tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-341288252024-03-14T05:14:18.088-07:00Culture ShockOur keen observations about art and life in Portland, Oregon.culturejockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263465772349376129noreply@blogger.comBlogger507125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-44661454538127800982013-02-28T12:32:00.003-08:002013-02-28T13:35:18.691-08:00A Pontiff Retires<br />
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Well I’ve been around the block a few times. Dipped my wick
here and there, so to speak. Say, let’s cut to the chase. What can I do you
for, your Honorableness?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Well that’s just it, Bill. Can I call you Bill? To be
honest, I’m bored. The cloistered life
is …<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>let’s just say it’s a <span style="font-size: small;">lot </span>quieter than I expected. <span style="font-size: small;">J</span>ust a week into
retirement and I'm all like, <span style="font-size: small;">'Dude, you can still make a <span style="font-size: small;">difference.' </span></span>I <span style="font-size: small;">know I </span>still have more to
give<span style="font-size: small;"> to the world</span>. I try making suggestions, but th<span style="font-size: small;">ose <span style="font-size: small;">ingrates </span></span>at the Vatican aren’t calling me
back.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“You’ll get used to it, Benny.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Just give yourself a little time.” Bill reached for a piece of bacon and Hillary
slapped his hand.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t think I have a whole lot of
time left.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>I’m wondering if you might
have a small role I can play in your foundation.” Now it was Bill’s turn to roll
his eyes. He mimed gagging. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“It’s an interesting idea, <span style="font-size: small;">Joe</span>.” He caught Hillary’s eye and mouthed, “It’s a
terrible idea!” She just shrugged. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Look<span style="font-size: small;">, <span style="font-size: small;">Broseph,</span></span> I’d love to hear your thoughts, but you’re
starting to break up. Can you hear me <span style="font-size: small;">now?</span> I think I have another call coming in. It’s probably
Barack. He usually calls about this time.” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> “Mr. President<span style="font-size: small;">, please</span>. I
need <span style="font-size: small;">just </span>half a minute. Think about what it would mean to have an ex-Pope on
the team.” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Look, I feel your pain, but
here’s the deal: I’m worried about the brand.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“I don’t understand.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“I’ve worked hard to rebuild Brand Clinton. It wasn’t easy
at first, but the people love me again. I’m the wise elder statesman now<span style="font-size: small;">...</span>though between you and me, I’ve still
got that ineff<span style="font-size: small;">able </span>something that the ladies like.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Hillary glared at Bill, took the pen out of his hand and
scribbled on a napkin, “You can in<span style="font-size: small;">effable yourself." </span> Bill
winked back at her.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“I’m gonna level with you because that's the least you deserve. You’re smart, and I
know you’re a deeply caring man. You
worked hard to do right by your organization.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>I have a lot of respect for the Catholic Church
with its rich history and all those freaky saints and saintesses. Crazy
stuff! I don’t know how you keep that
big hat on your head, but kudos for the bold fashion choices.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"</span>But
here’s the deal. You’re kind of a downer. To be blunt, you’re lacking in the charisma department. <span style="font-size: small;">I don't know if it's the German thing, but you <span style="font-size: small;">kinda </span>scare people. </span>Then there’s the
scandal stuff. Lord knows, I understand scandals.
They’re a total drag. One thing I learned, though, is that you can’t just hide stuff
under a rug and hope it’ll go away. You’ve gotta grab people by the balls …
excuse the language, Padre … you gotta grab them by the lapels and just say, ‘fix
it, goddamn it’ … again, I apologize for the language. Bottom line is that I
don’t see what you bring to the table.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Infallibility?” Ratzinger’s voice sounded small and
uncertain.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“<span style="font-size: small;">H<span style="font-size: small;">ow's that</span></span>?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“I had a run of eight years without making a single mistake.
<span style="font-size: small;">I can bring <span style="font-size: small;">my experience in being infall<span style="font-size: small;">ible to the <span style="font-size: small;">organization. </span></span></span></span></span></span>That has to count for something.”</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“With all due respect, mister ex-Pope, but nobody can go
that long without making mistakes.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“I beg to differ. What part of <i>in-fall-i-ble<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">do you no<span style="font-size: small;">t</span> under<span style="font-size: small;">stand</span></span></span>. Plus
I can do magic.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Magic?<span style="font-size: small;"> What kind?</span>”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Transubstantiation, for one. Can you do that? When was the last time you changed wine into blood?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Sounds like a lot of hooey to me. You don't really believe that stuff, do you? <span style="font-size: small;">You can be honest <span style="font-size: small;">with me</span>. <span style="font-size: small;">Now </span>i</span>f you could handle
snakes, that might something I could use.<span style="font-size: small;">" Bill sighed deeply<span style="font-size: small;">. "</span></span>Look, Benedicto, this thing you’re
<span style="font-size: small;">wanting </span>me to do just isn’t going to happen.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The phone was silent for a long pause before Ratzinger spoke<span style="font-size: small;"> again. </span></span>“Okay, I get it. <span style="font-size: small;">I guess </span>I’ll try a different angle. Maybe I <span style="font-size: small;">should</span> build houses for poor people. I’m not sure I
can handle a hammer at my age, but they probably need help with<span style="font-size: small;"> the</span> paperwork<span style="font-size: small;">. </span>Hey, do you have Jimmy Carter’s number?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Sure, I’ve got him on speed dial, but he doesn’t like me
giving the number out. I’m happy to<span style="font-size: small;"> let hi</span>m know <span style="font-size: small;">want to talk<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span>and he can call you
if he wants.<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">You know what I would do in the meantime if I were you? I'd kick <span style="font-size: small;">back. Take up painting or some other hobby. It seems to be working for George W. Just don't volunteer <span style="font-size: small;">to be a Boy Scout leader! <span style="font-size: small;">K</span>idding! You know I love you<span style="font-size: small;">, Ratzo.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span>"</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Thanks<span style="font-size: small;"> anyw</span>ay<span style="font-size: small;">. Say,</span> while I have you on the
line, is Hillary there?”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Sorry, Joe, you just missed her.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-62929017809663018212012-12-03T11:34:00.000-08:002012-12-03T11:34:12.334-08:00TONIGHT: An event not to be missed.Recycle, repurpose, whatever. Here's another retread of an old post, updated to reflect current affairs. While many of you will--no doubt--attend tonight's open house at <a href="http://www.profiletheatre.org/">Profile Theatre</a> for the sole purpose of enjoying the <b>Bourbon Jockey Experience</b> (tm), I enumerated other reasons to be there in an <a href="http://cultureshockpdx.blogspot.com/2012/11/top-8-reasons-everyone-should-attend.html">earlier post</a>. In short, you will meet the fine folks at Profile, mingle with other theater devotees and practitioners, and learn what fabulous PLAYWRIGHT will be featured in Profile's 2013-14 season. Bring your thirst and an appetite because beer and wine will be available, and <a href="http://koifusionpdx.com/menu-2/">Koi Fusion</a> will be on site, purveying delectables.
<br />
<div align="center">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfOusmcRY28Xi9mFb9hB4g9PGtLX_5uANHqbNlhNb0vfKk47ztrsb98uN5X1GEI0LNxBJ-M9xBCMSDAjmuI7KXmWGcDP2V56yuPtiBp3T1Yu_SkyuwRahvmx_Peim5t3BRoi5/s1600/Bourbon+Jockey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfOusmcRY28Xi9mFb9hB4g9PGtLX_5uANHqbNlhNb0vfKk47ztrsb98uN5X1GEI0LNxBJ-M9xBCMSDAjmuI7KXmWGcDP2V56yuPtiBp3T1Yu_SkyuwRahvmx_Peim5t3BRoi5/s400/Bourbon+Jockey.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjko6Yr-TeP2FcInhnCF-0zmf0P6xn2udam3HyItVFksObbSPcEWkMIAFGFnTBaxNEjzwb-691C4L_bcugbwjIa2tN0ZMgPMS8dGrmyu4HnbKBcmYhmZaF4xsKqdudL2z6539GY/s1600-h/Roots+Gig.jpg"><br /></a>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: large;"><b>Ladies and Gentlemen<br />Aficionados of Fine Music and Satisfying Potables<br />Members of the Press</b></span> </div>
<br />
Step forward and prepare to be dazzled, stunned and stupefied as <b>The Mighty Toy Cannon</b> and the members of the acclaimed musical ensemble, <b>Bourbon Jockey</b>, regale you with feats of vocal virtuosity and strumming of stringed instruments in a manner most astonishing. Step back, there's no need to push, shove or jostle. Management assures you that there will be plenty of room for all without raising a ruckus.<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
Should you choose to partake of a Bourbon Jockey performance, you will be transported on a journey down lost highways and dusty byways of America where you will <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">encounter </span>truck drivers, libertine women and deadbeat desperados in the throes of drunken sorrow. Accompanied by the joyous amalgam of melody, harmony and rhythm, you will be besotted by tales of heartbreak and redemption, hope and despair. The bass notes will rumble deep in your bowels whilst the high notes shall pierce the veil of heaven and wrap you as if by the gossamer wings of the very angels themselves.<br />
<br />
<b>FEAR NOT brave spectator!</b> The burden of sadness and introspection thus launched in your heart and mind may be soothed by quaffing ales and fermented juices concocted through the alchemical magic of internationally-acclaimed brewmasters and craft artisans, and poured with the steady hand of attentive servers dedicated to ministering to your needs and lubricating your parched throat with <b>AMBROSIA</b>.<br />
<br />
<b>How much would you expect to pay</b> for an evening of entertainment that lifts the soul while edifying in such a potent fashion? What price the opportunity to hear stirring tales of sin and transgression without suffering the searing heat of <b>BRIMSTONE</b> upon your own reddened cheeks?</div>
<br />
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
Would you not gladly drop a treasury note adorned with the visage of Andrew Jackson into a collection plate for such a privilege? Would you not swoon upon being informed that the only cost of this <b>extravaganza</b> is the humble sacrifice of a token contribution--that is to say that the entry fee is <b>just one thin dime</b>? Two nickels are enough to swing aside the turnstile and afford you the opportunity to partake in the dulcet tones of this renowned ensemble of chamber players steeped in the vernacular of American music.</div>
<br />
<div align="left">
Would you not be further stunned to learn that this meager fee --one-tenth of an American dollar!--were to be fully and unconditionally rebated to you immediately, such that the true cost of this once-in-a-lifetime event is <b>NOT A SINGLE PENNY</b> (as long as you fully commit in your heart within the next ten minutes)?<br />
<br />
Yes, you have not misheard us, ladies and gentlemen. But let us repeat this message for the weak-minded and slow of hearing: For the price of a small portion of your leisure and sporting time, you can experience one of the most <b>FASCINATING</b> and <b>CURIOUS</b> musical experiences of the year—indeed of your entire lifetime. Many years hence, your great-grandchildren will gather around your deathbed imploring you to sacrifice your <b>FINAL</b> breath to tell them about the night you heard <b>Bourbon Jockey</b> perform at <b>Theater! Theatre! </b>in the waning weeks of the year of Two Aught Twelve, in a celebration of the wondrous theatrical producers,<a href="http://profiletheatre.org/"><b> Profile Theatre</b></a> of Portland in the state of Oregon. Can you fathom the ignomy of admitting to your progeny that you stayed home that evening to watch <i>television</i>?<br />
<br />
Don’t take our word for it, heed the insights of others who have bathed in the euphonious river of glorious sound produced by this remarkable conspiracy of musical genius. If you doubt the wisdom of your neighbors and common citizens, listen to what the experts have to say. Ethnomusicologist Humphrey Von Humphrey said this after listening to an acetate recording of Bourbon Jockey:<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Their harmonies are wholly unique, not only within our traditional concepts of western music but, verily, to the entirety of world culture. Their choices of harmonic intervals – and their apparent ease in shifting those intervals at a microtonal level from moment-to-moment is astonishing. I can safely say that I’ve never heard anything quite like it. The jarring and unexpected microtonal dissonance carries into their instrumental work as well. I’m telling you that it is physically impossible to get that particular sound unless you intentionally fail to tune your instruments relative to each other. Of course, that would be crazy! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Another thing that intrigues me – perhaps 'baffles' is a better term-- is the band's artistic strategies with regard to shifting rhythmic patterns and its curious selection of tempo changes. As an ensemble, they display an uncanny knack for randomly speeding, then slowing the tempo– sometimes even within the traditional verse/chorus form. It’s simply remarkable that they all manage to end each song at approximately the same time—and here I’m talking about ending within at least two measures of each other. I’m reminded of the keening and wailing that accompanies the funeral rites of some tribal cultures, particularly the Oomaomao people who are, as a race, totally deaf.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<br />
In an unpublished review, a noted cultural critic declared, "<i>It's as if T-Bone Walker and Hank Williams had a baby. And that baby was born with withered arms and something wrong with its soft palate and was raised by, gosh I don't know, Patsy Cline. And maybe it has a hugely swollen tongue or something. Oh, and the baby is drunk too. Forget the baby analogy ... it's more like if Howling Wolf and George Jones were arm wrestling while Fats Domino and Fats Waller argued over which one of the two was fatter. Never mind. There's just a lot going on during a Bourbon Jockey concert and these are grown men who should know better</i>."<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
<b>Important Details</b>:<br />
<br />
<b>Profile Theatre Open House</b><br />
<b>Bonus: Season Playwright Announcement </b><br />
3430 SE Belmont Street <br />
Monday, December 3, 2012 </div>
<div align="center">
--starting at 6:00 pm going until they tire--<br />
No Admission Fee, Cover Charge or other Consideration </div>
<br />
<div align="center">
Free Membership in the Bourbon Dynasty</div>
<div align="center">
(the exclusive Fan Club of Bourbon Jockey)</div>
<br />
<div align="center">
Recommended Dress: Classy Dungarees/Tube Tops</div>
<br />
<div align="left">
Bourbon Jockey is:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Ross McKeen (aka The Mighty Toy Cannon): Singin’, guitar slingin’ and harmonica blowin'.<br />Alan Cole (aka The Perfesser): Six string fireworks and harmony yelpin'.<br />Matthew Jones (aka Mr. Jones): Upright and sideways bass thumpin' and gravitas.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Kid Nathan: Saxophonist Supreme </span> </div>
</div>
MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-80634264665765618542012-11-30T16:17:00.000-08:002012-11-30T21:14:08.945-08:00Of Your Assistance I Implore (Redux)<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I updated a Culture Shock post from wayback times for the purpose of entertainment, and to promote the appearance of Bourbon Jockey at the Profile Theatre open house on Monday, December 3, 2012.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0xGHH07oVznysn-eI2WUO5DC8_CBhmcyigUdgiRObHCs7e-rT-zeuNORExCxiprNDPxOqns1_6TLlUS7iWJEfqgPBfI_qlvZz-xa9xRWwfHc6FSSZbreyIEU3L202J62eyG8/s1600/peck_guitar_player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0xGHH07oVznysn-eI2WUO5DC8_CBhmcyigUdgiRObHCs7e-rT-zeuNORExCxiprNDPxOqns1_6TLlUS7iWJEfqgPBfI_qlvZz-xa9xRWwfHc6FSSZbreyIEU3L202J62eyG8/s400/peck_guitar_player.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;">Dearest fellow,<br /><br />I
humbly seek your most urgent attention for a matter of most import. To
my attention has come news that a musical group of note by which is
known as <b>“Bourbon Jockey”</b> will be performing at your
city at the soonest Monday night from this date. It has been my dream
of my lifetime to enjoy such musical pleasure in the city of Portland
Orgon.<br /><br />My late-uncle, who was most fortunate to be Minister of
Foreign Culture in the nation of Absurdistan before his recent death, wished
me to have this absurd pleasure. Having wished that for me and to
assure such would take place, he placed a sum of $3,000,000 million US
dollars in a secret account. This sum to be used to travel me to listen
to your Bourbon Jockey, of which I am biggest fan, on December the 3, 2012 at the occasion of Profile Theatre opening of the house for announcement.<br /><br />Having demised unfortunately of an
accident, my uncle failed to leave instructions regarding the sending
of this money to my account for the purpose of hearing Bourbon Jockey.
