Hardy Boys #1, The Tower Treasure: A New Perspective

On the Listening Scale Rated E.C.*

Matt Turner, cello.  Tad Neuhaus, guitar.  Joanna Dane, vocals.

*extremely challenging

Elaborate Bungle Room #2: Results

Thank you for coming out,

Even though it was pouring.

Thank you for filling The Fire

with your attention and conversation.

Thank you Ellen for working the door,

And Elyse for working so hard.

Thanks Ned and Deedee for all your help 

and for buying all the snacks.

Thank you for singing, Bob,

That beautiful ballad for Fran, your wife of 48 years.

Thanks for coming from as far as Peoria and Florida, 

and as close as right next door.

Thank you Matt and thank you Tad,

for playing the music you do,

And thank you all for your burning questions,

most especially, Lola.

And thank you Adam, for being the hippest guy in the room.

Unsolicited Advice #2: Participate.

Last Call.

Elaborate Bungle.

7 pm tonight.

@ The Fire, Appleton.

$7, cassette included.

Do you have a Burning Question?

Bring yours to the Elaborate Bungle's cassette release party

@

The Fire

Appleton, WI

Saturday, November 16, 7pm

(That's tomorrow folks!)

Correspondence

Thank you for your message.

I hope to hear from you again.  

I would love to read your stories.

And see your Skowhegan ring.

How true that those who expect so much, 

We are bound to disappoint.

Our passions are not theirs to have,

Our resolve our only hope.

Where in the Neighborhood?* November Edition

*Bring your answers to Elaborate Bungle's cassette release party

@

The Fire, 230 E. College Ave., Appleton,

Saturday, November 16th, 7pm.

Unsolicited Advice #1: Do the Assignment

What's the worst that can happen?

Something unexpected.

Found Poem #1*

*one of a series to be recited at Elaborate Bungle's cassette release party

Saturday, November 16th, 7pm

The Fire, 230 East College Ave.

Appleton

The Believer Interviews Elaborate Bungle as They Prepare for Their Highly Anticipated First Cassette Release

to purchase your very own cassette visit ickerrecords.com

or come to The Fire in Appleton, Wisconsin, Nov. 16th, 7pm*

*an intimate venue

Tomorrow: Repeat

Today, I will write something. It will be concise, but dense, a pill in prose. I don't know exactly what it will be, even after I'm finished writing it, because it won't be a story or a poem or a character sketch or a letter or an epistle or an anecdote. This is not by choice. I would much rather write something with an easy label, but easy labels have never been easy for me. I will spend about 30 minutes writing it and then I will spend hours, who knows how many, carving, grinding, scrapping, smoothing. When I am done, I will spend more time, who knows how long, reading it over and over, silent, aloud, pointing at each word, trying to decide if each is in its proper place, that nothing has escaped my attention, though usually something does. Then, when I am sufficiently sick of it, I will post it. One person will read it and find it repetitive - that some old thing she always writes. Another will read it and think, "I could do better." One will read it and not understand. Another will read it and think, "I feel exactly the same way!" Another will think, "How does she come up with this stuff?" And someone will conclude, "She certainly has a lot of time on her hands." Few will read it carefully. More will skim, looking for the twist, of which, there is none. Some will start to read it and not finish. One will read it and write a comment, but then delete it instead of posting it. One will even reread it, to make sure she properly understood. One will read it, searching for himself between the lines. If asked about it later, none who read it, including the author, will remember exactly what it said.  A great many will not read it at all. And tomorrow I will get up and do it all over again.

Mama Doesn't Like to Hear That Anything is Less Than Good

Ode to Biffy

Some may wonder what ever happened to Biffy.  She was here and then she was gone.  Biffy is like that, a chameleon, a snake, a viper, a cloud, a flower.  Biffy is all the things that worry us late at night and all the things that make us laugh in the daylight.  Biffy is simply Biffy, a conundrum, a quirk, a quagmire, a flirt.  She is Aunt Lynn's nemesis.  You never know where Biffy might turn up: at the grocery, at the library, at the bank, at the movies?!  And if you are so lucky to find her, sing to her an ode that begins, "Biffy, oh Biffy, where have you been?" and ends, "Biffy, oh Biffy, here you are!" and has some verses in the middle that each conclude with a "La, la, la!"  There is nothing Biffy likes more than being sung to in public, especially quiet places where singing of any sort (and admiring odes in particular) makes people very nervous. Biffy is as Biffy was and will forever be even if she is no longer Biffy and is someone else entirely.  Keep searching, my friend, and you will find that Biffy is exactly where you always knew but never could figure out who and why she always was.

Don't Miss Elaborate Bungle's First Cassette Release Celebration @ the Fire

*If you can't make it and still want to purchase a cassette, visit Icker Records @ ickerrecords.com

Bigsley and Bernadette: Obligations

Bernadette explained how the artist's mother 

is depending on him to convince her 

that her daughter isn't going crazy.

