class list includes: Constitutional Struggles in the Muslim World/University of Copenhagen, Buddhism and Modern Psychology/Princeton, Modern and Contemporary American Poetry (ModPo)/University of Pennsylvania—all in progress now; Introduction to the Arctic: Climate from the University of Alberta (Canada) and Tromso University (Norway) completed and, in the future, Big History: Connecting Knowledge/Macquarie University (Sidney, Australia).

As you can see from these old college registration forms, my propensity for a little bit of everything has not changed over the years—possibly why I’m neither financially or professionally particularly successful. However I do find life very interesting—how could I not when I move between Islam and Buddhism, between poetry and the environment—and look forward to Big History which begins with the creation of the universe and covers everything that’s happened herein until this very moment?

I’ve written about MOOCs before, but they still seem to be a mystery to the public at large so here’s my additional two cents worth of promo. Coursera is my favorite purveyor of MOOCS; it is an educational technology company that connects with a wide range of some of the world’s best universities to make courses available on-line. Nearly all of the classes are free and include the online materials and all of the lectures. For about $50 you can get a certificate if you take all of the tests. There are some courses of study that do cost more and which carry a higher level certificate or credit. Check it all out. Practically everything you’ve ever wanted to know about anything is just a Google second away.

The best thing about these classes is exactly what was best about the first couple of years at university—the variety of new worlds opening up through the books, and especially through the lectures by generally stimulating, sometimes brilliant professors. I’m actually finding my on-line lecturers to arouse the same feelings as I had in those long-ago classes—admiration, awe, surprise, excitement—and always a great deal of respect for intelligent, educated and dedicated scholars.

I’ll write more about some of the classes and professors later including ModPo get-togethers with my poet friend Bob. But for now…I need to go study.

 

AN OBSESSIVELY PERPETUAL STUDENT—AND HOW TO STAY THAT WAY: Part 1-College

A FEW OF THOSE OLD TEXTS REMAINING ON MY BOOKSHELVES. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THAT TRIG TEXT?
A FEW OF THOSE OLD TEXTS REMAINING ON MY BOOKSHELVES. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THAT TRIG TEXT?

Remember College before it was just about how much money could be earned…

Remember signing up for classes—way too many which you desperately wanted to take—you perused, selected, changed, added, selected another, reconsidered, ‘Oh wow, gotta take that…history of everything and there’s literature by everyone.’ Maybe I loved it all so much because I was already a 26-year-old with two small children and had been waiting to start college since I was 18.

As I remember it was all perfect, but the best day of any semester was going to the bookstore to pick out those gigantic information-weighted books and carrying home an armload of worlds. Even Trigonometry had its own torturous appeal.

I loved and still love the look and feel and energy of a university campus above all other places. I did the MSW program at San Diego State University not so very long ago—and am still working off the student loans, joking (sort of) that my tombstone will say ‘She just made her last student loan payment.’ Visiting my granddaughter on the UC Berkeley campus has been a pleasure, and just a bit of a wallow in nostalgia, even though I never lived on campus or for that matter made it to a school of Berkeley’s stature.

That was then, this is now. I still love that sense of the big wide world of possibility that a campus offers and  think if I were doing this all again I would become a history professor so I never had to leave that leafy bookish coffee-fueled environment (but then I realize the energy to deal with campus parking has long dissipated).

Now, even being in love with the idea of school-forever, it nevertheless makes me tired to think of all the studying and listening and testing and writing (and parking) that goes into getting those degrees. However…thank the gods-of-learning-new-stuff, something like that is still possible at my advancing age.

There remain bona fide universities with ivy-wreathed buildings and brilliant professors teaching classes about Everything—with reputable on-line programs. Some are straight-up, for–credit certificate or degree-earning programs like my writing classes from UCLA. They are a little expensive but offer qualified part-time teachers, a fair amount of work and critiquing, and grades are issued (important to me since, as I’ve claimed before—I’m always at-heart the third-grade teacher’s pet).

And then there are the MOOCS which is what the next few Parts/Post will describe. Yes, I’ve written about Massive Open Online Courses before but I’m always amazed at how many people are still unaware of them. Stay tuned…I’m through with my university history now…on to the main event. Part 2: MOOCS and ME. In a day or two.

 

SCHOOL

The reading and writing for “Lyric Essay” is pure pleasure. Not too easy because I’ve never tried this kind of writing before; not too hard because it is writing, my love, after all; in fact it is just right. The ModPo MOOC has given me a grounding in poetry that I didn’t even know I needed until starting this class. Yay, school and classes and studying and writing.

