Good morning to you over there in India and you over there the United Kingdom, and you in South Africa. Bojour France! Hola Mexico! Kon’ichiwa Japan! Thank you to all of you from all over the world that have stopped by to check out the blog or look at the pictures. It’s June 20, 2020 and the numbers are starting to tell the numbers I was worried about. The county that I live in has seen an increase in cases and my city has had the most Covid related demises. Anyhow, I did what I do most mornings and that is to get lost in Youtube. By the way, is there something I can do for this addiction? It is quiet dangerous to have it set to autoplay as it will start loading music that it thinks you are going to enjoy and it is 99.9% accurate. This morning I was still on the Chrissy Hynde kick and had been vegging out on that gorgeous metallic powder blue telecaster she plays, when I looked at the Up Next section and saw the words FANNY. (insert juvenile giggles here…huhuhuhuhuh.) I pressed play because I saw a lady playing bass and if you have read any of my posts, you will know that I have a thang for bass and I am a little partial to the Fender sound, only because I can tell a Fender Bass by the tone without even looking at it, other than that, I wouldn’t know a Yamaha from an Ibanez bass.
Fanny was an all girl group from Los Angeles, California featuring Jean (bass/vocals) and June (guitar/vocals) Millington, Nickey Barclay (Keyboards) and Cam Davis (drums). It was interesting to learn that June and Jean are Philippine-American as I too have cousins that were born on a base in Manila back in the 70’s. Press play…
The thing about me also is that I go a little gaga over female musicians. Maybe that is why I tried so hard to get good photos of any of the female performers when ever I was in attendance at a performance. Maybe it was also that little girl still inside of me with all those big dreams happily watching another “little” girls living theirs. It is okay to be happy for others, really. Even while I was chasing my dreams of getting the perfect shot, and not fame or rating or to keep a job. I am just a weirdo with a camera, that is all, not trying to get “likes” follows” , “go viral” or “yadda” yadda”. Yesterday, I cried, most of the morning, but kept up with my exercise routine as I didn’t want to fall into despair. You know something, it was okay to cry and let that shit out. Yes, I did say a few choice FUs out loud directed to things and people that I wish I could tell to their faces but won’t and not because I am afraid but because they are not worth it, really. It felt amazing.
When I first saw the video, Jean reminded me of my Auntie Erlinda with her beautiful tanned legs and long hair. I could see why my Uncle Danny married her while he was there in the Air Force. I am sure that my Uncle and possibly, my own father had heard of this band as they both were admirers of women entertainers and quite honestly, my Dad and Uncles didn’t really see gender or race as a weakness, they only instilled in all of us to be good or the best at what we were going to do with our lives. My Dad had three daughters and two step-daughters to raise along with my Mom back in the 70s. He didn’t get to teach us how to shave but he did go and buy our feminine products, and didn’t say a word about it. I remember my Dad used to often say, “If you are going to be a garbage man, then be the best God damned garbage man, EVER!” There was no arguing with him. Because of my Dad, I learned about Aretha, oh and Patsy and Babs. He loved Babs and had a thing for Linda and the Stone Ponies. My Dad was the greatest influence in my musical tastes and in my attitude really. I am sure he would have told me to follow the rules and he would have been right. He also told many stories. One of the tales I fondly remember was the one about him getting pulled over with my older sisters in his car. Those were my blonde haired blue eyed sisters. My Dad was 5’7′ and had dark skin and eyes. They police that had pulled him over in Compton believed him after my sisters called him “Dad.”
My Dad proudly served his country in the US Army when he was drafted in the 1950s. I loved hearing the stories about the times he “camped” in the woods in Yakima, Washington when they were on maneuvers. It was there that he met my God Father, Bill Zozaya, an Italian-American citizen and many shades lighter than my melanin rich father. My Dad gave helpful camping hints like “stuff your sleeping bag with pine needles” to keep warm or to bury hot rocks that were heated in campfires under the dirt were you were going to lay your sleeping bag for the night to keep warm. Apparently, the ground in Washington during the winter in Yakima is quite icy and cold. Anyhow, this one story I can never get out of my head that my Dad used to tell us girls goes like this… My Dad said that he amd a large group of guys were heading to California from their base and had stopped at a restaurant to eat. A couple of the soldiers were non-white and were not welcome to eat with the group. My father was one of them. His friend Bill and the others sat down and ordered lots of food as my father and the others waited outside. Before their food got served, they left, not eating it or paying. They made a statement without making a statement, you know Army guys are polite (most of the time). Me, I would have at least chewed a pack of gum and stuck it all over the restaurant windows and jammed it into their door locks…ooops sorry. F them!!!! (probably got that from my Mom’s side.) Sorry, that is me, speaking. It is funny to see how people are getting affected by the burning of symbols and knocking down of statues and such especially from Christians and people that say they follow the word of the Bible. Does it not say in,
Exodus 20:3, Matthew 4:10, Luke 4:8 and elsewhere, e.g.: Ye shall make you no idols nor graven image, neither rear you up a standing image, neither shall ye set up any image of stone in your land, to bow down unto it: for I am the Lord your God.
Everyone wants to be upset about that but when you want to speak about institutional and systemic racism, subjects get changed. I felt a need to put a little reminder out there as I need reminder as well. Everyone wants to defend a slave owning song writer or a flag (which is a symbol ) but not the people that defended it, regardless of their color or creed. It just really messed with my head up this morning. People read, study, ask questions. Stop and take a deep breath, because you still can.
Sunday is a day to celebrate fathers. If you are a father, then may you have a day that is one you will remember or at least your kid or kids will remember. I celebrate you! The ones that taught their daughters to burp, or to “smile” for school photos. The fathers that sent their kids to school with inside out underwear because he didn’t do laundry. The fathers that “sold” candy bars for school fundraisers at work but their A1C told a different stories. The ones that are still kind to their ex-spouses even when that kindness has not been extended. Fathers you have a hard job and an important one. Don’t F it up! No, I am kidding. You will F it up over and over again but that is okay, cause you will have many chances to fix it. A wise man named Chao once said, “but did you die?” Not sure if the screenwriter was a Dad but I am sure he was when we wrote those words…You know what know what I mean and really, I hope you have a lovely day.
Thank you, dear reader for the visit. Where ever in the world you are take time to smell the baking bread, taste the pie, kiss the girl or kiss the guy! Hugs to you and you and YOU!