World Championships in Kansas City next week

Beginning this weekend, disc-golfers and disc-golf enthusiasts will be taking over Kansas City's parks and wide-open spaces. Kansas City is the host of the 2009 Disc Golf World Championships, which will be played out on 11 different area disc golf courses. Quite a few folks have been working hard to make improvements to each course, including new tee pads, new signs (the one above is not new, btw) and landscaping. Naturally, each course is set up at the most challenging pin placements possible. Expectations and excitement for the event are pretty high, and PDGA sponsors believe there is a good chance this will be the disc golf tournament with 1000 players.

For more information, click here. For more photos of Waterworks, one of the Championship courses, click the photo of the dude sleeping on the upper-deck bench...

While we're on the subject of pics, check out this excellent panoramic shot Giessel took near his parents' farm near Larned, Kansas. Though I haven't seen him yet on this trip in from Cambridge, his enthusiasm for returning to native soil is rubbing off on me in a good way.

In the words of V. Lindsay, "Ho for Kansas, land that restores us When houses choke us When big books bore us!"

photo courtesy of Andrew

Blue, this is that WTC firework fountain I was telling you about. Taken back in the day with my HP PhotoSmart 320 from Wal-Mart. As the label on the firework says: "In lighting this firework, you are not reliving the memory of the tragedy, but honoring the many lives that were lost..."

Moritz Piehler's Peruvian Patio Photos

My dear friend, photographer and Viva con Aguanaut Moritz responded to my request for patio/poetry-inspired photos with two lovely shots from Lima and Cusca, Peru. As promised, here is the Borges poem in the original. Gracias, Moritz!

UN PATIO

Con la tarde
se cansaron los dos o tres colores del patio.
Esta noche, la luna, el claro círculo,
no domina su espacio.
Patio, cielo encauzado.
El patio es el declive
por el cual se derrama el cielo en la casa.
Serena,
la eternidad espera en la encrucijada de estrellas.
Grato es vivir en la amistad oscura
de un zaguán, de una parra y de un aljibe.

Unseasonably cool

Yes, I know the last post about the Ink hotness contest pushed the limits of snarkiness, but now I see it was inevitable. As my friend at the Compendium Tremendium Institute asked me earlier, "How much time passes between the publication of an alternative weekly's ridiculous pander and emergence of a disproportionate backlash in the blogosphere?" Apparently anywhere from 2 to 36 hours, judging by my stopwatch.

Teresa said to me tonight that I must be busy because I hadn't been blogging. That is a post all unto itself. Tonight I'd rather share an early poem from an Argentian whose prose I find difficult but nonetheless greatly enjoy. I usually provide my own photos, but if anyone wants to send me one that this piece reminds them of, I'd be happy to post it along with the Spanish version. I'm going to Mexico soon, though, so it might be a while.

Patio

With evening
the two or three colors of the patio grew weary.
The huge candor of the full moon
no longer enchants its usual firmament.
Patio: heaven's watercourse.
The patio is the slope
down which the sky flows into the house.
Serenely
eternity waits at the crossway of the stars.
It is lovely to live in the dark friendliness
of covered entrance way, arbor, and wellhead

by Jorge Luis Borges
trans. Robert Fitzgerald

Ride your hobbyhorse/Get on your hobbyhorse and ride

The other day while reading Balzac, Jenny stopped to ask me what a hobby-horse is. "Is it actually a toy horse that you ride on?" she asked. I said I was pretty sure it was, but I did an image search just to make sure. Boy am I glad I did. It sure brought back memories.

For starters, there was this lovely portrait the court painter did of my cousin and I back in my pre-tweens.


For those of you who haven't enjoyed such a fortunate childhood as mine, I purloined the following paragraph from a helpful website dedicated entirely to hobby-horse history.

