Fall arts and culture round-up: visual arts preview!

Armitage Heights Center for Contemporary Art: MySpace Facebook Guantanamo: New Work by Hanson Freeman Carney

Mishipeshu Institute of Art: Arbus /Frazetta (October 20, 2007 - March 3, 2008) .

Stanton Avenue Arts: Maeda Bedosky: New Paintings on Corporate Letterhead (November 3, 2007 - February 2, 2008) .

Hanley Contemporary: Mas Feces (November 7, 2007 - December 19, 2007).

5299 Space: Building Code Violations (October 12, 2007 - ongoing) (note: the 5299 Space remains closed for building code violations)

Little Wilmington Arts Center: New Botanical Watercolors by George Thorogood and the Destroyers (October 18, 2007 - January 24, 2008) [pictured above]; Cambridge x Dover x Chincoteague: Six New Delmarva Artists (November 11, 2007-January 3, 2008).

Baby Dolls Heads: New Baby Doll Head Collages by Suzanne S. Carmichael (November 14, 2007 - December 2, 2007).

Christmas Island must be retained, part one.

Indie-pop sensations -- and possibly soon-to-be-former Armitage Heights residents -- Christmas Island.

Well, I've been back in the neighborhood for about a week now following my experiences in Ireland and Dubai. It's been quite a journey. For the first few days back, I was having severe involuntary convulsions that resembled lay-ups, and I kept referring to Marisha as "Coach Red."

I'm feeling much better now, however, and it's time to get back to doing the work of this neighborhood.

There are a lot of very important issues coming up in the coming months -- land use policy in the Armitage Avenue corridor, the Zoning Appeal Commission's quarterly report on tax-funded mixed-use encounter pools, programmatic changes regarding the Committee on Zeppelin & Airship Policy, and community reinvestment in the Freemasonry District, but there is one issue facing our community that dwarves all of these for our area's future well-being, and that is indie-pop band Christmas Island's recent decision to relocate to Brooklyn.

I had my assistant Marisha draw up a chart in Excel this morning, and I think it's very instructive:



It's no coincidence that the year a neighborhood band got it's first 9.0+ rating on Pitchfork (Teenage Law Student's It's Hard To Figure What A German With An Enormous Moustache Does For A Living in 2003) was the same year that our local percent increase in real GDP growth rates were in the top quintile nationally for at least a decade. Christmas Island's last EP garnered a 7.8 rating. Is there any doubt the LP they are presently recording for Sub Pop Records will be at least a 9.0? And is there any doubt what economic factors will be positively affected? Good record reviews mean credibility, and in today's new econony, credibility is economic prosperity.

I am going to be proposing a plan to the city council in the next several weeks to make the case for keeping Christmas Island as permanent residents of our beautiful city. Stay tuned for the details!

A "shout out" for my fellow survivors of the illegal underground Boston Celtics Dubai hostage basketball league!

Dazed fellow hostage Mark Imbretson (as Larry Bird), moments after our rescue.

The twenty-two days I spent in Irish billionaire Tynan Tiarchnach's illegal underground Boston Celtics Dubai hostage basketball league were some of the most challenging of my life -- and some of the most rewarding. We were forced to play three games a day, refer to each other using only our illegal underground Boston Celtics Dubai hostage basketball league names, and wear Celtic uniforms whose shorts left nothing to the imagination -- and, where relevant, blonde wigs and mustaches. But despite that, the camaraderie I formed with my fellow hostages, and the great times we shared in winning the forced simulation of the 1984 NBA championship made it feel less like a simulation whose outcome was mapped out, but more like the result of real teamwork in action, a commitment to persevere, and a will to be winners! There were some times when I almost forgot we were hostages.

So here is a tribute to the men and woman that comprised our championship illegal underground Boston Celtics Dubai hostage basketball league team. They are all fine, healthy and on their way back home -- and they are some of the best men and woman I've ever had the pleasure of encountering.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Larry Bird equivalent:
Mark Imbertson, 19, student
New Brighton, MN
This kid was unbelievable! He had the biggest shoes to fill as "the hick from French Lick," but he was amazing out there on the boards. He definitely earned his extra rations! I hope the Golden Gophers management are paying attention, because this kid is on fire!

