TWO WEEK CRUSH
Monday, April 26, 2004
Pop quiz, hotshot
Pub Quiz, Molly Quinn's, Minneapolis. Being that I wrote last night's questions (and answers), it was only fitting I was on hand to be lynched when the crowd found the questions too difficult. Listen, grumblers, if you don't know the Crests ("Sixteen Candles"), Long Duck Dong (of the film Sixteen Candles), Orff (Carmina Burana), Stephen King's book Four Past Midnight, or the old Fritos commercial theme ("Luncha-buncha"), well, then I don't know how to author a quiz for you. My old roommate Jake once wrote on my frosted windshield. He wrote, "Shitballs 4 U." Throughout the winter--which in southern Illinois is, arguably, winter only in name--this phrase would reappear on chilly evenings and after rains.
Sorry, quizhounds. A readier go next time. (You've got to admit, though: Condoleeza Rice-a-Roni was funny.) It's just that gauging who is at Molly's and who's at the Dub--that ain't easy. Different skill sets, you know?
The real question of the night was this: Who was the pudwhack who dropped a glass at 9:45? as he was being introduced to a Pioneer Press business editor?
Yup: ME.
-cK
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Sorry, quizhounds. A readier go next time. (You've got to admit, though: Condoleeza Rice-a-Roni was funny.) It's just that gauging who is at Molly's and who's at the Dub--that ain't easy. Different skill sets, you know?
The real question of the night was this: Who was the pudwhack who dropped a glass at 9:45? as he was being introduced to a Pioneer Press business editor?
Yup: ME.
-cK
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Another round with the Muse
Apologies, friends, for April's delinquency. Buried in work and spending freetime orchestrating a move and keeping busy with some fiction. (Can't let my days become all about being on the clock.) And, as requested by the readers, it's ime for a reality check: the Muse.
I am a dink. I'd totally set out to recommend a couple grand souls each month, as I have for many years, but lately I'm so in my comfort zone for writing--habitual times and locations--that I'm not encountering new blood to race my own. I'm still, however, appreciative of, and quite ga-ga over, the Muse, as one should be. (If you aren't, something's wrong with you.) So while I work to make good on promises of praising others, here's an update on my time at the Tap:
Yes, I love my little quiet encounters with the Muse. It keeps the heart beating.
Yesterday following work I had intended to run. The sun had pressed through the clouds, and when it's this early in spring--this is early in Minnesota--one must capitalize on the rare break in this wet newsprint we often call a sky. But I chose not to run. I ate some chips. I ate some cheese. I went to write at the Tap.
I went early because I wanted to avoid the manic Timberwolves crowd. (Hard to write there during a T-Wolves game.) It was a fine choice: the place was empty. The bored waitstaff had shelved themselves beneath the red light of a Leinenkugel's neon sign. They talked about their methods of counting tabs when working behind the bar, how it differed from the bookkeepping for waiting tables. There were a few customers in the back room shooting pool, and from time to time the break sounded. But that was it. It was just me, my notepad ... and my Muse! Waaaaaaa!
Oh, she's a charmer. At some point I was just zoned out. My glass was empty, but I didn't notice. I was barreling along some paragraph's shore. Then it struck me that someone was nearby. I stopped abruptly, sat up, looked at her as if I'd just emerged from a nap and was a bit confused about where we were. My face was as wrinkled as a shar-pei's.
The Muse had a little grin, a raised brow.
When she left, I tapped my forehead until the flush subsided, as one will tap a pop can while waiting for the fizz to settle.
-cK
|
I am a dink. I'd totally set out to recommend a couple grand souls each month, as I have for many years, but lately I'm so in my comfort zone for writing--habitual times and locations--that I'm not encountering new blood to race my own. I'm still, however, appreciative of, and quite ga-ga over, the Muse, as one should be. (If you aren't, something's wrong with you.) So while I work to make good on promises of praising others, here's an update on my time at the Tap:
Yes, I love my little quiet encounters with the Muse. It keeps the heart beating.
Yesterday following work I had intended to run. The sun had pressed through the clouds, and when it's this early in spring--this is early in Minnesota--one must capitalize on the rare break in this wet newsprint we often call a sky. But I chose not to run. I ate some chips. I ate some cheese. I went to write at the Tap.
I went early because I wanted to avoid the manic Timberwolves crowd. (Hard to write there during a T-Wolves game.) It was a fine choice: the place was empty. The bored waitstaff had shelved themselves beneath the red light of a Leinenkugel's neon sign. They talked about their methods of counting tabs when working behind the bar, how it differed from the bookkeepping for waiting tables. There were a few customers in the back room shooting pool, and from time to time the break sounded. But that was it. It was just me, my notepad ... and my Muse! Waaaaaaa!
