Archive for March, 2011

As decided by me.

Cactus Jack’s: South of the border cantina theme featuring cowboy hat wearing, polka playing cacti musicians that occasionally screech, “Look out for the thorny surprise!” Though the cacti have German accents, they always make me think of Amy’s parents on Futurama. You rack up points by throwing fruit at them, presumably because you are a rowdy Texan.  The fruit have faces. And feelings, man.

Embryon: Luckily, this is an early “widebody” game, which means user reviewers can hide inside technical discussions about game play. If they ever refer to the art, it’s only to say that it’s “great.”  No one seems to want to address what’s going on inside that amniotic sac. I used the art for a baby shower invite.

Funhouse: Rudy is a giant heckling dummy head who taunts you out of your humanity, until pretty soon you are shooting for his teeth and eyes. He nicknames players, which makes it all the more personal and hurtful. We tested this game at a very noisy show in Dallas, and we were pretty sure Rudy called me “Bitch,” and my husband “Fucko.”  Later we learned he was probably calling us “Slick” and “Bucko.”

Xenon: This game is considered “sexy” in the pin community.  Notice that you have T and A, but not on the same body. In fact the A is planted firmly between the Ts. Check out th dewy overbite and those back-pill eyes. What’s that, you say those dilated pupils mean she’s aroused? By whom, her tiny little jumpsuit friend? Is that gonna work out?

Bad Cats: Cats are tearing up the house! There’s a lady with a broom to smack the cats! A spinning seafood table mystery wheel!!!! And all the cats look psychotic.

I’ll do a top 5 culturally-uncomfortable pinball list one of these days.

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It’s easy to discard the photographs Shelby Lee Adams has collected for the past thirty years in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky.  Some would say they are little more than the flat, black and white, unruly children of a man who held out the worst of his people for a judgmental world to see in order to gain profit and recognition.  Others defend Adams, saying his approach is pure, even if his subjects are staged and not the most presentable (whatever that word might mean in this context) examples of his neighbors.  I hold membership to neither of these schools of thought, but it does force me to realize something about his neighbors, who are very much my neighbors also.

As a former newspaper editor in the county, in fact, the town in which Adams grew up, I look at his subjects not only with the interest an Eastern Kentuckian might bring to such examination, but also an insight beneficial to understanding Adams’ approach.

Hazard, Kentucky – the modest Perry County town where Adams was raised and the town where I worked as managing editor of the Hazard Herald – is a place where suspicion beats steadily through the thick blood of kinfolk and friend alike.  You are met with this instantly if you spend any amount of time asking questions or trying to wrangle an opinion from anyone who might live there.  And if they agree to talk, answer questions, or, say, pose for a picture, they change before your very eyes.  They stand a little straighter, they talk differently, they never take their eyes off you.  The relaxed demeanor of mountain people that each person from this area genuinely possesses without effort or notice will be stuffed beneath their hat as soon as you pull out a notebook, a pen or a camera.  You lose them and every unique quality each one gives off naturally without otherwise being aware it even exists.  The subtle speech patterns, broken and beautiful, become hurriedly polished and as out of place on their tongue as patches of hair.  That which replaces it is a blend of Midwestern dialect possibly mimicked from the trained anchor on the evening newscast, or, more likely, from a cousin or uncle who visits two or three times a year from Michigan or Indiana.  They become guarded and suspect the worse, arms crossed and as stiff as wood, and that’s if they agree to take part at all.  And it doesn’t matter at all if you’re a local, as is the case with Adams.  In many cases, this can make the task at hand that much more challenging.

