Chuck E Cheese, Going Crackers over a Barrel, Bubbles, Change, Music and, yes, more.

AI, Nvidia, Y2K and other wildly overhyped bubble rap.

A pope popping bubblewrap. Holy commotion, batkids…

Got this from Forbes: “Bubbles burst not because the story is completely wrong, but because around the margins the story is wrong,” says Rob Arnott, founder and chairman of California-based investment advisor Research Affiliates. “The story of the rate of growth, the time horizon of growth, is unrealistically optimistic, and the risk of competition eroding market share is underestimated.”

Pop! Then the market nosedives wildly and “corrects.”

In time. Theoretically. The theory that stock bubbles bursting can resolve themselves gradually is a bit of that whole pipedream. What about the “hard landing?” Did you know Nvidia counts for over 8% of the entire S&P 500? Whoa doggies. Didn’t they used to call it crashing when corporate jets “landed hard?” On that note, guess I won’t invest the family fortune in Nvidia. Or Crypto. Or any of those pretty bubbles in the air, floating around. Even if there was a family fortune. But you can do some pretty funny stuff with AI, BTW (Link)

  Anyone want to do a fashion shoot at Wise Acres?

That red clawfoot tub in the jungle, and a wash basin. Weedeater (or chainsaw) provided…

Performing Aussies…

It’s about 40 acres of pastures with stuff. Outbuildings, trees, wilderness, openness, sculptures, ramshackle structures in adjoining pastures, weathered wood, a junkyard, couple of photogenic dogs, and a red clawfoot tub in a jungle. Come on, Prada, it’s time you got outdoors. You, too, Louis V. And you, Rag and Bone, get outa the city for awhile.

Barns, loafing sheds, corrals, ponds, priced attractively. Craft services. Drones. Hey, we shot a music video out here and some of it was shown on GMA. Not bad for country.

Maybe we’ll go public and do a sculpture garden, photo-opp IPO. You reading this, Warren?

 

What’s up with Chuck E. Cheese?

Nate Bargatze has a funny routine on it; check it out first. (It’s only a minute or two. Link)

Then there’s this article on it if you’re game. (Link)  In the scheme of things, Chuck E. doesn’t mean much to me, but it sure has its cult and collectors. They’re called Chuckheads. Really.

Can you imagine private stashes of Chuck E. mummified band members in storage facilities all over the U.S.? Seems we Americans will collect just about anything.

Hey, Sally—they really really like me too…

Forget Chuck E.  The weird world went nuts when Cracker Barrel changed the logo! Now it’s back…

Jeezo capeezo, it’s not like it was a time-honored old-timey brand. Its major shareholder is BlackRock!  I cannot, just can NOT get worked up about this one, but here’s a take on it (Link)

Trump even chimed in on it. Apparently the whole spectrum of right/left woke and maga found something they can agree on. It’s a start even if it’s crackers, in my opinion.

You want great southern food, go to a great (read real) southern restaurant, one whose staff thinks BlackRock is a mountain in a national park. You can find these restaurants in Wildsam’s trip guides. (Link) And the cracker barrels are full of fresh crackers.

 The ASE “pocket book” that catapulted The Great Gatsby off the bubble to its rightful position as The Great American Novel.

Great got greater when the troops got hold of it…

This plain jane precursor to the famous postwar 25 cent “pocket books” is one of hundreds of ASE (Armed Services Editions Link) that were sent overseas in WWII to bored troops awaiting assigments. And that audience read; everything from Huckleberry Finn to The Postman Always Rings Twice. Over 1,300 ASE books included all the great authors of the time and even textbooks on subjects like electronics and mathematics.

The Great Gatsby was originally made available to troops as an action-packed crime story and possibly resulted in over a million readings.

This kicked off a postwar mission by untold numbers of English teachers in classrooms around the world to this very day to include it in high school and college courses. The Gatsby bubble is here to stay for awhile.

 

Change comes, stuff happens

 Where’s the opportunity? When automobiles replaced carriages what did carriage-makers do? Maybe some went into the auto parts business. Gas stations.

