The Boston Globe, the flagship newspaper of New England, is bailing water like most municipal dailies these days – in part because the Land of the Bean and the Cod means nothing to the beancounters and codswallop accountants at The New York Times. But that hasn’t stopped the Globe’s writers and editors from giving us a good read. Posted yesterday on boston.com was a list of the 100 essential New England books. Not all of the works are set in New England; some are stories set elsewhere but written by natives or people who came to the region to study or work. Like all good lists, there’s plenty to argue about. A white whale takes the top spot (Herman Melville’s “Moby-Dick”) on the list, which makes way for ducklings (of Robert McCloskey fame) at No. 3, before concluding with a gorging caterpillar (Eric Carle’s “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”) at 100.
Rhode Island’s contributions are somewhat minimal. The Ocean State first appears at 14 in Edith Wharton’s “Ethan Frome,” the story about a poor New England farmer and a love triangle that develops, mentioned because Wharton spent much of her childhood in Newport. At 23 is “Breath, Eyes, Memory,” by Edwidge Danticat, a coming-of-age story about a woman who moves from Haiti to New York by an author who went to Brown.
The first truly Rhode Island tome comes in at 30 – Mike Stanton’s biography of former Providence Mayor and federal prisoner (now a Rhody radio blowhard) Buddy Cianci, “The Prince of Providence.” King Philip’s War is at the crux of Nantucket author Nathaniel Philbrick’s “Mayflower,” ranking 36, which explodes the myth of America’s origin story as a place where friendly American Indians and Colonists enjoyed being neighbors. At 40, Kingston’s own Jhumpa Lahiri earns a nod for “Unaccustomed Earth,” the short-story collection Globies chose to represent her impressive oeuvre. Providence-born Edwin O’Connor makes the list at 51 for “The Last Hurrah,” a look at old-style New England politics that made a legend out of Boston Mayor James Curley (who served in office while in prison). At 62, famed Providence horrormeister H.P. Lovecraft is noted for the best of his short stories, “The Call of Cthulhu.”
Of course there will be quibbles. John Updike, who lived in and wrote about Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, makes the grade (at 60) with “Couples.” Even though “The Witches of Eastwick,” about three middle-aged women in an R.I. community loosely based on the town of East Greenwich and the village of Wickford, was by far the more popular book.
Nathaniel Hawthorne gets props (at 19) for “The Scarlet Letter,” although no list of top New England books would be complete without his “The House of Seven Gables” or collections of sketches and short stories. Just as Lahiri’s short-story collection, “Interpreter of Maladies,” and novel, “The Namesake,” are also deserving. But you can understand why the editors stuck by the one book per author rule.
From a Rhody-centric perspective, it’s surprising that John Casey’s South County-based “Spartina” didn’t make the cut. Nor anything by David Macauley (“Mill,” “Castle,” “The Way Things Work”) or Chris Van Allsburg (“The Polar Express,” “The Widow’s Broom”).
What is your favorite story set in Rhode Island (or written by a Rhode Islander)?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Food for the Rhode
Had a conversation with a woman behind the counter at a Dunkin’ Donuts last week. It started with a question on how many bites you’re supposed to take to chew your food. She thought it was 36. I said I thought 30 was ballpark, and I’m a slow eater, but I don’t count my bites. She said she pretty much takes two bites and swallows. I said that sounds dangerous. She then said she does all of her eating while driving. As it happened, I was about to order a road lunch myself (sausage, egg and cheese on an everything bagel), after deciding that the line at the Italian bakery next door was too long to wait, even though I was in the mood for three strip pizza middles.
“Those are hard to eat while driving,” she said.
I agreed. The olive oil and tomato sauce make it difficult to keep the strips from slipping off the wax paper.
“You should’ve seen me back when I drove a stick,” I said.
“I eat a bowl of cereal while driving to work every morning,” she said.
I wondered how that was humanly possible.
