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A couple months back, I lit upon the idea of a web show called "I Am Haji Haji," which would center on a kid of exactly that name. Haji's been a player in the STL United FC youth team for the past couple years and he's really blossomed as a person during that time. He's a Somali immigrant with a certain spark for life, so it's been amazing watching him become more Americanized, while serving as an intermediary between his parents and the world around them; oftentimes, he's the one doing the translation in family business situations, heady stuff for an 11-year-old. So he's the one doing a little of everything: he can help deal with a power company rep, or he can call for pizza. In some ways, as a mentor of Haji sometimes mentions, he's becoming a man of the house.

Well, the show, truly unfortunately, didn't get off the ground, because just as we were going to start to filming the three-minute weekly segments, the Haji family decided to move to Lewiston, Maine, joining relatives there. If that seems a particularly strange place for Somali immigrants to resettle, well, it is and it is not. In fact, thousands of Somalis/Bantus now call Lewiston home, and the Haji family will raise that number by just shy of 10.

Figuring, now, that we had only a week to catch Haji in his element, we decided to start taping him last week, catching his last seven days in St. Louis. Brian Spath and I recorded him playing soccer and hanging around the flea market where he works in North City, just across the road from the Welcome to Wellston sign. We followed him to the off-license neighborhood snack shop, and caught him at home during a family celebration, which had him dancing with nearly two-dozen other Somali children under the age of 12. (If you've never seen 20-plus Somali kids dancing their hearts out to hip-hop radio, I'd advise you find the opportunity! Whoa.)

The most dramatic moment, though, came when we were standing with his parents in the gangway between two of the multi-family units in their apartment complex. Shots were heard in the distance, then steadily grew closer. Bullets began whistling, cars flew down the street and collided and were abandoned, bodies ran in every direction, police were called... all the usual stuff. As it turns, thanks to a police report I secured from a friend, the house next door was hit multiple times, with a family of three, including a baby, only four-feet away from one bullet's path through their living room and into a wall. Unreal.

While we post that video below, it's not the way I'll remember Haji. The kid's got life, spunk, moxie, whatever phrase you wish to use. We'll occasionaly share some of that footage, while trying to piece together the larger story. If luck runs our way, Haji will back next summer; he wants to play soccer here and would stay with an aunt. If that happens, we'll have an opportunity to run through some of our "I Am Haji Haji" ideas. For a kid who's never ever been to the movies, we hope to let him: cook goat in an organic kitchen; build something at the City Museum; shot hoops with Billiken center Willie Reed; go foxhunting; and generally engage in merrymaking, allowing all of us a chance to watch life as an 11-year-old Somali kid in North City might see it.

It's not "goodbye," we hope to tell Haji.

Instead: "see you soon, little man!"

Returned, an hour-or-so back, from a show at the City Art Supply. What a wonderful evening for an open-door gig, with three local artists teaming with two Portland-based performers to create quite a magical night of music (and video) on Cherokee. For a time, I sat on the stoop of a neighboring house, sipping at a donated can of PBR and listening to a gorgeous drone-scape from guitarist/sound manipulator .e and I was as deliriously spaced-out as you can be.

In the past couple years, I've run into a few nights like this at City Art, evenings when I didn't necessarily know the musicians, but wound up a serious fan of one, or more. Already, I'm on the second listen of a CD that I picked up tonight, Shelley Short's "Captain Wildhorse (Rides the Heart of Tomorrow)." Great voice, interesting sonics... maybe a slightly-less-oddball version of St. Vincent? That's what striking me as an apt comparison at a late hour. At any rate, t's an awesome disc and it wouldn't be in collection tonight if I hadn't taken the three-minute bike ride to C.A.S.

While tonight had certain, lovely qualities, more often I would up at City Art Supply on Saturday afternoons, maybe after running to Soulard Market or before striking some errands off the to-do list. I'd stop anytime that I'd see Dana Smith in the shop, usually finding him painting in the front window, with natural light streaming in on him and on his latest work. It was fun to sit around and kibitz about the local art scene, music scene, freak scene. Once in a while, I'd even buy something, figuring, hell, it was a place of commerce, not just a conversation salon.

