Hey there hi there. Ho. It’s another Bleat-free day, for all the reasons you’ve come to know and expect. Just finished the latest video, which is just a little potpourri of the day. Tomorrow should be fun, for reasons I’ll reveal. Also will be hell.
This is becoming unreal. I don’t even know what day it is. The idea that I could get up and not go to the Fair is outside the realm of contemplation; I just get up and go. Check the news on the iPhone while bouncing along on the bus. I’ve had more bus travels this week than the last ten years put together, and it’s interesting – even though the crowd is different from the usual crew – we’re all going to a Fun Place or coming from same – you can see how the experience would wear on you. Today’s bus had some LOUD PEOPLE who had no regard for the rest of the passengers, and carried on LOUD CONVERSATION from one end of the bus to the other. When they got off, all the males in the party – hesitate to call them men – hawked and spit. But I did see a fellow offer his seat to a lady, which was good. And she declined – someone else in her party was coming along with two babies. She wasn’t kidding. Dad was struggling with a tandem stroller, trying to get it on board. When the bus reached its destination, the youths all pushed past him.
Surreal favorite Fair moment: the news station loudspeakers playing Larry Craig at high volume. I AM NOT GAY. It made me think of a news report I heard the other day; they’d interviewed a Typical Idahoian, and he said “well, word at the coffee shop is, no one’s surprised.” Which makes you think folks in the smallest towns had seen a furtive gesture under the stall divider. Guess Lar’s in town. Sorry, sir, I’ll pass, and if you don’t mind my pancakes are getting’ cold. Thanks for the community center and all.
Last night I allowed myself a ration of TV, and finished “Deadwood.” As seems to be the case with HBO dramas, the penultimate episode was the better one, but it still ended with a punch – and if they don’t do the movies, the final scene is sufficient. It’s better than the Sopranos, no question; there’s hardly a scene or line of dialogue that doesn’t impress. The struggle between Tony and Phil seems blunt and crude compared to the tussle of wills between Al Swearengen and George Hearst – and it’s sweetened by the knowledge that Hearst was a real man. Yes, that Hearst. The father of Citizen Kane. It’s certainly not for everyone; the profanity is wall to wall, but the dialogue is so marvelously ornate you wonder if the profanity exists to give your brain a moment when it need not process the filigreed ornation flowing in your ears. It has a good guy who embodies every frontier archetype without hinting at cliché; it has the best black-hat ever in Al Swearengen. I miss it already.
For that matter, “The Wire” is better than the Sopranos. “Rome” was better than the Sopranos. I love the Sopranos, but I don’t miss it anymore. Of all the shows that didn’t have to last six seasons, that was the one. Dang.
Some Fair Photos: archaic farm machinery.
Minneapolis Moline logo:
A sign. This pig could be a little less . . . scrotumy.
And that’s it for today. New video up; blogging to follow. Day Eight of the Fair en route. And that’s the least of tomorrow.