My remaining relatives which are of evil intention have made to block me
from my due right to this sum. More so, I am locked in a closet and
prevented from all person contact except by the internets.<br /><br />Of
favor to me and in interest of your enjoyment of fine music, I am
implore you to visit the Bourbon Jockey performance on December 3. It
is of my knowledge that Bourbon Jockey makes western music of roots
variety for the enjoyment of the people and the drinking of the beer.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;">I
ask of your assistance to please attend this most important event for
to write to me describing its wonders after its completion. This way I
will have enjoyment too. Also, it would be of true assistance to also
send me your bank account number and all codes which are necessary for
making it of access to me.</span><span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;"></span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;">Sincerely and with honest hope,</span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: courier new; font-size: 130%;">Mrs. Martha Kwesi Ubunde</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
WHO: BOURBON JOCKEY </div>
<br />
<div>
WHEN: Monday, December 3, 2012. From 6:00 to 8:00+ </div>
<br />
<div>
WHY: Profile Theatre Open House/Season Playwright Announcement</div>
<br />
WHERE: 3430 SE Belmont Street, Portland OR<br />
<br />
<div>
HOW: By the plucking of stringed instruments, vocalization and blowing of reeds.</div>
<br />
WHO, EXACTLY, IS BOURBON JOCKEY?<br />
<br />
Ross McKeen (aka Mighty Toy Cannon): Vocal, Guitar, Harmonica<br />
Matthew Jones (aka Mr. Jones): Bass<br />
Alan Cole (aka The Perfesser): Guitar and harmony vocals<br />
+ Mystery Guest Saxophonian, Nathan MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-54921419299505992072012-11-19T13:12:00.001-08:002012-11-19T13:12:25.327-08:00Top 8 Reasons Everyone Should Attend Profile Theatre's Season Announcement Event<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3oplpUaJ5jzvNtooPQhrDe8tH9Ee_y8APPtenhPgDsBJooBVCoUZnyOI3S36y0hLMaDgVnzTBtqmL56SxhJYZg8Rb_ofFAIen7eEuhZpYPAby3bblJlrS6YPLzJ0LYoKaHD9O/s1600/Profile+Open+House+Invite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3oplpUaJ5jzvNtooPQhrDe8tH9Ee_y8APPtenhPgDsBJooBVCoUZnyOI3S36y0hLMaDgVnzTBtqmL56SxhJYZg8Rb_ofFAIen7eEuhZpYPAby3bblJlrS6YPLzJ0LYoKaHD9O/s400/Profile+Open+House+Invite.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://profiletheatre.org/">Profile Theatre</a></span> is holding an Open House at its SE Belmont venue on Monday, December 3, 2012. I'll be there, playing music with Bourbon Jockey. Here are <b><u>eight reasons</u></b> you should join me:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>R</u><span style="font-size: small;"><u>EASON # 1</u>: </span>You’ll be one of the
first to learn what Profile Theatre has planned for its 2013-14 season. Remember, when Profile announces a season, it
announces the playwright whose writing be explored in depth that year. Want a hint who it’s going to be?
I don’t know. They won’t tell me. It’s like they don’t trust me with
information. The suspense is very Christmasy. </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">You ask, “But, isn’t it
a little early to be announcing next year’s season?” Sure, but isn’t knowing something in advance a great com<span style="font-size: small;">fort </span>in this age of uncertaint<span style="font-size: small;">y</span>? I<span style="font-size: small;">'m</span> remind<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span> of the words from one of America’s
great poets, Donald Rumsfeld: </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">As we know, <br />
There are known knowns. <br />
There are things we know we know. <br />
We also know <br />
There are known unknowns. <br />
That is to say <br />
We know there are some things <br />
We do not know. <br />
But there are also unknown unknowns, <br />
The ones we don't know <br />
We don't know.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17PAQgRv5NEgMU7gNzBEjiL5OlZuzr8isoQEnaG2Jx3-THzjD8OG8_LGrCNqW_2ZXdUoGOnwT9sJnwXyg8GU8Py6rNiaVW3wNaGcLwczG6bxiZ2UOePRkMTw2OUq93HHW8-dI/s1600/Adriana-Baer-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17PAQgRv5NEgMU7gNzBEjiL5OlZuzr8isoQEnaG2Jx3-THzjD8OG8_LGrCNqW_2ZXdUoGOnwT9sJnwXyg8GU8Py6rNiaVW3wNaGcLwczG6bxiZ2UOePRkMTw2OUq93HHW8-dI/s200/Adriana-Baer-small.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #2</u>: You’ll get to meet
Profile’s new artistic director, <span style="font-size: large;">Adriana Baer</span>.
If you haven’t met Adriana yet, this is your chance to give her a warm
Portland welcome. If you’re an actor, you’ll have a chance to demonstrate your wit
and your knack for dialects. (Bring your head shot and talk to her in your best
Cockney accent. She’ll love it!) When Adriana wins a Tony and/or an Obie, you’ll be able to
tell people you knew her when. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span id="goog_839872957"></span><span id="goog_839872958"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #</u><span style="font-size: small;"><u>3</u>: </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"> Profile
is starting to serve wine and beer at the theater<span style="font-size: small;">, so y</span></span></span></span>ou’ll be able to drink.The invitation says the first drink is on the house. <span style="font-size: small;">Good enough for me.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #4</u>: Honestly, <span style="font-size: small;">y</span>ou have nothing better
to do on a Monday evening. The event is scheduled from 6:00-8:00 pm. You can
afford to miss <i>Jeopardy </i>for once, and you can still be home by bedtime. Better
yet, head out <span style="font-size: small;">after the event and </span>grab a bite at one of those trendy, locavore SE Portland hot spots
you’re always reading about in <i>Portland Monthly</i>.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>RE</u><span style="font-size: small;"><u>A</u><span style="font-size: small;"><u>SON #5</u>: </span></span>Forget what I said about <span style="font-size: small;">finding a restaurant after t<span style="font-size: small;">he </span>event</span>. <a href="http://koifusionpdx.com/">Koi Fusion</a> will be parking its truck behind the building and serving its yummy <span style="font-size: small;">Korean tacos</span>. Gourmet Magazine selected Koi Fusion as one
of</span> “Eight Great Street-Food Vendors in Portland<span style="font-size: small;">". I<span style="font-size: small;">'ll <span style="font-size: small;">bet that the NY Times likes it too<span style="font-size: small;">, because they love everything about <span style="font-size: small;">Portland.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #6</u>: <span style="font-size: small;">Get your ho<span style="font-size: small;">liday entertaining out of the way. </span></span>Invite friends and
family to the event. Tell them it’s your annual Holiday Party. Wear a smoking
jacket and greet them at the door. They’ll think you know a lot of cool
people, and will be only mildly confused by all the talk about Profile Theatre.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #7</u>: Sure, you supported Portland’s
new “arts tax”, but do you <i>really </i>support the arts? Really? Prove it.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><u>REASON #8</u>: Bourbon Jockey will be
playing music. That should be reason enough. Profile Theatre'<span style="font-size: small;">s invitation goes </span>so far as
to call the band “legendary”. Over at Arts Watch, Barry Johnson wrote a lengthy and <a href="http://www.orartswatch.org/the-arts-tax-that-wouldnt-die/">thoughtful post-mortem</a> of Portland’s so-called arts tax.
Blah, blah, blah, whatever…<i>wait a minute</i>… did he <span style="font-size: small;">m<span style="font-size: small;">ention me and </span></span>say that I play in “a
swell cowboy band?” He did!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"> See you there?</span></span></span></div>
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MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-71845675114876939032012-11-02T10:41:00.000-07:002012-11-02T10:41:07.203-07:00HELP FOR THE ARTS<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOYXvLwr5DEez5rySVN-iCZeklbsN3QaEJNhu_c6q9S4-tCxmsNpODiONDR_SncPvk8ZjQZaxEdmZnAshqR0qKAXeULl0WgVVAq9dWDlvOo0MBNjwcr8f0iCux2oVm-4PWvT9/s1600/countess+of+albemarle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOYXvLwr5DEez5rySVN-iCZeklbsN3QaEJNhu_c6q9S4-tCxmsNpODiONDR_SncPvk8ZjQZaxEdmZnAshqR0qKAXeULl0WgVVAq9dWDlvOo0MBNjwcr8f0iCux2oVm-4PWvT9/s320/countess+of+albemarle.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Countess of Albemar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over half a century ago, the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation asked some fancy English people to help it figure out a policy for supporting the arts in Great Britain, much as the Oregon Community Foundation is now formulating policy on the use of the $150 million recently given by the Fred W. Fields estates in support of the arts and education. The following report from 1959 is illuminating for many reasons, not the least of which is its parallels with arguments for arts funding that are still alive today. The full report follows, but let me jump to the conclusion for those readers with short attention spans:<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: large;">What
is lacking, and still seems to be lacking, notwithstanding the significant
advances made in recent years or months is adequate support or patronage. Even
today, far too few people seem to recognize the place which the arts should
play in the life of the nation as a whole, or if they recognise it, show a
marked reluctance to meet the cost. If
this should be thought too harsh a general judgement, let us say rather that
the arrangements for support of the arts seem to us rather scrappy and patchy -
some things are well done: others almost wholly neglected. The synoptic eye
does not seem to have been at work: or if it has, its vision has not yet
stimulated enough action from the nerve centres of the brain."</span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
The full report follows, with highlights added by me.<br />
<br />
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<u>HELP FOR THE ARTS: A REPORT TO THE CALOUSTE GULBENKIAN FOUNDATION</u></div>
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The
Board of Administration of the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation asked Lord
Bridges, the Countess of Albemarle, Mr. Noel Annan, and Sir George Barnes to
review the needs of the arts in Britain so that the Foundation might formulate a
policy for their support.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">WHY THE ARTS SHOULD BE FOSTERED</i></div>
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The
reasons why the arts should be fostered may seem so obvious that there is
little to be gained by discussing them. But to leave unsaid the basic
assumptions often leads to misunderstandings.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
Put
very briefly, the arts represent much of the finest achievements of the human
spirit in all ages. <span style="background-color: yellow;">Enjoyment of the arts is not confined to those who have
themselves outstanding artistic gifts; it is something which in varying degrees
brings insight, delight and pleasure to countless men and women</span>.</div>
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We
believe that this latent power of enjoyment is far more widespread than are the
opportunities of awakening it, and that when awakened it can open channels of
communication between individuals and groups who share few intellectual or
social sympathies and who are unsuspecting of the powers which they possess. It
is something which, if left dormant, leads to impoverishment of human nature.
Charles Darwin put the point well in his autobiography. Speaking of the time
when he had lost his powers of appreciating poetry, pictures and music he
wrote:</div>
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“The
loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to
the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the
emotional part of our nature.'”</div>
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Through
the arts people acquire some sense of the past and of the heritage of their own
and other nations. The arts can also awaken people to the beauty and the
infinite variety of life. <span style="background-color: yellow;">In learning to love art men and women not only
sharpen their emotions and relate them to intelligence, but they learn to
discriminate between different pleasures and to prefer what is of lasting value
to what is fugitive. Enjoyment of the arts is something which our civilisation
should make available to all who are capable of it.</span></div>
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Today
this reasoning has greater force than ever before. For the trend of our social
conditions means that a far greater proportion of the people of this country
will, in years to come, have leisure and the means to enjoy the arts. <span style="background-color: yellow;">Moreover
as education and knowledge become more scientific and technical, it is even
more important to encourage delight in poetry, painting, drama and music. </span>For
the reception of facts alone, without the feeling which is necessary for their
due realisation, will lead to public indifference. It is art which can bring
facts to life and make them real in our imagination.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
Opinions
may differ about the proportion of the population of any country which is capable
of enjoying the highest forms of art. But few will dispute that there are
marked differences in the prestige and degree of support accorded to the arts
in various countries. These differences depend in part on national tradition
and in part on the manner and extent of the patronage exercised in the past.
Thus the prestige which the arts enjoy in France is bound up with the part that
they played in the 17th and 18th centuries, when France was mistress of Europe
and when her culture dominated civilized society. In Germany artistic activity is
widespread, partly because each court fostered it in the days before the
unification of the country, and today each provincial city has behind it a long
tradition of princely or aristocratic patronage. The same is true of the cities
which were the capitals of the Italian states from the days of the renaissance
onwards. Again, in Italy
opera is a popular art, and the agelong pilgrimage of travellers to admire the
buildings and the pictures in her towns persuades people that art is important.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Traditions
such as these are not nearly so strong in this country. In the provinces they
are often conspicuously weak and patronage has been much less widely exercised.
Nevertheless, since in no country and at no time have the arts flourished
without patronage, our starting point must be the present methods of patronage
in this country. It may be of help if we state briefly at the outset the main directions
in which our enquiry has led us to think that present methods do not achieve
all that should be done, and that further help is needed by the arts.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The
first is that<span style="background-color: yellow;"> far greater support is needed for the arts than in the past. Nor
is this a temporary need. Once high standards of artistic creation and
performance have been established, an increasing sum is required to maintain
these new standards. </span>This means that over the years public authorities will
have to find more money for the arts. The second is that far more needs to be
done today to render the arts accessible, particularly in the provinces. The
third point is that there should be more scope for experiment in order to
invigorate the arts. The fourth point is that we think that <span style="background-color: yellow;">more should be done
to foster appreciation of the arts among the young. The introduction of music and
drawing into primary schools has been of the highest importance</span>. But in grammar
and secondary modern schools, the practice and appreciation of the arts is apt
to be crowded out after the age of 14; while little incentive or encouragement
is given to boys and girls after leaving school to develop whatever interest in
the arts they have acquired. The best means of doing this is something which would
well repay enquiry.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">WHAT ROLE CAN A TRUST
PLAY</i>?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Above
all a trust can and should be prepared to back individuals, whether artists or
those who follow other callings. <span style="background-color: yellow;">It should never forget that artists, and not
institutions, create art</span>; and that however desirable it is to foster the growth
of a public for the arts by spending its bounty on education or by supporting
institutions, that public will evaporate unless its interest in modern art is
continually stimulated. And how better can this be done than by encouraging, by
its patronage, composers, poets, painters and sculptors? Backing individual
artists is a risk, and often a disappointing venture. But the winners justify
the process, and if trusts will not back their fancy and be bold and be
prepared to face ridicule, how can State patronage, which is accountable to
public criticism, be expected to do anything more than play safe?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
Another
important duty of a trust is to give help which would enable the promoter of,
say, a series of concerts or a dramatic production to employ artists who will
make the venture outstanding and superlative. <span style="background-color: yellow;">By pursuing the highest
standards, art flourishes; wheareas dim second-rate ventures drive people away
and do more harm than good.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Unlike
public bodies, trusts are accountable to themselves only. They give decisions
but do not have to give reasons. This gives them a freedom of which they should
make the fullest use.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It
is, of course, wise for a trust to concentrate its resources on certain broad
purposes and to form certain general conclusions as to how those purposes can
best be served. In other words a trust is bound to develop a policy, and it is
as a help to that end that the suggestions which follow are made. But trustees
should never allow themselves to be dominated by that policy. They should not
allow themselves to slip into a position in which their decisions are governed
by precedents, like most public bodies, and they cease to be free to exercise
an unfettered judgment on each case as it is presented to them. A trust must
therefore be ready to change its policy at short notice and to back novel and
promising schemes outside its normal scope.<span style="background-color: yellow;"> For we believe that one of the
chief aims of a trust must be to seek out and give encouragement to movements which
are significant and creative and to support schemes which others may not feel
bold enough to support.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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A
more general, a more humdrum, but nevertheless an equally valid way of stating
the general position outlined in these paragraphs would be to say that it is
the duty of a trust to encourage and foster new developments or growing points,
where there is a reasonable chance that the new development will later on
either be self supporting or will attract permanent support whether from public funds
or from elsewhere. It will be well advised to help these growing points by
grants either of a capital nature or for a fixed term of years.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To
say that a trust should encourage new developments does not mean that it should
give all its support to newly established organisations. This would be a
mistake. It would put too great a premium on mere novelty, and would be
wasteful of the wisdom acquired by those organisations which have built up
valuable experience in a particular field. <span style="background-color: yellow;">Opportunities will arise in which a
well established organisation which has outrun its original impetus, or perhaps
has lost some of its effectiveness through shortage of funds, can be given a
fresh start or encouraged to pursue a promising new line by, for example, a
grant for re-equipment, or a grant to tide over a difficult period.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
Yet
no trust can allow itself to get into the position in which its resources, or a
substantial proportion of them, become, as it were, permanently mortgaged to
the support of particular institutions or objects. Its support must, therefore,
be given to meet particular emergencies or needs, or to provide help over the
initial periods of a new scheme after which it will be either self-supporting
or will obtain help from other sources.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It is
important that money should be given in a way which does not weaken the
responsibilities of those who receive it. We are entirely opposed to the
practice of giving grants to meet annual deficits, more particularly where
grants on this basis are made over a period of years. The results of this
course are plainly mischievous. Grants should usually be made for fixed amounts
and for fixed periods. The receiving organisations will thus know where they stand
and can make their plans accordingly. If they get into debtin the first year,
they will have to adjust their plans for later years. If they make a profit, or
a larger profit than expected, that is surely something which should be welcome
to receiver and giver alike.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
One
further point. There are, of course, instances in which a grant by a trust to
meet quite a small proportion of the sum required for a particular scheme will
attract help from others and will make the thing go. Indeed there are many
instances in which it would be inappropriate for a particular trust to do more
than give a helping hand to a scheme to which others, whether individuals or
corporate bodies, could be expected to make larger contributions.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
But a
trust which goes far in this direction will soon find that it is being milked
of a large proportion of its resources without having to its credit any notable
or worthwhile achievements. It will have lost its opportunity of doing something
which would not otherwise have come to pass. On the whole, we think it is
better to aim at giving generous help to a small number of worthwhile objects
rather than to spread the butter thinly over a large piece of bread.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Much
more needs to be done to persuade people that pictures on walls are as
necessary to a house as furniture. It is noticeable that in the New Towns,
houses which are furnished with contemporary furniture, fabrics and wallpapers,
have bare walls. Here an example could be set by institutions, and (as
suggested in paragraph 74 above) universities and colleges could do much by
establishing picture-loan libraries so that the coming generations learned to
put modern paintings, reproductions and lithographs as well as pin-ups in their
rooms.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: yellow;">In
putting forward these suggestions we recognise that money alone will not give
birth to good art; but it can provide, for those artists who have proved their
worth, a respite from debt and from the necessity to spend long hours at other
work in order to provide for a family.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THEATRE</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
The
other line of approach is that, <span style="background-color: yellow;">even if good theatres are provided, there can
be no certainty that they will be used for good plays worthily acted.</span> There are
at present about 30 repertory theatres which receive help from the Arts Council
and about half as many again which receive no such help at the present time.