“I keep the bowl in my lap and scoop it wicked fast at stop lights,” she said.
“I’ve seen people shaving while driving,” I said.
“I keep all of my makeup in the front seat,” she said. “Once I’ve eaten the cereal, I put on the makeup.”
“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever tried to eat while driving,” I asked.
“Jell-O,” she said without hesitation. “It’s almost impossible to keep it on the spoon and not get into an accident. Ice cream is a close second.”
“Cone or cup,” I asked.
“Either,” she said. “But usually I go cone.”
I gave her my own list of foods that have a high degree of difficulty in the category of eating while driving: Meatball grinders, Italian grinders, pretty much anything with sauce, oil, condiments or lots of parts.
“At least mine don’t require cutlery,” I said.
“An extra set of clothes in the car is key,” she said. “That’s a mistake you only make once.”
State lawmakers are considering a bill to prevent Rhode Islanders from using their cell phones while driving, which seems a sensible thing, since the talking or texting take priority, turning driving into a secondary activity. But perhaps the bill should be expanded to include grooming and dining as well. I’m not proud of my eat-on-the-road habits, but judging by the mass gorging on the daily commute, I’m not alone out there.
What foods have you tried to eat while driving?
Slice of life
A new GQ magazine article ranks Bob & Timmy’s Grilled Pizza in Providence fifth among “The 25 Best Pizzas You’ll Ever Eat.” National food writer Alan Richman chose their wood-grilled Spinach and Mushroom Pizza for gastronomic glory, while noting that Providence, the city that invented the grilled pizza, is one of the top pizza towns in North America. (He ranks Providence fifth, just behind New York, San Francisco, Detroit and Chicago, and before Los Angeles, New Haven, Philadelphia, Phoenix and Boston.)
“Those are hard to eat while driving,” she said.
I agreed. The olive oil and tomato sauce make it difficult to keep the strips from slipping off the wax paper.
“You should’ve seen me back when I drove a stick,” I said.
“I eat a bowl of cereal while driving to work every morning,” she said.
I wondered how that was humanly possible.
“I keep the bowl in my lap and scoop it wicked fast at stop lights,” she said.
“I’ve seen people shaving while driving,” I said.
“I keep all of my makeup in the front seat,” she said. “Once I’ve eaten the cereal, I put on the makeup.”
“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever tried to eat while driving,” I asked.
“Jell-O,” she said without hesitation. “It’s almost impossible to keep it on the spoon and not get into an accident. Ice cream is a close second.”
“Cone or cup,” I asked.
“Either,” she said. “But usually I go cone.”
I gave her my own list of foods that have a high degree of difficulty in the category of eating while driving: Meatball grinders, Italian grinders, pretty much anything with sauce, oil, condiments or lots of parts.
“At least mine don’t require cutlery,” I said.
“An extra set of clothes in the car is key,” she said. “That’s a mistake you only make once.”
State lawmakers are considering a bill to prevent Rhode Islanders from using their cell phones while driving, which seems a sensible thing, since the talking or texting take priority, turning driving into a secondary activity. But perhaps the bill should be expanded to include grooming and dining as well. I’m not proud of my eat-on-the-road habits, but judging by the mass gorging on the daily commute, I’m not alone out there.
What foods have you tried to eat while driving?
Slice of life
A new GQ magazine article ranks Bob & Timmy’s Grilled Pizza in Providence fifth among “The 25 Best Pizzas You’ll Ever Eat.” National food writer Alan Richman chose their wood-grilled Spinach and Mushroom Pizza for gastronomic glory, while noting that Providence, the city that invented the grilled pizza, is one of the top pizza towns in North America. (He ranks Providence fifth, just behind New York, San Francisco, Detroit and Chicago, and before Los Angeles, New Haven, Philadelphia, Phoenix and Boston.)
