This is a first draft, but since I haven't blogged in a while I thought I should post something. The summer has been a serious drain on me energy. I hope you enjoy this anyway. -Bill
Working in a public forum, I meet a lot of people. Most drift in and out of the store and barely leave a ripple in my water. Some become memories. A few just annoy me. There is something about a magic shop that acts as a magnet for every nut bag, jerk or loon.
A class of people exists solely to show me a magic trick. Well, we are not that kind of magic store. It is not the magicians; usually they understand and are content to hang out. It is the amateur who pushes to show a trick.
“You gotta deck? Gimme a deck. I’ll show you a trick. See if you know this one.”
Believe me, I do know that one and every other one they are going to do. As soon as they start describing the trick I can finish their sentences. Of course, they have to continue long past any time a reasonable person would’ve stopped.
Worse is the parent pushing their child to show that trick.
“Hey show him your trick. Do that trick. Here’s a quarter. Do your trick. See if he knows that one. Betcha don’t know this one.”
Really…I guess I got the job because I work cheap. (I don’t.) I might have a little experience with magic trick considering they are my job. If the Chinese ever need me to confess my secrets they now know what to do.
A second species inhabiting Navy Pier is the mall walker. There are several antiqued gentlemen and gentlewomen who visit the mall to pass their golden years. (Days?)
An older Italian man used to come into the store for a visit. This I found hilarious because, although in this country for many years, his English was terrible. He spoke with a thick accent, in a half English, half Italian vocabulary. Only once in a while would I understand a “Fuck” through the garbled talk. But he spoke on and on while I smiled and politely nodded. Until, he started calling the black people he saw monkeys and showed me a picture of Hitler he kept reverently in his wallet. I pulled the plug after that. Was my polite nodding an agreement to his racist ranting? I sure hope not.
Our most regular visitor is Ed. He is nearly 80 years old. Not a real deep thinker, but mostly harmless, and he has some interesting stories. At seventeen, he joined the army and served food on Navy Pier to the soldiers returning from World War 2. He was a drunk, a vagrant, and homeless for many years. He spent a lot of time in theaters, a cheap place to be sheltered, and remembers seeing many legendary performers live. He did a little time in prison again for vagrancy. He goes out to jazz clubs every Friday night, gets his drink on, dances a little, and brags about imaginary girlfriends. Ed was hit by a bus last year, but gets around as well as always. Ed is a survivor.
There is an anonymous man in a wheelchair that rolls by everyday and waves hello.
The other day an 80 year plus black woman, who has also anonymously limped by the store for the past couple of years, finally decided it was time to talk to the magic guy.
“How do I look?”
Well, a novel way to start out I think. She looks the same as she always has, as far as I can tell. I am unusually observant and notice much that happens past my store. The woman is average. Maybe a little shorter than average, but otherwise medium build. Medium brown skin tone. What I did notice was the limp and that one leg was considerably thicker than the other. She moves a little unsteady like she is always off balance.
“Um…you…you look fine.” I reply.
“Oh, I was just wonderin’. So I look okay, huh?”
“The same as you have every other time you walked by the store.”
“Well, I used to be 350 pounds.” She shows me the skin hanging from her arm. “I am going to the doctor and gonna get this fixed and down here,” pointing to her stomach, “this too. All fixed.”
Hmmm, I think this may be trouble.
“I’m alone now.” She continues.” My kids they all met someone out of state and married them. But I get along okay. My clothes, where I live they all think they’re new, but I go to the thrift store on North Ave. and the woman there she saves stuff for me and I go and buy it. And they all think I got me a new fur coat. But I look okay huh?”
I want to say, “When I am as close to death as you are, I should be so lucky.” Instead I say, “Fine.” It is taken as her cue to continue.
“I’m alone now, but I had a brother he was a boxer. Here in Chicago. But he never got scarred up. No. The women he had around him. They were like syrup. Honey.”
I will be patient. She is a harmless lonely old woman who needs someone to talk to. I nod my head. Smile. And generally ooh and aah in all the right places. Least, I can understand her.
“Well, I’m glad I look okay. I was a nurse in the war and I was giving the doctor a scalpel when a bomb went off and I looked up and there was no one around. They all dove under the table. I was there with patient. I still have a bullet in my leg. They never took it out. They didn’t want to show me the x-rays, so I called my lawyer Bernstein. He made them. I still got it in my leg.”
She lifts her swollen leg up to show an Ace bandage wrapped around it, slightly above the knee.
“But I’m not afraid to be alone. I lived with my mother. And she was alone, but I never saw her with no boyfriends. My brother he went with all the women. I’m okay. I go anywhere. You got to the liquor store over by **** and they will sell you. Give the cash. I put a silencer on my 45 caliber. No one comes up to me.”
“Gulp.” I gulped.
A family comes in the store and I ask if they need any help, hoping they do. They don’t. But they will just look a moment.
“Bernstein, he’s good. He won’t do a dirty deal. I go there and get some papers done. He won’t charge me. He’s got two sons and they’re lawyers too, but he says come to me. They do dirty deals. They are in the same building. Same floor. But he won’t have anything to do with them. He says, ‘go away, stay there.’ Yep, I had my last baby when I was fifty years old.”
“Wow.” I wowed.
“The newspapers came out. And the doctor he had to do a caesarian because he said my womb was too small. And he said I couldn’t have intercourse with a larger man because of my tiny vagina.”
“ ” I blanked.
I did the only thing I could. “Don’t you folks have any questions yet?”
They did.
The elderly woman turned and left in a wisp of an unintelligible mumble.
As she left, I quietly thanked that family. The mom, who was standing right next to the conversation, asks, “I was only half listening. What was she talking about? Her kitchen?”
I laughed, “Sort of…it was a little more… more anatomical than that. So do you guys do some magic already?”
Yes, another day in the store. I can’t wait until Wednesday when we’ll both be back. Maybe I should introduce her to Ed.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
PC Bastards
Those of you looking for a rant about Apple vs. PC, look elsewhere. This is a rant about a group of out-of-touch, power mad public “servants”, Chicago’s Aldermen.
First, a word about the so-called PC movement.
