For today's edition of Book Quarterly Giveaway Week, we're offering up a copy of My Goat Ate Its Own Legs (Harper Perennial, 256 pp., $12.99, June 30), a delightfully titled collection of short stories by British ad dude Alex Burrett.
In last week's CP, senior editor Patrick Rapa explains that Goat's narrator is weird — he's got stories about a woman who dates Death and a rat that talks about being a rat — but maybe not as weird as he thinks he is.
Sometimes these "tales for adults" and their expository titles read like half-fables in search of a moral they'll never find — unless you count "goats will eat anything." Even their own legs? Yep.
Occasionally, the zaniness parts and there's a dark, dry moment of George Saunders-esque calm, as in "Utter Beauty Paint," a quasi-essay on a substance that makes things look pretty no matter what. Only, where Saunders would've tied the concept to a plot or a point, Burrett is pleased to let it loose as a mere thought exercise, charming for its inventiveness and lack of ambition.
Charm carries the day for My Goat Ate Its Own Legs. Burrett's lone narrator — you'd be hard-pressed to differentiate one storyteller's voice from the next — is a likable, overly enthusiastic dude. He's not too sharp. He uses exclamation points and interrupts one tale to squeeze in an unrelated one. He's a lot of fun, really.
That said, it's trivia time:
Name FOUR words that can be used to describe a group of goats.
Cam in hand, CP's Tom Dreisbach visited yesterday's Odunde Festival. Now in its 34th year in Philadelphia, Odunde (happy new year) is a traditional celebration that has its origins in West Africa.
I don't have a TV (unruffle your pantaloons, I watch on the internet), but I do listen with semi-religious fervor to Harry's Shearer's regular Sunday radio program, Le Show.
I, along with the many other listeners, have listened to Shearer's harangues of the federally mandated conversion of TV signals from analog to digital that finally took place this weekend.
Shearer's basic points have remained the same throughout. Analog TV has been working fine for plenty of people for a long time; he points out (and reads letters from) early converters who found the digital signals to be worse than the analog ones; he highlights the ineptitude of the FCC in implementing the conversion (remember when the converter box coupons, distributed en masse, ran out of funding?).
And so it was with some anticipation that I listened to his show yesterday, the first since the conversion took place.
He found — little surprise — signs that plenty of things went wrong.
Here's the clip:
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So my question to you folks who did have analog sets: What are you seeing? Hopefully not pixels. Seriously, tell us how it went.
This past Friday, the cast and crew of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia made their way down to Citizens Bank Park to film an episode based on a certain fresh-in-our-psyches historic event. When I asked creator, producer and star Rob McElhenney for some scoop on the FX hit's fifth season, he shared a brief description of the episode: "The episode we are filming right now is a flashback to when The Gang got tickets to the World Series."
Phillies fans already tailgating for Friday's game against the Boston Red Sox were invited to participate as extras in several scenes. Some of the antics I witnessed on-set included someone delivering a blow to Dennis' head, an interaction with the Philly Phrenetic (yes, Phrenetic), and an appearance by the one and only Green Man. In response to a question about the show's popularity, McElhenney attributed much of the show's more recent success to DVD sales as well as the show's presence on Hulu. FX has already reported that the five lead IASIP cast members have been secured for another two seasons, so rest assured that we have several years of severely crooked exploitation ahead of us.
Sure, watching the devious antics on It's Always Sunny often leaves us in awe of the The Gang's shocking disregard for good taste. So in an altruistic effort to reassure Clog readers that the show's characters are wholly fictitious, I asked Charlie Day if he sees any of himself in his wildcard character Charlie.
Tonight, South Philly's Ugly American hosts an art show in triplicate centered on the divide between the real and the imagined. The surreal paintings of Liz Krick will be accompanied by the fashion of Andrew Dyer and the poetry of Vincent Ancona.
Dyer’s straight-out-of-the-comics costumes are born from found objects, thrift shop clothing and his own hand-sewn creations, which he combines to turn into flashy outfits via a process that he says often takes up to a month. For his "Dyer Outfit," an Elvis interpretation of a denim hip-hop get-up, accessories include old board game pieces, planetary toys, plastic dinosaurs and clip-on earrings. His inspiration? Some of the greatest showmen America has ever known. "I was looking for something lacking in peoples' wardrobes," says Dyer. "I like Elvis. I like Macho Man Randy Savage and Ric — why can't people dress like wrestlers?"
