Sunday, March 22, 2009
Dante Rivera: Yet Another View
photo by Scott CohenBallard Bull****
©March, 2009
“Where informed attitude counts.”
Editor, Publisher, Lead Writer: Richard Andrews
web: ballardbullshit.blogspot.com
e: ballardbullshit@yahoo.com
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©March, 2009
“Where informed attitude counts.”
Editor, Publisher, Lead Writer: Richard Andrews
web: ballardbullshit.blogspot.com
e: ballardbullshit@yahoo.com
* * *
Ballard Bullshit Celebrates Its
6th Year!
6th Year!
Well my dear readers, you are the real heroes. This little rag is more known than I ever would have anticipated. Sure, a complaint now and then, but I don't change the format or content for the minority view. 99% of you love the straight-up, factual, hard-nosed style. And it's you who I will serve. My readership stretches from the gutter to the boardroom. I have met Mayor Nichols five times now, and recently, now get this, at the Central Library, I walked up to him and said, “Hey Greg, Richard Andrews, you know. . .”, and he finished my sentence, “You're the Ballard Bullshit right?” So even the Mayor can swear in a legitimate way. But I really don't care about any of that. Politicians are veiled liars, I just mention this to let you know that my blunt-force articles are being remembered. So here we go, the assholes get trashed, and the honest souls get lauded (or fairly analyzed) OK?
* * *
* * *
The Gentrification of Ballard?
or
The Bastardization of Ballard?
or
The Bastardization of Ballard?
". . .and a mixed multitude went up also with them. . ."
Exodus 12:38
Exodus 12:38
The root word of 'gentrification' is 'gentry' [ME gentrie, alter. of gentrise]. According to my Webster's 7th, gentry means: "...the qualities appropriate to a person of gentle birth; people of a specified class or kin." 'Bastard' [ME, fr. OF] means: "something that is spurious, irregular, inferior, or of questionable origin."
Language, being what it is, evolves slowly with quick, adept spurts of individual word adaptations. So don't worry now, I'm not going to lament the loss of the Scandinavians in Ballard--their numbers diminished long ago. The remaining relics will have to accept their fate--perhaps as a live exhibit with a reindeer in the new Nordic Heritage Museum, whenever that gets built. They can slobber lutefisk with an MD present who will treat the very painful poisoning caused by the caustic preservative, known as lye.
The newest incarnation of the Norwegian Independence Day parade, in May, will be led by an androgynous human with black skin, green eyes, and blonde hair. The new Nordic, that is.
So where does that lead us?
Ballard has had an artificial identity for decades. What lurks below its surface is a mean streak comprised of red-neck local business men and women, who hide behind a "Scandinavian" mask. The owner of Ballard Oil, Warren Angkervik, is a prime example of the hate-filled, mean-spirited attitude that rules this berg, or used to rule it. There are many of these fake chauvinists who conduct business here, and thankfully, they are diminishing.
So the newbies to Ballard, the folks who are buying the condos, townhouses, and cottages, are NOT the assholes, no no, the real bastards in Ballard are the local hold-outs who harbor a fear and dislike of the wave coming in, because they feel their power base is slipping, their economic power base that is. Their kingly stranglehold over a docile, serf population is evaporating. The newcomers are being polite to these hardcores, but that's not going to last. There are too many new, modern, with-it shops opening up, and they are being supported. The staid, boring 1960's mentality; the stuffy, shitty mainstream stores who try to profit on the antiquated mind-set relics of Scandinavian monoculture, will fold, and those storeowners will finally take their bile-filled bank accounts and move to the rural towns of Eastern Washington. Maybe they should move to the Tri-Cities, and breathe deep the radioactive air Hanford and Umatilla forgivingly release. . .(they're called "down-winders" over there).
Either way, the out-of-touch powers will be economically crowded out, and good riddance. If you want to see these caricatures I'm talking about, go to any Ballard District Council meeting, on the second Wednesday of every month (the conference room at the Ballard Library, 7:00 p.m.), and you will see a freakish collection of business owners that are not only laughable, but Victorian prurient. Really, just go and watch these fossils make fools of themselves, while thinking they are prim, and proper--and (ha ha), civic minded. If the charade wasn't so comedic, it might even be scary. More importantly, these powers-that-be, these dinosaurs, replete with their greedy mindset, will be gone, in time.