Monday, June 1, 2009
Century blog
A century is usually a pretty big deal, whether measured in life years, miles on a bike ride or runs produced by a batsman in a single inning of cricket. Today Blog on the Half Shell hits the century mark, and although that feels as if it should be some sort of milestone, I’m not even sure it’s have-a-beer worthy.
But that won’t stop me. There’s a cold Helles Blond Bock, the 27th offering in Harpoon’s Hundred Barrel Series, waiting for me in the fridge after work (to go along with Italian sausage, peppers and onions for the grill, slathered in spicy horseradish mustard). The 100 Barrel Series, the best use of a century yet devised by humankind, is an idea born in beer heaven, and even though I’ve missed a few stray brews here and there, I keep making the rounds at R.I. packies, hoping to find a bottle left behind. (Session 20: Glacier Harvest Wet Hop Beer, where are you?)
Benedict Arnold lives
Just when it looked as if Connecticut was embracing its New England roots, a new Quinnipiac University poll begs to differ. According to the poll, which has a margin of error of plus or minus 2.4 percentage points, the New York Yankees (42 percent) are Nutmeggers’ favorite baseball team, followed by the Boston Red Sox (38 percent) and New York Mets (9 percent). Last year the Sox beat the Yanks in the Constitution State poll for the first time since Quinnipiac – better known for its every-four-year presidential polls – began asking the question in 2001. As the New Yorkification of Connecticut continues, New Englanders can take heart that the Red Sox remain the favorite baseball team of the Canadian Maritimes (New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island), where only the Toronto Blue Jays come close in rooting interest.
Connecticut on ice
Not content to be Yankee turncoats, Connecticut is going after the national yardstick. A recent posting on the Web site thedailygreen reported that “an ice bridge holding the Connecticut-sized Wilkins Ice Shelf in place broke up.” Not for nothin’, but Wilkins can’t melt fast enough to get down to a more favorable Rhody-sized example of climate change (at which point, for the sake of global harmony and convenience, it should just stop melting). At least thedailygreen hasn’t completely forgotten the universal media mantra: “Whenever possible, measure in Rhode Islands.” The Larsen Ice Shelf, the report goes on to say, “has lost its entire northern portion, a chunk three times the size of Rhode Island, in the space of 23 years.”
Leading to this week’s question: What could New England get in a trade for Connecticut?
But that won’t stop me. There’s a cold Helles Blond Bock, the 27th offering in Harpoon’s Hundred Barrel Series, waiting for me in the fridge after work (to go along with Italian sausage, peppers and onions for the grill, slathered in spicy horseradish mustard). The 100 Barrel Series, the best use of a century yet devised by humankind, is an idea born in beer heaven, and even though I’ve missed a few stray brews here and there, I keep making the rounds at R.I. packies, hoping to find a bottle left behind. (Session 20: Glacier Harvest Wet Hop Beer, where are you?)
Benedict Arnold lives
Just when it looked as if Connecticut was embracing its New England roots, a new Quinnipiac University poll begs to differ. According to the poll, which has a margin of error of plus or minus 2.4 percentage points, the New York Yankees (42 percent) are Nutmeggers’ favorite baseball team, followed by the Boston Red Sox (38 percent) and New York Mets (9 percent). Last year the Sox beat the Yanks in the Constitution State poll for the first time since Quinnipiac – better known for its every-four-year presidential polls – began asking the question in 2001. As the New Yorkification of Connecticut continues, New Englanders can take heart that the Red Sox remain the favorite baseball team of the Canadian Maritimes (New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island), where only the Toronto Blue Jays come close in rooting interest.
Connecticut on ice
Not content to be Yankee turncoats, Connecticut is going after the national yardstick. A recent posting on the Web site thedailygreen reported that “an ice bridge holding the Connecticut-sized Wilkins Ice Shelf in place broke up.” Not for nothin’, but Wilkins can’t melt fast enough to get down to a more favorable Rhody-sized example of climate change (at which point, for the sake of global harmony and convenience, it should just stop melting). At least thedailygreen hasn’t completely forgotten the universal media mantra: “Whenever possible, measure in Rhode Islands.” The Larsen Ice Shelf, the report goes on to say, “has lost its entire northern portion, a chunk three times the size of Rhode Island, in the space of 23 years.”