While I do agree that we should not discriminate against those that may be different from us, this movement has created an atmosphere of over sensitivity. Every I turn I see imagined slights and transgressions causing offense. Neutral language and equivocated statements are rendering our interactions beige, bland, and, at times, incomprehensible. Worse yet, boring. Look at the first sentence of this paragraph. I have to equivocate or else I know the PC fools will be on the attack. They want to impose rules onto other people.
I am not a smoker. I hate when I come home and my clothes smell from smoke. I would never date anyone again that smoked. My father had a horrible decade long battle within his body because of what smoking unfiltered Camel cigarettes did to it. Nasty things happened to my father. It finally killed him two years ago. Yet, I am against this smoking ban fad running rampant through America right now.
Smoking, while personally distasteful, is a legal act. You can buy cigarettes. You can pay the taxes on them. You just can’t smoke them. Prohibition, that worked out well, didn’t it? How about that war on drugs, glad we stamped them out. Whew!
My main complaint is that the free market should decide whether a particular business should be smoke free, limited smoking, or smoke filled. If enough people complain or refuse to patronize a business, the business must adapt. This is a time honored successful capitalist tradition. We do not need it to be legislated.
I don’t like Burger King’s French fries. I don’t eat Burger King’s French fries. I go to McDonald’s or Wendy’s. I do not go to Burger King. If enough people feel the same as I do then either Burger King will change or go out of business. No laws are required to change the fries at Burger King. The system we created, we depend on, works.
But, the Chicago City Gestapo has not only banned smoking, it has banned food and wants to further limit the free market by limiting the choices of how our food is made.
On May 4th, the City Gestapo’s Buildings Committee voted to reject an exemption that would have allowed actors on stage to by-pass the city ordinance that bans smoking in public places. So, if a play requires smoking, say to re-create a period or as an important metaphor, you can’t do it. A court in Colorado has already rules that an actor doesn’t have a First Amendment right to light up.
To a magician, this means the death of cigarette tricks. Violence and sex are protected on stage, but not cigarette manipulation. No, no, no.
Perhaps, this isn’t a battle I should be fighting or caring about, but I believe this is a chip knocked off the Constitution. This slow erosion of our rights is frightening. The process is so small that we hardly recognize that we are ceding the control of our lives to a political machine, bought and paid for by the highest bidder.
I’ve not performed my cigarette act in years, but I would like the option. I would like my audience to have the option of whether they want to see it or not. I want the system created by our founding fathers to be allowed to work.
The problem is one ban always follows another.
The real question to ask is, what’s next?
Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others.
-- Albert Camus
Freedom is poetry, taking liberties with words, breaking the rules of normal speech, violating common sense. Freedom is violence.
-- Norman O. Brown
If we don’t believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don’t believe in it at all.
-- Noam Chomsky
The condition every art requires is, not so much freedom from restriction, as freedom from adulteration and from the intrusion of foreign matter.
--Willa Cather
The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedience, and by parts.
--Edmund Burke
For the article that inspired this entry please read Perform Ink.
http://performink.com/Framesets/2frmBody.html
Friday, June 22, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
True History for the Showman
The Many Legs of Santa Anna
Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón was born with the standard two, although mirror imaged, matching legs. They served their master, Santa Anna, for many good years.
In 1810, at the age of sixteen, the three of them, Santa Anna and his legs, joined the Mexican army. By the time a dozen years had passed, Santa Anna’s stellar military service earned the rank of General. In 1836, he defeated the troops at the Alamo. Despite the victory, he was not received as a hero by the Mexican government.
In 1838, he saw a way to redeem himself when the French invaded Mexico. During the so-called Pastry War, cannon fire struck the General. His leg and ankle were shattered and amputation was the only option. In a ceremony befitting any war dead, the detached leg was buried with full military honors. His leg wasn’t the only loss, the battle was also a defeat, yet, Santa Ana styled himself as a hero.
During this era, wooden legs were little more than sticks. Santa Ana preferred a cork leg sculpted to a more realistic shape. This leg he would hold high above his head and wave it during parades to remind the onlookers of the sacrifice he made for Mexico.
However, he wasn’t finished with the formerly attached leg. On the year anniversary of his loss in the Pastry War and the ten-year anniversary of his greatest victory over Spain in Tampico, the leg was disinterred. Santa Ana had the limb paraded through the streets in an imperial coach and laid to rest in an ornate mausoleum. He commissioned songs and poems to eulogize, lovingly, his former member.
Santa Ana was president of Mexico eleven non-consecutive times over a period of twenty-two years. Sometimes handed the power of state, sometimes seizing it for himself, only to be thrown out of office for his extreme corruption. After one such event, a riotous mob destroyed his leg’s crypt. They dragged the desiccated appendage through the streets chanting “Death to the Cripple, Long Live Congress.” The leg hasn’t been heard from since.
In 1846, the United States declared war on Mexico. Santa Anna commanded the Mexican forces the battle of Cerro Gordo. American troops forced the General into a hasty retreat. Illinois guardsmen discovered Santa Ana’s personal carriage abandoned. Its contents included the General’s personal wardrobe, $70,000 in silver to pay his troops, and his favorite leg. The troops immortalized the leg in song parodies. To this day, the war prisoner (cork leg) is still being held at the Illinois State Military Museum in Springfield, Illinois.
Mourning the loss, Santa Ana never again would sport cork; wood would have to do. There is an unconfirmed rumor that Texas is also in possession of a wooden Santa Anna leg and tried to trade it for a flag that flew over the Alamo, which is owned by Mexico.
I can just imagine some industrious owner of a 19th cabinet of curiosities touring with wax copies of the many legs of Santa Ana.
Must have been quite the draw.
PostScript: The former legs of Heather Mills and Monty Stratton could not be reached for comment on the previous totally bizarre, mostly true, story.
Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón was born with the standard two, although mirror imaged, matching legs. They served their master, Santa Anna, for many good years.
In 1810, at the age of sixteen, the three of them, Santa Anna and his legs, joined the Mexican army. By the time a dozen years had passed, Santa Anna’s stellar military service earned the rank of General. In 1836, he defeated the troops at the Alamo. Despite the victory, he was not received as a hero by the Mexican government.
In 1838, he saw a way to redeem himself when the French invaded Mexico. During the so-called Pastry War, cannon fire struck the General. His leg and ankle were shattered and amputation was the only option. In a ceremony befitting any war dead, the detached leg was buried with full military honors. His leg wasn’t the only loss, the battle was also a defeat, yet, Santa Ana styled himself as a hero.
