This sign was not at a Tea Party

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by the Minfidel

god_bless_hitler

No, this sign was on a college campus, the University of California-San Diego, at a rally that was part of the Muslim Students Association’s sponsored Israel Apartheid Week.

Now, it could be this was just one hateful, fringe sign out of hundreds of more benevolent and edifying signs, but I think Bob Collins should look into this. In the meantime, I expect St. Paul mayor Chris Coleman to issue an edict banning all city employees from, I don’t know, eating at Middle Eastern delis.

Show and Sell!

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by the Night Writer

Tiger Lilly and I have been working through final revisions and polishing on her first novel. At first the idea was to have it ready by May 14 so it can be entered in a contest sponosored by The Writer’s Digest. Then it turned out that in her chosen category – Young Adult Fiction – you are limited to just 2000 words. You might be able to get a manga within that limit, but it doesn’t get you through Chapter One of her urban fantasy. So, bummed. Then, last night, I was perusing the Digest’s website and found out they are also sponsoring a self-published novel contest, and that e-books can be considered if they are offered for sale on a website. The deadline for entry is May 17.

So, boom, back into full production mode on the finishing touches — but now we need a book design and the whole thing converted into pdf form as well. Then I just need to find a website, or a blog — one with a writerly-sounding name — where she can offer the book for sale in order to comply with the rules. Hmmm. I’ll ponder this as we buff and shine. Watch this space, as they say.

The original Digest contest also has opportunities for shorter-form writing, including a Personal Essay category and one for Religious/Inspirational. I’ve been thinking of modifying some of my favorite pieces from the history of this blog and entering. First prize in each category is, I think, $1000, and there are other cash prizes as well. It’s kind of fun to think I may have money just laying around so to speak. Recently our friend, The Zumbro Falls Impressionist, had a week-end long art show at her home and sold a number of her paintings. Because she works “en plein aire” and has to capture the natural light she has had to develop the skill to paint quickly and effectively. A typical painting, she says, takes about three hours. When I heard that I thought that a typical post for me takes about three hours to write. While I can’t “sell” a completed work that here’s for everyone to see in its entirety, I can enter these in some contests and perhaps get a little windfall.

The trick is deciding what pieces to enter. Over the last five years there have been several things I’ve written that have surprised and delighted me. Given the contest categories, I’ve narrowed it down to a few I’m considering. Trouble is, it’s hard to be dispassionate when analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of an essay in the way the judges might. Below I’ve linked the original posts that I’m considering for the contest (witih tweaks). If you’re reading this far, and can spare a little more time, I’d be interested in your vote on which of these to enter. Thanks!

Personal Essay:
Are You Marriageable?
Remembrance Day

Spiritual/Religious
Dad to the Bone
Duty is Ours. Results are God’s
What a Dad’s to Do

Nom it. Love it.

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by Tiger Lilly

Nom it love it

Jamaican Jerk Burger, available at Hell’s Kitchen. This picture isn’t very good, but it was the only full-cooked one I could find with pineapple on top.

This is the burger you will go back for every week. Paired with sweet potato fries (and I shut my mouth….) with basil cream dipping sauce on the side, it’s heaven in hell.

GO.

Ciao for now!

Slammed

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by Tiger Lilly

Spoken Word Poetry Slams are… awesome. There is no other word for it.

Let me give you a little backstory.

A couple weeks ago, Mom and I went to an art crawl in downtown Saint Paul, where the artists who live in the building open up their loft/studios so people can come and obsessively (they hope) buy their art. After looking at many different artists’ lofts and creations, we entered a loft that was especially cool. Why? Well, there was a cat living there…

Mom and I were looking around, and we got sucked into a conversation with the resident artist, Matthew Rucker. Then I hear, “I hope I’m not coming off as creepy, but could you pull your bangs out of your face and look at me for a sec?” Yeah, he was talking to me.

My first instinct was to look around wildly to make sure that Dad had found some discreet vantage point with a sniper rifle trained on the guy, but then I remembered that Dad was at home, although I’m sure his fatherly senses were going haywire, and he was reflexively reaching for the shotgun.

However, I did as the man asked, and he studied my face for a couple seconds. Finally, he said, “Sorry, but your eyes are really beautiful and I’d like to paint you.”

