20 Years Ago on FITK

Great Expectations

   “Are you making it scary for Halloween?”

The speaker was a twelve-year-old girl, who saw me hanging a motorized bat from my porch eave.

   “Well a little I guess, are you going out for trick or treat?”

   “Well, maybe, if my sister will hand out candy, then I can go for a while.”

   “Will this be your last year?”

   “Oh I don't know, Maybe not—I’m pretty short.” She was smiling at her justification.

   “If the weather is nice there should be a lot of kids.”

   “Oh there aren't that many around here.”

   “A lot of kids have moved in, and kids come from other places to trick or treat here.”

   “Are you going to scare the kids again this year?”

   “Oh I scare the kids do I?”

   “I remember when I was small you scared me good!”

   “Well maybe I did scare a few… ”

   “That's OK, that’s what makes it fun.”

   “Some people don't like Halloween.”

   "Some people think its evil, people from churches and stuff. Its just for kids to have some scary fun."

   “Yes I guess it is. So should I scare the kids this year?”

   “Oh Yes! It's a lot better when it’s scary.”

   “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

   “Oh, there’s my sister, bye!”

   “Goodbye… ”

   I love Halloween!

Trilogy By Stefánsson

Heaven and Hell, The Sorrow of Angels, The Heart of Man


A trilogy by Jón Kalman Stefánsson

I’ve tangled with this Icelandic author before; I raved about Summer Night, and Then Comes the Night and had mixed feelings about Your Absence is Darkness.

This dense trilogy almost did me in. Its major theme is fatalism—death surrounds its protagonist, ‘The Boy’, as he blindly makes his way through ordeals in the unforgiving Icelandic sea, land and psyche. Not for the reader who is faint-of-heart. Stefanssón’s prose (and Philip Roughton’s translation) is always excellent, but where his other books were flights of imagination, these three are heavier, even turgid at times. I sensed a bit of dèjá vu (particularly in Sorrow) where I got the impression that this was recycled Halldór Laxness (without the humor.) If you are wondering where the authors who revel in elaborate language went, look no further.

One problem I had in reading these books is that I have burned out on Icelandic culture (I’ve been infatuated with it for nearly a quarter century) and, sometimes, enough is enough. If you are up for a challenge, and enjoy dense, grim books ruminating about death and despair, you might enjoy this journey. If not, beware!

Lonely Places/Quiet Spaces

From a recent Homewood Photo Collective assignment on this theme:

Members of the collective were enthralled by these projected image:

20 Years Ago on FITK

Saturday Night

In my show biz days, bands could still get a four or even a five night gig.

That is pretty much a thing of the past; the music scene is so fractured and competitive now that most bands are lucky to get a single night, much less a week-end at any one venue. “Pay to play” is the worst trend in modern music. Aside from the monetary benefits, when we did have a week booked there were real differences between each night.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays were the nights when you played to other musicians. Everybody was always checking every other act and venue. Those nights were used to try out new material, impress other bands and kind of establish your turf. Thursday the crowd changed to harder drinking types who liked to start the weekend early. Friday was TGIF, the wildest dancing and most unruly crowds. But Saturday night was altogether a different animal.

Saturday night was “date night” and the atmosphere had a different charge. There was serious interaction between the sexes, and the good bands knew that it was these couples/would-be-couplers that were the show. You played music that made people want to get together, get in the mood. The last set, if it went well, was a form of foreplay. When you could smell it, amidst the smoke and sweat and alcohol, those musky biological attractors, the mesmerizing scent of human desire—you knew that the gig was a success.

Old Sheds

Rural Southwestern Minnesota, 1970

What is the lifespan of an non-restored wooden structure in an intemperate climate?

When is the inexorable march of decay not ot be denied? With care, wooden buildings can last a long time, but there comes a time when they must return to the earth from whence they sprang, or to be consumed in fire, returning to the air they absorbed when the trees they were made from was growing.

But before that happens there is a time, perhaps only a few years, when the natural weathering process cloaks these humble constructs with a patina of beauty.

Mill Dam

Shingle Creek, Old Camden, North Minneapolis, 1974

Took my wheat down to get it ground
The man that runs the mill said the mill’s broke down
What’s the matter with the mill
(oh it’s done broke down)
What's the matter with the mill
(oh it's done broke down)
Can't get no grinding
Tell me what’s the matter with the mill

20 Years Ago on FITK

Flippist Industries, Inc.

