Los Meros Meros

Check out this video on YouTube:

I love this video. It makes me grin and tap my foot.

Current Stats for Future Reference (2018)

Decline in city’s median age last 7 years: 36.4 to 35.8.

Hispanic population of county: 47% (of est. 92,000 total).

(Hispanic rise is “natural increase,” births minus deaths.)

Non-Hispanic white population of county: 45%.

Date Hispanic population became county’s largest: 2015.

Date Hispanic population projected to be statewide largest: 2022.

Hispanic student population in ISD: 65%.

Minority student population in ISD: 75%.

Hispanic membership ISD Board of Trustees: 33% (2 of 6).

Hispanic membership County Commissioners Court: 20% (1 of 5).

Hispanic membership City Council: 29% (2 of 7).

(Source: Victoria Advocate, citing “Latest release from U.S. Census.”)

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The Road of Paint: Zadie Smith, “Henry Taylor’s Promiscuous Painting,” New Yorker, July 30, 2018 issue

Henry Taylor “Cicely and Miles Visit the Obamas,” from 2017, shows Taylor_s spatial, tonal genius.Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

Henry Taylor “Cicely and Miles Visit the Obamas,” from 2017, shows Taylor’s spatial, tonal genius. Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

[Henry Taylor’s paintings are transfixing for me. I’m infinity shy of his league as a painter, but I was touched by the “road of chaos… road of paint” phrase that Zadie Smith uses to name the path that Taylor has taken. (This wonderful article has also brought me my first encounter with the adverbialization of “synecdoche.”) For me, trying to paint is as necessary as it is fraught with anguish. I’m guessing crochet might be more relaxing!]

Horses, in Taylor’s work, appear sometimes as a symbol of freedom and power and sometimes as an expression of the opposite: power restrained, power trapped and fenced in.

The artist who once, back at Camarillo State Mental Hospital, painted a suffering patient synecdochically, with a screaming mouth for a head, could have easily become a commercial artist, using the part to represent the whole, pitching and selling on either side of the horizontal line that bisects so many of his canvases. He could have been a maker of icons and iconography, like Warhol, who made a Campbell’s soup can a metaphor for capitalism and made repetition itself a metaphor for fame. Instead, Taylor has chosen the road of chaos—that is, the road of paint.

Henry Taylor “Man on Horseback in Naples, TX,” from 2015.Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

Henry Taylor “Man on Horseback in Naples, TX,” from 2015. Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

Henry Taylor “Screaming Head,” from 1990. Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

Henry Taylor “Screaming Head,” from 1990. Courtesy the artist and Blum & Poe

(Zadie Smith, “Henry Taylor’s Promiscuous Painting,” New Yorker, July 30, 2018 issue)

Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.

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Overheard in the Teachers’ Lounge

Casa Josh

Casa Josh

One of our football coaches, a vet in his forties, recounted how his wife ribbed him about being a neat freak. “Your underwear drawer is relentlessly organized, your t-shirts are folded, your Levis are on hangers!” she would exclaim. His reply to her was, “I’m not a neat freak. I’m a Marine.”

Not one to hobnob much with coaching staff, I nevertheless mentally genuflected anew to this man — for his service to country, of course, but in addition for his neatness. I had more in common with him than I realized. I flunked the Army physical because of a heart murmur, so was disqualified from military service. However, I am a neat freak manqué. I express my solidarity with The Few, The Proud: Semper Organized!

Casa Joseph

Casa Joseph

Casa Daniel

Casa Daniel

(Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Dear Mother… I also finished

Acting! JMN, photo.

Acting! JMN, photo.

I also finished the “Teacher in America” book and loaned it to Charles last night. Herbert, Charles and I had lunch last week and I mentioned the book to them. Herbert knew of Barzun, said he had read several of his books on music and the arts. Apparently the current director of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), described by Herbert as “a Reagan goon,” is trying to cut back on funding for various programs, as well as institute “testing” of some kind to measure the results of artists’ interaction with children. Barzun has a wonderful chapter about that sort of thing: the American obsession with “facts,” as opposed to ideas, and with tangible, measurable “results.” He has plenty to abominate about the “educationists” (not his term, but I think he would approve of it) and the regimen of “testing” that they have perpetrated on the schools.

I’m thinking of picking up a book we have. It’s entitled “Mark Twain: God’s Fool” by Hamlin Hill. Have you heard of it? Here’s a pertinent quote from my little writer’s book: “On the trail of another man, the biographer must put up with finding himself at every turn: any biography uneasily shelters an autobiography within it.” (Paul Murray Kendall)

Here’s another one I like: “Why do people always expect authors to answer questions? I am an author because I want to ask questions. If I had answers I’d be a politician.” (Eugene Ionesco)

I’m sorry you had to postpone your play. Isn’t it sad that gymnasiums replaced auditoriums in our great rural vastnesses? How is Hubbard’s library? I remember your bitterness over the lack of one when growing up. You describe Groesbeck as progressive. I’d love to see it. Hope you tap into some of the other play groups.

[Correspondence, 1987, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]

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Finger Hut Follies

Sugar Shack, JMN, photo.

Sugar Shack, JMN, photo.

Mimsy and Chance Lafarge went to Cloudburst for the weekend to celebrate their tenth anniversary. Drove up in two cars with Dandi and Mitch Oddbocker and Shay and Rafe Bickford. Planned to split up on Saturday so Mimsy, Dandi, and Shay could do girl stuff, and Chance, Mitch, and Rafe could do guy stuff. They’d all meet back at the hotel for beers before dinner.

