Retailers love three-day weekends. And
remembering is easier than decorating. That's why we have Memorial
Day. When there was Decoration Day, every May 30th people
would make time no matter what day of the week it was to decorate the
graves of fallen soldiers. The holiday was initiated about a century
and a half ago by northerners and freedmen to commemorate the Union
dead fallen in the war against slavery. There are people,
credentialed and tenured, who will tell you the Civil War wasn't
about freeing the slaves. These people are full of shit. That's
exactly what is was about.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Mouth of the Root
Tell you
what pal you get up at 4:30 a.m. in the morning go to the airport fly to O’Hare
catch a shuttle to Racine Wisconsin and have a buffet lunch at the Iron Skillet
and a meeting about tractor videos at a little table in the hotel lobby then
take a walk around an American city where your close study of the signs along
Main Street suggests that the remaining citizens support themselves entirely by
selling each other tattoos and soy dirty chais you try that just once yourself
pal then come back here and complain about late rants.
Monday, May 13, 2013
A way to feel useful.
I'm very fond of amphibians. Frogs,
toads, salamanders, newts, efts. They're a charming evolutionary dead
end. I almost forgot caecilians, an “order of limbless vertebrates
with rudimentary eyes, whose vision is limited to dark-light
perception and whose anatomy is highly adapted for a burrowing
lifestyle.” Lifestyle. Like condo living? Anyway, what I'm trying
to say is that amphibian populations are dropping precipitously
worldwide and they eat mosquitoes, so an itchy mosquito bite can
serve the valuable secondary function of feeding not only the
offending insect but also maybe a fat toad, giving meaning and
purpose to your blood sacrifice.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Mongolian Gerbils
Our perception of pitch and harmony is
dictated by the geometry of our cochlea, the little spiral that does
our hearing for us. That's why some musical ideas remain, even after
decades, as popular as a cuisine based on steel wool and chlorine. As
if a seamstress, tiring of shirts, skirts, pants, had invented a new
garment for a body part that simply did not exist. Doesn't the term
avant-garde imply that somebody is being led somewhere? It seems if
you claim to be a leader you'd occasionally look over your shoulder
to see if there was anybody back there.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Must I explain everything?
Recently I made reference to the “Wild
Bull of the Pampas” and was shocked to meet with glassy-eyed stares
of total incomprehension from a small group of otherwise intelligent
and well-educated individuals who had no idea I was referring to Luis
Firpo, the guy in the purple trunks knocking Jack Dempsey out of the
ring and into the laps of a bunch of reporters in a pretty dang
famous painting by George Bellows famous himself as a member of the
Ashcan School and though the art of conversation may not be dead pal
it is certainly circling the drain.
Monday, April 22, 2013
My pot boileth over.
It is unlikely you would ever happen to read “The Valiants of Virginia” by Hallie Ermine Rives, although in 1913 it was a bestseller. Here's how it begins:
“'Failed!' ejaculated John Valiant blankly, and the hat he held dropped to the claret-colored rug like a huge white splotch of sudden fright. 'The Corporation – failed!'”
Seriously. And the hilarity continues. So here's a note to anyone who thinks writing is getting worse: Literature is like houses. It might seem they built them better 100 years ago. But, see, after a century only the best ones are still standing.
“'Failed!' ejaculated John Valiant blankly, and the hat he held dropped to the claret-colored rug like a huge white splotch of sudden fright. 'The Corporation – failed!'”
Seriously. And the hilarity continues. So here's a note to anyone who thinks writing is getting worse: Literature is like houses. It might seem they built them better 100 years ago. But, see, after a century only the best ones are still standing.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Skepticism is to cynicism as doubt is to...?
Truth is to fact as faith is to knowledge as hope is to optimism. You can know a fact; you can only glimpse a truth. A fact is like a stick of lumber. Complete, nailed down, utilitarian. You can turn it over and pass it around and examine it from every angle. But a truth is alive, a cool toad between cupped palms. You just barely get to peek at it through a gap between your fingers. Open too wide and it’s gone. Squeeze too tight and you kill it. And it will more than likely pee in your hand.
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