Many of you may wonder what is required to produce such a top-notch blog day in and day out.

Some may think all you need is a gift of gab, a laptop and a modem. Au contraire, mon feré! I’ve prepared a little presentation so that you can understand all the effort that goes into every single high-quality Flippism Is The Key posting. First slide please!

(click)

Here you see an aerial view of the Flippism campus, located on 4000 acres of virgin prairie, in Minnesota's heartland—Anoka. Please notice the man-made lake, nature trails, and meditation huts located in the feral-cat preserve.

(click)

Entering the main reception area, you will notice the indoor waterfall, the pianist in the marble atrium, and the Versace-clad security guards (with color-coordinated Uzis!)

(click)

The first complex houses 244 wordsmiths (that English major IS good for something) toiling away on the proper structure, parsing and syntax for the upcoming post - ever wonder what the meaning of “is” is? They know!

(click)

Now we’re in the legal department. A phalanx of barristers (in wigs) is kept busy with the judical issues surrounding this blog, including an analysis of those intriguing Nigerian emails.

(click)

This is my favorite area: the theology department. One hundred monks and esteemed scholars ponder the Spiritual mysteries of Flippism. Their current project? Attempting to create a version of the Hanson Bible in ancient Aramaic.

(click)

And here, yes this is it, the inner sanctum, my fortress of solitude, the office where I work on this blog. Strewn about this knotty-pine garret are various volumes of forgotten lore, Icelandic phrase-books (most of the phrases are somewhat morbid), Björk videos and a copy of HTML for Dummies. Please note the stack of moist towelettes next to the keyboard!

(click and off)

There it is! A cast of thousands laboring day and night to bring you the finest in internet entertainment. Any Questions?

By Professor Batty

6 Comments:

Blogger Tykho said…

… wadda campus, wadda blog!

Blogger aafan said…

Bravo! Love your blog.

Blogger lab munkay said…

*clap-clap-clap-whistle* Bravo-Batty, Bravo! How do I win a special pass to be heliported in for a live tour? I promace not to vidio tape your compound. Much. I'll bring the Riga Black Balsam.

Blogger Comica said…

Standing Ovation!!!! Huzah! Marvelous production!

Does it really take that many monks to uncover the Hanson bible? I could produce the same results using only one Southwest Virginian teenager, but I digress! ;)

Blogger Professor Batty said…

… I'd love to have you all as my personal guests - all expenses paid! I'll contact the Minnesota State Lottery tomorrow and see what the hold-up is about my winning ticket…

Blogger Comica said…

Someday when my adventures are over and I need an area for reflection and to write my memoirs, I may require one of your meditation huts in the so-called feral cat preserve. Any chance of renting one of my very own?

I like how you arrived at 244 wordsmiths. No more, no less!

And I'll pay for YOU to come teach at my University once I get MY winning lottery ticket cashed in.

There Stands the Glass

There stands the glass
That will ease all my pain
That will settle my brain
It's my first one today

There stands the glass
That will hide all my tears
That will drown all my fears
Brother, I'm on my way

There stands the glass
Fill it up to the brim
Till my troubles grow dim
It's my first one today

      ~ Webb Pierce

Resolution

What once took a specialized view camera and a large sheet of expensive film has been supplanted by AI.

In the past 8 months, many of the images seen here on FITK have been enhanced by the Topaz AI image processing program. Not for any fantasy visions but, rather, to refine the images by bringing out detail and overcoming limitations of optics and sensors. It allows a small, inexpensive camera to do studio quality work with a simple hand-held snapshot.

Click to embiggen, then click again. For a web image the amount of detail is astonishing.

20 Years Ago on FITK

Snow White

In the shadow of Snæfellsjökull (a glacier on a volganic mountain in Western Iceland) is a humble church and a small graveyard.

The graveyard is in a small pasture-like area, with a surface of boggy turf, surrounded by a low stone fence. The church is covered in corrugated metal, as are most small buildings in this nearly treeless country. This is not an old church, the graveyard is nearly empty, but there are a few stones and markers. One grave is defined by a white wooden frame. Lining the frame is a bed of white gravel, a rarity in this black lava-dominated country. There are a few small pots with plastic flowers nestled in the gravel, and a metal trough in the shape of a cross in the center filled with live plants, now dormant. An upright white cross with a brass plaque tells the name and the dates of birth and death of the body residing here: an older woman who had lived a full life in this isolated community. The sting of death is eased somewhat by the decorations on the site.