How then is a person supposed to approach such subjects with objectivity?  As Adams said during an interview for the documentary made about his life and work, The True Meaning of Pictures, there can be no objectivity because, as he said, “these people are not objects.”  Many argue as to whether or not Adams is a documentarian (taking snapshots of what he observes as an outsider) or an artist who places each stroke, each pose, exactly where he intends.  The argument, although interesting, matters in no way I can immediately figure.  I don’t believe Adams feels he has any choice but to stage, at least to some extent, certain photographs, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Each image Adams has captured during his summer trips to Perry County has unabashedly has this staged look – a boy gripping a fighting rooster and glaring seriously at the photographer; a proud father, chest stuck out, holding his child firmly in his arms beneath a makeshift canopy constructed from a discarded satellite dish, smiling into the camera lens; another of two young girls standing side by side on a front porch flanked by the rolling and soft curves of the Appalachian Mountains, hands braced confidently against boney hips, their faces strict and hard, nearly, but not quite, masking the playful mischief at the corners of their mouths, just behind the eyes.

Adams says he has an agreement with the subjects of his photographs in that he offers them family photographs freely and then asks them to pose for some for his own work, which they quickly agree to do.  I read about this to a certain extent and spent a great deal of time looking at his photographs before actually getting the chance to watch the documentary, The True Meaning of Pictures, by filmmaker Jennifer Baichwal.  The documentary gave me a great deal more insight on Adams’ motivation, but, like any good snapshot of life, really only led me to more questions, particularly about Adams’ relationship with the three families he has photographed over the years.

The Perry County native seems to have an honest affection for these family members.  Most memorably Selina Childers, the mentally challenged, full of life and laughter daughter of the Childers family.  Selina seems to honestly enjoy Adams’ company and likewise, Adams’ seems to be caring and considerate without pretension in dealing with her and her family.  However, there are points to be made for any or all of Adams’ pictures as far as interpretation is concerned.

When you know the backstory with these families and Adams’ close ties to them, his pictures take on a different quality; you can see that humanity there between the hard lines of a face or the dropped eyes of what appears to be a saddened child.  But those backstories may not be found in the pictures alone, no matter how hard Adams tries to bring that across, which is, I believe, part of what he has been trying to do for three decades.  Instead, the New York or Los Angeles or Urban-wherever critics brings to the table, no matter their best effort, generations of stereotypes that have the potential to simply blast from the photograph and into the very forefront of their collective minds.

It’s unfortunate.  Baichwal’s documentary cannot run on a big screen television in the art gallery where Adams most recent show is being considered, picked over, smiled at or frowned upon or taken seriously.  The art collector or enthusiast will not have the story behind the photograph unless they can see through the stereotypes and truly see and understand what Adams is trying to show them.  Because make no mistake about it, the most pure form of humanity is there, and it’s there because of subjectivity rather than objectivity.  It’s present and recognizable because these are photographs taken of friends by someone considered a friend.  There is a trust there that has developed for Adams over the course of thirty years that is valuable to everyone involved.  Without this trust and respect, Adams would have nothing to show the world.  As it is, he has taken the people in his area who many feel should be hidden away from the public eye and said to hell with stereotypes all together.  Stereotypes should not dictate whether these decent people are photographed or not.  He has said to us, in no uncertain terms, judge people for who they are, not as how the world has narrow-mindedly invented them.

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I Have Smelled Many Books

When I was in high school my idea of shopping for literature involved shifting through the paperbacks in the St. Vincent de Paul basement for a quarter a piece. In those days spending anything more than five bucks on a novel was unthinkable.

It took a year of begging before my grandmother would buy me a 1,000 page hardcover Pro Football Encyclopedia for $50. I still have this book although it is clearly 20 years out of date and all of its information is readily (and more efficiently) found online. I have none of those musty and wormholed St. Vincent de Paul paperbacks. I generally donate my old books but I’m sure I just threw those into a dumpster.

I probably spend more time looking at the cover art of some books than I do reading them. I have several editions of some books simply because I like the cover art. I like flexing covers. I like flipping through the pages just to look at the color of the paper. I have smelled many books.

A few weeks ago Matt Bell went the pay what you want route with two of his e-books (the deal has since lapsed).  Both books are regularly $.99. I have not purchased either of these although I would if I had a Kindle. I assume Mr. Bell does a solid business although I base this assumption as much on his reputation as a writer as I do on the format.

