“Blue, black, yellow, plaid, etc.”

A patron of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, or someone purporting to be a patron, wrote a letter of complaint about the orchestra’s decision to devote its 2021–2022 season to the work of Black composers.

An excerpt, preserving the errors in the original:

I feel you could and should structure your programing and events as ‘musicians’ and their contribution to the art,or a style not weather they are blue, black, yellow, plaid, etc.

I don’t take this letter at face value: I suspect that it’s the work of a provocateur. What interests me though is not the identity of the writer but the items in a series: “blue, black, yellow, plaid, etc.”

Why do white people so often bring colors not found in humankind into discussions of race? “I don’t care if you’re black, white, green, or purple,” &c. I think doing so serves two purposes. One, the catalog of colors loudly proclaims a lack of racism and shows just how much the white person means it: “You could be green for all I care,” any color, of course, being a deviation from the default setting white. At the same time, the catalog renders the realities of color and racism absurd — because there are no green or purple people. The catalog of colors thus urgently marks the white person’s distance from racism while simultaneously trivializing the reality of color — which in itself is a racist gesture.

I thought these thoughts on my own. But I am late to the game.

Related reading
The invocation of strangely colored people (Rachel Manija) : Stuff white people do: invoke strangely colored people (macon d) : You Don’t Care if Someone Is Black, White, Green, or Purple? You Should! (Katy Waldman)

[And what about all the seasons devoted to the work of white composers? The provocateur appears not to understand irony. “Black, white, green, or purple” appears to be a common series. I knew it before reading Katy Waldman’s essay.]

A Joe Biden notecard

My son Ben thought I would like this photograph of a notecard in Joe Biden’s hands. I do. It’s a markedly different notecard from one seen in the former guy’s hands.

Thanks, Ben.

Related reading
All OCA index card posts (Pinboard)

Mystery actor

[Click for a larger view.]

This guy’s in trouble. Just look at the beads of sweat on his forehead and temples. Can anyone help him out by at least letting him know the name of the actor playing his part?

Leave your best guess in the comments. I’ll drop a hint if one’s needed.

*

That was fast. The answer’s now in the comments.

More mystery actors (Collect them all!)
? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ? : ?

Astraios, music and film

A concert from Astraios Chamber Music, available through May 3: Music & Silent Film. A total delight, and probably the most artful COVID-era online production I’ve seen, right through to the closing credits.

Among the films shown: El hotel eléctrico (dir. Segundo de Chomón, 1908), with a score by Elaine Fine. Watch, listen, enjoy.

Will Shortz, enemy of free verse

Will Shortz, doing the Sunday Puzzle this morning on NPR, asked what an Olympic swimming pool and a poem have in common. The answer: meter. Shortz: “A poem usually has meter.”

Uh, no.

Will Shortz’s blend of smarty-pants certitude and cluelessness (no pun intended) irks me whenever it surfaces. As it did this morning.

See also “Cool jazz pioneer”, nepenthe, and NOLIKEY.

Today’s Newsday Saturday

Today’s Newsday  Saturday crossword, by Matthew Sewell, is themeless, but it verges on Stumper territory, or turf, or Sturf. Sturf’s up! Not as difficult as last week’s puzzle, but still plenty difficult, with many clues that lead in no one direction. Take 15-A, eleven letters, “Prepared to make contributions.” RAISEDAHAND? VOLUNTEERED? No. Or 20-A, eight letters, “Treatment in oils.” PORTRAIT? Uh-uh. It wasn’t until I hit 56-A, eleven letters, “Early workplace for Gershwin,” that I was able to get a section of the puzzle more or less done.

Some entries I especially liked:

1-A, eleven letters, “Latter-day quackery.” The reality-based community says “Thank you.”

6-D, three letters, “Setting for the Winnipeg Folk Festival.” One of several wonderful clues for very short answers.

9-D, five letters, “Actor whom Obama called ‘big-eared and level-headed.’” A nicely self-deprecating touch.

26-A, three letters, “Spreads threads.” See 6-D. An inspired clue.

36-D, five letters, “Rugged or ragged.” I just like the alliteration.

44-A, three letters, “Elf (per se or a prefix).” Huh? I thought this must have been a cryptic clue. I learned something.

54-D, four letters, “Changes visible wavelengths.” Defamiliarization at work.

62-A, eleven letters, “Walks, for example.” Where to? A highly indirect clue.

One clue I take issue with: 38-D, four letters, “‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ scheme.” No, that’s not the scheme. I will offer a minor spoiler: the scheme in question is a rhyme scheme. For “Twinkle, Twinkle,” it’s not AABB; it’s AABBAA. To say it’s AABB is like saying that the rhyme scheme of a Shakespearean sonnet is ABABCDCD. A better clue for AABB might be “Couplets.” Or perhaps “Rhyme lines.”

Thinking about the incomplete rhyme scheme makes me remember Ralph Kramden’s Social Security number: 105-36-22.

No other spoilers; the answers are in the comments.

*

An afterthought: for AABB and a children’s song, how about “‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ scheme”?

“Fully Vaccinated”

[Randall Munroe, xkcd, April 23, 2021. Click for a larger view.]

I like the aberrant literalism of today’s xkcd.

I also like being able to say that Elaine and I will be two weeks past our second dose of the Moderna vaccine in two weeks. Moderna: aka the Bodyslammer, the Sledge. The second shot has knocked me for several loops. I’d ask Elaine how she’s doing, but she’s asleep — see? After the vaccine’s side effects wear off, we should have ample time to practice our basic conversational skills before putting ourselves back into circulation.

Thanks to science and medicine and all those working therein, without which — I don’t want to think about it.

Related reading
All OCA xkcd posts (Pinboard)

[The mouseover text: “You still can’t walk into someone’s house without being invited!” “What? Oh, I see your confusion. No, this vaccine is for a bat VIRUS. I’m fine with doorways and garlic and stuff.” The alternative Moderna names are my coinages. They fit.]

Sardine-O-Rama

~ A recipe for sardine butter (The Berkshire Eagle).

~ Why everyone needs sardines in their larder (The Irish Times). With a recipe for sardinesca. Sardinesca sounds like a good reason to have sardines on hand — and to get yourself a larder. Our kitchen has only cabinets.

~ Popping Tops, a newsletter about tinned seafood, by Tim Marchman, seafood enthusiast. The first installment is about Bela-Olhão sardines. Now I know what I’m having for lunch today. I think Bela sardines are terrific.

Thanks to Matt Thomas for alerting me to Popping Tops. Matt’s newsletter is the Sunday New York Times Digest, “bringing the articles everyone’s talking about as well as hidden gems from America’s ‘paper of record’ to your inbox.” He always finds something I didn’t.

Small pleasures

In Two Weeks in Another Town (dir. Vincent Minnelli, 1962), a plane is ready to take off. John Andrus (Kirk Douglas) is lingering. A flight attendant calls from the airplane door: “Mr. Andrus, we must take off, or we’ll lose our clearance.”

And right then the message comes on the screen, as it very rarely does:

Buffering . . .

Leaving enough time for a last kiss.

[No. 9 in a series.]

Advice from Raymond Chandler

I like these sentences, from Raymond Chandler’s “Advice to a Secretary,” newly published in The Strand:

It is never stupid to ask questions. It is only stupid to guess at the answers and take a chance on being wrong.

Good advice for all.

A Star Tribune article has more about, and from, “Advice to a Secretary.”