During this era, wooden legs were little more than sticks. Santa Ana preferred a cork leg sculpted to a more realistic shape. This leg he would hold high above his head and wave it during parades to remind the onlookers of the sacrifice he made for Mexico.
However, he wasn’t finished with the formerly attached leg. On the year anniversary of his loss in the Pastry War and the ten-year anniversary of his greatest victory over Spain in Tampico, the leg was disinterred. Santa Ana had the limb paraded through the streets in an imperial coach and laid to rest in an ornate mausoleum. He commissioned songs and poems to eulogize, lovingly, his former member.
Santa Ana was president of Mexico eleven non-consecutive times over a period of twenty-two years. Sometimes handed the power of state, sometimes seizing it for himself, only to be thrown out of office for his extreme corruption. After one such event, a riotous mob destroyed his leg’s crypt. They dragged the desiccated appendage through the streets chanting “Death to the Cripple, Long Live Congress.” The leg hasn’t been heard from since.
In 1846, the United States declared war on Mexico. Santa Anna commanded the Mexican forces the battle of Cerro Gordo. American troops forced the General into a hasty retreat. Illinois guardsmen discovered Santa Ana’s personal carriage abandoned. Its contents included the General’s personal wardrobe, $70,000 in silver to pay his troops, and his favorite leg. The troops immortalized the leg in song parodies. To this day, the war prisoner (cork leg) is still being held at the Illinois State Military Museum in Springfield, Illinois.
Mourning the loss, Santa Ana never again would sport cork; wood would have to do. There is an unconfirmed rumor that Texas is also in possession of a wooden Santa Anna leg and tried to trade it for a flag that flew over the Alamo, which is owned by Mexico.
I can just imagine some industrious owner of a 19th cabinet of curiosities touring with wax copies of the many legs of Santa Ana.
Must have been quite the draw.
PostScript: The former legs of Heather Mills and Monty Stratton could not be reached for comment on the previous totally bizarre, mostly true, story.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
News and Quotes
I have to apologize to my regular readers; I’m way behind in my writing.
Too many projects, too little time.
Keep your eyes open this week for the bizarre story of the many legs of Santa Ana. Also, there will be a review of last weeks opening of Chicago’s newest weekly magic show, The Magic Cabaret.
For now, here are a few choice quotes about Chicago:
It used to be a writer’s town, and it’s always been a fighter’s town. For writers and fighters and furtive torpedoes, cat-bandits, baggage thieves, hallway headlockers on the prowl, baby photographers, and stylish coneroos, this is the spot that is always most convenient, being so centrally located for settling ancestral grudges. Whether the power is in a .38, a typewriter ribbon, or a pair of six-ouncers, the place has grown great on bone-deep grudges of writers and fighters and furtive torpedoes.
--Nelson Algren, (Chicago’s greatest writer)
Here’s the difference between us and Dante. He wrote a lot about hell and never saw the place. We’re writing about Chicago after looking the town over.
--Carl Sandburg, (Chicago’s 2nd greatest writer)
Chicago is the glory and damnation of America all rolled up into one. Not to know Chicago is not to know America.
--Neal R. Pierce and John Keefe
Eventually I think that Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world.
--Frank Lloyd Wright
I find the whiskey unexpectedly good.
--William Butler Yeats, (visiting Chicago during prohibition)
I wish I could go to America if only to see Chicago.
--Otto Von Bismarck
Loving Chicago is like loving a woman with a broken nose.
--Nelson Algren
Too many projects, too little time.
Keep your eyes open this week for the bizarre story of the many legs of Santa Ana. Also, there will be a review of last weeks opening of Chicago’s newest weekly magic show, The Magic Cabaret.
For now, here are a few choice quotes about Chicago:
It used to be a writer’s town, and it’s always been a fighter’s town. For writers and fighters and furtive torpedoes, cat-bandits, baggage thieves, hallway headlockers on the prowl, baby photographers, and stylish coneroos, this is the spot that is always most convenient, being so centrally located for settling ancestral grudges. Whether the power is in a .38, a typewriter ribbon, or a pair of six-ouncers, the place has grown great on bone-deep grudges of writers and fighters and furtive torpedoes.
--Nelson Algren, (Chicago’s greatest writer)
Here’s the difference between us and Dante. He wrote a lot about hell and never saw the place. We’re writing about Chicago after looking the town over.
--Carl Sandburg, (Chicago’s 2nd greatest writer)
Chicago is the glory and damnation of America all rolled up into one. Not to know Chicago is not to know America.
--Neal R. Pierce and John Keefe
Eventually I think that Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world.
--Frank Lloyd Wright
I find the whiskey unexpectedly good.
--William Butler Yeats, (visiting Chicago during prohibition)
I wish I could go to America if only to see Chicago.
--Otto Von Bismarck
Loving Chicago is like loving a woman with a broken nose.
--Nelson Algren
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Quote Me
Keep this in mind when writing and routining:
"tanto nadar para morir en la orilla"
(So much swimming only to perish at the shore)
--Arthur Plotnik, from The Elements of Expression,
Putting Thoughts into Words
Friday, May 18, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Late Reviews from the Collectors' Weekend
Okay, it took me a couple of days to recover from Collectors', but here are some thoughts and reviews. Better late than never.
Wednesday
The Magic Collectors' did not have any events, but Chicago's own Knights of Sleights put on their annual flea market. Auctions seem to be all the rage. Thankfully, the Knights (in an effort for full disclosure, I am a member-at-large.) stuck to tradition and organised a wonderful event. I look forward to this Wednesday every year because it is a social event. I see people that I may only see once a year. Oh, and there is good stuff to buy, too.
Thursday
Check in, Dealer rooms open, It seems like much less dealers than I remember. I look longingly at all the things I can't afford. The Jay Marshall auction previews begin. I look longingly at all the things I'll never afford. In the evening, Richard Kaufman spoke on the book Greater Magic. Most of what he said could be found in the introduction of the book itself. He never said the only words I wanted to hear: "reprint". Jim Steinmeyer gave his customary professional talk on Amac, Jarrett, and historical notables.