Leading to this week’s question: What could New England get in a trade for Connecticut?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Various and sundry
Posting pre-Memorial Day because I’ll be off Monday, kayaking in one of Maine’s many coves, getting as far away from the delete button as possible.
Check your Rhody cred
In the May 18th edition of Time magazine, Joel Stein writes about new books that celebrate America’s culinary heritage. While his article doesn’t mention the Ocean State, the piece is illustrated by a map of America highlighting such regional eats as fried beaver tail (Montana), peanut soup (Virginia), lamb fries (Nebraska), hot guts (Texas), sopaipilla (New Mexico) hoppel poppel (Wisconsin), cherry bounce (Arkansas) and shrimp pilau (eastern Florida). New England is represented graphically by whoopie pie (Maine) and what the magazine describes as “JONNY CAKES” (Rhode Island). But there’s nothing remotely jonny or cake about the picture, which shows about a dozen mud-colored flapjacks drenched in maple syrup and decorated with what appear to be blueberries or cherries. Um, no. As every Rhode Islander knows, true jonnycakes are made from Rhode Island white flint corn, scooped onto the griddle and are rarely accompanied by anything more than a little butter. So, please, no bicycle tire-sized stacks. No slathering in syrup. And no fruit toppings. They’re jonnycakes, something you’ll find at a grange hall or church May breakfast, not at a roadside IHOP, Denny’s or Waffle House.
Moonstone memories
Memorial Day Weekend is the beginning of beach season in Rhode Island, when natives, transplants and out-of-staters alike flock to their favorite sandy haven. Despite its crowds, the former Narragansett Pier (now Narragansett Town Beach) has been my paradise of choice for the past three decades, mostly because of its surf, sea wall and scenery. Lately though, I’ve been thinking about how an entire generation has grown up without knowing about Moonstone, the South Kingstown beach now federally protected for the piping plover and least tern. Back in the day, Moonstone was one of the most popular nude beaches in the Northeast, drawing regulars from New England and beyond to hang out sans couture on its pristine stretch of sand. Moonstone celebrated the subversive, counterculture, rebellious spirit of Rhode Island and, given its location in laid-back South County, it became a magnet for followers of a mellower lifestyle, interrupted by the occasional exhibitionist. Moonstone was aptly named as well, given the two activities most commonly associated with the beach. As I recall, most of the nudists preferred to be called naturists (nudists can be very particular about semantics, as long as they don’t have to wear them). But Moonstone had its own vibe. The beach was always clean. The clothing was always optional. People were friendly. Privacy was respected. And a Moonstone sunburn was unlike any other, because you’ve never really had sunburn until you’ve had sunburn everywhere.
What is your Rhode Island beach of choice, and why?
Check your Rhody cred
In the May 18th edition of Time magazine, Joel Stein writes about new books that celebrate America’s culinary heritage. While his article doesn’t mention the Ocean State, the piece is illustrated by a map of America highlighting such regional eats as fried beaver tail (Montana), peanut soup (Virginia), lamb fries (Nebraska), hot guts (Texas), sopaipilla (New Mexico) hoppel poppel (Wisconsin), cherry bounce (Arkansas) and shrimp pilau (eastern Florida). New England is represented graphically by whoopie pie (Maine) and what the magazine describes as “JONNY CAKES” (Rhode Island). But there’s nothing remotely jonny or cake about the picture, which shows about a dozen mud-colored flapjacks drenched in maple syrup and decorated with what appear to be blueberries or cherries. Um, no. As every Rhode Islander knows, true jonnycakes are made from Rhode Island white flint corn, scooped onto the griddle and are rarely accompanied by anything more than a little butter. So, please, no bicycle tire-sized stacks. No slathering in syrup. And no fruit toppings. They’re jonnycakes, something you’ll find at a grange hall or church May breakfast, not at a roadside IHOP, Denny’s or Waffle House.
