Boar Hunter Magazine!

I work in a fairly professional building and was in the lunch room the other day, when I came across “Boar Hunter” magazine in the pile of available reading. Hmm.

Of course we all know that (according to the editor) the boar hunter:

“…majority is centered around God, family, and friends. We do shop at Wal-Mart…a box of ammo will only make it a weekend…we [have] the desire and heat to pursue ‘The Beast of Kings.’“

I had to read more…

The very first article was titled “The Big Pig Giggin’ Expedition,” where the author went on a guided boar hunting expedition that involves cornering the boar with dogs, having your guide go grab the boar, and you (the high-paying participant) walk over and kill the boar with a knife (as opposed to just shooting one with a gun or bow) to prove your manly worth. I could care less about killing boars (they’re probably in the same category as geese, pigeons, deer, etc). But the story was amusing none-the-less…

On getting permission to go on the trip: “…I had several obstacles in my way. The first of which was the beautiful, blond haired, bombshell that I call my wife…However, this is not your ‘typical blond’ mind you, because when she found out there was a double indemnity clause in our insurance policy, she gave me her whole hearted ‘whatever.’”

On choosing a knife: “I figured that it was designed for survival and killin’; and if it is good enough for our U.S. Troops to take out commies and terrorists, surely it would work on a coastal tusker.”

On choosing a photographer: “I needed someone who would do what I wanted them to do, when I wanted them to do it, without question or hesitation. I needed someone who wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but had enough sense to run the camera. I needed someone I could con into believing that this was an adventure, an opportunity of a lifetime to stand in front of a pissed-off porker with nothing but a camera to test his testicular fortitude…But most importantly, I needed someone whom I could outrun…I think I’ll take my son!…Besides, I had a ‘Master Plan’ that was gonna set this whole ‘child endangerment’ thing right.”

On the first day: “Even though we didn’t kill a hog, the pucker factor was definitely plus 10 on the schincter scale…”

On getting to kill the big boar: “There he was-the one who haunts my dreams. Ol’ Big and Nasty himself, a souped up super swamper, turned, ready to open a can of Coastal Georgia Whoop Ass as the catahoulas held him at bay.”

f*ck sh#t

I remember as a teenager debating why a swear word was a swear word. It’s just made up letters. Now in my 30’s I’m resurrecting some thoughts about these ubiquitously hyped words…

1. Isn’t it interesting that the words are pretty much all related to the body and its functions? Sex, body parts, bowel movements. Why not my toe or navel or earwax?

2. Why are these morally controversial things in the first place? Sex, penises, and defacation are pretty common to the human condition. Everyone’s has or is doing them, so why are they verboten?

3. Why does it matter if we beep, block, or mask the word, if everyone is repeating it in their mind anyway? F*CK! Isn’t it the same thing?!

4. If no one else understands the word, why does it matter? I remember my high school tennis partner not being allowed to swear in Czech, even though no one else knew what he was saying. They do the same thing in pro tennis.

5. I’ve heard the argument that we need a forbidden realm of anger or insult expression but I can’t remember the logic. Isn’t it the tone and intent that matters? A scream is every bit as emotional as a swear. Maybe the swear is more efficient?

6. How does a word move to the ‘list’? It probably gets a good start if it related to the body (#2), but why is ’sex’ less offensive than ‘doing it’ then ‘hunka chunka’ than ‘f*ck’?

7. Given my laid-back attitude, why do I still cringe when I hear unnecessary language in person, on the bus for example, but swearing in a movie doesn’t bother me? Am I a prisoner to cultural norms, no matter what logic tells me?

TC Boyle or Boring?

I like to read and am happy when I find a good book, fiction or non-fiction. But lately, the fiction side has been disappointing me. And it seems like a pattern that needs to be stopped.

I just finished Drop Cityby T.C. Boyle.

First, there’s the cover, which forces me to make sure it’s not facing up when I’m in the elevator at work. Not that I’m not for free expression but try telling your coworker why you’re reading a book with eight naked people on the front.

Second, there’s the author’s picture in the back flap. This isn’t exactly the photo but it’s close enough and basically says, “Hi, I’m a pirate dressed like a magician looking pensive enough to melt cheese with my laser-beam eyes.” (The fact that he has two shirts that look like that make him really suspect.)

Mr. Boyle then spents 445 pages describing a lot of things that in the end make me say “Hmm? That’s it?” It’s like I went for a walk and ended up in the same place. Walking around my neighborhood is a fine thing but when I go on vacation, I want to see different things, not the predictable. And if it’s going to be predictable, let’s do it in a reasonable amount of time.