The bastardization of Ballard, therefore, is the last gasp of a fifties/sixties culture that is facing the guillotine, and the spore-caked business predators will be cursing and spitting, like a bunch of Dark Age heretics, on their way out.
The gentrification of Ballard is the slow infusion of modern professionals with their own identity, agenda, and money. This necessary transition is already in evidence, and I personally invite these new businesses, and individuals, to become active in the exciting, visceral change that is inevitable.
Oh, I almost forgot, that parade I mentioned at the top of this article: it should be just after the Vernal Equinox. A parade led by a paper maché, old-fashioned bulldozer that clearly pushes out the sour status quo. Following this float should be a high-tech, chrome plated seed planter, with a "Welcome Hybrids!" sign attached.
Now that's better than a red carpet. . . . . . . . .
Language, being what it is, evolves slowly with quick, adept spurts of individual word adaptations. So don't worry now, I'm not going to lament the loss of the Scandinavians in Ballard--their numbers diminished long ago. The remaining relics will have to accept their fate--perhaps as a live exhibit with a reindeer in the new Nordic Heritage Museum, whenever that gets built. They can slobber lutefisk with an MD present who will treat the very painful poisoning caused by the caustic preservative, known as lye.
The newest incarnation of the Norwegian Independence Day parade, in May, will be led by an androgynous human with black skin, green eyes, and blonde hair. The new Nordic, that is.
So where does that lead us?
Ballard has had an artificial identity for decades. What lurks below its surface is a mean streak comprised of red-neck local business men and women, who hide behind a "Scandinavian" mask. The owner of Ballard Oil, Warren Angkervik, is a prime example of the hate-filled, mean-spirited attitude that rules this berg, or used to rule it. There are many of these fake chauvinists who conduct business here, and thankfully, they are diminishing.
So the newbies to Ballard, the folks who are buying the condos, townhouses, and cottages, are NOT the assholes, no no, the real bastards in Ballard are the local hold-outs who harbor a fear and dislike of the wave coming in, because they feel their power base is slipping, their economic power base that is. Their kingly stranglehold over a docile, serf population is evaporating. The newcomers are being polite to these hardcores, but that's not going to last. There are too many new, modern, with-it shops opening up, and they are being supported. The staid, boring 1960's mentality; the stuffy, shitty mainstream stores who try to profit on the antiquated mind-set relics of Scandinavian monoculture, will fold, and those storeowners will finally take their bile-filled bank accounts and move to the rural towns of Eastern Washington. Maybe they should move to the Tri-Cities, and breathe deep the radioactive air Hanford and Umatilla forgivingly release. . .(they're called "down-winders" over there).
Either way, the out-of-touch powers will be economically crowded out, and good riddance. If you want to see these caricatures I'm talking about, go to any Ballard District Council meeting, on the second Wednesday of every month (the conference room at the Ballard Library, 7:00 p.m.), and you will see a freakish collection of business owners that are not only laughable, but Victorian prurient. Really, just go and watch these fossils make fools of themselves, while thinking they are prim, and proper--and (ha ha), civic minded. If the charade wasn't so comedic, it might even be scary. More importantly, these powers-that-be, these dinosaurs, replete with their greedy mindset, will be gone, in time.
The bastardization of Ballard, therefore, is the last gasp of a fifties/sixties culture that is facing the guillotine, and the spore-caked business predators will be cursing and spitting, like a bunch of Dark Age heretics, on their way out.
The gentrification of Ballard is the slow infusion of modern professionals with their own identity, agenda, and money. This necessary transition is already in evidence, and I personally invite these new businesses, and individuals, to become active in the exciting, visceral change that is inevitable.
Oh, I almost forgot, that parade I mentioned at the top of this article: it should be just after the Vernal Equinox. A parade led by a paper maché, old-fashioned bulldozer that clearly pushes out the sour status quo. Following this float should be a high-tech, chrome plated seed planter, with a "Welcome Hybrids!" sign attached.
Now that's better than a red carpet. . . . . . . . .
* * *
Dante Rivera
Alchohol Unenhanced
C2H5OH--Friend or Foe?
Alchohol Unenhanced
C2H5OH--Friend or Foe?