Granddaughter Teresa, as addicted to school as I am, is headed for graduate school in the fall. Civil Engineering degree from UCLA, couple years of pretty intense work in the corporate world as a…well, I’m not sure…maybe ‘systems analyst’ is right? Now a master’s, next the doctorate very likely. She applied to five top civil engineering master’s programs and has been accepted by ALL. One school even flying her out to meet the professors. Trying to imagine anyone from the many universities and colleges I’ve attended and the plethora of classes taken ever being impressed enough by me to pay for my next round of study. So she’s smarter than I am. It is supposed to work that way isn’t it? Each generation gets more v-things—vegetables vitamins validation vaccinations—don’t they? Voila… more valedictorians. Working on my use of alliteration here…help me out…it’s for my class.

 In addition to this UCLA creative writing certificate, maybe I should go ahead and do a master’s in Gerontology from USC. I’m now okay with on-line programs from very reputable schools since sampling UCLA’s writing program and the brilliantly organized and taught MOOCs out there. Probably the tuition would suck up all of my travel money so doubt whether this will happen…but thinking about it is free. Then I could get my doctorate when I’m 80.

 This post was going to be more about IMAGES since the collection thereof is presenting such a problem for me. Now however I must do work work …so here are my images for today—never mind the 10 I am supposed to be gathering.

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IMAGES #2

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Images my teacher says. Jot them down. Ten a day. Images you can use to build stories. Now it’s almost 6PM; I’ve been busy all day with writing and cooking and laundry and Vivian Maier…and nary an image. Well, one, of the front window shade most of the way drawn so I can deny it is one more bright sunny day. That’s an image for a story—one of my railing against high desert sun stories.

Nine images to go. Wait. The clothes are dry, ready to fold. May as well shower while I’m up. It’s nice the way the lamp lights the masks from Bali hanging just above it. They’re from the most famous mask-maker in Ubud; we went there about 25 years ago. That’s an image with a story to go with it. Yay, up to two…

Eight more and almost time for Downton Abbey. How about the image of Lord Grantham walking toward castle with his faithful dog Isis. That stays in my mind. Surely I could make some sort of story about my castle experiences. Perhaps only one. In Poland. And Scotland. With a lover. Now there’s a story.

Three down, seven to imagine.

There are seven sights about the apartment I like—with stories connected. My shiny speckled Minnesota Walleye so beautifully carved by artist Dan. Purple elephant just come from Sri Lanka with Steven and me. Got an ink spot on the white footstool cover which Patricia turned into a flower—reminds of my lovely granddaughter every time I prop my feet up.

To return after Downtown Abbey.

Cheating now because I want to watch Grantchester. My bedroom wall of family history holds all of the images I will need for awhile. I intend to write a small story about each so that my family can enjoy them in the me-less future.

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IMAGES #1

My new UCLA class is called “The Lyric Essay: Writing by Associative Leaps.” It’s brilliant I think…I’ll be a more lyrical person when I emerge on the other side a couple of months from now (and, it is safe to say, lyricism has never been my strong suit). To put it simply, as I understand it so far, it’s about paying more attention to the sound and rhythm of language and expressing oneself more freely partially through an emphasis on images rather than the usual focus on narrative. This will not be easy for me but then where’s the challenge if it were to be otherwise.

Images are proving to be one problem—odd isn’t it? Every moment our eyes are open there are images before them. I’m surrounded by images captured first-hand, when my eye sees the thing(s) directly or second-hand, when a photographer or filmmaker or sculptor has already captured the image for me.

How hard can it be then to jot down ten images in a day?  REALLY HARD, it turns out. Because an image worthy of capturing, to use in our writing should have something distinct about it, right? Not beauty or drama or even extremes of any kind but something surely.

Then there’s the second issue, my need to take photos of some interest to someone/anyone for my blogs versus my need to capture these ten writing-prompt images for my class. They may or may not be the same at all.

The following photos will give you an idea of why there is a problem. I leave my comfortable but non-descript house, drive unprepossessing winter streets to my run of the mill place of work, notable only for its colorful but fading paint job. I leave there at the end of the day and drive to the gym, another plain brown Albuquerque building. Then back home to my very ordinary house and ‘hood. I’ve tarted a few of these photos up to make your viewing journey more fun than it would be in real life.

Where are the images for my exceptional photos and extraordinary essays?