Me with my first model T and pith helmet…

Remember desktop publishing? In the eighties I knew highly skilled typesetters well because I freelanced for Uppercase Type, wrote their newsletter (which they set and distributed). It was like a blog in type. “Journalism” from my journal. People liked it.

Uppercase thought about dropping it to save money and asked if anyone minded; they did mind in large numbers, so it was continued. Right up to going out of business. Skilled typesetters were no longer needed. Change comes. The sun always rises.

I continued writing for a living. Maybe I will continue even if AI “takes over.” As it has in a lot of instances. Other writers and I should be asking “Where’s the opportunity here?” Am I a carriage-maker in a Model-T era? Change comes with opportunities. One just has to figure them out.

Don’t blame change—it’s inexorable.

Here’s a short interesting Seth’s Blog on that subject. Job Churn. (Link) Change always comes, always has. As has opportunity. And another short one titled Brittle Systems on the same subject: Change. (Link) 

 

 

Casual, cool bubbles, Dino sings.

The visual is static, so click this Link for a restful retro two minutes. My favorite Dino story is when his wife would get fed up with one of the Martin kids’ antics, she’d send him/her (one of eight children) into Dean’s study for punishment. They’d drag their feet, head down (“No, not that, anything but that!”) and enter the sacrosanct study after knocking.

Martin would tell them to sit down while he finished some calls.

The kid would get a Coke out of the office fridge and relax with a magazine. After awhile, dad Martin would look up, say “You can go.” The kid would leave, drag back past mom Martin, wiping fake tears. “Well?” mom would say. Kid would say, “It was awful. I learned my lesson.” (This bubble was burst on nationwide TV)

  That’s it.

What’s yellow and comes in bunches? School buses. Happy September! XXOOX G-man.

(If you know anyone who might like to cruise this free thing, recommend it to them; www.wisesculpture.com/blog and thanks!)

Going long is for Mahomes. Sorry I got carried away again. Stop me before I write more…

 

 

 

 

The first unboxing could have been at Wise Acres, Ursus Restaurantus Horribilus, born under the Phillips 66 sign; what I learned, books, music—and mucho mas. (Demasiado mas)

I wrote an article for Emeco chairs, and got paid in Philippe Starck.

 Loved that. We got two matte finish, vintage-stye Emecos, the regular kind you see on Blue Bloods (and every other cop show) in the interrogation rooms (goldfish bowls), and two chrome-shiny Starck designs with solid backs. All classics, one established, one more recently dropped. They came, Fedex to farm, two to a box and the unboxing was an occasion. Wish we’d have filmed it—it would have been a first, the precursor to all of today’s many unboxings. What wasn’t I thinking? Coulda woulda.

Starck’s stamp. Not for interrogation rooms…

The agency that contacted me was in Long Beach, CA and the job was one of those enjoyable interludes in among the car brochures after I’d left LA; I got several of those fun gigs from out there. One was for motorcycle duds. Another was naming a financial institution. A pet food. A car. I’d come up with fifty at a time, send ‘em out.

I did that at work too, in KC, and an AE accused me of using a program. There was no such program. It was a word association thing in my head that was probably spurred by my fiction and poetry writing. Anyway, it worked and it worked fast. I put it to use many times over the years. These days you’d plug it into Chat-something and say, “Give me fifty names for a new Toyota EV.” Then pick one after a minute or two. But you wouldn’t get the good ones that way. Only anxiety, sweat and forehead lines get you those. Human stuff.

The Starcks. Freddie and I have always treasured these original and later-designed Emeco chairs and they are firmly seated in our top tier of collectibles. Now here's an article about Philippe’s newest hotel. I didn’t write it, so we won’t be staying there any time soon, but we’ll always have The Chairs.

The hotel article (Starck, man—what a designer!) (Link)

Show of hands; how many of you are Bear aficionados?

