what time it is

David Markson, The Last Novel
Work of Art: The Next Great Artist
Chicago, Chicago Transit Authority
Tower of Power, Urban Renewal

Something about a small brown glass bottle and an eyedropper underscores being sick. I am under the auspices of a most sever earache which, even to this sufferer, sounds a totally pussy malady, but it is so debilitating and disorienting. It feels at first like a full size egg has been pushed into my head and then the bird hatching from therein is periodically trying to peck its way out. I need the salve of tinctures and whitey progressive funk to see me though. As my wife was dropping me off at work this morning, she reminded me of an appointment tomorrow and I said I thought that was Friday, and well, tomorrow is Friday, so I guess when Chicago asks if anyone really knows what time it is, I should just keep my mouth shut.

SPOILER ALERT ABOUT WORK OF ART





My girl Jamie Lynn got voted off Work of Art, maybe deservedly, but her biggest aesthetic and conceptual crime is that she clings to the perpetual adolescentization of adults that plagues us all. There is no reason to hold onto that youth when we can do so much more with the age we are now. Ryan's cool-guy-car-art was the worst. When you say, if you are the type to say, you can't judge art, I put his up and defy you to not decry its dumbness. See adolescentization, in his and really just about everyone on that stupid show - Miles and his naps, Jaclyn and the unbearable burden of her bod, that other guy and his girlfriend. It perpetually bothers me when art school kids don't do cool things. No one expects profundity, but dude, get your pampered spectacle on. Dare a little. Even the Real Housewives understand that and they are the most arrested developers possible.

The only one I really liked this round was Abdi's portrait of himself as a black NASCAR winner and he ruined it with confetti.

I like how ghosts appear in the sparks

Peter Case, Wig!
Los Lobos, La Pistola Y El Corazon
Elliott Smith, From A Basement On The Hill
Calexicio & Iron & Wine, In the Reins
Lou Bond, Lou Bond

There are a bunch of good fireworks pics from the weekend in St. Louis, but this is my favorite. The instant of glare from a roman candle; it looks the moment where she was exposed to radiation and gained her superpowers. I like this one too.



My nephew Connor getting all Residential with the Fiery Eye. Note that this one comes with a large gauge nail so you can tack it to a tree or fence, but we let it spin out in the middle of Tony's cul-de-sac, nail and all.

I like how ghosts appear in the sparks



also I would be remiss if I didn't post the pre-fireworks buffet Tony laid out for us.



From the mustard sauce ribs to his wife Peg's mindbending homemade mac 'n' chesse, from match to firecracker, from sea to shining sea, America was celebrated in all its glory.

breadbasket

breadbasket, originally uploaded by real_voodooboy.

I-55 just south of St. Louis is demurely stunning. You get the sudden rise of granite and limestone, the crust of the planet casually displayed like pink flesh in a skater's gnarly scar. The trees and hills are unabashedly Rockwell/Kincade topped off with pink and white clouds the same color as church picnic jello salad.

I project this Keillor-esque, passive-aggressive, stifled ego onto the place quickly and defensively because I'm from here but not of here. I am of a place that can barely keep its hands off itself; fully, blindly enrapt with every mosquito-y patch of swamp, ever bowl of red beans, every shrimp boat viewed from every bridge stitching up every bayou and canal. Most people sensibly flee when some yahoo with an accordion shows up; we make a thing out of it and correct your pronunciation.

Midwestern self love is more like the reaction of a tight-haired housewife whose daughter's loveliness has been remarked upon: "Hm, she is a nice looking girl. Not much sense, though," turning back to making that jello salad.

Be like that if you must, breadbasket of my youth, but I lose my breath a little every time on this stretch of road and I'm OK with saying so.

Here's the thing

Here's the thing, originally uploaded by real_voodooboy.

My brother-in-law here in St. Louis says two things over and over: "Oh, Mary!" when one of the zillion kids or he himself expresses comic doubt about doing something, and "Here's the thing" as an expositional preface for nearly everything else. All moves and considerations are consciously and publicly processed in his manic cloud; ego and graciousness rubbed ruthlessly together to create a wondrous thunder or, as in last night's case, the most mind blowing surf and turf. The fading supply of pre-oil gulf shrimp met a Midwestern American steak crusted and grilled to perfection along side a seafood chowder which I wasn't sure was the best venue for crawfish but, here's the thing, it was.

He's also the uncle that can be counted on for fireworks. Here is my nephew C-Bone wielding a roman candle under his guidance



and Maya giving pyrotechnics a whirl.

Greetings from the center of America

Greetings from the center of America, originally uploaded by real_voodooboy.

Hey! We are momentarily uprooted from our swampy laze to spend our nation's glorious 234th with my wife's family in the well-coiffed outskirts of St. Louis. And by wife's family, I am a lucky rarity to happily consider them my family too.

We had beercan chicken, swam until the first round of fireworks lit up and I understand we are going to make a trip to one of Missouri's fine holiday munitions purveyors later. Bring the noise! Pictures at AMERICA o'clock!

whimsy or gravitas or something

Maya and I made another trip to the taxidermi-tastic and diorama-rific LSU Museum of Natural History and/or Science. Come along before it gets shuttered in the budget cuts!


Except the entrance is actually to your right in this photo

I won't go through everything and have some issues with safari activities, but nonetheless think one of these should be placed above every metal filing cabinet and office supplies closet. Lends the scene some whimsy or gravitas or something.




Click here for the rest of the photos.

let's boogie!

Greetings from the Piggly-Wiggly!

Peter Case, Wig!
The Fall, Reformation Post T.L.C.
Terry Manning, Home Sweet Home

This Peter Case, post-heart-surgery, what-is-a-boy-to-do-now, let's boogie!, epiphany blues record is tremendous, tremulous, temerarious. Not unlike the rock edges of Heartbreaker except by a guy with a literal broken heart. It's the first thing on my best of the second half of 2010 list, you know, the list that never gets published because it is the end of the year already. Birthday-next-to-Christmas situation.

Anyway, I'm being unabashedly promotional in an unsolicited manner; this record is great. DJ Bonebreak from X plays drums on it, if that helps sell it.


Peter Case, "Dig What You're Putting Down"

I knew I reviewed that Fall album when it came out but couldn't remember a thing about it. And they still are my favorite band but they came along after "favorite band" = full personal embodiment. It is a little my friend's kid getting into the Rolling Stones now - there are plenty of eternal footfolds by which to scale that crumbling mountain but mostly it is an exercise in skyhooks and slack ropes. This song's a corker.


The Fall, "Das Boat"

Terry Manning's CD got pushed on me at a CD store last September after talking about Big Star - Manning was a producer at Ardent and played in an early incarnation of the band. Manning also took one of the last living picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Anyway, 24 hours or so from now, we'll be plowing through Memphis toward a weekend of Midwestern fireworks and familial pool mayhem, and this CD is atop a stack supporting the speaker I am listening to it on right now, so maybe that means something. Chris Bell plays on this, right after the aliens dropped off the first Moog in Memphis.


Terry Manning, "Savoy Truffle"