Would You Like Fries With That?

I know that Zoe would

I called my Dad today and when I finally got him on the telephone, he asked me a question, ”What happens when you immerse the human body into water?” This puzzled me at first, but then he answered his own question. The answer of course was, “The phone rings.”

I use to walk at lunchtime with Barbara, but then she up and retired on me. Now I walk alone, but not without my iPhone. I listen to various podcasts while I stroll the parking lots. My favorite one is Slate’s Cultural Gabfest. This week’s three course offering serves up a review of the new “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” movie, a remembrance of writer and Slate contributor, Christopher Hitchens and best of all, a discussion of the phenomenon called vocal fry.

Marissa Fessenden’s article, “‘Vocal Fry’ Creeping into U.S. Speech”, in Science Now, has touched off a fire storm in the blogosphere. The above audio clip, also from Science Now, explains what vocal fry is. The controversy erupted because the article suggested that vocal fry was either a female epidemic of speech pathology or an affectation akin to valley girl up speak. Pushback was quick and forceful. Another great podcast steer, the Language Log does it best. True, Brittany Spears affects this speech pattern, but so did Mae West. When did Lauren Bacall’s raspy voice, full of sultry sophistication become less preferrable than the high screech of bubbly ditziness?

You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.

Five artists walk into a bar, no this is not a joke, but it is a good story. Last night, Dan and some of his Webster art friends went to the Crows Nest, a cabaret bar in Maplewood. The show featured a couple of scantily clad young ladies, the belly dancer and Santa girl. Stoking the fires of audience participation, a contest was held for the best picture of each. It boiled down to a contest between the sketch artists versus the photographers. Dan’s table won all the free drinks. Who says art is dead? Photography as an art form was not helped by the creepers who practiced it. Interestingly, both of the graduate school artists were bested by their undergraduate brethren. What does this say about the burgeoning field of cabaret bar art? Hey, it worked for Toulouse-Lautrec.

Dan is graduating from graduate school at CalArts next semester. He has already begun work on his thesis project. Unfortunately, I have been sworn to secrecy. Hey, isn’t that prior restraint? I can say this; his work will occupy the largest space on campus. His piece will make the most use of the biggest gallery. He checked his grades for this semester and they were all Harry Potters (High Pass), which is better than Potters (Pass) or Lousy Potters (Low Pass).

PS – Anne biked 19 miles today. Whoo Hoo!

PPS – Today was the shortest day of the year and tonight is the darkest night of the month, with tonight’s dark of the moon.

Stuck On Rewind

Pepper and Eggs

For most of the last century, America’s cultural landscape—its fashion, art, music, design, entertainment—changed dramatically every 20 years or so. But these days, even as technological and scientific leaps have continued to revolutionize life, popular style has been stuck on repeat, consuming the past instead of creating the new.

The preceding text acts as forward to this month’s Vanity Fair article by Kurt Andersen, entitled, “You Say You Want a Devolution?” In his article, Mr. Andersen … Sorry, but before we go any further, imagine Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) from “The Matrix” saying that, “Mr. Andersen”. In his article, Andersen argues that the cultural revolution that defined the 20th century, the American Century, has like a needle on a record player, hit a scratch and continues to replay the last two decades, over and over again.

Imagine a time traveling hipster, fashionably dressed, up on all of the latest trends. Traveling back to the turn of the century, no, the last one, our hipster then skips forward in time, by twenty year leaps and bounds to the present. Every jump requires a visit to wardrobe first; else our hipster would lose his cool. Every jump save the last, the jump to the present. With just a little freshening up our hipster would be good to go from 1992 to 2012.

Andersen offers many examples for his argument. Isn’t Lady Gaga just Madonna redux? Why these days are so many movies remakes? When did they ever start remaking TV shows, like Hawaii Five-O? An Aeron chair is still an Aeron chair, especially in true black. Aren’t blue jeans, t-shirts and flannel shirts still sold at the Gap?

Neal Stephenson’s “Snow Crash” is still a good read, but then so is “Moby Dick”. Cultural fads come and go and often repeat, but true art always endures. The afore mentioned “The Matrix” was a recent cultural event, not a great one but still significant. It was predicated upon technology, it revisited past themes, but it was also rather novel in its way. It was not great art, but still it was new art.

Andersen in his article discounts the revolution in computer technology: the personal computer, the Internet, the iPhone. Those are all just changes in the delivery system, not a change in content. He also ignores advances in science, like parsing the genome. I find this to be the fundamental flaw in his argument. You just can’t gloss over the most basic changes in a society and expect to offer a cogent criticism.

