It Is Brain Surgery - Part 1

Time to get back to writing...and I may as well start here.

Sixteen days ago I was in my own brain spin trying to figure out why the hell my daughter had to have brain surgery. The idea of it was beyond surreal and farther out than out-of-body. Tyler (my other kid) was already up at my daughter's to help her focus on the couple of weeks she had left of summer school at Berkeley when we found out the surgery would be sooner than initially planned. Without Tyler around, I spent the days leading up to my trip in a complete fog. Running in circles. Trying to figure out what the hell I needed to do. Knowing I would be in Nor Cal for a few weeks. Not knowing what I should take. My daughter was the one that was having brain surgery. I was the one that was brain dead.

Somehow I managed to get myself and my bags together - which included an Aero bed that I purchased for a decent discount from a nearby going-out-of-business store so I wouldn't have to spend three weeks on the shitty single-bed fold-up futon I had given my daughter. I said my good-byes to Drama...
...and boarded the Super Shuttle to LAX at 1pm on Monday the 11th. (no, I could not find anyone to drive me to the airport).

It was my first time flying Virgin America - the only airline that seems to be on top of things these days in the realm of boarding early, taking off on time and arriving early. They have brand-spanking new aeroplanes with fancy purple lighting and hi-tech heavy plastic shelled seat backs complete with the latest in-flight entertainment system.


The only bad thing about the flight was that I left my sunglasses on the plane. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Tyler picked me up at SFO - I was happy to see him. It was past 5:30 and I hadn't eaten all day so in the interest of having one last respite from the still-not-real reality of the impending brain surgery, I talked him into taking me to eat at Buckhorns. The last time he and I were in SF at the same time - must have been last year when I was dropping Everybody I Shot Is Dead at the printer's brokers - he picked up these amazing tri-tip sandwiches from a mall and I was, and remain, ga-ga for them. Although this time we were eating in so I ordered the tri-tip plate...

And trust me, it tastes even better than it looks. The eating court at this mall is like nothing I've seen before. All kinds of upscale gourmet-type places I haven't seen in L.A. or anywhere else for that matter. Like this place for all you Gelato lovers out there...

Not my thing but I had to take the photo because I was fascinated with how they groomed their mountains of ice cream, or whatever that stuff is.

We barely finished eating when Jaimie was calling wondering what was taking us so long. I don't think she was so much interested in seeing me as she was in getting Tyler back there to participate in the hair-cutting ceremony. It was actually on doctor's orders that she buzz-cut her hair two days before showing up at the hospital. They say it's important to cut it close but not to nick the skin in fear of apres-surgery infections. Personally I think they asked her to do it to save their shaver person the time it takes to do the whole head.

The cutting party started out by the pool with a few of Jaimie's friends, including a French couple doing an apartment swap who she'd only met two weeks before. One thing about Jaimie...she's good at picking up new friends. We each took turns grabbing a tuft of hair and snipping it about an inch from her scalp. Being the evil mother that I am, I was looking forward to seeing her look less than beautiful with a bad haircut...probably because I am still suffering with the worst-haircut-ever so much so that I've finally given up trying to do anything with it. But, as my luck would have it, she looked freakin' beautiful every step of the way. No matter how bad the haircut got she didn't look one lick less pretty. Fuck. That's. Just. Not. Fair.

After the poolside trim we retired to her apartment where Tyler took the clippers to her head (he was the only person she would let near her with the buzz-buzzy shears)...check this out...

This is a completely unretouched photo I took on my iPhone. I love this picture. It now resides in my all-time Top Ten.

After the joyous festivities Tyler and I gave the girl her space and retired to the near-by Travelodge where we had a room with one bed, which I gave to my son in favor of christening the Aero bed myself.

To be continued in It Is Brain Surgery - Part 2....

Happy Birthday, Dad

I am not quite ready to chronicle the craziness of the past week as I haven't had the time to bring it into any sort of communicable reality. But I will in the coming days.

However, today is my Dad's birthday. I wrote about him last year and it turned out to be one of my favorite posts. Somehow it carries even more meaning for me now so I'm giving it an encore...


Meet my dad. Cecil Chesher. He looks rather presidential, don't you think? And he was a president at least two times that I know of... when I was a baby he was president of the Calgary Stampeders (that's a professional football team in Canada for those of you scratching your heads), and he was president of his own company.