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Robert Parish equivalent:
Hanson Lenk, 39, optometrist
Schaumberg, IL
Hanson was a real trouper. What else can I say?

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Kevin McHale equivalent:
Bruce Hagen, 43, software engineer
Philadelphia, PA
Poor Bruce had been a hostage longer than all of us -- he was kidnapped by Tiarchnach's operatives on a vacation to Venice six months ago. He was in great shape, though, and was actually the one that managed to sneak out and alert the authorities. Good lay-up, too.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Dennis Johnson equivalent:
Patrick Cotrell, Ph.D., 35, professor of art history
Springfield, MO
Dr. Cotrell had the hardest time of all of us -- he didn't have any idea who Dennis Johnson was, and had only barely heard of Larry Bird, which infuriated our captors. Luckily, we were able to "clue him in" after lights-out without the guards knowing. Being a professor, he was a quick study!

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Cedric Maxwell equivalent:
Chuck Lurati, 53, city council member
Pittsfield, MA
Chuck is also a public servant! A representative of Pittsfield's Ward Seven, we bonded right away. In fact, we became a great two-person civic juggernaut on the boards. I'm looking forward to seeing him at the annual city government convention in Palm Springs this year.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Gerald Henderson equivalent:
Don Douglas, 30, pastry chef
Brampton, Ontario
Great hustle!

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Scott Wedman equivalent:
Senthilkumar Venkattasetty, 24, programmer
Palo Alto, CA
Also a vegetarian, just like the real Soctt Wedman!

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Quinn Buckner equivalent:
Adam Elliott, 20, student
Lansing, MI
Another "kid" that made us oldsters look bad out there! He always shared his rations with us.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage M.L. Carr equivalent:
Dae-Hyun Park, 22, graduate student
Seoul, South Korea
No slouch on free throws! The only non-English speaker among us, but he did a really passable M.L. impersonation.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Greg Kite equivalent:
Jessica Swallen, 22, barista
Austin, TX
Jessica was a great sport (she was forced to wear a mustache at all times to resemble Greg Kite), and not bad on free throws. It turns out that she was a big fan of the indie-rock band the October Revolutionists, who she was excited to learn are from Armitage Heights! I hope that my assistant Marisha and her can become friends on Facebook, because they have a lot of interests in common.

1984 Celtic Dubai hostage Carlos Clark equivalent:
Carlos Clark, 47, high school basketball coach
Naples, FL
Astonishingly, this is the same Carlos Clark that actually played for the Celtics in 1984 -- they managed to kidnap the real one! Carlos kept us sane with his tales of the 1984 Celtics. He should write a book about it!

I am back! And what a tale I have to tell!

Hello again, everyone!

I am writing you this message from the American consulate in Dubai, UAE, in a nice, cool, air-conditioned office overlooking the Persian Gulf. What a wild few weeks!

My apologies for causing anyone distress over my disappearance. I am safe now, but it was looking bad for a little while.

The truth about where I was is too strange to make up, but the gist of it is this: it turns out the U2-themed tour group that I used is very, very unscrupulous. I probably should have looked a little closer at their licensing. But basically, I was taken into a house I was told belonged to U2 bassist Larry Mullen, Jr. (it did not), administered powerful drugs, and shipped without my consent from Ireland all the way to Dubai. There, in an underground pleasure prison owned by a wealthy Dublin expatriate on an artificially-constructed Ireland-themed island, I was forced to impersonate Danny Ainge (left) in an all-hostage on-court re-enactment of the 1984 season of the Boston Celtics (that's the year they beat the Lakers in the NBA championship).

It's hard to believe, but it's true.

I couldn't believe my jump shot was still fairly decent, too -- I haven't played much ball since high school (you locals will remember that I was a backbencher for Wihinapa High's 1986 team, the one that lost in the southern regional playoffs to Mesquakie).