Rocking horses first appeared in Europe in the mid-seventeenth century. In the United States, most horse toys were simple wood, painted or unpainted. This rocker seems to be a particularly elaborate model and was, perhaps, imported. In addition to having a showy horsehair mane and tail, it is covered with animal hide, sports a decorated bridle, and its base is elaborately stenciled and painted to imitate the grain of expensive hardwood. Although at this time some goods were mass produced, this toy was handmade. Hobbyhorses were popular because children could imitate the equestrian skills they were expected to have as adults.


Unfortunately members of my family did not always go on to develop the equestrian skills we were expected to have as adults. My uncle Toby, for example.


In all honesty, I think there was something like this on my Grandpa's farm growing up, probably something he built himself.


I found one of these in our carriage house the other day, but unfortunately there is no trace of the magic ring. If anyone can tell me what all eleven of Blaze's famous sayings are, I'd be much obliged.

Turban Times

The other day when I woke up but before I got out of bed I started thinking about blues turbans. In other words, turbans worn by blues musicians. I'd just seen Billy Cox wearing one in some of the footage of Hendrix's set at Woodstock, and I'm a big fan of Hannibal, who famously wore one on the cover of his record, "Hannibalism." And KK's partner BBQ has been known to sport a turban while playing the kick drum, cymbal and guitar.

Fortunately the search engines directed me to a fabulous gallery and analysis of famous blues turbans, courtesy of the funky16corners blog.

If I may, I'd like to borrow a passage from their intro:

When R&B performers started to wear them, it was a risky move. On the right guy (say, Chuck Willis) a turban could give a good-looking cat an intriguing touch of the mysterious. On someone else, say a maniac like Screaming Jay Hawkins, a turban is just another bizarre accessory, there to let you know that this is not a sane man. That dichotomy, a tenuous balance between the suave and the crazy is where turbans would teeter forever more.

To add a soundtrack to your perusal of the turban hall-of-fame, here's a favorite from The Mighty Hannibal himself.

Fancy that

Yesterday on the way home from centennial park I stopped at the phillips sixty six on ninth to get gas and buy a blue powerade and a hundred grand bar. The total came to three dollars even, which is exactly what I had on me. "Fancy that," I said to the clerk as I handed her the money.

Once I was back in the car I remarked to Jenn isn't it funny how sometimes things you say come out a thousand times more tart than you intended, thanks to a wavering of tone or perhaps just the outmoded nature of the phrase itself.

Jenn took a drink of the blue powerade and said I know why this is so good. It tastes just like those freezy popsicles.

How long can you freak the (dunder)funk?

Last night while playing Balderdash with the Brothers Sisters I happened to draw the word dunderfunk. Contestant guesses included "a state of apathy and dissociation," and "the sound made while beat-boxing," while the correct definition was given as "a dessert dish made of baked biscuits and molasses."

Which sounds delicious. Except as anyone who has ever sailed the scurvy-riddled seas knows, dunderfunk is not so much a delicacy as a poor man's dish also known as Scouse, Lob-scouse, Soft-Tack, Soft-Tommy, Skillagalee, Burgoo, Dough-boys, Lob-Dominion, and Dog's Body.

This information comes courtesy of a well-informed wikisource, though I, of course, typed out the following passage from my great-granduncle's autographed printing of Melville's, "White Jacket" before finding the text online. It reads, as follows:

One clear, cold morning, while we were yet running away from the Cape, a raw boned, crack-pated Down Easter, belonging to the Waist, made his appearance at the mast, dolefully exhibiting a blackened tin pan, bearing a few crusty traces of some sort of a sea-pie, which had been cooked in it.

"Well, sir, what now?" said the Lieutenant of the Deck, advancing.

"They stole it, sir; all my nice dunderfunk, sir; they did, sir," whined the Down Easter, ruefully holding up his pan. "Stole your dunderfunk! what's that?"

"Dunderfunk, sir, dunderfunk; a cruel nice dish as ever man put into him."

"Speak out, sir; what's the matter?"

"My dunderfunk, sir--as elegant a dish of dunderfunk as you ever see, sir--they stole it, sir!"

