Sean Conley, MD

“It came off that we were trying to hide something, which wasn’t necessarily true”: Sean Conley, MD.

Necessarily ?

MD = Medical Dissembler.

“Poor Moon”

I think I’d like it even if it weren’t a cover of a Canned Heat tune.


[The Green Child, “Poor Moon” (Alan Wilson).]

For the fanatics among us: Canned Heat released “Poor Moon” on July 15, 1969, one day before the Apollo 11 launch. The song borrows from Garfield Akers’s “Dough Roller Blues” (1930) and Charlie Patton’s “Jesus Is a Dying Bed Maker” (1930). See also Blind Willie Johnson’s “Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed” (1928).

The Green Child (Mikey Young and Raven Mahon) appear to take their name from a 1924 Herbert Read novel. So there’s almost a century’s worth of culture behind this cover.

Here’s the 1969 Canned Heat recording. As you can hear, the trippiness of The Green Child’s version is built into the original.

Harrison FTW

I caught a half-hour of the Lindsey Graham–Jamie Harrison debate tonight on C-SPAN. Harrison is an impressive candidate — a plainspoken truthteller. I can easily imagine him running for president in the not-distant future.

“Self-dealing malevolence”

“Self-dealing malevolence”: on CNN a few minutes ago, Walter Shaub, senior advisor to Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, tossed off this charged, memorable phrase.

Shaub was characterizing Donald Trump*’s decision to hold a fundraising event knowing that he had been exposed to someone who had tested positive for COVID-19 and possibly having already tested positive himself. As Shaub added, the phrase applies to the Trump* presidency in its entirety.

Trump* really, literally, equals death.

[And if the “someone,” Hope Hicks, caught it from Trump, even more so. Note: “Not present at the [Amy Coney] Barrett events [last Saturday] was Ms. Hicks.”]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday Saturday Stumper, by Greg Johnson, made me remember a line from Thomas Campion: “I care not for these ladies.” I cared not for this puzzle, which I found exceedingly difficult and unjoyous. I kept going back to square one, literally, and did not finish, having erred with 1-A, seven letters, “Had principally.” The correct answer there (which I just didn’t see) would have helped me see the answer for 1-D, eight letters, “Bloke harvesting beetroot.” Huh? And speaking of “Huh?”: how about 6-D, five letters, “It’s planted in home gardens.” Huh?

Some clue-and-answer pairs I especially liked:

30-A, eight letters, “Unquestioning.” Looking up the answer (which I knew had to be right) helped me understand a line in the 1931 Dracula that has always baffled me. I thought the writers had made a mistake. But no.

32-A, nine letters, “Tourist trap?” I know a different variety. When I finally saw the answer, I was happy.

33-D, seven letters, “Surveyor's angular measure.” I thought the answer must be the name of a tool, something like a sextant, and I had it, but no, it’s not a tool. Life-long learning!

56-D, four letters, “Moving day instruction.” Terse, terse.

65-A, five letters, “Broken-off branches.” Clever.

A pair of answers that almost pair: 27-A, six letters, “Pat alternative” and 54-A, three letters, “First Family member, 50 years ago.” Weird.

And a clue to which I take exception: 36-A, seven letters, “Tablet smaller than a smartphone.” No.

No spoilers: answers, explanations, and a rebuttal are in the comments.

Sour apples

Elaine and I have long been fans of a nearby family-owned orchard. Its abundance has been the stuff blog posts are made of. But no more, not for us. When we drove to the orchard yesterday, we found to our surprise that every customer in the small shed that holds apples and produce was masked — that’s hardly the norm in downstate Illinois. The only people not wearing masks: the two people working. We stood around for a minute, thought about what to do, and walked out. Elaine left a comment on the orchard’s Facebook page. It was soon removed. She then posted about our experience to her Facebook readers, and I mailed the following note to the orchard today:

Dear friends,

For many years my wife and I have enjoyed apples, peaches, and everything else we’ve brought home from your orchard. Yesterday when we came by, we were surprised to see that everyone was wearing a mask — everyone but the two people working. And so we left. We cannot risk spending time at a business whose employees do not wear masks.

It puzzles me that you’ve deleted Elaine’s comment from your Facebook page. If you’re comfortable with a no-masks policy, why not let people know that no one needs to wear a mask at the orchard? If you’re not comfortable, then please, change your business practices. We’d be happy to come back if you do.

The icing on this crummy cake: one of the people working at the orchard is a retired science teacher. She always wears a mask. But she apparently has little influence on everyone else.

[“Such stuff / As dreams are made on”: William Shakespeare. “The stuff dreams are made of”: Sam Spade.]

A modern “rec” room

[From an advertisement for Motorola televisions. Life, July 27, 1962. Click for a much larger room.]

Thinking about rumpus rooms made me think about rec rooms. I found this room via Google Books. The description from the advertisement:

Here’s architect Leon Deller’s design of a modern “rec” room — using prestressed concrete walls and ceiling and large aquarium windows that look directly into the backyard swimming pool. Motorola’s portable TV features 4-function remote control tuning. The manufacturer’s list price is $199.95, optional with dealers. Slightly higher in some areas.

Notice that even in the world of the future, people play ping-pong. But all eyes should be on the television: “The clean lines of the remote control portable look right at home.” Yes, in 1962 the television was a piece of furniture that had to blend with the rest of a room. The other set in this ad, a set made for the living room, has “French Provincial styling.”

Part of the ad is lost in the gutter between pages, so I’ve done my best to have the chair cast a coherent shadow. Please imagine the white space as a concrete column keeping the house from caving in.

This ad was one in a series of Motorola ads with artist renderings of futuristic abodes. The artist bringing these architectural dreams to life: Charles Schridde. If you want to read more: Charles Schridde and the mid-century ad men of Motorola (Eichler Network).

[But we cannot go to the rec room, for the rec room will bring us no peace.]

Or not

Just woke up to new news.

To paraphrase William Carlos Williams: We cannot go to the city for the city will bring us no peace. Not as long as there’s the country to go back to.

[After “Raleigh Was Right.” The city: Naked City, the television series, our household’s escape from the news last night.]

Back to Naked City

Elaine and I removed ourselves from reality for an hour to watch a couple of episodes of Naked City. “Let’s see what’s come out while we weren’t paying attention,” said I. So we switched on CNN and began checking our phones. In our hour away, the news had come out that Hope Hicks has tested positive for COVID-19. And a former assistant to Melania Trump had released a tape of a Melania Trump conversation:

“I’m working like a — my ass off at Christmas stuff that, you know, who gives a fuck about Christmas stuff and decoration? But I need to do it, right? Correct? Okay, and then I do it, and I say that I’m working on Christmas planning for the Christmas, and they say, ‘Ooh, what about the children, that they were separated?’ Give me a fucking break.”

Back to Naked City.

*

10:24 p.m.: Samantha Vinograd, on Twitter: “Trump’s irresponsibility has put himself, his family, his staff, the functioning of our government, and millions of Americans at unnecessary risk.”

[My transcription.]

Verne Edquist (1931–2020)

He was Glenn Gould’s piano tuner. The New York Times has an obituary. Better: from the Glenn Gould Foundation, an appreciation by the writer Katie Hafner. An excerpt:

Over the years Verne collected dozens of tools. Some he bought from old-timers, and others he adapted from other trades. He had surgical forceps and dental explorers, which made dandy hooks, opticians’ screwdrivers for adjusting harpsichords, barber scissors for trimming felt, and shoemaker pegs for plugging holes. From the welding trade he took soapstone, a dry lubricant for the buckskin that can squeak in the action of older pianos.

There’s a filmed interview too.