Friday
I start off the program with a talk on the new discoveries I made concerning Spirit Medium Carrie M. Sawyer, the star of my book, EXPOSED! The Untold Story of Harry Kellar and The Tribune Spook Cases. (I have only 10 books left out of the 100 I printed. I will not be printing it again. When I promise a limited edition I mean it.) The talk went well. Better than my first talk in LA, I was much more comfortable this time. Transplanted Chicagoan David Parr Followed me with a wonderful talk about rediscovering your own magical past. Digging up some of his earliest magic books and finding what made him love magic in the first place. After lunch, Michael Claxton, a researcher after my own heart, waded through 150 years of Punch magazine collecting everything on magic. He covered the first 75 years in his lightly entertaining talk. David Charvet returned with an updated talk about Alexander and new version of his Alexander book from Mike Caveney's Magic Words company. David Avadon spoke in support of his book, Cutting up the Touches, from Squash Publishing. (the event organiser, Gabe Fujari's company.) This was one of the low points of the weekend when he clearly could not handle the speaking assignment, especially odd considering he just wrote a book on the subject. In the evening, Chicagoan Lee Levin spoke on two newly discovered Houdini window cards. I wrote about this subject previously, check my archives. John Carney spoke and performed his take on three magical marvels. Filling in for the recovering Max Maven, David Ben recounted a few anecdotes and introduced a Canadian documentary on Max. What didn't help is the singles party next door blasting their music to constant distraction.
Saturday
Woke up in time for the Jay Marshall auction. Spent $140 on a small picture album of Chicago stage performers. Over all most items went for much more than thought. I one piece I really wanted went to my friend, Dave Odette. Who will now be known as That Bastard. The evening show featured local juggler Andy Head, who did a nice turn. Andy is an incredible juggler, but not nearly as entertaining as he could be. David Avadon surprisingly did not perform pickpocketing. I thought that was what he did. He performed a newspaper tear and a spirit cabinet stunt in which he, while tied up, ends up wearing a spectator's coat. David only cannot speak his own speech, but can't perform his own act. Again Chicagoan and life long friend of Guest-of-Honor Jim Steinmeyer, Bob Higa performed classic manipulations well and had Jim introduce three of own illusions while Bob performed them.
The final result was a good, but not great or special convention. I was happy to see it back in Chicago. It is our continuing shame that the is not a regular convention in Chicago.
Finally, I got to spend time and meals and excessive cocktails with David Parr, Dan Mindo, P.T. Murphy, Arthur Trace, Gordon Meyer, Jon Stetson, Dave Odette, Jim Steinmeyer, Tim Felix, Rodger Dreyer, Bill Kalush, John Carney, Graham Putnam, Jim Alferson, and probably a few others that I can't remember. All of these guys engaged each other in a few days of interesting talk and hilarious stories.
I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Maybe the convention was pretty special, after all.
Wednesday
The Magic Collectors' did not have any events, but Chicago's own Knights of Sleights put on their annual flea market. Auctions seem to be all the rage. Thankfully, the Knights (in an effort for full disclosure, I am a member-at-large.) stuck to tradition and organised a wonderful event. I look forward to this Wednesday every year because it is a social event. I see people that I may only see once a year. Oh, and there is good stuff to buy, too.
Thursday
Check in, Dealer rooms open, It seems like much less dealers than I remember. I look longingly at all the things I can't afford. The Jay Marshall auction previews begin. I look longingly at all the things I'll never afford. In the evening, Richard Kaufman spoke on the book Greater Magic. Most of what he said could be found in the introduction of the book itself. He never said the only words I wanted to hear: "reprint". Jim Steinmeyer gave his customary professional talk on Amac, Jarrett, and historical notables.
Friday
I start off the program with a talk on the new discoveries I made concerning Spirit Medium Carrie M. Sawyer, the star of my book, EXPOSED! The Untold Story of Harry Kellar and The Tribune Spook Cases. (I have only 10 books left out of the 100 I printed. I will not be printing it again. When I promise a limited edition I mean it.) The talk went well. Better than my first talk in LA, I was much more comfortable this time. Transplanted Chicagoan David Parr Followed me with a wonderful talk about rediscovering your own magical past. Digging up some of his earliest magic books and finding what made him love magic in the first place. After lunch, Michael Claxton, a researcher after my own heart, waded through 150 years of Punch magazine collecting everything on magic. He covered the first 75 years in his lightly entertaining talk. David Charvet returned with an updated talk about Alexander and new version of his Alexander book from Mike Caveney's Magic Words company. David Avadon spoke in support of his book, Cutting up the Touches, from Squash Publishing. (the event organiser, Gabe Fujari's company.) This was one of the low points of the weekend when he clearly could not handle the speaking assignment, especially odd considering he just wrote a book on the subject. In the evening, Chicagoan Lee Levin spoke on two newly discovered Houdini window cards. I wrote about this subject previously, check my archives. John Carney spoke and performed his take on three magical marvels. Filling in for the recovering Max Maven, David Ben recounted a few anecdotes and introduced a Canadian documentary on Max. What didn't help is the singles party next door blasting their music to constant distraction.
Saturday
Woke up in time for the Jay Marshall auction. Spent $140 on a small picture album of Chicago stage performers. Over all most items went for much more than thought. I one piece I really wanted went to my friend, Dave Odette. Who will now be known as That Bastard. The evening show featured local juggler Andy Head, who did a nice turn. Andy is an incredible juggler, but not nearly as entertaining as he could be. David Avadon surprisingly did not perform pickpocketing. I thought that was what he did. He performed a newspaper tear and a spirit cabinet stunt in which he, while tied up, ends up wearing a spectator's coat. David only cannot speak his own speech, but can't perform his own act. Again Chicagoan and life long friend of Guest-of-Honor Jim Steinmeyer, Bob Higa performed classic manipulations well and had Jim introduce three of own illusions while Bob performed them.
The final result was a good, but not great or special convention. I was happy to see it back in Chicago. It is our continuing shame that the is not a regular convention in Chicago.
Finally, I got to spend time and meals and excessive cocktails with David Parr, Dan Mindo, P.T. Murphy, Arthur Trace, Gordon Meyer, Jon Stetson, Dave Odette, Jim Steinmeyer, Tim Felix, Rodger Dreyer, Bill Kalush, John Carney, Graham Putnam, Jim Alferson, and probably a few others that I can't remember. All of these guys engaged each other in a few days of interesting talk and hilarious stories.