The standard of performance of these companies varies considerably. Undoubtedly
a proportion of them do first-class work and it would be a great pity if their
continuance or progress were to be hampered</div>
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by
financial difficulties.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: yellow;">The
chief difficulties which beset these companies are as follows: first the labour
and cost of continually putting on new plays after the very short runs usual in
repertory: secondly, the balance on which these companies operate is so
delicate that one failure may upset their finances for a whole season: thirdly,
adventurous programmes of plays do not pay, and this imposes caution on all but
the most daring managements: fourthly, television not only reduces audiences
but draws the best repertory actors from the provinces to London, because
touring or acting in repertory companies is both less lucrative and more
obscure than work which can be picked up in the London studios, where they may
become known to an audience of millions.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Again
if a promising scheme were devised for an experimental theatre, whether in London or in the
provinces, it might be thought worthy of support by the Foundation. By an
experimental theatre we mean a theatre in which a producer can try out new
plays and</div>
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playwrights,
relying on outside financial support.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It
might also be possible to give financial help to a limited number of
managements which both need and deserve it. Surprisingly strong stimulus can be
given to the theatre simply by helping one brilliant and imaginative producer.
Such seasons have an influence on the theatre out of all proportion to the
number of people who take part in the productions or even see the plays.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PLAYWRIGHTS</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Playwrights.
</i>The English theatre is greatly hampered by lack of good playwrights. We do
not believe that there are many original and skilled playwrights who cannot get
their plays produced on the London
stage or elsewhere for lack of interest in new plays by managements.
Playwriting is governed by technical considerations hardly less severe than the
composition of music; but, whereas musicians study composition in academies,
there is no place where the technique of playwriting is studied. The drama
department at</div>
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Bristol University, however, is doing pioneer
work in providing courses on the drama and acquainting students with the
problems of the living theatre. It seemed to us that this initiative could well
be followed by other universities. Indeed, it is remarkable that many of the
present distinguished generation of American playwrights have, at some time,
been members of drama departments in American universities. It would obviously
be otiose for all universities to establish such departments but one or two
would serve as growing points. They should be genuinely concerned with the
problems of production and the technique of writing plays and not primarily with
the academic study of drama already fully catered for in the language
faculties.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">CHILDREN’S THEATRE</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: yellow;">One of the surprising omissions in the cultural life of this
country is the proper provision for children's theatre, which flourishes in so
many parts of the world. </span>There are very few adult professional companies giving
dramatic performances which are planned and produced specifically for children,
although where they exist they receive support from local education
authorities; but for lack of a central body and funds for initiating companies,
children's theatre depends on the spasmodic efforts of a few enthusiasts. Another
inhibiting factor on its development is the lack of playwrights who understand
the mind and reactions of the child today. Any private patron would find a
comparatively untouched field for pioneering experiments both in playwriting
and play production for children.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">CONCLUSION</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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If
this country was failing to produce artists of the highest quality, the outlook
for the arts would be gloomy indeed. But that is not so. British painters,
musicians, composers, sculptors, ballerinas - to mention only some artists -
all these are now held in the highest repute internationally.</div>
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<br /></div>
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What
is lacking, and still seems to be lacking, notwithstanding the significant
advances made in recent years or months is adequate support or patronage. Even
today, far too few people seem to recognize the place which the arts should
play in the life of the nation as a whole, or if they recognise it, show a
marked reluctance to meet the cost.</div>
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<br /></div>
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If
this should be thought too harsh a general judgement, let us say rather that
the arrangements for support of the arts seem to us rather scrappy and patchy -
some things are well done: others almost wholly neglected. The synoptic eye
does not seem to have been at work: or if it has, its vision has not yet
stimulated enough</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
action from the nerve centres of the brain.</div>
MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-10228646679694643882011-02-13T10:37:00.000-08:002011-02-13T10:55:32.409-08:00The Reminder: A Bus PoemA poem inspired by something I spotted on the bus the other evening. This is not a Valentine's Day poem.<br /><br /><strong>THE REMINDER</strong> <br /><br />In blue ink he wrote a reminder on his hand. <br />Not on his palm, where he might keep it concealed.<br />Not on the plump part below the thumb<br />where the ink would flow as if on vellum.<br />He wrote it on the top <br />( You might call it the back). <br />where the pen would have humped <br />over tendons and bones.<br />On the part of the hand where a tattoo would hurt. <br /><br />He wrote: Rent Car. <br /> <br />Now he is riding the bus home<br />where he will look at his hand as he turns the key <br />where he will brace for her greeting: <br /><br />Did you remember to rent the car?MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-5896363281047353102010-12-25T12:52:00.000-08:002010-12-25T13:19:18.862-08:00A Christmas Carol Adaptation (Stave 2)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxsn5ESxgtWWjGvMqzYRxV66HOOUPgVp2ZjQUqvhliQvdqBBBvfOEKCEbbw8WQz5J2aWRL693-1ttJKWWK4OCssRHtU7aRl2pPp-MJU98bkj_hk7pkKQY5v-aJbsND-TGlGn1/s1600/blkwht_sleighride.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxsn5ESxgtWWjGvMqzYRxV66HOOUPgVp2ZjQUqvhliQvdqBBBvfOEKCEbbw8WQz5J2aWRL693-1ttJKWWK4OCssRHtU7aRl2pPp-MJU98bkj_hk7pkKQY5v-aJbsND-TGlGn1/s400/blkwht_sleighride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554729686522929634" /></a><br />On this Christmas day, I give you one more of the recently discovered playlets of Barnaby McScrivener. (If you are new to this blog, you may learn more about Mr. McScrivener and read the first of his Christmas carol adaptations <a href="http://cultureshockpdx.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-carol-adaptation.html">here</a>). Appended to the original script was a letter from one of Berlin’s leading theatrical producers, Mannheim Von Sturmroller, who wrote: “I regret that while your playlet is immensely entertaining, it cannot possibly be produced in its present form. Have you considered an adaptation of <em>Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!</em>? I am confident it would be quite the success in Bohemia next season.”<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>JINGLING ON THE HEATH</strong><br /></span><br />Personae Dramatis:<br /><br />Percival P. Peckingwood III: A fancy man of means, dressed in the latest London fashion.<br /><br />Miss Fanny Eloise Toppenham-Bacon Bright: A handsome young lady of middling birth.<br /><br />Others as available.<br /><br />The scene opens in the ballroom of a fine manor house, aglow with festive candles and a finely decorated holiday tree (at least 20 feet high). Two score of actors of diverse ages and amplitude are seen dancing and gamboling merrily, while a chamber orchestra plays a jaunty tune of the day. Another lively group plays a game of “Pope in the Pulpit,” while a gaggle of young children cavorts through a rousing round of “That’s My Frigate!” A particolored Greyhound (an Irish Wolfhound or Moldavian Lurcher are acceptable substitutes) adorned with deer antlers crosses the stage, to the amusement of the party-goers. In the corner of the ballroom, a dwarf from the Isle of Borneo demonstrates the mystic art of Tam-Tam. The aroma of figgy pudding wafts over the audience.<br /><br />The scene having been set, the entire set rotates slowly on an immense turntable until we find ourselves, miraculously, on the exterior of the country estate. The party continues, now seen only in glimpses behind fogged windows. We hear muted sounds of merriment. Snow begins to fall, gradually becoming heavier as the action proceeds throughout the play (ultimately reaching a depth of no less than two hands). A dozen carolers enter, singing joyously. The front door is opened by a footman wearing a Welsh wig who invites the carolers to join the party. They enter, accompanied by great cheers and huzzahs. After the carolers have entered, our two protagonists emerge, dressed in Victorian finery, bundled against the bitter cold. The play begins.<br /><br />Percival:<br />[pointing off stage]<br />It’s just over there, waiting for us. Let us not tarry. If you are quite ready, milady, we shall climb aboard and begin the merriment.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />[joyously clapping her hands]<br />Oh, what delightful fun! I’ve never done this before.<br /><br />Percival:<br />It certainly will be jolly. Methinks you’ll be laughing all the way.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />[Suddenly concerned]<br />Oh my! Where in heaven is the other horse?<br /><br />Percival:<br />[Confused]<br />Whatsoever do you mean?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />I see only one horse. Don’t sleighs usually require two horses?<br /><br />Percival:<br />No. I don’t believe so. I’ve always used just one.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />[Gesturing broadly in the direction of unseen fields]<br />Pray tell, what about the fields?<br /><br />Percival:<br />Yes, the fields. Now, what about them?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />We will be traipsing across fields, is that not so?<br /><br />Percival:<br />[A little annoyed]<br />Well, of course there will be fields to cross. That’s really the entire point.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />But will we not need <em>two </em>horses to pull us across these fields? What I mean is, to pull us at a reasonable pace. A <em>dashing </em>pace? It seems to me that one horse will be fine for favorable conditions, but crossing fields?<br /><br />Percival:<br />Ho, ho! Now I understand! I am such a silly ass. I see that you wish to move at a brisk pace. Yes, of course. A dashing pace it shall be!<br /><br />Fanny:<br />Dear sir, there is no need for you to apologize. It is I who was being obtuse!<br /><br />Percival:<br />You are far too gracious. Let me explain: You see, this sleigh is especially designed for just one horse.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />Yes, I do see that now.<br /><br />Percival:<br />You will also note that this horse is both lean and lank. These are adequate attributes for a speedy jaunt through the snow.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />[looks closer]<br />Oh my! What about its tail?<br /><br />Percival:<br />Tail?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />He doesn’t seem to have one.<br /><br />Percival:<br />Not a long one, no.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />That seems dreadfully odd.<br /><br />Percival:<br />It’s a question of fashion, my dear. His tail has been bobbed, you see. Moreover, I’ve bestowed bells upon it. Such is the rage in London. I find the style raises my spirits quite high. I expect you will find the same.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />I am ever so sorry to doubt you, sweet Percival. It’s just…<br /><br />Percival:<br />Yes, dear?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />It’s just … oh dear … I fear the poor beast will …<br /><br />Percival:<br />Will what?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />Well, that misfortune will be his lot. What with the bobbed tail and the silly bells.<br /><br />Percival;<br />My dear Miss Bright, what possible harm could befall us?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />My greatest fear is that we will become entrapped in a bank of snow. I shudder to imagine an even more dismal outcome!<br /><br />Percival:<br />And what might that be?<br /><br />Fanny:<br />That our conveyance will be upsot, and we shall be tos’t upon the icy drifts. Moreover, that I shall never wed a proper gentleman.<br /><br />Percival:<br />Oh, you supercilious little scamp! T’is not the season for such imagined concerns. Let’s be away. The faster we journey, the quicker we will again be snug and cozy near the welcoming hearth. I have been led to understand that we will be partaking in a wee bit of wassailing upon our return.<br /><br />Fanny:<br />[Sighing, resigned]<br />Away then.<br />Across the fields.<br />I shall endeavor to laugh the entire way.<br /><br />Percival:<br />That’s my girl.<br /><br />END OF PLAYMightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-32013265935068466532010-12-24T09:55:00.000-08:002010-12-24T10:03:47.958-08:00A Christmas Carol Adaptation<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhEwa3fJ0JjRCph6pbgHxV5UTnrpZYE23FaUMGwp7KhuhLtNVjwB5HxyQo6a574lo_m2FMBBnyU8AYrhbXvi_w_olY8U8vjFeCY6uyIknbTJkqoYEVdXFGLDn53SgbnL7Yn1k/s1600/Nice-Old-Victorian-Gentleman.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 241px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548936271533244642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhEwa3fJ0JjRCph6pbgHxV5UTnrpZYE23FaUMGwp7KhuhLtNVjwB5HxyQo6a574lo_m2FMBBnyU8AYrhbXvi_w_olY8U8vjFeCY6uyIknbTJkqoYEVdXFGLDn53SgbnL7Yn1k/s400/Nice-Old-Victorian-Gentleman.jpg" /></a>Alas, no theater company in Portland has mounted a production of the Charles Dickens holiday chestnut, <em>A Christmas Carol</em>, this year. Nor is any company producing an evening of playlets written by Mr. Dickens' contemporary, Barnaby McScrivener (pictured at right). Indeed, no theater company has <em>ever</em> produced a play by Mr. McScrivener, despite his having been at the cutting-edge of his generation's carol-based stage adaptation movement.<br /><br />Recently, I was delighted to discover a rich trove (is there any other kind of trove?) of Mr. McScrivener's wee theatrical gems tucked away in a moldering trunk for over a century. These dramatic arts niblets tell simple stories--nay, morality tales--drawn from popular holiday carols.<br /><br />So, without further ado, I invite you to gather the family by a crackling fire, fill your nog mugs, and enjoy one of Mr. McScrivener's Christmas Carol playlets. Better yet, host a staged reading for all your friends. (Please silence your cell phones now.)<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Christmastime: It’s Coming </strong><br /></span></em><br />Personae Dramatis:<br />Abelard McChuffery II: A portly fellow with muttonchops.<br />Milton Harcourt Fishpicket, Esq: A thin, reedy, elderly man with common features.<br /><br />Note to Directors: Do not rush the conversation. Pauses should carry as much dramatic freight as the very words themselves.<br /><br />Setting:<br />A country road. Snowdrifts. We hear the whistling of the wind and the occasional honking of geese. It is evening and bitter cold. The drear light should fade gradually through the course of the play.<br /><br />The lights rise on two men wearing ratty overcoats, heavy work boots, and fur hats. They are cold. One of them, Milton, is staring off stage. He leans forward, squinting toward a distant spot.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Do you see that?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />What?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />The geese.<br />Over there.<br />Look at them.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />Yeah.<br />Canadian Geese.<br />What about them?<br /><br />MILTON:<br /><em>Canada</em> Geese.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />What?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />They’re <em>Canada</em> Geese, not <em>Canadian</em>.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />No kidding?<br />That doesn’t sound right.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />It is.<br />You can look it up.<br /><em>Canada</em> Geese.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I will.<br />What about them?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Fat.<br />Can’t you see that?<br />[looks again, and points]<br />You can see that, can’t you?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />What are you talking about?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />[pointing insistently]<br />The geese… over there.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I hadn’t noticed.<br />What about them?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />They’re getting’ fat.<br />[He looks more closely]<br /><em>Fatter</em>.<br />Yeah, they’re fatter than they used to be.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />You’re right.<br />They are getting fat.<br /><em>Fatter</em>.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />You’ve seen them before?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />Sure I have.<br />But never that fat.<br />They really are quite fat ... for geese.<br />You know what that means don't you?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />No. What?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />Christmastime is coming.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />What’s that got to do with it?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />You said the geese are getting fat. And they are. That’s what.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Yeah?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />They get ...<br />They get fatter.<br />Geese do.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Geese? When?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />You know, when Christmas is coming.<br />When it’s Christmastime.<br />When Christmastime is...well...when it’s coming.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />That makes no sense.<br />You’d think they would be getting thinner.<br />All that flying.<br />Migrating.<br />All that migrating.