Yet another epic Facebook fail—censored twice in one month for correcting typos!

 

Facebook AI bots really have it out for me because I edit my comments, or post a blog link. In this case, I was responding to Ron Silliman‘s post where Lyn Hejinian had read for our RRWG reading series at the Johnny. Otis Cabaret, that I produced back in 1993-94, and as I typed in her name, I was immediately thrown in the FB slammer again.

Last time it was for trying to add the word crêpes with circumflex to my Shrove/Pancake Tuesday comment. The time before that was because I was commenting on my cousin who had recently demised himself and it also happened with another Irish cousin too. And the time before that was for posting a botany post about native uses of California fan palm seeds.

Apparently the words GAZA and DEATH trigger the FB AI bots. And I guess in this case, RIP triggered the bots too. Or  it was the Google blogpost link itself? I had posted a Press Democrat obit in honor of Johnny Otis. I thought Ron Silliman would enjoy seeing it since they all read at his cabaret. He had mentioned reading there for us. And Kit Robinson too. I do remember Kit’s reading because I hadn’t seen him since the early 1980s CPITS days.

Now I’m just flummoxed. I would love to have the RRWG flyers—and especially the dates of those readings because I made a Russian River Writers Guild archival blog post listing all the poets who have read for us over the decades. It’s a pretty impressive list.

And now I am reduced to writing to my friends in my status update.

Andrew – this will have to suffice as a link.

Zana – no, it is not a friend reporting me. It’s FB.

Marylu and Maxine – this is the comment in question. Alors! I had added Lyn’s name and misspelled it, and when I tried to correct it, I was thrown in the Facebook comment jail. That’s why I’m writiing to you here because I can’t add any comments to any posts, including my own. But I can LIKE comments.

Donald – Tori and I are definitely on Facebook’s frenemy list because we’re outspoken and we have posted about gauze a.

Joan – tell me more, or post the link below. I would be very interested to read it.

Molly- Second time this month in the comments slammer means can’t post poems in your Poem a Day group.

Weirdly I can post photos and a status report on my home page so I guess this is how I will communicate with the world for the next six effing days. I just can’t post, nor can I correct any comments. Oh bhuel.

See, Facebook otto-krect loves to substitute the wrong words in my comments, or add excessive, commas, (case in point), or inserting random periods. mid-sentence after I post them. And I am definitely OCD when it comes to typos. FFS, I’m a writer plying my trade. And yes, I have completely turned off AutoCorrect on my iPad.

So today I am deleting all Facebook ads and reporting them as irrelevant. Sweet revenge. Literally every second or third post is a sponsored ad. Talk about irrelevant ads. Poop ads for cats AND humans! Maybe they come in tandem. A new batch of shitty irrelevant ads, and the Facebook AI sniffer bot—and certainly the word for one’s demise seems to be a trigger as well. I refuse to use the word passed. I wanna say DEATH. Unfortunately, because Facebook is a private entity, there is no recourse for this continued bullying.

Yeah, I’m more than a little cranky now and don’t worry, Facebook, I am keeping track of you. and I won’t be silenced.  #keepingitreal #badarticle 

Take Five Etta and Johnny

I got to hang out backstage with Etta James at a music festival I was covering for The Paper. The Russian River Jazz Festival, I think. There was also a RR Blues Festival which I also covered. Paper editor Nick Valentine said to go hang out backstage and take lots of photos of musicians.

Gulp. I was shy and I hardly knew anyone—let alone, knew if they were famous. Or what for. I was a complete naïf. Lots of down time between sets. Lots of time to hang out and talk about poetry and music. I was working as an artist in the schools at Mark West School and I gave them some kid poetry anthologies I made.

I think Etta was headlining the same year Dave Brubeck and Blossom Dearie were on the stage. I remember chatting with pianist Adam Mankowitz, and Bob Doboro—he had me at Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law. A song about a mattress tag, FFS, She did her famous song—what's it called? Not At Last, though she did sing it. The one that has the chiki-chiki bits in it—in Lebanese? No, that was Eartha Kitt, another fabulous musician I got to hang out with backstage. Crossed wires. Shows you what I knew about jazz musicians.

I knew zip and zilch about jazz, but Dave took me under his wing, and introduced me around as a poet. I was thrilled. It also made my job much easier with the camera, which can be intrusive. I am not interested in photos where people pose for the camera. I prefer catching candid images of them in action, that passionate moment where there is a rapport with them, their art form, between me, the camera, the film, and the photo. A marriage of light and shadow.