The Bear, created by Christopher Storer for FX on Hulu. Jeremy Allen White stars as Carmy Berzatto

 Yikes, a bunch. I’m a little hesitant to say I’ve never seen it but I stick pretty close to Netflix for better or worse. I’ve followed Bear in print and on trailers so I’m not completely blanked on it, and I find the main guy, Jeremy Allen White, quite fascinating. Bear may not have been the resounding success without his charismatic presence, but who can say?

The show seems to be based on high anxiety and kitchen craziness in the restaurant business, and its popularity stems from relatability of viewers to that and the vagaries of small business in general. They think. Stir in a brother’s previous suicide, BIG unresolved debt, a staff in revolt, a kitchen in bad need of repair, pressure-cooked pain and trauma. Plus the fact the main guy had to leave a Michelin-starred ristorante. Relatability? Okay. Better than a rock fight I guess. Much better, judging by its popularity.

The interplay of various actors like White, Molly Gordon and Calvin Klein have served up unmatched kitchen and on and off-screen chemistry and a big win for FX. Think I’ll watch some and fast forward the harrowing parts.

I was born under the Phillips 66 sign and August is my birth month

What sign are you? Stop? Slow? Conoco?

The 12th. Leo. 87 years old and counting. My sign? Phillips 66. I worked at a couple of them and learned a lot. At great expense I bought the sign, a five footer, and it may be the very sign I worked under in Fulton, MO and/or Kansas City, MO just north of Waldo on Wornall. (Mine is 5 ft high and drilled for neon—the neon is gone, but I could have it re-neonned for a price. The sign itself is almost mint.) This sign adorned some ad agency office walls of mine.

What I learned, working under the 66 sign:

I learned rural gas stations present challenges city ones don’t; like digging corn cobs out of bumpers and stuck under gas lines when the vehicle is on a rack.

I learned scorched coffee tastes the same in both rural and city stations.

In Miller’s 66 in Fulton, MO, we ended each workday with a cold sixpack. I learned most bosses don’t practice this.

Rudy, my best friend and 66 co-worker, and I had hot rods in a college town. That saved us from the “cake-eater” label as we Westminster students were called. That, and a free oil change for a townie now and then. Especially a badass townie.

My first real love girl friend was in a car driven by her father in the KC 66 station. She kept pointing at imaginary spots on the windshield I was trying to clean. We both broke up at that. Her father said, “You know that greaser?” What I learned: many fathers are less than sanguine about daughters’ boyfriends.

I learned that spark plug gaps were important on my rough-running 1949 flat-head Ford. Then I learned how to clean and gap ‘em. That made for better days.

Books & Biases

Eleven of ‘em. And eleven more on the way. All poetry except Corrigan’s. Coming: Padgett, Brainerd, several Collins, others…

I’m leaning way into poetry this time around. Some oldies/goodies by poets I know. Some not. I’ve always liked Merwin and Collins, plus I’ve been exploring some new (to me) poets with quite mixed reactions.

I‘m discovering biases. I’m not comfortable with rhyming poetry anymore; it smacks of diluted meaning and shoe-horned metaphors at the cost of a conceit. No one can do Frost like Frost. Or poems that take up 30 pages (Carter). Or poems that repeatedly bring up the poet’s birthright (Pinsky). These are just a few. And copies of recent “Best,” again I take issue. The Great Unwashed out here should be consulted about what’s “Best.” Quite different from “expert” choices.

And the stack above is just the tip of the bookberg; Amazon informs me I have eleven more coming, mostly used, as I’m not one of the elite. Nor Prime. They include several of Collins’ back books, Ron Padgett, Brainerd and more. They’ll come next week as I invoked later-date free shipping on any I could.

Corrigan’s book (the only non-poet in the stack) (Link) is 30 years’ worth of teaching and reading Gatsby and it’s, in a word, astonishing. I did read the annotated version of TGG, then, immediately read the novel (not annotated) again and it was instructive, as is Corrigan’s book, “So We Read On…How The Great Gatsby came to be and why it endures.” I endorse this book wholeheartedly. It’s so well-written and boasts a bunch of notes and a fat index. Plus “WHY.”

