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Al Martinez• E-mail
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Recent Columns:
In the din of a million voices clamoring for attention, it is occasionally the quiet persistence of a single idea that emerges from the pack.
I lay in bed half asleep the other night visualizing a kid of about 10 hurrying home through the lingering twilight of an Oakland evening wondering if there would be anything to eat in the house.
Aman I once knew introduced me to Tom Lehrer's satirical music sometime in the mid-1960s in his small apartment on the edge of San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district.
In the rush of events that keep us pumping through life like chipmunks on a treadmill, one finds it necessary upon occasion to take a moment to acknowledge a person of some importance. It's why I pause today to say goodbye to Alice.
In the arena of human indolence, the male of the species has no equal.
This is the season of combustion, where heat, humidity and wind drive fires through the mountains and canyons of Southern California, howling over hillsides thick with oak trees and chaparral, scorching the summery blue skies and burning wild red patterns into the night.
If it weren't for the fact that James Dean was killed about a mile up the road, you probably would have never heard of Cholame.
I am sitting in the lobby of the Ascot Suites inn looking out at Morro Rock and talking to Tank Nelson. Both are imposing sights.
Our cat Ernie killed a mouse the other night and I was terrified.
In the wake of America's diminished reputation around the world, it is encouraging to be reminded that there are good guys among us working to improve our tarnished image. Sometimes they're right next door.