Somewhere I have a letter from Dave Brubeck commending my photos and story of the Russian River Jazz Fest in The Paper. Somewhere. And no, I don’t have a tear sheet of that story. but he did write to me personally as well, letting me know that he had sent the letter in to the paper. I was flummoxed and flabbergasted and proud as I got paid next to nothing for my work, especially my photos. I never could even pay for my supplies.

I remember when I was about 5 or 6, my mom explaining to me what Take Five meant—we were in the Gate Playhouse theater in Sausalito. After a rehearsal, the director, Skip Rognlein said: "Take 5." I guess she also must’ve explained the context for Dave Brubeck's piece too because I knew the two were inexorably linked. 

I remember the album cover from when I was four. Apparently, I loved that album cover so much I carried it around with me. Dave was from Concord, Ca., so, everybody knew each other in those days. It was a small world. When Dave played that piece, I was transported back in time. I told him later of that story, he threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

Take Five Etta and Johnny. Few know that Johnny Otis discovered and promoted Etta James.

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/1983/11/letter-from-dave-brubeck.html

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/2012/12/take-5-dave.html

https://mohurley.blogspot.com/2012/01/rip-johnny-otis.html

RIP Johnny Otis (Press Democrat obit)

RIP Johnny Otis.  (© Maureen Hurley photo/halftone).

Note bene: Johnny Otis (Mr. "Hand Jive"), surveying his Sebastopol ranch in the early 1990s. After a leisurely latte interview in his sunlit kitchen, he walked me down to the barn to show me his paintings and sculptures. Johnny was our godfather benefactor for The Russian River Writers' Guild. He called me up one afternoon after I did a front page story on him for The Paper, and he asked if I'd be willing to host thr RRWG poetry reading series at his Sebastopol Cabaret on blue Mondays. (Later, it was moved to Tuesdays.)  I asked him why he called me out of the blue versus myriad other Sonoma County poets and he said, "I only work with the best people, I asked around and you're the best." The only catch is you have to book someone every Monday night." We previously only booked two events a month. For two years, I worked my ass off rounding up poets every week. Luckily I had help: David Bromige, Steve Tills, and other Sonoma County poets pitched in to book poets and emcee. Great PA sound system. Great ambiance. Great poets. Great man. RIP Johnny.

See Dan Taylor's Press Democrat obit: Sonoma County musicians mourn Johnny Otis (I'm quoted in it). I also wrote a bio about him for the paper that I need to scan and post a tear sheet of it. The half tone photo above is from my original article.

'BIG-HEARTED' MUSIC LEGEND OTIS DIES AT 90
January 20, 2012 | Press Democrat, The (Santa Rosa, CA)
Author: DAN TAYLOR/ THE PRESS DEMOCRAT | Page: B1

To the world, Johnny Otis was the rhythm-and-blues music pioneer who wrote the classic 1958 hit, "Willie and the Hand Jive."

But to the people who knew Otis for the dozen years that he lived and worked in Sebastopol, starting in the early '90s, he was a friend, mentor and crusader for racial equality.

Otis, 90, had been in poor health for several years and died at home Tuesday in the Los Angeles suburb of Altadena, where he settled after he left Sebastopol.

"I certainly hate to see the world lose such an amazing character," said internationally known harmonica virtuoso Charlie Musselwhite of Geyserville, who first met Otis at a Los Angeles nightclub in the late '60s.

"I sat in with him lots of times," Musselwhite said. "He played all kinds of musical instruments -- drums and vibes. He was a deejay, painter, author, songwriter, singer, talent scout."

Born John Veliotes, the son of Greek immigrants, he grew up in a black neighborhood in Berkeley, and bonded with black music, culture and social issues. He eventually changed his name to Johnny Otis, because it sounded more like an R&B artist.

"He was a Greek who declared himself black," Musselwhite said.

Otis was leading his own band in 1945 when he scored his first big hit, "Harlem Nocturne." In 1950, 10 of his songs made Billboard Magazine's R&B top-hit charts, and his "Willie and the Hand Jive" sold more than

1.5 million copies. The song was used in the movie "Grease" in 1978 and was covered by rock star Eric Clapton.

He was known for his discovery of major rhythm-and-blues talents, including Etta James and Hank Ballard. Otis produced singer Big Mama Thornton's original recording of "Hound Dog," later a hit for Elvis Presley.

"Johnny had respect for musicians, and they respected him," said Bill Bowker of Santa Rosa's KRSH ("Krush") Radio station.

Northern California slide guitarist Roy Rogers once refused to host a radio show because it would have run at the same time as Otis' series on another station, Bowker said. Otis had a regular show, playing recordings on Pacifica Radio Network's stations, until ill health forced him to retire in 2005.