<br />[turning to Abelard]<br />Hey, how did you know about the fat thing?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />[shrugs]<br />I don’t know.<br />It’s just something I heard.<br />Something I heard about geese.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />I guess.<br />I just think it’s weird.<br />I don’t like it.<br />I don't like it at all.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I get that.<br />Nobody likes fat Canadian geese.<br /><br />MILTON:<br /><em>Canada</em> Geese.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />You sure?<br /><br />[Milton shrugs. They stand in silence for a full minute, getting colder--stamping feet, rubbing their arms and hands, etc. The sound of honking geese recedes in the distance while they continue to look offstage]<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />Say, Milton, have you got a penny?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />What?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />A penny.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />I thought you said something else.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />No. I said "penny."<br />Do you have one?<br />[he gets no response]<br />Milton?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />[annoyed]<br />Why? Why do you want…<br />What was it again?<br />A <em>penny</em>?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I’ve always wanted one.<br />More would be nice, but one is what I need.<br />Have you got one?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />[He starts to check his pockets]<br />I might. Just a second.<br />[He searches quite a while]<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />No hurry.<br /><br />[Milton keeps searching, pulling diverse items from his pockets. A parasol, a live dove, and an anvil should be among the items retrieved. Eventually Milton collects a handful of coins, which he examines carefully.]<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Sorry, I don’t have one after all.<br />[He puts the coins back in his pockets]<br />Will anything else do?<br />[He pulls a banana from his coat pocket and shows it to Abelard]<br />Fresh fruit?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />[Thinks about it]<br />A ha’penny?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />What’s that?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I think it’s half a penny.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />There’s no such thing.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />Just look.<br />Humor me.<br /><br />[Milton searches his pockets until he has a handful of coins again. He sorts through them one-by-one]<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Quarter…quarter…nickel…dime…peso…another quarter…<em>Canada</em> dime…<br />[surprised]<br />Hey, what ho?<br /><br />[Milton holds up a small coin, then searches frantically through his pockets until he finds a jeweler’s loupe, which he uses to examine the coin.]<br /><br />I’ll be damned!<br />It says half penny.<br />I thought it would be like…you know…<br />like cut in half or something.<br />But it's not.<br />Do you still want it?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />It’ll do.<br />If you don’t have a whole penny, that is.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Okay then. It's yours.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />[removes his hat and holds it open, shaking it at Milton].<br />Put it in the hat.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />What?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I think you’re supposed to put the ha’penny in the hat.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />In that hat?<br />Okay, old man.<br /><br />[He tosses the coin in the hat. We hear it striking several coins already in the hat.]<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />God bless you.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Is that all?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I think so.<br />It’s getting dark.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />You're right.<br />It is getting dark.<br />Hey, Abelard?<br /><br />ABLELARD:<br />What, Milton?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />I lied.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />About what?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />The penny.<br />I lied about the penny.<br />I had one.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I know.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />You knew?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />I knew.<br /><br />MILTON:<br />Do you mind saying it again anyway?<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />What?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />That thing you said.<br /><br />ABELARD:<br />God bless you?<br /><br />MILTON:<br />That's it.<br />You too.<br />God bless you.<br />[He looks out into the field again]<br /><em>Canada</em> Geese?<br />[shakes his head, chuckling]<br />No kidding.<br /><br />[Fade to dark]<br /><br />END OF PLAY<br /><br />NEXT UP: <em>The Jingle Caper</em>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-31251231019459749812010-12-04T13:04:00.000-08:002010-12-05T13:39:27.831-08:00Let's Travel AwhileAbout a year ago, National Geographic Traveler published a profile of our city under the clever (by which I mean, "vapid") title, “<a href="http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/city-guides/portland-oregon-traveler/">Portland Reigns</a>”.<br /><br />The article was one of many paeans to Portland peppering the national press lately. The breathless pace and gushy tone spurred me to write a parody of bad travel writing. I tried to follow a few simple rules:<br /><br />• If one adjective helps, two or three are even better.<br />• Stereotypes and generalizations are always a good choice.<br />• When in doubt, grasp onto a cliché as if your life depends on it.<br />• Keep your thesaurus handy...ermm…accessibly situated.<br /><br />My parody kept getting longer and longer, until it was so ridiculously long (for a blog post) that I lost track of where I was going or how to bring it to a merciful end. I toyed with cutting or serializing it. Then I decided to just publish it. Now it’s in your hands. Savor.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:140%;">East Chesterburg: </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:140%;">An Old-World City Perched on Tomorrow’s Rim</span></strong><br /><br /><strong>This resplendent metropolis gets just about everything right: From the friendly natives to the homebrewed deliciousness that embraces every visitor. </strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZx_z8gd3Si3BwpBRAryGOO_LeBxSoAC-UcZlU2B7uSzWj8rjt_YQb9dH9ME9eZncbiG4SAXjeoY13gcUr8vC4RLoEtoDs1rZyx0ZICeqbZDhvWBGnVcu-wHkBjAcYS6hr4NG/s1600/East_Chesterburg-tiltshift.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 586px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 341px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546936190316573650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZx_z8gd3Si3BwpBRAryGOO_LeBxSoAC-UcZlU2B7uSzWj8rjt_YQb9dH9ME9eZncbiG4SAXjeoY13gcUr8vC4RLoEtoDs1rZyx0ZICeqbZDhvWBGnVcu-wHkBjAcYS6hr4NG/s400/East_Chesterburg-tiltshift.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Here in the self-proclaimed “City that Can,” restaurants pride themselves in serving locally-prepared meals, and every barkeep is quick with a jovial anecdote that will, one day, become a part of your own tribal lore. Local crafts and an innovative commitment to “green” living are worn like a comfortable flannel suit in autumn, and are as reassuring as a bowl of warm applesauce. What’s more, this is a city that does not hesitate to flaunt its funky charms, just as its residents feel no qualms in sporting billed caps, no matter the weather. Add a flair for the ubiquitous and verdant, and you’ve got a vacation-in-the-making for all but the most hard-hearted of hard-core adventurers. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">East Chesterburg isn’t the first place you’ll compare to Paris, but it’s not likely to be the last either--and that says a lot. It’s among a handful of American towns that has managed to pair civic engagement with a soupcon of down-home bonhomie that will have you saying both “oui!” and “whee!” From its trendy downtown nightlife scene to the downscale bohemian haunts that typify the North Gulch Arts District, this is a town that welcomes everyone with the warmth of a Golden Retriever’s tongue.<br /><br /><strong>Starting on the Right Foot</strong><br /><br />We launch our East Chesterburg adventure with a hearty breakfast at Tiny Harpo’s—a charming diner occupying a prime spot in the heart of the town’s bustling business <em>arrondissement</em>. Before entering this petite boîte, be sure to pause for a moment to listen to the autoharp player on the corner. Sing along if you must. You’ll be delighted to leave a small tip in his open case.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">As we wipe the steam from our glasses, we’re greeted by a proprietor who can only be described as brobdingnagian. Nobody personifies the character of an East Chesterburgian restaurateur better than the bistro’s namesake. With his trademark, “Halloo!,” and belying his 400-pound girth, he sweeps us dexterously to a cozy booth by the window, then deals a handful of menus with the speed of a Las Vegas blackjack dealer jacked up on diet pills. In short order, our winsome server fills our water glasses and makes sure we all have napkins. Keeping her promise to return with hot coffee, she takes our orders with a vivacious professionalism that feels as comfortable as a pair of broken-in huaraches. </span><p></p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">I choose the “Tiny’s Special” – an adventuresome mélange of scrambled eggs and <em>la saucisse de Francfort</em> topped with a tangy hollandaise sauce. You will be well served by selecting the same, or perhaps you’ll opt for a simpler fare from a bygone era. On any given morning, many of Tiny’s patrons can be witnessed enjoying a light repast of toasted bread squares while perched on angular chairs, perfectly resplendent in parti-colored smocks, knit leggings and the customary cap tilted rakishly. </span><p></p></span><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">With a satisfied belch and a neighborly handshake, we emerge from Tiny’s into the rays of a sun that radiates its beams on East Chesterburg many days of the year. When you visit, you’ll want to chat with Tiffany and Amber, animated purveyors of Girl Scout Cookies outside of the Thrift & Save just around the corner. I choose a box of Thin Mints, but you would not be wrong to pick otherwise. Don’t forget to pet the puppies for sale in the box over by the shopping carts.<br /><br /><strong>A Place of the Present with a Forward-Thinking History<br /><br /></strong>East Chesterburg is all about sustainable, low-impact living. As a matter of both public policy and personal ethos, visitors and residents adopt organic, people-powered modes of transportation, including walking and bicycling. People here stride with a confident bounce as if effervescently buoyed, stepping with the crisp snap of a sugar pea from one of the farmer’s markets that thrive, year-round, on every vacant lot. They ride their handcrafted two-wheelers attuned to a personal soundtrack best described as a gumbo of free jazz and proto-bluegrass. Don’t be surprised to see pedallers cruising the neighborhood lanes three abreast, each snapping thumb and finger in a syncopated rhythm that brings to mind a fringed surrey frozen in time by the flash of a daguerreotype camera wielded by Matthew Brady himself. </p></span><p><p>My first post-repast stop of the day is the East Chesterburg Municipal Museum, housed in a former civic building marked with a postmodern slash of architectural frippery. Entering the museum is like stepping back in time while looking into the future through a kaleidoscope of wonder. Time your visit just right and you’ll miss the rainstorm that will pass through town just a few hours before the city rolls up its sleeves for lunch. </p><p>Lovingly curated, this museum is chockablock with refreshing artifacts that reveal more about each visitor’s character than that of those who crafted them. You’ll want to linger at each exhibit to revel in the intrinsic knowledge and inspiring message it imparts. The old-world docent dozing in the corner is Mort, and he’s been manning his station for longer than anyone cares to remember. If Mort tells you to not touch something, it’s a memory you’ll cherish for the rest of your visit. A stop at the gift shop will leave your pockets full of postcards and informative brochures. Edna, the gift shop clerk, will give you $1.55 in change and a whimsical smile that says more than you think.<br /><br /><strong>Stridently Moving Forward<br /></strong><br />East Chesterburg is so thoroughly trendy these days that at times it seems past retro and outside of outré. An uncounted number of people here live in town or in the suburbs, often in houses or apartments, many with driveways and garages. No taller than most people, East Chesterburgians are not often described as diminutive, though they might be if viewed from the proper distance. A formation of Canada Geese migrating overhead might be fooled into believing that the town itself is smaller than many cities, yet it is larger than others—something not every city can claim. One could live here for a hundred years and not meet every resident at least once, though you will feel as if you have, and you will. </p><p>Already hungry for lunch, I follow the recommendation of long-time resident, Herb Vouchsafe, and borrow a red bicycle which I ride to the outskirts of town to visit a rural eatery universally beloved by local omnivores. My handlebars glint in the sunshine, eliciting appreciative waves from townsfolk picking fretless banjos and crocheting socks on rickety front stoops. A quick tinkle of the bell engenders peals of laughter from the youngsters jumping rope in each schoolyard I pass. </p><p>As often happens in this city, I find the place to which I was headed exactly where it should be. Mo’s Pig House is redolent of grease and the briny elixir of a seaside fishing shack, reminding me of the winter I hitchhiked from Amsterdam to Antwerp on a foggy morning, laden with a sodden backpack, a perplexing itch and a head full of Baudelaire. You will feel exactly the same as you peruse the written synopsis of food items and pricing that serves as a menu at Mo’s. I choose a beer-battered cheeseburger with a side of crispy sweet potato fries and tart kimchee, but you may want to try the “Pig House Sampler” – a veritable pupu platter of pork pies. The water at Mo’s is free, but a word of warning: You’ll have to remember to ask. </p><p>The rain is just returning as I finish my dainty banquet and settle the bill. Swaddled in a bee-yellow poncho, I mount my two-wheeled steed and steer northeasterly to East Chesterburg’s charmingly-named “Labor Town” – a gentrified neighborhood once home to the city’s blue collar community, now a burgeoning village where artists, musicians and writers bump elbows and trade coffee-roasting tips with retired pipefitters. </p><p>Before arriving in the district, I veer to the right for a quick visit to a local used bookstore, The Wormy Book, to meet up with the city’s leading naysayer-cum-raconteur. “I realized East Chesterburg was going to be my home within 20 minutes of first arriving at the bus depot.” says Bud Skullnick, the bookstore’s Sales Team Guide. (“We don’t use hierarchical titles here,” he explains). “It had something going on that is indescribable. I guess I couldn’t imagine myself going anywhere else,” he explains while scratching the long white beard of his personal attendant, an elderly man of Asian descent. “Moreover,” he continues, fiddling a straw boater that I soon learn is his signature look, “I decided that if I was going to live here until I die, I was determined to spend every single day agitating for something to happen.” After only one day in town, I understand the sentiment, though I would be hard-pressed to explain it. </p><p>I'm introduced to another form of East Chesterburg’s agitation when I visit Stuff Mart, a cavernous repository of purposeful materials of every imaginable description. The exterior of this emporium will delight you with its medley of whimsical objects crafted from other objects, but inside it's a $5-million-a-year business overseen by a wizened man who can only be described as avuncular. Put this shop on your bucket list because it’s a sight no visitor should miss, both for its astounding variety and because it embodies the “East Chesterburg Way.” </p><p>"We move eight tons of product a day,” reports owner, William Sherwin, burning with conviction in a vintage Motorhead T-shirt and paint-splattered carpenter pants with worn knees. "The idea is to take what some people don’t want and turn it around to sell to people who want it. If we do it right, everybody’s happy. It’s the East Chesterburg Way.” </p><p>His goal, he says, "is to create a business model that can be given away to other places." One outcome is that Stuff Mart has become a popular stopover and photo opportunity for visiting dignitaries who hope to emulate East Chesterburg’s economic success, the 16% unemployment rate and junk bond rating notwithstanding. Some weeks, Mayor Sam “Slappy” Simperson is here so often you may find him catching a little shut-eye between official visits by curling up in a quiet vestibule on the premises. When you visit, he’s sure to tell you, “People all over the world want to see this. We let them watch and learn.” He will then tweet a message to his 1,480 followers: “Just told a visitor the East Chesterburg story. Awesome!”