City Art's been a valued piece of the "new" Cherokee Street. And a great resource for tips on new artists, of all stripes. If tonight was my last chance to sample the particular energy of this space, I'll miss it, for sure. But anytime Shelley Short's on my stereo, I'll look back on fondly, with thanks and hosannas going out to Dana.

Damn you for being so cool, you funky little shop.

A wise man recently told me to "increase (my) online audience." I take these words seriously. So, a new, li'l attempt at a mini-feature, Five for Friday.

1. You have never gardened before. You have a space that's in need of some natural beautification. Your efforts become so lauded that that the New York Times writes a feature about you (and your gardens) on the cover of its Home section. And you share the learning curve with the world via a blog. You are Kristin Tobiasson. It's all at: 66squarefeet.

2. Jim Jarmusch has been a hero for some time and "Mystery Train," though seen only once, would crack my top 10 list any day, as would "Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai," again a single-view revealation. So it was a joy to finally pick up the man's first feature, "Permanent Vacation," since repackaged as part of the "Strangers in Paradise" DVD treatment from Criterion; as well as a solo release. Not exactly a must-see for non-fans, the film does linger in the margins of NYC street culture in the late '70s, capturing well the grit and grime seen in similar films, such as "Downtown 81"; the teen lead's beat musings also have a few great moments, though tedious ones are more common. A fun time capsule, if ultimately unsatisfying.

3. JJ's Sport's Tap is a bar in Lemay, with shabby signage and an unopen vibe even on a night when the subterranean club is very much in operation. (If "very much" means four people, inc. the bartender, playing a combination of pool and darts.) But you wouldn't guess there's a functioning bar from the street, unless you drove into the parking lot and looked down a window well, where a unexpectedly large tavern and game room exists in the operational part of a multi-story house on Bayless. Odd joint: only eight glasses for drinks on the backbar (seriously, eight!); UFC on the TV; the radio tuned to the Arch; and a uber-tan bartender that just. Can't. Stop. Talking. All in all, a funky little diversion. Not a place to hang every weekend, but a spot to take friends jaded by every other, already-corrupted-by-hipsters corner tavern on the grid. Remember, just head around the back, and down the steps. Don't forget to ask about the ghosts.

4. Three steps within the doorway of the University City Goodwill store: "Good morning, welcome to Goodwill!" Another step: "Welcome to Goodwill!" And then a few more: "Thanks for shopping at Goodwill!" My goodness, the store's name doesn't disappoint. And neither does the price tag of four shirts for $10.35. "Thanks, Goodwill!"

5. Wasn't around for Kennedy assassinations and I also missed the streetcars getting rocked in Gaslight Square, after the 1964 World Series. I'm old, but not that old. But I do remember walking home from school in eighth grade on the day that Ronald Reagan was shot, hearing the news near the intersection of McKean and Arkansas; and I can specifically recall being in a bar called Frank's, on MLK Boulevard, the first time I heard Nelly's "Country Grammar." Feels like yesterday, but it wasn't. In fact, whole generations of Metropolis folk have come and gone since The Walk hit Frank's oh-so-long-ago, on a night when "Country Grammar" lodged in my head for the rest of that summer. But on Thursday, August 20, the MLK Walk is coming back and there's some hope that Zack's Lounge lives up to its legendary billing, and that some Metropolis old heads can find sitters for the evening. Wouldn't miss this one. Nope. No way.

Friday, August 7: A very special edition of the Silver Tray @ 12 noon. This will be the 52nd edition of the show, denoting all kinds of symbolic meaning. Planning all of this and more: a nod to the Breeders, who'll be in town tomorrow night; and various tracks from Leadville, Camper van Beethoven, A Shoreline Dream, Viva Voce, the Dukes of Stratophear and, yes, Nazareth. World radio premiere of music by Wag, as well. So exciting, particularly if a possible drop-in guest comes through. (Fingers, crossing; wood, being knocked upon.)