This blog got out of hand

Don’t click on above—it’s a screenshot and just here for pictorial reference. To listen, click on link below…

The blog. Sorry it’s so long. I just get wound up about things. So, what follows is sweet if not short. Well, short, too as I won’t put so many words on it. Music. (Link)

(Note: Yeah, Springsteen has a version. Flat. Sung in “Ain’t I cool” and phoned in, in my opinion—this one is by far the best.)

 That’s all for now. Best to you good people. Have some fun in August. oooxxx G-man.

Babel. The degradation of music. Is writing just aggressive vanity? Dumb & Dumber: fireworks and more fireworks. Murderland. Other books. Two pieces of music.

Snatched from Babel (The Tower of)

Buzzing through the annoying-speak, the following came to light and I circled back: Yeah I know. Account Executive-speak.

Price point. Why do people say this? Won’t “price” or “cost” do the job? Does it seem smarter? More words are not your friends. This is why AI and corporate-jargon will separate the good writers from the bad, making it easier for good writers (ie: who respect the language, know it’s from its) to reign (not rein, not rain) supreme.

I am not yet the writer I can be, but with practice, there’s hope. I made a damn good living, writing. For many years. I cared. Plus I respected, and do deeply respect, English (English Major, thank goodness). You could tell. There’s the difference. Then I started writing books; that was aggressive vanity I now see.

“In many ways writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It's an aggressive, even a hostile act.” Joan Didion

“There's a point when you go with what you've got. Or you don't go.” Joan Didion

Amazon would have you believe all books are good. Very Much Nope. Most are full of s**t as a ten-lb. robin. People fall in love with their own words, call themselves “author,” thrust it before you, and say, “Here, read this.” Don’t do it. Vet your book buys carefully. End up with fewer stacks of crap.

Know a Virtue-Signaller? Oh, bless you for your good works. Or not. The old rule is do a good deed and shut up about it—if you tell people, it doesn’t count. Facebook notwithstanding. (88% Virtue Signallers) (LinkedIn humble-bragging about the same)

Music. Good God. It seems on an autopilot race to the bottom. Synthesized to death. I went through Pitchfork’s 7.0 and above, the past few weeks trying to find something you might like, something I can share with you, to make us both smile and take some time off from the noise. So far, no good. Why? Here’s why. (Link)

Poetry, the last honest outpost? I know some “poets.” And some poets. I have bones to pick. Collins gets all winky-wink. A bit show-offish with either wikipedia or bookish brain dumps. Kooser, that sweet little old guy? Read Sure Signs. Not so sweet, that. And he seethes about Frost; why? Who cares? Not Frost. But TK disses him every chance he gets. My faves have chinks in the armor. Just sayin’. (But then I read Billy’s “On Turning Ten,” and all is forgiven. Or Ted’s “New Cap,” with warmth.) Connie Wanek: worth reading. Took me 50 of some 100 poems to get used to her, but she’s worth it. Goin’ back for more.

Contact your lawmakers, please

Fireworks. Wasn’t going to mention this madness, but a recent poll found that a large percentage of mouth-breathers asked had no idea why fireworks were the noise behind July 4th. Or why the holiday. To celebrate Black Cat? Over the 4th, there was widespread damage, death, disfigurement, huge explosions of fireworks stockpiles, hotbox warehouses, whole neighborhoods going up in flames, pasture and forests, burning all over the US from sea to shining sea. Two words: Total Ban.

Books in the stack…

100th Anniversary, annotated Great Gatsby. I will read this one slowly, savoring it…when? Whenever I damn please…

Intro by Amor Towles; fine choice. Preface by the editor James L.W.West III. Many historical references and photos throughout; oh, I will re-read original Gatsby, and devour the annotations and notes and Perkins’ letters, soak up the photos. I will sit at this banquet, like a brunch at The Savoy, eggs benedict just so, creamed broccoli, a cinnamon roll, coffee, and, back in the day, two Manhattans, sun lighting up the stained glass windows, the polished walnut paneling. Then, that world will disappear and I will, once again, inhabit Nick’s shimmering world. Fully. The words. The time. The voices. I hear the music echoing from West Egg.

