Bold Item News Flash

(09-27) 11:41 PDT OAKLAND - Four people were charged in Oakland federal court today with growing marijuana that became the not-so-secret ingredient in treats resembling popular candy bars and other packaged food, including barbecue sauce.

Authorities say the four were connected with an operation known as Tainted Inc. that made marijuana-laced candies, cookies, ice cream, peanut butter, barbecue sauce, granola bars and brownies.

"Tainting candy and other products with marijuana is not sweet, it is criminal," said Javier Pena, special agent in charge of the federal Drug Enforcement Administration in San Francisco. "These items could have harmful effects on a user, especially the unsuspecting ones."

Authorities said Tainted Inc. grew from a small outfit that cooked marijuana leaves in butter for chocolate truffles into a large enterprise that supplied marijuana-laced candies to cannabis clubs in the Bay Area, Los Angeles, Seattle, Vancouver and Amsterdam.

Over the past two years, Tainted Inc. ordered nearly four tons of chocolate from suppliers, investigators said. Its candies and other food items sold for $2.50 to $20 apiece, depending on the strength of the product, authorities said.

The investigation bears similarities to DEA raids in Oakland last year in which five people connected with a company called Beyond Bomb were convicted of making marijuana-laced treats with names like Buddahfingers, Munchy Way, Rasta Reece's and Puff-a-Mint Pattie.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to smile after finishing a coming-of-age story, as there are only so many scenes of sadistic teachers, sticky porn mags and sensitive introspection a man can handle. So I met recommendations for David Mitchell’s new one, (he received mucho British praise for Cloud Atlas and most critics called this new one an interim frolic between grand statements) with shrugs and sidelong glances and what else is on the shelf. Well, Black Swan Green is the warm and smart and utterly charming tale of one thirteen-year old boy who stammers, which sounds like a premise that would have me running for the magazine racks. Shockingly, Mitchell gives the young lad a real voice, and one you actually enjoy settling in with for hours at a sit. He’s humble and fanciful and lusty and sharp. He’s a good kid fighting the good fight against school bullies, a thoughtful young man who escapes the Hangman that constricts his throat by writing poetry. He’s also the son of parents whose marriage is falling apart amidst the backdrop of early 80’s England, with Falklands hysteria and The Human League. Mitchell delivers one compelling and fully realized scene after the next, and those surrounding voices complement our hero’s and bring that time period flying off the pages of English new wave history. I hope he does a sequel just so he can sneak Maradona’s Hand of God in there. Ain’t no great revelations here. Just the enjoyment that comes from good storytelling. And after the nose-hair pulling torture of Norman Rush’s Mating, pleasure in fiction never read so good.

Holy Fucking Shit!

(09-19) 11:44 PDT OAKLAND - The Oakland City Council voted early today to ban smoking in ATM lines, parks and other public places.

The ordinance passed 5-0, with council members Larry Reid and Desley Brooks abstaining. Councilwoman Jane Brunner was absent when the council approved the measure shortly before 2 a.m., at the end of a marathon meeting.

In addition to ATM lines and parks, the law forbids smoking in outdoor dining areas, on golf courses and public trails, in child care centers and hotels, at bus stops and within 10 feet of bars.

The law will take effect a week after the council approves it on second reading. A second reading has been scheduled for Oct. 2.

I should do yoga. It seems fun, calming, and good for you, and from what I've seen it can be accomplished with a lit Marlboro in your mouth. When I think about doing yoga, I think about Tara Stiles, who is a pretty girl who does yoga on youtube. I like watching her do yoga more than I want to do yoga, which is not news. I think if I were to start yoga I'd meet her and buy her beers and cigarettes and it would be fun, for both of us. Check out her clips - they'll keep you relaxed.

I just hired her for the next crawl...

Perchance to dream...

