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Elements of Stylin’

The Little Red BookThis past year was an odd one for Christmas presents. Not that I measure my years by that standard, but some years are remarkable, some not. And I’m very, very grateful to have received three cocktail shakers. One was so small, I thought it was one you kept by the bedside for a morning eye-opener. Read into that what you will.

Another very welcome present was Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style, illustrated by Maira Kalman, famed New Yorker illustrator and the author of, among other gems, Sayonara Mrs. Kackleman. This was just the coolest. It just exuded cool. (That’s the only verb that works with “cool”, right? Ooze, radiate, disperse, fling? Nah, true cool is only exuded.)

Everyone who looked at it just wanted to hold it, weigh it, be with it, love it and be loved by it. It was the right size, the paper was sumptuous, the layout crisp, and Kalman’s paintings understated and strange. While I live to be surrounded by books, I don’t turn it into a tactile fetish like some people. But this book might seduce anyone.

A perfect little book to help writers write perfect little books? That’s not meta. That’s just betta.

Of course, every writer should have some copy of Strunk & White on his or her shelf and refer to it as often as necessary, say, every few weeks or so. Of particular importance is Chapter V, which is a general discussion of style. One sentence in the Introduction touched my heart:

This chapter is addressed particularly to those who feel that English prose composition is not only a necessary skill but a sensible pursuit as well—a way to spend one’s days.

On days when my writing is sluggish and formerly fertile ideas begin to beg for a sheet and a toe tag, this sentence gives me comfort. More comfort, even, than three cocktail shakers.

(Sorry for the size of the pic. Over the holiday break, I’ve somehow forgotten my quick and easy way of shrinking jpegs down to sleek blog size. At least now you know what to look for: A red book with “The Elements of Style” printed on the cover.)

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Two Very Big Thumbs

From revver.com, via Chicagoist.com, comes a little clip of Siskel and Ebert early in their careers, trying to nail a promo spot. Bicker bicker, bite bite. It’s hilarious. It’s well known they didn’t like each other early in their relationship, and after watching this, you might not like them all that much either. Siskel makes a lot of comments about Protestants that, while meant to be funny, don’t reflect well on him. But frankly, it’s a good thing no one has ever monitored my phone calls when I feel like I’m being funny.

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Get Your Kicks in 2006

Happy 2006 to everyone out there! I trust that your holidays were good ones, and that you’re all tan, rested and ready for the year to come.

No? Me neither.

I’m not saying the Christmas break wasn’t a good one. It had more high points than low ones. It’s just that getting back to the things I ignored in the last month of 2005 is leaving me less than excited. The last weeks of December were spent in a mad dash to design family calendars for our two famlies featuring pix of the kids (not just mine but all the brothers’ and in-laws’), getting out Christmas cards (which of course have to be homemade, b/c my kids love to draw and everyone now expects such personalized items), doing last-minute shopping, getting year-end finances together, and various other nagging projects. Thank heaven I’m not employed–I’d be out on my ass in an instant.

Gee, you think THAT’s the reason I haven’t had a book out in a couple years?

Then, throughout the holiday, two things wore me down: weather and guests. December gave Chicago a record amount of snowfall and about three weeks of subzero weather. Great! thinks I. When we get up to Michigan, that means lots of sledding, cross country skiing, and skating on our lake.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be. I just didn’t think 10 days of 38 degrees and no sun would leave me feeling like I need electroshock just to carry on a conversation.

And as much as I love my family, this time we had way too much of everyone. From the 24th to the 1st, we had approx. 12 hours in which we weren’t hosting people or at a reception or party of some kind. My mom would answer my complaint sarcastically as follows: “Ooh, it’s hell to be popular.” Said sarcastically, to underscore my lack of popularity as a kid. At least she wasn’t among the people we were hosting.

During the week, I’m a complete troll. Work in the basement all day. Maybe go out once a week, pass some pleasantries, then back to my cave. If it’s possible to groom yourself for agoraphobia, I might have the system down. So seeing so many people in such a short time might be something I need, but it’s strong medicine.

