Staff photo by Frederic S. and Marietta.J. Miller
please send finds to editor@heraldsparrow.com
Believe it or not
Back when you had the Significant Finds contest, I was definitely going to enter. I could have used the five hundred dollars, and I liked my odds. I tend to think I have a lot of original thoughts and observations, and an unique sense of humor. So I had plenty of ideas, plenty of time. I had the feeling there was this big pocket in my head, full of lots of hilarious things I’ve said and noticed, that I wasn’t even going to use, because now I was going to actually make an effort. I was going to keep an eye out, and find something really good. A sure thing.
But as time passed and the deadline got closer, I wasn’t really noticing anything good. I thought it might be a good idea to sort through some of that stuff I already had--the whole bunch of stuff in that pocket in my head, that forms basis of my conviction that I’m the sort of person I think I am. So I thought I’d consider some of that, after all, when I got around to it.
By the time I did get around to it, it was like when you’re maybe in a hurry and you try to reach in the pocket of your jeans, but your fingers go into that tight little useless pocket on the right hand side, behind the real pocket. That stupid little short-sheeted bed of a pocket. I couldn’t find my stuff. And then there was this other pocket that was deeper, but just had my regular stuff, my keys, my grocery list, things I need to remember, and that eighth grade school photo of me that came out okay that I still carry around in this pocket of my mind, to ward off the evil spirits of my reflection in the mirror.
The really hilarious things I think I often say turned out to be tangled up in particular situations that are too hard to explain, like last years Christmas lights, and a lot of the lights don’t work, and you think there’s a good string in there, but after you untangle them they’re all about half-dead, and you try to replace the little bulbs but it doesn’t work, and you realize you should’ve just bought new ones when they were on sale last week.
I couldn’t account for this certainty I felt, that I was interesting and witty. It was getting close to the deadline. I started to hate you. You and your stupid contest. Seriously, don’t you have anything better to do?
I guess I hit bottom. I had this Ripley’s Believe It Or Not DVD someone gave me, and one night I opened it up and watched it. I thought maybe I’d find something unusual, win your contest, take your money, and laugh about it. Maybe that doesn’t sound like a very good plan, but consider this; I was kind of drunk.
There was a guy riding a bike on top of a ledge more than a hundred feet high, and standing on the handlebars, wobbling like crazy, coming within fractions of an inch of certain death--even closer, I’m sure, if you want to do more complicated math, and account for the points of balance, the wind, and everything. After that there was a cat that ate at the table with a fork, and you could see the fork was rubber-banded to the cat’s paw. I thought if I was the guy riding the bike, I’d be pissed about the order of these sequences. I’ve heard rock-star stories about these arguments people had backstage, not wanting to follow each other, or not wanting to open for each other. But they left me confused--maybe it’s that cat that would be pissed about having to follow the bike guy. Anyway, I’m afraid of heights, so I would never be that guy, and don’t have any idea how he feels.
There were at least three stories, maybe four, involving the amazing phenomenon of women in revealing garb. Stewardesses wore bikinis on this one airline. Paintable clothing. Paintable clothing painted to look like real clothing, by an artist whose dream was to do a gallery show that people would remember, for at least two weeks, he said. Clothing made of glue-on jewelry. Yeah, so it was four stories, about things like that. And I chose to believe them all, no questions asked. I began to see this was not going to help me.
I’m in the recovery stage of your contest, which is a disease, properly understood. I’m putting myself back together. I have bad days, but on a good day I might notice several things in a row, make one interesting and amusing comment after another. And it’s no big deal. Who’s counting?
Triple A-Aaaron N.
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The Adventures of young Moby Dick
The story begins in 1841. Moby is brought up by a single mom, who is teaching him to breach--to jump to the surface and fall backward--when he is attacked by Ahab’s whaling boats. Moby’s mom jumps up to protect him, accidentally crushes Ahab’s leg (we don’t see it, but hear this, later) and sinks to the bottom of the sea, to die of invisible harpoon wounds.
A female narrator has something like a British accent.
Ishmael, a young orphan, joins a whaling ship, with the help of a seasoned whaler, Queequeg.
Moby meets a helpful sea-horse, Winnie. Moby feels pressured by the expectations of being a “great white whale.”
Ahab sings a song about Moby: Moby Dick O’ Moby Dick! I’m gonna get you and it’s going to be quick. Queequeg just wants to hunt whales, and is disgusted by Ahab’s hatred.