"I've been walking forty miles of bad road,
If the Bible is right, the world will explode.
I've been trying to get as far away from myself as I can.
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much,
You can't win with a losing hand.
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high,
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie. . ."
---Bob Dylan, "Things Have Changed"
If the Bible is right, the world will explode.
I've been trying to get as far away from myself as I can.
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much,
You can't win with a losing hand.
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high,
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie. . ."
---Bob Dylan, "Things Have Changed"
I count Dante as a personal friend. We go back some years. But nobody gets a free pass in my world. He had one hot-dog cart when I was vending fine art on Market Street, and that's why, without reservation, I can give you readers this analysis. Now he has at least three carts, does private parties, political get-togethers, etc. A nice success story right?
Sure I knew he drank, I didn't give a shit. But Dante got an intervention wake-up call from his family and friends (this "save your ass" meeting happened on August 14th, 2006--Dante graciously brought a case of beer for the celebration; I love it!) Down to the Betty Ford center he went for a 28 day hiatus, and that's an expensive proposition.
Dante got a three day journalistic spread in the Seattle Times, replete with photos, and the requisite redemption finalé for his 'heroic' transformation, with the emotional write-up crafted by an excellent reporter.
Marc Ramirez, the exquisite and sensitive journalist who wrote the tantalizing bio, chronicled Dante's fall from grace. (Seattle Times, beginning 11/23/2008). . .the six DUIs, the emotional roller coaster, the principals involved, damn--everything! Dante found some sort of Purification Entity (he recently e-mailed me and told me he was agnostic, so out goes the "I found Jesus" escapism), and is 'clean and sober' as we speak.
But what's wrong with this story?
Well let me tell you.
(Now keep in mind, I'm probing into a friend's psyche here, no doubt there will be repercussions).
Some people fear the internal--alright, the demons if you will. Those evil Muses can shred your very existence and grip you tightly, more than any substance can. So find the 'societal enemy,' (chemicals, alcohol, 'scrip drugs, etc.), and place the blame there, all under the aegis of a non-punitive cure. Yes, you can blame your proclivity (which would be internal), or your own retreat problems, or your deviant thoughts on something external, but that's only a terribly thin band-aid to the real issues. So indeed, you get therapy, assess the blame, and now you're clean. But you can never escape the core issues. So even the Betty Ford Clinic becomes an extension of your ego. Hell yes, you're done with the 'substances,' but you're never done with yourself. So you get all of the congratulatory, ephemeral false kudos; you get presents ad nauseam, and you convince yourself you're 'cured.'
No you're not. You've just fooled a whole lot of people.
You still have the same inner torments, only you're not 'using' as you were before, and like a faded rock-star, you can't get enough adulation, for your 'cured' persona that is. So it's a couple of new addictions that cannot be sated, just like your old ones.
Replacement therapy is failure therapy. I can think of a couple of local mega-churches who just might need your patented, predictable inspirations Dante. . .you're still the same tormented soul you were, only this time your fixes are more societal, and more numerous. So you can continue your lies, to yourself that is. Did you ever consider the truest of friends you will ever find, are the most Poe-esque beasts who exist in your peripheral vision?
I liked Dante better when he was drinking. He was more connected, oddly enough, to real life. Even then, he made a lot of money. When you look in his eyes now, there is a nondescript cataract that acts as a reality barrier. It is as if there is a distant tune playing behind his prescient view. Now he thinks about franchises and compliments with attitude--he thought of these same burnishings when he was off the wagon, without attitude. But the other 'core' Dante, the respectful, people loving Dante surged when he was the 'uncured' Dante. Now he is more of a vanilla poster boy, (I won't question his neo_Puritan life style), a great guy who throws a hell-of-a party, invites all the right people, and looks just a little too squeaky clean. His sincerity is in serious doubt. The financial gods have seized him. But I guess that is the American Dream.
Delusions can be awfully deceptive now can't they?
Just listen to Mr. Dylan Dante, he'll supply the spikes for your own cross. . .
Sure I knew he drank, I didn't give a shit. But Dante got an intervention wake-up call from his family and friends (this "save your ass" meeting happened on August 14th, 2006--Dante graciously brought a case of beer for the celebration; I love it!) Down to the Betty Ford center he went for a 28 day hiatus, and that's an expensive proposition.
