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Article of Ol’ Fashioned Summer Fun

I apologize for the lack of postings lately, but the blame lies squarely on outside impediments: The dial-up service I’ve been dealing with lately, and the fact that I’m trying to write essays, stories and other posts to give a little boost to the profile of Recut Madness in other markets, with other readers. Not that I don’t appreciate all 7 of you out there, but I need to spread the net a little wider to pull in some new eyes.

One piece you might like is in the new issue of Lake Magazine, in which nouveau riche bozos like myself learn about the best wine tastings and ice cream shops over on Michigan’s western shore. (Actually, it’s not a bad magazine at all, and publishes a funny writer named Wade Rouse from whom you will probably hear more in the future.) My article recounts the experience of buying fireworks in Indiana, then bringing them to the cottage. I was forced to excise a passage that hinted that this was illegal, even though it is, because the magazine needed to protect its brand image. It ain’t Outlaw Biker, after all.

Anyway, the first paragraph reads thusly:

Summer in Michigan promises many refined moments. Gallery openings. Wine tastings. Sunsets on the beach. But underlying all this elegance are numerous messy jobs that need doing, jobs that take grit, tenacity and steady nerves in the face of danger.

Somebody, after all, needs to buy the fireworks.

“You don’t need fireworks,” my wife has claimed, on more than one occasion. “You just want them.”

“But how will the kids learn about handling fireworks safely if I don’t teach them?”

And if you want to read the rest, click here. Enjoy.

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Interview This Morning on WBEZ!

This morning WBEZ-FM will run an interview they did with me a couple weeks ago, regarding Recut Madness and various and sundry matters. So tune in to “848” at 9 am, or listen for the rebroadcast in the evening, or listen to it online. Whatever you do, don’t miss it or you’ll miss a clue about where I’ve hidden all of Joey The Clown’s loot.

UPDATE: Here’s a link to the program, where you can find the MP3.

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New Poem for BARDBALL

In honor of the bare-knuckle fightin’ spirit of Cubs catcher Michael Barrett, I whipped up the saga below and posted it to Bardball today. If you haven’t checked out Bardball yet, click on that blue box on the right and get with it, baby!

BATTLIN” MIKE BARRETT

This is the saga of Battlin’ Mike Barrett,
A tiger of a man with fists of ore.
He’d raise his dukes and take on all comers,
Regardless the color of jersey they wore.

His mighty hands landed many a blow.
He never backed down from a brawl.
But such hardened paws don’t do you much good
When your job’s to be fielding the ball.

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Wide World of Sports

What’s with this stupid beanbag game I keep seeing? This weekend we drove by three different places where young guys were barbecuing and drinking beer on the stoop, and they all were tossing their beanbags at a piece of plywood with cut-out holes. (Except for a group near DePaul, who my wife pointed out were playing Toss-Across. The leaders of tomorrow apparently feel the need for the greater challenge of long-distance tic-tac-toe.) It’s starting to look like Romper Room with Leinenkugels out there.

Apparently this is a big pastime with Bears tailgators, while they hang around drinking schnapps on Sunday morning. Okay, maybe there’s not a lot to do in a parking lot in November for a couple hours before they open the turnstiles for you, so you get this thing out to play toss around, and maybe the beanbags are soft enough that when some boozer gets out of control, he doesn’t injure anyone with an errant toss. That I can understand. (Also, the fact that it doesn’t take a whole lot to amuse football fans.) But why in the name of Leon’s Barbecue would you do this in your own backyard? Is the art of conversation COMPLETELY dead and buried now? Are black-market Jarts too hard to find? Does Horseshoes require too much training and conditioning?

If you’re REALLY that hard up for something to do while waiting for the coals to heat up, may I suggest something in a more classic vein, like Russian Roulette?

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Printers Row Book Fair

For anybody in the area considering a trip to The Printers Row Book Fair this weekend, consider this: I’ll be speaking with film critic and writer David Kipen on Sunday at 12:30. We’ll be talking about writers in the movies, as well as Recut Madness (I hope). David is the director of literature for the National Endowment for the Arts and author of The Schreiber Theory, which aruges that writers and not directors are (or should be) the driving creative force in film.

So stop by University Center, 525 S, State, at 12:30 for a good talk, some autographin’ and then bookstall browsin’ till you keel over from the heat and/or pile of purchases you’re lugging around.

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“BARDBALL” Officially Launched

Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s play ball!

I’m proud to introduce to you all the official site of BARDBALL, dedicated to the art of spontaneous poetry about the national pastime. My fellow Hungerdunger Stu Shea and I have been talking about this type of site for about 6 weeks, and now, after the web craftsmanship of the mysterious Dan X., it is ready to take the field in its home whites.