Tuesday, August 11: Filling in for Sam Thompson on the venerable Green Eggs and Sam radio program, from 10 a.m.-noon. Planning on some: more Camper Van (just bought the greatest hits, doncha know?), Jayhawks, No River City and much, much more.

Drinks, Nature Factor Organic Young Coconut Water: Bought this on a whim at the local organic grocery and regretted it from the first taste. Not since attempting to consume a can of bird's nest drink a few years back have I encountered such an awful product. Despicable. Foul. Warn all those around you.

Film, The Wrestler: Most realistic minor-league wrestling scenes ever committed to film. Most realistic strip club scenes ever committed to film. Thus... possibly the greatest movie ever.

Plants, basil: Easy to grow, easy to use. What's not to like? A new friend, indeed.

Success, KDHX pledge drive: Thanks to the folks who contributed some coins to the recent summer pledge driver at KDHX, during the Silver Tray timeslot. Much appreciated.

Save the date, Friday, Nov. 20: The St. Louis International Film Festival will be running through that weekend and Friday night has some good programming. Guaranteed. Keep it open.

Choices, TV shows: If you were to get sucked into a new (to you) television program via Netflix, would be Weeds, The Sopranos or (fill in the blank)? Tempted to try something new, but not sure of the direction to take/amount of hours emotionally prepared to lose.

Tuesdays, Horse Hooky at Fairmount: In past years, I might've visited the track once a year, or once every couple. This season, sensing that the track might be closing for good in the near future, I've been ramping up my attendance, catching about five afternoons of racing at the down-at-the-heels raceway. Enjoyed a piece in the Post just today, detailing the fortunes and future of the track. Will lose my customary $10-20 tomorrow, in hopes of securing a safe future for the horse people of Sou'western Illinois. (I'd link, but it'd die in a week, so...)

Bands, Echo & the Bunnymen: For whatever reason, this flag-bearer of new wave never caught my ear like their contemporaries of The Cure, New Order, etc. But having just checked out the four-disc compilation "Crystal Days" at the St. Louis Public Library's Buder Branch, I'm enjoying the cuts anew, remembering that songs such as "Lips Like Sugar" stand the test of time. Plan of dipping into this one for the next few weeks. Any gems in their catalog for you?

Music blogs, 33 1/3: More than just a space to discuss their book series, the 33 1/3 blog has a variety of quality posts dedicated to musicians past and present, written in the same smart style that defines their series of books. Quality stuff.

Zine sale, Big Takeover: We end this trio of pop music items by noting that Big Takeover back issues are for sale, including an entire set discount at a mere $135. I'm about to raid the piggybank to make this happen. What a great way to have two-decades of in-the-moment music reportage at the fingertips. Yes.

Lifestyle choices, HomeGrown Revolution: Attempting to fix every meal for a month, I'm intrigued by the growing practices of the Dervaes family in Pasadena, CA. They're the subjects of the Robert McFalls documentary "Homegrown" and have produced works under a similar name, HomeGrown Revolution. Check out their YouTube page for a variety of pieces that they've created or been featured in; afterwards, see if you don't want to run out to plant a crop.

Trailer, "New Orleans Mon Amour": Have been waiting a couple minutes shy of forever to see this film by Michael Almereyda.

New site, thomascrone.com: Coming soon.

Seriously, why didn't anyone tell me of this film?

Warning: hours of YouTube hits await you.

Why is this thing such a millstone? Foolishness. Anyway, month's only half-over, so... let's get to it.

Film I, "Control": Let's see. I love Joy Division. I love films about bands. And ones that are shot in black-and-white. Simple things to make me happy, really. So it took two years to finally order this up? Makes perfect sense! Not to say this is an enjoyable film, per se, but what a gorgeously-shot piece of work, with concert footage that's more realistic than almost any other film of this type. You know the ending, but it's a fascinating view to get to that sad place.