I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Maybe the convention was pretty special, after all.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Random Acts of Sideshow
How to go from Ordinary Human to Blockhead.
It started in the pain and torture acts, sideshow performances in which the performers endured or seemed to endure intense pain.
Some survived crucifixion on a nightly basis. Others just pushed needles through their skin. Not like in this age when gratuitous piercing has rendered shoving a spike through your tongue meaningless. Nope, these guys and even a few girls shoved needles through parts rarely pierced today, like arms and legs. One nutty bastard even thrust a sword through his chest. And when I say through his chest, I mean it. From the front and out the back, not just through a bitsy piece of skin, impalement is the correct terminology. If you want to see the pictures visit the link to The Human Marvels, check his archives.
One of the common torture tests was for the performer to pound a large nail or spike into his nasal passage. It horrified. The audience believed the nail pierced skin, bone, and, perhaps, even brain to make its way into the head. Of course, the performer hammed it up.
Then came a man by the name of Melvin Burkhart, he changed everything. He took a minor torture piece, turned it into a showstopper, and gave birth to a generation of blockheads. The big change was that he played it for laughs. This made it accessible to audiences. Sure, it was still shocking, especially because he used a HUGE spike.
I have performed the Human Blockhead act for at least a decade. What makes a man pound a spike in his face? I think for Melvin, it was work; it was show business. For me, it was another challenge.
So many years ago when I decided being a magician was preferable to working for a living, I also decided that I wanted to learn everything about magic and its allied arts. I learned to juggle, ventriloquism, and eat fire. Right now, I am working on whip cracking.
I digress. Ten years ago, a friend, Scott Wagmeister, introduced me to the act. After some experimentation with Q-tips, I moved to nails. First, just sliding them in and then figuring how to “pound” them into my nose. I tried larger nails until I settled on a size and length that was comfortable. I believe my sinus passage would stretch, but I don’t want to go through the pain of enlarging it.
Now, you can find performers who have backslid into making the act a torture act again. They shove ice picks, screwdrivers, and drills into their heads. Whatever works. (Whatever sells!)
I prefer the middle road, a little shock, a little fun.
Make ‘em squirm, then make ‘em laugh; pull them and let them know everything is safe.
The other day a new addition for the act came in the mail. Glass Nails!
I’ll get to the maker in a moment. The nails are made from Pyrex. They look great and slide in smooth. One of their amazing properties is that they conduct light, much like fiber optics. When the nail is deep in my nose, I can put a flashlight in my mouth and light up the nails.
Cool. I’m the Human Lite-Brite.
(Lite-Brite is a registered trademark of blah, blah blah.)
The maker of these wonderful new tools is Brett Loudermilk, The Freak Prodigy. I found out that he made these in the sideshow section on the Magic Café. No, never fear, I am not a member. I lurk, mostly shaking my head in disbelief, except in the sideshow section, which seems pretty decent.
Back to the commercial, Brett has made an incredible product. I urge anyone reading this that does the blockhead act already to purchase some nails from him. Don't waver. For a few bucks, it will make your act better. Even if you just perform it for fun, these nails add a lot to the show. Here is his e-mail: bretteloudermilk@gmail.com
Hey, get your freak on.
It started in the pain and torture acts, sideshow performances in which the performers endured or seemed to endure intense pain.
Some survived crucifixion on a nightly basis. Others just pushed needles through their skin. Not like in this age when gratuitous piercing has rendered shoving a spike through your tongue meaningless. Nope, these guys and even a few girls shoved needles through parts rarely pierced today, like arms and legs. One nutty bastard even thrust a sword through his chest. And when I say through his chest, I mean it. From the front and out the back, not just through a bitsy piece of skin, impalement is the correct terminology. If you want to see the pictures visit the link to The Human Marvels, check his archives.
One of the common torture tests was for the performer to pound a large nail or spike into his nasal passage. It horrified. The audience believed the nail pierced skin, bone, and, perhaps, even brain to make its way into the head. Of course, the performer hammed it up.
Then came a man by the name of Melvin Burkhart, he changed everything. He took a minor torture piece, turned it into a showstopper, and gave birth to a generation of blockheads. The big change was that he played it for laughs. This made it accessible to audiences. Sure, it was still shocking, especially because he used a HUGE spike.
I have performed the Human Blockhead act for at least a decade. What makes a man pound a spike in his face? I think for Melvin, it was work; it was show business. For me, it was another challenge.
So many years ago when I decided being a magician was preferable to working for a living, I also decided that I wanted to learn everything about magic and its allied arts. I learned to juggle, ventriloquism, and eat fire. Right now, I am working on whip cracking.
I digress. Ten years ago, a friend, Scott Wagmeister, introduced me to the act. After some experimentation with Q-tips, I moved to nails. First, just sliding them in and then figuring how to “pound” them into my nose. I tried larger nails until I settled on a size and length that was comfortable. I believe my sinus passage would stretch, but I don’t want to go through the pain of enlarging it.
Now, you can find performers who have backslid into making the act a torture act again. They shove ice picks, screwdrivers, and drills into their heads. Whatever works. (Whatever sells!)
I prefer the middle road, a little shock, a little fun.
Make ‘em squirm, then make ‘em laugh; pull them and let them know everything is safe.
The other day a new addition for the act came in the mail. Glass Nails!
I’ll get to the maker in a moment. The nails are made from Pyrex. They look great and slide in smooth. One of their amazing properties is that they conduct light, much like fiber optics. When the nail is deep in my nose, I can put a flashlight in my mouth and light up the nails.
Cool. I’m the Human Lite-Brite.
(Lite-Brite is a registered trademark of blah, blah blah.)
The maker of these wonderful new tools is Brett Loudermilk, The Freak Prodigy. I found out that he made these in the sideshow section on the Magic Café. No, never fear, I am not a member. I lurk, mostly shaking my head in disbelief, except in the sideshow section, which seems pretty decent.