A sincere Thank you, Penguin Random House, and The Giorgi Family Foundation. The book’s link.

More of ‘em…

Rival Gardens, (Link) poetry by Connie Swanek, contains about 200 poems; it’s a Contemporary Poetry Book edited by Ted Kooser, and, after my first reading, I recommend it to poetry lovers. She makes use of the local rural landscape, deaths, peaches, moons and pollen with what one critic called “sly observations.” Another says “The light is wonderfully clear in these accounts, as is the darkness…” I read the book, and warmed to her language quickly; I will read it again, as I do Collins, Kooser, Hicok, Harjo and Hennen. Nice, nice book, this.

Murderland, (Link) runaway bestseller by Caroline Fraser. Serial killers are not a subject that draws me in; they are strange night-blossoming products of abuse, anger, wiring defects and chemical imbalance. They are…frightening, and, to me, deserving of a quick and calamitous end. They are not, in any way, redeemable—psychopathy isn’t curable. Usually they are low IQ, but some have demonstrated otherwise. But are they explainable?

Fraser connects disparate dots in this book. Ore-smelting and its byproducts of lead-poisoning and arsenic, for example, crisscrossing paths with the likes of Manson, Bundy and others. But, also, the tectonic significance of buried land faults in the Pacific Northwest, most notably, the OWL fault, the 400 mile-long Olympic–Wallowa lineament. And dots of birth years; the epidemic seems to encompass those born shortly before and during WWII.

She asks “What are the odds?” And therein lies America’s (and my) fascination with this book. I admit I bought it because it’s such a bestseller. And she’s a good writer. Murderland may repel you but it won’t bore you. (Note; trigger warnings about every page—horrific. But she’s establishing strong links between lead poisoning and terribly violent behavior. Take note.)

The Windflower Home Almanac of Poetry, Illustrated (Link) Another Kooser operation, this anthology was designed to resemble a vintage farmer’s almanac, complete with old ads for hog-wormer and farm tools. This small book packs a big punch with powerful poems from The Great Plains and appealing illustrations. Highly recommended. Standing O from my own great plains.

Take a break

Quit clicking on the screenshot—it’s static, it’s only there for visual info. Click here (Link) and relax while you let this solo performance wash over you, through you, transport you to a higher plane than any negative vibes I’ve brought to this blog; (one of those days). This’ll get us all back on track in the nicest possible way (I hope, but who could go wrong with Victor Wooten?) Go.

And Again… 

Another screenshot, so click here to hear (Link) Have you ever heard a piece of music and remembered exactly where you were, the weather, the place, the circumstances, and never forgotten? That happened to me with this one. Noon. I had just left the Dancer Fitzgerald Sample building, and headed across the Del Amo (Torrance, CA) mall parking lot to Benettons.

I stopped at their store window and heard music they were piping outside. It was this song and I had to know what it was; I hurried inside and asked a sales girl, who replied, “Paul Simon, One Trick Pony album, it’s brand new…” I bought two short sleeved sweaters, and, a bit later, the CD at, I believe, Tower Records. End of pointless story (hey it’s that kind of day) but I’ve never lost the opening chord thrill when this one comes on. Talk about poetry, this guy should be listed with the greats. Late in the evening…

I had more stuff, but I know when to fold’ em. Now.

Love, G-man. OOXXO

Here's summer coming at you like a dog rocket, er, rocket dog...ready?

Let’s get this out of the way…

 No big secret here. Stage 4 cancer in bones. Undergoing protocol at KU Med Center, a leading cancer treatment complex. Hormones, steroids, shots, scans, chemo will be a part of it. So, treatment, maybe, will postpone inevitable we all must face.

