Tag Archives: Kerouac


25 Oct


I’m back from California. We had an amazing time.

We flew into LAX, picked up our rental car (It was a Dodge Charger, as in DODGE CHARGER) and headed out to Long Beach, which was beautiful, by the way. This is my second trip to the LA country area and the first time I was sure I could never live there – I mean sure the weather is great and everything but I think I would go crazy if I couldn’t walk everywhere I needed to get to. There’s just SO MUCH DRIVING. That said, I liked Long Beach. You might have won me over Long Beach, you cheeky thing, you.

Course that’s also cause we met some really really great people. The folks who put together the Long Beach Poetry Festival were some of the nicest most genuine down to earth funny artists I’ve ever met. And that is saying a lot coming from me cause those “let’s-get-together-and-have-beers-with-total-strangers,-come-on-it-will-be-fun” parties make my social anxiety rear its ugly head. But they were all so great, I was over my nervousness by the time the first beer was gone.

And Jay did a great job at the reading!


In between poets we snuck over to the V Room which was hands down one of the coolest dive bars I’ve had the privilege of drinking in. It has no windows. None. When you first walk in you stumble around blind and then, you look like this:


So thanks again to the amazing writers who put this reading together. I’m looking at you Kevin, Clint, Anna, Donna, Tamara and Paul and all their little helper cohorts. It was a great day and you crazy bastards made it so.

We bid farewell to Long Beach and headed up the Pacific Coast Highway – California 1. We got lost 1.5 times which isn’t too bad since we covered about 600 miles or something. And one of the 1.5 times lost was only because the sign was blocked by hedges  so we got lost in a town and drove out to a dead end and realized the ocean was now on the wrong side. But man was it a hell of a drive!




Pretty right?

I love road trips. We stopped along the way too.


and look what we found!

Elephant Seals!!


They smelled lovely, trust me.

And then we headed up into Big Sur territory! I drove the whole way yelling TAKE A PICTURE! TAKE A PICTURE to poor Jay.


And we drove over the Bixby Cannon Bridge, which you Kerouac fans know is pretty darn cool. It went by so quick (and it was so high, oh so high) that we didn’t get a picture but it looks like this:

Bixby_Creek_Bridge,_California,_USA_-_May_2013See how HIGH!! Ugh. Too high.


And then we got to Monterey which was beautiful and Stein-becky.


And they did a controlled burn while we were there which was upsetting to see at first until you realized it was, you know, ON PURPOSE.


We went to Aquarium (HAMMER HEAD SHARKS! and PENGUINS!!! and JELLYFISH!!) and found a couple of Steinbeck’s houses and hung out looking at how darn pretty everything was.


Next up was San Francisco. My third visit to this beautiful city. The first was right after Jay and I got married 9 years ago and then again in 2007 when we traveled the country. Each time, it keeps getting sweeter.

But the one thing I had yet to do was walk over the Golden Gate Bridge.

So we did.

From our hotel in North Beach.

For those of you who don’t know, that’s FAR. It wound up being like 9 miles and I thought I was going to die when I got to the other side and wound up begging a lift off the San Francisco Sightseeing Company Trolley driver (the company charges $35/head but our lovely Irish driver took us both for $15) and dropped us off right on Van Ness. The man was a saint, I swear. But still, we WALKED THE GOLDEN GATE!


And then drove it back!


We even headed up to Berkeley and Oakland to find the place where Ginsberg may or may not have written Howl. First off the directions are a little vague. Secondly nearly every coffee shop in Berkeley claims that Ginsberg wrote Howl there. It’s a long poem. They’re probably right. But the main story says that it was written in a shack behind this apartment building:


So like good little lunatics we did a little investigating (i.e. trespassing. Sorry, Mom)  and around back we found this:


Could that be it?

Probably not. But hey, if it’s not, it’s at least where the shack once was.

Afterwards we went to Oakland to Jack London Square where they’ve got his cottage which was dismantled in Alaska and re-mantled in Oakland:


and then had a few beers at Heinold’s First and Last Chance Saloon. It was opened in 1883 and the name refers to the fact that it was sailors first drink when they returned or last drink before they headed out. In 1906, because it was built on swampy ground it sank in the earthquake so the whole thing is tilted. I swear, I had to hold onto my beer at the bar. I would have taken a picture of the inside but trust me when I say it’s not the kind of place you start taking pictures in.  At least not with the guys that were in there when we went.


Here’s the inside via wikipedia:


Added bonus, apparently it’s HAUNTED!

