Last call

I'm almost done with my second Cactuseaters Readers column; there is still room for one more bio. Send it in right now -- and I will post next week (or the next.)

Calexico rocks

It was very cool to see a mention of The Cactus Eaters on Calexico's Twitter feed recently. Calexico is one of my favorite bands; I first became aware of them in 2001 when I heard them at -- of all places -- a pre-San Francisco Marathon spaghetti feast. Their richly textured music evokes a genuine sense of place -- especially the wide open spaces and desert landscapes of the Southwest. Don't miss their appearances on Saturday at the Independent and on Sunday at Outside Lands right here in SF.

Zooming along the Pacific Crest Trail part two: hiking duo faces down exhaustion, cold rain and the flu to break record

Here is a link with more detailed information about that recent speed-record-shattering walk along the Pacific Crest Trail. (if you can call it a walk. It's more like a 2,650-mile sprint!)

Poisoning pigeons in the park

From time to time, I like to post interviews with various folks that I admire. Here is an oldie but a goodie -- my discussion with the legendary musical satirist Tom Lehrer. This will (eventually) be part of an online clip file that I am compiling for Cactuseaters, mostly for my own organizational purposes. If you aren't familiar with the work of Tom Lehrer, go out and buy one of his live ones, "An Evening Wasted With Tom Lehrer.'' It is still incredibly funny, roughly a half-century after he recorded it.

Mysterious unbearable odor wafts through San Francisco

If you live out here, you may have smelt something awful last night and this morning. Don't blame it on your poodle or your gym clothes; it was something in the air. According to the latest news reports, "the stench could be smelled for a time in the Financial District'' (and they're not being metaphorical.)

Zooming across the Pacific Crest Trail: Scott Williamson and Adam Bradley

Thank you, Mike Palmer, for sending me news that superhikers Scott Williamson and Adam Bradley have apparently shattered a PCT speed hiking record set by David Horton. Scott, if you're reading this, send me the details. According to a forwarded message I received a few minutes ago, "they hiked the trail in typical thru/hiker style in an incredible 65d9h58m. This incudes dealing with all their own resupply, etc. Mind boggling."

Heartbreak in the liquor aisle: hook-up attempts thwarted at Trader Joe's

Yesterday, I witnessed two hook-up attempts at a local Trader Joe's.

Both of them were shot down in flames.

It happened while I was hanging out near the legendary liquor aisle, trying to choose between Full Sail Ale or the horrible-tasting, recession-priced Simpler Times. I saw a nice woman -- maybe 50 -- flirting with a good-natured, portly guy, a bit younger than her. They got into a conversation about beer options: Red Oval Classic versus Simpler Times. Then the woman asked if she could take him home with her, and that way they could taste-test the beers together and have some dinner, too. Instead of taking her up on this friendly offer, he rebuffed her: "Get in line, baby!'' he said with a smile.

So the woman backed off, and the guy walked over to that place in the back where they serve you free samples. There, he started flirting with a woman -- at least 20 years his junior -- who was handing out bits of salad in paper containers.

"You do your job very well,'' he said to the young woman. "Man, do I love this place! It's got everything I want. Just a minute ago, this lady tried to pick me up in the liquor aisle. I told her, 'You'd better get in line, baby!''

The young woman gave him a wan smile, turned the other way, and went on to doling out salad.

I saw the man a few moments later in the back of the store, emptying several free containers of spicy peanut slaw into his mouth at the same time.

Can you boycott a store if you've never shopped there in the first place?

I am extremely annoyed with a Haight-Ashbury boutique that (apparently) bans babies and children from entering the premises. The boutique has a note near the door that says NO BRATS with a picture of a weeping child. (huh? weren't the store's owners and employees children at some point in their lives? and did they never cry?) The problem is this; the store sells ugly knicknacks and clothes, and so I've never shopped there in the first place. Is it possible to boycott a store when you don't shop there anyhow?

I'm thinking of going in there, buying a couple of items and never shopping there again. That'll show them!

Aerosmith drummer cancels Haight Ashbury visit.