I've been too tired to read past 9:00 lately, so I've been actually sitting on the couch and listening to records. No sports on TV. No magazines. Listening. Here's what's working-

The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band- Vol 1- pretty damn glorious pretty psych-pop from a band I can't believe I haven't lost spit over before. They'll branch out jammy once a side to let the freak flag wave in the swirling winds of the faithful, but the bread is buttered with highly melodic pop gem and then three more. Issues vinyl strikes again.

Brother JT- Third Ear Candy- too early for anything definitive, but after three listens it sounds like he's recording in an isolated water vault, channeling cybernetic dolphins who are very sad. Whether that's a good thing or not remains to be heard- anybody carrying shrooms?

Black Sabbath- Vol. 4- another compulsive vinyl purchase from Issues and I'm steadily gravitating to its gentler groove. I know some folks can't stand it, but I can't get enough of vulnerable Ozzy- "I'm going through chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanges."

The Bags- Rock Starve- still one of the most underrated (unheard?) rock records in what is clearly the ugliest rock cover ever conceived. "What do you want? I want an answer? What do you want? What do you want from me?" Genius.

Tuxedomoon- Desire- found this at that wildly overpriced jazz store on Claremont Ave. for a few bucks, and I've found it oddly comforting background music. I suppose that means something about my sexuality, but I'm too old to figure out what.

The Pontiac Brothers- Doll Hut- my favorite Stones record of the 80's.

The Pretty Things- S. F. Sorrow- I used to own this on cassette before I knew anything about their early greatness, and I loved it. Now, I'm pretty sure it's a masterpiece. Another Issues vinyl gem. 3 for fucking 3.

Roy Wood- Boulders- I hated this the first time I heard it on an Ipod, but here's more fodder for the obvious- vinyl sounds way better (especially at 2 bucks). He once fronted The Move but now he's playing fourteen instruments and making gospel sound like the white man's terrain. Feel it.

Gene Vincent- "Love is a Bird" - so overblown, yet so right.

The Problematics- The Kids All Suck- still the best pure punk record ever, not counting the Saints.

King Louie and His Loose Diamonds- Memphis Treat- this is completely ridiculous in a mostly enjoyable kinda way. Hmmm- bar-rock-pop for middle-age emotional retards, especially those eating outta spray-painted garbage cans and "drinking in a bar." I could do without the instrumentals and a few throwaways, but tighten this down to 8 and you'd have yourself an anthemfest- assuming you're down with singing about balding women and smoking crack on your way to junkie beach.

Anybody actually seen 300?

Now available for the price of three Hopsickles...

It's another 9/11, and nothing has blown up. I keep asking 'what if' re that eBay 2,500 record option, and I bid $400 and still got beat; luckliy that site has more necessary items to look at. There's certainly more to life than vinyl, but records are fun, and dammit I like fun. I've got that Mating book now and man is it ponderous. Pro football sucks, and thankfully the salmon run has started, which means I'm north bound with the rod and tackle this weekend. That's all.

An Editor's Note

Pete Dexter is my hero. He has not written a poor novel, he likes (or liked) to drink a shitload of booze, and the woman (women) in his life put up with his nonsense, at least in the long haul. Paper Trails, a thin volume courtesy of Ecco Press, reprints 80 of Dex's newspaper columns from his time in Philly, South Dakota, and Sacramento, and everyone reads like a Dex novel (some were the basis of his narratives). Paper Trails gives us violence, drunks and whores, but it also gives us dog fuckers (one upping Vick, dare say), forgery artists, cougars, sex, tractors, and jellyfish attacks. This in the book's first half. Lest I forget, in his smokin' intro he slags David Milch, Mailer, and cunt Jonathan Yardley, and I cackle out loud about once a minute. Hail to the king, and god save your tired, broken body; there's no one close to the man at getting right to the action.

Thank god for hillbillies, the pac-10 face saving Cal Bears, and douche-nozzle record producers. And like I need anything else to read: I can wait a couple weeks. Where are my smokes?