"Go forward, you rascal!" cried the Lieutenant, in a towering rage, "or else stop your whining. Tell me, what's the matter?"

"Why, sir, them 'ere two fellows, Dobs and Hodnose, stole my dunderfunk."

"Once more, sir, I ask what that dundledunk is? Speak!" "As cruel a nice------"

"Be off, sir! sheer!" and muttering something about non compos mentis, the Lieutenant stalked away; while the Down Easter beat a melancholy retreat, holding up his pan like a tambourine, and making dolorous music on it as he went.

HM, 1850

So do you any of you have any good recipes for the stuff? When it comes to a dish like dunderfunk, I've heard it's best to separate the good stuff from the junk.

Toksha ake wacinyanitin ktelo

There are many legends about the white buffalo in Native American culture, one for just about every tribe. This particular specimen is named "Old Joe," and we saw him on a recent Flint Hills field trip at the Hays House in Council Grove, Kansas. You can read a 1994 Houston Chronicle article about the return of the White Buffalo here. You can get to the Hays House by driving west on 1-70 to scenic highway 77 and heading south through the Flint Hills.


Building in downtown Council Grove


Native American riders just before this month's Symphony in the Flint Hills concert.

All photos taken by Jenny

midsummer nights

It's been a big week.

My dear friends Andrew and Liz are getting married in a few hours.

I lost in tennis three times.

Midsummer night is just around the corner.

My building got struck by lightning and five firetrucks came but the only thing that burned was a fried fuse box.

I tried yet again to write a graduation speech, even though it was 10 years ago.

I ate some pretty fresh tamales.

I'll leave off with a quote from a true sage of the class of 1999, who cut through my whole pseudo-intellectualizing of high school with the simple excellent comment over drinks that high school was a great time.

"Think of all that emotional electricity flowing through us at that time," Damon said (more or less). "That was our sixties."

Friends are on their way and I've got to begin trying the tying a tie process for now, but I wish you all the best with your lives/weekends.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. On Thursday night a few of us sang karaoke.

In case you need a pygmy up

If you've read this blog at all in the last year, you know I love me some hedgehogs.

Well tomorrow is a big day. The Mid-West Hedgehog Show will be taking place from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Shawnee Lodge #54.

What is a hedgehog show? Here's the answer given on the website, where it's written in big red, purple and blue print:

A Hedgehog Show is a show where the Africa Pygmy Hedgehog is put on displayed and judged based on its Coloring, Markings, Age and Gender. Just like a Cat or Dog Show there will be a judge and ribbons given to the "Winning" Hedgehogs" in each of our Classes (Solid, White and Pinto)For those needing more information on the Hedgehog Show Classes check out our page labeled "Show Standards"

We will also being having what is called a "Kid's Class" where children and their hedgehogs are judged based on how the child holds the hedgehog and the hedgehog's behavior to being held which each child will be given a ribbon for.

Also we will have our "Games" Class where you can see how your hedgehog rates compared to other hedgehogs in the different hedgehog games like Hedgie Bowling, Let's Go Hunting, It's Race Time, just to name a few.

This show is open to the public and with or without a hedgehog everyone is welcome to come and join us.

And yes, there will be hedgehog bowling.

Warwickshire Menagerie

One of several "hear/speak/see no evil" displays at my house. Though this one looks more like a close-up shot of two onlookers at a circus who have just witnessed something terrible take place in the motorcycle cage (for example).


Hedgehog candle brought to you by Waxman


Our one real (guest) animal. Kiki is staying with us for a few days and maybe a month later in the summer. At first I was not thrilled about the idea of pet-sitting, but Kiki is easy to love.

Top two photos by Jenn, photo of Kiki by sister Jess

WREX VS. HEXE

A new track from Ree-Yees recorded yesterday. James on drums, Eric on vox and effects. Or as they put it, James = time, Eric = space. Photo taken in Galesburg circa November 07. Careful it will put your speakers to the test.