The rest of the time in San Francisco we found beat houses (but I’m thinking of starting another blog for that stuff and besides, this post is already too long, n’cest pas?) and drank tea/coffee each morning at Cafe Trieste and drank Dark and Stormies each night at Vesuvio and went to the Beat Museum where we met a great guy (who wrote this book!)  who gave us the low down on Vieni Vieni which was kick ass.


And we also climbed all the way to the top of the Coit Tower and wow, what a view!


And then it was time to go.

And have a miserable shaky “we’re going to die I’m never traveling again” flight home.

That said, within a day, we already started planning the next trip!


Bon Voyage!

Peace, Love and Starbursts,


Cemetery Walk

14 Jan

To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.
– Charles Baudelaire

I’ve always like cemeteries, even as a kid. Maybe it’s cause they’re quiet and sad and beautiful and you rarely see other people. They’re good Thinkin’ Places.

The more I travel, the more I go looking for old graves and old homes and over the years I’ve seen quite a few famous ones. So here’s a few of my favorite graves (we’ll do the homes another day), in no particular order.

Since he got the opening quote Baudelaire gets to go first.

Charles Baudelaire – Poet (Paris)

I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy – Charles Baudelaire

I’ve always liked Baudelaire though I confess to having only read Le Fluer des Mal. But I still liked it. There a lot to be said about a man who was obsessed with Edgar Allen Poe and supposedly lined his walkway with skulls. (Not sure if that last part is true.) And in full disclosure whenever his name is mentioned I still think of this. (What? I wrote a kid’s book. Leave me alone.)

Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir – Philosophers (Paris)

Everything has been figured out except how to live – Jean Paul Sartre
One is not born a woman, but becomes one – Simone de Beauvoir

I absolutely loved the Age of Reason. And the Second Sex has been on my to-read list for about 10 years. It’s a long list. When I was Paris I would pass Le Deux Magots where Jean Paul and Simone were known to hold court. I didn’t spend time in the cafe because my hotel was near La Rotunde and as Hemingway said, “”No matter what cafe in Montparnasse you ask a taxi-driver to bring you to from the right bank of the river, they always take you to the Rotonde.” Taxi drivers are smart like that.

Samuel Beckett – novelist/playwright/poet (Paris)

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better. – Samuel Beckett

Full disclosure: I’ve never read anything by Beckett (yet!). But we found this grave for our good friend Oscar cause he’s the world’s biggest Beckett fan. Honestly. The literary gods should give him a medal for it. And he had never been to Beckett’s grave so when he found out we were going to Paris, we promised to find it and to leave a coin [pictured].

Marie Antoniette – Queen of France (St. Denis)

I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long. – Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette has the privilege of being one of the few monarch graves I’ve ever seen – though all the ones I have seen are French. The rumored quote “Let them eat cake,” I heard she never said. So there’s  a rumor that the rumor’s wrong. Next to her grave was a little glass case that held the heart of her son (Louis XVII)  known as the Lost Dauphin.

petit cœur

Jim Morrison – singer/songwriter/poet (Paris)

Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you. – Jim Morrison

Ah the Lizard King. Probably the most visited and vandalized grave in all of Pere Lachaise. I won’t make any cracks about how This is The End (my friend) or about the supposed ghosts. My husband is a huge fan. Me, not so much. But I appreciate what he means to the rock n roll canon. He’s the Lizard King. He can do anything.

Moliere – playwright/actor (Paris)

We die only once, and for such a long time. – Moliere

I’m never read anything by Moliere but I thought that was a hell of a grave. It’s like a bunk bed for the dead!

Oscar Wilde – novelist/playwright/satrist/poet (Paris)

I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying. -Oscar Wilde

Oh I love Oscar Wilde. He was witty and smart and gay and a perfect dandy. I really want his final words about the wallpaper to be true (“The wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go”.) While in Paris I saw the Left Bank Hotel where he died and where we can only assume the wallpaper lived. I am very glad I got there before his cranky relatives who clearly lack the wit and joie de vivre that Oscar had, walled his tomb off from all those kisses. And no, I didn’t kiss it. A) I don’t wear lipstick and B) ew, it’s dirty. That’s how germs are spread.

Charles Bukowski – Poet/Novelist (San Pedro, CA)

Show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually clean kitchen, and 8 times out of 9 I’ll show you a man with detestable spiritual qualities.
Charles Bukowski

Oh Hank. We miss you and your Bluebird. My husband and I took a trip to LA specifically to see the Bukwoski exhibit  at the Huntington which had his famous “typer” and an old glass of wine. It was very cool. We also stomped all over seedy West Hollywood to the Pink Elephant where he used to get his cans of beer to his old homes, including his bungalow on DeLongpre and the hell hole that was his childhood home, before we went out to San Pedro to pay our respects to the old guy himself. It was a good trip. I think Hank would have approved.