I recently watched Werner Herzog’s “Cave of Forgotten Dreams”, on Netflix online I might add. Forty years ago, I would have gladly trooped down to the local art house cinema to watch this movie. Twenty years ago, I would have rented this movie on VHS from Blockbuster. I am older and wiser now, well mainly older. I know that Netflix is only an improvement in the delivery system, per Andersen, but I especially love Herzog’s quote of Pablo Picasso after he viewed similar Neolithic cave paintings, “We have learned nothing.”

The Boomers are at fault. They are the moms and the dads, so let’s blame them. Their demographic dictatorship has held the cultural conversation captive past their allotted 15 minutes of fame. These arguments are at the crux of Andersen’s article. I don’t know if this is a symptom of a reverse Oedipus complex, or just self loathing, but I suspect the later.

I say that if subsequent generations are complaining that we, the Boomers, are smothering them, then we’re just not holding the pillow tight enough. Andersen’s essay though very well written is a bit like the arsonist’s fire bomb, once thrown, it tends to light up the conversation. This was probably his intention all along, to write an article that inflames passions and stirs things up, to do as Neo was told to do, “Be the spoon.”

They came on bicycles from Beijing

China, China, by Zhu Wei

The goal of this post is to write erudite agate type that is too small to be read, too arcane to be conceived, and too bogus to be believed, in short this is another one of my daily diatribes. [Cue a bombastic fanfare that sounds like god-awful-threnody.] As I strive to craft today’s offering, plucking only letters of note from the ether, I have yet to derive the ambit of this post. Will it be about bicycling? Will it be political? Will it be yet another exposition dump of what I did today? I can tell you with ontological certainty that at this point, I do not know. Moving forward, I will attempt to dance between the rain drops and short of a force majeure, serve up my daily ration of blather. With no clear focus for this post, I’ll risk combining multiple themes, with the resultant cross causidious contamination. I give you my post, a link dump:

  • The title for this post is derived from a Salon article, “Are urban bicyclists just elite snobs?”, by Will Doig. It actually comes from a NY Times article, “‘I Was A Teenage Cyclist,’ or How Anti-Bike-Lane Arguments Echo the Tea Party”, by Adam Sternbergh, which is linked to in the afore mentioned Salon article. This aggregate link deals with urban cycling in general and NYC in particular. Doig’s article tries to be even-handed, while Sternbergh’s is decidedly partisan. Doig’s frames the question well, while Sternbergh’s is a lot of fun to read. Before reading Sternbergh’s one should probably peruse The New Yorker’s John Cassidy’s blog post, “Battle of the Bike Lanes”, or not.
  • Everyday readers might have noticed that there are enough 50¢ words in the opening paragraph to buy a Starbuck’s latté or two. These words were garnered during my weekday/workday lunchtime walks. I use to do these walks with Barbara, my walking buddy, but she up and retired on me this summer. It has taken a while, but I have finally found a replacement for her. Like much in modern American industry, Barbara’s “job” has now been automated. I now walk alone, except for my ear buds, iPhone and Slate’s podcasts. My favorite is the Cultural Gabfest; this is where the vocabulary comes from. Next up is the Political Gabfest, more on this in the next bullet. I listen to some of the others, sports, manners and film, but only after I’ve exhausted the first two.
  • “The Cain Mutiny Gabfest” was today’s lunchtime walking fare. The title segment savaged the Republican presidential field. I’ll now riff on what I heard. The Cain Train has derailed, even more spectacularly than the train in “Super 8”. How many more shopping days until the Gingrich who stole Xmas arrives? [Please note the lack of Christ; Newt is no holiday, more of an amphibian really, slimy.] I love the way Mitt [Not] Romney explains his opposition to Obamney Care. Ron Paul, RuPaul, I get then confused, one is a transvestite and one is another Texas travesty.

Enough of this cocktail chatter, good night!

Tiny Ninja Turtles

This afternoon, Dan forwarded us some “blog fodder”. In the forwarded email were attached half-a-dozen photos from Ox-Bow, the Arts Institute of Chicago’s summer camp, located in Saugatuck, MI. Dan spent last summer there. Below is the text from Shanna’s forwarded email:

Attached are pictures of the burial, it is finally finished and looks fantastic! Special thanks to those of you who really pulled it together and made it happen! Along with the burial comes a special story. The very day after the burial was finished and put into place, Pauly and Mikey were working on the painting studio, and guess what little treats they found making their way down the path towards the lagoon?!?! Little baby snapping turtles! You got it, they hatched! The turtles in front of the Inn that had the special pyramid over them finally DID hatch! We found 4 all together; one was still burrowing out of the dirt in that very spot! There are pictures attached of the little troopers making their way into the leaf covered lagoon. They were coated in dirt and their eyes weren’t even open yet!