On Sunday the guys would play golf. The girls would shop and go to a club called The Stirrup to see the male strippers. They’d all meet back at the hotel for beers before dinner.

Friday night Mimsy gets a call from the Finger Hut back home. Her youngest son Cisco, it turns out, has phoned in an order for sixteen deluxe pork finger baskets. It was to feed the junior varsity, he told them. Mimsy said, “You didn’t fill the order, did you?” Posie the manager said, “Yes, I did, but the credit card number Cisco gave me is invalid.”

Mimsy said a cuss word to herself, she told me, wondering why they didn’t run the dang card before they cooked the food. Anyway, she paid with her card, then called Shyanne to go pick up her brother’s food and tell the team to eat it on the patio, not inside.

Well, Shyanne drove into town and got the food, but bless her heart, she didn’t close the tailgate of her doolie before she drove back. All those dinners blew out on the highway without her knowing it. For near a hundred dollars nobody but the varmints got fed.

Mimsy and Chance read Cisco the riot act when they got back. The “credit card number” he gave the Finger Hut was the serial number on his Gameboy, which happens to have sixteen digits. Cisco claimed it had been Rodeo Peavey’s idea, as if that mattered. These young’uns! If they had half a brain between ’em they’d be dangerous.

(Stag Country, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Dear Mother… I visited

Her Reading List, JMN, photo.

Her Reading List, JMN, photo.

I visited with *** last night and we went over my translation, reading it against his published rendering. He was pleased to see no great errors, but saw places where he would like to change his version to match the original a little more closely. We went to Hungry Jack’s afterwards and had a bite. He likes Victoria and hopes to secure some kind of permanent position… He’s not the bohemian that you expect writers to be, except that he works a lot at night and sleeps during the day. But he’s fanatically conscientious and serious about the classes he gives to school children, and is neat almost to a fault. HIs apartment (upstairs at Daddy’s) is meticulously arranged and clean. All his papers are filed in labeled, alphabetized folders. He keeps elaborate written schedules and is always updating and rewriting them. He doesn’t dress particularly well, as far as style is concerned, but wears a tie when he lectures; drives an aging little Toyota. All the orderliness is amusing and a little touching to me. He told me last night that when his daughter would come to visit overnight, he sometimes rented a motel room for them so his apartment wouldn’t be messed up (!). Although he dates women here and there, I suspect he’s a confirmed bachelor. Don’t you? He drinks occasionally, but is generally pretty abstemious; has had coffee the last two evenings we went out.

[Correspondence, 1987, Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]

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Botticelli Deconstructed

youtube.com/embed/m4j4RwzE6j4

Hannah Gadsby on the “Birth of Venus.”

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“Vassar Pembroke Confronts the Spanish Language Teacher”

JMN (10)

Vassar Pembroke Confronts the Spanish Language Teacher

Vassar Pembroke busts his chops,
Spits her mind with no preamble,
Says his teaching method flops
According to her daughter Campbell.

“Campbell says she’s not inspired.
You do not motivate her much.
Your expectations make her tired.
Your lessons lack the caring touch.

“You leave her to her own devices,
Make the subject matter tough.
Naught you do or say suffices
To help her understand the stuff.

“Kindly specify the date
On which you’ll rectify her grade,
So as to promptly compensate
My daughter for the mess you’ve made.”

To which he says, “Mrs. Pembroke,
I thank you for your homily.
Your daughter knew whereof she spoke
When she said, ‘Mom is mad. You’ll see.’

“I’ll cook her grades with more ardor
To tenderize my toughish love.
Two days from now she’ll look smarter,
Your tart gosling, your plaintive dove.

“Meanwhile, more contact with the book,
Some practice, and a little thought
Will get your daughter off the hook.
Another tongue’s more learned than taught.

“And if you will just back away
She’ll also learn what school’s about.
Excuse me now from this display
And kindly usher yourself out.”

Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.

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“Shed Down By the River” Continued

Two other things that impressed me:

(2) Among my peers at the Facultad de Filosofia y Letras in Barcelona, the “pandilla” was the organizing social unit — congenial, urbane, catholic, benign, excluding neither the ill-favored nor the studious nor the awkward. The pandillas were the antithesis of what we know as “gangs,” and contrasted favorably with student society as I had known it until then.

(3) Quite a few of my Spaniard classmates cared about poetry! They organized several rowdy recitations vastly attended. One guy forgot his memorized poem midway. I would’ve been mortified; he laughed it off with enviable poise. I had not known until then persons my age who paid attention to verse, and I was a junior in college.

(C) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.

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Jonathan Gold

Mr. Gold holding a champagne glass

Mr. Gold holding a champagne glass after winning the Pulitzer Prize. He was later featured in the documentary “City of Gold,” which followed his explorations of Los Angeles. Credit Kevork Djansezian/Associated Press

“I’m not a cultural anthropologist,” he once said. “I write about taco stands and fancy French restaurants to try to get people less afraid of their neighbors and to live in their entire city instead of sticking to their one part of town.”
(Quoted by Pete Wells, “Jonathan Gold, Food Critic Who Celebrated L.A.’s Cornucopia, Dies At 57,” NYTimes)

Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.

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