Small brightly colored figures of the seven dwarfs (Disney version) had been placed there (no doubt by her loving grandchildren) in this lonely and desolate place.

Adventures in Fine Woodworking

Two recent projects of Professor Batty’s via the Flippist Home Workshop:

The table pictured above was a Craigslist find.

The woman who owned it had a garage full projects she had given up on, and she needed the space in her garage to store her car in the upcoming winter. It had some ‘issues.’ It had the usual problems that most old furniture seems to acquire: A broken leg, a ruined table top (made of warped t&g oak - almost impossible to rejoin); and a murky and mottled dark finish that may have been over-coated at some point in the past.

I completely disassembled the piece, glued, sanded and refinished where necessary. The top was replaced with a similar oak piece that I had found on a Craigslist ‘free’ ad. That item had been a dining table which had been chopped down to make a very large and awkward coffee table. I took off half of the top and it matched the table exactly: wood, color and size. When I had finished it I sent a pic of the completed project to the woman I had bought it from and she replied:

That looks FANTASTIC! The wood is absolutely beautiful. I never considered putting a different top on it, but that was clearly the right option for this table. Excellent work, I'm so glad you found it and decided to give the little table another chance at life. You are awesome. :) And thank you for sharing! I really do appreciate it.

And I really appreciated her reply!

Recently, I had acquired about 100 pounds of various hardwoods—the kinds and shapes usually used for turning bowls.

I already had envisioned a winter project involving wooden mosaics, so this trove of exotic woods was a great find.

A few of the pieces, however, were just a little too much for me to handle so I made one of those chunks into the top of a 18" stool (pictured at right.)

Its stumpy feet were re-purposed from the same coffee table!

A little overbuilt, perhaps?

I used the other half of the coffee table top to fix a computer desk I had (with a glass top*) and it fit perfectly as well.


*Tip: NEVER GET A GLASS TOPPED DESK!

Night Life

All the people, just like you and me
Everybody is dreaming, dreaming about how it used to be
Night life, oh it ain’t no good life
Ay, but it’s my life

~ Willie Nelson

20 Years Ago on FITK

Full of Sap

I am sappy.

I’ll admit it. I cry at hokey movies. I smile at little children. I try not to write mean, scathing posts on my blog. There is plenty enough of that, especially in an election year.

In his recent (Sept 29, 2004) column, Blogged down in Web fantasy, Minneapolis Star-Tribune columnist Nick Coleman trashes bloggers.

Repeatedly.

Indiscriminately.

Now I know that Nick is writing about irresponsible political sites. (The old fashioned word for those people is LIARS). But Nick’s repeated use of the word “bloggers” in a derogatory fashion is mean. It is unfair. It shows how out of touch Nick is with what is a new, still changing phenomenon. Do you want to know what someone in Korea, Iceland, Kenya or Baghdad is thinking? You won’t find it in his newspaper. You won’t find it on television. You could find it in a blog. Sure, most blogs are dumb, mundane and silly. But most bloggers are sincere, and if you can put up with less-than-perfect English, you might actually learn something about other people in the world. The ability to receive the thoughts of ordinary people around the world, almost immediately and exchange ideas with these people is an absolute revolution in human consciousness.

Blogging is far from perfect, but has such potential that it should not be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion. So I will continue to write my hopeful, naive, sappy blog. If I am a fool for this - so be it. Tap me for syrup and serve me on pancakes. But if this world is to ever get any better, it won’t be because of a war of guns, or even a war of words. It will be because people can honestly communicate with each other.

By Professor Batty

2 Comments:

Blogger Comica said…

Hehe, I apologize for the frankness of my own blog, and you don't have to put me back up again if you don't want to, I just found it amusing that you took me off. I am very much a sap also.

P.S. Aren't blogs amazing? They remind me of the infamous Group Hug website, although they're not so anonymous as that. I try to be as bluntly honest as possible merely because I don't want to add fluff. My life isn't rated “G” anymore, so if anyone happens to stumble on my journal, I want them to know everything. Why? Because I’m insane, I suppose.

P.S.S. Your gift for words gives me a little “lift” each day. You’re a master of rhetoric, and I hope to read your journal long after I graduate from college! :)

Blogger Professor Batty said... I knew your innocence was past when you wrote about “needing more quarters” for the kiddie horsey ride. Perhaps your frankness is for the best - I’ll stand back and watch the fireworks. Not in a prurient way, just in awe of the fury of Goddess Unleashed. :-o