The whole thing was inspired by gamma-ray-enhanced slugger Barry Bonds last spring. You might have seen the limericks penned by us and a few of our friends on this blogsite. Those poems came so easily that we kept swapping verse back and forth about any number of baseball items. And we got to thinking, “Hey, let’s get this going nationwide!” I’m still amused by the image of a grandstand full of people with pen in hand, searching for just the proper metaphor to describe how their team’s bullpen just served up 5 runs. (“A break in the dam? Swatting a beehive? Serving up the Hell’s Angels some tequila and greenies?”) And now that Barry has slowed down in his quest to make the whole country uncomfortable, we have the chance to squeeze in many more poetic tributes to his “massive 90-pound cranium.”

A hundred years ago, baseball writers routinely penned doggerel to publish in their daily columns. “Tinker to Evers to Chance” was one of the most famous, and arguably was a major reason those three players were inducted in Cooperstown on their first try. These days, with the advent of the blogosphere, everyone potentially has their own column inches to fill, so if they’re looking for inspiration, they could do worse than look to those noble bozos out on the diamond. One doesn’t have to be a baseball expert or statistics nerd to contribute to Bardball–casual fans have opinions and talent, too.

So check it out, and if you like it, tell your friends to visit Bardball. If we get enough entries, the entire season will end up documented, parsed and versified. Maybe we’ll bind them in a book somehow, and sneak a copy into the cornerstone of the new Yankee Stadium. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

And to commemorate the launch of Bardball, I want you to click on this link for one of the best managerial tirades you will ever see. What happened this past weekend, with Piniella and Guillen and Jim Leyland getting the boot, was exciting, but for sheer imagination and showmanship, you have to doff your cap to Phil Wellman of the Mississippi Braves for his performance Friday night.

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Art Imitating Life, Only Not as Fat

This year for their annual spring “operetta,” my daughter’s school decided to stage a musical called “Kate & the Giant.” (Alternative casting aside, this change to a Jack and the Beanstalk production was necessitated by the fact that there are only four kids in the fourth grade, one of whom would have to be the star.) The kids (this year, Grades 1 through 4) work hard on the show for weeks, and then are able to perform it only twice, which causes a lot of post-show letdown in our house.

Over the years I’ve helped in painting and assembling sets, and by now, I’m the default guy for planning the whole job. I don’t mind–it’s a lot of fun trying to make everything functional yet lively, trying to make a backdrop of a stand-alone prop serve more than one purpose in several scenes, etc. Since the writers of this play had some kind of food obsession and had the Giant at one point stuff himself comically with food, I had to devise supersize portions of various tasty treats. Papier mache did the trick, turning 2-liter pop bottles into chicken legs, an old detergent bottle into a baked ham, and balloons into fruit and vegetables. But one of my proudest creations was a nice big juicy cheeseburger. For some reason, I just couldn’t see the play going on WITHOUT a cheeseburger. I even brought it to school once to show the kids at dismissal, and their enthusiasm for the play spiked to new heights.

Here’s what the fabulous cheeseburger looked like:

Now that’s a damn tasty burger, as Jules Winnfield might say. The pieces were made and painted separately, then glued together. My plan was to make a burger so hugely humongous that people would split their sides laughing as soon as they saw it. But when I glued all the pieces together, I had a nauseating revelation: As big as this burger was, there will be a countless number of REAL EDIBLE burgers at least this big being served all over America this summer, either at a beef festival or at some Texas roadhouse with a money-back guarantee deal attached to it.

The very next day, as I was thumbing through Smithsonian Magazine, I found a pic of a guy wrestling a platter-busting burger for a festival in North Carolina.

Once again, no matter how big you can make something for comedic/satiric effect, real life will always outstrip it.

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Occupational Movie Spoilers

You know how sometimes you go to a movie with someone who has a certain occupational specialty, and that person cannot enjoy the movie because of the huge gaffes spotted by his trained eye? The worst situation is going to a scifi flick with an engineer, who will happily show off his knowledge by telling you (and everyone within earshot) that X couldn’t have happened because it violated the scientific principles of Y and Z, and besides, the torque and stress on the lateral support couldn’t blah blah blah. This can happen when you bring a lawyer, a doctor, or even a fishmonger to the movies.

(Of course, one example of some gaffes that EVERYONE in the country should’ve gotten was that romantic presidential comedy Dave, starring Kevin Kline, in which the president (Kline) has a stroke and so the evil chief of staff recruits a doppelganger (also Kline, but more rakish and friendly) to fill in for him. And somehow, this faux president was able to pass legislation on his own, without any mention of Congress or the courts. Sort of a benign dictator, although still rakish and friendly, so I guess it was okay. What a steamer that was.)

But that’s a long way around the fact that I saw Spider-Man 3 last weekend, and spotted two ridiculous errors regarding Kirsten Dunst and her acting career. So, I guess I’m going to be one of those insufferable know-it-alls.

