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I was kennelboy at Coronado Veterinary Hospital
The foreign land that is Phoenix, Alexander Theroux dissects Chuck Berrry, rock music bad boy Richard Meltzer queries San Diego ex-mayor Hedgecock, acerbic Bill Ballance
I would bathe five or six dogs a day, and on busy days as many as twenty.
Among the creatures
I put the dog on the table. I felt inexplicably ill at ease with just the dog, myself, and Dr. Smith there; it was a rare moment shared by just the two of us and I sensed he was going to say . . . something. He felt the dog’s mammary glands to detect any unusual hardness and turned to me and said, “Ever felt a girl’s tits, Ronnie?”
By Ron Jennings, Feb. 4, 1982 Read full article
We crack one against the curb and plop it in the street.
Phoenix without apologies
Near Sky Harbor Airport it is now 106 degrees. We stop at a dirt lot stretching all the way to the I-10. It is not 122 degrees, it is not even 110 degrees. Still, we have our carton of grade AAs and our spatula out. We crack one against the curb and plop it in the street. We wait in the Caddy, air conditioning at full blast.
By Mary Lang and Margot Sheehan, Aug. 29, 1991 Read full article
No, it shouldn’t be “Love me Tenderly” or “All Shaken Up.” The song is “Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby?” is exactly as it should be.
The grammar of rock n roll
One of the best examples of filler can be found in the Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever,” when out of its mixture of hippie argot, classical allusion, and baroque music, comes this sequence of lines, “No one, I think, is in my tree; I mean, it must be high or low; that is, you can’t you know, tune in, but it’s all right, that is, I think it’s not too bad.”
By Alexander Theroux, July 20, 1995 Read full article
"My wife's a terrific mom, meanwhile, to the boys ... but no, she’s no mere housewife, no Stepford Wife, no lobotomy case...”
The unbearable rightness of being Roger Hedgecock
I could try it on as a character study, say; a little third-person warmup, workout; a final stretching exercise before switching (forever) to fiction. The heart of darkness (or temple of light) (or suburban pastiche) behind the Hedgecock “persona.” If it reads like reportage, fine, but ’tain’t my priority, my intention. “Getting it right”? — I haven’t gotten, or cared about getting, anything right since the sixties.
By Richard Meltzer, March 24, 1988 Read full article
Home for Ballance is not in Coronado, the location he announces on the air; it is actually a few miles from the KFMB studios.
Billo: The Salubrious Life and Salacious (Well, Maybe) opinions of Willis Bennett Ballance
"And if tonight you feel that your wagon of destiny has swerved over on the soft shoulder of that grim dirt road to oblivion, my fine show will guide you to that haven of serenity — within. And now let me slip a few friendly chives into the psychic bouillabaisse of a woman named…” “Sherry.” [The resonant, baritone voice lowers.] “How old are ya, punkin?” “Nineteen.”
By Jeff Smith, March 26, 1981 Read full article
The other house, a bungalow with crystal doorknobs, was on the powerline side of Thirty-second Street in a part of North Park that I have heard described as “South Sav-On.”
What on earth am I settling for?
Hillcrest turned out to be too expensive, and the newest condominiums in Golden Hill were too small (builders cut costs by cutting the size of rooms), which left several projects in North Park, a few of which we looked at together and found disappointing — covered with that swishy stucco that looks like sugar-and-Crisco icing.
By Joe Applegate, Dec. 12, 1982 Read full article
Here's something you might be interested in.
I was kennelboy at Coronado Veterinary Hospital
The foreign land that is Phoenix, Alexander Theroux dissects Chuck Berrry, rock music bad boy Richard Meltzer queries San Diego ex-mayor Hedgecock, acerbic Bill Ballance
I was kennelboy at Coronado Veterinary Hospital
The foreign land that is Phoenix, Alexander Theroux dissects Chuck Berrry, rock music bad boy Richard Meltzer queries San Diego ex-mayor Hedgecock, acerbic Bill Ballance
I would bathe five or six dogs a day, and on busy days as many as twenty.
Among the creatures
I put the dog on the table. I felt inexplicably ill at ease with just the dog, myself, and Dr. Smith there; it was a rare moment shared by just the two of us and I sensed he was going to say . . . something. He felt the dog’s mammary glands to detect any unusual hardness and turned to me and said, “Ever felt a girl’s tits, Ronnie?”
By Ron Jennings, Feb. 4, 1982 Read full article
We crack one against the curb and plop it in the street.
Phoenix without apologies
Near Sky Harbor Airport it is now 106 degrees. We stop at a dirt lot stretching all the way to the I-10. It is not 122 degrees, it is not even 110 degrees. Still, we have our carton of grade AAs and our spatula out. We crack one against the curb and plop it in the street. We wait in the Caddy, air conditioning at full blast.
By Mary Lang and Margot Sheehan, Aug. 29, 1991 Read full article
No, it shouldn’t be “Love me Tenderly” or “All Shaken Up.” The song is “Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby?” is exactly as it should be.
The grammar of rock n roll
One of the best examples of filler can be found in the Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever,” when out of its mixture of hippie argot, classical allusion, and baroque music, comes this sequence of lines, “No one, I think, is in my tree; I mean, it must be high or low; that is, you can’t you know, tune in, but it’s all right, that is, I think it’s not too bad.”
By Alexander Theroux, July 20, 1995 Read full article
"My wife's a terrific mom, meanwhile, to the boys ... but no, she’s no mere housewife, no Stepford Wife, no lobotomy case...”
The unbearable rightness of being Roger Hedgecock
I could try it on as a character study, say; a little third-person warmup, workout; a final stretching exercise before switching (forever) to fiction. The heart of darkness (or temple of light) (or suburban pastiche) behind the Hedgecock “persona.” If it reads like reportage, fine, but ’tain’t my priority, my intention. “Getting it right”? — I haven’t gotten, or cared about getting, anything right since the sixties.
By Richard Meltzer, March 24, 1988 Read full article
Home for Ballance is not in Coronado, the location he announces on the air; it is actually a few miles from the KFMB studios.
Billo: The Salubrious Life and Salacious (Well, Maybe) opinions of Willis Bennett Ballance
"And if tonight you feel that your wagon of destiny has swerved over on the soft shoulder of that grim dirt road to oblivion, my fine show will guide you to that haven of serenity — within. And now let me slip a few friendly chives into the psychic bouillabaisse of a woman named…” “Sherry.” [The resonant, baritone voice lowers.] “How old are ya, punkin?” “Nineteen.”
By Jeff Smith, March 26, 1981 Read full article
The other house, a bungalow with crystal doorknobs, was on the powerline side of Thirty-second Street in a part of North Park that I have heard described as “South Sav-On.”
What on earth am I settling for?
Hillcrest turned out to be too expensive, and the newest condominiums in Golden Hill were too small (builders cut costs by cutting the size of rooms), which left several projects in North Park, a few of which we looked at together and found disappointing — covered with that swishy stucco that looks like sugar-and-Crisco icing.
By Joe Applegate, Dec. 12, 1982 Read full article
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