to NAKED SUNFISH. If you're wondering
about the name
and I'm sure you are
I'll try to come up with a clever
explanation. Just don't count on one. (Crapshoot!
was already taken) Naked Sunfish was
originally an idea for a musical/art group a buddy of mine and I planned to form
way back in high school. Initially it was to be a sort of Christian psychedelic
a myriad of contradictions if you will. The celebration
of opposite polarities. Intensive diversity that so blurred the lines
elevated the gray areas
that the audience would forget we were constantly
trying to contradict ourselves and see only a new vision floating like a cloud
above the fracas. (kind of like Las Vegas)
through circumstances TOTALLY under our control
intellectual experiment de-evolved into a goofy solitary gig as "Harry Legs
and the Little Shavers". Fun for us. Confusing for others. (which
in some bent way could be argued a successful fruition of the premise) We spent
WAY too much time playing eight-ball in my friend's basement rather than practicing.
(yet another argument for philosophical success?)
ARE ulterior motives. Perhaps some one surfing the web using the term "naked"
might just come upon the SUNFISH. And
if you know anything about sailing you will remember that a Sunfish
is a very, very tiny sailboat. My wife and I ventured out on one many years ago
off the Jamaican coast and
because of my highly polished skills
almost took us to Cuba. We were not naked when the wind caught the sail but could
easily have been upon our arrival. I felt as if we were being swept away by Hurricane
Whoever. The wind in my hair. The sight of a rapidly shrinking Jamaica. Once I
realized my significant other was frantically screaming, "LET GO FOOL! LET
and I did
we slowed to a comforting drift. It took us
10 minutes to travel what seemed half way to Havana and almost an hour to zigzag
back to Jamaica. That's as close to buying Cuban cigars legally as I've gotten.
And I haven't tried to sail a tiny boat since.
in the spirit of NAKED SUNFISH
both the adolescent philosophical stab at intellectual / deconstructive
/ existentialist mayhem AND the terrifying exhilaration of possibly screaming
across the Atlantic in a tiny sailboat quite possibly beaching
NAKED on the shores of the Land Of Fidel
with some help from my friends
is yet another web site (like we
all need one huh?) There will be music. There will be politics. There will be
art. There will be food and drink. There will be nonsense. There will be most
definitely sarcasm. There will be NO rules. NO deadlines. NO consistency. NO traditions.
the illusion of permanence," as Woody Allen so aptly put it)
Enjoy the ride whilst you can. Because some day
sooner or later
I'll be sure to hear some one screaming at the top of their lungs, "LET GO
FOOL! LET GO!!!" And I probably will.
1984. Palace Theater Columbus, Ohio
Summer, 1999, The Columbus Zoo Amphitheater
I'll be honest. I really don't remember Patti LaBelle and the Bluebelles. Hey...I
was still pretty young when they had a hit with "I Sold My Heart To The Junkman".
Sure I've since heard the controversy about it being a song about heroin use.
(this makes as much sense as the "Puff the Magic Dragon" and "Along
Comes Mary" pot rumors...I suspect the CIA or FBI had something to do with
all this) But I don't remember the song on the radio...and...as most of you already
know...I AM a white boy. So forgive me.
I DO remember
LaBelle. The seventies group lead by Patti and backed by Nona Hendrix
and Sarah Dash who had a BIG disco hit entitled, "Lady Marmalade"
with the refrain of "Will you sleep with me tonight (loosely translated)"
sung in French. They all wore these cheesy, R-rated space suits a la
"Barbarella". Very...VERY 70's. At the time I really, really,
really hated it...which was totally unfair because I was very ignorant
of Patti's range of styles and vocal prowess. Continued
and Jerry's Bum Dog Shack
other day I heard a knock at my front door. Actually, Henri...my 3 1/2
year old Bichon Friese heard the knocking first. He always does. He
hears knocking when there is no knocking...but that's another story.
Anyway...I scooped the pup up and opened the door to find a guy looking
to be in his early 20's holding some "literature". "Uh
oh," I thought to myself. I've had these encounters before. Continued
~ Food & Drink...
7th, 2001 - Athens, Ohio
By: Chiara Amelia Hapsari
Since the war rages on I think...for
perspective...we all should
try to remember that the situation has a more
direct effect on the Afghan
civilians than Americans. I relate this not to
diminish the events of 9/11
but to remind us all that innocent peoples everywhere
suffer from the hatred
of others. Even those who may survive the bombings
will have to live with
the terror and fear raining from the sky.