John Keats – Poet (Rome)

The poetry of the earth is never dead. – John Keats

Oh Keats, poor raving man Keats. Dramatic up to the last with his “name was writ in water” line. Classic. He was a beauty. Just Look at this death mask. He looks like Han Solo in carbonite.

Percy Bysshe Shelly – Poet (Rome)

Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips. – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Some of my favorite stories about Shelley are the following:

1. It was Mary (soon to be the famous Frankenstein author) not Percy that concocted the plan to run away together in the middle of the night when her father would not give them permission to marry.

2. In Venice he saw his own doppelgänger, which scared him to death when it said  “How long do you mean to be content” Creepy, right?

3. Before they burned his body, Byron gave Mary a box which contained Percy’s heart. And not a token. His ACTUAL HEART!

Galileo Galilei – physicist, mathematician, astronomer, philosopher (Florence)

The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.
Galileo Galilei

I’m now humming the Indigo Girl’s song. I can’t help it.  In Pisa, I saw his house with a stained glass image of him in the window. It was very cool.

In Florence there is a Galileo museum FULL of all his inventions and these globes and telescopes and things like this:

I’m not sure what it does but it’s AMAZING to look at isn’t it? I took a billion pictures. Honestly. A billion. And they had his FINGER BONE! Let’s pretend it was the middle one. Just a little “ahem” from beyond the grave for killing the smartest guy in the room.

Michelangelo – sculptor (Florence)

A man paints with his brains and not with his hands. – Michelangelo

After I got back from Italy, having seen and been wowed, and I mean truly wowed by the David I decided to read a bio on Michelangelo. I did a little research and found the one most lauded by critics and I read it. You know what I learned? Michelangelo was a very pissy man who lived a very long time (much to his chagrin) and was very unhappy about working with Popes. He also believed his hands were the hands of God. For a holy man, he spent a lot of time nickel and diming people.

Julius Caesar – Emperor/Soldier (Rome)

Yeah. Caesar. I think this gets the prize for oldest grave. I just realized that my comment about Marie Antoniette might have to be revised. He was a monarch too. So this is where they burned his body. It’s tucked away in the ruins of the Forum. Pretty darn cool, huh?

Veni, vidi, vici. All Hail, Caesar!

Jean Michel Basquiat – Painter (Brooklyn)


I don’t think about art when I’m working. I try to think about life.
Jean-Michel Basquiat

It took a long time to find you, Jean-Michel. The map lied and we searched and searched and finally we were so separated that I couldn’t even see Jay anymore. And then suddenly there you were. I left my very last Paris metro train pass on your tomb. I’ve left a lot of them in a lot of special places. I hope you like that you got the last.  You, of all people, were one of my favorite ghosts to find. Not to mention, it was a beautiful day in Brooklyn.

Leonard Bernstein – Conductor/Author/Pianist (Brooklyn)

To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time. Leonard Bernstein

To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time.
Leonard Bernstein

Leonard Bernstein is an honorary member of the Vienna Philharmonic and as I will be soon be on my way there that makes it even better. For those of you who don’t know, aside from a myriad of other things, he wrote the music to West Side Story. Luck intervened twice in Bernstein’s life – once when was ten and his aunt, going through a divorce, stashed her piano in his parent’s apartment and then later during the war, when he was appointed assistant conductor of the NY Philharmonic  mostly because everyone else had been drafted. Everything else was pure hard work and talent.

Jack Kerouac – novelist/poet  (Lowell, MA)

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple. – Jack Kerouac

Ah Ti Jean. I find that it is often best to let Jack do all the talking:

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars’ll be out, and don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.”

William Shakespeare – Playwright/poet (Stratford Upon Avon)

To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. – William Shakespeare

Yes, that’s scaffolding and yes, that’s as close as I got and if you’ve read even one other page on this blog then you know how OBSESSED I am with Shakespeare and that this was a crushing “Wally World is closed” sort of moment for me. I don’t want to go through it again. There’s a whole explanation here.

But I did get to sit on the bench that Will and Anne sat on before they were married. Squee!

And now, the next trip this spring should snag me Beethoven and the area they generally think is Mozart’s grave. And one of these days I’ve got to get back to England to find Marlowe’s grave.

Okay that’s a lot of words about dead people and their stones.

Goodnight Irene!

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