This went on for about two weeks -- the Celtics' 1984 season meticulously recreated at gunpoint by a gang of Irish-American roughnecks in the employ of a Dublin billionaire in an underground dungeon decorated to resemble the interior of Boston Garden, right down to the parquet floor. Finally, the man they had playing Kevin Hale, a software engineer from Philadelphia, escaped and alerted the authorities just a few days ago. In the middle of our forced re-enactment of Game 3 against the hostage faux-Lakers, the Dubai Police Force, in collaboration with the Irish Garda Síochána, private investigators hired by local venture capitalist and amateur zeppelin enthusiast Rockwell Katz, and Interpol agents, burst in through the skylights and had the entire operation shut down in minutes. Once they did, they joined us on the court for a little pick-up game -- hostage faux-Celtics, Gardas and private investigators vs. hostage faux-Lakers, Interpol agents and Dubai policemen!

Our captor was an Irish businessman and billionaire named Tynan Tiarchnach who owned a mansion on the Ireland island of the so-called "World" project in Dubai (right). It turns out he was wanted in Ireland for tax evasion. He will now be tried in Dubai for human trafficking, and then extradited to Ireland.

Despite all of the dangers -- I endured some serious sleep deprivation, minor abrasions and a torn hamstring from a shot I took up against hostage faux-James Worthy -- I had a truly wonderful time! Dubai is beautiful! The American consulate has been amazing, and there are many exciting business opportunities here that our community may want to explore in the future. Ireland, too, was marvelous, or at least up until the kidnapping. I would encourage everyone to be sure that if they take a U2-themed tour of Ireland or any other country, please use a travel group registered with either a legitimate travel agency or through U2 themselves.

I understand things were quite busy in my absence. with the whole spectacle of the Romney family debacle -- Mitt Romney is calling for my resignation for allowing myself to be kidnapped, which is ridiculous. My assistant Marisha also seems to be enduring some venom from certain quarters of the conservative blogosphere, which is unfortunate. I'll answer these charges when the time comes.

On a side note, Interpol also took the trouble to recover my all time career stats in the illegal underground Boston Celtics Dubai hostage basketball league, so please enjoy them below! I return to Armitage Heights on Saturday, and I will be so glad to be back, serving this fine community as your city councilman!

IMPORTANT UPDATE: An email from Sherman!

I received this email late last night from Sherman's Facebook page:


m--

i am on an island near dubai right now but safe and healthy, long story,
can't write much now will pass on word later glad to see you are holding
things down apologies for teh brevity

--s


That's all I know so far, but I'll be posting updates as we learn then. He's alive and well, thankfully, and apparently able to use Facebook.

Ted Norlander: "It's a lot like that episode of Thundercats."

An excerpt from a piece that award-winning memoirist and journalist Ted Norlander wrote for the Free Press this week. Of everything that's been written on Sherman's disappearance, I find it one of the most affecting. It shows yet again why Norlander is one of the most gifted writers of his generation, and even more, that this neighborhood has some of the most talented people in the world living in it. Sherman will be proud when he returns. - Marisha

Yo Sherm, where you at?

It is it not to my liking to have you missing in action for so long. It is not not to my not-liking, at the very least. Not-liking is a powerful and weird impulse. "Dig"? That's what the hippies would say. But these ain't friendly free-love 1967 hippies, no sir; the ones I'm talking about are the furious, the be-ruffled biker denim-pantsed motherfuckers from Altamont and Charlie "Ask Me About The Swastika On My Forehead" Manson. They want blood, and they want it now. When I ask if you "dig", that's the "dig" I'm talking about. Hippie fury, broseph, and that's no metaphor.