<br /><br /><strong>On the Fringe<br /></strong><br />Local business boosters have been doing their best to promote East Chesterburg with a campaign that defines the town as “The New Edgy.” Gurf Franklin, creative director of a internationally renowned ad agency, Spank Spank (formerly InterModalMedia LLC), gives me a synopsis of the multimedia presentation that sold the city leaders on the campaign. “My partner, Jambo Fripp, came up with the concept of edge-seeking,” explained Franklin as a raincloud scuttered past the multi-paned windows of the former rope factory that is the firm’s creative cauldron, known affectionately by locals as “The Old Rope Factory”. Over the course of the next two-and-a-half hours, he hammers home the concept that “humankind instinctively and continuously seeks the edge … the boundary…the outer limits… the border… the outside of the envelope… terra incognito … did I mention the border?” He grasps a saltine and snaps it in half to illustrate a point that leaves me, oddly, more curious than indifferent. </p><p>The hallmark of this boosterism is the annual East Chesterburg Alternative Fringe Festival for Transgressive and Movement/Audio-Based Arts (popularly dubbed “the Alt-Trans-Fest”), which hosts 4,287 events over 13 days, ranging from macramé workshops to community pig roasts and pet swaps. Contemporary dance companies compete with dressage enthusiasts for top honors in the “So You Think You Can Prance” extravaganza at the Veterans Exposition Hall and Natatorium, while close to 2,000 local indie bands plug in at virtually every bar, diner, bowling alley, rooftop, subterranean grotto, Masonic Lodge and tented parking lot within a fourteen mile radius of downtown East Chesterburg. You’ll be hard pressed to find a single local under the age of 40 who doesn’t clamber for the coveted all-access wristband for the Alt-Trans-Fest. These “young moderns”--a common reference to members of East Chesterburg’s flamboyant youth culture--enjoy nothing more than loud music, alternative transportation, social media, distilled or fermented beverages, and tam o’shanters. When they’re not blogging and tweeting about their experiences, they open themselves to experiential learning like breaded abalone simmering in a sizzling fry pan of garlic butter. </p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><p>Red-bearded, energetic, and wearing shoes that squeak when he walks, the director of an emerging social media aggregator, Parlay Jones, likes to call young East Chesterburgians “the next generation of generational change agents.” Himself an owner of 14 recumbent bicycles (one of which is a functional whiskey still), Jones loves nothing more than donning a distinctive hat and joining his youthful compatriots at any one of the hundreds of ubiquitous rolling food carts that crop up at every intersection in East Chesterburg, waiting to serve dripping slabs of deep-fried cuisine to a hungry workforce of cultural creatives. </span></p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><p>"The food carts are all about choice,” Jones likes to say. “Every single generation but my own had no choice over what they ate—or even when they ate. Now we like to mix things up and live in the freedom of the moment, eating on the sidewalk because we can, even in the rain. It’s what puts us on the cutting edge of the food empowerment movement. Honestly, it’s what makes us better than every other city in the world. That, and our tam o-shanters.” Sitting on the curb eating fried potatoes topped with chorizo-hummus and siracha sauce is a rite of passage for every young person in town, and you’ll not want to not be one of them.<br /><br /><strong>Adventures in Wayfinding</strong><br /><br />To navigate East Chesterburg, whether by bike or otherwise, you’ll have to master some basic geography. First, imagine the Toohoioliatte River (pronounce it “TOO-late” unless you want to be laughed at) smartly cleaving the city, east to west, with the north sector (home of the city's downtown) on one side, and the south (home of the city’s tree-lined neighborhoods) on the other. In the northwest quadrant, you’ll find the upscale Upland Heights and the trendy and fashionable Nebbish Hill neighborhoods. The southeast is divided by Clifford’s Gulch into the gritty Lower Southeast and plucky Upper Southeast boroughs. The northeast itself is divided by Sully Swale, which cuts diagonally from southeast to northwest, and is further divided by Little Creek running northeast to southwest, and Littler Creek meandering in such as way to strategically disrupt the entire street grid throughout what locals call “The Lost District.” Curiously, while Little Creek is descriptively named, Littler Creek is named after an early settler, Jacob Littler, and is, in fact, quite wide. </p><p>The north-west dividing line, which extends to both sides of the river, is the verdant Boulevard Park, a 700-acre urban retreat that stretches for 15 miles and widens to no more than 25 feet. Paralleled by Park Boulevard, Boulevard Park is a narrow expanse of East Chesterburg’s wildest, most deeply green aspects. Built single-handedly in 1895 by Charles Percy McFitts, an amateur landscape designer with spare time and a 25-foot-wide horse-drawn scraper, Boulevard Park originally served as le grande allée leading to an outer greenbelt that straddles one of the region’s many bifurcated divisions. Nearly doomed to death by bulldozer to accommodate what city planners hailed as “The Freeway to the Future,” Boulevard Park has been placed on the local registry as a “Regional Place of Significance and Meaning.” </p><p>Thanks to former mayor Burt Patsy’s acclaimed anti-encroachment campaign, East Chesterburg is now widely recognized as a breeding ground for innovative creativity in the green sector. It was Mayor Patsy who challenged all citizens of East Chesterburg to limit their propensity to expand, saying opaquely, “You have to crawl before you sprawl,” often adding his signature salute as he peddled away on a customized unicycle. </p><p>Nowadays, in new East Chesterburg developments, shops are built at street level to provide ease of pedestrian access, while charming lofts harken back to an era falling squarely between the industrial revolution and post-modern Scandinavia. Simply put, East Chesterburg’s social fabric is woven integrally with the warp and woof of a modern Valhalla perched on the precipice of a new tomorrow. There is simply no other way to describe it. </p><p>Of all the city's uber-green spaces, your favorite will be the East Chesterburg Sunken Gardens, found on the edge of the Northeast Outskirts district. The Sunken Garden provides a transformative descent into the intricacies of the spiritual landscape. "What makes a good sunken garden is the sense of sinkage it provides,” says Roxy Delacorte, the garden's Curator of Culture, Art and User Interfaces. </p><p>Delacorte and I walk, step-by-step, from the Squat Garden—one of five blending seamlessly, this one populated by colorful koi finning under the Moon Bridge—to the Splay Garden, a wondrously realistic simulacrum mimicking a representation of the hanging gardens of Pompeii as envisioned by an untrained and marginally sane artist. The gardens are known to engender quiet contemplation and repose in everyone who pauses to look. Quite literally, you will want to lie down on one of the graveled paths and take a short nap. The East Chesterburg Sunken Garden manages to accommodate hundreds of thousands of visitors a year without losing its air of solitude amidst the jostling of elbows and vigorous snapping from the Snapping Turtle Eco-Pond.<br /><br /><strong>A World of Art and Culture<br /><br /></strong>Becoming tiresome, I trade the tranquil Garden for the bustling streets of "The Gulch," epicenter of East Chesterburg’s thriving arts scene. This former mill district is now peppered with outlets of urban gastronomy and cultural brio, brimming with fine restaurants, jazz joints, cafés, and upscale handcraft knit boutiques. East Chesterburg’s legendary jelly and jam purveyor, Progesteron, occupies an entire city block at the vortex of the district—so large that a local ordinance mandates that each customer be issued a portable rescue beacon to be activated if lost. (You’ll want to devote an entire weekend to the world-famous Marmalade Room, but don’t miss the easily-overlooked Jellied-Seafood Annex). </p><p>On the second Wednesday of alternating months, a crush of art lovers moves at a measured pace from gallery to gallery, stopping only to pause at each waystation to absorb the ambiance and eat unpasteurized cheese. Wear black, or risk standing out as a tourist. Cross Street is noted for its edgy, post-modern electronica such as the interactive art exhibited at NERVE: A GALLERY! Press the blue button on artist Lurv Speckle’s anthropomorphic sculpture, "Deity", and prepare to be surprised to hear a loud “squonk” while being squirted in the eye with what you will hope is lemon juice. The local arts college attracts the most creative of creatives, and the streets and alleyways are rife with crafts of all sorts, from cast bronze gamelan gongs to spatulas made from repurposed motorcycle fenders. Don’t miss the display of papier mache sculptures filled with sugar-laden sweets that art-lovers attempt to burst open with decorated batons while giggling like schoolchildren at a Mexican hat dance. </p><p>My local tour guide, Webb Masterson, informs me that “the creative arts in the region explicate and inform people about specific landscapes and their transformation onto a higher plane of communal consideration." He goes on to say, “When East Chesterburg’s bootstrap industry collapsed, the community had a hard time picking itself up. In the end, it was the arts that did the picking up. It was the arts that made all the difference, not the tax on cigarettes, beer and paper napkins, though some disagree.” You’ll want to disagree, but remember: You’re just passing through. </p><p>Many of the gawkers on the Second Wednesday Art Promenade live in expensive lofts overlooking Corner Square, a comely plaza featuring a wading pool that ebbs in tidal reflux, but others come from highly individualistic neighborhoods in other sectors of the city connected to the center by a web of transportation options. Streamlined Bauhaus-inspired trolleys trundle over parallel steel rails in a mode of travel harkening to Jules Verne’s steam-age, while bus service delivers throngs of fun-seekers both willy and nilly. After your visit, you will remember being part of this “scene” for the rest of your life, and will look forward to the day when you can tell your great-grandchildren about it.<br /><br /><strong>A Burgeoning Cultural Ecosystem at Work<br /><br /></strong>Later that evening, I arrive at the northern edge of an unnamed neighborhood to take an upholstered seat in East Chesterburg’s newly renovated Barnhouse Theatre for a smidgeon of entertainment and culture. While named for local philanthropist, Philo T. Barnhouse, I am surprised to learn that the venue is, in fact, a former goat barn. You’ll be surprised to learn that too, after picking up a brochure that was handcrafted from a mid-century mimeograph press. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">As the house lights dims, we hear a sharp intake of breath from the audience, signaling the start of a rousing rendition of the company’s long-running, runaway hit, “Hungry, Hungry, Housewives” –an unbridled musical homage to an era of laissez-faire sexual mores. When we stumble out, eyes a-glaze, we are drenched with sweat and chocolate sauce, satiated by the show’s innovative amalgam of ribald shtick and aerial ballet, accompanied by an 18-member cello orchestra and a lone flugelhorn, artfully blown. The audience at every show is fashionably eclectic—spiffy grunge to quasi-professorial—but mostly warmly predisposed to intimidation. At intermission, the crowd makes a beeline for the state-of-the-art soda dispenser for a frothy serving of a cucumber-raspberry infused vodka and cane-sugar daquirito. Like me, you’ll be glad you asked for artisan-harvested sea salt on the rim of your glass. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">While enjoying the respite of intermission, we are captivated by a series of interactive monitors telling the history of East Chesterburg’s cultural renaissance. Jim Beevey, the theater's Manager of Community Engulfment notes, “We’re the only venue in town with a fully-functional wifi uplink to a cutting edge server that integrates each audience member’s feed to their personally-tailored, multi-layered choice of social media mode. It’s what the next generation of audience members crave, driven as they are to co-curate a communal cultural experience.” Beevey, a multitalented chap with a striped t-shirt peeking out from his unbuttoned charcoal jumpsuit, also produces the popular “East Chesterburg Happy Hour and Gallery Guide,” and plays jazz glockenspiel with a combo of like-minded devotees. Be sure to accept his invitation to an early morning of skeet shooting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">After the play, we retreat to a beguiling bistro in a narrow zone straddling two of East Chesterburg’s more piquant neighborhoods, Greek Town and Turk City. The Thanatos Café is famed for it’s aioli-smothered <em>soutzoukakia</em>, crisp flash-fried <em>hakanakaloxia</em>, fire-roasted <em>phipholococcyxolitis</em>, and blackened-<em>xxyzysosakakia</em> in red sauce. (The latter surprised me with its subtle blush of <em>disomos</em>, reminding me of the <em>keftedes</em> found on the island of Skiathos). After serving our food with a flamboyant flourish, our waiter leaps onto the table wielding an earthen, Mycaean stirrup jar from which issues a stream of ouzo to be caught directly in our open mouths. We laugh with abandon, then smash our soiled plates while shouting “Opa!” The savvy traveler will note that Dmitros does not work on Tuesdays.<br /><br /><strong>An Animated Night of Repose<br /><br /></strong>After a day bursting with urban-exploration and personal discovery, I am grateful to stumble to my lodging at the trendy DeLouche Hotel and Swim Club. The desk clerk stops the dance music long enough to offer me a complimentary nightcap of codeine-infused, boutique-distilled gin. I’m also given a choice of either a cruller filled with foamed bacon-grease (topped with shaved-beeswax curls), or a dollop of aerated whiskey-whip cream squirted from a vintage seltzer bottle onto a pewter teething spoon. I opt for the latter, but you may choose differently. The party in the lobby this evening is a gathering of East Chesterburg’s boho-riche supraclass, and won’t end until the bruise of dawn stretches across the surrounding plains like milk spilled on a granite countertop. Like me, you’ll be too tempted to join in the festivities, but you’ll resist. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Finally ensconced in my cozy room, I curl up under a yak skin throw rug emblazoned with custom-beaded Walt Whitman quotes, choose a magazine from a stack of vintage erotica stocked in each room, and watch the Sonny Liston/Cassius Clay fight playing in a continuous loop on a mid-century black-and-white television with no off button. I sleep like a baby, reminded only periodically that the DeLouche is built above the central distribution hub of East Chesterburg’s main post office, right next door to the All-Night Metalsmithing Collective and the Acme Bakery Supply Company. An old-school vending machine in the lobby offers noise-cancelling headphones for rent.<br /><br /><strong>Sad Farewells and Fond Memories<br /><br /></strong>Next day, I arise early and soon have my hands wrapped around a steaming mug of craft-roasted, artisan-brewed coffee at Caffe Assange, the dawn watering hole for East Chesterburg’s burgeoning community of life-style oriented creatives. We’re seated at a communal table sharing a bowl of deep-fried challah balls dusted with confectioner's sugar and porchetta crumbles (the café’s signature <em>petite appétit dejeuner du jour</em>), engaged in a lively debate about vegan cheeses, when founder and gastro-preneur Garth Feybart, announces that the café will be closing at noon—not just for the day, but forever. We gnash our teeth and trade email addresses with our fellow diners, vowing to meet again in other cities. When you visit East Chesterburg, you will be disappointed to find that Caffe Assange has already been replaced with something not quite as cool. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Too soon it is time for my visit to everybody’s new favorite city to come to a close. My cabbie, Herb “Toots” Thimpkin, bleets his horn to signal that I must take my bow. While all the world may be a stage, it is time for the curtain to fall on this play, and it does so with little drama. I’m not ashamed to report that I feel a tug of emotion as I say goodbye to the City that Rarely Dozes. As he drops me at the train station, Toots sums up my experience in a quietly reflective manner: "East Chesterburg revolves around things in ways we don’t understand. We throw our doors open and hope for the best. At heart, we’re just local people trying to be responsible and caring. You might want to bend at the knees when you lift that bag.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">NEXT STOP: West Chesterburg </span><br /><br />Editor's Notes:<br /><br />1) East Chesterburg is not a real town, nor is it meant to stand in for Portland, Oregon. </p><p>2) Astute readers and transcontinental pilots will note that the photograph at the top of this post is actually Lincoln, Nebraska.<br /><br />3) The line about "colorful koi finning under the Moon Bridge," is directly plagiarized from the National Geographic article, where it was used in a description of Portland's Lan Su Garden. We apologize. </p><p>4) Some Portland natives do carry umbrellas. Travel writers who say otherwise are perpetuating a canard.</p><p>5) A canard is also a duck.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"></span><br /></p>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-4176859116763644552010-11-29T15:57:00.000-08:002010-11-29T22:25:12.716-08:00Long Time No See.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 355px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 339px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545126949349829746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFGiBOhyGvQImxgkK-n1J3qu3f0IPz6KC4jJQ0sSb1wYUG8TwJu9SLtcxLjOaqwSOnIxkNJdeJVJtk8QdYDxo3js8fE8VHgRs5_KwvyfXTPLPCZEYd5S94WkDOQV7iBYGW4rS/s400/typist.jpg" /><br />Erstwhile friend and prolific blogger, Miss Laura of <a href="http://www.artscatter.com/">Art Scatter </a>fame (that's not her in the picture), has chided and inveigled, nagged and cajoled about this site's lack of ...dismal record of...paucity of... that we haven't been posting anything lately.<br /><br />"But blogging is so 2009!" I scream in response. "Twitter is the medium of the moment for cutting-edge provocateurs such as me. If it can't be said in 140 characters or less, you're saying too much."<br /><br />But she's right. More than three months have passed without a peep out of me. So get off my back already. Here's something new:<br /><br />November is <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">National Novel Writing Month </a>(popularly referred to as “NaNoWriMo”). If you’re so inclined, you can join thousands of other writers hellbent on cranking out at least 50,000 words over the span of thirty days. That works out to an average of 1,667 words per day...assuming you start on November 1st, which many diehards do at the stroke of midnight. If you procrastinate for the first ten days, you will have to average 2,500 words daily. So what's an extra 800+ words? On the other hand, if you wait until November 29th, you'll have to do 25,000 a day. Good luck with that.<br /><br />Here’s what I’ve written so far:<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>CHAPTER 1</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /><div>Marlowe Teablick entered the bookstore with a purposeful stride. An electronic chime sounded and the clerk looked up at him. Marlowe walked to the counter without stopping to browse at the display tables. He was full of purpose.<br /><br />“Can I help you find something?” the clerk asked.<br /><br />“I’m looking for something to read. What do you suggest?”<br /><br />“Fiction or non-fiction?”<br /><br />“Fiction. I’m planning to write a novel and I need inspiration,” explained Marlowe.<br /><br />“Jonathan Franzen’s new novel is quite popular. Oprah endorsed it.” The clerk handed him a copy. “This one is autographed.”<br /><br />Marlowe read the back cover and flipped through the book quickly. “These chapters are too long,” he said, handing the book back to the clerk. “I like short chapters so I can reach a stopping place when I get sleepy.”