On the plus side of the vacation: Seeing my son so incredibly happy to get a Nerf weapons system that’s the size of a European car, seeing my daughter so happy to get a new American Girl doll (she wanted the Gilded Age one, because nothing sad happens during her story), seeing a few old friends in from Los Angeles, decorating our perfect Frasier fir with homemade and paper ornaments, seeing “King Kong”, not having to watch both the Wolverines and the Bears lose this week, and drinking lots and lots of scotch, port, beer and wine.

Doesn’t the phrase “Nerf Weapons System” sound like an oxymoron?

Here’s to a good new year. We sure could use one.

My calendar tells me that today in Scotland and New Zealand, it is officially the “Day After New Year’s Day”. I’m glad they have that all settled.

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Bye for now

This will be my last post until the new year. I had intended to post a Christmas story today–I write one every year for my wife, and some are pretty good–but I had trouble figuring out how to do it in Adobe so that it would be more difficult to borrow without credit. Nothing says Christmas like copyright infringement! That’s what makes an iPod such an ideal gift. Maybe I’ll figure it out by next Christmas, so you can all enjoy the tale of the Headless Elf and the Brimstone Reindeer! (Ooops, wrong holiday)

So be good, drink a lot, recite “It’s a Wonderful Life” until somebody throws a punch, and have a great holiday. Let’s look forward to 2006 as a year of goodwill, peace, and prosperity, just like we did last year.

For some cool obscure holiday music, follow this link to the “Sound Opinions” radio show, but get there before the end of Boxing Day:

http://soundopinions.com/christmas/index.html

“Hey, dig me–I’m givin’ out wings!”

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More Outsourcing Woes

Our neighbors to the south will soon be wreaking havoc in our labor pool again. With the CIA tied up in the Middle East, who is going to take on the job of overthrowing the presidents of Venezuela, Bolivia and who knows who else in the years to come?

One more example of how the current administration doesn’t care about American workers….

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Adios, Marshall Field’s

Not many people outside the Midwest might care, but this Christmas season will be the last one for the name Marshall Field’s, which was purchased last summer by the gimps who own Macy’s. Apparently, they think the name Macy’s translates into “fine quality merchandise” rather than “run-of-the-mill crap for sale in a bus-station atmosphere”, so the Marshall Field’s nameplates will be replaced next year.

Plenty of people have gotten all sticky sweet about it, so I won’t tell you my childhood memories of getting their catalog in the mail in the 1960s, back before all stores basically carried the same toys, and marvelling at what an absolute heaven it must have been to live in Chicago (when I was growing up in a Detroit suburb) and have access to all those marvelous playthings. Won’t waste your time. And it was a big catalog, too.

But I do think the name change is ridiculous, one more instance of the homogenization of America. Go here to read my editorial on the subject, which never found a home in the local newspapers. And if you’d like to sign the online petition on the name change, go here. It might make you feel good, but it ain’t gonna do much else.

In my neighborhood, we’re mercifully spared from most chain stores and restaurants, aside from a McDonald’s and a Starbucks, that have have turned America into one big pile of mediocrity. If I want a hot sub sandwich for lunch, I can walk to four different places, every one of which is locally owned. But I know this is the exception rather than the rule.

When we travelled through Fargo, North Dakota, this summer, we picked up a copy of the free weekly, which was having its annual Reader’s Choice awards. Yay! thinks us. All the secret ins and outs of high Fargo living in one neat package. We checked the category “Best Ice Cream”. In Fargo, the best ice cream is listed as Dairy Queen.

“Best Pizza”? Pizza Hut.

“Best Business Lunch Spot”? I kid you not: The Ground Round.

In every single category save one, the top purveyor in town was a pieceacrap chain restaurant. (The lone exception? “Best Family Dining” was at the Space Alien Café, which we could see from our hotel window and was a lot of fun. Food was even good.) No local specialty barbecue, no high-class beef restaurant downtown that old politicians frequent, not even a local coffee shop with a good piece of pie. Just the same old crap.

