Let's Get Ready to Rumble

We're all familiar, all too familiar, I might add, with road construction and repair. When those signs appear - left lane closed, two miles and what have you - our hearts sink.

Yet I get it. They want to warn you. They want to give you a heads up. Fair enough.

Then they, that famous they, decided it wasn't enough. Someone developed rumble strips, rubber lines glued to the roadbed to make your car, well, rumble as it sped along. They are placed increasingly closer together as work approaches, to remind you that you need to be considerate, slow down, and change lanes. All right, I get that too.

But now, to go along with the construction advisories and rumble strips, there's a new sign.

The other day as I came upon road work, I was informed that there were rumble strips ahead. So I was being warned of the upcoming warning.

It's actually kind of laughable. Still, things may be getting out of hand.

Bean with Bacon

They say you can't go home again, and there's a great truth to that. But you can get a taste of the old homestead.

Campbell's Bean with Bacon soup. I hadn't had it in years. Of course, I haven't actually been looking. It had fell off my radar. Then I noticed a few cans of it in a Dollar General, and was so tickled that I bought four.

I've already ate two. Just like I used to do as a kid when Mom would serve it up for lunch, I made a big bowl and absolutely inundated it with saltines. That first taste sure brought back memories. It actually seemed as though I were sitting in the kitchen as a boy, Dad at the head of the table, back to the cabinets, Mom to his right, and all us siblings piled around wherever we'd fit.

I can't eat two bowls in one sitting as I could then. Well, I could, but it's not a good idea. It probably wasn't then, either. Yet, well, it tasted like home.

Marty and the Art World

It is said that art is to the artist, by which is meant that art is whatever the artist says it is. I disagree.

I have a very simple yet realistic definition of what makes something art: if I can do it, it ain't art. I'll give you an example: Orange Brown . I can do that. Therefore, it's not art. Yet it actually belongs to the Detroit Institute of Arts, potentially (I haven't looked it up) on the taxpayer's dime.

What is art, then? The Mona Lisa. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Stuart's portrait of Washington which is replicated on the dollar bill. Things like that. Fuzzy orange brown squares and rectangles? I'm going to argue no.

In short, art isn't necessarily what the self proclaimed artist or supposed art experts say it is. The kind of standard applies across the board too. If you think Zinn's Bad History is good history simply because Howard Zinn purports to be an historian, then you ought to rethink the subject. You should certainly rethink Zinn.

Art is what art is, according to rational standards of beauty, talent, and whatever other reasonable standards apply to analyzing art, exactly as history is what it is according to rational standards of history no matter what any given person, even an historian, might say it is. Look beyond the experts, question them, challenge them. If they can't give you good answers, doubt them. Never let them rest on their own word.

Right Turns (Not Political)

I do love Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula. But there are things about it which take adjustment, such as turn signals. You can trust them.

In Detroit, a great big nope goes out to that. A driver may have a signal engaged but it means diddly squat. Maybe they're turning, maybe not, and there's no sense trying to determine which it is. From what I've seen of other major towns, Indianapolis, Columbus, New York City, Dryden (especially Dryden) you simply cannot believe them. The driver is going to do whatever they please. A turn signal if anything means, I haven't decided yet, but you better not cross me.

Yet in the UP, they cast disparaging looks at you when you don't turn right in front of them when their right signal is clearly flashing as you wait to turn yourself. I had one guy noticeably staring me down when I failed to do that. You should have went, his expression said clearly. You must have seen my flasher.

Well, yeah, I did. But from where I live that lacks meaning. It takes me awhile to believe people are actually going to do what their actions indicate. Sorry, UP.

Ten Steps to Huh?

The Smithsonian Channel (everybody has a channel these days) offers some interesting programs. The issues they cover include history, archaeology, and current events. They carry a very interesting British show called Inside the Factory about how foods are made. But there is one program which gets that vein of sophomoric humor in me going. It's called Ten Steps To Disaster.

I'm not sure that's a good idea. I mean, instructing us on how to create disaster? Humanity seems pretty good at that already.

I know that's not what it's about. It's about ten steps that have led to actual disasters, analyzing real historical events. But where's the humor in that?

Cool Ghoul Cloyce

As he sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee one warm summer morning me Pops heard an old friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, coming down the street. "George!" Cloyce was yelling. "Here George! Come here, George!"

Eventually he came into sight. "What's going on, Cloyce?" Pops asked as his friend.

"The dog ran off," his buddy explained. "I'm trying to find him."

"Well, good luck," Dad offered. Then he asked what you would think an obvious question. "The dog's name is George?"

Cloyce bristled just a bit. "Nah, the kids named him Cool Ghoul."  He gave a quick, dismissive wave to me Pops unspoken question, then continued, "But I ain't going around the neighborhood yelling, Cool Ghoul! Here Cool Ghoul!" 

Pops laughed. Eventually Cloyce found George. Er, Cool Ghoul.

July 5th

Well, the second half of the year begins. I don't know about you, but for me the first half of the year builds towards Independence Day while the second part rises until Christmas. It's not the worst way to approach time. 

I don't know how many days until Christmas; I'm not into it that much. It's simply the macro way I see the year. Works for me.