Aw, shucks.

He reverted back to normality (although I know most artists hate to be described as normal, I know I do), and told us about his Spoken Word Poetry Slams. I’ve seen a bit of Spoken Word before, it’s pretty fun. It’s poetry performed with a lot of emotion, wild movements, and a general aura of awesomeness. He gave us a flyer, and then we had to get going.

Well, I wanted to go to the Slam. Mom wanted to go, but she would be out to far past her bedtime. Ben couldn’t go, because he was ‘tired’ or some other lame excuse. I don’t know what Dad’s excuse was, he was probably planning some elaborate trap for the unsuspecting Mr Rucker involving ninja cows, harpoons, and trapdoors. I don’t know. Anyway, I convinced MD to go with me.

It was held at The Artists’ Quarter in downtown Saint Paul. It’s an 18+ club (But I got in!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! Of course, it helped that they didn’t card you). It was also very loud and crowded. Faith and I hung out near the back wall for a bit. The opening act was some guy singing Bob Dylan covers.

TL: I don’t like his voice.
MD: Well, do you like Bob Dylan’s voice?
TL: I honestly can’t remember what he sounds like.

Finally, I spotted Mr Rucker, who was running this outfit. I went over and re-introduced myself, and he said he remembered me, which was nice.

No one had gotten up and left, so we were still out a couple of seats. We went back to hanging out at the back wall, when lo and behold, Mr Rucker reappeared and magically conjured up a couple of chairs at his table.

MD: Sweet!
TL: VIP service! Woohoo!

He even bought us drinks (water. And Sprite)!

The time finally came for the Slam to start. Mr Rucker got up on stage and started listing the rules for the Slam (it is a competition, and that night the 8 best national champions were going to compete to see who was going to represent Saint Paul in the Nationals in August. We came on the right night!), along with what it was all about. Apparently, Saint Paul has one of the best, if not the best, communities for Spoken Word.

Also, his vulgarity levels were incredibly erratic.

(When talking about the Nationals) Him: We beat them last year, and we are gonna beat these b******* again!!!
(Five minutes later) …anyway, it’s a lot of fun, and everyone just has a gosh darn good time.

The slam was going to consist of four rounds, and each poet had 3 minutes 10 seconds to present their poem. Faith declared that she wanted to leave at nine, unless we got really into it, then we would leave at 9:30. I was disappointed, but shrugged it off. She’s preggo!

Anyway, it started off with two people who just barely didn’t make it into the finals last year. The first up was Miles, who had a piece about the people who sit at the last mile of a marathon and cheer the runners on. She was very scathing, but funny.
The other just-barely was Neal (I think…). His style was very, very hellfire and brimstone. I mean, my goodness. His piece was about a car crash and regrets. There was one line from it, though, that really struck me:

I will lie here forever and sing to you all the things I stopped myself from saying when we were alive.

After that, the competitors were up. There were five randomly picked judges in the audience, who would give a score of 0 (Good LORD, please I never want to hear that CRAP ever again) to 10 (Hmmm… have a winning lottery ticket, or hear that poem again… winning lottery ticket? Hear that poem again?). Then, the scores would be added, and the overall score would be between zero and 30 (the highest score a poem can receive).

There were 8 contestants, but I’m only going to go into detail about the ones I like, because I’m biased like that.

Guante was first up. Faith and I both loved him. He reminded us of a certain spaz-monkey that lives a few doors down from us. His first poem was about a man’s handshake, and how it reflects what you’ve been taught that a man should be. How you’re supposed to be firm, powerful, and establish dominion over the other man’s handshake. He was hilarious. He scored a 26.7 in the first round and a 27.6 in the second.

Wonderdave was second, wearing sparkly Vans. He was adamant about gaiety. 25.4, 27.3.

Sam Cook compared Where the Wild Things Are to family problems in an interesting, if creepy, manner. I liked him, though. Scored 26.8 for both rounds.

Shane Hawley did a poem about the plight of Wile E Coyote and his never ending quest to get Road Runner. He was wild and funny, scoring 26.2, 27.4.

Michael Lee was kind of boring. He scored 25.9, 26.5.