I’d like a bit more time, more writing, maybe another book (not about this bummer subject—just poetry, essays) and would like some more time with the best caregiver in the world, the woman I was lucky enough to convince to marry me almost 40 years ago. Wow. She made that time pass so fast.

Two Australian Shepherds are helping; fulfilling their contract to make me laugh, and they do now and then.

A good neighbor (not an insurance company) has been helping with chores. I’m in good hands, and paws.

Moving on…

Follow this, first-ball pitchers…

This is Takashi Murakami, renowned artist and pretty good pitcher. Earlier, when MLB opened the season, lots of games had notables on hand to toss out the first ball, but this guy is in a class all his own. He put some steam on it. And theater, humor, spirit, color, verve, and deep respect for the game, bowing in all four directions. Check him out at Gagosian, the world’s best gallery. And look up the videos of the pitch.

Books I’m reading…

Crumb will gather dust I’m afraid, quite repetitive in his deeds and misdeeds. Not bad writing, just not punchy enough. Notes to John, on the other hand, is Didion’s writing and that transports me; always has.

I’m about halfway through Crumb, the exhaustive biography by Dan Nadel; Nadel is a good writer but I can’t get past Crumb’s “accomplishments” in underground comics, as I have some in my comic collection, and the truth is, some of it is pretty raw pornography. I bought some Crumb years ago (Zap #2 is an example).

At the same time I was renewing an old affair with underground tabloids and magazines (East Village Other, Berkeley Barb, Ramparts, Village Voice, Evergreen, etc) some of which I subscribed to in the 60’s. I bought some on eBay for old time’s sake and folded them into my collection, after reading ads and articles. Some contain milder Crumb cartoons, “truckin’” and Mr. Natural zeitgeist stuff I always liked.

Joan Didion is one of my top favorites, and this book, Notes to John, is in what F. Scott Fitzgerald called “the high white notes” sweet spot that authors often struggle to attain, and which, for Didion, was always there. She never missed, whether novel, essay, article or journal notes.

Precise, elegant and clear, the language is pure Didion, and I finished this book in a couple of sittings, though I tend to read her more slowly for the heady enjoyment of her polished sentences. The subject matter is notes to her husband, taken at therapist meetings. Highly recommended to anyone who loves vintage Didion and what she brings to the language. Six stars. Ten stars!

Easy the Hard Way

When Living Legend, midwest jazz treasure David Basse sings, we listen. He makes cool sound so easy, so attainable, and most of us know it’s not. This guy was born that way. Also with ryhthm, timing, jazz genius, kindness, many other admirable attributes. I found this gem buried in Vimeo—and it is a gem. (link—must click) A rewarding one. Watch. Listen. Enjoy.

The screenshot (above) is static. You’ll have to click the link in the text (above screenshot) to access the vimeo, easy. The easy way. And well worth it. Happy summer. Look for a July blog.

XXO G-man

The worst book I ever read was an Oprah pick, Cybertruck is a bigger-than-Edsel cyberflop, Poetry Month, new music, old music, F’s Christmas stockings, more…

It’s beginning to look a lot like C--------.

What begins with C, has ten letters and means festive and very accomplished? Creativity. Freddie’s boundless Creativity. In her “spare time,” she sketches and makes museum-quality silver and precious stone jewelry, takes beautiful pictures of the Wise Acres owl, sunsets, plants, and makes stuff. Other than jewelry. She has astounded me since the first day I met her.

These Freddie-made Christmas stockings appear as if by magic, ready for stuffing. Thick, good yarn. One or two a day, lately. They are crocheted, is all I know. How she does it is a mystery to me as I’m usually asleep—I just see them in the morning. Looks like a great side hustle, but she gives them to family, full of gifts. Sometimes they even contain Freddie-made jewelry.

It’s a gift, this making of beauty. But I’m going to try and convince her to share them with a wider public. Any takers out there? Let me know at g@wisesculpture.com or in the comments below.

 

Books, the good, the bad and the meh.