This just in from Booksmith

"Unfortunately, Joey Kramer of Aerosmith has had to cancel his visit to The Booksmith, following Steven Tyler's fall last week. We wish the best to the band and will still be stocking Joey's memoir, Hit Hard, for those who are curious about life on the road as a rock 'n roll drummer.''

Still to come this month, Peter Coyote will read from his memoir and we'll host a community forum on homelessness in the Haight with guests authors Violet Blue and Mark Bittner. Also, the Found in Translation reading group meets, Sean Chiki displays his art and comics, and Kemble Scott reads from his new novel, The Sower.

The street poet of Haight/Ashbury (he gets paid in cash!!)

I have an inspiring story for all you writers dealing with the recession.

The other day, I met a young poet named Lynn Gentry, who types out instant poems at the famous corner of Haight and Ashbury. He composes his poems behind a hand-lettered sign that reads: PICK A SUBJECT AND PRICE, THEN A POEM.''

Follow the instructions: set your price, pick a subject and talk it over with the poet. Then he types it out, taking between three to 10 minutes on his Smith-Corona typewriter, propped on a table near Ben & Jerry's. He's so popular, with such a long line in front of him, that it was hard to extract much biographical info from him; he's too busy to talk much. People come from all around to watch him type. In this age of Twitter and (ahem), blogging, Lynn creates work for individual customers and makes no copies for himself; he never sees his words again. "It doesn't bother me,'' he says. "I forget most of my lyrics anyhow.''

Best of all, he's a poet who is turning a profit -- and he gets paid in cash.

A man in front of me ordered up a poem about baseball and marijuana -- two subjects in one for the price of a dollar. Gentry's poem included a line that alluded to both subjects:

"...smell the grass after a good cut...''

I waited in a very long line to talk with him. The crowd was fixated on him, and they wouldn't stop staring at him, even when a freak showed up and started belching out a horrible rendition of "Billie Jean'' by Michael Jackson. A burly man brushed past him and shouted out, "What you are doing is so C-O-O-L.'' When it was my turn, I ordered up a poem about "being a writer during a recession.'' My price was two bucks.

Immediately he got to work. He pecked away at the typewriter, cleared his throat, leaned into the paper and blacked out a couple of vowels with a ballpoint pen. At the end of the poem, he affixed his myspace address. A few minutes later, he handed me the poem, and I'll quote from part of it here:

...when you write in recession
You can write the best book you have ever written
then you have to wait for the economy to change
so that people don't have to choose between
Feeding their kids
and reading a book about the struggle of life after a death
in the family of a low middle class family who lost the father
They want to hear it, they just don't want to have to pay for it.

I thanked him and gave him his two dollars, plus a tip of 150 percent. After all, the economy is in a slump, and writers must help each other out or else. (the total bill worked out to be five bucks.)

Best of luck, Mr. Gentry, and I'll see you out in the street.

Happy birthday to Obese Cat

Today is the birthday of Robert Earl, my hugely overweight, semi-sentient tabby cat, who weighs 18 pounds, eats like a pig-animal and wakes me up every night with his ceaseless whining and yowling. (demanding yet another lump of food.) My pet doctor sent along this personalized birthday e-card, showing a bunch of kitties cavorting and playing and celebrating the birthday of my utterly shiftless feline, who has been attacking me and biting my face and trying to asphyxiate me ever since I rescued him off the streets of Santa Cruz. I am thinking of writing a book about him called The Fatness Eaters: How I Lost my mind – and Never Found Myself – While trying to Look after my Lazy, Snorting, Morbidly Obese “companion animal.” Anyhow, I hope you will send along your birthday greetings to him, or, even better, a sack full of cat chow. He’d appreciate that. By the way, I would post a picture of him here, but he’s so fat, I can’t fit him into the viewfinder.

Hello to my blog readers in Korea, Bahrain, Australia, Nigeria, India and Iran

I want to hear from you -- send those bios in!!
Don't be shy.
(I haven't heard from my reader from Iran for a while - If you're out there, I hope you're doing OK)
I think I've got this whole RSS thing sorted out - almost. One of my readers sent me a how-to video showing me how to set it up. I'll do my best.