Film II, Pulp Fiction: Waited even a few more years on this, oh, a decade-and-a-half. And if it hadn't been on every list of must-see films, I'd have passed for good and would've been so much happier. What junk. Well-framed junk, but junk.

Magazines, Raygun: With '90s music undergoing the resurgence that it's enjoying, there's gotta be a run on old Raygun's, right? To think I sold off a goodly stack of my collection on eBay some years back. Thankfully, many didn't sell and it's fun to sift through them, remembering the glory days of Belly, Buffalo Tom and the Butthole Surfers.

Energy drink, Rockstar: Back on it. Scheduling rehab soon. But it's just so, so delicious. Don't disagree, as I'm not listening.

Snack, Reese's Pieces: Speaking of delicious, wish these things didn't exist. Rrr.

Summer project, weeding: Does it ever stop? Gardeners? A zen approach to this madness?

Bans, cable TV: Earlier today, I happened across the story of Jon Gosselin, a reality show star who is now dating the daughter of his ex's plastic surgeon, or some such. And he's pal-ling around with the designer of those horrible Ed Hardy clothes. Somehow, I had no real idea of who this guy was. Oh, I suppose I'd heard of "Jon and Kate Plus 8," but I couldn't have ID'ed the stars. And having become far too familiar with the Daisy's, New York's and various crab boat captains of the Arctic Sea in recent years, that's a very good feeling, indeed.

Shoes, Pumas: Desirious. Very desirous. Would like to learn that Puma is a bad, bad company, so that I wouldn't continue desiring their product. Can someone help me? Or should I just start reading a couple issues of Adbusters to kill the buzz?

Dive bars I, Perigen's: The finest little bar in Madison, IL. Strange things happen here. Hard to exactly articulate the vibe of this place, but it's low-brow, just a touch seedy (in that good way) and isn't, yet, populated by the type of jackasses that haunt South Grand, which allows for the wonderful option of traveling in without expectations. Bud Light Limes are $1 (some nights $1.25) and there's still a stash of Zima Citrus in the cooler. Just ask and get your citrus/alcohol fix covered. And save an extra tip buck for Dina, the world's smallest and friendliest bartender.

Dive bars II, Frank's First Alarm: The flipside of the above. Showing the value of a good bartender, Frank's recently lost its star mixologist to the dual threats of pregnancy and Columbia, MO. Alas. The nothings behind-the-bar now are disaffected, at best, and the crowd's always had that sorta loose-cannon vibe. Springer producers would be well-served just raiding this corner joint every few weeks for storylines, which was always a mild part of the appeal of this spot, though without the sugar, it's all vinegar these days. Still, if I wanna see a fight break out on a random Tuesday night, it's nice to have options.

Book, "The Blind Side": Michael Lewis is awesome. What a writer! And what a rich subject for a book: the recruitment of Michael Oher, an out-of-nowhere high student student who'd cause a tremor through the collegiate football landscape. Endowed with size, strength and a storyline that's more cinematic than most people's lives, Oher's story is told with incredible skill by Lewis, who weaves in the social history of the South, the changes in offensive philosophy in the modern NFL and multiple, other storylines that wouldn't seem to fit together at first (or second) blush. The read of the summer, so far.

Trip, Downtown St. Louis: At some point in the next week, I need to make my way down to City Garden, to enjoy the new, raved-about project. Waiting for two things: these All-Star visitors to disappear; and the opening of Terrace View, a restaurant that sounds like it'll bring an indie feel to a section of town needing some original, flavorful, organic spots to dine. Wish it were next week, already. Time machine, hook me up.

Awkward, DJing at Halo: Mind you, would love to DJ more at the Halo. No problem there. But last night, a two-time former student and a current student wandered in, after seeing my name on the club's sandwich board. Knew this type of thing would happen eventually. Gotta lot of weird, divergent interests, jobs and activities, but... funniness is buying a round for cats who are certainly listening to the set with a little bit of added curiosity. Weird. Amusing. Mostly weird.

