Rees-Mogging the Confecters

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“The candyfloss of outrage that we’ve had over the past 24 hours — which is almost entirely confected — is from people who never wanted to leave the European Union,” Mr. Rees-Mogg said in an interview with BBC radio.

(Stephen Castle, “Boris Johnson’s Parliament Suspension Prompts Fury and Resignations,” NYTimes, 8-29- 19)

And the gentleman administers a proper drubbing to the blighters.

(c) 2019 JMN

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“Mornington Crescent!”

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Alamy.

I learn from Martha Gill that there’s a long-running game on British radio whose object is to be the first to reach the “Mornington Crescent” tube station on the northern line. Players cite routes over London’s transport system knowing and loving that it’s an elaborate charade.

… The game is entirely made up. There are no real rules; at any point a player could “win” “Mornington Crescent” simply by saying the words. They never would of course. It is simply not done.

As with the game, writes Gill, the rules of British politics are unwritten. “[Its] smooth workings are held together by convention, good manners and a sense of… fair play…” But the main political players “have suddenly realized that they can win much faster by ignoring the rules altogether: ‘Mornington Crescent!’ they chorus, immediately, and the game is over.”

And so, after all, what never would be done, and simply is not, is done.

(Martha Gill, “Did Boris Johnson Just Break Parliament?” NYTimes, 8-28-19)

(c) 2019 JMN

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The World We Mustn’t Live In

Two thoughts slam me at once. They can’t be correlated, but mustn’t they?

The first thought is that we live in a tired, busy world; a world of busy tiredness; a world of tired busyness. Such is our world: tired and busy, busy and tired.

The second thought is that an electric guitar amplified with bristling feedback is ideally suited to provide the silences between voicings of a well-fingered acoustic guitar.

One thought leads to the other and back, mustn’t it?

(c) 2019 JMN

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Feminine He Ain’t

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Mr. Serra always carries his sketchbook with him, in case he has a new idea for a sculpture. Credit George Etheredge for The New York Times.

This article describes Richard Serra as “the best-known living sculptor in America.” His medium is steel, in which he enshrines “abstract forms as maximalist feats of mass and scale.”

At the Museum of Modern Art… a room-sized assembly of eight, 40-ton forged-steel blocks that together weigh more than a Boeing 777, will occupy its own gallery….

Serra’s responses to the interviewer ring true of a spikey octogenarian who may not be in close touch with his female side!

Richard Serra… counts pounds. “This is my heaviest show ever,” he said with a hint of pride… Does he see his sculpture as distinctly masculine? “It’s not feminine,” he replies… Does he see any tenderness in his work? “I don’t think in those terms,” he replied. “It sounds like you are talking about steak…” I asked Mr. Serra if he ever has the urge to use a color besides black [in his drawings]. “A pink painting,” he replied with a straight face. “I am working on it. It is in my closet.” A five-beat pause. “Or green and purple. For a week, I considered chartreuse seriously.”

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Mr. Serra’s “Verb List” is the closest he came to producing a manifesto and helped define what is known as Process art. Credit The Museum of Modern Art.

I gratefully let Mr. Serra have the last word. I couldn’t answer the question better than he.

How would he describe the sea? “It’s like the desert with water,” he says….

(Deborah Solomon, “Richard Serra Is Carrying the Weight of the World,” NYTimes, 8-28-19)

(c) 2019 JMN

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Retire “Toxic.” “Hegemonic” is Here

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Fans in Indianapolis reacting after news broke that the Colts quarterback Andrew Luck was leaving the N.F.L. Credit Brian Spurlock/USA Today Sports, via Reuters.

Scholars call it “hegemonic masculinity,” a fancy phrase defining the traditional male ideal as being stoic, tough and aggressive. The body is an instrument of violence in this rationalization…The football helmet… is not just a form of protection but… a mask that… encourages [players] to unleash violence on their faceless opponents…

With injuries already sustained, Andrew Luck has guaranteed himself a post-football life of pain. I admire him for defying the scorn of hegemons and fans by choosing to spare his body further insult.

ESPN has… pulled its “Jacked Up” recurring segment that spliced together neck-snapping, spleen-splitting hits… [and a montage ] in which the two teams’ helmets collide in an explosion of kinetic lightning.