The end of analog

What an old TV looks like on film

Godesberg at sunset

Godesberg sunset

Triple Triptych

planes plains ducks bench duckshadow


new mission to generate ideas


gasworks

Fashion Lady

One of the more enduring portraits left behind last Friday. Fashion Lady wears orange bows on her ankles and an orange boa. Between nature and city, her blue/green hair at home in the stars. I don't even know who drew it, either. Erica? Camille? Jess?

Presprectvies

I probably spend a couple hundred bucks on shipping fees every two years or so. From now on I'm going to just save up that money and make periodic trips to Powell's World of Books.

Arches, Seattle

At Water Works, hole 18. Mike sinks the putt, bringing to mind his infamous quotation of the West Coast disc golfer: "Taste the chain, brah!"

A guest post from the Seattle parking meter

A good image to start the week on.

A prudent message from our sponsors

Fifth Fridays wrap-up

One advantage of our exile from Yurtopia was that we made it back in time for Fifth Fridays, which is a good thing considering the event was being held at my house.

Fifth Fridays is something I started to bring a few friends together in the hopes that all the assembled creativity would lead to some kind of artistic cross-pollination, inspiration and all-around good times. In the rush to try and figure out what cities or countries we'd like to move to next, it's easy to lose sight of all the talent and creativity that surrounds us here in Kansas City. Fifth Fridays was designed to be a reminder not to lose sight of that.

I'd have to say it was a success. Though the thing was necessarily limited in size, there were quite a few quality materials on display. Among them:

- lots of bottles of home-brewed beer, courtesy of Willie
- photographs of fireworks and a leaping, barefoot man, courtesy of Camille Nolan
- fragrances designed by cat voice specialist Jill McKeever
- some soon-to-be published prose by Craig Davis
- an anonymous poem lauding the beauty of an art girl seen walking by a crosswalk, as well as a surprisingly sincere verse tribute to ODB
- the latest issue of Jessica's Spirit Self magazine
- a first-person story about a young man who was raised by Jayhawks
- Jennybros photos and stipple drawings
- a drawing of a guy riding brontosauruses on Pluto that Dave drew on site
- an excellent hand-written chapbook entitled "On the Passing of Materials" by Colin Torre
- some found black and white images of old houses and an old laughing lady
- several short films by Audra Brandt, who also brought a home-stitched baby onesie
- original musical recordings by Ghosty, Jonathan Nagel and the debut of Toby Terrence's new track, "Explanations Tight."
- a sad, lonesome country tune submitted by some drunken cowboy in Friedrichshain
- several frighteningly cute three-eyed puppets made by Brenda
- some baklava I bought at the Habashi House


All in all, it was a delicious and stimulating evening (as you can see from Liz's expression) and I hope to do it again some time, perhaps at a larger and more public venue. Although Fifth Fridays only occur sporadically, their infrequency only adds to the event's uniqueness and mystery.

Tonight, of course, there are plenty of First Friday activities taking place in the Crossroads. It's a beautiful night for it and I'm sure there will be a lot of people. Tomorrow's West 18th Street Fashion Show should be even more exciting. Unfortunately my place in the fashion world has been somewhat compromised ever since somebody pointed out that I was wearing my shirt inside out, so I'm not sure I'll be allowed to attend. Still, I'll always have last week's event to look back on. Well you know what they say. If you can't find your place in the art world, make the art world come to you.


A few more images to follow. See you soon.

Escape from Yurt Village

As I mentioned a few posts ago, Jenny and I relocated to Yurt Village in May and had been staying here for some time. Unfortunately my lease was terminated once the proprietor discovered I was harboring wild beagles in the facility, which is strictly against Yurt Village code (wild beagles are a menace in the Castle Rock area). So unfortunately we were forced to high tail it back to Kansas Town. This post takes a quick look at all the various methods of transportations required to complete our exodus from the Pacific Northwest, which in those short weeks had become something of a second home to us.