So don’t tell me that changing Marshall Field’s name to Macy’s is good, or smart, or inevitable. It’s just one more coat of biege paint across the national landscape. Just the same old crap.

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Santa Commandos

The War on Christmas has become a global conflict:

From Yahoo News:

Forty drunken Santas rampaged through central Auckland, stealing from stores and assaulting security guards, the New Zealand Herald reported on Sunday, in a protest against the commercialization of Christmas.

[snip]

“They came in, said ‘Merry Christmas’ and then helped themselves,” convenience store staff member Changa Manakynda told the Herald, which reported the Santas also attacked a Christmas tree.

What are the jelly-spined isolationists going to say NOW?

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Is That All There Is?

As sure as one bus follows another after a 40-minute bus-free interlude, depression follows our annual Monkey Day frolics. Ho-hum. No more banana daiquiris, no more poop-flinging contests, no more lice-grooming with friends and family, no more heartwarming sing-alongs of the theme from “Lancelot Link.” Just three more months of dreary winter.

Well, maybe it’s not all bad. I hear there’s some surreptitious holiday called Christmas coming up. But it’s under siege by EVERYBODY except a small group of resistance fighters who number, oh, about 245 million people. So, keep it under your hat. Fight on, o valiant fighters! You are the brave descendents of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, er, probably not.

For a jolly laugh, check out these pictures of happy, happy children cuddling up to Old Santa Claus.

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HAPPY MONKEY DAY !!!!!

It’s here it’s here it’s finally HERE!!!!!

Jane Goodall gots the GOODS!

Quit your job!
Take off your pants!
Swing from the rafters!
Dress like a cowboy and ride a dog!
Fling some poop!

IT’S NATIONAL MONKEY DAY!!!!!

It's Hopalong Bongo!

Tease a fundamentalist!
Go see King Kong!
Order a Monkey Phone Call for your friends!
Masturbate like you mean it!
Buy a million typewriters and call a million of your monkey friends and type the complete works of Shakespeare!
Evolve, for God’s sake!

IT’S NATIONAL MONKEY DAY!!!!!

It's the least we can do
Image from the Taipei Times.

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Remember When “Rendition” Meant Someone Covering a Song?

I neglected this blog last week for a number of reasons. For one, I bought a new VAIO to replace my rapidly degenerating Presario (the thing has started to act like HAL at the end of 2001, though it hasn’t started its singing act yet). Too many hours have been spent trying to get the new laptop to act like the old laptop, without all the old laptop problems. Still a long way from finishing the project, so in my little corner of the basement, in addition to every other mess, I’ve got two laptops covering all my available desk space.

I’ve also been in a state of excitement waiting for the new “King Kong” to open. A friend of mine from the Tribune who saw it last week said it was excellent, and doesn’t drag during its three-hour run time. Has anyone else noticed that the movie is opening across the country on National Monkey Day? It’s no coincidence, I’m sure.

Oh, and I was trying to find some sardonic angle to explore on the whole torture business. You know, whether the US does it, and if so, how, and who really believes Bush and Co. give two figgy puddings what Europe thinks about it. (IMO, Condi Rice’s trip is just an excuse to show off her new dominatrix boots.) Torture’s just such a lovely topic to discuss during the Christmas season, isn’t it? Makes you feel all warm and cozy, especially when you bite into a nice, warm gingerbread detainee.

What kind of angle might work? An Andy Rooney curmudgeonly take (“I don’t know what the whole thing about torture is. You want torture? Try opening a bottle of Advil with the child-proof lid”)?

A Garrison Keillor, wistful and reserved (“We liberal arts majors never gave much thought to torture, even as we dissected the Marquis de Sade—figuratively, of course”)?

Unfortunately, I was unable to figure out how to type the onomatopoeic sound of one more part of my hope for mankind being shorn from inside me like guts scraped from a pumpkin, so I just left the blog blank. And vowed to stick with monkeys from now on.

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Why Do Creationists Hate Monkeys? Part III

The possibility of foundling baskets on their doorsteps.

Da-da! Da-da!