The people of Sonoma County got to know Otis after he opened his Johnny Otis Market and Deli in 1993 to sell his brand of organic apple juice. He and his band performed there on weekend nights, drawing large crowds, until the store closed two years later.

"I'll always remember those high-energy nights in his little Sebastopol eats-joint-turned-hot-music-club," said Katherine Hastings, Sonoma County poet and KRCB Radio show host. "No one in their right minds could stay in their seats."

In 1997, Otis briefly opened his own Land Mark Community Church in Santa Rosa, which he had run in Los Angeles 20 years previous.

A mentor to musicians, Otis also extended his support and encouragement to creative people of all kinds.

"A kindly, big-hearted man, he was always supportive of others in the arts," said Forestville artist and writer Maureen Hurley.

During his years in Sebastopol, Otis recorded his own music and other musicians at his own studio on his ranch.

"Johnny always had a great band," said Santa Rosa recording engineer Jason Andrews, who worked with Otis for four years. "I had many nights' meals with the Otises. There was always great soul food and hot sauce on the table."

Otis's survivors include his wife Phyllis, whom he married in 1941; sons, Shuggie and Nicky; daughters, Janet and Laura; and several grandchildren.

You can reach Staff Writer

Dan Taylor at 521-5243 or dan.taylor@pressdemocrat.com. The Associated Press contributed to this report.

Letter to Richard Benesevich

Dear Richard—   8/93

God what a fall, the fall, as it were; my woes serious enough to desire Prosac (I’ll elaborate later), lacking prosaic skills, I’m remiss in answering your wonderful letter, and you’re probably wondering if the reply got lost in the mail—one reason why I’m writing to you on the computer—I learned to make copies of everything in Russia. (My laptop computer blew up (as did my truck) this fall—the mother-board—it’s working by sheer luck at this point, as long as I don’t unplug it. When the batteries go, I have to find another laptop to recharge them). It’s lucky I even got your letter as it was glued to a completely frayed envelope, open on all four sides like two sheets to the wind! If you hadn’t reglued the flap, I’d have gotten what once was an envelope with some stamps on it—is this known as pushing the inside of the envelope out?

My dearest proletariat, I hope you’re surviving well, in spite of everything. Shall I send you a phone so you can wander around looking for a place to hot-wire it to? I was under the impression Poland was slipping off the sexy wrap of communism. . . Well, after Hungary, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised by Eastern European concepts of reform. All of the former Soviet Bloc is construed of paradoxes. Try Romania, Ukraine, Hungary, and the story’s always the same. Push the inside of that dox out and what’s left? An urge for Ken’s awful Hungarian pear brandy? So what’s the latest commerce in baksheesh besides bad puns? Anything you want from the states? Yes, I would like to hear from you, but, gulp, did you say collect? Hey, with some serious discounts, my Dutch phone bills still run about $50 a call! That’s a lotta zlotii. Hell, one of the reasons why I got this ATT single country plan discount was because you were in Leiden, and then you had to go and move!

Laid to waste by the flu

And here I thought I'd easily finish this journal by the solstice, but I had not planned on getting so sick most of December. The earaches and another attack of the flu has left me quite exhausted.

Christmas Eve I had a fever of 102°, which lasted most of the week. I barely remember Christmas, and slept on my cousin Sinead's couch December 26. I was so shaky that by the 27th, driving home was a challenge.

I did not go to the California Museum of Art party on the 28th, as a relapse from the 27th left me flattened. I was sorry to have missed it. I ran a few end-of-year errands, went shopping, and to the movies, on the 30th and 31st; both events just wore me out. I almost didn't volunteer for the Luther Burbank Center's Johnny Otis New Year's Eve bash, but I didn't have to be there until 9:30 PM. So I rested most of the day beforehand.

Expecting to leave early, I worked hard preparing all the champagne. One complementary free drink with the ticket was the deal. I figured we'd have very little to do after 11 PM, that most people would've used up their drink tickets, but not so. We had an enormous rush right before midnight.

No time to feel weak. I was on an adrenaline adrenal rush. I was a working automaton, much more efficient than the men I was working with. Fever does that. My antique Russian red silk tunic was drenched.

I had a gas working with a man named Misha who danced with me afterwards until there was no more music left, live, or otherwise. Johnny Otis and his band were on it. His son, Nick came over to say hello, I think he's sweet on me.

My neighbor Paul Ellis commented on how he heard me wailing away in the shower house Sunday night. I was so sick. He got the flu too. The great flu of 1995 laid a lot of us to waste. To sleep, perchance to dream, but not die, was the modus operandi. 