<br /><br />“I understand,” said the clerk. “Perhaps you would enjoy a thriller.”<br /><br />“That sounds good,” Marlowe answered. “I liked that DaVinci Code book and how Dan Brown ended each chapter with a cliffhanger. It made me want to keep reading.”<br /><br />“Then I think you’ll really like this!” shouted the clerk as he pulled out a gleaming, 9mm Glock 17 and pointed it at Marlowe's head.<br /><br /><strong>CHAPTER 2</strong><br /><br />Marlowe woke up in a bathtub full of ice...</div><div><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Now, if you'll excuse me, I better get busy with the rest of it.<br /></span></div></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOt0UbnD3xin0mcozpMM8mnKTxWb84Bfi45zIewtcarvcGcf-B1O1Ynk3qszLITbThzafljSwaiFTqZgxZiq4n3mpjllh_fVTW7v13yJZsQvgDqn0D5g2uWmYVY4PNUzyRPVT/s1600/typist+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 302px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545127288546852994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOt0UbnD3xin0mcozpMM8mnKTxWb84Bfi45zIewtcarvcGcf-B1O1Ynk3qszLITbThzafljSwaiFTqZgxZiq4n3mpjllh_fVTW7v13yJZsQvgDqn0D5g2uWmYVY4PNUzyRPVT/s400/typist+2.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Notes:<br /><br />1) You will find me on Twitter: @mightytoycannon<br /><br />2) The second photo isn't Miss Laura either. </span>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-51938487092158496792010-08-13T14:54:00.000-07:002010-08-13T15:42:07.092-07:00Notes on a Protest Song.The other day, I was directed to a ridiculous song protesting the proposed mosque near Ground Zero. The song is so over-the-top, I wondered if it was a parody written by the creators of South Park and "Team America." No, it was written by musician, songwriter and producer, Trade Martin, who has lots of real credits to his name, including a Grammy for producing albums for BB King. You can watch it here, then read my open letter to Mr. Martin.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oaQBrTROj2w?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oaQBrTROj2w?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />An Open Letter to Trade Martin,<br /><br />Dear Mr. Martin:<br /><br />I watched a video of your song, WE'VE GOT TO STOP THE MOSQUE AT GROUND ZERO. It made me laugh, but I don’t think that was your goal. It also reminded that there are bigots like you in the world. But let’s set aside your jingoistic politics for a moment and talk about songwriting.<br /><br />You open with these lines:<br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">We’ve got freedom of religion, I understand,<br />But Ground Zero is one location where a mosque shouldn’t stand.<br /></span></em></strong><br />(1) The phrase “I understand” is both weak and misleading. Right away we know that a “but” is coming. What you’re saying is, “I accept that some of you care about freedom of religion, but too bad.” I don’t think you <em>really</em> understand anything about it at all. Be bold, Trade. Say what you mean. Like this:<br /><br /><em>Your freedom of religion is getting’ in my way.<br />A Mosque at Ground Zero will totally ruin my day.<br /></em><br />(2) In my book, rhyming “understand” with “stand” is cheating. If you’re locked into “I understand,” perhaps the second line can read, “A mosque at Ground Zero is something that should be banned.” (Better yet: “shit canned”).<br /><br />(3) The phrase “but Ground Zero is one location” is awkward. You’ve twisted the sentence around just to get the right number of beats and a rhyme at the end. Keep it simple: “A mosque shouldn’t stand at Ground Zero.” I suggest "hero" as the rhyme for "zero."<br /><br />Enough of that couplet. Let’s look at some more lines from your song:<br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">Thousands of Americans died in the attack.<br />It’s a sacred place and that’s a cold hard fact.<br /></span></em></strong><br />(1) Did you forget that non-Americans died in the attack too? That may not be important to you.<br /><br />(2) You do realize that “attack” and “fact” don’t rhyme, right? I’m sensing a pattern here. I suggest you try a little harder.<br /><br />(3) “Cold hard fact” is a cliché. I suspect that you have a weakness for clichés.<br /><br />We can fix both of those problems with a few changes. May I suggest the following?<br /><br /><em>Thousands of innocents were viciously attacked.<br />Now it’s time for all of us to fight the bastards back.<br /></em><br />Did you like the addition of “viciously” and “bastards.” I thought you would. By the way, if you ever decide to protest street vendors selling hot dogs near Ground Zero, you could use this:<br /><br /><em>Thousands of Americans died in the attack.</em><br /><em>It’s a sacred location, not a place to get a snack.<br /></em><br />Moving on, let’s look at another set of lines:<br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">It’s a painful memory in our minds.<br />Our hearts keep breaking when we envision that tragic time.<br /></span></em></strong><br />(1) Is it necessary to give our painful memories a location? Where else would our memories be, if not in our minds? Oh. Muscle memory. Never mind.<br /><br />(2) I hate to be a broken record, but rhyming “minds” with “time” is a stretch. Forget it. I give up. I’m not going to win on this point.<br /><br />(3) Kudos for having the listener “<em>envision</em>” that terrible time. So much classier than just <em>remembering</em> it or <em>thinking</em> about it.<br /><br />Moving on:<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>God help us retain the honor and trust,<br />For all the families that have suffered so damn much.<br /></em></span></strong><br />(1) I said I’d stop complaining about the weak rhymes, but “trust” and “much”? You can do better, Trade.<br /><br />(2) Your church-going listeners might be troubled by “damn much” showing up so close to families, especially suffering families. Watch the salty language.<br /><br />(3) A few alternatives to consider:<br /><br /><em>God help us retain the honor and trust<br />As we go out and find some heads to bust.<br /><br />God help us retain the trust and honor<br />Of all of those Americans who are now goners.<br /><br />God help us, the trust and honor to retain<br />For all the families who’ve got suffering in their brains.<br /></em><br />(That last one might need some tweaking).<br /><br />Final section, then I’ll let you get back to your songwriting:<br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">If we let them build it, can’t you see,<br />They’ll turn 9/11 into a mockery.<br /></span></em></strong><br />(1) Moving the “can’t you see” to the end of the line is an old songwriting trick to get to the easy rhyme, but it sounds unnatural. It’s like saying, “I love you so much, don’t you know?” Or “You are my sweetheart, I do declare.”<br /><br />(2) Bravo on rhyming “can’t you see” with “mockery.” You might get the hang of this yet.<br /><br />(3) I might have gone with something like this:<br /><br /><em>Can’t you see, we can’t let them build it.</em><br /><em>'Cause there’s hole at Ground Zero and we haven’t yet filled it.<br /></em><br />One last thing: After the song ends and the credits show, we hear a recording of George W. Bush shouting in the megaphone with his infamous taunt, “I can hear you. The rest of the world hears you.”<br /><br />The video editor repeats the final “hears you” over and over until it starts to sound like Bush is saying “air Jew, air Jew, air Jew.” Is there a hidden message there?MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-51622284466798706532010-07-09T20:01:00.000-07:002010-07-09T21:13:56.767-07:00For God's Sake! Let's talk about arts education.<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><em></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0UEu2M90-Eaovqgop2TIvnibrJHqgQ8h3AP3QkE4XShVdgKecuTNG8xkzCmndvZuTbA93Dk7alhlD1BupF6RMMHsvu0AVYbl5U5Yia2Kboc9pjis7eplsjV7VU5mDlwxfv5_/s1600/arts+education.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491683897503772738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0UEu2M90-Eaovqgop2TIvnibrJHqgQ8h3AP3QkE4XShVdgKecuTNG8xkzCmndvZuTbA93Dk7alhlD1BupF6RMMHsvu0AVYbl5U5Yia2Kboc9pjis7eplsjV7VU5mDlwxfv5_/s400/arts+education.bmp" border="0" /></a> Two things I try to avoid in my blog posts:<br /><br />1) Serious stuff.<br /><br />2) God stuff.<br /><br />Allow me to deviate briefly from this policy.<br /><br />In the latest edition of her weekly e-mail message, the Executive Director of the <em>Theatre Communications Group</em>, Teresa Eyring, raised questions about President Obama’s educational reform programs, noting growing concern about the Administration’s narrow focus on math, science, testing and accountability.<br /><br />Ms. Eyring’s post included a <a href="http://www.performingartsconvention.org/education/id=158">link to a letter</a> that the <em>National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA </em>sent to the President. (The group claims to represent 36 Christian communions with a combined membership of 45 million persons in more than 100,000 congregations across the nation; i.e., a lot of Christians).<br /><br />The letter began by stating the group's common conviction “that the church is called to speak for justice in public education.” It went on to affirm “that our society’s provision of public education—publicly funded, universally available, and accountable to the public—while imperfect, is essential for ensuring that all children are served.”<br /><br />Despite the prevailing theological tone, these folks make damned good sense. God bless 'em. You can read the entire letter if you want, or you can save time by letting me excerpt the important sections. The first statement is what caught my attention and had me saying, "Yeah! Right on!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">We reject the language of business for discussing public education.</span></strong><br /><br />Not only has the language of the marketplace entered discussions of school governance and management, but we also notice that the language of business accountability is used to talk about education, a human endeavor of caring...<strong><em>We worry that our society has come to view what is good as what can be measured and compared...</em></strong> The relentless focus on testing basic skills has diminished our attention to the humanities, the social studies, the arts, and child and adolescent development. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">We value public school educators.</span></strong><br /><br />Our biblical heritage and our theology teach us that we live in community, not solely in the marketplace. As we strive to move our imperfect world closer to the realm of God, we recognize that we are all responsible for making sure that public schools, as primary civic institutions, embody our love for one another. We are called to create institutions that serve families and children with hospitality. We are called to work as citizens for the resources that will support a climate of trust and community within each public school. <strong><em>We are also called to value those whose vocation is teaching...</em></strong> <em><strong>Wholesale scapegoating of public school teachers is an ugly and unfortunate development in federal policy</strong></em>.<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Full Disclosure: I am the product of the public education system. I am also the product of parents who were educators in public schools. Also, my grandmother was an educator. My sister too. Oh, friends as well. </span>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-7914767967241981672010-07-04T10:33:00.000-07:002010-07-04T10:49:32.187-07:00Independence Day Reloaded (And Recycled)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2Ji5xjUUZqTgRwckFcPmnzRAPG7scD1a8Rv-F7agP4aKmoRFN3To2nZmfUTlB8N9qP8N53A3FbA3TqKlxzVPr9lH9JJj8Mqvuv5PZT4ljL4jBxLkiM9d4yv8Qul_y1_PWPKF/s1600/palin+gun.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490108235390352082" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2Ji5xjUUZqTgRwckFcPmnzRAPG7scD1a8Rv-F7agP4aKmoRFN3To2nZmfUTlB8N9qP8N53A3FbA3TqKlxzVPr9lH9JJj8Mqvuv5PZT4ljL4jBxLkiM9d4yv8Qul_y1_PWPKF/s200/palin+gun.jpg" border="0" /></a>One year ago, Sarah Palin quit her post as Governor of Alaska. Her inane resignation speech inspired me to adopt her voice in a rewrite of the Declaration of Independence. I republish the results here for your holiday amusement:<br /><br /><div><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">Don’t you know that sometimes we the people have got to do what we got to do. We can't keep playing the politics as usual game by stickin’ with each other just because that's the way the big powers want it to be. Sometimes you have to strike out on your own, listening to your heart and praying for guidance. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">But, yes, you need to explain to the people so they understand why you’re doing that and all. Though--this is funny--my mother has a sign in her scullery that says, "Don’t bother explaining yourself. Your friends don’t need it, and King George won’t listen!" Now that's what I call a self-evident truth! {wink}</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">Anyhoo, here’s what I’m thinking and being guided by the good Lord to say. First thing: Everybody, even the little guy from a real town or farm is just as equal as a big-time Philadelphian or Londoner. Even Bartholomew the Ironmonger has got to have rights like Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. And Energy! People have a right to energy independence too.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">To hold on to these rights as tightly as I'm holding my beautiful son Trig, you sometimes have to let government take care of things. But that doesn’t mean you have to accept politics as usual. And you need the people that you’re governing to agree to that and all. Because that's what this is really about. The people. And that’s not government interference they want! No sir.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">But, you know -- and I want to say this straight to my fellow colonists and not have it filtered by the towncrier and those broadside printers. (And Lord knows that Benjamin Franklin guy with his sayings and his 'gotcha games'). So let it be said, when government gets big and corrupt, sometimes you need to pass the ball and play a different kind of game by standing up. I choose to stand up. I'm not wired to sit down and hit my head against the wall.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"> </div></span><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">Life is too short to plod along and listen to the people who say, "Just quiet down and pay your excise taxes" or tell you to just "go with the flow." Nah, only dead fish go with the flow. I choose to fight. I fight for you so we can build up! National security and small government. Saying no to the big interests and standing up for freedom and our troops. We need to support our troops and all that they have ultimately sacrificed with their blood. We need to say "No more tyranny!" to King George so we can progress this nation along the path that Jesus wants us to progress it on.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">Thomas Jefferson wrote a few things about this same thing and is doing that politics thing of getting other powerful interests to sign it. You just know, don't you, that he's going to use that fancy way of talking like they do in Virginia. That kind of talk is all just words and everything. I wanted to tell you straight, without all the sugar coating and the “whereas” and “wherefores” which get in the way of telling you what people need to hear.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">So there, I’ve said it. Some of you will question the timing of my declaration. Sure, I could have waited until summer was over, but jiminy-cricket, it’s the Fourth of July people! This is the day God intended us to declare our independence. So now Todd and my wonderful family are going to roast some meats and put on a Chinese gunpowder display. Thank you.</span></div></div>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-59553115529207520882010-06-29T11:56:00.000-07:002010-06-29T12:52:46.818-07:00Bang! Boom! Bang!<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXtgoP2mOXsLNsKmltKFdU4VzK_o4Ai7GCUKueE_P2xrYGa4rex6ab0-8w3cklzMU7Pwag2GlNvNLbsKjQKfVKt5zUPafIsNY7HHoVvlSSj99PeuQ3PzjgVCEjA51VDL4emc_/s1600/king+kong.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488275100868653410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXtgoP2mOXsLNsKmltKFdU4VzK_o4Ai7GCUKueE_P2xrYGa4rex6ab0-8w3cklzMU7Pwag2GlNvNLbsKjQKfVKt5zUPafIsNY7HHoVvlSSj99PeuQ3PzjgVCEjA51VDL4emc_/s400/king+kong.bmp" border="0" /></a>The Fourth of July will be here in five days. That means it's time time for fireworks to start erupting prematurely. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I imagine this conversation has already started:<br /><br />"Dude! I just drove to Vancouver and spent $200 on fireworks!"<br /><br />"Cool. I can't wait until the Fourth of July is here."<br /><br />"Me neither. I suppose we could light off a few tonight."<br /><br />"Righteous! Let's do it!"<br /><br />"I mean after it's dark and everything."<br /><br />"That's cool. I can wait until dark."<br /><br />"Well, just a few right now wouldn't hurt. I got plenty. Maybe just the loud ones. I'm gonna save the sparkly ones for nighttime."<br /><br />"All right! Got a lighter?"<br /><br />"Yeah. Hand me a beer first."<br /><br />Today's Oregonian was graced by a full page ad for fireworks placed by an outfit named "<a href="http://www.bomberbrothers.net/">The Bomber Brothers</a>."<br /><br />At the top of the ad is this warning: </div><div align="left"><strong><blockquote><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Products in this ad are for sale and use in Washington only."</span></strong></div></blockquote></strong></div><br />In the middle of the ad is this reminder:<br /><br /><strong><blockquote><span style="font-size:180%;">No July 5th sales this year. Don't forget to stock up!</span></blockquote></strong><p><br />Let that be a warning to you.<br /><br />In honor of Independence Day, I’ve taken the liberty (get it?) of categorizing the various product names from this morning’s ad. I only made up one of them.<br /><br />JINGOISTIC:<br /><br />American Rhythm<br />American Intensity<br />The Whole Empire<br />Wave with Pride<br /><br />SOCIOPATHIC:<br /><br />Fear No Evil<br />Utter Chaos<br />Loyal to None<br />Gangster<br /><br />MENTAL HEALTH RELATED:<br /><br />Mr. Happy<br />Crazy Excited on Steroids<br />Hopped Up<br />Cuckoo<br />Impossible Dream<br /><br />NATURE RELATED:<br /><br />Lady Bugs<br />Small Bees<br />Killer Bees<br />Yellow Jackets<br />Green Hornets<br />Ground Bloom Flowers<br />Magic Crystal<br /><br />MILITARY THEMED:<br /><br />Attack Vehicle<br />Black Hawk Helicopter<br />Victory Celebration<br />Parachute Battalion<br />Secret Weapon<br />Buzz Bomb<br /><br />FONT RELATED</p><p>Arial (sic) Assault<br /><br />DESCRIPTIVE (in order of intensity):<br /><br />Flicker<br />Kaleidoscope<br />Pop Goes the Fountain<br />Fireworks Fiesta<br />Fast & Furious<br />Big Finish<br />One Bad Mother<br />One Bad Mother-in-Law<br />Holy @%&$, It’s LOUD!