How much would you pay for a story? For a novel? In e-book format? As a cheaply produced pamphlet? As a high-end collectible (as in the Radiohead newspaper album version of King of Limbs)?

Lily Hoang’s collection Unfinished: stories finished by Lily Hoang is $50. I spent some time in serious reflection and still have not ordered it, although I probably will. I’m not certain how much difference it makes to me that the book is illustrated.

What is the most you would spend on a work of fiction (with or without illustrations)?

Greying Ghost is easily one of my favorite presses–not simply for the quality of its chapbooks but for the care and beauty of the objects they hand make. I read these texts like holy artifacts (the delightful ephemera they include with every order as well). They seem to do a pretty solid business, too–at least, their stuff seems to quickly sell out.

Are we eventually moving toward a moment where literature is either manufactured and sold cheaply (or for free) or as high-end, specialized ‘objects’? Are we there?

A friend in graduate school argued a literature’s text was the only thing that mattered–a cheaply produced paperback book that sold for $5 was preferable to any $15 trade paperback. Presumably then a free e-book without art would be preferable to a hand bound and illustrated edition costing, say, $35 (that may be too low–I would have no idea).

What do you think? Is the writing all that matters? Does the construction of the object (or the price you pay) influence the way you value the text?

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The Ever Popular Glee!

I have a filthy secret. My boyfriend adores Glee. I say we balance each other out because I like monster trucks, contact hockey, and Nitro Circus. So I gave Glee a shot the other night and after two episodes, here is my take on it in a one-hundred word flash: high school kids that abuse classic songs and chart pop to act out adolescent melodrama, where elaborate costumes and props and background music appear out of nowhere despite the fact their conflict is based on budget cuts and 98% of the time there is no audience, everybody has a pre-set dance routine and pre-assigned melody/harmony/backup in randomly inspired sets, and to up the unrealistic nature, there’s a representative of every protected class in the club plus cheerleaders and jocks, everybody dates everybody at least once, and a school bell rings every two to five minutes denoting a scene change.

Here’s a clip: Singing in the Rain

Where did they get all those fancy costumes? There is no audience so all the money dumped into this production was for what? My high school music director would go on a killing spree if anybody ever flooded the school auditorium.

Here’s another clip: Somebody to Love

How did they get from the classroom to the auditorium in Matrix speed? Where did they get that baby powder? Who’s running the lights and sound system? I wonder how much of their sophisticated productions take place in their heads?

No doubt these kids can sing, and I mean really sing, but they’re just so good at everything, dancing, singing, delivery of their dark-humored and witty jokes. Did I mention the cheer leading coach beats up students and throws stuff around?

I’m not bashing Glee, from what I’ve seen in a few episodes, it’s more put together than a lot of stuff on prime time TV, more specifically, prime time Fox, I’m merely stimulating discussion. Your take?

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Creepy Places

Domestic space in fiction nearly died of neglect during the 80s; too many stories were set in featureless, stark apartments furnished with cancer, adultery, and diffidence. It was a tough time to come of age as a writer, especially if your tastes ran gothic. Trashy, elegant, decrepit, impossible, cavernous, rank—rooms have always mattered to me.

As a kid in Ohio I’d tag along when my parents rummaged through abandoned houses for fun, looking for old bottles and stuff. I called them “bandit houses” because that’s what I thought they were, which put an extra edge on opening closet doors and testing rotten stairs—the bandits might come home at any minute.

I’ve been told that Lizzie Borden was driven to madness/murder due to the super-anti feng shui of her father’s house that had been re-structured into mean, confining rooms and highly inefficient corridor-stairway routes intended to isolate the individuals within. Forget that there were significant property disputes amongst family members, and forget that Lizzie and her sister lived as virtual shut-ins, and forget that her father axed her pet pigeons to death while she was on vacation. It was the floor-plan all along.

