Author: admin

Bob Odenkirk with Tim Meadows – Chicago Humanities Festival – Music Box Theatre – March 2, 2022

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Meadows interviewed Odenkirk in association with the latter’s release of a new book – Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama: A Memoir by Bob Odenkirk.

I love Better Call Saul, so I’m not anti Odenkirk. But . . . .

Odenkirk drops a lot of F-bombs. I’m not impressed.

Odenkirk thinks Sullivan’s Travels isn’t a very good movie. Not only is he wrong about that, but he also should know that it’s a much better movie than his new movie, Nobody, which nobody should bother seeing, except to enjoy Christopher Lloyd.

There were some high points to the program. Tim Meadows was very engaging. Giving several audience members stupid questions to ask Odenkirk worked. And Odenkirk’s closing by reading a “poem” about ice cream from his book put everyone in a good mood as they departed, and made me think about stopping at the Dairy Queen on the corner before heading for the car.

The ticket to the program included a copy of the book, which I’ll read, knowing that he has had an interesting journey and confident in the assumption that a good editor will have made it a better read than one might otherwise expect listening to Odenkirk’s articulation, or lack thereof, on stage.

Vivian Maier: In Color – Chicago History Museum – February 26, 2022

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Because I had failed to notice the full name of the exhibit before entering, it took me about 15 minutes before I realized why I wasn’t seeing any of Maier’s thousands of black and white photos. Shoot me.

The display is separated into seven parts – looking through (which could have been divided into looking out and looking in), straight on, from behind, up close, from afar, up, and down. Add strange and charm and you’ve got a raft of quarks.

The first shot that stood out for me was Canoes in the Chicago River (@1965-1974), a time before gentrification resulted in kayaks displacing the canoes.

Two Socks on a Clothesline made me wonder what Maier, rather than some curator, might have named it had she commercialized her work. How about something more profound, like Line Interrupted? And what about the fact that the socks don’t match? I’ll have nightmares about that.

I would have liked to grab Hippies in the Loop (April 1970) and take it home with me, as I’m sure I could find someone in the large crowd who I knew if I had more time and a magnifying glass.

Crossings: Mapping American Journeys – The Newberry – February 25, 2022

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If you like staring at old maps, this new exhibit is for you.

My favorite section included short descriptions about the journeys from the south of the Blues Travelers who created Chicago Blues, namely Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, Koko Taylor, and, surprisingly, in my mind, the Staple Singers (who, as wonderful as they were, were more known for other categories of music), while Willie Dixon was egregiously omitted.

Although I grant that Mavis Staples was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame in 2017, Dixon, who wrote hit songs for Waters, Wolf, and Taylor, among many others, was one of the original inductees in 1980.

I thought about correcting the library’s error in judgment, but, perhaps fortunately, didn’t have a pen, as staff was already eyeing me suspiciously.

So I moved on to the poster promoting the opening of Yellowstone National Park in 1872, featuring Alice (whom Lewis Carroll introduced to the world seven years earlier) telling us about her adventures in this new wonderland. Still no pen, so couldn’t draw a mustache on her.

And don’t miss the “fun map” (its original designation, not mine) of US 40, promoting tourist attractions, and, I swear, telling the story of the Donner Party through a series of cartoons. Too soon?

Ray Johnson c/o – The Art Institute of Chicago – February 11, 2022

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Unbeknownst to me, before email took over my life, I apparently was a leading practitioner of mail art, which as far as I can tell, is just a pretentious way to refer to hybrid chain letters, and I easily could have been the icon that Johnson became had I had the foresight to tell people to forward my letters, rather than just throw them out, often without opening.

But maybe it’s not too late to establish my legacy. According to Wikipedia, “The Correspondence School was a network of individuals who were artists by virtue of their willingness to play along and appreciate Johnson’s sense of humor.” I’m not sure how that makes Johnson an artist, though a lot of the art I see does require, often unintentionally, a sense of humor to appreciate. In any event, if my readers would like to consider themselves artists, and elevate me to one, perhaps they could start The Blog School in appreciation of my efforts.

My favorite part of the Johnson exhibit was the stack of boxes, containing who knows what, though I think not Lilibet Snellings, author of Box Girl: My Part Time Job As An Art Installation, as they were too small. Still, I think it would have been more interesting if presented as performance art, with someone unpacking and then repacking the boxes on an Old Faithful-type schedule.

The Play That Goes Wrong (Take 2) – Broadway Playhouse at Water Tower Place – February 8, 2022

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No hitches this time. (My NDA prevents me from revealing what really happened in January.)

Though some of the action in the show loses a little when you know what’s going to happen (having seen an earlier production in December 2018), the fact that the performance is all about the humor, without any unnecessary regard to plot or character development, enables the excellent physical comedy to hold up on its own (kudos to the cast, set designer, and prop maker). Moreover, on one occasion, I, and everyone else in the audience, practically jumped out of their seats in reaction to a gag, even though the underlying premise took a second to process.

The theater was about half full, heavily weighted toward the front, which enabled me to have a row to myself, as it always should be. The theater took masking seriously, with an usher holding a sign that said “keep masks up.” On one occasion, during intermission, I saw the usher approach an audience member to tell that person to lift theirs. And though the play features some audience interaction, I’m quite sure (or am I?) that this particular moment was not in the script.

