time for love
roaming this sweetly savage planet
passing of Ann Landers signals GZO Jones ascent up the crowded
ladder of neophyte advice givers. Hey, a rung is a rung. So rather
than dwell on his claims of living in Brazil, surviving a variety
of nasty ills and rubbing elbows with the best of the bygone Beats,
were just happy that his antics have yet to bring on any
litigation. Check out the GZO
Jones Town Web site to appreciate our concern.
Dear Dr. Jones,
If you're such a big deal, what are you doing writing
for a Web site that nobody'll ever read?
Skeptical as Hell
Well, youre reading. Its
OK to be skeptical, but dont be such a wise acre until
you get some talent.
Dear Dr. Jones,
What did you do this year on Sept. 11?
You must first remember that my humble abode in
the Brazilian backwoods is not exactly the be-all and end-all for
expatriate displays. I did, however, spend several years during
the last century calling home to the Greatest City on Earth. And
I can't deny feeling an eternal connection.
Id bet, a colleague posited
several months back, that you wish youd lived
in New York on Sept. 11, 2001.
The simple truth is that I'd never wish for such
solipsistically revisionist history. At the same time, had I
lived there on that most earth-shattering of days and during
the aftermaths fear-tinged uplift I certainly
would have found a tremendous amount of inspiration from the good,
the bad and the ugly. Perhaps I would even have found a way to lend
a needed hand.
Some people, its been said, are born
to greatness. While others have it thrust upon them. But those who
shoulder greatness and then absorb another dose those are
the ones worth watching. A lot of people earned such stripes and
continue to thrive on that mighty little island. And a place that
was already insanely exhilarating is now, I would imagine, that
much more so.
As for me? Do I long for a stroll through Tompkins
Square? A visit to Star Falafel? My former stool at Pat's Jazz Bar?
A scalped ticket to Yankee Stadium? A blissfully anonymous ride
on the Staten Island Ferry? A simple coffee-white in a paper cup
and a seat on the interior stairs of Grand Central?
Yes and no.
I lived all that and now my days are mostly defined
by happy routine: I awoke, I typed, I showered, I shaved, I strummed
my oud. I made a few phone calls, I made love. I tossed the Frisbee
with my faithful dog, Brando. I typed some more. Then I thanked
my lucky stars that I still roam this sweetly savage planet.
Thanks for asking.