Marvelous Modernist Charcoal

I’ve a bit of a ritual with a friend I often stay with in the Bay.  We head to the Bateau Ivre on Telegraph Ave., just before you’d feel like you are undeniably in town for brunch.  It’s Sunday as it usually is when I’m usually brought here to dine.  Across the street is a truck.  I remember this.  There was truck last time and the time before that, which made sitting outside regrettable. We’ll sit inside then, beneath the marvelous modernist charcoal canvas they have.  It always makes me feel hopeful, the way the WPA paintings in Coit Tower make you feel hopeful.

My older daughter has requested reading material on the Holocaust.  I'm not sure why.  She has read “The Diary of Anne Frank.” She has read “Maus.”  I ponder what the best books would be. I have a copy of “The Kindly One’s” at home, which as I’ve suggested to my daughter, is a rather painfully convincing ingestion of fascism.  Proceed with caution.  Tough topic.  I’d plowed around some the night before on Amazon who couldn’t deliver in time, but they gave me some ideas.

My chum took me to a bookstore on Park Ave.  I looked and couldn’t find Elie Wiesel’s “Night.”  A grey haired gent, once would have seemed old, but now looks like a peer, took my inquiry seriously.  “Here’s the Wiesel. “  He asked me if I knew Richard Condon.  “You know, the author of the Manchurian Candidate.  I was just texting the other night with a friend of mine who’s a New York Times book reviewer and we were agreeing that this . . . here it is, “Infinity of Mirrors,” this is got to be one of the greatest works of fiction on the Holocaust."  I bought it unquestioned along with another used book I’d noticed the night before on Amazon entitled “Five Chimneys;” the account of a female Holocaust survivor.  If she reads them, I'll read them as well. 

I needed vitamins and CVS was waiting for me not far from the book store.  Bring back A and D, and we’re out of cod liver oil.  CVS necessarily has everything.  They are in full preparation for Halloween, which was always a bit anti-climactic on the west coast, where pumpkins rotted in the sun.  Fish oil gummies, and there is “Lactaid,” which my friend had recommended for my older daughter.  "Don't go dairy free, when there's Lactaid."  We'll see.  They also have insole supports.  As long as I’m here, what else do I need?   “No I don’t have a CVS shopping card, so that you can build a shopping profile of me.”  “Then you can’t have these vitamin bottles at two for one, unless I swipe my card for you.”  “Well.  Cool.  Thank you.”

Recorded later on, as we knew we would.  Standing there with a mic in hand, having listened to all the iPhone mic recordings I’d made in the last few months and finding no inspiration among them, I stood there thinking about what to shout about.  A slow hip hop beat?  I’m not in the mood. Try it slower.  A friend who was en route to see us and texted “Trump themes going viral.”  Perfect material.  Downward spiral.  We're off.