Wild nights at the Booksmith: William Vollmann, Peter Coyote, the drummer from Aerosmith (and more)

Check out the wild assortment of events at the Booksmith this month at the Haight.

In other news, you might have seen the "poet for hire'' at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. He's got a typewriter, and if you set a price and determine a subject, he will write a poem for you on the spot. I am going to take him up on this and blog his poem next month.

Advice for today: ramp up your confidence with a fake "power salute"

Sometimes - especially during a long recession -- you need to "fake it 'til you make it.'' Here is a heavily pixilated photo of me doing just that: making a fake power salute and victory gesture at the end of last week's marathon. At the moment this picture was taken, I did not feel victorious; in truth, I was exhausted and wanted to fall to my knees and possibly vomit. In spite of this, I used my last little bit of energy to pump my fist at a camera man perched over the finish line.

This strategy worked; it took the edge off my exhaustion, and helped me pick up my speed at the end.

The woman in front of me looks very bummed out.

Keep 'em rolling in (plus, RSS aggravator.)

Thanks for all the great bios and info so far for Cactuseaters Readers in the News round two. At this rate, it's going to fill up pretty fast so keep sending those in as quickly as you can.

In other news, I'm aggravated (slightly) about the fact that my RSS feed is still not working. I'll keep fiddling with it.

Little People in the City

I've become quite a fan of Slinkachu's miniature street art. You've got to pick up the book, Little People in the City -- photos of homunculi in compromising positions.

Cactuseaters readers in the news, episode II

It's time for installment two of "Cactuseaters Readers in the News,'' in which you, the readers, step out of the shadows and talk about yourselves. Send in a brief bio of what you are up to, and what you are working on and I will try to cram it into a "digest'' column that will appear anytime between two weeks and a month, depending on whether you are forthcoming and bold (or shy and reticent.) Feel free to send in whatever you like -- just keep in mind that this isn't an advertising site, so I won't let you hawk bamboo steamers, cleaning solvents, etc, through Cactuseaters. Keep them rolling in!

What is "Cactuseaters"?

To those of you who are new to this blog, Cactuseaters is primarily a way for me to amuse my Mother-in-Law.

Marathon aftermath (I can't stand up)

My legs feel like they are made of warm gelatin. I can barely move. Part of the problem is the run itself. Part of the problem is what I consumed on Sunday while running up and down through the entire city: about 10 tablespoons worth of sugar, one Starbucks coffee in a can (with artificial sweeteners), four bananas, 10 gloopy carbohydrate blocks and two packets of coffee-bean-shaped instant energy boosters. I feel like Keith Richards in 1973.

Nevertheless, I have zero regrets. I'm planning to run at least one more before the year is out. (marathons are addictive; once you start, you really can't stop)

A runner's lament: "Man, I wish I was stoned.''

Well, I managed to finished the SF Marathon. I had a nice time, although I practically crawled the thing. I could tell, from the first mile, that it just wasn't happening for me this time. My legs felt heavy even in that first stretch along the Embarcardero. The Golden Gate Bridge was spooky and fogged in, but it slowed me down even more -- it was a real traffic jam in there. Although I went quite slowly and hit The Wall the entire time, there were many highlights:

1. The man trying to hand out free Bloody Marys and beers to runners at the race. I saw no one partake.

2. A strange man clapping for us and wishing us well on the sidelines. The strange thing was -- he was facing away from us, not toward us, while cheering us on. Really odd. It was almost as if he were trying to wish us good luck in reverse.

3. A man running the race while dressed up as a Roman centurion with spear, shield, helmet and everything.

4. A runner, at the halfway point, loudly announcing, "Man, I wish I was stoned.'' He soon got his wish, in the form of noxious second-hand ganja smoke wafting down Haight Street.

5. A runner holding a very heavy looking MIA/POW flag, while charging across the bridge in military garb.

As for me, I am going to scale back my ambitions and stick to much smaller races, until I figure out why I "bonked'' so hard on this particular race. Since my times keep getting slower and slower, I might switch to a less strenuous sport. At this point, bocce is looking good.