Dante got a three day journalistic spread in the Seattle Times, replete with photos, and the requisite redemption finalé for his 'heroic' transformation, with the emotional write-up crafted by an excellent reporter.
Marc Ramirez, the exquisite and sensitive journalist who wrote the tantalizing bio, chronicled Dante's fall from grace. (Seattle Times, beginning 11/23/2008). . .the six DUIs, the emotional roller coaster, the principals involved, damn--everything! Dante found some sort of Purification Entity (he recently e-mailed me and told me he was agnostic, so out goes the "I found Jesus" escapism), and is 'clean and sober' as we speak.
But what's wrong with this story?
"Gee, I wish I could sing like that."
--Elvis Presley, after hearing Roy Orbison sing live.
"Man, I wish I could write songs like that."
--Eric Clapton, after seeing the Australian band Crowded House
"Why don't these 3-chord kids practice?"
--Prince, on the current state of music (2008)
"Fuck music, and fuck you."
--Sid Viscious (before commiting suicide)
--Elvis Presley, after hearing Roy Orbison sing live.
"Man, I wish I could write songs like that."
--Eric Clapton, after seeing the Australian band Crowded House
"Why don't these 3-chord kids practice?"
--Prince, on the current state of music (2008)
"Fuck music, and fuck you."
--Sid Viscious (before commiting suicide)
Well let me tell you.
(Now keep in mind, I'm probing into a friend's psyche here, no doubt there will be repercussions).
Some people fear the internal--alright, the demons if you will. Those evil Muses can shred your very existence and grip you tightly, more than any substance can. So find the 'societal enemy,' (chemicals, alcohol, 'scrip drugs, etc.), and place the blame there, all under the aegis of a non-punitive cure. Yes, you can blame your proclivity (which would be internal), or your own retreat problems, or your deviant thoughts on something external, but that's only a terribly thin band-aid to the real issues. So indeed, you get therapy, assess the blame, and now you're clean. But you can never escape the core issues. So even the Betty Ford Clinic becomes an extension of your ego. Hell yes, you're done with the 'substances,' but you're never done with yourself. So you get all of the congratulatory, ephemeral false kudos; you get presents ad nauseam, and you convince yourself you're 'cured.'
No you're not. You've just fooled a whole lot of people.
You still have the same inner torments, only you're not 'using' as you were before, and like a faded rock-star, you can't get enough adulation, for your 'cured' persona that is. So it's a couple of new addictions that cannot be sated, just like your old ones.
Replacement therapy is failure therapy. I can think of a couple of local mega-churches who just might need your patented, predictable inspirations Dante. . .you're still the same tormented soul you were, only this time your fixes are more societal, and more numerous. So you can continue your lies, to yourself that is. Did you ever consider the truest of friends you will ever find, are the most Poe-esque beasts who exist in your peripheral vision?
I liked Dante better when he was drinking. He was more connected, oddly enough, to real life. Even then, he made a lot of money. When you look in his eyes now, there is a nondescript cataract that acts as a reality barrier. It is as if there is a distant tune playing behind his prescient view. Now he thinks about franchises and compliments with attitude--he thought of these same burnishings when he was off the wagon, without attitude. But the other 'core' Dante, the respectful, people loving Dante surged when he was the 'uncured' Dante. Now he is more of a vanilla poster boy, (I won't question his neo_Puritan life style), a great guy who throws a hell-of-a party, invites all the right people, and looks just a little too squeaky clean. His sincerity is in serious doubt. The financial gods have seized him. But I guess that is the American Dream.
Delusions can be awfully deceptive now can't they?
Just listen to Mr. Dylan Dante, he'll supply the spikes for your own cross. . .
* * *
E-mails and Random Thoughts
Napster Replacement: Quite by accident, I discovered a site, from the Netherlands (legal, yes), that gives it all up for free, in a web-friendly forum. In its search box, type in the name of a song, or a group, and up they come. For free. Wireless or high-speed cable is best, and I've got a couple of hundred of my faves downloaded. So here it is, a simple addy: www.downloads.nl. There, now go and enjoy, it really is easier than BitTorrent.
A Twisted Compliment: "I read your diatribe on Jack Mayne, defrocked editor of the Ballard News-Tribune (on your website). You called him a fossil. I disagree. He's a modern legend. . .the only living man whose balls are made of granite. Kind of gives new meaning to the term 'rock star' now doesn't it?"