Oh, she's a charmer. At some point I was just zoned out. My glass was empty, but I didn't notice. I was barreling along some paragraph's shore. Then it struck me that someone was nearby. I stopped abruptly, sat up, looked at her as if I'd just emerged from a nap and was a bit confused about where we were. My face was as wrinkled as a shar-pei's.
The Muse had a little grin, a raised brow.
When she left, I tapped my forehead until the flush subsided, as one will tap a pop can while waiting for the fizz to settle.
-cK
Thursday, April 01, 2004
On the passing of Cooke
On March 30, Alistair Cooke died. From 1937 on, Cooke documented American life for various UK newspapers, magazines and television specials; but he made his mark primarily with his long-running “letter” or “postcard” from America series on the BBC.
If you blog, or if you read, or if you have ever considered writing a letter or telling anyone something that is meaningful to you, please study Cooke’s works. They are fascinating not only in the scope of events he witnessed but in their style. Consider this dispatch from 27 Feb 1964, following Cassius Clay’s fierce victory over Sonny Liston, and Cassius’s equally fierce display of ego with the international press corp:
Cassius “… stood before the cowering press with his long, long arms raised in a great V, like Moses or Hitler.”
An apt juxtaposition for a man who was later vilified for changing his name to Muhammad, and, eventually, praised for his courage. Cooke certainly could not foresee all that, but he definitely understood Clay’s cultural importance 1960s America. That didn’t stop Cooke from having a good time writing about the actual fight, though. He wasn’t one to fixate.
“… and Clay kept measuring him, with his left arm extended. … Clay seemed to be able to decide at will when he would hold Liston’s head for easy contemplation, like Yorick’s skull, and then chastise it with these double-fisted tattoos.”
Other important filings from Cooke include his December 1, 1947 letter following the establishment of Israel and the destruction of Palestine; and his letter from January 21, 1967 on the inauguration of JFK. From the latter: “… a frozen landscape housing the warm, remote population that had seen Robert Frost’s moment of misery, and Mrs Kennedy’s smooth throat twitch for a second as the ‘unbearable office’ passed from the oldest president to the youngest.” His passages about Frost’s struggle to read his poem—“… with his fingers kneading his palm in a secret fury …”—is gorgeous.
Look: Alistair had a grand eye for things. You might know him most, if at all, for his work as host of Masterpiece Theatre. (20+ years) His letters, though, are what you should study. His juxtapositions, his use of idiom, and his constant concern for his subject matter place him among the best. Please visit the link below and read--if not also listen to--Cooke's words.
(Thank you, Keith—you bastard—for the link.)
And please read Jen's "La Comedienne" entry. (It's the previous filing on this Web page.) That's gold too.
-cK
|
If you blog, or if you read, or if you have ever considered writing a letter or telling anyone something that is meaningful to you, please study Cooke’s works. They are fascinating not only in the scope of events he witnessed but in their style. Consider this dispatch from 27 Feb 1964, following Cassius Clay’s fierce victory over Sonny Liston, and Cassius’s equally fierce display of ego with the international press corp:
Cassius “… stood before the cowering press with his long, long arms raised in a great V, like Moses or Hitler.”
An apt juxtaposition for a man who was later vilified for changing his name to Muhammad, and, eventually, praised for his courage. Cooke certainly could not foresee all that, but he definitely understood Clay’s cultural importance 1960s America. That didn’t stop Cooke from having a good time writing about the actual fight, though. He wasn’t one to fixate.
“… and Clay kept measuring him, with his left arm extended. … Clay seemed to be able to decide at will when he would hold Liston’s head for easy contemplation, like Yorick’s skull, and then chastise it with these double-fisted tattoos.”
Other important filings from Cooke include his December 1, 1947 letter following the establishment of Israel and the destruction of Palestine; and his letter from January 21, 1967 on the inauguration of JFK. From the latter: “… a frozen landscape housing the warm, remote population that had seen Robert Frost’s moment of misery, and Mrs Kennedy’s smooth throat twitch for a second as the ‘unbearable office’ passed from the oldest president to the youngest.” His passages about Frost’s struggle to read his poem—“… with his fingers kneading his palm in a secret fury …”—is gorgeous.
Look: Alistair had a grand eye for things. You might know him most, if at all, for his work as host of Masterpiece Theatre. (20+ years) His letters, though, are what you should study. His juxtapositions, his use of idiom, and his constant concern for his subject matter place him among the best. Please visit the link below and read--if not also listen to--Cooke's words.
(Thank you, Keith—you bastard—for the link.)
And please read Jen's "La Comedienne" entry. (It's the previous filing on this Web page.) That's gold too.
-cK
