Today's Walk.

Of all the birds, mockingbirds are my favorite. One of them was singing an array of dozens of samples from atop a streetlight this morning, so lively and sweet. The clouds were backlit by sunrise making them look like pink neon cigars. The citrus trees in the neighborhood are blooming. The aroma is transcendent.

"Life, Music and the Pursuit of Happiness" Benefit Beneficial To All.

The show was remarkable. Apparently this is a much bigger event than I had originally thought. The Marin Center is fantastic. My first time. There is a rotunda and a sizeable park with a lake and fountains. There is an expensive dinner meet-and-greet reception in a hall behind the park. I try to sneak in and when stopped babble about a looking for a restroom. A Howard Stern clone with round hologram shades tells me he "cannot authorize it." I am proud of myself for attempting something brave. Back in the center of the park, an array of large, colorful clowns constructed from papier mache, paint, cloth and wood eminate some sweet space jam -- about six of them, in a large circle. The separation is excellent. There is no one around but me for the longest time which is eery and ethereal. The sounds of the water splashing and the birds calling add dimension to the lovely, continuous music. The clowns are giant Harlequins. One has lightning-soled shoes and a sign that says, "BuSHit." The sun is going down. I have an hour to knock around. I lay down and close my eyes in the grass for a while instead. Time is a treasure. This concert is a benefit for Rex Foundation. Jerry Garcia founded it. Its works are so far-reaching, what a tremendous legacy. And the rewards so real. Magnificent works by conscious, conscientious human beings.

The sun goes down. Several lighted spires cast a soft circle of wavy diamonds on the lake like a dream, and I go inside to a well-structured atmosphere with sharp ushers and velvet ropes. I buy coffee and a champion brownie. The lounge is almost empty. I purchase a t-shirt, their first sale of the night. I peruse tables of flyers, one by a man with a mission called Clowns Without Borders, the recipient of the Bill Graham Award for 2002. This man helps encamped refugee children laugh and smile in Mexico, and Tibet. He has photos of large audiences of happy dark-skinned children, each one wearing an enormous smile. I find my seat, which is perfectly in the center of the room. The music starts. World music begins with percussion you can feel in your lungs and throat. A long-haired woman in a skirt that sparkles like the universe sings plaintively and plays a dulcimer. Roy Rogers is playing a drop-dead gorgeous guitar, a Benedetto I think. Around me are an array of smells, none of them bad. Sage, pathouli, earth, Chanel, you know. Layers of music so spiritual, so transcendental. A young mother dances rapidly with a queasy-looking infant on her hip. Later a man with a t-shirt with the words "Not In My Name" scrawled in black feltpen across his chest engages the mother in lively conversation, and the baby is happy and laughing. She has a sure grip on him for someone so small. Bob Weir, Rob Wasserman and DJ Logic are playing the most edgy, perfect rendition of "Corrina." A perfect three-piece sound for the new millenium that is revolutionary. Wasserman doesn't just play the stand up bass, he plays with it in ways hard to describe. It was a bad jam. Logic's scratching at times sounds like furious crying and at others like singing birds. Weir is polished and handsome in a way that makes me think he is world-weary and wise of his God-given task of spreading love and peace and happiness by creating gorgeous music. His voice is magnificent as the words run their fingers through my mind. Friend of the Devil. After, a long, otherwordly jam goes on and on, then beautifully ends. Standing ovation. Lights. A banner shown onscreen reads, "Lumbering Towards Extinction," against a backdrop of ravaged woodlands. The roadies wheel out Hornsby's Bosendorfer, clearly the best piano money can buy. This man is without a doubt the greatest living musical genius on the planet. Bless him for doing this benefit. Being able to see and hear him play is invaluable to me. His words are like a tapestry. He sings, "I'm shaking my shadow hand/Imaginary man." That one is from Spirit Trail. This is my fifteenth time. The woman next to me, a provost at Sonoma U., tells me she has seen the dead "countless" times, starting in the sixties. I'm getting what's left of the band while I still can. It was a memorable event I shall treasure always, and I went home with the one whom I love the most on my mind.

Tell It Like It Is, Sweetheart.

I read where "warblogs" are quickly coming into fashion. This one is the first I have seen. Wry, gritty and all too real.

Not The Williams Twins.

I bought two fantastic new CDs yesterday: Dar Williams, "The Beauty of the Rain," and Keller Williams, "Laugh." You get a cool poster with that one, just like the old days. We love Dar because she has the most beautiful voice. The only way to describe Keller would be as a young, energetic Leo Kottke with a better voice. Someone who does just amazing things with a guitar. His song "Freeker" is a lyrical riot. And the song from Dar that soothes my heart is "The One Who Knows." The whole of both albums are excellent, not just the hits. Tea and new songs today. Life is sweet.

Cool Concert Coming.

Just got a great ticket to an upcoming benefit called "Life, Music and the Pursuit of Happiness" for the Rex Foundation, with Bruce Hornsby, Bob Weir, Mickey Hart and Rob Wasserman at Marin Memorial next Friday the 28th. Row 19, seat 1. Dead center (pun intended). I've been more successful in the last year getting the best available seat by making only a single ticket purchase. Works well, and I feel so adventuresome out there in the great big gnarly world all by myself. Like, anything could happen.

Dark Blue Sarcasm.

The City of Milpitas has expensive-looking kiosks it parks along Calaveras with an illuminated display for drivers to read. Instead of saying things like, "Please Slow Down," they've tried to program a little pressure for us to remember, as if we needed it. Instead of a polite request or gentle reminder, we read, "This Is Not A Freeway." No duh.
Sarcasm. Milpitas's weapon in the war on crime.

Got A Gig.

I am singing at the Palo Alto Farmers Market on May 24, 10 a.m. to Noon. Some wonderful songs, can't wait.

Be The Bee.

TJ discovered something cool today. It was 6 a.m. and we were walking down Yellowstone where it curves at Rancho. At that time of the morning, there are never any cars so we mostly walk in the street because the sidewalks are hazardous. We stick to the right. We crossed the street at a strategic moment and TJ's feet connected with the painted double-yellow line. I noticed he seemed to make a point of walking directly on the paint for a long time, as if testing how smooth it felt on his pads. I know I prefer the feeling of the paint to the street whenever I walk barefoot. Apparently I am not alone. Later, a big black bumblebee with yellow sidewalls whizzed past, close enough to my head to create a sort of vibrating shift in the air current. It was as big as a flying grape, honest. It tracked us for several yards, then began dive-bombing TJ's ears. The bee made about three passes before TJ decided he'd had enough. He snapped his jaws in the air at it a couple of times, and the bee finally took off. I remember being in Mr. Navone's entomology club at Rancho. Could seriously have used that bee then.

A One In A Gazillion Chance, or What?

This is the coolest thing I have seen in a long time. What I would not give for something like that to happen to me.