The cap’n of this here blog, Charles Dodd White, wrote some wonderfully uncomfortable rooms into Lambs of Men, his novel of Appalachia during WW1. Whether he puts us in a low-ceilinged shack or a graceful rooming house, we can’t wait to get outside again, where even if conditions are harsh at least we’re free. In her latest novel, Faithful Place, Tana French uses rooms full of family and worn furnishings to underscore the twitchy isolation of a protagonist who knew nothing of personal space until he grew up and left the old neighborhood. Then there is the load-some-emotionally-troubled-kids-into-a-crumbling-mansion gambit, which French does in The Likeness and Erin Kelly does in The Poison Tree. In both cases, the passions of the inhabitants transform what is shabby into erotically charged elegance.

I love being in the living spaces that these authors create, even if their characters aren’t always so comfy. What are your favorite literary rooms? Who is writing the best/most difficult houses right now?

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Robin Lippincott

Robin Lippincott is my friend. He’s also a great writer and someone who consistently writes heartbreaking prose. The intellectual ache in his stories are singular, romantic and sincere. Here he reads from my favorite of his novels, In the Meantime.

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I had an idea a few years back to put together a book of photographs with accompanying flash pieces. I wanted to call the book, Cold, Hard Pieces. I sat down and made a list of fifty possible photographs I’d like to take or have someone take and then use for the book.

The first six of those fifty were eventually written and have appeared here and there after I eventually lost sight of the long-term goal.

So I have (starting with number seven on the list) forty-four ideas for photographs I thought would be interesting to share here. I thought of adding notes along with some to explain exactly what I meant when I listed “Larry selling newspapers in Hazard” for instance, but place names and such are just fill in the blanks. We all know a “Larry” or a bar like my “Mark II”.

I may eventually put these forty-four photo ideas to work in some way, but feel free to dip from them if something catches your eye. Only thing is, I’d like to see whatever comes of that. Add it as a comment here or send along a link to where the result might be found. Finish a painting, write a story, take a photograph if anything on this list hits with you. Just let us have a look. On that note, here’s the list as I typed it out three years ago:

7 Larry selling papers in Hazard

8 Genus again if possible

9 bar like the Broke Spoke

10 middle age women at Mark II

11 hunter, barrel foregrounded shot

12 something coal mining related but must be highly original

13 musician pic 2 (church gospel)

14 musician pic 3 (Kenneth and Clay)

15 grandmother as baby sitter

16 courthouse yardbirds

17 Virgie Cliffs someone standing at the top staring out

18 pot hanging in a barn

19 cockfighting pens at Hi Hat

20 camping picture (bonfire style)

21 poker game (hard folks)

22 Bull Creek Trade Center

23 a mugshot pic setup shot from Floyd jail if possible

24 Tom Whitaker at his studio

25 Terry the woodcarving guy

26 a pic of dressing a deer

27 working on car where Bryan works (from outside framing the makeshift garage)

28 coonskin cap guy eating at the restaurant in Pikeville

29 war veteran pic with medals

30 group of teens hanging out in some parking lot

31 kid shooting basketball on a makeshift ball goal

32 old man showing off his knife collection

33 unemployment office pic

34 Church congregation clapping and singing

35 woman at the grill in a mom and pop restaurant

36 kid playing in the dirt

37 somebody walking out of the Virgie train tunnel

38 playing quarters

39 kids smoking behind the school

40 people playing horseshoes

41 something about horses, but it must be original (maybe set up at Bub’s)

42 Upside down Mountain pic from Town Branch

43 Jesus painted on the truck trailer pic

44 old broke down house

45 old broke down tipple at Price

46 wal-mart related pic

47 extreme close up of railroad tie of Nat’s (artsy backdrop)

48 help wanted sign (the sham kind if possible)

49 second hand store like at old Convenient Mart

50 coal truck blasting past my house

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