It's a conspiracy.

Another season down the tubes before it even starts, thanks to the SI curse. When will the Bucks get another championship?!?? Why does The Universe *taunt* us so??!?

Hot Licks

Inscription reads, "BONO GUITAR, C. 1976. This is Bono's first guitar. Used to write early U2 songs."

This has GOT to rank right up there with the Holy Grail.

Except, of course, that we all know where *this* artifact is...

Mysterious and Intriguing

These signs are found on streets all over the world. No one knows who puts them there, or even what exactly what they mean. The "Toynbee" in the sign is a reference to the Ray Bradbury book, The Toynbee Convector, as well as a concept from the Kubrick film, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

This sign is at the corner of W. 3rd and Prospect, *on* W. 3rd., near my husband's office building.

Why Do They Lock Gas Station Bathrooms?

To keep George Carlin from haunting them.

Yeah, that's not as funny as the answer he used to give. (Which was "Do they think someone's going to come in and clean them?") But today's not a very funny day. Today's the day they announced George Carlin died of heart failure, and I think I just may join him.

Intelligent, thought-provoking humor. Thank God and Carlin for that. Didn't matter how many times I heard his routines, I laughed myself silly over them. The Difference Between Football and Baseball. The Difference Between Dogs and Cats. Stuff. I never yet have heard the Seven Words bit without it being censored, but I imagine it being every bit as funny as all the rest.

God bless the great city of Milwaukie, WI. That's where, in 1972, Carlin ended up as a footnote in all the lawbooks for all time, and as a result, one of the most memorable WCPN interview moments in my listening history, just a few years ago.

Good O'l George did his Seven Words schtick on stage. And if you're reading this and don't know the piece, it's about how these particular words are never going to be heard on broadcast TV. I mean, there's a lot that gets past the network censors today, but these words are strictly, absolutely enforced. So at the end of the performance, Carlin was arrested, brought up on charges of disturbing the peace (!!!!! laughter is disturbing the peace!!) (because I just can't imagine anyone in that room rioted other than a gut-busting belly laugh!), and was released on a $150 fine.

A Milwaukie judge dismissed the charges. He said that while Carlin was being indecent, he still had his freedom of speech. Carlin bounded happily out of the court room and jauntily into the historic annals of law.

He was pretty proud of that, he later said. I don't blame him one bit.

So the last (or maybe second last) time George Carlin came to Cleveland, he was on WCPN for a live interview with Dee Perry on the Around Noon Show. And Dee has this very hesitating style of interviewing that makes her sound like she's making up her questions on the spot, though I'm sure she actually DID prepare days in advance. (It drives me nuts.) The interview was bland, but going well, until she asked Carlin about his "controversial" Seven Words bit, at which point he completely tore her to pieces.

The point of Seven Words is that words only have such power as we give them. This is the meaning of the phrase "the pen is mightier than the sword". You can bring down the mightiest warrior with words to weaken him or her before you ever enter into battle. Likewise, if it is decided that the word "rose" suddenly has awful connotations, we will no longer be permitted to use that word in print or broadcast media. Our children will be taught a new word for the flower that grows on the shrub that bears pointy thorns.

George Carlin used humor to get that point across with Seven Words. Dee Perry, by asking a poorly prepared and superficial question, offended him, and from that point forward, shares her interviews with other staff members whenever certain performers come to town. (We all benefit!!) It sure was interesting to hear Carlin's temper unleash. It was fascinating to hear his perspective out from behind the filter of humor. And then the finality of the click of the phone line.

I suppose that's a little like the news that came today.

I hate June. All the good people die in June.

 

Tiny Tin

Tiny retablos! I've never seen them so small! Very charming. These are in our favorite gallery, Galería Quetzal, on Mayfield Road in Little Italy. I like her gallery because she goes all over Latin America gathering the works directly from the craftspeople. I also like her because her gallery is vibrantly colorful and loaded with fantastic textures. Personally, I find her an excellent and beautiful human. I would give her name, but I am an idiot about remembering names.

Anything else? Well, yes! We found another gallery we love: Scaravilli Design. It's all photography, and ALL eye-poppingly lush. He makes Cleveland look as cosmopolitan as Prague and Amsterdam, and so very much more. It was a delightful evening, and we got to spend it all with Tim and Carlina (2 of our very favorite people!), too: bonus!

Day of the Dead Decor

Larger retablo. I adore tin folk art, but retablos take the cake.

I Bring Good Tidings...

...of great presents!

I made it, but the pattern is copyright Ana Maria Seaton, moderator for Art for Cures, a charity art group I participate in. She's a creative dynamo.

ALCS Game 4 Tribe v Boston

Every game of every playoff series becomes personal to every fan. My Mom is memorialized in Heritage Park in Jacobs Field, a place where the greats of the Indians organization are permanently ensconced in plaques, statues, and one memorial (see yesterday's post, "Boy of Summer Past, Present?"). Family dedications help us remember that this time spent at the ballpark is a family pastime shared. As sure as I am that my mom is in Heaven, watching and pulling whatever supernatural strings she can to help the Tribe, there are thousands of Boston fans believing their family members on The Other Side are doing the same. What my mom instilled in me is a love of the game and strong feelings about sportsmanlike conduct. I hope (against hope) that tonight's game will be played without "Manny sucks!" and "Boston sucks!" hollered, because clearly neither is true; also, both are abhorently vulgar and unneccesary. Last night's game was delightful because the crowd yelled favorable things boosting our players: "Ken-NY! Ken-NY!" and "Let's Go Joe!" I was absolutely tickled by the profound positiveness. There was no boo-ing (no real reason for it, either). THIS I can believe my mother would be behind! Go Mom!! Beat unsportsmanlike fans! Go Tribe!! Beat Boston!

Boy of Summer Past, Present?

Ray Chapman memorial. He was killed in 1920, midgame, when nailed by a linedrive. They found the memorial when they tore down the old Muny Stadium some years back, but only just gave it a permanent place this summer with the dedication of Heritage Park. There's a delightful rumor that he's been behind a lot of the um... well, remarkable things that have happened around here. (HEY! Trot Nixon's starting. See? Someone grew a brain: start an exSox vs the Sox. Remarkable.) So he's been getting a bit more coverage than usual, even pilgrimages to his grave in Lakeview Cemetary. And so begins an interesting homestand. Go Tribe! It's Tribe Time Now! (And Michigan still sucks, but that's another post!) By the way, I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels the spirit of Ray Chapman is welcome in Jacobs Field.