Then there was Six is 9. Oy. I didn’t really like him, either. Everyone else did, though. He scored a round 27 in the first round, and 27.2 in the second.

Sierra DeMahlder I liked. Both her poems were about a parent’s pain in different situations. She was the only woman competing. Scored 26, 27.

Aaaand then there was… Dylan. [barf] His first poem was… was… I’m not even going to say it. Ask Faith in the comments section, maybe she’ll tell you if you really want to know. Anyway, he scored 25.8, 27.3.

After the second round, we had to leave. It was 10 o’ clock, and there were still two rounds to go. I got Mr Rucker’s card, though, and emailed him about who the winners were.

The team representing us is headed by Six is 9 (nooooo!), with Guante, Sierra, Sam Cook, and Shane Hawley behind him. That means that Michael Lee, Wonderdave, and Dylan did not make it.

They host Spoken Word Slams at the Artists’ Corner every first Monday of the month. The next one is June 7th, if you’re interested in going.

So that was my awesome experience getting Slammed. There you go, Dad! I wrote a blog.

Ciao for now!

Too cynical? Yeah, right

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by the Night Writer

Peter Bell, Chairman of the Metropolitan Council, had a commentary on the Strib’s editorial pages today with the headline “America Needs a Little Less Cynicism”. Being kind of a cynical person myself when it comes to the appointed bureaucrats of the Met Council, I expected some hand-wringing about how the toxic discourse in the public square has poisoned the people against their well-meaning political overlords, and my initial cynicism was validated in part by one of Bell’s first statements:

Of all the political challenges we face today, perhaps the most difficult is the depth and breadth of cynicism in America. This attitude, from across the political landscape, is a contagious virus limiting our trust and confidence in institutions both big and small, public and private. In February, a New York Times/CBS survey found that just 19 percent of Americans trusted government to do the right thing, matching the all-time low and well below the level of trust in government in the aftermath of Watergate.

I will say, however, that the article turned out to be fairly even-handed in its hand-wringing, citing examples of how all sides are equally guilty of both earning and fomenting cynicism, even touching lightly on the fact that some of the most cynical people in the whole equation are the politicians themselves.

Left out, however, is the fact that cynicism is an American right and custom, born out of a system fundamentally designed to “speak truth to power”… and one that perhaps causes Power to toss sops, instead of truth, to the people in order to stay in place. In some countries, however, mocking your leaders will get you arrested, even killed. Here it will get you a late night television show. In some countries, the people’s only recourse is bloody revolt. Here, our leaders are swept from power with handsome pensions and lifetime sinecures in the lobbying and punditry classes (or is that too cynical of me?).

The American heritage of individualism and self-reliance has historically bred its people to look suspiciously at a government that promises something too good to be true, even as our individualism and self-reliance is continually seduced away from us. Some credit Ronald Reagan with coining the sarcastic phrase, “We’re from the government and we’re here to help you,” but I’m sure I heard it when I was growing up in the 70s, and it may have been born in the 1930s when expanding Federal programs and powers started to come in to save us from ourselves, all while Will Rogers became the most famous and beloved figure in America by making political commentary a mass- (and multi)-media entertainment form.

Here’s another old joke: what is the motto of the terminally cynical?

“Yeah, right.”

And What is the motto of the terminally naive?

“Reeeeaalllly?”

I suppose that too much cynicism can be corrosive and when there’s an abundance of something it tends to become devalued, but cynicism also brings accountability. And, as Will Rogers said, “Chaotic action is better than orderly inaction.” The way I read Peter Bell’s column, he’s suggesting that cynicism undermines good government; I think undermining cynicism leads to bad government. A certain distrust and feistiness toward one’s government is healthier than fatalism (though fatalism, too, is becoming more seductive).

I do heartily concur with one of the statements he made in closing, however:

The surest way to reduce cynicism in America is to rely less on major institutions to do for us what we can and should do for ourselves.

One can perhaps wonder where Greece (acclaimed as the birthplace of democracy) might be today if its people had been a bit more cynical – or empowered – the last 50 years.

P.S.
Speaking of our American heritage of skepticism and satire, here’s a fun video I saw over at TechnoChitlins; it’s kind of a VH1 “I Love the (17)70s” take: