Category: Life

James Lileks, in his column in the Star Tribune, muses on a modern art exhibit:

Headline in last week’s paper: “Walker’s attendance falls by 30%; Official blames 9/11 for decline in tourism.”

I have a theory, and I’ll admit it might be controversial: It’s possible that no one wanted to see the exhibits.”

and offers his grand unified theory:

Well, you say, you just don’t like modern art. Not true. I hate modern art. No, that’s not right, either. I may be a philistine, but I am a learned one. I have a complex and nuanced response to modern art, be it the rigors of De Stijl, the furious assertions of Abstract Expressionism, the romantic angularity of Lionel Feininger, the anguished gashes of Clifford Still, the whimsical recontextualizations of Lichtenstein and other Pop Art painters; I understand the challenges that Action Painting made to the outmoded bourgeoise notions nurtured in the dusty attics of the beaux-arts mind-set, and I appreciate the connection between surrealism and post World War I disenchantment with rationality, why Dali was a bit of a poser, why Klee makes us nervous, why Bacon horrifies, and Beckmann can best be understood in the climate of Weimar. All this I know. And my opinion is simple: Eh. If it’s not ugly, it’s banal. If it’s not banal, it’s pretentious. If it’s not either, it’s pointless. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s great. (Like Feininger.) But in general:

Eh.

If you’re not cyber-stalking Lileks’ writings and reading the Back Fence (his column in the Star Tribune and his weekly Newhouse News syndicated column, you’re pathetic. I mean, you’re missing out on quality writing. I didn’t say pathetic.

Here’s an organization worth investigating: The Dollywood (yes, Dolly Parton) Foundation’s Imagination Library.

From the “About Us” page:

This program is one of the most important ways I know to improve the educational opportunities for children in your community.

When I was growing up in the hills of East Tennessee, I knew my dreams would come true. I know there are children in your community with their own dreams. They dream of becoming a doctor or an inventor or a minister. Who knows, maybe there is a little girl whose dream is to be a writer and singer.

The seeds of these dreams are often found in books and the seeds you help plant in your community can grow across the world.

I hope you’ll agree to become a champion of the Imagination Library in your community. You will be amazed at the impact this simple gift can have on the lives of children and their families. We have seen it work in our own backyard and I’m certain it can do the same in your community, too.

Here’s what the organization does:

Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library is all about inspiration and imagination. It was developed in 1995 by Dolly for her hometown of Sevier County, Tennessee. Dolly wanted every preschool child to have their own library of books. The effort received numerous awards and extraordinary media attention which generated interest from across the country. After much thought, Dolly decided to offer her Imagination Library for replication in any community that would support it.

Each month, from the day the child is born until his/her 5th birthday, a carefully selected book arrives at the mailbox. Kids across the country have shared the excitement of running to the mailbox to retrieve their book. More often than not, the child wants the book read to them now – not later, not tonight and not tomorrow. Right now!

As an attempted author, I can think of no better goal than to increase future readers. For the children!

The Professor, who like me has an intelligent and attractive wife, links to The Feathered-Back Hair Site.

Why do men like us him linger over sites like this?

My sophomore year in high school, I took a class in Creative Writing with Ms. Williams. It was Mrs. Williams, actually, much to the dismay of fantastic fifteen year-old boys. But I remember the class vividly. For an early exercise in creative writing, the delightful blonde nymph respected shaper of young minds, divided the class into groups. The assignment: to write a page of a short story. When the groups finished their segments, we passed the story to the group on our right, who would add a segment to the story, and so on, until each group had a turn with the story. Here, Tyrone Jackson was born.

Ah, Tyrone Jackson. The middle-aged rabbi from Thailand. Dan, Troy, Jim, and I concocted this character from the fevered imaginations of our adolescence, somewhere amid the giggling (which we would have called chuckling, but our voices were still changing, so it was probably giggling). We injected Jackson into every story passed to us. He suffered a number of untimely deaths and dismemberments once the group to our right determined what we were doing. At the end of the exercise, the groups had to rewrite their original stories using elements from the other groups’ contributions. So our group, ignoring the ignoble assaults on our hero, rewrote the story. Or Dan, Troy, and Jim did; I abstained, as they were not doing our hero justice. Although we got a passing grade turned on whatever they turned in, I was not satisfied. I had greater dreams for Jackson. Thus begat The Further Adventures of Tyrone Jackson.

My first book, hem, was a collection of short stories that chronicled how Tyrone Jackson would have infected all other stories and myths before him. However, each hero must have his arch-enemy, and Jackson discovered his when he met the leader of the Venusian invasion in the undersea base wherein the Venusians were keeping Jackson’s pet bunny Manerd.

“Lyndon LaRouche? You’re the dude from those dippy TV specials!”

Lyndon LaRouche became Tyrone Jackson’s archenemy. When Jackson consulted with his guru on Mount Everest, it was LaRouche sending the Soviet Spetsnaz after him….or James Bond….or maybe MacGyver, who happened to be mountain climbing at the time. When Tyrone Jackson stole Doctor Who’s Tardis, he uncovered Lin Don La Ru was the mortal enemy of Tai Ron Ja Sing in feudal Japan. LaRouche was the all-powerful Denfather in the alternate earth where the Cub Scouts had taken over. Like some archetype or eternal conflict, wherever Jackson encountered his match, it was LaRouche. Jackson always won, though, but LaRouche got away to fight another day… or in another time….

So when I went into the local polling place tonight, the collection of aged election judges asked me whether I what ballot I wanted. “Democrat,” I said. When I was alone in my voting stall and confronted with my allotment of possible choices, I voted for Lyndon LaRouche.

I admit, I have heard his commercials on KMOX radio comparing Ashcroft to Hitler. I have not seen any of his television specials, either, whether sixteen years ago or last week. But I voted for him anyway. Not because he’s got a chance of winning, and not because I think Joe has a chance of beating el Johnissimo. But for old times’ sake.

LaRouche has been a punchline of mine for almost twenty years. Who knows if I’d ever get a chance to vote for him again?

Somewhere, amid the hundreds of lost loose-leaf pages of Tyrone Jackson’s further adventures, undoubtedly Jackson is cursing the the villian’s luck once again. And tomorrow, when I review the election results, I shall recognize my vote among LaRouche’s handful.

Although I went into the polling place with every intention to vote for LaRouche, it rankled. I was throwing away the right I had to determine the fate of the nation, or perhaps the direction of the nation, to a joke, a private joke that only me or Jim or Mike (the only possible owner for an extant remaining copy of The Further Adventures of Tyrone Jackson) would get, and I don’t even talk to them any more.

Around the world, people don’t have the opportunity to select their own leaders. Selected not elected, RIH you gamers. Here, when presented with my duty to myself and my countrymen, I made a selection almost arbitrarily.

Yet, were I to vote my conscience in this Democrat primary, it wouldn’t have mattered. Joe Liberalman might have been the best of a bad lot, although I have to admit I have no idea who Fern Penna is or what Fern Penna might do for our country. I only had the ballot because Missouri’s an open primary. I’m voting Bush in the November election regardless. ‘Nuff said.

I also voted a hearty, hi-ho, heck no, to the Metropolitan Sewer District’s bid to float a bond issue or raise taxes, or whatever MSD might have meant with this glurge:

To comply with federal and state clean water requirements, shall The Metropolitan St. Louis Sewer District (MSD) issue its sewer system revenue bonds in the amount of Five Hundred Million Dollars ($500,000,000) for the purpose of constructing, improving, renovating, repairing, replacing and equipping new and existing MSD sewer facilities and system, including acquisition of easements and real property related thereto, the cost of operation and maintenance of said sewer system and the principal of and interest on said revenue bonds to be payable solely from the revenues derived by MSD from the operation of its sewer system, including all future extensions and improvements thereto?

Hell, no. Because when the costs are overrun and the revenue projections fall short, or if you’re too busy lining the pockets (and maybe a couple of purses and handy bags to carry the ph4t l00t), guess what? Time for another big IOU or rate increase.

If you cannot deal with it from the revenues already derived hereto from the operation of the sewer system, don’t do it. Sewer system! Pah! We drink bottled water, wine, and beer here at Honormoor and we wash our dishes in Listerine. A pox on ye all!

On the other hand, congratulations to MSD for being corruption free for 128 days now. Nothing that half a billion dollars wouldn’t cure.

(Funny how tax/rate increases/bond issues end up on the ballot for elections with light turnout, ainna?)

All-Clad is not sky clad.

Whew. For a moment, I thought Amazon was advertising to cash in on the single-breast exposure thing.

MSN’s Dating and Personals site has a story entitled “7 ways to keep him interested“.

Your womenly-affectation advisors are coming up with lists of seven ways to keep us interested? You could narrow it down to one, baby, in most cases.

And if you feel the need to go for extra credit, freshly-baked pastries for number two.

As someone from CDC.gov searched this blog yesterday for site:blogspot.com "colleen shannon" (and hit the cache, too), I can only assume that Colleen Shannon, the fiftieth anniversary Playboy playmate, is at the heart of a national health epidemic.

As a public service, I shall issue the first warning:

Caution:
Colleen Shannon is suspected of causing blindness in young men.

Thank you, that is all.

Speaking of sports fandom as a hobby, even those from the vaunted Charlotte area cannot understand true passion.

I have a niece named Starr. Two Rs. Not misspelled.

Memorandum to a neighbor:

Dear sir, and undoubtedly you are a sir and not a ma’am, I understand that the weather was nice in Casinoport, Missouri today, with a temperature reaching seventy-one degrees FARENHEIT, but what on earth prompted you to go to your shed or garage, get out, and start your lawn mower on the second of January?

Pray tell, how much shorter did you want your brown lawn to be?

Plenty of ink is spent reminding you each year that firing guns into the air is a dangerous way to celebrate the holiday.

As a public service announcement, we at MBJ remind partiers that firing guns into each other is not a good idea either.

Thank you, that is all.

Did anyone else type 0 NEW at the end of high school programming class to teach someone in the next class that he or she should really clear the memory before typing in his or her own program with line numbers starting on 10 and running it?

Oh, come on. You never even thought of it?

Riiiiight.