<br /><br />IMPRESSIONISTIC:<br /><br />Blue Stars<br />Desert at Night<br />Garden in Spring<br />Rouen Cathedral, Symphony in Grey and Rose </p>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-5273402520698291362010-06-15T20:56:00.000-07:002010-06-15T21:51:35.439-07:00Aborted Blog Posts: Edition #1This long-form blogging is hard compared to the wham-bam world of Twitter with its 140 character constraints. It's easy to start a blog post. Finishing one is a different colored horse. <br /><br />As I've been cleaning out my cluttered computer recently, I've been finding document files with cryptic titles. Upon opening some, I've rediscovered the beginnings of blog posts that I never finished. Ideas that never cohered. Writing prompts that prompted nothing. Drafts that eventually bored me. I have decided to post some of these without further editing or explanation. Here's the first one:<br /><blockquote>Despite an outward air of youthful sprightliness, and discounting the elan with which I embrace modern ways, I’m getting old. I’m reminded of this fact when I lumber down the stairs in the morning in a cruel parody of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Brennan">Walter Brennan</a>. The reference to Walter Brennan confirms my condition.</blockquote> <br />I probably started than on my last birthday. I don't remember where I planned to go with it. I suspect that I was sidetracked while looking for a YouTube clip of Walter Brennan, like this one from the fabulous Howard Hawks film "To Have and Have Not" starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QSgqrrWyF0Y&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QSgqrrWyF0Y&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Or maybe this fun compilation from "Rio Bravo" with John Wayne:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BLxBBl1a0JU&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BLxBBl1a0JU&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-84667433299078996312010-06-12T08:41:00.000-07:002010-06-12T13:46:17.102-07:00The Oregon Telephone Herald Co.-- It's Information, Inspiration and Amusement<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxWAuttn73yoBvRn1RSLR3eMuZ-U3E5t-o0Qj9zWwNi6vvYGtt_bTtjgJrXp9bwKzGwy2prmHAyXPdF53zp__lE74pdXnek2s6i0qMmNRrRPsoYpmgOV7-_UP2K6DSWvcRrjC/s1600/drone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480797213607426786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 271px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 291px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxWAuttn73yoBvRn1RSLR3eMuZ-U3E5t-o0Qj9zWwNi6vvYGtt_bTtjgJrXp9bwKzGwy2prmHAyXPdF53zp__lE74pdXnek2s6i0qMmNRrRPsoYpmgOV7-_UP2K6DSWvcRrjC/s320/drone.jpg" border="0" /></a>Recent <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/nature/are-mobile-phones-wiping-out-our-bees-444768.html">research</a> indicates that the proliferation of cell phone signals may be causing bee populations to dwindle (also known as “Colony Collapse Disorder”).<br /><br />What? Man-made activity wreaking environmental havoc? In this modern age of technological wonder and universal high-mindedness? I don't want to believe it.<br /><br />Is a dying bee colony the new version of the canary in the coal mine? Could our modern communication demands be creating unintended consequences?<br /><br />This could be a serious problem:<br /><strong><br /><p>No Bees = No Pollination = No Food = We All Die.</strong></p><p>Okay, so that would be bad. But wouldn’t it be worse if we couldn’t use our cell phones and wireless connections to tell each other how we’re <em>feeling</em> about it?<br /><br />We’ve grown accustomed to technology connecting us with our world by providing a fat pipeline of information, entertainment and, increasingly, social interaction. But at what cost? </p><p>Two years ago, in an article in The Atlantic titled, "<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2008/07/is-google-making-us-stupid/6868/">Is Google Making Us Stupid</a>," Nicholas Carr questioned whether the internet was not only changing our habits, but actually rewiring our brains. He starts the story this way:</p><blockquote>Over the past few years I’ve had an uncomfortable sense that someone, or something, has been tinkering with my brain, remapping the neural circuitry, reprogramming the memory. My mind isn’t going—so far as I can tell—but it’s changing. I’m not thinking the way I used to think. I can feel it most strongly when I’m reading. Immersing myself in a book or a lengthy article used to be easy. My mind would get caught up in the narrative or the turns of the argument, and I’d spend hours strolling through long stretches of prose. That’s rarely the case anymore. Now my concentration often starts to drift after two or three pages. I get fidgety, lose the thread, begin looking for something else to do. I feel as if I’m always dragging my wayward brain back to the text. The deep reading that used to come naturally has become a struggle.</blockquote><p><em>Full disclosure: I didn't read the whole article because it was in The Atlantic and I just don't have that kind of attention span.</em></p><p>Carr expands on the article in a newly published book, "The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to our Brains." In his <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/06/books/review/Lehrer-t.html">review of Carr's book for the New York Times</a>, Jonah Lehrer put our anxiety about techonology into historical context: </p><blockquote><p>Socrates started what may have been the first technology scare. In the 'Phaedrus,' he lamented the invention of books, which 'create forgetfulness' in the soul. Instead of remembering for themselves, Socrates warned, new readers were blindly trusting in 'external written characters.' The library was ruining the mind."</p></blockquote><p>Which brings me to what I really wanted to do with this blog post. Several months ago, while surfing the interwebs, serendipity led me to a fascinating bit of Portland history involving early forms of media and communication. </p><p>Nearly a century ago, the <strong>Oregon Telephone Herald Company</strong> sought to deliver news and entertainment to subscribers via dedicated telephone lines. The advertisements promised to deliver, <em>“Music, Songs, Parts of Play from Theatres, and our own special artists every Evening from 6 to 12 P.M., also the World’s and local news as it happens 8 A.M. to Midnight.” </em><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGNj6hhbgBH_9kiGFx9XlVneEiukchXTAh6TUUOEwhS4JoFxBpEq2Y4ghGC1ukV7eszZ9aArVPdHLMNfN1OwxzPHh0pdSOyVhEVeV-pHMEJzFGPevQdA9iSWhzIDNm9yK0r8s/s1600/Oregon_Telephone_Herald.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480794947260376098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 367px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGNj6hhbgBH_9kiGFx9XlVneEiukchXTAh6TUUOEwhS4JoFxBpEq2Y4ghGC1ukV7eszZ9aArVPdHLMNfN1OwxzPHh0pdSOyVhEVeV-pHMEJzFGPevQdA9iSWhzIDNm9yK0r8s/s400/Oregon_Telephone_Herald.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />“Demonstration parlors,” at which prospective subscribers could listen to transmissions, were set up in Portland, including one at the Hotel Multnomah and another in the 7th floor restroom at Meier & Frank, of all places.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf8kZLL9jzqQ0KQISCUpEZGS05cvc2zatfsxb6ZI3Hl8OHvkvLY1SC0K2Q5rKQ8O42bIJ6pyIVAVR15nm448QBVsbiXYcgocrybW6WMO9mBWgq8ps0kBQKVaUJxcdWRp8pC8Z/s1600/1912oth2.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480795367776273458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 343px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf8kZLL9jzqQ0KQISCUpEZGS05cvc2zatfsxb6ZI3Hl8OHvkvLY1SC0K2Q5rKQ8O42bIJ6pyIVAVR15nm448QBVsbiXYcgocrybW6WMO9mBWgq8ps0kBQKVaUJxcdWRp8pC8Z/s400/1912oth2.gif" border="0" /></a>The first practical system of telephone-based news and entertainment had been established in Budapest, Hungary in the 1893. Two years later, an article in Harper’s Weekly was critical, arguing that the city, <em>“must be the finest place for illiterate, blind, bedridden, and incurably lazy people in the world. It would not appear, however, that a telephone newspaper is of value as time-saving device, or that it is any less devastating to the faculties than a modern journal which distributes its news in the ordinary way.”</em><br /><br />A story titled, "<a href="http://www.earlyradiohistory.us/sec003.htm">The Pleasure Telephone</a>," in the September 1898 issue of The Strand painted a rosier picture: <em>“It will make millions merry who have never been merry before, and will democratize, if we may so write, many of the social luxuries of the rich. Those who object to the environment of the stage will be able to enjoy the theatre at home, and the fashionable concert will be looked forward to as eagerly by the poor as by their wealthy neighbours. The humblest cottage will be in immediate contact with the city, and the ‘private wire’ will make all classes kin."</em></p><p>(My favorite line: "<em>Those who object to the environment of the stage will be able to enjoy the theatre at home...</em>").</p><p>The entrepreneurs who tried to bring this new form of media to Portland failed. That failure could be blamed on technological limitations; amplifiers to boost the signal high enough to transmit by wire over distances had not been invented yet. Perhaps they were simply unable to bring the idea "to scale" with enough subscribers to cover the costs of building the infrastructure needed. A decade or so later, radios were in common use and the mega-media moguls were beginning to lick their lips and rub their hands together rapaciously.</p><p>Here we are, just a century later, tucking magical, miniature marvels of mass media into our pockets so we can be in touch at every possible moment. What's next? </p><p>Hat Tip to: earlyradiohistory.us for the background and advertisements for the Oregon Telephone Herald Co.</p>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-71614641948332570712010-06-11T11:16:00.000-07:002010-06-11T11:40:34.038-07:00Make is NowSpotted this morning taped to light poles in downtown Portland:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3krrVJhSQ8TlkhOTBa38SGHh_7y8eWVMqS2R1QBlsQGk5NN7FzynDQK_U7GckJU5gB7NJ3lgIo4T_P25Lt1zCzrEfZJPCh47CYDStxKAZy3VL1MMxZjT7isG2NLIY2yorQYdI/s1600/06112010114.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481582649616986530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3krrVJhSQ8TlkhOTBa38SGHh_7y8eWVMqS2R1QBlsQGk5NN7FzynDQK_U7GckJU5gB7NJ3lgIo4T_P25Lt1zCzrEfZJPCh47CYDStxKAZy3VL1MMxZjT7isG2NLIY2yorQYdI/s400/06112010114.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYIdR8pMsRZbC5g05LHidoC7zKq4XhpHdAIEXMlaekqr81SwLaDvPfcqdlAoXMvFgcA4_1_gOfizdQJXCzzNaSQzsnI_ylAiLkZboQOsRtIlA854nkQ-_gtFmc0AZVYmQN8SM/s1600/06112010115.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481582749226359378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYIdR8pMsRZbC5g05LHidoC7zKq4XhpHdAIEXMlaekqr81SwLaDvPfcqdlAoXMvFgcA4_1_gOfizdQJXCzzNaSQzsnI_ylAiLkZboQOsRtIlA854nkQ-_gtFmc0AZVYmQN8SM/s400/06112010115.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Dear Portland,<br /><br />Thank you for saving the Made in Oregon sign. We heard you want to put your name on it. Before you do, consider an option that changes only one letter.<br /><br />Make in Oregon.<br /><br />Oregon is for makers. From food and beverages to bikes and clothing to art and music, Oregon makes. Oregon makes wool and cheese and berries and memories.<br /><br />The sign should be a symbol of who we are, not just where we are. By changing its tense, we put Portland in the present while highlighting Oregon as the state that makes things.<br /><br />Made is past. Make is now.<br /><br />makeinoregon.com<br /><br />This is how it might look:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0Z_Zl5Ww0OhjJ9RXOcyf5udvvzLJB6bcivkTqMgxjmYJBXE70nXOM5kYLKLMWyK1piJLj6tr_-tEvrKH1jXA7QIbe4z7867FZiT6QkrCKCwBMadhcwABwAN-JDUGZzbTAWib/s1600/Make+in+Oregon.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 358px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0Z_Zl5Ww0OhjJ9RXOcyf5udvvzLJB6bcivkTqMgxjmYJBXE70nXOM5kYLKLMWyK1piJLj6tr_-tEvrKH1jXA7QIbe4z7867FZiT6QkrCKCwBMadhcwABwAN-JDUGZzbTAWib/s400/Make+in+Oregon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481584578579189394" /></a><br /><br />Whaddya think? Is it better than the hideous neon rose that Commissioner Randy Leonard insisted be planted on top of the Oregon Visitor Center on the Waterfront?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkS8MD7eZxLbd1Dun0sak7nZYDggTD5e8N5RvZDNFPde-chHMbQw58-UFtZO_tDDg7ehrnD_7cSKmzEpRqCeg2tZuu-HYr7qidJHR4rTPjCRYsI_qU-Dg34EQZHNhXgS1GKz3/s1600/neon+rose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkS8MD7eZxLbd1Dun0sak7nZYDggTD5e8N5RvZDNFPde-chHMbQw58-UFtZO_tDDg7ehrnD_7cSKmzEpRqCeg2tZuu-HYr7qidJHR4rTPjCRYsI_qU-Dg34EQZHNhXgS1GKz3/s400/neon+rose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481585651328289666" /></a><br /><br />I stole that photo from the <a href="http://blogtown.portlandmercury.com/BlogtownPDX/archives/2009/04/15/randys-rose-this-is-insane">Portland Mercury</a>, but they won't care because they like all the attention.MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-80359363924282157062010-05-25T18:02:00.001-07:002010-05-25T22:56:48.645-07:00Bourbon Jockey: The Documentary ProofLast week, I participated in a form of collaborative creative engagement that contributed to building cultural community. In lay terms: I played music with a band in a bar for beer.<br /><br />My fellow music-makers and I (a.k.a. <em><strong>Bourbon Jockey</strong></em>) appeared at <a href="www.rootsorganicbrewing.com">Roots Organic Brewing Company</a> in Southeast Portland. We were the evening headliners, as evidenced by our name written prominently on the chalkboard by the door.<br /><br />We had fun. We helped the establishment move some beer. The people who left when we started to play were planning to leave anyway, and good riddance to them. We kept the volume to a level that allowed amiable conversation by those who were willing to shout at each other. Friends, family and strangers mixed. No fights broke out. <br /><br />In addition to myself (intrepid front man), Matthew Jones (on upright bass) and Alan Cole (on other guitar), we were accompanied by a young fellow we call “Conga Dave” on account of not knowing his full name. When we last played at Roots, Alan left the stage in the middle of a tune, announcing “I’m going to see if they have a conga drum somewhere.” He rooted around a storage closet and retrieved said drum, then called one of his Lewis & Clark students up on stage to join us. With that simple act, Bourbon Jockey acquired a drummer. We invited Conga Dave to play along last week, though we neglected to confirm whether the closet at Roots still contained a conga drum. It didn’t, so Dave improvised with a few buckets, a shaker and a tambourine played with his foot. In the parlance of musicologists, he employed idiophones rather than a membranophone, but we don't need to get technical about it.<br /><br />I pulled some video from the bar's security cameras for the benefit and edification of fans who were too stove up to make it out on Thursday night. <br /><br />1) This first one is a Tom Waits song from whence we derived our name: “Jockey Full of Bourbon.” Sorry about my massive cabeza filling the frame.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/X7g-yrkzEs8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/X7g-yrkzEs8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /> <br />2) This next one captures the Bourbon Jockey spirit. While we were playing, we noticed a lone fellow in the corner playing along on a concertina. He was also dressed as a pirate. We coaxed him out front to join us in an impromptu rendition of the Hank Williams classic, “Jambalaya.” <br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0dU2cX7FkT4&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0dU2cX7FkT4&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />3) A little blues and testifying, with our version of the T-Bone Walker tune, "Stormy Monday" in which I blow on a harmonica and yell.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zXqhCgJkYmI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zXqhCgJkYmI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />4) You're still here? Well then here's our take on "Route 66."<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IEsBs7TTpjI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IEsBs7TTpjI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />If you're hankering for more (and who wouldn't be?) you can find a few more videos on YouTube. Search for "Bourbon Jockey Roots Brewing" to find them. Or not.<br /><br />We'll be back sometime in June, so put a hold on your entire calendar for the month. I'll keep you posted.MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-28347819245964447542010-05-19T22:49:00.000-07:002010-05-19T23:13:14.792-07:00Bourbon Jockey Live!Did I mention that the amateur musical ensemble with which I make joyous music will be performing at Roots Organic Brewing Company on Thursday, May 20, 2010? You are invited to join the festivities anytime from 8:00 to 11:00 or so. This won't be a "concert," so don't worry about arriving on time, staying through the whole set, or even paying much attention to what we're doing. Consider our music to be a soundtrack to drinking beer and hanging out with friends. <br /><br />We'll be wailing and caterwauling through an ever-growing list of songs from the Great American Honky Tonk Song Book. In honor of flooding and oil spills, we'll be singing tunes from Nashville and New Orleans. We'll cover everything from Hank Williams to Tom Waits, from Fats Domino to Fats Waller. We might even let you sing along. All are invited to become Bourbonites by joining our fan club, The Bourbon Dynasty. It'll be fun. <br /><br />I usually don cowboy boots and hat for these gigs, but I'm thinking of showing up in this getup:<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkv7vXUOMhiMKm2TqpgE2br1-DD3_J2gpupnvYu_nkkqMAskdaGx1uIPCkqZisQ3on71XRh3oNzi4O2g2syEWo1MPnBRnsHkk2eMIvVGOBZb0MjhLwsZr3ialOgodHV7ib1lS/s1600/jump+suit.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473227673412544434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkv7vXUOMhiMKm2TqpgE2br1-DD3_J2gpupnvYu_nkkqMAskdaGx1uIPCkqZisQ3on71XRh3oNzi4O2g2syEWo1MPnBRnsHkk2eMIvVGOBZb0MjhLwsZr3ialOgodHV7ib1lS/s400/jump+suit.jpg" border="0" /></a> In case you can't read the small print, here's the oh-so-sexy ad copy:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">One easy piece</span>.</strong> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Because one is enough, when it’s you. Show where you’re headed in the ultimate fashion climax.<br /><br />Fits so tight it shows all you’ve got …you’re a walking turn-on. And treats your body as well as she does.<br /><br />Easy on, easy off, quick as a flick of her tongue. Sexy cool crinkle cloth for those hot nights to come. Designed with your desires in mind …she’ll eat you alive in it.<br /><br />The Big Zip in 50% polyester/50% cotton. Long-sleeved in rust, blue or black. Short-sleeved in natural, blue or camel.<br /><br />Are you man enough to fill it?