2495 is my new favorite number!
Random Fact that I just noticed and there is a long story behind it, but — Forest Ackerman and Walt Disney had the same number address 2495 Lyric Ave was his first home purchased out here and Forry Ackerman lived on 2495 Glendower both a mere few blocks from each other in Los Feliz. I find this fucking NEATO. I love finding random shit that no one cares about but ME.
In Search of Tin Pan Alley. The History of Music Publishing for those interested….
PS: Dr. Manhattan…..has……..blueballs!! YES!
I think of ‘Kindred Spirits’ almost every time I’m out hiking.
Kindred Spirits (1849) Inspired by
Perhaps the best known painting of Hudson River School painter Asher Durand. It depicts the recently deceased painter Thomas Cole and his friend the poet William Cullen Bryant in the Catskill Mountains. The landscape, which combines geographical features like Fawns Leap in Kaaterksill Clove and a minuscule depiction of Kaaterskill Falls, is not a literal record of a particular site but an idealized memory of Thomas Cole’s discovery of the region more than twenty years prior to the canvas’s execution.
The painting was commissioned by New York art collector Jonathan Sturges and its title inspired by John Keats‘ “Sonnet to Solitude“. Bryant’s daughter Julia donated the painting to the New York Public Library in 1904. In 2005, it was sold at auction to Walmart heiress Alice Walton for $35 million, a record for a painting by an American artist. The Library was criticized for “jettisoning part of the city’s cultural patrimony“, but the Library defended its move stating it needed the money for its endowment fund.
‘This Sonnet, published in The Examiner for the 5th of May 1816, signed “J. K.,” is stated by Charles Cowden Clarke (Gentleman’s Magazine for February 1874) to be “Keats’s first published poem.” In Tom Keats’s copy-book it is headed “Sonnet to Solitude,” and undated. The only variation is in line 9,– “I’d” for “I’ll.” The Examiner reads “rivers” for “river’s” in line 5, and lines 9 and 10 stand thus —
Ah! fain would I frequent such scenes with thee;
But the sweet converse of an innocent mind.’
~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895
“Keats’ first published poem appeared in The Examiner, a lively radical weekly newspaper, on 5 May 1816. The sonnet ‘To solitude’, with its controlled rhythm and youthful echoes of Wordsworth, was a clear indication of his rapidly maturing talent. Signed simply ‘J.K.’, it attracted little public attention, but Keats was sufficiently encouraged to persevere with his writing; by the end of the year he had decided to give up the practice of medicine.”
While waiting for Adam on Valentines Day at Cafe 101, I picked up a copy of the LA Times. For some reason that day, I was drawn to the Obituaries section first (rather than the comics section of course) and stumbled upon this inspiring article
Kolff is arguably credited for the first artificial heart as is Paul Winchell. Nonetheless — ‘Great Minds’.
Kolff, known as the ‘father of artificial organs,’ is credited with building the first successful artificial heart, the Jarvik-7, and established the first blood bank in Europe.
By Thomas H. Maugh II
February 14, 2009
Dr. Willem Kolff, the Dutch physician and tinkerer who built the first kidney dialysis machine from cellophane, Ford auto parts and other scraps and in the process saved the lives of millions, died from natural causes Wednesday at a Philadelphia care center. The “father of artificial organs,” who also built the first successful artificial heart, was 97.
“Dr. Kolff was a pioneer in the truest sense of the word,” said Michael K. Young, president of the University of Utah, where Kolff concluded his career. “His groundbreaking work on the artificial kidney in the 1940s made him a household name and a hero to millions of people around the world who benefited from this life-saving technology.”
Willem Johan Kolff was born in Leiden, the Netherlands, on Feb. 14, 1911, the son of a doctor. Although his childhood goal was to become the director of a zoo, his father convinced him to study medicine instead, and he received his degree from Leiden University in 1938.
He was a staff physician at the University of Groningen in 1940 when Germany invaded the Netherlands. After the Jewish hospital director was replaced with a Nazi sympathizer, Kolff moved to a small hospital in Kampen, on the Zuider Zee, where he sat out the war.
Kolff aided the local resistance movement, providing medical “alibis” to help many escape detection. When the Germans attempted to take in one local resistance leader for questioning, Kolff withdrew two pints of blood from the man’s arm and had him drink it. Laboratory tests then showed that the man was anemic and had copious blood in his stool — signs of a severe ulcer.
The Germans did not question him because they assumed he would die shortly.
When the Germans invaded on May 19, 1940, Kolff happened to be at The Hague for a funeral. When he saw the German bombers, he excused himself from the ceremony and went to the city’s main hospital, where he volunteered to set up a blood bank.
With an armed escort, he drove through the city streets, dodging bombs and snipers and collecting bottles, tubing and all the other paraphernalia needed for storing blood. Within four days, he had established the first blood bank in Europe. It is still operating today.
Two of my most vivid and favorite dreams I’ve ever had are #1 I was 5 years old and found myself walking on the moon with 3 astronauts.
My mom had sent my sister and I to Linda’s house in Walnut, CA. Linda and Joe were my parents best friends.
I remember my conversation with the astronauts who mainly spoke. I don’t recall what I said only that I was holding one of their hands, just before I woke up.
I have always wanted to have that dream again and to this day has formed an obsession with the moon and everything outerspace.
Convinced that I had literally been to the moon, I ran upstairs and found Linda on the sofa watching TV. Ecstatic, doesn’t even begin to describe it. Linda calmed me down, she cradled me on the sofa with her as I explained my dream in detail that night until I finally went back to sleep. Linda passed away several years later from cancer. I love that memory of her.
My second favorite dream was with that of Mr. Walt Disney.
I’ve luckily had 2 vivid dreams of meeting him and having a conversation in one I recall him saying “Never lose your imagination”.
I had to have been about 10 years old at the time and the second was most recently about a year ago. Tonight for some reason “Feed The Birds”, once again popped into my head (and usually it’s Bad Brains and The Misfits popping in my head — really…). Aside from my all time favorite childrens stories, Peter Pan, The Sword In The Stone, and of course Mary Poppins they will always be my favorite. I wasn’t aware until tonight that my favorite Disney film song was also, Walt Disney’s.
[Rarely was anyone able to get Walt to talk about his “favorite” film, song, Disneyland attraction and so on. But in the case of “Mary Poppins,” he had a clear favorite: “Feed the Birds.” His affection for that song led to a kind of ritual about which Richard Sherman loves telling:
“When we were reading various stories written by Ms. Travers, we came across the bird woman selling bread crumbs, who said, ‘Feed the birds – tuppence a bag.’ And we said to each other, ‘That’s the metaphor for the whole film.’ A little extra bit of kindness – it doesn’t take much. After all a tuppence is no money at all. There’s a great statement there that describes the whole picture.
“Mary Poppins teaches the family how to stick together and do things for each other.
I think that’s why Walt loved the song. It has to do with being kind and loving. It’s what his life was all about, really.
“Usually, after the hectic week, Walt would ask us how we were doing, and we’d tell him what we were working on.Then he’d ask us to play it and I’d sit down and play and he’d look out the north window and get wistful.
“Then he’d turn around and say, ‘That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Well, have a good weekend boys.‘ I love that memory.” ]
He just got it.
I will now go back to listening to the Buzzcocks and Bad Brains until maybe Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious dances into my brain.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Ode to the West Wind” (in Reiman and Powers edn.)
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O Thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!
Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou Dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain and fire and hail will burst: O hear!
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his chrystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?