Back to the commercial, Brett has made an incredible product. I urge anyone reading this that does the blockhead act already to purchase some nails from him. Don't waver. For a few bucks, it will make your act better. Even if you just perform it for fun, these nails add a lot to the show. Here is his e-mail: bretteloudermilk@gmail.com
Hey, get your freak on.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Play Time
From the UMA website:
ORANGE LEMON EGG CANARY
by Rinne Groff
April 18 - May 18, 2007
Chopin Studio Theatre
Uma is proud to present the Midwest premiere of Obie Award-winning playwright Rinne Groff's ORANGE LEMON EGG CANARY. Great, a renegade magician with a mysterious legacy finds more than meets the eye in his sexy new assistant Trilby, who pursues him for the truth of his past and the truth behind his tricks. This funny, quirky modern love story has plenty of disappearing coins, floating objects, and the infamously dangerous and thrilling "chick-on-a stick." Not to mention a lovely assistant who talks a lot for being a dead woman. A magical exploration of the cheap tricks, smoke and mirrors and bonds of faith in modern romance, ORANGE LEMON EGG CANARY is sure to be an amazing night at the theatre, especially when experienced amidst one of Uma's fantastical "umavironments."
This production is appearing in Chicago for the first time. Dennis Watkins from the House Theater is playing the lead and did the magic consulting. He is a fine magician and actor, who many in Chicago remember from his role as Houdini in Death and Harry Houdini by the House Theater. I am looking forward in seeing this new show.
by Rinne Groff
April 18 - May 18, 2007
Chopin Studio Theatre
Uma is proud to present the Midwest premiere of Obie Award-winning playwright Rinne Groff's ORANGE LEMON EGG CANARY. Great, a renegade magician with a mysterious legacy finds more than meets the eye in his sexy new assistant Trilby, who pursues him for the truth of his past and the truth behind his tricks. This funny, quirky modern love story has plenty of disappearing coins, floating objects, and the infamously dangerous and thrilling "chick-on-a stick." Not to mention a lovely assistant who talks a lot for being a dead woman. A magical exploration of the cheap tricks, smoke and mirrors and bonds of faith in modern romance, ORANGE LEMON EGG CANARY is sure to be an amazing night at the theatre, especially when experienced amidst one of Uma's fantastical "umavironments."
This production is appearing in Chicago for the first time. Dennis Watkins from the House Theater is playing the lead and did the magic consulting. He is a fine magician and actor, who many in Chicago remember from his role as Houdini in Death and Harry Houdini by the House Theater. I am looking forward in seeing this new show.
If you are in Chicago, it's a must do thing.
For more info, dates, and ticketing visit the website:
Also see the article in the Friday, April 20, Weekend section of the Chicago Sun-Times for the article by their theater critic Hedy Weiss.
Or google the play's title, Orange Lemon Egg Canary for information on the original off-broadway production.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Quote Me
"One should not be nostalgic about too many things,
because more often than not, the memory takes the
form of a wish rather than a fact.
Sort of a soothing or a bitter deception."
--Stanley Crouch
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Discovery
It is a wonderful thing to be curious. I never know what I might discover.
Find a website that has a link page; follow the links to another page and their link page, and so on and so on. (Of course, you better set aside some extra time to do this.)
I followed a link to a sideshow page, which moved me to a performer’s page, and linked me to the page linked at the end of this article.
Did I ever mention I am selfish? I almost want to keep this a secret, a little piece of magic I own. Yet, I realize there are so few opportunities to experience something so original and so magical.
In my experience, I come across a lot of performers, some good, a few great, most bad. Most don’t know good from bad, but that is another essay. The great masses of performers fall into a predictable cookie-cutter blur. It is why I stopped hanging around comedy clubs. Airplane routine, followed by cat routine, fast food routine, “I broke up with me girlfriend because she dumped me.” etc. etc. etc.
Rarely, a performer will stand out, like a Mac King. Original. Cirque Du Soleil creates its own alternate universe. Original. (Not that a classic act can’t work and work well, a la Lance Burton.) In is just when you see something new to your world, it adds so much more.
Back to this website, it describes a show I have never seen and may never see. It could suck. But not in my head. See it, I felt lost in a daze of wonder like Alice down the rabbit hole. They created such an alternate world as Alice experienced.
As a writer, I should be able to describe anything; a loss for words is not an option. I look at what they’ve done with awe, admiration, a bit of jealousy, and wonder.
See it for yourself: Insect Circus Museum & Peep-Show Mechanical Menagerie
Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
--Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898), Alice in Wonderland
Find a website that has a link page; follow the links to another page and their link page, and so on and so on. (Of course, you better set aside some extra time to do this.)
I followed a link to a sideshow page, which moved me to a performer’s page, and linked me to the page linked at the end of this article.
Did I ever mention I am selfish? I almost want to keep this a secret, a little piece of magic I own. Yet, I realize there are so few opportunities to experience something so original and so magical.
In my experience, I come across a lot of performers, some good, a few great, most bad. Most don’t know good from bad, but that is another essay. The great masses of performers fall into a predictable cookie-cutter blur. It is why I stopped hanging around comedy clubs. Airplane routine, followed by cat routine, fast food routine, “I broke up with me girlfriend because she dumped me.” etc. etc. etc.
Rarely, a performer will stand out, like a Mac King. Original. Cirque Du Soleil creates its own alternate universe. Original. (Not that a classic act can’t work and work well, a la Lance Burton.) In is just when you see something new to your world, it adds so much more.
Back to this website, it describes a show I have never seen and may never see. It could suck. But not in my head. See it, I felt lost in a daze of wonder like Alice down the rabbit hole. They created such an alternate world as Alice experienced.
As a writer, I should be able to describe anything; a loss for words is not an option. I look at what they’ve done with awe, admiration, a bit of jealousy, and wonder.
See it for yourself: Insect Circus Museum & Peep-Show Mechanical Menagerie
Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
--Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898), Alice in Wonderland
Monday, April 02, 2007
Jamy Ian Swiss
Either you love him or you hate. That seems like the consensus of the magicians that I speak with. He is a person that gets strong reactions. He is not afraid to have an opinion. (That, by the way, is a very good thing.)Yet, even when I disagree, I respect his choices. They are generally backed by actual thought, unlike much of what I see written on message boards, magazines, and blogs. Not only that, but he is a pretty good and interesting writer.
Here is a link to an excellent essay of his on the search for street magic, appearing in Antinomy. Read it.
http://antinomymagic.com/swiss.htm
Here is a link to an excellent essay of his on the search for street magic, appearing in Antinomy. Read it.
http://antinomymagic.com/swiss.htm
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Second Hand Jokes
Here are a few jokes that were sent to me and thought were worth retelling:
A woman had just visited her doctor and he informed her that she was pregnant.