Do you remember that episode of Thundercats when Panthro gets lost in the Ro-Bear Berbil Village, and Lion-o and Jagra and Tygra can't find him anywhere, and they fear he has been kidnapped by Mumra and the Jackalmen? But really he just tripped over a rock or a something and he is merely unconscious and being tended to by the Ro-Bears? And there's a tearful reunion at the end when Jagra finds him, and all is right on New Earth again? It reminds me a lot of that. I hope this ending is similar to that ending, because that is what I want -- roll credits, created by Tobin Wolf, copyright 1987, a Lorimar-Telepictures Production, stay tuned for M.A.S.K. And then it's Zappetites for dinner. That is the ending I want.

I used to listen to a lot of Tesla, who were if not a seminal influence on me, than at least seminal-ish. The song lyric I had written all over my Lee jean jacket walking down the ochre-hued hallways of Kendall Park Junior High School was from the excellent "Heaven's Trail (There's No Way Out)," from their equally excellent and criminally underrated Mechanical Resonance, and they went a little something like this: "You know there's nothin' like the real world / To get me down. / Nothin' like the world outside / That turns me upside down / Makes me feel like I'm headin' down a one-way, dead-end street." Ha ha, right? Wrong, bucko. Aside from being an incredibly powerful Marxist critique (or like, whatever) worthy of Roland Barthes, that spring to mind to in this situation, and it might for those who don't even know who the hell Frank Hannon is. What the hell is wrong with me that an important person is missing, and all I can think of is to quote Tesla? All I can think about is Tesla? But Tesla is what is important. Sherman is wearing a Lee jacket covered with song lyrics, too. And he's on his way to find his way out. "Dig"?





This piece has also been excerpted in the New York Times Magazine, Esquire, and Spin. Ted Norlander is also the author of The Shah of Iran Keeps His Cool Side Cool: Essays On the Bloated-Out Carcass of Trans-American Culture In A Period I Do Not Actually Remember Much Of, 1979-1987; They Said Simon Le Bon Was Right and I Have the Stopwatch to Prove It: Seven-and-Three-Fifths Months in the Life of the American Post-Indie Underground; Sorry About the Disco Upstairs: New Critical Essays and Restaurant Placemat Puzzles For the Youth of America, and the recently re-issued Kill Them Again: The Awesome, Screaming Death of Discourse in the U.S.A. and Twelve or Thirteen Other New Half-Truths. His first novel, Hommina Hommina Hommina, will be published by Harper-Collins in early 2008.

Kimball F. Burin: "Sherman is probably looking for a teat to suckle on."

Legendary local novelist Kimball F. Burin in an interview with Walter Kirn in this week's New York Times Review of Books:

Kirn: The city councilman in your district, who you've written about ["Councilboy Moonface," in the December 2005 issue of Esquire], has been in the news recently, having disappeared in Ireland for a week while on vacation.

Burin: I don't see what the big deal is about this thing. I used to go missing for weeks all the time when I was a young man. Hell, I disappeared for five weeks in the god-damned deserts of Arizona or New Mexico or somewhere in 1956, and when I was finished, I just wandered back into my home in Kendall Park, and [third wife] Sarah was waiting for me, and that was that. Not only that, I managed to find time to write four novels about the whole god-damned experience [Tender Mercies, Christ In Tahoe, Here Comes the Evening, Never to Return].

Kirn: Yes, the Desert Quadrology. Those aren't necessarily...

Burin: Hell, I disappeared for a month in the Tarawa Atoll for three months -- I was living in a rusted-out Japanese water tower and killing god-damned howler monkeys with my bare hands so I could eat their brains. You know, the islanders thought that the brains had a special power, a sort of primitive atavistic magic, so I would rub the gray matter all over my face and go tearing through the jungle in my skivvies and scaring the hell out of the god-damned Krauts or lemurs or whoever. So my point is I don't know what the bally-hoo is about. Sherman is just another infantilized boy-man tied to his mother's apron strings, and probably wandering around Ireland looking for a teat to suckle. Maybe this will finally coerce him to grow a pair, if he isn't holed up with a commune of Irish hookers with a mothering festish, which he probably is. By the time I was his age, I'd already had three wives and killed nineteen men. What's he done, besides stain the marble floors in City Hall bright yellow with his boy-scented terror-piss?