Category Archives: General

Bob Hicks, Cities, Food, General

Political pork and pugilistic pigs

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By Bob Hicks

It’s the morning after the election, and Mr. Scatter has done his level best to tend to his civic duties by turning in his ballot (and Mrs. Scatter’s, since she’s off to London to visit the queen). As usual, he voted for a few losers (or as he prefers to put it, solid candidates who did not persuade the electorate of their worth) and even a few who emerged triumphant.

Baba Yaga riding a pig and fighting the infernal Crocodile. Russian lubok. Early 1700s/Wikimedia CommonsTrends and counter-trends popped up. Former NBA center Chris Dudley beat Alvin Alley and John Lim in the GOP race for the governorship nomination, and former governor John Kitzhaber waxed former secretary of state Bill Bradbury for the Demo nod. The lesson: being tall is a game-winner for Republicans, but not Democrats. Trend confirmed: Earl Blumenauer and Ron Wyden would have to be caught canoodling with drunken donkeys on reality TV to lose an election in Oregon.

Conjecture: Could be that Mayor Sam Adams‘ graceless smackdown of commissioner Dan Saltzman the week before the election actually helped Saltzman get reelected without facing a runoff: How many people voted for Saltzman out of sympathy for the way he was treated or as a way to take a jab at Adams? Then again, with eight other candidates splitting the anti-incumbent vote, Saltzman probably would have won no matter what. Either way, keep an eye on those city council meetings. Looks like the gloves are off, and things could get a little testy.

But enough about politics. Speaking of fisticuffs (and speaking of canoodling with drunken donkeys), the real headline-grabber in this morning’s Oregonian was Leslie Cole‘s front-page report Iowa Pork Sets Off Ham-fisted Brawl, about a knock-down drag-out fight between local chef Eric Bechard (Thistle in McMinnville; ex-Alberta Street Oyster Bar in Portland) and Brady Lowe, an Atlanta-based foodie who tours the country arranging friendly food and wine smackdowns among the locals. Seems Lowe offended locovore Bechard by importing an Iowa pig for the cook-off. And the brawl took place in front of the Magic Garden, an Old Town strip club. That’s the sort of energy Oregon politics needs: passion worthy of a Wilbur Mills or a Huey Long! More on the fracas from Food Dude and Willamette Week.

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Books, Cities, General, Laura Grimes, Visual Art

London, Part 9: Help! I need somebody!

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By Laura Grimes

The Pantsless Brother and I have had lots of fun encounters in London, where everyone has been friendly and helpful. Here are just two, which both happened today. Others deserve their own posts.

At the end meet the umpteen friends JoJo played with today. So many! He was a busy little monkey!

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TPB and I visited the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace, where The Royal Collection is on public display and exhibits rotate a couple of times a year. The collection is made up of pieces that have been acquired by British monarchs for more than 500 years.

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in court dress, about 1854/WikipediaVictoria & Albert: Art and Love is now on display through Oct. 31. A couple of pieces are worthy showstoppers, but it’s the personal stories behind the exhibit that are memorable. Victoria and Albert often gave thoughtful gifts of art to each other and went to great lengths to secretly commission pieces that were of special significance.

Victoria had a portrait made of her for Albert for his birthday. It’s not a formal portrait with fancy clothes and insignia. Her hair is down, her dress is casual and she’s wearing a locket that holds a lock of his hair. It’s sweet and intimate. This was not meant for the masses. It was meant just for Albert.

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Cities, General, Laura Grimes

London, Part 8: Waylaid by an ash cloud

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By Laura Grimes

“Headline: ‘British air space may shut as ash cloud resumes.’ Would someone please tell my husband I might be late for dinner?”

I put that post on Facebook a few days ago. It was soon followed by a comment from the Small Large Smelly Boy: “Are you going to be home for dessert?”

It turns out I won’t be home for several desserts. My flight was cancelled and I rebooked it for four days later. (The Pantsless Brother, too.)

Oh, to be “stuck” in London. Oh, to have to rebook a flight in a travel industry that surprisingly doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Let’s see … I am flying Continental, operated by United, reserved by Air Canada, booked through Travelocity. Continental won’t take calls, United doesn’t recognize me, Air Canada won’t deal with a Continental flight, Travelocity can’t make sense of it.