Moby and Winnie talk to a “star”-fish (apparently based on Mae West) who admits Moby needs to work on his image, because he has as much star appeal as a soggy snail. Moby says he can’t be someone he’s not, but feels he does have to prove himself. In a contest with another whale, Moby’s attempt to breach triggers traumatic memories. Moby needs to believe in himself. The three of them visit an analytical squid who says Moby needs to go back to where he first breached.
Ishmael falls in the sea, scaring Moby, who sings a song about being by himself. The helpful seahorse arranges for Moby and Ishmael to meet at an apparently undersea island, with air, and treasure. Reluctantly, they say Hi to each other, and work out their mutual prejudices.
Ishmael returns to the ship, and tries to entice Ahab to call off the hunt with a promise of treasure. Ahab refuses and throws Ishmael and Queequeg in the brig--but later has had them brought up and tied to the mast. The ship catches fire, and a team of breaching whales splash, and apparently drown, Ahab.
Ishmael becomes captain and with the treasure, they all sail off to have adventures.
Song about a new world. All the sea is your friend. staff, find by M. M.
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FLYING BABIES
History does not record that anyone ever said Stop it with the pictures of flying babies. What do you think you’re doing, with that? Or maybe history does record it, somewhere, maybe they did say that, who knows. But it looks like nobody listened.
staff
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The wad of the Unknown
Report: Plato believed that music was the highest form of art, because it doesn't represent anything other than what it is. I think he was wrong, but let's say he's right. Music doesn't represent anything. It isn't a fictional sort of art. Fine. Neither do these nasty anonymous wads. Neither are they.
There are few moral imperatives more clear and fundamental to civilization than to clean up and throw away your disgusting wipes. These wads testify to a world in which it's too late, the moment of truth has passed us by. They embody the fact that when the right thing for us to do is utterly clear, and relatively easy, very often, we won't. Possible title for wad sculpture. “Won't.”
No, this imperative was never a commandment, like Thou Shalt Not Kill. That's because it went without saying. Whether to kill someone can very often be a grey area, and, so, it needed to be said. Don't go there. But anyway, if you do, cleaning up the mess afterward is a timeless and absolute point of moral order. Yet here these little wads sit, on tables and countertops. Monuments to our persistent inhumanity. Our set-in moral stain. (We've tried scrubbing it out.) These works involve us, engage our participation, despite ourselves—we know we should throw them away, but we also feel Why should we? It wasn't our smear of snot or ooze, salmonella, or a germ of some undeserved sickness. And even if we do, we are just an individual, standing against the way of the world. Towering over us, paper wads are genuinely great. Though they are individually small and disposable, they're monumental in number, omnipresence, perpetual renewal. They fill our field of vision, and overwhelm us.
The little doorstop that just couldn’t anymore. Staff, Otter Creek, cabin 5
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WANTED
(Artist’s conception)
FIND: About once a month where I work someone comes in looking for a particular shade of red that doesn't seem to exist. This has been going on for about ten years. Sometimes they call it a red-red, or a fire-engine red, but matching the color of an actual fire-engine doesn't quite work. Nothing in the store, or in any book of color samples works. Nothing does. This find is that people keep looking for a kind of red that can't be found.
REPORT: I can only speculate about what this means. Red is a strange color, and I've noticed the amount of a red seems to change the impression it makes. Little scattered bits of red are friendly, go nicely with other reds, seem to almost automatically become any other kind of red that's nearby, out of sympathy. But a large area of red becomes tyrannical, a harsh and violent dictator, and clashes with anything but a red exactly like itself. Sometimes even with that.
Maybe a lot of red makes a mental impression that people want, but can't find in an example of a smaller quantity. Or the other way around, or something. Or maybe it connects to a psychological state, relating to a sense of self that has been lost, and red just doesn't look the same anymore. It may be remotely possible that there was in the recent past an actual shade of red that for some unknown reason has actually been lost, bled from the world, taken from us, and eventually we will all forget it. Someday people will no longer come in and ask about it. I don't know. But for now there seems to be this steady demand for a kind of red that has absolutely no existential import.
staff
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MIDDLE SCHOOL READING JOURNALS MONITORED
Find: In my reading log homework I compared the first week of school to a roller coaster ride, and at the end I wrote "I hope you enjoyed it too," to my teacher. When I got it back my teacher had answered it. She said she had.