As she sat on the bus, on her way home, she felt that she had to share the good news with someone. The man sitting next to her seemed as good as anyone to share the news.
"Sir," she said, "I just received the best news you could ever imagine. I have to share it with someone or I'll bust."
"What's that?" asked the stranger.
"After years of trying, FINALLY I'm pregnant!" exclaimed the woman.
The man shared her enthusiasm as he shared his own experience -- he said he was a farmer and he had trouble with his hens laying eggs. He stated that he went out to the hen house one morning and all of his hens had laid eggs. He was so happy. He added, "But, confidentially, I changed cocks."
The newly pregnant woman responded, "Confidentially...so did I!"
On a farm out in the country lived a man, a woman, and their three sons. Early one morning, the woman awoke, and while looking out of the window onto the pasture, she saw that the family's only cow was lying dead in the field. The situation looked hopeless to her -- how could she possibly continue to nourish her family now?
In a depressed state of mind, she hung herself!
When the man awoke to find his wife (as well as the cow) dead, he too began to see the hopelessness of the situation, and he shot himself in the head!
Then the eldest son awoke to discover his parents (and the cow!) dead, and he decided to go down to the river and drown himself. When he got to the river, he discovered a mermaid sitting on the bank...
The mermaid said, "I've seen all, and know the reason for your despair. But if you will have sex with me five times in a row, I will restore your parents and the cow to life." The son agreed to do this, but after four times, he was simply unable to satisfy her again. So, the mermaid drowned him in the river!
Next, the second oldest son awoke. After discovering what had happened, he too decided to throw himself into the river. The mermaid said to him, "If you will have sex with me ten times in a row, I will make everything right!" And while the son tried his best (seven times!), it was not enough to satisfy the mermaid, so she drowned him in the river!
The youngest son awoke and saw his parents dead, the dead cow in the field, and his brothers gone. He decided that life was a hopeless prospect, and he went down to the river to throw himself in... and there he also met the mermaid. "I have seen all that has happened, and I can make everything right if you will only have sex with me fifteen times in a row."
The young son replied, "Is that all? Why not twenty times in a row?"
The mermaid was somewhat taken aback by this request. Then he said, "Hell, why not twenty-five times in a row?" And even as she was reluctantly agreeing to his request, he said, "Why not thirty times in a row?"
Finally, she said, "Enough!! Okay, if you will have sex with me thirty times in a row, then I will bring everybody back to perfect health.” Then the young son asked, "Wait! How do I know that thirty times in a row won't kill you like it did the cow?"
President George H. W. Bush, President George W. Bush, and President Bill Clinton are traveling by car through Kansas. A tornado comes along, whirls them up into the air, and tosses them many miles away. They fall into a daze. All the colors are now brighter and more vibrant. They realize they are in the fabled Land of Oz. George W. announces: “I’m going to see the Wizard and I'll ask him for a brain."
George H. W. responds: "I'm going to ask for some courage.”
Clinton looks around and says: "Where's Dorothy?"
Happy April First!
(By the way, Happy Anniversary to me. This is my 100th post--Bill)
A woman had just visited her doctor and he informed her that she was pregnant.
As she sat on the bus, on her way home, she felt that she had to share the good news with someone. The man sitting next to her seemed as good as anyone to share the news.
"Sir," she said, "I just received the best news you could ever imagine. I have to share it with someone or I'll bust."
"What's that?" asked the stranger.
"After years of trying, FINALLY I'm pregnant!" exclaimed the woman.
The man shared her enthusiasm as he shared his own experience -- he said he was a farmer and he had trouble with his hens laying eggs. He stated that he went out to the hen house one morning and all of his hens had laid eggs. He was so happy. He added, "But, confidentially, I changed cocks."
The newly pregnant woman responded, "Confidentially...so did I!"
On a farm out in the country lived a man, a woman, and their three sons. Early one morning, the woman awoke, and while looking out of the window onto the pasture, she saw that the family's only cow was lying dead in the field. The situation looked hopeless to her -- how could she possibly continue to nourish her family now?
In a depressed state of mind, she hung herself!
When the man awoke to find his wife (as well as the cow) dead, he too began to see the hopelessness of the situation, and he shot himself in the head!
Then the eldest son awoke to discover his parents (and the cow!) dead, and he decided to go down to the river and drown himself. When he got to the river, he discovered a mermaid sitting on the bank...
The mermaid said, "I've seen all, and know the reason for your despair. But if you will have sex with me five times in a row, I will restore your parents and the cow to life." The son agreed to do this, but after four times, he was simply unable to satisfy her again. So, the mermaid drowned him in the river!
Next, the second oldest son awoke. After discovering what had happened, he too decided to throw himself into the river. The mermaid said to him, "If you will have sex with me ten times in a row, I will make everything right!" And while the son tried his best (seven times!), it was not enough to satisfy the mermaid, so she drowned him in the river!
The youngest son awoke and saw his parents dead, the dead cow in the field, and his brothers gone. He decided that life was a hopeless prospect, and he went down to the river to throw himself in... and there he also met the mermaid. "I have seen all that has happened, and I can make everything right if you will only have sex with me fifteen times in a row."
The young son replied, "Is that all? Why not twenty times in a row?"
The mermaid was somewhat taken aback by this request. Then he said, "Hell, why not twenty-five times in a row?" And even as she was reluctantly agreeing to his request, he said, "Why not thirty times in a row?"
Finally, she said, "Enough!! Okay, if you will have sex with me thirty times in a row, then I will bring everybody back to perfect health.” Then the young son asked, "Wait! How do I know that thirty times in a row won't kill you like it did the cow?"
President George H. W. Bush, President George W. Bush, and President Bill Clinton are traveling by car through Kansas. A tornado comes along, whirls them up into the air, and tosses them many miles away. They fall into a daze. All the colors are now brighter and more vibrant. They realize they are in the fabled Land of Oz. George W. announces: “I’m going to see the Wizard and I'll ask him for a brain."
George H. W. responds: "I'm going to ask for some courage.”
Clinton looks around and says: "Where's Dorothy?"
Happy April First!