Bottom line – it was great to be someplace surrounded by laughter (not caused by me having toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe).

Boswords 2022 Winter Wondersolve – February 6, 2022

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I went into my first (and last?) online crossword puzzle tournament with very low expectations, which I lived down to. I don’t consider myself to be a good pressure player (see basketball, high school), so it came as no surprise, but, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that my sweaty palms and rapid heartbeat were signs of Covid. Just to be safe, I took an at-home test after each of the four puzzles, which confirmed that I had no medical excuse for my performance.

To be fair to myself, I don’t think there were a lot of casual players, and I didn’t finish last, beating 10% of the individual entrants (unfortunately there was no senior division), not to mention some pairs, which I just did, but pretend I didn’t.

I could have scored a little better had I cheated, but still wouldn’t have approached the best players, who were finishing the puzzles in under three minutes. Seriously!? I couldn’t have filled all the answers in that fast if they were written on a piece of paper in front of me.

One unexpected joy from participating was getting to see the well-done, humorous videos that were shown between puzzles. Who knew that crossword comedy was a thing?

Robert Chen – Fourth Presbyterian Church Noonday Concert – January 21, 2022

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The last time I saw Chicago Symphony Orchestra concertmaster Robert Chen perform solo was in January 2019. And the last time I was this awestruck was when I saw how good my multiflex, cordless, stick vacuum cleaner was at picking up all the dust on the floor under my bed.

Chen played some Bach and Paganini, but the one piece I want to mention is Ysäye’s Danse Rustique, Allegro giocoso molto moderato, which I believe is translated as a barn dance, played while quickly eating a chocolate lava cake in a library containing virtual files.

Chen’s interpretation was clearly different than mine, and admittedly better, but the most notable part of the performance was his ability to maintain his concentration when an unmasked man (clearly not The Lone Ranger) walked through the sanctuary shouting (probably about nothing, but possibly about the recent decision to keep the Doomsday Clock at 100 seconds to midnight rather than advance it forward).

Chen, looked up, but never missed a beat, unlike me, as when I think I may have heard someone in Nepal sneeze and am then forced to stop in the middle of the piece I’m playing and start over.

Belated New Year’s Predictions

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After millions of people order free Covid test kits on the new government website, a night janitor with a PhD in computer science will discover a glitch in the software caused by the host computer’s proximity to a 5G tower, which caused all the kits to be delivered to a cave in New Mexico inhabited by a disgraced poet who writes only in A-A-A-A rhyme scheme. The site will be made a National Park.

Novak Djokovic will wind up dating someone he met in detention, ala The Breakfast Club.

Doctors will perform the first brain transplant from a tree shrew, the mammal with the highest brain-to-body ratio, 1:10. Humans are 1:40, but remember, if this seems too good to be true, this is size only, not functionality.

The new James Webb Space Telescope will fully deploy, and, immediately thereafter, spot, not the alien spaceship headed for a crash landing on earth due to interference from a 5G tower, but rather a helium balloon that was released during a child’s birthday party in 1973.

Undetected, the alien spaceship will land on earth, and its crew will score a fortune in tree shrew brains by peddling NFTs of black holes and cryptocurrency that can only be exchanged on Proxima b in the Alpha Centauri system.

5G technology will become obsolete within 6 months, replaced by 6G, a day before the U.S. Supreme Court sets everything back to the age of innocence by deciding that the Constitution does not explicitly permit any number of Gs.

 

Don’t Tell Me I’ve Nothin’ To Do

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I’m not saying that I’m desperate for entertainment, but today I watched a GoPro video of the inside of a dishwasher while in use. Admit it, you’re curious too. Next, refrigerator lights.

The problem with wearing mittens in cold weather is that when some bleeping, not beeping, driver guns it, cutting you off and almost killing you as you cross the street, he can’t tell when you then give him the finger.

All the headlines about Omicron rising made me think of Jupiter Ascending, another science fiction tale that was bad news, though it only cost about 200 million and disappeared faster than the latest variant.

In accordance with the latest, ever-changing, safety guidelines, as I understand them, I am now requiring proof of vaccination on all my Zoom calls and asking that participants sit at least six feet away from their screens.

I tried to search online for a videotape on proper masking procedures but wound up with a video on how to use masking tape, which in case you are wondering, really hurts when you rip it off your face after going to the store.

“My Fingers Always Seem Busier Than My Mind” – Alexander Calder

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I just noticed that it’s been two years since anybody new has subscribed to my blog. Given that, according to WordPress, over 409 million people view blog pages every month, I seem to be falling short.

I wonder why that is. Perhaps, in part, it’s because I haven’t had any contact with the outside world in that time.

That’s not true of course. I have looked out the window on occasion. Actually, at least twice a day, to make sure there’s still something there. (So far so good, in case you were wondering.)

And I’ve learned some valuable new skills. I’m now a wiz at self-checkout at the grocery. No prima donna here. Or should I say primo uomo? I guess not, according to the dictionary, which doesn’t attach the same unflattering, secondary meaning to the principal male singer in an opera that it does to the female lead.

I also have improved my ability to bend the last knuckle of my pinky on my right hand, though there’s still room for improvement, not to mention attention to the left. Pinky, by the way, comes from the Dutch for little finger, but, according to a site on Dutch genealogy I found, one finger, shockingly, wouldn’t be enough to hold back the water. I wonder how many subscribers that page has.