He was born in the very small town of Petrolia, Ontario and was an only child. His parents, George and Arlie, were of modest means. I never met my grandfather but Arlie was a fixture in our house throughout my childhood. She would arrive from Eastern Canada in early October for Christmas and would sometimes stay until Easter. I didn't mind. She made the best homemade bread and cinnamon buns in the Universe. She also taught us to play canasta and told really good stories.

My dad graduated from the University of Toronto with a degree in geological engineering when he was only eighteen. Yes, he was some sort of genius. He also had a knack of knowing where to drill for oil. While working for Shell he found the Jumping Pound Creek wells, which was a pretty big thing at the time (many, many years before I landed on the planet) and has even written up in a book or two. Whoa... I just came across this poster online at the Petroleum History Society that mentions my dad's accomplishments with regards to that find.


Wow, he would have only been in his early twenties when he accomplished that little feat and many years away from even meeting my mother. You can click on the poster if you want read the science-speak that my brain cells can't decipher.

He later started his own oil company and was also on the board of directors of an oil company based in Southern California. Thanks to that, I got my first taste of California as a kid. But you'll read a little more about that in my book so I won't spoil it for you here. My dad was also one of the founders of The Petroleum Club in Calgary. It was an upscale private club aimed at members of the oil community. I remember going there for dinner as a kid - getting all dressed up and feeling like we were dining with the Queen. They always had a jazz band playing and my dad would let me stand on his feet as he glided the two of us around the dance floor.

All the fun and fancy times ended around the time my parents split up when I was twelve. It was a bit messy as these things often are, but I was still able to see my dad on a regular basis and he was always there for me when I needed him. He was the one who taught me that if I wanted something done right I would have to do it myself. It was a great lesson that made me the independent person I am, but on the other hand it became so etched in my being that I am now just learning that it's okay to ask for help.

When I moved to Los Angeles in August of 1975, my dad was still living in Calgary but he also had a house in Palm Desert. I was struggling beyond belief when I first arrived in L.A. Shooting bands wasn't the problem. I just couldn't have a 'real' job here to support my photography while I was getting established because I didn't have a green card. But being instilled with way too much pride, I didn't have it in me to call my dad and ask for his help. He probably wouldn't have helped anyway... he wasn't the type of dad to give hand-outs.

Finally, in late September I somehow got booked to shoot an Australian band, Ayer's Rock, while they were recording at the Record Plant. The shoot would pay me enough money to cover a few bills and cover my gas to Palm Desert so I could visit my dad and pretend I was doing fine. I made arrangements with him to drive over the following weekend. It was perfect timing. His wife was going back to Calgary so we planned to spend the weekend alone, just catching up and reconnecting.

It was early Friday afternoon and I was sitting in the reception area of the Concerts West offices on Sunset Boulevard. I was waiting to see the main guy who I'd been trying to get an appointment with for two months. I had shot lots of shows they had promoted in the Pacific Northwest and I wanted to show them my pictures in hopes of them letting me shoot their shows in L.A. I planned to drive to the desert right after the appointment. I figured if I could bring my dad good news from the meeting and the Ayer's Rock job, he would give me advice on making my photography business work in L.A. Maybe I could even get him to invest. (An investment proposal would at least be a couple of rungs up from asking for a hand-out.)

So, there I sat, eavesdropping on everything the Concerts West receptionist said to the multitude of callers that rang in while I waited to see the big cheese...when suddenly my pager went off. I had a pager because I didn't have a home phone. Actually, I didn't even have a home. I was crashing wherever I could. And of course this was before cell phones were in every hand of the general public. As quickly as I hit the beeper button, my pager would go off again. And again. And again. What the hell... my pager would go days without beeping and suddenly I was the most popular girl on the block.

The receptionist looked at me and asked if I needed to use the phone. I didn't really want to call in for my message before the meeting - I wanted to stay focused - but she looked insistent so I picked up the phone and dialed. I had somewhere around ten messages. For some reason my pager hadn't been beeping all day. Until right before what I thought was the most important meeting of my life. I began listening to the messages. They were all from members of my family. My mother. My brothers. My sisters. Some of them had called more than once. None of them left me a message other than to call them back. There was only one member of my family that hadn't called. My dad.

The girl behind the desk couldn't help but notice the glazed look on my face when I hung up and asked if I could make one more call. I phoned my brother in Calgary and got the news I expected. My dad was dead. About the time I hung up the phone and tried to regain my composure, the big cheese emerged from his office. Both he and the receptionist saw there was something terribly wrong, so I had no choice but to tell them my dad had died. They offered to reschedule the meeting. I said no, I was fine to go ahead with it. In my head I was thinking about how long it had taken me to get the meeting. And my dad had also taught me pragmatism. He would have wanted me to go through with the meeting. What I didn't realize was that it was more uncomfortable for them than it was for me. I should have rescheduled.