Report: I guess they really do read those things.
J.T. Louisville
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Stopgap Bear policy
Find: I found this book on a shelf at the library. Outwitting Bears. Two hundred some pages. By Gary Brown, also the author of Safe Travel In Bear Country. I haven't read it yet.
Report: For now, avoid battle of wits with bears.
F.M.
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False Witness
Find: I was dreaming, and I had that feeling I was just dreaming, so I went around asking everyone if it was a dream, but they all said "No."
Report: When I woke up I got really mad. It was a dream. Damned liars.
R .J.
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Brand Name Saddens Shoppers
FIND: canned vegetables.
REPORT: We believe this may be the most pathetic
brand name in the world.
M.A. and J.T.
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Untitled
I’ve discovered that it’s hard to get down from a ladder after your pants have fallen around your ankles.
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Mountain Dew Invented
Find: Someone told me they’d met the man who invented Mountain Dew. I suppose I’ve always known that someone had to invent it. Or, not that they had to--not that they were forced to, by anyone, or by necessity. And yet they did, but I had never thought about the significance of that fact.
Presumably, he had to try different things, flavors, colors, ingredients, but at some point it clicked, eureka, this is it.
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"Thank G D it's Monday"
Find: I saw this spray-painted on a building.
Report: God isn't quite a four-letter word, why drop the O? Why not say "God" in an graffiti appreciation of a Monday? It might stand for god damn, but then, why "thank?" How else could a Monday be brought to us by the letters G and D?
Did the late Guy Davenport imagine this anonymous Monday, about which history will remember little? That's like some of his stories. Seems to make the most sense.
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Successful Drive-Through Order
Find: In a series of experiments I found that if you want some empanadas at Taco Bell, and you ask for a couple of caramel apple oompa loopas at the drive-through, you'll get them, no questions asked.
Report: My theory is, it's close enough.
D. B.
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Father Indicted On Two Counts
Find: I find it hard to get my students to use more concrete language. In an experiment I asked them for an emotion.
Anger.
Good. Now three nouns that might go with anger.
Dad.
All right. Another?
Mom.
One more?
Dad, again.
Report: It's not getting easier.
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Form and Function Question
Find: Antique armor breastplates have various styles of metal nipples on them. As if male nipples aren't useless enough, they also made artificial ones on battle armor.
Report: I found out they were used as buttons to attach shoulder straps. The straps weren't shown with the breastplates I saw.
Well okay, then.
But still.
El Jackman
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THE LOST NOT OF I COULD CARE LESS
Find: I was reading The Elements of Style because I never learned to write, and I stumbled upon an unsolved mystery of English usage.
"Care less. The dismissive "I couldn't care less" is often used with the shortened "not" mistakenly (and mysteriously) omitted: "I could care less." The error destroys the meaning of the sentence and is careless indeed."
Report: I think I've solved the mystery of the lost not, and it may also explain something about the Loch Ness monster.
While I was learning to write I was also looking in on an internet discussion that was turning nasty. There's a phrase or image about "munching popcorn" that people often post when forum discussions get combative. It means that one isn't interested in the debate, but is enjoying the show. They could care less.
And so I think "I couldn't care less" means one doesn't care, at all.
"I could care less" means one isn't quite finished not caring, in the way, after a meal, one may be satisfied, but still have a little room left for dessert. It means I don’t care, but please, continue.
Now I can't remember what this has to do with the Loch Ness monster. It seemed clear to me a minute ago.
Oh. It had to do with the kinds of stories that endure because we don't care enough to go to a lot of trouble, and settle the question, but still, we could care less.
Fred Miller, editor
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MAN ON THE MOON
Find: One night back in the VHS tape rental era I decided to see that Jim Carrey movie about the late comedian Andy Kaufman, but I wasn't sure if it was a mainly a comedy, or more of a drama. I looked around and found the box in the drama area. I was driving home with my movies on the passenger seat and the R.E.M. song Man On The Moon was going through my head--
If you believe
they put a man on the moon
man on the moon
--then I noticed the movie case said Man In The Moon, The.
Wait. Nobody believes they put a man in the moon. Do they? What could that even mean? I tried to replay the song lyric in my head, and I thought it clearly said ON, but I didn't really know the words. Now I wasn't sure if I was mentally altering it, unconsciously imitating singer Michael Stipes' voice, saying “on.”