I’ll get back to you on that…after I’ve checked in with my IMAGINATION.

STARTING POINT.
STARTING POINT.
A PLEASANT NEIGHBORHOOD FUEL STOP.
A PLEASANT NEIGHBORHOOD FUEL STOP.
UNDER I-40.
UNDER I-40.
ADDED SOME COLOR TO OUR FADING BUILDING FRONT...SO EASY...NO PAINT NECESSARY. NORTH FOURTH NEEDS A FACE LIFT, LEGISLATORS!
ADDED SOME COLOR TO OUR FADING BUILDING FRONT…SO EASY…NO PAINT NECESSARY. NORTH FOURTH NEEDS A FACE LIFT, LEGISLATORS!
NIGHT SHOTS ALWAYS ADD DRAMA TO PLAIN BROWN BUILDINGS DON'T THEY?
NIGHT SHOTS ALWAYS ADD DRAMA TO PLAIN BROWN BUILDINGS DON’T THEY? ANYWAY HERE I AM AT THE GYM WHERE MY ABS GROW EVER STRONGER.

 

“WORDS” takes a holiday

MY STARTER LIBRARY ... QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO.
MY STARTER LIBRARY … QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO.

Starting yesterday Platform of Words… must take a week or two off to regroup. To return around New Years with the lists and resolutions for 2015. Such as: all the movies, documentaries, shorts to see before the Oscars (some guesswork at this point but you have to start somewhere); which, and in what order, Norwegian, Russian, Mongolian and Chinese authors and books to read before Big2015Trip (B15T); and, ditto, books about Scandinavian immigrants and the settling of Minnesota and South Dakota to go with my writing classes and The Book.

Then there are the little projects like any new Scandinavian/South Africa crime novels from favorite authors and trying to hang on to a beginning knowledge of contemporary poetry and how to write succinct but meaningful entries in my journal that will be found worthy of a read by some future great-grandchild in some future decade.

Finally there is the really really big ongoing project of how to better organize my blog life so posts get more dependably readable and relevant.

Oh yeah, almost forgot. There are all those Netflix series (House of Cards, Wallander, Annika Bengtzon) to keep up with or catch up on when I don’t want to do any of the above and then there’s Downton Abbey for winter Sunday nights.

And some MOOCs. Signed up for three or four. I did. Really.

Right now it’s all confusion and stress because I haven’t made the requisite lists yet. And the too-muchness of my too-many endeavors is apparent. The only justification for all of this is that I am old and there’s a lot still to do. And I am never ever bored this way.

I’ll be back when it’s all figured out. AGAIN.

MY BRIEF POETIC MOMENTS

IF A BOOK TREE DOESN'T WORK OUT, TRY A TABLE TREE.
IF A BOOK TREE DOESN’T WORK OUT, TRY A TABLE TREE.

Sunday afternoon. Cleaning. Decorating–wrapping all of those Christmas lights purchased for the misbegotten book tree around a red table where they look quite festive. It’s all good.

Now I want to begin the end of ModPo, the wonderful poetry MOOC. And it has been enjoyable, informative, even challenging but I’ve lost interest after the New York School. Not wanting to be a quitter however here begins the countdown with the Language Poets. Ron Silliman’s “Albany.”

That we are “languaged” beings is not a phrase I’ve ever heard or considered before but it is often used in ModPo especially now in this time of the ‘language poets.’ I like it and, more surprisingly, the language poets with their disjointed memoir-poems are both readable and fascinating. I’ll say more tomorrow and include an excerpt but now I’m tired and a review of the first four seasons of Downton Abbey will be on soon. Can’t miss that.

Here’s the weekend in a couple of photos.

DSCN6377
THAT PRETTY SECOND-FROM-THE-RIGHT CHEERLEADER IS THE AMAZING SARA.
LOOKING EAST AT THE MANZANOS AND THE SANDIAS.
LOOKING EAST AT THE MANZANOS AND THE SANDIAS.

 

I-do-this-I-do-that

Who knew there was a school or sub-school of poetry labeled I-do-this-I-do-that?

The New York School of poetry was just full of surprises for me. Since I had barely ever heard of it of course that would be true. But that I would come to enjoy it and almost want to read more than assigned in the class was the real surprise. Hmmm? Why would that be?

We read a poem or two of Frank O’Hara, Kenneth Koch, John Ashbery, Barbara Guest, Ted Berrigan and Bernadette Mayer. Never heard of them you say? Where did Robert Frost go? Much less ‘the friendly cow all red and white…’ These are not them!

