Overheard at Table 3: Walton and Johnson Say We're Animals

"Walton and Johnson, or as I like to call them, 'Blackface Buttplugs,' were talking on the radio today about how Americans love war - which is true - but they say it's because of our animal nature - which is also true - and then they went on this rant that seemed to be saying just to embrace the animal nature.


"They were putting it in the context of war, but they talked about how when animals fight they fight until one animal gets tired and walks away, but when two humans fight and beats another guy up, the guy just goes to his truck and pulls out a gun and shoots the winner in the back, so they were saying that you just gotta go all out and kill the person before he gets a chance to shoot you in the back


"THEN came on their little announcement, WALTON AND JOHNSON - NOT TAKING LIFE TOO SERIOUSLY - or some shit like that.  Like it was all a joke.


"Motherfuckers, that ain't no joke.  They were talking about the need to just go out and kill people in any fight.   It's fucking disgusting and you can't back away from that sort of shit that's going out all over the airwaves."

On the Rooftop: Grace Potter and the Nocturnals "Medicine"

Overread at Table 4: Alejandro Zambra "Multiple Choice" Book Review

Alejandra Zambra – Multiple Choice

 

I loved the concept of this book: a novel written in the format of a multiple choice test.   When I got into it I discovered that the book was based on the entrance test for University acceptance in Chile, specifically, the format of the test given in the late 80s and early 90s.

 

Having the text in several numbered statements and then giving the reader the choice to choose (multiple choice) the order of the statements, almost feels like the “Choose Your Own Adventure books” that I loved as a kid.  It gave me that feeling.

 

It would have been easy for the author simply to rely on this schtick, however, and just write a novel in the format for the simple sake of writing a novel in this format – to make some existentialist piece with no real cohesion. 

 

There are some topics specific to Chile that most likely a non-Chilean, or at least a non-South American, reader will not understand, but frankly, the references to the history and culture of Chile give it a more exotic flavor.  For example, I did not know that Chile still had an indigenous population with their own language and that there was some discussion about whether or not that language should be taught as part of the curriculum in grammar school.

 

The story truly begins to gel toward the end of the book, the essay sections, in which the reader finally understands that the author is divorced, a parent, dealing with personal issues of family, of his own failures, both personal as well as economic.  There is a character, his employer, who seems to be more of a father figure, and some others who are only seen briefly and then disappear, like a glancing breeze.

 

Overall, it is a fun read, with some lyrical writing.  It is not, however, wholly satisfying, because we never truly understand the narrator or his life.  Maybe that’s the point.   Maybe the admissions test, meant for a university faculty to determine who gets into the school, will never be a valid method by which to determine the character of a person who will do well at that institution.  Maybe this novel is an indictment of not only the admissions test in Chile, but admissions tests everywhere.  Who can truly know a person simply from a set of multiple choice questions and some hastily scribbled lines on a two page essay?

 

 

Jimmie Dale Gilmore "Santa Fe Thief"

Oh the townhouse warbler lives far apart in a song
He holds the poor in his memory he never, he never lets on
He gathers strength as he gazes at length in a joy
You cannot tell from the sound of nothings been heard from his boy

He's a thief in the night and he's stealing for light you won't know it
He's already found you, his arms all around, you won't show it
Maybe one day you'll know more of, you'll know enough to say
Look over yonder he's already coming
Look over yonder he's already coming
Look over yonder he's already coming your way

Oh the caretaker's daughter she lives near the Garden of Eden
She knows the name of each flower, she remembers which let you in
She spills the sky when she looks in your eye and her jasmine
A symphony heard from a mansion when the wind sweeps in between

She's a thief in the night and she's stealing for love you won't know it
She's already found you, her arms all around, you won't show it
Maybe one day you'll know more of, you'll know enough to say
Look over yonder she's already coming
Look over yonder she's already coming
Look over yonder she's already coming your way

Oh the old engineer stays patient high in his roundhouse
He watches his trains appearing through silent puffs of snow
And his eyes are bright as he watches them nearing the time to set the track
With a flick of his wrist he waves to let them go

He's a thief in the night and he's stealing for life you won't know it
He's already found you, his arms all around, you won't show it
Maybe one day you'll know more of, you'll know enough to say
Look over yonder he's already coming
Look over yonder he's already coming
Look over yonder he's already coming your way

Continuing the Various Lives of Keats and Chapman: Mulch

Chapman's wife had, for some time, wanted Chapman to work on their front garden.  The flower beds were overgrown with weeds and most of the plants looked sad and pathetic.


At the Zen and Tao Acoustic Café one day, Chapman told this to his friend and neighbor, Keats, if he might know of someone who could do some minor landscaping for him.  Keats said he would gladly take charge of the project.


The next Saturday, Keats showed up at Chapman's house with a load of mulch and a shovel, and he worked throughout the day to beautify the flower beds.


Chapman saw the work and thanked his friend, asking, "How much do I owe you?"

Keats replied, "You will need to bring a load of mulch to my house next Saturday and work all day on my yard."


Chapman, surprised, replied, "I thought I could just repay you for the mulch."


Keats, with a wise smile, told his friend, "My dear Chapman, to whom mulch is given, mulch is required."

Overheard at Booth 5: Poring over Pouring

g: Everyone has their racist spelling.


c: Racist spelling?


g: I said, ways of spelling. Not racist spelling.


c: You should speak clearer.


g: You should listen better.