(By the way, Happy Anniversary to me. This is my 100th post--Bill)
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Jay's Jokes
I am not a collector, not by any real meaning of the word. Unless you count stories, I love stories. There are a few books inhabiting a few shelves and boxes that are collectable. I have first edition Dracula, a Blackstone’s Secrets of Magic (signed), a valuable edition of Edgar Allen Poe’s poems with drawings by Edmund Dulac, and there are a few others.
As far as the magic world goes, it is just too darn expensive to amass a collection.
Although, I have acquired some nice pieces on that remarkable worldwide rummage sale, eBay. If you watch closely and keep a budget, you can find some deals. You have to be patient and not worry about losing something. I bought a broadside 6 months ago for $60. The same broadside sold recently for $179. But I like mine too much to sell.
This all leads me to my point. I just paid $300 for a notebook on eBay. A very special notebook.
For some time now, Sandy Marshall (son of Jay), his wife Susan, and their family have been selling many of Jay Marshall’s non-magic books on eBay. Many are circus and entertainment related books. Some are much more interesting like, How to run a Bassoon Factory for Fun and Profit.
Sandy first approves most of the books sold, just to make sure a treasure doesn’t slip through. Despite the safety checks, one such treasure did slip through.
The notebook, my notebook, is part of Jay Marshall’s private joke file. Talking to the Marshalls, there are about 20 volumes of joke that Jay collected and hand typed. This is the only one that should go to auction, but that may change seeing the worth. There was one other persistent bidder, but he topped out at just under $300 not even close to my high bid of $350. Whew!
It is a shameful thing, I think, not wanting anyone else to have it, but it meant a great deal to me.
Jay, for those who may not know, knew every joke ever. No, really. It was a supreme achievement to be able to tell him a joke and not have him finish it for you. I never tried. (My achievement was to bring him some advertising from the 1800s that he just had to copy.) My favorite memories of Magic, Inc. are going to lectures. A lecture could not, would not start without Jay sharing a ribald joke or bawdy limerick. Jay knew how to tell a joke.
Jay’s joke book collection is huge. Knowing him, he read them all. And could tell them all.
The binder smells of dust and age. The notebook is a standard 8 ½ X 11, much of it thin onionskin paper. The years of shelf wear has blotted the type making some of it difficult to read. It must date to the 1930s or 1940s because he included some WPA jokes. The book is 2 ½ inches thick. It divided into 26 categories from Juggler to Zoo. Some subjects contain a single page of jokes, others multiple pages, and a few only half pages. They are impeccably organized. After a visit to the magic shop during Jay’s tenure, this is a surprise.
Remember there are 19 other volumes, I cannot imagine how many jokes are collected in totality.
Does this sound like gloating? It is not meant to be. (Okay, well maybe a little.) This is just such an amazing thing. I want to share a piece of it, so I’ll close my eyes and pick one random page.
RABBITS
Girl with fur coat goes through the woods and a mother rabbit says to her children, “There’s your father-second pelt to the left-still hanging around other females.
Rabbit: We certainly know how to multiply.
Snake: I’m a tricky little adder myself.
Rabbits have shiny noses. That’s because their powder puffs are on the other end.
If Peter Rabbit gets sick, should he be given some hair tonic?
“I bought a pair of rabbits while you were away on your trip.”
“Where are they now?”
“Some of them are back in the coal shed, some are in the pen in the yard, and the rest are down in the basement.”
Two rabbits talking:
“I hear brother skunk has been drinking again.”
“Yes, he sure is stinko.”
The thoughts of a rabbit on sex,
Are practically never complex.
A rabbit in need, Is a rabbit indeed,
And his actions are what one expects.
“What happened to all these dead rabbits? Did you kill them?”
“Heck no, the boll-weevils run ‘em to death trying to get the cotton out their tails.”
Maybe I should have read the page first.
Some of the joke are dialogues, a few sound like they were captions for cartoons. I did edit out a couple that just did not make any sense. Like this one:
Three rabbits. Xmas story. Hungo, hungo.
What? I have no idea.
This is fun I think I will make it a regular feature. Jay’s joke page.
Thanks, Jay....For everthing.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Quote Me
"Let us be thankful for the fools,
but for them the rest of us could not succeed."
--Mark Twain
"Nothing is foolproof,
because fools are so ingenious."
--Mark Twain
"That's the penalty we have to pay for our acts of foolishness,
someone else always suffers from them."
--Alfred Sutro
"However big the fool,
there is always a bigger fool to admire him."
--Nicolas Boileau-Despreaux
"I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools.
Let's start with typewriters."
--Solomon Short
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Happy Birthday Chicago
On March 4, 1837 Chicago incorporated as a city. Happy 170th
CHICAGO
HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
--Carl Sandburg's "Chicago"published 1916 in Chicago Poems
CHICAGO
HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
--Carl Sandburg's "Chicago"published 1916 in Chicago Poems
Where is the Chicago of Carl Sandburg and Nelson Algren?
I am afraid it been lost to the generic homogenization engineered
by corporate gluttons and the PC mafia.
Is the city that has been bought and paid for by the blood and sweat
and money of its citizens been bought out, sold out by the politicos?
Players at politics, who try to erase the history, forgetting it is the past
that made us, them, who we are; got us where we are.
But they better learn to love it, because they are it,
and it ain't going away--Bill
Monday, February 26, 2007
Quote Me
"The rich, the professional idlers, desire only the peculiar, the sensational, the eccentric, the scandalous in today's art. And I, myself, since the advent of cubism, have fed these fellows what they wanted, and satisfied the critics with all the ridiculous ideas that have passed through my head. The less they understood, the more they admired me! Through amusing myself with all these farces I became celebrated, and very rapidly. For a painter celebrity means sales and consequent affluence. Today, as you know, I am rich. But when I am alone, I do not have the effrontery to consider myself an artist at all, not in the grand old meaning of the word.
Giotto, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya were great painters. I am only a public clown...I have understood my time, and have exploited the imbecility, the vanity, the greed of my contemporaries. It is a bitter confession, more painful than it may seem, but at least, and at last, does have the merit of being honest."
Giotto, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya were great painters. I am only a public clown...I have understood my time, and have exploited the imbecility, the vanity, the greed of my contemporaries. It is a bitter confession, more painful than it may seem, but at least, and at last, does have the merit of being honest."
-- Picasso, 1954, to Giovanni Papini
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