Well some of the poems by these famous New York School poets are easy, some are hard. What they have in common—for me—is they’re all lists.

Yes, really. The I-do-this-I-do-that genre (can I say that’s a genre?) is really a listing of the day’s activities. Interestingly listed, purposefully listed, cleverly listed. Still…a list.   Like Frank O’Hara’s A Step Away From Them where the first stanza goes like this:

It’s my lunch hour, so I go

for a walk among the hum-colored

cabs. First, down the sidewalk

where laborers feed their dirty

glistening torsos sandwiches

and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets

on. They protect them from falling

bricks, I guess. Then onto the

avenue where skirts are flipping

above heels and blow up over

grates. The sun is hot, but the

cabs stir up the air. I look

at bargains in wristwatches. There

are cats playing in sawdust.

I am learning to care about poetry like this—a sort of big picture has to appear which, thanks to Professor Al Filreis, emerges in the introduction to each section or ‘school.’  I must figure out what the big picture means to me and, in the case of the New York School, it’s this. First of all, like the Beats and San Francisco and the sprawl of mid-America, these New Yorkers seem very intent on describing the look and feel and mood of their city. I feel my obsession with ‘place’ satisfied. Secondly, they are almost always listing these things; their poems are like diaries. Since I love lists and diaries and journals, again I feel connected. Okay so this is a little silly since I’ve only read a few of these poems. But it makes me like them and be curious enough to keep talking ModPo forever like my friend Bob.

Here’s an easy one that I like very much.

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers” by Bernadette Mayer

Moon out and no snow yet November first

The first anniversary of our wedding and

The day before election day, 1976, yesterday

Was Halloween, next Friday I have an appointment

With the dentist and the following Tuesday is

Lewis’s thirty-second birthday, exactly one week

After that Marie will be eleven months old.

The day before yesterday we turned the clocks back

One hour which made it seem like every day

Will have an extra hour in it, not only of darkness

But of just plain time, the time I used to spend

Skipping lunch is longer, the time for dinner

Is too early now, the time for sunset comes too soon

The time between dinner and Marie’s bedtime is too long                            When it’s time to go to bed there’s still a few hours left

To read, I’m dreaming twice as much as before

I spend all my new time lying in bed thinking.

Last night I saw “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”

And tonight when I came into my room to go to work

I found an old seed pod on the floor by my desk.

In the movie if you see one of these it’s time to die.

It’s time to write some letters, good cold air

Comes in my window, it wakes me up, we had a bottle

Of champagne and Marie went to sleep without crying

It’s time to read Fielding’s Guide to European Travel

And the Alice Toklas Cookbook again, a few books by

John McPhee

Our new American Heritage anniversary dictionary,

The Adventures of a Mathematician by Stanislas Ulam

And The Wild boy of Aveyron by a behaviorist psychologist

About a boy brought up by wolves.

The poet is a new mother married to another poet and obviously keeping herself sane by putting the ‘list’ of her daily activities into poetic form to remind herself that, after all, she is a poet. And as the Professor Al pointed out, the last line may reference her exhaustion and thoughts of her daughter having some occasional play dates with the caretaker wolves.

I’ll save the hard poem for next week after I’ve had a talk about it with Bob my poet advisor.

Here’s my photographic version of  I-do-this-I-do-that

A DAMP AND WELCOMING GLOOM THIS MORNING IN ALBUQUERQUE WHERE THE SUN SHINES TOO MUCH.
A DAMP AND WELCOMING GLOOM THIS MORNING IN ALBUQUERQUE WHERE THE SUN SHINES TOO MUCH.
THE BIRDS SLEEP IN.
THE BIRDS SLEEP IN.
THE PEOPLE KEROUAC CALLED BUMS DIDN'T LEAVE ANY OF THEIR RAGGED BELONGINGS BY THE DUMPSTER NEXT TO MY WORK.
THE PEOPLE KEROUAC CALLED BUMS DIDN’T LEAVE ANY OF THEIR RAGGED BELONGINGS BY THE DUMPSTER NEXT TO MY WORK.
I WALKED DOWN TO WALGREENS FOR BREAKFAST.
I WALKED DOWN TO WALGREENS FOR BREAKFAST.

ON MY PRETTY ALBUQUERQUE CORNER.

AND THEN I ATE IT.
AND THEN I ATE IT.