His work is like a near-living embodiment of some of Krick's bizarre characters (her work will be on display through June). Though she doesn’t always employ color in such an intentionally garish fashion, her application is usually just as surreal, making it easy for us to envision one of her baby-masked or rabbit-headed human figures donning one of Dyer's outfits.
Ancona's poetry bleeds other perspectives into the quotidian focus. His work mocks the strictures of academic art in a way similar to how his counterparts attack their respective mediums. "The reason we're so close is because we all work the same way," Ancona says. "If I was a painter, I would be Liz, and if I did fashion, I would be Andrew." His poetry, which he describes as "absurdist/outrageousness," deals with the bizarre currents of thought that spring up from the subconscious. "I take something not necessarily imagined, but left in the back room."
Nuclear Arts Party | Sat., June 13, 9-11 p.m., The Ugly American, 1100 S. Front St., 215-336-1100, dreamingnuclear.com
Rather than getting all your nautical terms from reading Conrad, why don't you learn by actually going out on the water? Cooper River Yacht Club (CRYC) in Collingswood has you covered. For a few hours tomorrow, June 13, they'll be offering free boat rides along with a tour of the club. You'll have to be a keen observer, though, as the rides will be only 10-minute jaunts along the 2,000-meter stretch of river. Like any good dealer, they're giving you a free dose in the hopes you'll become addicted to the mesmerizing play of light upon the water's gentle folds and the call of gulls as the wind sends you across the water.
Regularly, CRYC offers nine two-hour sessions for $200, and the club tries to keep the sport as accessible as possible, with programs such as community sailing, which allows experienced sailors to operate club-owned vessels. Touting the sport as a calming influence in her life, Judy Lazo, the club's current vice commodore (her mother was the first female commodore at CRYC), says she hopes more will discover the sport of sailing through Cooper River. "We don't want to be a secret," says Lazo. "We want the club and the sport to be known."
R. Bradley Maule of photo/city site Phillyskyline writes to let us know about the photo experiment he, Steve Ives (Philly Skyline's SEPTA guy), Steve Weinik and Chris Dougherty of The Necessity For Ruins recently undertook.
The gambit: Each purchased one of SEPTA's new $10 day-long Independence Passes, and met at 9 a.m. at the Starbucks in the Marriott, directly across from SEPTA's 1234 Market Street HQ. "From there, the wind -- and Septa -- would carry us wherever it would carry us, each one going his own way with a single deadline of meeting back up at 6 at the Field House pub, at the top of the stairway from Market East Station. We'd depart and reunite at the same location, a full and individual shift of riding SEPTA and photography in between."
These guys are like the Beatles of Philly urban photography. Each has a sharp eye for the details — structural, human, infrastructural — that make living in the metropolis so endlessly fascinating. I'm imagining one of those shirts:
From Art + Soul Food, hopefully
more art, less food.
Friday: Mistress of the Shopping Spree Felicia D. lets you in on Sweetheart Ada Egloff's new NoLibs shopeteria Oma Vintage, so head to their grand opening party before you go anywhere tonight and grab some new duds. Then it's off to the Troc with ye to make fun of movie, sans robot, with the kids of Cinematic Titanic. Oh, hey wait, what's that, Pat Rapa? Extra interview material, you say? Niiiiiiiiiice. Then there's always real movies that shouldn't be mocked during the film, like Sam Mendes/Dave Eggers/Vendela Vida's Away We Go.
Saturday: Tonight, you've got your choice of musical mayhem from one of dubstep's few genuine stars (Benga) to histrionic Canucks (Sunset Rubdown). Or go for Confessions of a Poser from Lynn Breedlove, erstwhile leader of dyke punks Tribe 8, which is more hilarity, less rock. But before that go to Brewerytown's Art + Soul Food where you can gallery hop to your heart's contents. But if you don't find anything of note there …
Sunday: … don't worry 'cause today you'll be hitting up Art 4 the Cash Poor, where you can pick up masterpieces for chump change. Then it's off to CP fave spot the Sidecar to meet Katie Cavuto, as she hosts her own viewing for the The Next Food Network Star party. Save me a Sweaty Blonde and I'm there!