First we flew by mountains


Then we took a train through the gorge (From Natalya's series of Portland-area pics posted one day before Mr. Frugal Traveler from the NY Times ran his piece about chasing Oregonian waterfalls)


Our friend Manfred led us on a spiraling motorcycle chase to Crown Pointe.


After that we followed the waterways into the Mt. St. Helens blast zone


And drove a rental car along the Spirit Lake highway until the snow kept us from driving any further


After that, a boat


Last but not least, an epic bike ride through the Presidio

Now we are back in the Midwest, where it's all green and lovely once again. More posts to follow. Photos courtesy of Jennifer Wetzel.

Breaking update: Fredy redy to pay 4 doll

Right now, this photo by Mike Ransdell is at the top of KansasCity.com, accompanied by the caption:

At a Mission garage sale this month, Fredy Pacheco of Kansas City, Kan., had his dollar out and was ready to pay for this toy doll.

Although this snapshot is supposed to illustrate some story about garage sales, I'm really hoping some enterprising rapper (perhaps even Fredy himself) decides to use this photo for their album cover. It's just that good.

Loowit and Klickitat

Don't worry, reader. I haven't fallen off the monkey bars and back into childhood (re: my last post). I just enjoy a musical reminder now and again of how much more fun kids, puppets and soul singers can be than just about any blog. In fact, I think "Blog" was the name of one of Henson's early rejected muppets. He was like Cookie Monster, only with an appepite for digital media and an even bigger mouth; like Edward Munch's The Scream only a perpetual yawn. A liability and a bore.

With the weather how it is at present, suitable for hoodies and shorts, open windows and neighborhood walks, it's hard to justify spending any time in front of a computer, especially seeing as how that eats up enough of my billable daylight hours. So a few words and then I'm out for a bit.

I saw that Kansas City salvage-yard baron and opining shriner Skip Sleyster died last week. Even though I didn't know it until reading the obits, Skip was the one who started the "Super Flea" at the old warehouse on St. John's and Belmont (if you haven't been there, it's a trip -- I'd describe it as a massive post-apocalyptic garage sale). I love the example of Skip's paid advertisement/column posted at Bottomline Communiations, too. Even though I had no clue who the old fella was, I often stopped to give Skip the requiste "moment of my time." My personal favorite line: "For fast-acting relief, try slowing down."

I think I might take the old man's advice and rest up for a bit, though I'm sure I'll be back to posting at some point soon. This blog has become more of an open e-mail and a series of wall posts than a home for any substantive writing, but I do plan to have an official website of sorts up by early summer. Websites are like album releases, though. You don't want to rush them.

In the meantime, I've got a bit of work to do and a trip to the coast coming up. I know there are a lot of final projects, graduations, weddings and life events coming up for many of you, so I wish everyone the best of luck. In a few days I'll be staying in a yurt in the Cascades, so if you don't see me for a bit, don't worry. I'm sure I'll be back soon.

Thursday tracks: We All Sing With The Same Voice (and other Sesame Street greats)

from "Sesame Street," 1982. Song by J. Philip Miller and Sheppard M. Greene. Partially shot in playground #2 at the Peter Cooper Village housing complex in the Gramercy section of Manhattan.

As a bonus, here's Smokey Robinson with "U Really Got A Hold On Me."

(And for the female alphabet-love counterpart, there's Patti Labelle's "How I Miss My X")

American Soldier

The New York Times ran a story last week about the new "Pictures Generation" exhibit at the Met. The first image displayed is an enamel on aluminum sculpture by Robert Longo called "The American Soldier." What it doesn't tell you is that this image is a still from the climactic scene of the 1970 Rainer Werner Fassbinder film of the same name. It's also the image used on the cover of my beat-up VHS version, in which Ricky's posture looks more like a dance move than a totentanz.