Note pinned to blanket: “Dear John, I did so enjoy our time together in Borneo when you were on your mission trip. Please take good care of little Benji here. Doesn’t he have your eyes and happy expression? Don’t try to contact me, it would never work out–I’m headed for the tree canopy for good. Love always, Bongo.”

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Now that Geezer Butler Really IS a Geezer

Put your lighters in the air, dudes and dudettes: The inductees to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced yesterday. Sabbath, the Sex Pistols, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Blondie and Miles Davis (?) will soon be enshrined in that stately assemblage. Wouldn’t it be a treat if all of their plaques were lined up next to each other, so the punks and the metal heads and the Skynyrd fans could mix it up every day?

I’ve been to that museum twice, but still have a hard time swallowing the whole concept. Comprehensive historical expositions on the psychedelic era just seem like such make-work efforts, like pursuing a degree in American studies.

Maybe the problem is the glass pyramid on the Cleveland lakefront, designed by bigtime muckymuck I.M. Pei. What the hell does a glass pyramid have to do with rocknroll, except for Todd Rundgren and maybe Madonna’s boobs (weren’t they a geometric shape at one point?) ? Too egg-headed. A much more apt setting would be a barge floating next to the back end of a gigantic pink 56 Chevy, stuck nose down in the mud of Lake Erie with flames coming out of the wreckage. This would announce to the world both, “Live fast, die young” and “Yeah, our river caught fire once—wanna make something of it?”

So shout “FREEEE BIRRRRRRD!” at everyone you meet this week. Or just randomly, as you’re standing in the street.

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A Big Whiff

Mmmmm, just like Grandma's factory...Just west of downtown Chicago is the Blommer Chocolate Company, maker of specialty chocolate and cocoa to other manufacturers and snack bakers. When the wind is blowing right, downtown and River North used to be permeated with a calming, enjoyable, not-too-sweet smell of chocolate being rendered from cacao beans.

Who doesn’t love the smell of fresh chocolate cooking? Apparently some doofus in a converted loft nearby doesn’t, because that doofus has successfully sicced the EPA on the factory. He wasn’t complaining about the smell (probably because that was a known condition when the doofus bought his little exposed brick party pad, and therefore not actionable). His complaint to the EPA was the particulate the factory put into the air. Maybe the cocoa was dusting all the Crate & Barrel furniture this doofus had filled his place with, or clogging up the DVD player in his rad home theater system.

Well, whatever the reason, the EPA has cited the Blommer company and forced it to clean up. Now the factory will install extra filters that will eliminate both the particulate and the smell. Now, the doofus can quit worrying about getting cocoa lung, and start worrying about how he’ll have no friends when word gets out that he was the Slugworth who brought to an end that nice occasional aroma that was such a pleasant surprise.

These kinds of stories grow like weeds around Chicago’s industrial neighborhoods. Factories and plants—you know, places that actually employ people and pay taxes—are trying to stay in the city, and Joe and Stacee Timeshare move in down the block in a renovated loft space and start harassing the factory because it actually emits a smell or a noise or has trucks driving up to it at odd hours. Well, sorry, Joe and Stacee, they were there first, so shut the F up. There are few enough places in the city where people without a college education can earn a decent wage, and they don’t need you whiners making their lives difficult. Go find another place to live, or move back to Kenosha. Chicago’s already lost most of its candy-making capacity—how many of you knew it was once the candy manufacturing champ in America? So who knows how long Blommer will stick around if they have to put up with these squealing infants?

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I Beg Your Pardon

Chokin' the turkey til it pukes.Today, George W. Bush pardoned twoThanksgiving turkeys named Marshmallow and Yam in front of a horde of reporters. By the end of his term, barring any change of heart, or maybe DNA evidence, he will have pardoned 16 turkeys.

And you figure, he’ll probably pardon at least half a dozen people in connection with TraitorGate when his term in office winds down.

Does anyone know how many people on Death Row he pardoned while he was governor of Texas? I’m serious, does anybody have that number?

Too bad those inmates weren’t cute and cuddly and associated with some holiday.