My Book Report

If insects can die of sadness, I bet this one did after he found out that Mozart was dead too.

Even though he's been dead a long, long time and his music is pretty old-fashioned, I bet everyone probably knows the name Mozart. But what do we really know about him? Not very much I bet since he lived before TV.

Well, I decided to learn a little bit more about him. This week I began reading the autobiography of Mozart, titled Mozart: A Cultural Biography, by Robert W. Gutman. It is very interesting. For one thing, did you know that Mozart was his last name? His first name was actually Wolf Gang! That's a pretty tough sounding name for someone who liked violins so much, (but maybe that's how he could get away with it, kind of like the boy named Sue only the opposite). Plus, he's from Austria, so I think it's weird that his name is in English.

Anyway, Mozart was born in the 1700's, and began composing operas and orchestra music when he was only 6! On the one hand, that is very impressive. But on the other hand, it seems kind of lame that he never tried anything else since he was so good at music right away. I mean, once you've written a few operas and you're only 10, maybe now you could try to be an inventor or something?

That is partly why I was so happy to see that he had written a book, even though it is all about him, but I think he was alive before they had mysteries. But again, maybe that's what he could have invented if he hadn't been so obsessed with music!?

Anyway, the biggest problem so far that I am having is that books don't have audio, so I have to pretend to know what he's talking about when he describes the music. I mean, I know some of his music, but it would help if he had notated the music in some way that I could follow along like so--BAH. Bum-BAH. Bum-bah-bum-bah-bum-BAH! Or if they had had books on tape back then they could have just had him read while we heard his music except I don't think he spoke English. But he didn't speak Italian either and he still wrote Don Giovanni so it seems like it would have been possible, given his greatness.

Anyway, so far I am only on page 8, so there's probably a lot more to know about the mini-maestro, but to find that out I guess you'll have to read it yourself...

God I Hope Outer Space Wins

Artist's Rendering of What a Bunch of Jerks We Are

Since Barry Bonds shattered the all-time home run record, the recipient of the ball has put it up for auction. It reportedly sold yesterday for $750,000. I suppose that's a lot, but who can say? I've lost all context for value. Anyway, the smart aleck who purchased it set up a web site to "democratize the debate over what to do with it." I didn't realize there was a debate, but hey, I'm not trying to create a media circus to prop myself up.

If you go to this site, you are presented with a pretty straightforward selection process. You can choose either:

A) To send the ball to Cooperstown as is.
B) To brand the ball with an asterisk, and then send the ball to Cooperstown.
C) Shoot the ball into outer space.

I must admit, when I first heard about this stunt I was pretty annoyed. I went to the site fully intending to vote for choice A (although C is by far the best option). Why keep dragging this media nightmare out? Even without the asterisk, the ball will forever carry the tainted memories of what had to be the longest years of Bonds' life. Even in Cooperstown, even among the other giants, that ball will be remembered as much for its place in history as its place in the op-ed columns. We don't need some jerk who calls himself a baseball fan to remind us of what our game has gone through in recent times. Why alter such a significant piece of the game's history?

And then something really special happened: I changed my mind.

As I went to submit my vote I decided, very suddenly, to vote for the asterisk. Perhaps I will regret it. It was a snap decision. But I decided that many years from now, when tempers have cooled, and maybe we even have a new home run king, that people will be able to speak of Bonds as one of the all-time greatest baseball players again. Like Maris before him, the humiliating punctuation mark that diminished what he was able to do will lose out to the sheer weight of the number 756.

And what then of our little ball that we collectively voted to brand?

Over time, it will be the asterisk that diminishes. It will change from a symbol of rage and disillusionment into part of baseball lore, nothing more. Unaccompanied by the hotheads who have criminalized Bonds, it will no longer be the Scarlett Letter forever calling Bonds a cheater, but a record of our time when baseball was under a lot of scrutiny, and reality TV and YouTube and interactive media were reshaping the way we express ourselves.

Most of all, I think that we will grow to be ashamed of what we put Bonds through--after all, he is only an entertainer, and baseball is only a game. But there the asterisk will still be, a reminder to future generations of what we had become: a bunch of raving lunatics and mean people who confused the right to vote with the ability to decide.

That seemed just as pertinent as the home runs. That seemed like something I should vote for.

Make your vote by September 25th.
www.vote756.com

Well, Not In Television. But I Work Near Television.

How An Art Gallery Looks in the Imagination of Some TV Producer

My job for the next week is to be here at the gallery to let the television crew in and out while they film a scene that takes place in an Art Gallery. You can tell that it’s an Art Gallery because they brought in a bunch of white, ultra-modern furniture and placed it throughout the exhibition spaces in case the patrons need a short rest between paintings.

The paintings are folksy, western images on what appears to be fence boards nailed together. The artist is apparently named Rosa Garcia, a factory worker at the turn of the 19th century, making her perhaps one of the earliest female painters to be recognized in America, though I still don’t think they’re very good. Other than that, I know very little about the actual program and what will be happening once the cameras arrive.

I have heard:

A) There will be a reception scene involving 60 extras.
B) There will be a person smoking a cigarette indoors.
C) There will be a fire.

My task could not be easier—I show up to unlock and then sit at my computer and write, or listen to baseball. They are paying me two and a half times my normal wages to do this—but my contact, the location scout, has managed to make it hard anyway. As far as I can see, he is always on the phone, and in a gigantic hurry, but I don’t think he actually knows how to work his phone. This morning was the third time in which there was a “miscommunication” (his word), where I get a phone call at 6:30 a.m. wondering if I am going to arrive soon, even though I was never, technically speaking, called because he’s full of shit (my words). In his defense, he did say, “That’s my bad,” when I pulled up. Maybe I can get that on my headstone when there is a “miscommunication” about the fire.

In full disclosure, I was against the idea from the start. The location scout approached us a few weeks ago while my boss was away. He told me he worked in television in a way that suggested that he knew I had heard of the medium, and that I would be impressed. I had heard of it, but I wasn’t thrilled about closing down our current show all of a sudden to let a film crew come in and trash the place. And since I am not authorized to make such a deal I told him he would need to speak to my boss who was out of town for a week.

He persisted to call every day to discuss the progress of the deal. Since I could not offer any new information, I figured he would take the hint and wait another few days. Oh, but I have much to learn. Instead, he began calling every day for Hannah. While Hannah is as polite and capable as one could hope for over the phone, she was also a temporary intern. And so, each day I would get a new message from the location scout via Hannah, who would then relay the fact that our boss would be back in a week.

When my boss finally returned we came up with a litany of reasons to turn the show away and I left work pleased that we were not going to compromise ourselves for a little bit of money. The next morning the deal was struck for a large amount of money.

Despite some of the frustrations I have had with one individual, this operation has gone fairly smoothly. My office is at a balcony that overlooks the exhibition space, so I can peek at the goings-on throughout the day. After the crew is gone, I go to inspect their work and the way they have transformed my space.

I guess there’s no point in staying mad about things I can’t control. I admit that I am a little excited to witness the scenes as they are being acted. I even catch myself daydreaming about catching the director’s eye.

“Hey you! The one who obviously doesn’t care about petty crap like haircuts.”

“Me?”

“Yeah! You have a great look, with your dirty jeans and pitiful beard, and…are those argyle socks? Wow! You’ve got style. Have you ever acted before?”

“Yes. I was The Big Bad Wolf in an adaptation of a Grimm novella in the 2nd grade.”

“Now I remember you. Get him in make-up!”

…and so on.