Reviewer Jim describes the scene:

For a full five minutes, in a picture which runs only 80 minutes, we have a static camera in long shot showing us Ricky's brother humping his brother's corpse, while their mother in a funereal black dress and the detectives who hired Ricky look on in unmoving silence.

Sounds interesting, no? The rest of the movie is good fun -- full of satirical posturing and a great soundtrack that I wish was commercially available. But it's the end of the film that's the most striking. I'd also read someone's remark that Ricky, the main character, is seemingly more alive after being shot than he was in the entire rest of the film. The song that accompanies the scene, "So Much Tenderness," adds quite a bit of ambience as well.

Thursday Tracks

Buncha new stuff up on the Lukebox. Enjoy.

A short Earth Day trek into the Wetlands

The Haskell-Baker Wetlands is one of my favorite places in Kansas. Although it's only a few minutes south of Lawrence and doesn't look terribly exciting from the roads nearby, a short walk into the Wetlands will transport you to a Kansas landscape untouched by man (except, of course, for the power lines, boardwalk, birdhouses and the tracks from pioneer wagon trains that helped carve out the canals).

Life and death have a strong presence in the Wetlands, whether it's the plants coming to life in spring, the huge flocks of birds in the fall, the bright yellow flowers in september, the furry remains of a dead animal in the snow. In addition to the many cycles of natural life on display in the Wetlands, the area contains a historical andcultural significance to Native American peoples, who have ancestors buried there and regard it as sacred.

Oddly enough, I heard very little about the Wetlands while I was a student at KU, but have since been back at least once each season to walk, write or take pictures with Jennifer. Seeing the area in all seasons is, in my opinion, critical to gaining an appreciation of the place. You can go in late November and be totally unimpressed by the lack of color only to go back in a dazzling snowfall a week later, or surrounded by bright greens and blues in the spring or summer.



The most exciting things to me are the signs of life you uncover after spending some time in the Wetlands. What looks at first like a bunch of puddles and trees slowly reveals itself to be the home of turtles, beavers, snakes, coyotes, birds, butterflies and all kinds of other animals. Though you're often more likely to encounter the animals indirectly (through paw prints in the mud or splashes from the ponds, for example) it becomes increasing clear that you're just one of many living things in the area.

The Wetlands are also great for engendering ideas and creativity. Even if it's just a handful of haiku, the Wetlands inspire me in some way every visit. In 2005, a collection of poems, essays, artwork and photos entitled "The Wakarusa Wetlands in Word & Image" was compiled by poet Denise Lowe. It's well worth checking out.

You would think a place of such importance to Native American peoples, students and nature enthusiasts would be well protected by city government, but the Wetlands are still caught up in a decades-long political battle over whether a trafficway should be built right through its core. One side thinks the road should be built through the existing Wetlands, while another argues that the existing wetlands should be protected because of their cultural, educational, recreational and environmental significance (source: New Wetlands Taking Shape, a recent article in the Lawrence Journal-World).


In 1986, a group of Lawrence environmentalists nominated the fictitious Agnes T. Frog for city commission to help draw attention to the Wetlands and other environmental issues (she did not win, although she did receive 30 percent of the vote and national media attention). Over 20 years later, the issue is still a contentious one, and with Agnes officially retired from local politics, it's up to a new generation of Lawrencians to education themselves on and voice their own concerns about the issue.


A quick search of the word "Wetlands" on the LJ-World site will reveal hundreds of stories about the controversy over the Wetlands' future. A great profile of the Wetlands' history and future can be found here. Another resource is www.savethewetlands.org, which is where I found the above collage by Jerry Sipe.

The best way to learn about the Wetlands is to explore them yourself. Just look for the small gateway between Haskell and Louisiana on 31st Street south of Lawrence. If you're not close to the area and would like a virtual tour, here's a photoset of pictures Jennifer and I took over four or five different visits. If you can get past the shots of us wading through tall grass or having sneezing fits in flower patches, you'll find some nice colorful photos from all four seasons.



Happy Earth Day to you.

LW