Paul and I exchanged symptoms, like baseball trading cards. I slept more than he did. He got it for two days after Christmas. I was afraid I had given it to him. Doing a little one-up-manship jig, he said he had already been exposed to it, and yes, it was extremely bad. What a lousy way to welcome in the New Year.

Call of the Muse, RRWG at the Johnny Otis Club

Letter to Johnny Otis, re: RRWG Scheduling SNAFUs

Dear Johnny,

date? He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Jan. 20, 1994.

First, let me say CONGRATULATIONS on your well-deserved awards! YES! I hope you enjoyed the African Poetry & Mother Earth issues I left you. I left some for Nick too at the café, but I don’t know if he got them. I didn’t put them in his box

About the Russian River Writers’ Guild poetry series—we’re facing some restructuring because David Bromige is quitting out of shee frustration due to conflicting communiques. Problems include finding another MC for Tuesday night, or switching to Monday, door percentage, and communication—the chain of command at the club. I have two people who can participate on Monday nights (they teach classes on Tuesdays) and I can’t carry the burden of the series alone (see P.S.). If we can quickly find MC’s for alternate Tuesdays, then the problem is temporarily alleviated. I realize Jim Kohn’s a key link for your weekly scheduling—maybe it’s merely a case of too many fish (or chains) in the stewpot but we are having a communication problem. Hence this letter.

Ironically, the idea of booking poetry on Monday vs. Tuesday night came up when Jim was thinking of moving us to Monday nights. He said the music nights were so financially successful (& overbooked) he wanted to expand the music programming.

Faced with the prospect of being bumped from the club, of course we agreed to switch to Monday nights, and booked readers on Mondays beginning in Feb.; we already had Jan. schedule in place by Oct. 

Then in Dec., I guess Jim either forgot or changed his mind, telling David, “What am I going to do with Tuesday nights? Go dark?” To accommodate Jim we changed back to Tuesdays. To make a long story short, just like in the game, “telephone,” the story kept changing each time we talked to Jim (or his machine), which led to David’s quitting. Jim told David that I’d requested Mondays when I said “Monday were always our first choice and yes, I’ll ask the other coordinators about switching.” They agreed to it, and I told Jim, “OK, we’ll switch.”

We were asked to give the club $1 per head (1/2 the pot) in Jan. by Jim, but you said we could begin paying our $1 tithe in Feb. not Jan. We’d already promised Jan. door to scheduled readers, and publicity (including admission $) was out Oct. (At the last minute Jim told us we had to charge $4 starting in Jan.; the Jan. calendar was late; it was impossible to reach him in Dec. so we couldn’t deliver mailing list to him, etc.—were other bones of contention.) In retrospect, it would’ve made more sense to meet with both you and Jim in Nov. to work out the details together. (A note: if the club is losing money, may I suggest using only one counter person on poetry nites?)

Each item is very minor and is certainly workable—but it’s stressful when the changes affects so many of us; we’re already donating countless unpaid hours of our time, and coordinating so many people. As an organization, we’ve been in existence for nearly 25 years; it’s always been a labor of love. 

Working too long with a shoestring budget means the string eventually breaks. Something as minor as raising the door to $4 could be our swan song, the death of the series—if the audience won’t come. Even at $3 we’re running on nervous! (We’re still adjusting to the fact that we need to give 1/3 of our pot to the door—at the Senior Center our rent was $5 per night.) 

And because we pull in so little, we’re not eligible to make use of some matching grants to pay poets. Since you do need door money from us, we’d like to try to find a way to eventually underwrite the series—someone to pay the “rent”—like the Sonoma County Community Foundation as we are a non-profit arts organization. But we won’t see any funding until summer when the awards are announced.

We’re grateful that you’ve allowed us the opportunity to use the space. Because of your generosity, poetry in Sonoma County has been seriously revitalized, and we’re just now developing a strong poetry audience after years of benign neglect. It would be a shame to quit. We love the space, the ambiance—and the fact the your counter people also like poetry—we even booked Rose Halliday for Feb. I hope we can work out the details but at this point, if I can’t replace David, I may have to drop out too. I’d like to see the series continue. I hope you’ll bear with us until we can work out the logistics.

Sincerely,
Maureen Hurley


P.S. On a more personal note, since I work in the schools as an artist in residence, (and schools are really broke this year), I have to generate jobs—my situation is critical. My father’s death in Dec. has tapped all my reserves—his assets were signed over to a co-worker (it looks like fraud, but I can’t afford legal advice)—leaving me with the burden and no recourse. I can’t absorb the time/cost of running the series.