"What Micky Ward and Arturo Gatti share together, only they know, only they can share it." - Jim Lampley

Epic.

You'll find this video as riveting as I do, I'm certain.

Let's recap:

Thursday, June 25: Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis, 6 - 8:03 p.m.
Friday, June 26: The Royale, 10 p.m. - 1:21 a.m.
Sunday, July 12: The Halo Bar, 10 p.m. - 2:48 a.m.

Would be lovely to see you soon.

Whoa. So what've you read off this here list?

"King of the Ring: The Harley Race Story," by Harley Race and Gerry Tritz (compliments of the inimitable Wayne St. Wayne)

"It's Not News, It's Fark: How Mass Media Tries to Pass Off Crap as News" by Drew Curtis (compliments of incomparable Rich Quinn)

"Fool for Life" by Wm. Stage (compliments of the esoteric author, himself)

"Globalization: Tame It or Scrap It?" by Greg Buckman
"Lost Highway: Journeys and Arrivals of American Musicians," by Peter Guralnick
"O.K. You Mugs: Writers on Movie Actors," edited by Luc Sante
and "This is Our Music: Free Jazz, The Sixties and American Culture" by Iain Anderson (all compliments of the free-to-be-me Webster Emerson Library)

"Spent: End Exhaustion and Feel Great Again," by Frank Lipman, M.D. (compliments of Border's and their continual sales pitches to my e-mail box)

Plus about 35 unread magazines, of varying titles.

See you in August.

Walked into The Wedge last night, about 9:29, just in time for my 9:30 record spin. The first thing striking me was that the bartenders were new. They were... how do I put this?... not necessarily cut from the same cloth as previous Wedge bartenders. And then it struck me that the entire DJ booth had been removed from the venue, replaced by a utilitarian, six-foot folding table. This should've been the first thing to strike me, since the booth had been located just inside the first-floor doors and was arguably the coolest element of the bar. But, no, the bartenders caught my eye first. How sadly predictable.

Anyway, a manager informed me that the venue had gone through a second round of changes since opening night, with some ownership swapping involved. Now, a fellow from D.B.'s is on the ownership end and the bartenders followed from that edge-of-Soulard location. And if you've been to D.B.'s you know the "type" of bartender referred to here. (Though, for accuracy, The Wedge's versions were far more clothed.) The DJ rotation had now been changed, too, with more of a tab-and-dinner approach to payment, which I can understand for a venue facing some revenue issues. My contact was nice about it, but some gigs you do for fun, some for money.

After a second's thought, I grabbed my Domino's bag of CDs and headed back to the car, thinking about a stop at Fred's Six Foot Under, but too mystified to walk down the steps. A premonition had come true. See, what had struck me is that when walking up to the venue, I knew (just knew) that something was going to be off for the evening. In fact, I'd had that thought all afternoon and sure enough... poof. A gig gone. Such is life.

Alas. I wish the good folks remaining at The Wedge a successful run. And I look forward to visiting in a month, or two, for what'll surely be a very different room, with bartenders' necklines dipping and hemlines rising. That's just a guess, but I'll lay a dollar on the outcome.

Greetings to curious readers of MayorSlay.com who may've been induced to visit here thanks to my somewhat bemusing addition on this week's Mini-Poll.

To prove that I deserve to program your three-hour roundtrip, I can offer these qualifications: I am presently spinning music on St. Louis' commnity radio station, KDHX, with my show Silver Tray; I'm also spinning records tonight at The Wedge, from 9:30 - 1:20; and I'm going to post up an actual three-hour playlist here, when not quite as pressed for time as I am at this second.

Nonetheless, I think I've satisfied Mayor Slay's incentives in (ahem...) "his" inclusion of me in the Mini-Poll, as I've now Tweeted, Facebooked, personal blogged and radio mentioned this competitive situation.

S-U-C-K-E-R. I'm a sucker.

But I can't lose to Kevin Johnson, I'm sorry...