The song said something about playing Twister, Risk, yeah yeah yeah yeah, Andy Kaufman, and Elvis.I didn't really know the rest. I had always thought it was a reference to the moon landing and how some people thought it was faked, but... the song didn't say in—did it? Was there some other sort of conspiracy theory or idea I hadn't heard of? Do some people think Elvis is buried on the moon? or in the moon, or something? Who? Or what? Why would anyone think they put a man in the moon? Why would they? Well, to get rid of someone, so they wouldn't be found, sure, but it's ridiculous.
Report: I went back to the video store. I just had the wrong movie, that's all. The Man in the Moon, 1991, is a beautiful coming of age story starring Reese Witherspoon in her first feature. She answered an open casting call in Nashville andwound up with the lead role, playing a 14 year old girl who falls in love. It was directed by Robert Mulligan, famous for directing To Kill a Mockingbird, and Summer of '42. Sam Waterston, the guy from that Law and Order show, is in it. 7.3 out of 10 stars.
I had picked up the wrong movie. The store guy looked up the movie to check if it was the Andy Kaufman thing with Jim Carrey, and we laughed about the mistake I'd made. The description of this other movie seemed so innocent, so all-American, and bittersweet, all the vague shadowy ideas I'd had, momentarily, about some other kind of conspiracy seemed even more ridiculous by contrast. Reese Witherspoon—is there a more open, wholesome face in film than that of the star of Legally Blonde? The director of To Kill a Mockingbird, of all things. It was such a simple a mistake, and then it was all so nice, you'd almost think it was specifically designed as a kind of wallpaper, to cover something up.
I turned the corner onto my street and saw the moon looming over my neighbors' houses, and that's when it hit me. Everything became clear.
A lot has happened since that night, and I can't prove any of it, but you have to believe me. It's all there, in the song, and the movies, Elvis, all the pieces, like a puzzle. You have to look for the signs, but it's all there.
Staff
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flycatcher strips revisited
FIND: When I was growing up people used to have lengths of filmy amber scrolls hanging in their houses, with flies and sometimes moths stuck to them.
REPORT: I eventually discovered that these were used to catch flies, and have been informed they were taken off the market because of a chemical or health concern. Oh. I had thought they were hung as decorations, and assumed people eventually quit buying them because flies and bugs always got stuck on them.
Sparrow staff
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More evidence that horror director John Carpenter was my babysitter
FIND: a magazine about horror movies by the young John Carpenter, which my mother still had, and recently sent to me.
REPORT: I could provide a photo, and other compelling circumstantial evidence, but since nothing of that sort ever satisfies critics of my claim (mainly this one guy, Eric) I am simply going to say it again, for the record.
John Carpenter was my babysitter.
Fred S. Miller
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Communal Crayon Box
FIND: a crayon box at an elementary school
REPORT: My theory is that it demonstrates the failures of communism.
E. Smith., Louisville, Ky
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Blurry Picture of a Rock
FIND: A rock.
REPORT: It's pretty cool.
Erin.S., Louisville, Ky
Staff photo, blurry, sorry Erin.
Please disregard any WANTED posters you may see for this rock. Erin says she found it in her dresser.
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Milk rings found under cover
FIND: I cleaned the vent cover at the bottom of the refrigerator and found this stuff underneath. There were six or more milk lid rings, but I threw some away before I thought about their significance. There's also a magnet from an italian alphabet set.
REPORT: The thing is, the trash is less than a foot away. To the left of the refrigerator door. On the open, unobstructed side, the way our door opens. So it's surprising that so many don't make it to the trash, and seem to get kicked under there. I don't drink milk because it's white and opaque, like paint, and that bothers me. But my sister doesn't drink it because she thinks it makes you lethargic, that it just isn't good for you. The whole dairy food group in health class was influenced by the leverage of food industries, she says.
When she first started going on about this, we kind of laughed about my sister, with her west coast health notions and conspiracy theories. We were sitting on the couch, laughing, wearily, wondering why we were so tired, and if we were coming down with something. Hand me another hunk of that cheese, we'd say, and laugh some more.
I think the milk rings I found under the refrigerator may lend some support to the lethargy theory, but it's anecdotal, there needs to be more study.
Fred S. Miller, Ed.