Book Quarterly Giveaway Week continues with Commencement (Knopf, 336 pp., $24.95, June 16), a story of four girls who meet at Smith College and remain "fiercely devoted to one another" (sez the book jacket) long after graduation.
In his BQ review, City Paper's Mark Cofta says that although the book falls into an oversimplified women-as-stereotype pattern, this ain't your average crappy chick lit (the cover's not pink, after all):
Sullivan's … subjects feel too clinically crafted at first: Sally, "impeccable and impulsive," whose wedding dominates the book's first half; "brave and opinionated" April, whose radical feminist work drives the second; "bright and beautiful" Bree, who embarks on a long-term lesbian relationship while not sure she's gay; and Celia, lapsed Catholic, book editor, would-be novelist (and, one wonders, Sullivan's doppelganger?).
"All they knew of each other, really, were the sharp edges," Sullivan notes early on about the quartet, joined by random dorm assignment. "The middle parts and blurry lines were yet to be filled in." Then Commencement takes off, skillfully blending their stories. Before we're too comfortable with one woman's point of view, we're suddenly inside another's head, the juxtapositions revealing their complexity; no two people, let alone four, perceive events identically. Does Sally's baby end her freedom? Must Bree choose between family and Lara? Does Celia date solely to find a mate, or is it an end in itself? What will April risk to maintain her ideals? "Smith," we eventually agree, "is thicker than water."
Want a copy for your Shore weekend? Answer me this:
Two noted feminist writers (one of which is still living) graduated from Smith College a year apart in the '50s. Who were they?
[Update, 1:20 p.m.]: Congratulations to Clog reader EC, who correctly answered that Sylvia Plath and Gloria Steinem are the Smith grads ('55 and '56, respectively) in question. Thanks for playing, y'all!
In response to Ed Rendell declaring that Joe Sestak will "get clobbered" by Arlen Specter in a Senate primary, Dan UA at Young Philly Politics points out that a) Rendell himself was once an underdog in a Democratic primary — and won, and b) Sestak's commercials kind of write themselves. He highlights this video:
Good times. Well, not really. Those were very bad times, actually.
Dan observes that if Specter could have lost to Pat Toomey, he can certainly lose to a respected Democratic congressman. I don't think it's quite the same situation: Specter had sort of already ruined his brand with Republican voters. And now he's in a period where he gets to establish what kind of Democrat he'll be. It's not clear, however, that he's making a great first impression. I certainly don't disagree that he's beatable. I mean, check out this gem:
Neither does Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. (Sigh. How we love you, gallery/venue/exhibit space/now activist site.) As I'm sure y'all already know, Councilwoman Joan Krajewski introduced a bill back in May that would open up the Park to real estate developers. Thankfully, it was withdrawn, but just like Art in the Age, we suspect that City Council was just testing the waters and that won't be the last time they try to pull this shiz. As they wrote in their blog:
Even more worrisome than Krajewski’s bill, however, is a fact that appeared in Stephan Salisbury’s front-page article last Thursday (May 21st): “The advisory parks and recreation commission will have no power to block sales or development.” This doesn’t just put the Park at risk. It puts the majority of real power directly in the hands of the Mayor and City Council, neither of whom should have, or were ever meant to have, so much control over the Park. The Park Commission was established to avoid just this type of situation, and has a 142-year record of protecting the Park. But City Council seems to have waited for just the right time — during a global economic crisis — and used just the right tactics — cleverly packaging the dissolution of the Park Commission as a way to improve Fairmount Park and wrest control from a secretive body of white elitists. Unfortunately, the people were bamboozled.
So, in an effort to keep this from happening ever again, Art in the Age set up a petition that asks City Council to sign a bill that "would forever ban any development in the Park," among other things. If you're feeling this, provide your (electronic) John Hancock here.
Don't know what to do tonight? Don't worry, we've got you covered.