Anyway, I ended up going to the desert that weekend but not before I picked up my brother at LAX. My other brother was already there. The three of us spent the weekend talking about our dad. And we had a few ghostly experiences - stories that I'll save for another time.

I guess you're wondering why the hell I'm writing all this personal stuff about my dad. First of all, it was his birthday on Saturday. But mostly, I thought you should get to know him. Because if it weren't for my dad, Everybody I Shot Is Dead would not be coming out this Fall. You see, my dad left a rather unorthodox will. It's a bit complicated and there's no reason to go into detail other than to say that I received my remaining share a couple of years ago. I put it away as the seed money to build my nest egg on, swearing I would never touch it.

I actually had no intention of publishing this book myself, but I reconsidered after I read through my journals and relived the torture of all the meetings I had with the big NY houses before I decided to publish Starart. Then, as I walked by my dad's picture that hangs on the wall between my living and dining rooms, a thought washed over my mind. I should check and see how much this book is going to cost to print, knowing full well that there was no way I could afford to do it...especially the way I wanted it.

Still, I figured there was no harm in checking. Remember what my dad always told me: if you want something done right... So, I went to a bookstore and scoured all the books that lived up to my quality standards. I found a printer and submitted the specs for an estimate. Turns out my dad's money was the exact amount I needed to print the book. What are the chances of that? I took that as a sign. That, and the fact that taking pictures of rock stars was the one thing he knew I was doing. Oh yeah, and he paid for my camera. And now I can't help thinking that's exactly how it was supposed to be. It just seems fitting that my dead father is financing my dead rock star book. Making it possible for me to honor these fine musicians. I just hope he knows I am also honoring him.

Thanks, dad. And Happy (Belated) Birthday.
_________

Hey, I'm not belated this year. Happy Birthday, Dad.

If You're Going To San Francisco...

Well, I am. But I forgot to get the flower for my hair. My clippy will have to suffice.

I haven't had much sleep so I'm a bit wonky at the moment but wanted to write a few words about what's going on. The most important words I have to write are

THANK YOU

to everyone who has stopped by and now have Jaimie in their thoughts and prayers, especially during Wednesday morning PST. She doesn't want me to write a lot of details about what's going on with her but I can say that she's doing her best to stay distracted and I think we're all looking forward to getting the actual surgery over with so we can report the good news that it went perfect.

I am completely taken aback by the outpouring of love and support from friends and strangers alike. Several people have been spreading the word and through the "big brother" aspect of the internet I want you to know that I know who you are :-). At least some of you. So thanks Shawna, Bill, Dave, Cooper, Scott. And a special thanks to all who've sent her an email. She will be reading all of them tomorrow.

And thanks to all the wonderful people who have reached out and were able to purchase books, prints and t-shirts. You have all breathed air into our life raft.

Tonight is the head shaving party. I do have my camera. I don't know if I'll get permission to post anything. Gotta go...my flight is boarding.

Brain Surgery

Two little words. Separately they're pretty harmless. Together they suck big time.

Those of you who know me personally, know that I'm a pretty private person, especially when it comes to my family and friends. And for those of you I've never met, even though I write a blog and dish all kinds of personal stories, I never/rarely write about private issues and what I write on here about people who are still alive and kicking is done with their permission. Sometimes I take the piss out of people on my blog - which is really tricky because what's written tongue-in-cheek often gets misinterpreted and taken at face value. But I trust that my readers (and I thank all who read my writings) are cutting edge enough to get my sense of humor.

Anybody figure out that I'm skirting an issue here? Yup, I am. Dragging it out because it's really hard to write about. Way outside the realm of things I wish to share. Jesus fuck. It's so surreal at this point that I think it's actually a lie. Some kind of cosmic joke. Or something I dreamed - I mean nightmared - that I'm writing as if it's real. Thinking I'll get a call from someone asking me what the fuck I'm going on about. Maybe Mick Jagger will call and say, "It's just your imagination, running away with you." Please, I'll take any one of those scenarios over the one I know to be true.

Okay, Chesher, get on with it.