I’ll save you 400 pages. Some hippies are in California at a trust-funder’s property doing drugs and having free love. Meanwhile, a back-to-the-lander in Alaska meets a hottie who wants to live in the woods as well. Then the hippies decide to go north to get away from the oppression of the “man” to Alaska where it’s all free and good. Hippies build some houses. A non-hippie guy who tormets Mr. Alaska is a jerk. Hippies kind of bond with Mr. Alaska. A few hippies join Mr. Tormenter, who die in a plane crash.

See! Done. And not terribly exciting at that. Now, let’s talk about how this could have been improved or made more realistic. Mr. Boyle…

One, shorten it. You like to hear yourself type in fancy words and phrases. Great. Issue two versions - the one you’ll read and the one for the rest of us. They edit movies for a reason - not everything that’s a good idea on the drawing board should stay. Books should be similar. Pick any sentence on the flap description to get a flavor - “Above all, it is an epic and gripping novel infused with the lyricism and take-no-prisoners storytelling for which T.C. Boyle is justly famous.” Right.

Second, Mr. Alaska is not going to befriend the hippies so suddenly. It was forced and contrived. He has spent his life trying to isolate himself. His new hottie wife has been trying to get away from it all. But low and behold, without a few moments notice, they’re all one happy family of Alaska and hippie friends. I don’t buy it. Maybe over time or after some crisis but not on the fly like that. Let them hate each other for awhile - that’s how you set it up.

Third, the hippies go to Alaska, where it’s 60 below in the winter. They chop some wood and build some cabins, etc. They don’t know what the hell they’re doing. There’s plenty of opportunity for them to get into life-threatening trouble - fall through the ice, starve to death, roof collapse, bear eats their food, etc. (And then they can run to the grumpy Mr. Alaska, who hates them, for solace and a twist on compassion.) But instead they are bored. That’s the drama. The food is boring. The weather is cold. They sit around and get STDs and smoke pot. Stop the adrenaline, it’s “take-no-prisoners storytelling.”

Finally, Mr. Tormentor dies in a plane crash with a hippie gone bad. So sad. The end. That’s it. No more. The hippie commune is dissolving. Mr. Alaska’s wife is pregnant. But why talk about the future? Let’s just end it there, about 8/10 of the way through.

In defense of Mr. Boyle, he’s probably just part of this generation of writers and movie directors that are in a phase of pointless drivel. Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell, Happy Endings, and others fall into the same category of a good story with no real ending. It’s like they ran out of creative juices or something.

The Walker Art Center Is A Transformer

This is a little off the topic, but the City Pages is having a “What the hell does the Walker addition look like?” contest to define what the new Walker Art Center design really looks like.

Here’s my entry which may give away my 1980’s childhood:

UPDATE: The results are in! I didn’t win anything and frankly mine was the most simplistic of them all.

Quality Photograph Probability

I’m trying to resurrect my interest in photography and in doing so, am submitting some photos to a community college exhibition for consideration. Part of it involves writing an “Artist’s Statement,” which I’d never heard of (being a newly minted artist of course) but which is fairly common.

In the process, one of my themes became the fact that although I’m not a professional photographer with fancy equipment and years of training, I carry my basic camera with me everywhere and increase the odds of a good picture by increasing the percentage of potential photographcs with actual photographs because I never have to say “I wish I had my camera.” Anyway, I got geeked out and with the help of a friend, came up with this…

Holding time constant, the probability that my next picture will be a quality photograph can be represented mathematically in the following equation:

Quality Photograph Probability (QPP) = AI x EAI x (1 – EQI)

Where:
AI = Artistic Index = (prior quality pictures / number of prior pictures taken)
EIA = Equipment Availability Index = (equipment availability / available opportunities)
EQI = Equipment Quality Index = (1 - percentage of shots lost due to equipment limitations)

As an example:

QIP = 10% prior pictures x 75% camera availability x (1 – 25% equipment loss) = 5.6 % probability

But suppose, I carried my camera only 25% of the time: QIP = 10% x 25% x (1-25%) = 1.9% probability

One might be surprised at such a low success ratio but really fine pictures are few and far between…circumstance, luck, skill, and of course, equipment availability.

Poetry in Motion

A poem from the bus (Poetry in Motion):

When I was terrible and young,
The world was ravishing and wild.
And randy as the day was long,
I loved it quietly and cold.

Now I am sober old and sane,
And the wild world is cool and tame;
Time freezes at my fingertip -
But now my love grows hot and quick.

- Thomas McGrath, “Song”