John Vanderslice is known for twitchy, studio-tinkered pop songs but on his seventh album Romanian Names (Dead Oceans), he's ventured out of his Tiny Telephones studio and into his basement where he developed the basic song structures before adding the more complicated elements. The album benefits, focusing more on melody and introspective narrative and less on sonic trickery, as evidenced by the sparse, gorgeous closing track, "Hard Times."
Thu., June 11, 9 p.m., $12, with The Tallest Man on Earth, Johnny Brenda's, 1201 Frankford Ave., johnnybrendas.com
The vote is intended, presumably, as a nod to the many people annoyed by bicyclists on sidewalks. Certainly we've heard that sentiment here since my article on Philly as a Biketopia came out.
Sidewalk biking can be annoying, especially in Center City, and while it is illegal in some cases (more on that in a sec), I wonder if some of the outright hostility directed against people who ride on the sidewalk isn't misguided. My guess is that most people who ride on the sidewalk – inexperienced riders in particular – are simply scared of traffic, and with plenty of good reason.
Maybe the best way to do that is to make the streets safer and more inviting to cautious riders – as well as enforce current laws, such as they are.
But, meanwhile, it turns out that most sidewalk riding is actually legal. It's only in "business districts" that it isn't according to Pennsylvania law; Tom Dreisbach, however, points out that a city ordinance specifically forbids biking on sidealks anywhere by anyone over 12.
Section 3508. Pedalcycles on sidewalks and pedalcycle paths.
(a) Right-of-way to pedestrians.-- A person riding a pedalcycle upon a sidewalk or pedalcycle
path used by pedestrians shall yield the right-of-way to any pedestrian and shall give an audible
signal before overtaking and passing a pedestrian.
(b) Business districts.-- A person shall not ride a pedalcycle upon a sidewalk in a business
district unless permitted by official traffic-control devices, nor when a usable pedalcycle-only lane
has been provided adjacent to the sidewalk.
But, Philadelphia Code states that:
(1) No person shall ride a bicycle upon a sidewalk within a business district, as such district is defined in The Vehicle Code.
(2) No person 12 years of age or more shall ride a bicycle upon any sidewalk in any district.
(3) Whenever any person is riding a bicycle upon a sidewalk, such person shall yield the right-of-way to any pedestrian and shall give audible signal before overtaking and passing such pedestrian.
(4) In areas under the jurisdiction of the Fairmount Park Commission, riding bicycles on sidewalks and foot paths may be permitted when authorized by regulations of the commission.[7]
A while back we brought you news, of Snuggie bar crawls potentially coming to Philadelphia. Well, now that it's summer, the Wearable Towel — a towel with arm openings — is coming to introduce even more douchitude in your life. As the commercial says, you can wear it as a tunic or a toga. It's perfect for washing your baby, picking up the mail and for when you want easy access during sexy time on the beach. (Easy cleanup when you're done!)
Please find and burn all of these. Please. Before I start having nightmares about being flashed by bums in the park wearing nothing but a arm-holed towels.
It's Book Quarterly Giveaway Week, folks, so get your thinking caps on. Every day from now till the 17th of June, we're giving away copies of books reviewed in our summer reading guide, which hit the stands today. All you have to do is answer a simple (or totally obscure) trivia question.
First up: Barry Schechter's The Blindfold Test (Melville House, 272 pp., $16.95, June 2), reviewed by our Shelf Life lit columnist, Justin Bauer. Of a novel you should read when everything seems to be going wrong, he says:
There is going to be a moment this summer — after your flight gets delayed for the third time on a cloudless day, after another bout of food poisoning from a sketchy all-you-can-eat Maryland shore crab joint, after the Phillies blow a thin lead over the Mets — where you become convinced that some kind of plot exists to destroy all the simple pleasures of the summer, leaving you sunburnt, exhausted and fed up. Jeffrey Parker, the soft creme center of Barry Schechter's confectionery The Blindfold Test, lives in this moment.
Now, answer me this for a chance to win:
Down-on-his-luck protagonist Jeff Parker discovers that he's the victim of a government plot. What FBI project, set up in the '50s and '60s to harass peace activists, is this based on?
[Update, 4:30 p.m.]: Congrats to Clog reader Michael, who was the first to the buzzer. The program was called Counter Intelligence Program, or COINTELPRO.
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