WORD DAY and More of ‘Where I Left My Heart…’

Bob, my poetry guru, came out to Kerouac's town when I lived there.
Bob, my poetry guru, came out to Kerouac’s town when I lived there.

 

Sundays are intended to be ‘Word’ Post Days, meaning writing about/or from books, newspapers, classes and sometimes the ‘newish’ media. There is a lot to write about today; the Times Book section has a Russian theme and, since Russia’s on my travel agenda, I am sure there are books there to consider, even order. Also, along those exciting lines, Netflix is launching a new Marco Polo series available December 14th and, since Beth and I will be loosely tracing the explorer’s route next summer, that’s something to look forward to instead of just waiting for the new season of Downton Abbey on January 5th…although PBS has lots of Downton Abbey replays and teasers on most of the day today. AND last but not least, Aljazeera has some Marco Polo hours tonight. Their version is probably more news-oriented than Netflix’ will be and it is very good.

What a nice morning, not even 10AM and I am already feeling much enthusiasm for the world of books and media. And life in general I should add.

There is a little guilt over restarting “The Goldfinch” last night before digging into the Norwegian novels but it is just so damn good. I put it aside before a trip and now am back into it and much in awe of its storytelling—Goldfinch truly deserved the Pulitzer Prize for fiction which it won a year or two ago.

The intent for today’s post however is to talk about my favorite MOOC so far, Modern and Contemporary American Poetry or ModPo as it’s affectionately known. Haven’t turned on the TV for three days (except for one hour of a Netflix Swedish detective). When I feel the urge to plop down on the couch and hit the on button, I instead plop down on my big comfy desk chair and click on Coursera and scroll for the poet people. There they are, the funny professor and those bright and endearing students I’m coming to know. I have the same feeling as I do when I sit down for a visit with Frank and Clair or Piper and her buds. Although, come to think of it, Amri Baraka’s “Incident” has all the mystery of House of Cards’ double dealings and Ted Berrigan seems like a character that could have somehow walked on stage in Orange is the New Black.

 Okay. So I am name-dropping here, proud of the fact I know the names of some actual poets. Thanks for the introduction Bob, this is fun.

It is exciting and invigorating to be learning something new. I keep saying that but it’s true. Am I going into deep and meaningful study of modern and contemporary poets? Well no, but maybe like Bob, I’ll keep taking this class over and over and wind up on the other side an informed and regular reader of poetry.

The big Thanksgiving weekend discovery has been a light bulb moment about why I have liked what little I’ve read in the past of the Beats. It’s the Geography of course. They are everywhere around this country, their lives are one big road trip—which I knew in a way but never linked it with my own love of road trips and PLACES. Kerouac’s “October in the Railroad Earth” has probably been read more times than anyone except Frost (I don’t know that of course!) but it is forever wonderful—at least to anyone who has lived in and loved San Francisco. Can’t resist including a little of it here. Google a site to listen, the background music in his most famous reading does add.

A little bit of “October in the Railroad Earth” by Jack Kerouac

There was a little alley in San Francisco back of the Southern Pacific station at Third and Townsend in redbrick of drowsy lazy afternoons with everybody at work in offices in the air you feel the impending rush of their commuter frenzy as soon they’ll be charging en masse from Market and Sansome buildings on foot and in buses and all well-dressed through  workingman Frisco of Walkup?? truck drivers and even the poor grime-bemarked Third Street of lost bums even Negros so hopeless and long left East and meanings of responsibility and try that now all they do is stand there spitting in the broken glass sometimes fifty in one afternoon against one wall at Third and Howard and here’s all these Millbrae and San Carlos neat-necktied producers and commuters of American and Steel civilizations rushing by with San Francisco Chronicles …                                          Please.  Go to YouTube and listen.

I am so happy to have lived in San Francisco for a little while, a city where just a small piece of a poem or song can evoke so strongly the air and sound and smell and look of a place.

Well, I was going to talk about my ModPo discovery of the New York School but this is too long so that will have to wait until Thursday.

 Sunday is Word Day. Worship at the altar of books and poems and stories in whatever form.

Can’t resist some more old San Francisco photos from when I lived there.

My funky little Mission apartment.
My funky little Mission apartment.
The corner store where the guy sold us single cigarettes. Pretty much the extent of my illegal drug dealing.
The corner store where the guy sold us single cigarettes. Pretty much the extent of my illegal drug dealing.
Robert and Marsha came out for a little Left Coast atmosphere.
Robert and Marsha came out for a little Left Coast atmosphere.
A favorite market.
A favorite market.
Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.
Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.