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Cities, General, Laura Grimes

London, Part 7: Hello? Anybody home?

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By Laura Grimes

JoJo knocked on a door to see if anyone would play. It turned out to be this place:

350px-buckingham_palace_london_-_april_2009

The queen wasn’t home. Though it’s possible she just didn’t hear JoJo’s little knock. (Photo courtesy of that most excellent of photographers, Wikipedia, who obviously isn’t hampered by The Wimpy Camera.)

JoJo was mildly disappointed, but he was quickly distracted by some guys who wear chia pets on their heads …

Guards at Buckingham Palace

… and assault guns on their shoulders. They switched chia pet guys and then the new guy had to stand there perfectly still for, like, a whole hour. Not the kind of job you want after eating scallops and chocolate milk.

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Cities, General, Laura Grimes

London, Part 6: What time is it anyway?

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By Laura Grimes

“What time is it?”

I pulled out my phone and lit it up. “Nearly 8 o’clock.”

“Is it that late?”

“I’m pretty sure.” I stuck out my thumb and pointed over my shoulder behind me. “There was a clock back there.”

We were walking down the hill from this place:

Clock at Royal Observatory, Greenwich

That’s right. The Royal Observatory, Greenwich. As in Greenwich Mean Time. As in the clock by which all other clocks are set. The mother of all clocks. Ground Zero of all clockdom on Earth.

So what time was it? It was time for a beer.

We walked down to the Thames River and turned right. We found the Trafalgar Tavern, a favorite tippling place of Charles Dickens that was built in 1837, the same year a young lass named Victoria became Queen of England.

We ordered a couple of pints and took them outside to a bench along the walkway overlooking the river. And there, we sipped. A sternwheeler paddled down the river. Pug dogs sniffed my socks. And the sun, that great grandfather of all biological clocks, sank slowly over the London skyline and disappeared.

The Royal Observatory Greenwich

Cities, General, Laura Grimes, Theater

London, Part 5: From mayhem to fairies

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By Laura Grimes

Quick! Take a picture! JoJo found a new buddy who was very nice about playing with him, even though it was against the rules.

The Yeoman Warders at the Tower of London aren’t supposed to hold things while their pictures are being taken. Someone snapped a photo a few years back of a Warder holding something and it was photoshopped and turned into something naughty. So sad. But JoJo is small and cute and somehow got away with it, though the Warder first looked around furtively and said I had to be fast about it. Can you find JoJo?

Yeoman Warder at the Tower of London

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The Pantsless Brother and I pulled on our warm clothes and went to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. It was the end of a short run at the Globe before the show hit the road as one of the company’s two touring productions. Through August, the show can be seen in various places throughout England and Europe.

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Bob Hicks, General, Visual Art

It’s mourning. Do you know where your weeping medieval alabasters are?

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By Bob Hicks

Like “a troop of fairy-tale dwarfs turned to stone by an evil sorcerer” — or so Ken Johnson describes them in his review this morning in the New York Times — they march, mourning the death of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy (1371-1419). These 16-inch-tall alabaster carvings, which these days do most of their weeping at the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon in France, have traversed time and the Atlantic for a tour of seven American museums. Their first stop is Medieval Hall at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they’ve been since March and will stay through May 23.

mourner_75Johnson’s report caught my eye first for the gorgeous photo that the Times ran and then for the story’s mention that the tour was organized under the wing of FRAME (the French Regional and American Museum Exchange), the innovative organization of which the Portland Art Museum has been a leading and vigorous member. The almost forty alabaster carvings in The Mourners: Medieval Tomb Sculptures From the Court of Burgundy will move on to FRAME member museums in St. Louis, Dallas, Minneapolis, Los Angeles (the Los Angeles County Museum of Art), San Francisco and Richmond — but not to Portland.

Why not?

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Cities, General, Laura Grimes, Music, Visual Art

London, Part 4: JoJo runs wild

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By Laura Grimes

The Pantsless Brother tried to make a dash for the bathroom this morning without getting dressed first. Too late! I see London, I see France …

As it so happens, he was taking the bullet train from London to Paris that very day.