I have a daughter. Her name is Jaimie. She is an undergraduate student at UC Berkeley. Not only is she beautiful and funny, she is also a straight A student (except a B+ that some ho-bag temp teacher gave her because...well, it doesn't really matter but she deserved an A). Jaimie wasn't happy that her 4.0 got blown out to a 3.95 or whatever it is now. She is hoping to go to Columbia (the university in NY, not the country) for grad school. She reads smart person books and enjoys them. You know the ones. Those books you get assigned in school and choose to read the Cliff notes because you can't get past the verbage. I think they call them The Classics. She's way, way, way smarter than me. She uses her brain. That's why I call her my acadamia nut.

And that's why this is such a hard pill to swallow. Why it makes this the hardest sentence I've ever had to write. Because if I write it, I can't deny it's truth.

My daughter is going to have brain surgery next Wednesday morning.

Just the thought of it makes me feel like I have to puke. Writing it down and reading the words makes the blood in my body surge through my veins at double-speed, while simultaneously draining my body of all life. And then it just makes me cry.

I'll talk more about what's going on with her brain in subsequent posts but for now I'll just say she has acquired hydrocephalus - feel free to click on the link to read more about it.

Right now I need to ask for your help. Since starting Everybody I Shot Is Dead over two years ago, I have invested every penny I've had into the project and borrowed beyond my means to bring it to fruition, leaving myself no cushion in case of emergencies (yes, I'm that stupid). While I'm hoping to break even by the end of the year, at the moment I'm just managing to get by and keep the wolves at bay in these trying economic times. So now I need to raise a bunch of benjamins to pay the over-and-above expenses our insurance won't cover, my travel expenses to NoCal, the three-plus weeks of lost income while I'm up there taking care of my girl during her recovery, etc, etc.

Please understand I'm not looking for any handouts here. That's not how I roll. I'm here to offer you some great deals on my wares. The only favor I'm asking is that if you have any plans to purchase something from me in the future, that you do it now instead of later. If you're going to be looking for a birthday gift for someone who has everything, please consider a print or book or t-shirt. And instead of waiting 'til the last minute to do your Holiday shopping, how about getting it done early, right here, right now. Any little bit will help.

If even you can't buy anything, you can still help us out in other ways. Here's some suggestions:

1. Send your positive thoughts to Jaimie via email - jaimie@cheshercat.com - even if she doesn't know you she'll appreciate hearing from you. She's a crazy-brave girl but she's not without fear. A few kind words will help her get through this ordeal.

2. Say a prayer for her and keep her in your thoughts, especially on Wednesday morning (PST).

3. Email your friends with a link to this post.

And, if you are a blogger, please post a link and encourage your readers to stop by.

Here's a listing of the cool stuff you can get at below wholesale prices:

Original Photographic Prints

I took these photos of the prints today...they do not represent the quality of the prints. To see a more accurate representation of the print quality click here.

George Harrison
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #16/75 Framed (approx 20x25)
$500 including free US shipping
(item ref: harrison123leF)

Harry Nilsson
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #13/75 Framed (approx 20x25)
$400 plus shipping ($25 US)
(item ref: nilsson206leF)

Jerry Garcia/Grateful Dead

16x20 Signed Limited Edition #13/75 Framed (approx 20x25)
$400 plus shipping ($25 US)
(item ref: garcia69leF)

John Bonham/Led Zeppelin
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #12/75 Framed (approx 20x25)
$400 plus shipping ($25 US)
(item ref: bonham171leF)
This is the actual photo seen on the NBC Mo Rocca interview.

Jerry Garcia
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: garcia70oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Papa John Creach
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: creach138oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Papa John Creach
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: creach143oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Dennis Wilson/Beach Boys
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: wilsonD57oeF)
(only one available at this price)
This is the actual photo seen on the NBC Mo Rocca interview.

Frank Zappa
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: zappa49oeF)
(only one available at this price)
This is the actual photo seen on the NBC Mo Rocca interview.

George Harrison
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 17x20)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: harrison123oeF)
(only one available at this price)
This is the actual photo seen on the NBC Mo Rocca interview.

Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: badfinger44oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: badfinger41AoeF)
(only one available at this price)

Tom Evans/Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: evans40BoeF)
(only one available at this price)

Mike Gibbins/Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: bibbins47oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Pete Ham/Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: ham43oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Maureen Starkey and kids at Friar Park

11x14 Signed Open Edition Framed (approx 16x18)
$175 plus shipping ($15 US)
(item ref: starkey4oeF)
(only one available at this price)

Ringo Starr
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #14/75 Unframed
$275 plus shipping ($7 US)
(item ref: starr#14le)

Frank Zappa
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #16/75 Unframed
$275 plus shipping ($7 US)
(item ref: zappa49#16le)

George Harrison
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #17/75 Unframed
$300 including free US shipping
(item ref: harrison121#17le)

George Harrison
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #18/75 Unframed
$300 including free US shipping
(item ref: harrison121#18le)

George Harrison
16x20 Signed Limited Edition #17/75 Unframed
$300 including free US shipping
(item ref: harrison123#17le)

Ringo Starr
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: ringo-oe)
(only one available at this price)

Terry Kath/Chicago
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: kath99oe)
(only one available at this price)

Badfinger
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: badfinger44oe)
(only one available at this price)

Paul Butterfield
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: butterfield29oe)
(two available at this price)

Frank Zappa
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: zappa49oe)
(two available at this price)

Maurice Gibb/Bee Gees
11x14 Signed Open Edition Unframed
$75 plus shipping ($6 US)
(item ref: gibb107oe)
(one available at this price)

These prints are not currently available on my website. If you are interested in ordering one or more of the above prints, please email info@cheshercat.com with questions and fro purchasing instructions. International orders are welcome on the unframed prints - shipping will be quoted on request. The above prints are available on a first-come first-served basis.

If you miss out on your favorite 11x14 open edition print above or you don't see the musician you want to hang on your wall, you won't be left out. All 11x14 prints of any Everybody I Shot Is Dead photograph shown here will be available for $95 plus shipping through the end of August. Email info@cheshercat.com to order now. I will try and have ordering of these directly through my website soon.

Other items you can order directly on my website:

Everybody I Shot Is Dead T-shirts starting at $15

George Harrison 11x17 Lithograph - Only $15

Everybody I Shot Is Dead signed book $40

Everybody I Shot Is Dead signed book $25 (recovered)

Thank you very much for your support and positive thoughts.

More Mo and Me

For those of you outside of SoCal, here's my interview that aired on NBC on Saturday. Since I haven't watched it - I love doing interviews, I don't love seeing myself having done them - I'm counting on you to give me some feedback.



I've received a bunch of emails about it. One person liked the bar they put over Maurice Gibb's engorged private part. Someone else liked that I stripped Mo half-naked. Hey, people, what's with all the positive feedback on the sexual content? That's almost enough to make me watch it! Another person felt I may have over-sanctified Frank Zappa - is that even possible?

Someone even said, "What a lovely, perfect interview!!!" BUT, then there was Cucumber Rob...he wrote:
"its OK - maybe thats where you should be pitching your John Bonham type cuts . .
r
ps dunno who watches these sort of things ?" (Please feel free to answer that question for the poor Brit)

With friends like that... Anyway, I'd love to hear your comments and feel free to have some fun with it.

Is there anywhere in the interview where you see me taking pictures? Yes, I was shooting them while they were shooting me. Here's a few of the shots I shot.





I had a blast doing this interview. Mo was really well prepared - he asked great questions because he actually read my book (notice the multitudes of post-its and what you probably don't see in the interviews is his legal pad with pages of notes and questions). So, thank you Mo - not only are you loads of fun, you are a consummate professional. And you let me take your shirt off. Also, thanks to producer Lisa Lucas for all you did and do. And the crew who were also great. And to my friend and brilliant photographer Randee St. Nicholas for letting me use her gorgeous studio. And last but nowhere near least, Harlan Boll for getting me booked on First Look LA. Oh, and to all the readers who take time out of there day to stop by and read my drivel. I truly appreciate each and everyone of you.

Sheesh, I sound like I just got an Oscar® (good practice for '10 or '11, depending on post). Cue the music...I'm done.

5 Minutes with Mo Rocca

The interview I taped with Mo Rocca a couple of months ago is airing tomorrow - Saturday Aug 2 - on NBC (Los Angeles, Ch. 4) at 7:30pm. The show is called First Look LA. I had a blast doing this interview. I hope that comes across in the edited version.

If you're not in the Los Angeles area, don't worry, it will be coming soon to an internet near you. When I know when and where I'll post the link.

In celebration of this feel good event, I've put up some special deals on the WEBSITE...such as a limited number of signed books for $35 off the $60 cover price (that's $25 for those of you who suck at math) and a gorgeous George Harrison lithograph for the crazy low introductory price of $15.

Now, go set your Tivo.