<br /><br />$45 </span></p>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-26522308236284348302010-05-16T12:48:00.000-07:002010-05-16T13:08:11.794-07:00Of Your Assistance I Implore<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUzx-uyXJTWOiHj68wK3138f88It3mg-mJEgAd5wAmC86O7uZnpC2_3WMKsvVhE0erU6cgJq4pqikQijKfuePvQqPrMdYCYIpK79hw4IMx6_5I5ZrdRK0ZvvQWDb7Fu_MPeOd/s1600/beard+guitar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471957968139903362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 298px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUzx-uyXJTWOiHj68wK3138f88It3mg-mJEgAd5wAmC86O7uZnpC2_3WMKsvVhE0erU6cgJq4pqikQijKfuePvQqPrMdYCYIpK79hw4IMx6_5I5ZrdRK0ZvvQWDb7Fu_MPeOd/s400/beard+guitar.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">Dearest fellow,<br /><br />I humbly seek your most urgent attention for a matter of most import. To my attention has come news that a musical group of note by which is known as <strong>“Bourbon Jockey”</strong> will be performing at your city at the soonest Thursday night from this date. It has been my dream of my lifetime to enjoy such musical pleasure in the city of Portland Orgon.<br /><br />My late-uncle, who was most fortunate to be Minister of Foreign Culture in the nation of Nigeria before his recent death, wished me to have this absurd pleasure. Having wished that for me and to assure such would take place, he placed a sum of $3,000,000 million US dollars in a secret account. This sum to be used to travel me to listen to your Bourbon Jockey, of which I am biggest fan, on May 20, 2010 at Roots Organic Brewing Company.<br /><br />Having demised unfortunately of an accident, my uncle failed to leave instructions regarding the sending of this money to my account for the purpose of hearing Bourbon Jockey. My remaining relatives which are of evil intention have made to block me from my due right to this sum. More so, I am locked in a closet and prevented from all person contact except by the internets.<br /><br />Of favor to me and in interest of your enjoyment of fine music, I am implore you to visit the Bourbon Jockey performance on May 20, 2010. It is of my knowledge that Bourbon Jockey makes western music of roots variety for the enjoyment of the people and the drinking of the beer.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">I ask of your assistance to please attend this most important event for to write to me describing its wonders after its completion. This way I will have enjoyment too. Also, it would be of true assistance to also send me your bank account number and all codes which are necessary for making it of access to me.<br /><br />For learning more, one may read of the famous Bourbon Jockey in </span><a href="http://cultureshockpdx.blogspot.com/2010/01/be-there-or-be-square.html"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">this writing of blog </span></a><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">from many months ago.<br /></div></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">Sincerely and with honest hope,</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">Mrs. Martha Kwesi Ubunde</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br />WHO: BOURBON JOCKEY featuring Mighty Toy Cannon<br /></div><br /><div>WHEN: Thursday, May 20, 2010. From 8:00-ish to Whenever-ish<br /></div><br /><div>WHERE: Roots Organic Brewing Co., 1530 SE 7th, Portland OR<br /></div><br /><div>HOW: By the plucking of stringed instruments, vocalization and blowing of reeds.<br /></div><br /><div>WHY: Why not? You know you want to.<br /></div><br />WHO, EXACTLY, IS BOURBON JOCKEY?<br /><br />Ross McKeen (aka Mighty Toy Cannon): Vocal, Guitar, Harmonica<br />Matthew Jones (aka Mr. Jones): Bass<br />Alan Jones (aka The Perfesser): Guitar and harmony vocals<br />+ Mystery Guest Percussionist known only as Conga Dave<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQVvw-N1dHALOK9Xbs7TjOgiU8DnRUPTJMTyNqLSOS1ObLfiGNjFVPLLsbuCj7BTKsTUdYUT71hyphenhyphenhajz5bHy2MMgZ_Yt3aYHapC5KuDs5QRqAjTSdmNqnvntF1v1ODWA0w14i/s1600/bourbon+j.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471960108071127650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 102px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQVvw-N1dHALOK9Xbs7TjOgiU8DnRUPTJMTyNqLSOS1ObLfiGNjFVPLLsbuCj7BTKsTUdYUT71hyphenhyphenhajz5bHy2MMgZ_Yt3aYHapC5KuDs5QRqAjTSdmNqnvntF1v1ODWA0w14i/s400/bourbon+j.jpg" border="0" /></a>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-86970768321605622502010-05-14T14:00:00.000-07:002010-05-14T19:47:09.466-07:00The turnaround king turns Portland around.Yesterday morning, I joined a few hundred colleagues to hear Michael Kaiser, President of the Kennedy Center, give his “<a href="http://www.artsincrisis.org/">Arts In Crisis</a>” talk – a sermon he’s been delivering on a nationwide tour over the past year. Portland was stop number 55 on the gospel circuit, with Portland Center Stage’s Gerding Theatre standing in for the big white tent.<br /><br />The stop before Portland? Pierre, South Dakota, population 13,000. (Bonus Points for correct pronunciation of Pierre).<br /><br />Kaiser has been hailed as “the turnaround king” and called a “transformational leader” based on his record of pulling the fat out of the fire for several struggling arts companies. In his talks, his books, and on his <a href="http://artsmanagerfba.artsmanager.org/KCBlogs/default.aspx">blog</a>, he’s been urging arts leaders to keep investing in producing great, exciting art, rather than allowing the challenges of the recession turn us into boring cowards. We also need to continue investing in marketing (“institutional marketing” in particular). "You can't save your way to financial health," he argues.<br /><br />One of the event's hosts, the <a href="http://www.oregonartscommission.org/">Oregon Arts Commission</a>, encouraged me to blog about it, recognizing my tremendous reach as a thought leader. They didn’t know that I would spend a full 45 minutes coming up with the following:<br /><br /><br /><blockquote>Michael Kaiser is recognized throughout the universe as the gold standard of gurus. He is both the real deal and the <em>beau ideal</em>—an exemplar of expertise and a paragon of perspicacity. There is no other way to describe him other than by using words like <em>nonpareil</em>, or words that mean the same thing. Some may disagree, but none will dispute that he is arguably the apotheosis of arts administration."</blockquote><p></p><p></p>My point being that I don’t know what I’m doing.<br /><br />Then I remember that I’m not a journalist. I’m an <em>aggregator</em>. My job is to point you in the direction of my betters. In this case (as is often the case) there’s none better than Lisa Radon, one of Portland’s finest arts journalists. Lisa tweeted throughout the talk with one hand while taking notes with another and waving to admirers with another. You can read her smart blog post summarizing Kaiser's talk <a href="http://www.ultrapdx.com/zero/2010/05/13/kennedy-center-michael-kaiser-arts-in-crisis/">here</a>. Rumor has it that a video of the talk will be available, as will something they want me to believe is actually called a “podcast.”<br /><br />Honestly, I went to the event with the stainless steel pump that is my heart primed with liquified natural gas. I prepared for the session by stretching my eye-rolling muscles and practicing my deep sigh technique. I jotted a few crib notes to remind me of choice interjections I might want to shout, such as:<br /><br />"You wish!"<br />"In what parallel universe?"<br />"That's a smart observation. NOT!"<br />"Yeah...right."<br /><br />Instead, I was transformed. Well, “transformed” is a little strong. <em>Inspired </em>and a <em>motivated </em>may be better adjectives. When I have the time, I might think about writing more on the topic.<br /><br />The colleagues with whom I spoke afterwards shared the warm glow. One well-respected arts leader <span style="font-size:78%;">(<em>fictional</em>)</span> went so far as to say, <em>"The only thing that would have made the event more inspiring is if Kaiser were Justin Bieber and we were 12 year old girls."</em><br /><br />Here are pictures of Michael Kaiser and Justin Bieber making secret hand gestures to their respective fans.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZ0f1tmpoK6lgYpuMTKHDbCZXx3fUZHsBzWZx8jnYHeZxSC4ipZUCMS-jHIEWdHcNyra0pCPi9cDyPQMsKgGCcQ2I06Klf_Zp4P9DC1wqJ8_ytGUV-MvbVOCse9kyy4K-kcls/s1600/Kaiser-155.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471236411336263954" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZ0f1tmpoK6lgYpuMTKHDbCZXx3fUZHsBzWZx8jnYHeZxSC4ipZUCMS-jHIEWdHcNyra0pCPi9cDyPQMsKgGCcQ2I06Klf_Zp4P9DC1wqJ8_ytGUV-MvbVOCse9kyy4K-kcls/s320/Kaiser-155.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxB_OTvbYs3wIu7p4I910Na_6k3yc_ar8NsrfBOXIOPSUW-7JFR1G1e2UQUVWdFuEPpfZDQsrsegiIunAl9GLO80VPrBeBnBBOq33r9HZkVgIkIoaNFIBjNPIjAkMCklknblk/s1600/bieber.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471238172269366738" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxB_OTvbYs3wIu7p4I910Na_6k3yc_ar8NsrfBOXIOPSUW-7JFR1G1e2UQUVWdFuEPpfZDQsrsegiIunAl9GLO80VPrBeBnBBOq33r9HZkVgIkIoaNFIBjNPIjAkMCklknblk/s400/bieber.jpg" border="0" /></a>MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-10920526302510295922010-04-30T16:01:00.000-07:002010-04-30T16:29:29.434-07:00Beltane<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;">Growing up, my family has always had a May Day tradition. It was taught to me and my sisters by our mother, she and her sister learned it from their mother, and I suspect my grandmother was taught it from her mother as well. I am now teaching it to my sons. I didn’t realize it until recently, but this tradition of ours is steeped in Beltane ritual.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-wrqqQJAGUR6ERl4-otGlSdgh4aQ4t_TqTdf2ylkNQSiJe-HEHNTpG2jg-T77npKAdqy_4bz9YFjz6l-mk9y2YRuzdyG-JBgpfkC6Wpt2nVP2XY1-83wMORAnnBHOq6Ctl-LIA/s1600/may-pole-daisies-600kb.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 189px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466076543967651826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-wrqqQJAGUR6ERl4-otGlSdgh4aQ4t_TqTdf2ylkNQSiJe-HEHNTpG2jg-T77npKAdqy_4bz9YFjz6l-mk9y2YRuzdyG-JBgpfkC6Wpt2nVP2XY1-83wMORAnnBHOq6Ctl-LIA/s200/may-pole-daisies-600kb.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;">In our family, we call May 1st “Dew Day.” According to folklore, the dew on May 1st has magical properties. When we wake in the morning, we do not say a word until we go outside and wash our faces in the fresh dew. This is supposed to bring one year of health and luck; and (especially for young women) a clear complexion.<br /><br />I can’t find any fixed reference to silence in the morning on May Day. Perhaps it was a concoction by my grandmother for a few extra moments of peace and quiet. Nonetheless, it has become a part of our tradition. As children we used to place notes at our bedsides and on the bathroom mirror to remind ourselves not to talk and risk breaking the spell.<br /><br />It is interesting to me that preceding generations in my rather conservative family would honor a Beltane ritual. Pagans, they are not. And for them to have chosen a ritual that is closely associated with a celebration of fertility is even more astounding. I wonder if they even knew.<br /><br />Beltane is celebrated around May 1st, the midway point between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice. In ancient times, it marked the arrival of summer with celebrations of new life, rebirth, and fertility. Beltane is celebrated throughout the world and while customs may vary somewhat, much of the ritual and celebration remains the same.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZXHkAU9D5oX37J-ZxwVsRDRzMNlX1HiDxzk1lGzYgkQwJkBdPXWeKE-THwyhp0NYSEWmkZ94eO3C-Ob-FlBB-Mkq0PvSVb2YYDPO4XKveEH9dWWSkcyzEo1D3-tSYPIFOY0F2g/s1600/Beltane%2520Fire%2520Festival%2520Edinburgh.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 215px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466073125823177730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZXHkAU9D5oX37J-ZxwVsRDRzMNlX1HiDxzk1lGzYgkQwJkBdPXWeKE-THwyhp0NYSEWmkZ94eO3C-Ob-FlBB-Mkq0PvSVb2YYDPO4XKveEH9dWWSkcyzEo1D3-tSYPIFOY0F2g/s320/Beltane%2520Fire%2520Festival%2520Edinburgh.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;">The most popular belief among pagans is that the word Beltane means “bale fire.” Even today bale fires are lit all over Ireland and England on May eve, just as they were in the past. The Beltane fires were huge fires to welcome back the sun for the light half of the year. The smoke and ashes also offered luck, purification, and protection (especially for crops and livestock).<br /><br />Celebrations include frolicking through the countryside, maypole dancing, leaping over fires to ensure fertility, circling the fire three times (sun-wise) for good luck in the coming year, feasting, music, gathering flowers, and lovers going A-Maying (traditionally, into the woods for a night of passion).<br /><br />I love that our small family ritual is rooted in such rich history. So tomorrow when we rise, I will silently gather my children and lead them outside to the chilly morning air and the fresh dew. We’ll wash our faces in the grass, breathe in the earthiness of early morning, and wander through the garden welcoming new growth.<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-46535101646456931552010-04-26T17:44:00.000-07:002010-04-27T08:02:57.300-07:00New Poet Laureate Named (and it's not who I thought it might be)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCPVIk8U6lhxgRlcHBDp0Z6nPkFDl6yJ_Lu4gorlGkMb9T9seli3bYHXjKjt3Fnd3dwiOyWW7JeVW5G1ysXjVnwVc06aJJ1NlROvjT_5cLETV5Hd2hSSewdT_Kuzoa7c1Vd8F/s1600/pp_photo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCPVIk8U6lhxgRlcHBDp0Z6nPkFDl6yJ_Lu4gorlGkMb9T9seli3bYHXjKjt3Fnd3dwiOyWW7JeVW5G1ysXjVnwVc06aJJ1NlROvjT_5cLETV5Hd2hSSewdT_Kuzoa7c1Vd8F/s400/pp_photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464614735432139474" /></a><br />This just arrived as an e-mail message from the Oregon Arts Commission. I'm poaching it here so I can link to it since I can't find a press release online yet. <br /><br /><strong>Governor Appoints <a href="http://paulann.net/">Paulann Petersen </a>as Oregon’s Sixth Poet Laureate</strong><br /><br /> (Salem) – Governor Ted Kulongoski has named Paulann Petersen of Portland to a two-year appointment as poet laureate of Oregon. Petersen will be Oregon’s sixth poet laureate since 1921 when Edwin Markham first took the post. She succeeds Lawson Fusao Inada of Medford, who held the post since 2006. <br /><br />“Paulann Petersen is the perfect choice to serve as Oregon’s poet laureate,” said Governor Kulongoski. “Her wonderful poetry and her commitment to sharing her craft with the people of Oregon through her teaching and service exemplify the kind person that is ideal to serve in this position.”<br /><br />Paulann Petersen was born and raised in Oregon and spent half of her adult life in Klamath Falls. She is a widely published poet, with four collections – The Wild Awake (2002), Blood-Silk (2004), A Bride of Narrow Escape (2006) and Kindle (2008) – and several chapbooks to her credit. Petersen has received several awards, including Stanford University’s Wallace Stegner Fellowship in Poetry, two Carolyn Kizer Poetry Awards, and Literary Art’s Stewart Holbrook Award for Outstanding Contributions to Oregon’s Literary Life. <br /><br />Petersen is a committed teacher who has taught high school English and led dozens of workshops schools libraries, colleges, and writer’s conferences across Oregon. Petersen is an active board member of the Friends of William Stafford, Oregon’s fourth poet laureate, and organized the William Stafford Birthday Celebration each January. That celebration has now expanded to 58 events, 40 of them in Oregon. <br /><br />In February, the Oregon Cultural Trust and partners solicited nominations in a public process. A committee of writers, poets and cultural leaders considered 17 nominations submitted from around the state for the post. The poet laureate position is a collaborative project of the state’s five statewide cultural partners, Oregon Arts Commission, Oregon Heritage Commission, Oregon Historical Society, Oregon Humanities and State Historic Preservation Office, with funding from the Oregon Cultural Trust. The position is funded with a stipend of $10,000 per year for the poet laureate’s work, with an additional $10,000 available to support the laureate’s travel and other expenses.<br /><br /><br />Editorial Note: I particularly like this one:<br /><br /><strong>Miracle<br /><br />The wonder isn't that lightning<br />strikes where it does, but that it doesn't<br />strike everywhere. Specifically me.<br />It isn't the frequency of car crashes,<br />but their infrequency. Traffic flicks along<br />in its speed and perplexity, each move,<br />each surge a potential disaster.<br /><br />The heart beats out its strange<br />litany of the enormously possible,<br />never excluding disease and stricture.<br />Why does my blood run so easy and warm?<br />This is the wonder: me approaching<br />the traffic light just turned yellow,<br />my foot pressing my trust down<br />into the brake, the car in agreement<br />coming steady steady to a stop.</strong><br /><br /> —Paulann Petersen<br /><br />From Prairie Schooner, Volume 73, No. 2, and <br />A Bride of Narrow Escape, Cloudbank Books, 2005.<br /><br />UPDATE: The Oregonian's Jeff Baker takes the reporting of this story a step further by writing something original about it, rather than regurgitating the press release. You can find his story <a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/books/index.ssf/2010/04/paulann_petersen_named_oregons.html">here</a>.MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-43476241884401827692010-04-23T13:42:00.000-07:002010-04-23T13:42:26.825-07:00You're going to feel a slight prickI first <a href="http://cultureshockpdx.blogspot.com/2009/01/art-acupuncture.html">wrote about this</a> over a year ago, but the big, giant acupuncture needles that Adam Kuby has designed to bring attention to certain aspects of our fair city are about to be installed. Three <a href="http://www.acuportland.org/">Portland Acupuncture Project</a> needles are being installed this weekend at Mt. Tabor Reservoir, Kelly Point Park, and Tom McCall Waterfront Park just south of the Hawthorne Bridge. (I've always loved that bridge.) They will remain for about two months before being moved to other locations.<br />
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No word on when the Voodoo Doll Project begins.culturejockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14263465772349376129noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34128825.post-82137328126831147272010-04-21T08:38:00.000-07:002010-04-21T16:52:28.800-07:00Talking regional arts fundingYesterday afternoon, I participated in a discussion of a regional arts funding plan. Here's a video synopsis of what I heard.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/57zsMfuTk1U&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/57zsMfuTk1U&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />I'm kidding, of course, and promise to write about it in a more serious tone soon.MightyToyCannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523823158706838012noreply@blogger.com2