This is a campaign rally. This is where candidates typically tout their accomplishments and stir up enthusiasm and take a few jabs at their opponents.
But this campaign is different. This election is different. This is about our shared vision for a better America, but it’s also about a person who is unfit to be a school board member, much less the president of the United States.
Donald Trump is what would happen if you loaned 14 million dollars to someone who has never known his father’s love. Your Daily Devotional is a lightly-edited entry from my Twitter feed. Follow me at @jefftiedrich
If someone tells you that it takes 43 muscles to frown but only 17 muscles to smile, point out that it takes 0 muscles to shut the fuck up. Your Daily Devotional is a lightly-edited entry from my Twitter feed. Follow me at @jefftiedrich
“I was tired now, the weight of the memories was heavy as lead.” – John Ehle, The Widow’s Trial
The Widow’s Trial by John Ehle (image courtesy Amazon)
Reading a John Ehle novel is one of those rich experiences like eating Belgian chocolate or drinking fine cognac. It’s an experience to be savored, enjoyed in a leisurely fashion.
That said, I raced through this Ehle novel in a couple of days.
For readers who think of Ehle in terms of the finest of his work, The Land Breakersor The Road, this novel from much later in his distinguished career may seem – slight is not exactly the word, such a word could probably never apply to Ehle’s work – but it is, one might say, a work of its time.
Its time of publication, the late 1980’s, was the height of a period known in serious literature as the era of Dirty Realism. Ehle is certainly a contemporary of (and probably knew) an originator of this style of fiction, the great Carson McCullers, so he certainly could justify a foray into this type of fiction. And because John Ehle is such a great writer, he certainly owes me, you, nor anyone else any explanation for a damned thing he does artistically. Continue reading →
They say you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar but either way, you seriously fuck up your baseball glove. Your Daily Devotional is a lightly-edited entry from my Twitter feed. Follow me at @jefftiedrich
With the 1962 World’s Fair, Seattle asserted itself as the city that invented the future. Seattle Center, home to the Space Needle, Key Arena, the Pacific Science Center and other Jetsonesque architectural wonders, gave us a stunning Mid-Century Modern vision of our presumed technotopian future. In 2000 the EMP Museum opened, inserting a postmodern generational overlay in the form of Frank Gehry’s gripping postmodern architectural style. Ever upward, ever forward.
For #HopeTuesday today, I offer you a metaphor. Let’s rekindle our dream of a clean, sustainable, prosperous future with opportunity for all – a true and attainable American dream. I took this shot of the World’s Fair monorail, which connects the EMP and Seattle Center with downtown, in November of 2013. What could possibly be more optimistic, more hopeful, for Americans than a train destined for a technological Utopia?
An icon of the American theatre, Edward Albee, died this week. Scholars & Rogues honors him and notes the small ways that the influence of great artists can affect our lives for years to come.
The Zoo Story by Edward Albee, New Theatre Company, The Factory Theatre, Boston, 2/23/12-3/4/12
We read The Zoo Story in one of my classes at Wake Forest – maybe freshman or sophomore year. I absolutely loved it. I think Jerry spoke to my teenage sense of who I was and what I didn’t want to be, and this dynamic was reinforced by the culture of the university. Wake was conservative and elite. I was conservative, but working class. Many of my fellow students were preparing themselves for sensible, practical, conventional lives. I wanted to be a poet. So while I don’t believe I necessarily understood that tension then the way I do now, I felt an immediacy in Peter and Jerry’s confrontation that, truth be told, still resonates for me today. Continue reading →
“History written by men reveals no cowards except those of the enemy, tells of great deeds of worth and cause, but shows only one face, and fails to distinguish the testimony of those consumed by its passing.” – Michael Kinnett
Apalachicola Pearl by Michael Kinnett (image Southern Yellow Pine Publishing
Michael Kinnett’s Apalachicola Pearl is clearly a work of a lover of history. This tale of one Florida city’s role in the Civil War is based on Kinnett’s research into the annals of the city. In his preface, Kinnett claims that his novel is based upon “journals I found hidden beneath a floorboard in the attic of the Orman House Museum.” Whether this is true or the author’s invention is a matter for reader conjecture. If true, Kinnett is indeed fortunate to have found such a trove of material; if it is a literary invention, it is a wonderfully clever one.
The novel is a melange of two forms: while it purports to be the journal of the main character, one Michael Brandon Kohler, it eventually evolves into a historical adventure. Further – the character who gives her name to the title to the novel, LaRaela Retsyo Agnusdei, known to both characters and readers as Pearl, appears only briefly in the novel near its beginning and at its end.
Either of these choices on the part of the author might seem to jar the reader enough to make the novel an unsatisfying read, but the narrative is packed with so much action and historical information that one is carried along by the quick pace and the wealth of detail about 19th century Florida life that Kinnett offers. Continue reading →
We live in an era, sadly, where all too often our greatest talents never find the sort of broad audience their genius deserves. Once upon a time, back in the age of mass media and record labels committed to artist development, back before the Internet nichified music almost to death, back then Jeffrey Dean Foster would have been a massive star. Way too famous for a guy like me to have even met him, probably.
But that’s no reason for us not to appreciate him, is it? Let’s celebrate his day by listening to a few of his tunes. We’ll begin with my favorite Foster tune ever, “Summer of the Son of Sam,” which earned the highest praise I have for an artist: I wish I had written it.
Dance like no one is watching
Love like you’ve never been hurt
Never shut up about your imaginary gluten allergy Your Daily Devotional is a lightly-edited entry from my Twitter feed. Follow me at @jefftiedrich