Looking at the photographs and skimming the above paragraph, I leapt to a conclusion and replied, “Did the mother turtle die?” Dan sent the following clarification:

No the Mother didn’t die, she laid eggs early in the summer quite close to the Inn, you may remember the small pyramid structure that was erected over the site to protect the eggs from cats and raccoons. The Burial is an Ox-Bow tradition that happens at the end of the summer, the weekend before closing week, there’s a big party, and a hole is dug to the depth of the height of the shortest Staff/Fellow. Each person elects to put something in, either something that represents themselves, or their summer. The hole is filled in and later a cap stone made by the staff and fellows is added, we decided to make a turtle cap stone in honor of the mother. Each person decorated one of the ceramic pieces of the shell. I’m not sure how long the tradition has been going on, but there are small capstones and markers all over, I’ve seen ones from the 30’s on campus, but the placement of each one is sort of random.

Growing up, Dan and Dave were both big fans of the “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles”. These four turtles were all named for famous Renaissance artists, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo and Donatello. The last two are named for sculptors. Dan is a sculptor too. As last summer’s crop of turtles settle into the mud of Ox-Bow’s oxbow lake, for their first winter’s nap, one is left to wonder were tomorrow’s superhero turtles will come from.

Spokes Person

The CalArtisans a blog run by a friend of Dan’s at CalArts, posted pictures of one of Dan’s recent art works. This work, entitled, “A Train Departs the City Traveling 55 MPH”, was part of the CalArts Mid Residency 2011 art show. I have shamelessly lifted one of the three photographs of Dan’s art work shown in the blog post of this art show. Checkout the other two on the link provided. I especially like the interior shot. Dan had a preliminary showing of this piece last spring, but this show marks its official debut. Dan used a CAD program to draft the brickwork, shingles and windows. He jobbed the actual wood carving out to a laser etching house. The sawhorses are from IKEA. Check out the above CalArtisans link to see how Dan’s work stacks up to some of his colleagues.

Anne has developed a fascination with spokes, as in wheel spokes. We’re primarily speaking of car wheel spokes here, but it has begun to spread. Now, I’m not saying she is looking to drop a grand or two on a set of fancy chrome rims, but her fixation is sometimes just as scary. She likes to count spokes. This is the same person who counts prime numbers instead of sheep when she wants to fall asleep, so maybe I shouldn’t be too disturbed about this spokes thing. It is just the excitement that she exudes when she finds some new or amazing number of spokes on a wheel. We could be walking, biking or driving and she’ll just shout out thirteen. Thirteen what, I ask? Spokes, on that car, she answers. It has begun to infect me too. When I walk the parking lot at work, I too find myself counting spokes. Once I spied a car with an even number of spokes, an oddity, at least to my mind. After work, I related my discovery to her, but she was rather nonplussed about it. I am so far behind the curve.

I don’t believe that the Saint Louis Cardinals made any world breaking news today. That being the case, in a day or two, certainly this week, I plan on mailing to Carl our collected copies of the Post-Dispatch’s sports section for the last week or so. They’re not hard to find. They show up on the front yard every morning and they are always the cover section of every issue. I hope that he will like them. If not, recycle or reuse them. You can line the bottom of your parakeet’s cage with them. What, no parakeet, how about a raptor, as in velociraptor. Ouch!

Monet Ball

OK, I am flummoxed. It is near the witching hour and I have nothing to show so far for today’s blog. I had great plans that I could tell you all about on bended knee, except that it would be better to just tell you all the facts.

  • Anne and I both worked today.
  • Anne and I both bicycled (independently) eleven miles today.
  • Friday night the Saint Louis Art Museum is open late. While the entire museum is dedicated to art and most of it is free to all, as inscribed upon its mantle, except for special exhibits. On Friday, all exhibits are free (see mantle). We went to see the exhibit of Monet’s Agapanthus (Nile water-lily) triptych. In the ’50s Saint Louis and two other American art museums each bought a third of this triptych. Over the years they have been joined together, about once in a generation. This is the third time. More on this to follow.
  • Tonight brings high culture, food and baseball joy, we watched the Cards beat the Brewers in a sports bar. Coming into a sports bar, especially in the middle of a big game, defines the need for high culture in America’s pastime, Tut, tut, but it is hard to beat fries, fried food, beer and baseball, especially Saint Louis Cardinal baseball.

For all this sound and fury I would have expected a little bit more from this post, too much wool gathering, not enough spinning.