(Michael Serazio, “Why Andrew Luck’s Retirement Was So Shocking,” NYTimes, 8-27-19)

And I salute ESPN for dialing back “its packaging of pain as pleasure.” It may be that American football can yet save itself from going the way of boxing as mass entertainment.

(c) 2019 JMN

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Duking It Out With Regret

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“I have said previously that it was a mistake and an error to see him after his release… I can only reiterate my regret… I was mistaken to think that what I thought I knew of him was evidently not the real person… I am at a loss to be able to understand or explain Mr Epstein’s lifestyle… I deplore the exploitation of any human being and would not condone, participate in, or encourage any such behaviour.”

(“Prince Andrew: I did not suspect Epstein’s behaviour,” BBC News App, 8-24-19)

Parsing: The Duke regrets thinking what he thought, regrets not knowing that the probationed felon whose mansions he frequented wasn’t the “real” person. The Duke is at a loss to comprehend the “lifestyle,” presumably the pimping, prostituting and pedophilia part, since the rest conforms quite closely to the royal lifestyle.

In commoner words, it did not walk like a duck, nor quack like a duck, yet, cruelly for the chastened Duke, was a duck. The blinkered royal was blindsided for years by a stealthy, camouflaged predator!

This rebuttal which can’t quite name what it rebuts resembles that of a compromised man — rant, cant and flap. But in a world in which powerful men are gentlemen (except for the dastardly dead duck), who can doubt the Duke’s regret?

(c) 2019 JMN

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Please God, Net It Out!

I’ve read “Ulysses,” “War and Peace,” some of Henry James and most of Faulkner — but not recently. I’m aware I’ve just bragged, and I’m ashamed of it in a manner of speaking. These four writers aren’t known for netting it out, which is part of my point.

I don’t know if it’s a sign of the times, or a sign of mental deterioration on my part, or a sign of attention span simply having bled off into interstitial space as a consequence of our planet’s progressive degradation — most likely it’s a symphony of all of those — but, if I have to PageDown more than once in your blog’s verbiage I move on and never finish reading, saving exceptions.

It’s me, not you. Humble apologies for what I’m missing. I realize to talk this way may seem a rejection of complex thoughts that merit elaboration. Not so. It’s only resistance to simple thoughts that don’t, as well as a plea to make it impossible not to follow your thread otherwise. Pass me by as I do you if I let you down. It’s only rant.

(c) 2019 JMN

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The Road Ahead

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The Road Ahead (c) 2005 Megan Treadaway. All Rights Reserved.

At age 16 Megan, a Texas native, recorded “The Road Ahead,” a CD of twelve sweet country standards. In “Waltz Across Texas” she is joined in a duet by her dad David. The CD was the fruit of their travels around the state performing in well-known venues.

Today, as Studio Manager, Megan provides vital support and guidance for creative activities here at The Shed.

(c) 2019 JMN

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“Carnal Tapioca”

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Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s “Seated Bather,” 1883-84. Credit President and Fellows of Harvard College; Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum.

Recently in the NYTimes Roberta Smith wrote a spirited appraisal of the exhibition of Renoir’s late nudes at the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, MA. Peter Schjeldahl weighs in on the topic in the latest New Yorker. It’s fascinating how Renoir’s work in this vein (which leaves me largely cold) elicits contorted responses in these two prominent critics.

At the show, part of me felt as though I were writhing on a pin: again and again the carnal tapioca, the vacant gazes, the fatuous frolic… The prehensile touch with which Renoir molds female masses with color—instead of modelling them with tonal shading—awes the eye… The work tends toward silliness but never topples into it. He can really move paint around, and his colors attain complex harmonies even as you may crave sunglasses to mitigate their screeching chromas. He’s like a house guest so annoying that you might consider burning down the house to be rid of him. Let’s not do that.

(Peter Schjeldahl, “Renoir’s Problem Nudes,” The New Yorker, 8-26-19)

(c) 2019 JMN

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Monkey Say, Monkey Think

“The slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.”

(George Orwell, “Politics and the English Language”)

(Quoted by David Streitfeld, “Paging Big Brother: In Amazon’s Bookstore, Orwell Gets a Rewrite,” NYTimes, 8-19-19)

(c) 2019 JMN

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