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I have reams to write about, but I’m just too pooped, so I’ll only post a few quick impressions to keep the LSBs happy.

JoJo found more friends, this time on a plaque near the Tower Bridge commemorating the 50th anniversary, or jubilee, of Queen Victoria’s reign. Can you find JoJo?

JoJo and a plaque commemorating Queen Victoria's jubilee

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Cities, General, Laura Grimes, Visual Art

London, Part 3: Tate and other titters

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By Laura Grimes

JoJo didn’t come out to play much today. It’s possible he was shy, but between you and me, I think he stayed up too late.

He did, however, find this friend in the churchyard at St. Paul’s Cathedral:

JoJo and the angel

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We spent most of our time at the Tate Modern, which celebrates its 10th anniversary this weekend. I should be more inspired to write about it, but I’m not. I was looking forward to this more than anything, but it was crowded, rowdy and noisy. People took photos and answered loud ringing phones. I was in the middle of looking at a painting and a red light appeared in the middle of it from someone’s camera. I was in the middle of looking at something else, and a kid right next to my ear hollered to his friends across the room. People stood in doorways so I couldn’t pass and pretty much annoyed me in every possible way. I like a lot of people in a museum. I don’t like inconsiderate behavior. Only once in several hours did I hear a guard talk to someone.

So I’ll share only one small story:

Dieter Roth (1930-98) has an abstract titled Self-portrait of a Drowning Man (1974) made with acrylic, watercolor and glue on cardboard. The image is copyrighted, so I won’t show it, but you can see it here.

The display caption has this excerpt:

In order to bring the work to London in his suitcase, he cut it into a number of pieces. This gesture was characteristic of Roth’s irreverent approach to the art object. He was especially open to changes that would occur after he had “finished” the work, such as the process of cracking which is visible here.

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Spoiler alert! I’m happy that I found the coolest ruler ever at the Tate Modern. My friend, Holly, and I have long collected rulers for each other. At first we did it unwittingly, but after several years we realized we had a tradition. I can’t show it so that you get the full effect, but you can see it here. You’ll see what I mean.

Cheers!

Bob Hicks, Books, General, Music, Theater

Where there’s a wit, there’s a way

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By Bob Hicks

Mr. Scatter has been thinking about wit lately, partly because he’s been rereading Jane Austen‘s novel Emma and partly because, as regular Scatterers know, he attended the opera last Friday evening to see and hear Rossini‘s splendidly whimsical opera buffa The Barber of Seville.

Portrait of Jane Austen, Evert A. Duyckinick. Wikimedia CommonsBoth works, as the globe-trotting Mrs. Scatter has pointed out, made their debuts in 1816, which was technically part of the 19th century. But both feel more like products of the 18th century (as the Edwardian years seem an extension of the 19th century, which could be said to have ended in 1914).

Certainly Rossini’s opera, with its libretto by Cesare Sterbini adapted from a 1775 comedy by Pierre Beaumarchais, is fully in the spirit of the Age of Reason, embellished by a happy nod back to the 17th century theatrical glories of English Restoration comedy and the French satires of Moliere. And Austen’s class comedies seem slung somewhere between classic Enlightenment intellectual balance (Haydn, Swift, Mozart, Gibbon, Pope) and the surge of Romanticism that would engulf the 19th century (Beethoven, Byron, Mary Shelley, Harriet Beecher Stowe, on down to Wagner).

emmaAusten’s comedies may be the most precise and practical romances ever written. Obsessed with the often foolishly claustrophobic concerns of a narrow slice of self-satisfied society, they’re also worldly. Within the confines of that small society she discovers a measured universe of human possibility, from the perfidious to the noble. And she does it with one of the slyest, keenest raised eyebrows in all of literature.

Entering Austen’s world takes a certain amount of patience (it spins at the speed of a barouche carriage, not a supersonic transport; you must make peace with its rhythm) and some very smart people simply never make the transition. “Why do you like Miss Austen so very much?” Charlotte Bronte queried the philosopher and critic (and George Eliot’s live-in lover) G.H. Lewes in a letter from 1848. “I am puzzled on that point … I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses … Miss Austen is only shrewd and observant.”

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