Oaktown, California

Oaktown, California, originally uploaded by shanan.

February 1, 1982

Today marks 30 years since David Letterman went on the air in Late Night. Bill Murray was the first guest on the old "Late Night with David Letterman," and used the occasion to pay tribute to the new Newton-John thing.





I was not watching in '82, as it was probably past my bedtime. But I started watching not too many years later, decimating my high-school grade point average in the process.

Old Department Stores

It'll be really interesting to think about what the department store means in 50 years, as even today the Macy's and Bloomingdales of the world feels a little anachronistic.

Growing up in Berkeley, we went to Hinks in Downtown Berkeley



And to Emporium Capwell in Downtown Oakland.

The old Capwell's flagship building looked like this when I was growing up (shown here, right after the 1989 earthquake damaged the facade)



This building is now, probably just for a little while longer, a very empty very depressing Sears. It will certainly close soon, and who knows if any of the old department store fixtures will ever be seen again. Note the cheap new facade put on to repair the quake damage.

Volvo P1800 S

Volvo P1800 S, originally uploaded by Auto Clasico.

Via nils.

Straight Down

Straight Down, originally uploaded by shanan.

It's Bologna Biscuit Weather

No doubt, originally uploaded by eric-m.

Blue Light

Blue Light, originally uploaded by sf eyes.

Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands

From Blonde on Blonde, of course:

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

2:20 PST, One Year Ago

2:20 PST, originally uploaded by shanan.