------Gennevive S.
Critique? "Mr. Andrews, I thought you were in your 30's, kind of a hipster. Then I met you, and discovered a 59 year old, paunched, white guy. Shit! You could be my dad, and I was kind of hoping, well, for something else. But now I know, there are a few renegades from my folks' generation. Could you pierce the left nipple on your man-boob, install a nano-cam, and put a viral show on at the Chai House?"
------Marco T. Polo
Do This: Go to Google, enter "Corey Chisel +video," the first entry should be a video of him, titled "See It My Way," now play it (MuZu Music). You want to hear a young 'natural' singer, with a foxy little blonde for back-up? He's on his way up. . .
A Regular Compliment: "You know what I like about the Bullshit? You don't resort to easy smut to get your point out there. It IS informed, and it IS attitude. I'm glad the P-I has gone down. They were irrelevant to my life. I even like the stuff you write when I don't have a clue. Journalism ain't dead, nor is it all electronic. Your rag is something I can stuff in my pocket, and read to friends. I like, I love it, I want some mo of it!"
-----Jasson and Julie Christianson
A Regular Non-Compliment: "Do you really know what 'bile' is? It's what comes out of your mouth when it should be coming out your ass."
-----X-Hubris
The Chinese Water Torture: "Your sentences are structured like an exquisite executioner--they seep into my psyche and crescendo to a finite Truth. Your sense of inductive and deductive reasoning works wonders. I knew we were all stupid, well a little bit anyway."
-----Brian Burmeister
The Ballard Chamber of Commerce: Who-wee, how do I approach this one? I have been asked, by a local banker, to investigate the Chamber. "Why?" I asked. "Because I can't see how they are relevant at all," he responded. All I can say is that the Chamber is totally irrelevant, a corporate small entity, and indicative of the neo-conservative mentality that will be replaced. Sorry, Mr. Banker.
* * *
Leon Hendrix: Jimi Hendrix's Brother, Or Is He?
I have been following the Leon Hendrix court cases for years, and have been wondering why the courts have awarded Leon nothing, nothing, for what seemed a legitimate case for a part of Jimi's inheritance. Jimi's white step-sister, Janie, still controls the 70 million dollar a year estate. What the hell? Leon even lost his case in the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, and there's only one step after that--the United States Supreme Court.As most of us know, Leon plays all over Seattle, and is booked in nearby Fremont a few times a year. So we know him, he's not a stranger.
Well here's where Truth gets real ugly. There is a brand new definitive book out, named 'Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky', by David Henderson, that finally gives up the mystery. Now don't get pissed at me, this is what the author pulled up, and the author was asked by Jimi, many years ago, to be his biographer. All 432 pages sizzle with facts that will twist your acid addled mind, or, if you were a vegan back then, will color your green offal red.
And yes, the author is African-American.
Jimi's mom and dad were not happily married. Jimi's mom, Lucille Jeter, would leave Al for months at a time, go on binges, and Al would always take her back. Lucille was gone for 10 months when Jimi was about four years old. She came back very pregnant and Al told her that of course, he would welcome the child into the family. Mom had had an affair with a man who was half Filipino, and the resulting baby was Leon, yes, Jimi's "brother." Lucille died in 1958 from cirrhosis of the liver. Are you getting this yet? That makes Leon NOT a Hendrix. And every judge who tried his claims cases knew this. We didn't.
At the time of the first court case, white step-sister Janie had proved she was financially responsible, and Dad Al knew this, and therefore deeded control of Jimi's estate to her before he passed away. Leon had been an extreme drug abuser then, but, credit where its due, cleaned himself up, but just a little too late.
So Leon is Jimi's half-brother, on his mother's side only. And his last name is Hendrix because, on paper only, Al was still married to Jimi's mother. Janie is a step-sister. Neither Leon or Janie is a Hendrix. Every judge gave the nod to who appeared more level-headed and business savvy for riches we can only dream of.
At least legally, I get it.
Which makes Jimi even a little more ubiquitous now doesn't it?
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Labels: Ballard Bullshit, Corey Chisel, Dante Rivera, Greg Nichols, Leon Hendrix, Richard Andrews