1. First, after a disastrous opening night, Mary Jane is replaced in her B’way musical the very next day. She even finds out by showing up at the theater to discover a new actress doing her number! Oh, the pathos! In reality, if this were a B’way show, Mary Jane would’ve had a solid contract that would’ve guaranteed her X number of performances if the show was being staged, and if she were replaced, she’d be paid a big severance penalty. Nobody’s ever heard of Actor’s Equity??

2. And during her performance in said musical, the camera zooms in on Mary Jane up the center aisle of the theater. Trouble is, there aren’t any center aisles in theaters, of any kind, movie or legit. Think about it. Those are where the good and expensive seats are. Additionally, I can’t remember a single NY theater I’ve ever been to that has had any kind of aisle at all, let alone a 12-foot-wide freeway down the middle (though I could be wrong on this point).

And on another subject: If the Sandman cries, like he does at the end of this movie, shouldn’t parts of his face wash off or something?

Other than that, 2 webs way up!

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Book Drought Ends with Massive Outpouring of Beer and Support

Well, that was quite an exhausting evening, and quite wonderful. Many thanks to all the friends and neighbors who came to Feed The Beast last night to help launch Recut Madness. The food was great, the drink was plentiful, my iPod was cranking Bootsy Collins over the sound system, but the people are what makes a party work. My mother, Aunt Pat and Cousin Ginny came down from Milwaukee to lend their support, and I got to visit with my cousin Celeste’s daughter Erin, who just moved to Chicago. And old work pals and friends from school and neighborhood, and friends of friends and…… I’m a lucky and blessed fella for having such people in my life.

It actually felt more like a wedding reception, seeing people and catching up. I apologize to those folks I didn’t speak with enough, but I hope you understand. Busy busy busy. I appreciate your support of the book, and of the Belle Center, which got a portion of the proceeds.

I hope to put up some pictures on Flickr, as soon as I can find where we put the camera. UPDATE: Found the camera, here’s the pix.

And the biggest thanks of all goes to my ever-lovin’ wife, for indeed being ever-lovin’, as well as a terrific hostess. We had almost 100 people in that little space, and she made sure there were introductions and laughter all around. There’s where I’m most truly blessed.

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Mmmm, Leftovers

Because the lifespan of a post on The Huffington Post is about 5 hours, and many people are away from their computers for such lengths of time (not me, though), I’ve decided to take any of my posts from there and publish them as pages over to the right. That way, you won’t have to go hunting all over for my philosophic gems, and can return to this column for detritus and juvenalia, like me cursing out the 17-year cicadas. Crawly little sumbitches.

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On Notice

I’m so sick of hearing about the 17-year cicadas already this summer. Noisy, noisy, blah blah. If any cicadas come into my hood, I’m gonna fuck wit em, big time.

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“TOTN”? Dead to me.

I got word yesterday that the “Talk of the Nation” interview that got bounced around last week is officially dead. It appears that, even though I did a boffo pre-interview and had the exec producer’s OK, the host finally took a look at the book and decided he wasn’t interested. Which stinks, since they had insisted on being the first interview for the new book. Not very professional of them, so next time you phone in to their show, make sure you just give them a Bronx cheer and then hang up. That’ll learn ’em.

But there is better news on the horizon. Today I did a kick-ass interview with Steve Edwards of WBEZ’s “Eight Forty-Eight” show, and they should be able to edit out my pauses and coughs by sometime next week. Real professional place, that WBEZ. Thanks Steve–that order of smoked lake trout is on the way.

And here’s something even cooler: I should have a post up in the next 24 hours on The Huffington Post! Keep an eye out for my balding head and snarky expression on that site. They even asked me whether this was a one-time thing, or would I like to be a regular contributor. Let’s see: They don’t pay, but they get six million hits a day. Hmmmm…..decisions, decisions.

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“TOTN” Postponed

My appearance on NPR’s “Talk of the Nation” tomorrow has been postponed to an indeterminate date. Apparently the host hadn’t had enough time to read the book. Now, I thought NPR was more on the ball, but I have mixed feelings about it. At least it shows that maybe the host will be prepared for the show.

That’s always a gamble when you’re out flogging a book. You don’t know what it’s like to bite your tongue when some morning deejay holds your book in the air and says something like “I haven’t had a chance to look at it, but I’m sure it’s great–I only wish I’d written it.” And all that goes through your mind is, “You unemployable gasbag, you’re on the air three hours a day, which includes commercials, and you have interns and assistants who open your mail and answer your phone. And you didn’t bother to even crack my book, which is all of 150 pages, which may be intimidating to even such a voracious intellect as yourself, but you didn’t bother to take the damn thing out of the envelope, and you’re telling me that you think you should write books now, too? Is there a special holding tank for people like you? Do they let you out of the building unescorted? Do the authorities let you drive unsupervised?”

This is never the case with NPR, of course, as this postponement obviously shows. I love those guys to death. And at least their listeners buy books, unlike the Morning Madhouse type crews. Man, they crazy.

Whenever there’s news, I’ll post it here.