In a world beset by hyperbole and excessive over-blurb at every turn, the publishing business and its breathless assurances that this book, whatever it is, is the pinnacular, blue ribbon, kickass ONE to read, well…caveat frigging emptor. The metaverse has turned into clickbait and BS, so here’s a Reader Beware: “Didion and Babbler” by Lili Anolik.

Why? It’s Moronic, cap M. I can only guess she put Didion in the title to sell books. Oprah said it “…reads like a propulsive novel.”  Well, my copy was propulsive; it sailed through the air like a clumsy rocket, half read. I want my money back. You can read my review in the Amazon one-stars.

Then comes a breath of fresher air; “We Tell Ourselves Stories: Joan Didion and the American Dream Machine” by Alissa Wilkinson. (Link)

Megan Abbot says it’s “A vital new take on Joan Didion’s work, exploring the ways Didion traced the gradual, and increasingly dangerous, merging of Hollywood and its gorgeous fictions with politics, with the uppermost ranks of power, and, perhaps most sweepingly, with the way we understand the world and ourselves.”

A fitting description for a very good book.

I read it in a couple of sittings, and recommend it five stars worth with honors. You know the feeling you get when you’ve read a book that made you think? This one does that.

I’ll leave the meh for next time. But it’s not Graydon Carter’s book; “When the Going Was Good” (Link) is a revealing, and, yes, rollicking, look at publishing in the golden age. I’m enjoying it.

Poetry month; two books and an anecdote.

R.I.P. Val Kilmer. Both books are favorites and one of the authors is an old friend…

For the tail end of April (Poetry Month) two books of note; “Some Of This Is True” by Jim Carns, (Link) and “Cowboy Poet Outlaw Madman” by Val Kilmer. (Link) Both are memorable shelf-worthy keepers and well-designed, full of deeply felt poems that illuminate each author’s essence.

Carns’s collection includes lovely illustrations by Maureen Kenny and a triptych by Evan Lindquist, owned by the author. These two books exemplify why there is a month set aside for poetry.

The anecdote. About 70 years ago I went to Rockhurst College to see and hear Robert Frost. (I wasn’t all hot rods, beer, lukewarm grades and girls) It was a thrilling evening. At the end, the college spokesman, a Catholic dignitary, perhaps a cardinal, said, before the last poem, “When the program is over, I will pass out first, Mr. Frost will pass out after me, and the rest of you are to pass out in orderly fashion, after.”

Robert Frost leaned over to the mic and said, “It must be all that communion wine; I usually pass out first.” Rim shot please. The crowd loved it.

 

  We thought Edsel was a dud. Then came Cybertruck.

The 24-hour news cycle looks like The Onion makes it up. RFK as the health guy. Hegseth. Trump tariffs. But Musk takes a special cake. A really rich guy should probably be anonymous, a what’s-his-face in the shadows. Certainly not alienating 50% of the country by choosing up sides on either end of the playground. Elon is so rich he could stand to shelve Cybertruck and sort of let it fade. He is far from alone in auto industry misfires. But, no, he plants his flag and lightning rods firmly where they can’t be missed and DOGEs off to work each day to shut down another widows and orphans fund. Wow. I mean it does seem that way.

Yep, it’s a Tesla. Re-badged.

A small industry has sprung up around re-badging Teslas so people won’t think you’re taking a political stance by owning one, and then keying it. Even Cybertrucks have been seen with big TOYOTA letters on the back. Just the attempt might keep weirdos from damaging such a truck, giving the owner an A for amusing. It’s supposedly still a free country, so you can own and drive what you want. There’s a thin line between vandalism and hate crimes. Just to be safe, don’t do either.

And that’s probably all that needs to be said on the Elon matter. Maybe you’ve noticed it’s pretty well covered elsewhere.

Time for some music. Goodie. Oldie. And fun to watch.

Click this link right here, (not up there on the visual) turn it up, sit back and smile. Lots of beauty and joy floating around the piazza in this video. I had chosen some new electronica but this just knocks it outa the park for me. Until next time. XOXX G-man.