Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll

Don't you just hate when writers compromise their journalistic integrity with cheap, attention-grabbing headlines? Is it just me, but wasn't Andy Rooney's weekly, cranky postscript on CBS News' 60 Minutes the final straw? I mean, first the likes of Mike Wallace, Harry Reasoner and Ed Bradley spent 55 minutes casting dispersion upon our most cherished institutions and beloved public figures, alleging wrong doing in high places, going as far to suggest Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny didn't really exist, spoiling the innocence of my teenage years, casting a pale over my Sunday nights. No respect for the sanctity of the one night in the week America's families gathered to bask in the warm glow of their TV sets, ritually bonding with Lassie, Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color and Bonanza. Then, then! To push us over the top in 1978 with the introduction of “A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney”, foisting a sanctimonious sourpuss into our living rooms?

Of course, I'm exaggerating...for effect. Another cheap stunt. Andy served his last glass of whine about a month ago, delivering his 1,037th and final televised commentary. Don't you just hate when even after you've signed a DNR consent form some idiot intern pulls out the crash cart and administers CPR?

Tick tick tick tick tick...

I could speak to the the ethos espoused by this blog's title and I may well do so at later date, all the more so given the thematic underpinning of this journal and the potential for addiction each of cited items have. Though, I'm unaware there ever being a 12-Step program for Grateful Dead fans. Of course, the obsession of Deadheads is legendary. That was an altogether different time and place. Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll. You had to have been there to grok the gist of that motto. 40 years later, we've all grown up. Perhaps the battle cry of the 1960's should be be re-coined  Impotence, Viagra, Guitar Hero!

I was born in 1950, mid-century, making me a Baby Boomer, my father, born in 1922, a member of what Tom Brokaw characterized The Greatest Generation (Jews, please note, you cannot redeem your Chosen People and Greatest Generation coupons at the same time).

At this point I should be making a seamless segue into today's topic. That's probably not going to happen. Essentially I'm throwing a baseball around the horn today – a wonderful staying-limber technique for infielders after a successful out. [While it's not quite time for the seventh inning stretch, if you need to grab a cold brewskie, go ahead - this blog is available for viewing on closed circuit monitors throughout the ballpark – you won't miss a word!].

We spent the night before last in Abita Springs, Louisiana, at the home of solutionary Ben Harper, whose mom prepared a lovely dinner for us. Ben is the troupe member responsible for the design and construction of a 15 ft. in diameter bamboo, truncated-icosahedron with wings. It figures prominently in our shows and serves as the focal point for Veronica Ramirez's Living Peace Mandalas: one-of-a-kind, sacred circles created along with festival goers out of organic materials foraged from nature. Earlier, after arriving on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain near the 25 mile bridge that takes you to New Orleans, we had the opportunity to kayak on the bayou, which I have to say looks exactly as you would imagine – dead calm waters, Spanish moss hanging from Cypress trees, alligators prepared to launch at any moment. Really.

Yesterday we made tracks across the rest of Louisiana, cutting through warm and humid weather, covering 500 miles before coming to rest at Pine Street Station, on edge of downtown Austin and the site of this weekend's event. Fellow Roadshow members, Chad Rittenberry and Nick Moser, were there to greet us in the cool night air, having gotten a head start while we were all still in Asheville, North Carolina. This is their town and to a large extent they are responsible for making this event possible. The funky, football-field long, corrugated-roofed warehouse has worn, wood plank floors and is broken up into a series of galleries. An adjoining outdoor area includes an eclectic mix of booths and awning-covered service shacks put to good use on Sundays, when Hope Farmer's Market operates. The acronym stands for a Helping Other People Everywhere, about as honorable a mission as one could...hope for.

The Thrive Austin Festival 11.11.11, is billed as a one-day happening “celebrating local community and global sustainability”, an enlightened nexus that will require the synergy of people everywhere helping others. Yep, Texas may be the Lone Star State, but when push came to shove, like it did for the defenders of the Alamo, a constellation of many lit up the San Antonio sky.