Seniors Rock

Last night, I saw Neil Young (1945) and his longtime band, Crazy Horse perform at Madison Square Garden.  Patti Smith (1949) opened the show. I hadn't been to a big stadium show in 14 years. But it was A's anniversary gift to me this summer.

I just have to say that the seniors really rocked it. At 67, Neil sounded the same and moved the same as he does here in this clip from 1991. It was exciting to see. (Also, the stage setting was the same as it is here. Big Crazy Horse banner. Loved it.
I've seen Patti Smith here in New York three times. Twice for free. She's the most reliably generous performer I've ever seen. Down-to-earth Jersey girl. Gives the people exactly what they want.
 I've always had a secret wish to be a rock star, but for this life, I'll have to be content to be a super attentive and appreciative rock fan.

Punk Rock Tights

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 Ah, Lara.  Bad news abounds, doesn't it?  Every day there is death.  Some days there is slaughter. Maybe the truest music on earth is punk rock.  Maybe the most authentic way of being in the world is this punk rock girl in her shredded woolen tights on a steaming day, so hot the skies split would soon split open.  From Greil Marcus' Lipstick Traces via the May revolts of '68:  "LIVE WITHOUT DEAD TIME" (31).  And on the Sex Pistols, "This was music that refused its own name, which meant it also refused its history--from this moment no one knew what rock 'n' roll was, and so almost anything became possible" (39).

Anyway, I sat in the park again and listened to more bands commemorating the Tompkins Square Park riot in August of '88.  There were political speeches and verbal accounts of the night.

On the bench, I cradled my husk cherries in my skirt.

I watched this guy get arrested by a plain clothes cop, and then get perp walked by a uniformed cop.

Afterwards, I strolled past the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop and watched this charming male employee dressed like a milk maid (plus, tights) entertain and manage the long line that stretched down 8th Street.  These people were thinking, not of riots--not of violence and their own deaths--but only of soft homemade goodness.  Perhaps, the Bea Arthur?  The Salt Pimp?

Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting

The delay on my camera phone made me miss the best shots.

 It was actually late afternoon.  I was at a free punk rock show in Tompkins Square Park (to commemorate the '80s era TSP riots) and some of the street kids turned the ersatz (so much of my life needs this word) "mosh pit" into a boxing/wrestling ring.  Some blood was shed.  Some guy had a seizure, although I don't know if it was related to what happened in front of the stage.  Police finally showed, but long after the fighting was over.  Still, the emotional fall-out from it could be felt no matter what bench you occupied.

Does photographing this so impassively mean I'm old and jaded?

The band played fun, melodic punk rock with nary a negative vibe detected.  So the fighting was completely incongruous.  And really, isn't fighting always incongruous?  Something must have been brewing all day.  Or two many . . . er, brews had been consumed.  It's summer, right?  Still, while things felt like they might get really out of hand for a minute or two, I had a lot of fun photographing the melee.  I like catching odd configurations of bodies.  And I always regret I owned no camera when I was attending all those Utah hardcore shows in the '80s.  

Damn Kids, who seemed a tad shocked they unwittingly stirred things up to such a degree.

So, I guess the point of all of this, is that I'm feeling pretty creative lately.  And I don't know if it's due to the Artist's Way, and/or the fact I just turned another year older (and feel like I'm running out of time).

I still experience jealousy over the successes of others, especially people who are doing the same damn thing I am.  But I'm trying to get over it.  

Two of the people assembled here are members of my immediate family, but when it comes right down to it, don't I love everyone in Tompkins Square Park?

Pioneers

Provo bonnet

I love Pioneer Day, the holiday celebrating/commemorating a group of people moving en masse out of tight places and arriving into the big open, but no one in New York City does, except maybe for my fellow Utahans in exile.  This sunbonnet photo was taken in New York, but the bonnet comes from Provo.  I was with Lara when I bought it many Pioneer Days ago.

I wore my sunbonnet today.  Sometimes it was on my head.  Sometimes I just carried it.  After work, I landed here to do my Artist Way pages.  In them, I discovered that next year I need to be in Utah for Pioneer Day.  I know that's not a major breakthrough, but I was happy about it.

I drained a giant glass mug of green tea.  Then I walked to Whole Foods in my bonnet and bought some food in order make some semblance of a Pioneer Day super for Z and S.  I made them watch this. I was confused by the ending of this, though.:  

Later, I watched this movie about a punk pioneer on headphones and a DVD player while cleaning up:

This is the actual, non-fiction Darby who appeared in Penelope Spheeris' documentary of the LA punk movement.  Darby died in 1980 on the same day as Lennon:

Also, today I wrote a story directly inspired by my bonnet.  I'm writing a story a day for my birthday week and you can read them here.

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