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Lassie Murder Plot
FIND: I found this Lassie movie at Family Dollar for a buck and I thought my little girl would like it.
REPORT: We watched it, and Lassie killed a guy.
Lassie belonged to this prospector, and his partner cheats him out of his gold, and he dies. There's all this other stuff, but at the end, the bad guy winds up on the edge of a cliff, about to fall off. I thought Lassie would save him, and he'd be sorry for what he did, give his gold to help these Indian people, something like that.
But she kind of nudges him over the side.
It said on the back of the box it was one of Lassie's darker movies.
I was going to take the dvd to work, lend it to a guy I was telling about it, but I forgot. It was a good thing I forgot, because the next day my daughter wanted to watch it again.
The second time I could see how it was premeditated. Lassie leads the guy to the cliff, gets him to use up his bullets, shooting at her. She had it all planned out.
Dennis L., Louisville
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Philosophy of Lincoln Logs
Find: A set of Lincoln Logs.
Report: It's like life.
It's what you make of it.
And it's probably a cabin.
Alex Schwinduck, Chi. IL
Mysterious Star
A long time ago on the news they said a star had been discovered evidently moving toward us and away from us at the same time; which could change everything we think we know about the universe.
I've never heard of it again, and never met anyone else who was watching the news that night.
Jon C., Louisville
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scholars discover crispy fish batter
Find: There's a cabin at Barren River where my dad took us on weekends. I'd have to get up at night to feed the fire, or go out and chop more wood, while the grown ups snored. It seemed to me I never really slept, but in the morning I'd feel okay. One day I heard yelling inside and ran in--expecting to see something pretty bad. I watched a lot of horror movies as a kid, and they didn't exactly frighten me, but I was firmly convinced we would all die horribly any day now, one way or another. Inside there was a cloud of flour and oil spattering on the gas stove.
I've heard this can cause explosions, like in flour mills. But it didn't work when they tried it on Mythbusters. I think they had it too airtight, in plastic. Not enough oxygen. A flour mill wouldn't be like that.
Dad and his buddies were jumping around in the cloud, smeared, dusted, slapping each other on the back, and blinking. They had discovered putting club soda in the fish batter.
Report: I know they didn't invent it, and lots of people put club soda or beer in batter, long before this. It wouldn't have been a big deal if they had just looked at a recipe.
They were very smart people, in other ways. They knew other languages and stuff. On fishing trips they talked about Goethe, and the Sapir-Wharf hypothesis--this was before Noam Chomsky went off on the universal syntax thing.
But I had never seen grown men so happy, so proud of themselves. It made growing up seem doable. I think that's more the significance, more than how club soda makes the fish batter crisp up.
F.M. Louisville, Ky
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snake-biting-tail extension cord
Find: In our showroom we have a lot of spot lighting that constantly gets moved around as things come and go, and we rearrange various handmade art and craft objects. Beneath and behind our displays there’s an improvised system of extension cords tucked and hidden wherever we can reach. Over time, as the displays incrementally shift and change. it gets to be a tangled infestation of cords that are no longer in very good, reachable places. Eventually we have to sort it out and start over. We were sorting it out, and found that one cord was plugged into another and another until it had snaked all around the room and plugged back into itself, doing nothing at all.
Report: One observation was that it was like the symbol of a snake biting its tail, which we looked up, and it’s called Ouroboros. It’s a symbol of infinity, or something devouring itself, and doesn’t seem to have any one clear origin or meaning.
It seemed to be a good metaphor for something. But we couldn’t think of what. Maybe it was a metaphor for itself. And then we realized it was a metaphor for something trying to be a metaphor for itself. How riding a bicycle is just like riding a bicycle. How the odds of being struck by lightning are about like the odds of being struck by lightning.
Note: The Herald Sparrow newspaper uses the extension cord as a symbol, but it's depicted unplugged. The following FAQ dreams, like Pinocchio, of being a real FAQ some day, if the question is ever frequently asked.
Q. If it’s supposed to be like a snake biting its tail, why is the extension cord shown unplugged?
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A. The extension cord is an important symbol to the Sparrow news staff, but we aren’t sure what it means, exactly, or what role it plays in our culture, beliefs, and traditions. Peace pipes are displayed disconnected in museums because they were only put together for ceremonies. We show our cord disconnected in case it’s something like that, out of respect for our beliefs and traditions, so we don’t offend ourselves.
C.S. And F.M.
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