Amelia Hapsari is a recent graduate of Ohio University and
film maker who recently returned to her native
is Sunday, October 7th, 2001. The sun shines bright and the breeze
is gentle and sweet. Golden autumn leaves are falling. The dining
table of the church is filled with children's laughter. Hands join
hands to pray for the goodness that they receive. That day, America
bombs Afghanistan... Continued
~ Op Ed...
A Special Tribute to My Dentist
back in the late 60's a local Cleveland (soon to be national) power trio called
the James Gang used to play a song called Funk #49. Actually they played one called
Funk #48 also. But what happened to the first 47 funks? Is there some one out
there with a closet full of funks? Were there funks AFTER #49? There's gotta be.
Maybe only white guys number their funks.
Hell...George Clinton's got a Grand Canyon
full of funks. I remember going to see him at a club here in Columbus. I was one
of about 7 white people there...which didn't really bother me. The shoe on the
other foot is good therapy and healthy for all of us, especially when you want
to get funk...to be in the funk...to be one with da funk. Before the show I went
to the bathroom (a much too civilized word to describe this room) and as I was
standing at a urinal, this big, big black guy with a group of friends comes in
and takes the urinal next to me. He's incredibly drunk and struggling to remain
standing. So while he's peeing his terribly impressive manhood is flopping all
over the place spraying randomly on the urinal, wall...whatever was in it's way.
As I tried valiantly to remain OUT of the way the big guy looks at me and says,
"I HATE white people." NOW, I felt a LEEETLE bit uncomfortable. I gazed
over at his friends who actually seemed embarrassed by what he said...that and
the fact that he was so drunk we all appeared amazed that he was still standing
up and pissing in the correct direction. I looked back at the guy and coyly replied,
"Gee...I don't care for a whole lot of them myself." And all his buddies
burst out laughing. Everything was cool then. I got to experience the funk. Real...true
funk. DA FUNK. Call it my "baptism into da funk". P Funk!!
Now no one is going to argue that many
African Americans have DA FUNK.
So let's get back to whether any regular white
folks have some funk...any funk. How about those first 47 funks? Maybe some white
dude has that closet full of funks. Is there any funk in "Funk and Wagnalls"?
I looked up "funk" in Funk and Wagnall's and do you know what the very
first definition is? "Funk" comes from a French word (huh?) meaning,
"to give off smoke". Okay, I guess that makes sense. But is the WORD
funk funky? There sure ain't no funk in Funky Winkerbean...that's for sure. I
used to go to school with a guy named Greg Funk...nothin' funky 'bout this white
boy either...he was like Funk #11...if he had any funk at all. The guy could have
BEEN Funky Winkerbean. I think I heard he's a dentist now...dentists aren't funky...but
wait...MY dentist IS pretty funky!!! His name is Gene Jumper (no kiddin')...like
Gene Gene the Dancing Machine. Remember him? He was on the Gong show...way back
when. Whenever I go for an appointment he tells me he wants to learn to play the
bass. Last time he tells me he sometimes drives in his car, turns up the radio
REAL loud and pretends to play the bass. He takes BOTH hands off the wheel and
plays "air" bass. He's the only person I've ever known who played "air"
bass...in a car...on the freeway. That's GOTTA be funk...don't it? I mean Gene
Jumper's more like the Gene "Bring on Da Funk" Jumper type....or Funky
Gene Jumper...Gene "Funky" Jumper. Or...hey "Mutha Fucka"
Gene Jumpa!!! Or "Mutha Fucka" Gene Funka Jumpa!!!! Maybe "Mutha
Fucka Gene Mutha Funka Jumpa"!!
all I know is I can't wait until Jumpa gets this damned temporary crown outta
my MO FO mouth. It's as big as a Mo Fo Winn-O-Bay-Go!! I say,"Get this Mutha
Fucka Temp-OH-"Fuckin"-rary crown outta da Hood that is my Mutha Fucka
mouth Mutha Fucka Gene Mutha Funka Jumpa!!!! Man...I'm tellin' ya. The dude can
play "air" bass with Da Funk. And he's a good dentist too.
Yo...maybe the James Gang could get back
together with Rick James as the lead singer and they could call themselves The
Rick James Gang. They could play "Super Freak #48" and "Mutha Fucka
Funka #49"!!!!! You know...with Mutha Fucka Gene Mutha Funka Jumpa doin'
that "air" bass thing. Wow! Play that funky air bass Jumpa!!
need a vacation...and if this made any sense to you so do you! ...