"Tell her I'm busy," replied Bigsley.

So Here's the Truth About the Real Work of an Artist

You will try a bunch of stuff and most of it is not going to work out.  And the stuff that does work out, most likely, no one is really going to notice, or even care.  And at first, that’s really discouraging, but then you learn to accept it because you love what you are doing and you care, so you keep going and you keep experimenting because what you love most is the discovery of  “What can I do with this?” and “How can I express this old idea in a new way?” and "What happens when I put that next to this?"  And sometimes, you get on a roll and you have this incredible momentum of thoughts and ideas and production and at that point, the most poisonous thing is the fantasies that rise, of being discovered, of being celebrated, of being known for your work.  Because inevitably, you get a call from your parents who tell you that your recent stuff has taken a turn for the worse and that they find it depressing and that they know you are losing your audience and that they are afraid that you are losing your mind and that they wish you would focus on one thing like those cute bird cartoons you used to do.  “Everyone liked those,” they remind you.  And even though you know they love you and want the best for you and even though you want them to be honest, right?, you can’t help but feel wronged, right here in the same spot where you feel the unfettered waves of energy pouring forth when you are the most inspired, the spot that now calcifies into a hard little pit because you are afraid they might be right.  Maybe you are a fool.  Maybe you are losing your mind.  Maybe everyone is shaking their heads and saying, “What a pity that she isn’t doing those cute bird cartoons anymore.”  Maybe you even cry.  But then you remember that your father-in-law told you, just the other night how much he likes what you are doing and to keep it up, so you send him an email thanking him for being appreciative, and “by the way, thanks for the wild turkey,” the one he cut from a poster and sent to the kids, the one he was worried was lost in the mail.  “It got here,” you write, “but strangely without a postmark, instead, across the two stamps. . . .” And just then, as you are about to describe how across the two stamps, American flags both, one saying “Liberty,” the other “Freedom,” that across those, someone had scribbled a black wavy line as if saying, “No.” And because you practice everyday, your mind is agile and makes a connection to the turkey your father-in-law sent in the envelope with those stamps and that little hard pit you felt when your parents told you that you are not living up to their expectations, dissolves into a vision, a collage, a commentary on the state of America, with the wild turkey speaking those stamps and all around a ridiculous array of products that we are constantly being force fed Free Shipping 50% Off Entertaining Essentials and you grab a scissors and dig through the recycling for those catalogs – the incessant stream of advertising that lands in your mailbox everyday and makes you mad, but today makes you glad because you are going to take them and rearrange them into a piece of art that you feel passionate about, that you care about because that is the real work of an artist, not becoming famous, not winning awards, not pleasing your parents or anyone else for that matter, except you.  So, always remember, keep practicing and listen to your first cousin when he says, “While it’s kind of deflating because they’re our parents and we really want them to like and support what we do, we can’t let that stop us from doing what we’re passionate about.  So I say, keep posting existentialist poems juxtaposed with severed rabbit heads, dammit!”

My First Garden, Episode 8: "What Vegetables?"

Sunday

Was it something I ate, 

Or something someone said? 

Why do I suddenly feel so strange? 

Maybe if I were more focused, 

I wouldn't feel so divided. 

Life used to be simple, 

before there were so many distractions.

I can't help but be nostalgic.  

Less is more, the saying goes, 

but what is there when there's nothing?

Five Dollar Organ Blues

tad neuhaus and joanna dane, magic genie organ

Meditation #18

It's Raining

tad neuhaus, guitar; joanna dane, ukelele, vocals

Mid-Western Housewife Feels Cool When Twenty-Something Friend Claims She's the Coolest Forty-Year-Old She Knows

Even though Janet Kay Delmar is pushing 43, she reported feeling "very cool" when her friend Emma Kelly Mickelson called out, "You're the coolest forty-year-olds I know!" before leaving Delmar's party on Friday. "I think there was only guy there who was actually 40," Delmar said.  "But still, we all took it as a high compliment."

Delmar, along with her friends, Timmy Norman and Marcus Tuscany (both older than Delmar) showcased their band at the party.  "We've been playing together for a couple of years now, so we wanted to play for our friends," Delmar explained.  Norman also reported feeling good about being called cool by someone so young.  "Sometimes you wonder if kids like that even know you exist." Tuscany though expressed some dismay that Mickelson didn't realize he is closer to fifty.  "If she knew how old we really are, would she still think we are cool?"

When asked if Mickelson was the coolest twenty-something Delmar knows, Delmar admitted she doesn't know that many twenty-somethings.  "We mostly hang out with people who have kids, and most twenty-year-olds aren't too interested in that.  So yeah, I'd have to say she is because she is willing to hang out with us."

Norman, Delmar, and Tuscany being cool.