Moonstone memories
Memorial Day Weekend is the beginning of beach season in Rhode Island, when natives, transplants and out-of-staters alike flock to their favorite sandy haven. Despite its crowds, the former Narragansett Pier (now Narragansett Town Beach) has been my paradise of choice for the past three decades, mostly because of its surf, sea wall and scenery. Lately though, I’ve been thinking about how an entire generation has grown up without knowing about Moonstone, the South Kingstown beach now federally protected for the piping plover and least tern. Back in the day, Moonstone was one of the most popular nude beaches in the Northeast, drawing regulars from New England and beyond to hang out sans couture on its pristine stretch of sand. Moonstone celebrated the subversive, counterculture, rebellious spirit of Rhode Island and, given its location in laid-back South County, it became a magnet for followers of a mellower lifestyle, interrupted by the occasional exhibitionist. Moonstone was aptly named as well, given the two activities most commonly associated with the beach. As I recall, most of the nudists preferred to be called naturists (nudists can be very particular about semantics, as long as they don’t have to wear them). But Moonstone had its own vibe. The beach was always clean. The clothing was always optional. People were friendly. Privacy was respected. And a Moonstone sunburn was unlike any other, because you’ve never really had sunburn until you’ve had sunburn everywhere.
What is your Rhode Island beach of choice, and why?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Rhody Universe: Miss Rhode Island-isms
Kramer: If the U.S. was on the brink of a nuclear war and the only way the conflict could be averted was if you agreed to sleep with the enemy’s leader, what would you do?
Miss Rhode Island: Kramer, are these questions really that important?
Kramer: Yes!! If you stumble, if you hesitate, you can kiss the crown goodbye. Now if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, poise counts! Swimsuit, evening wear, talent, POISE!
- From “Seinfeld,” episode 87, “The Chaperone,” Sept. 12, 1994
Greta Van Susteren, Fox News Host: When you competed did the pageant people know that those photos were out there of you?
Miss Rhode Island (Alysha Castonguay): Yes. I contacted the Miss Rhode Island staff, and I submitted the photos because they were published, and I knew that somebody could get their hands on them. And to eliminate a catastrophe from happening. I sent them to the Miss Rhode Island staff, and they sent them to Miss Universe, and that left me with three weeks to prepare for Miss Rhode Island USA. I was waiting on a response from the Miss Universe organization on whether or not they cleared the pictures, and they did.
- Fox News, “On the Record” with Greta Van Susteren, May 11, 2009
Jerry: I’m going out with one of the Miss America contestants. You want to go?
Kramer: What state?
Jerry: Rhode Island.
Kramer: They’re never in contention.
- “Seinfeld”
Van Susteren: What do you do now? What is the job of Miss Rhode Island now that the Miss USA Pageant’s over? What’s your obligation.
Miss Rhode Island: We have appearances in Rhode Island. My state isn’t really as big as many of the other states. But I travel around Rhode Island doing different things, different events. There are a lot of parades coming up for Memorial Day. And I just did a charity event the other day. There’s a lot of different things that come up. You just make appearances, anything.
- “On the Record”
Jerry (while watching Miss Rhode Island sing): It’s like watching an animal get tortured.
- “Seinfeld”
Van Susteren: Alysha, thank you very much, and you do a great job representing Rhode Island, I suspect. I think you probably do a really good job. Thank you.
Miss Rhode Island: Thank you for having me. I appreciate it.
- “On the Record”
This week’s question: What question would you like to ask Miss Rhode Island?
Miss Rhode Island: Kramer, are these questions really that important?
Kramer: Yes!! If you stumble, if you hesitate, you can kiss the crown goodbye. Now if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, poise counts! Swimsuit, evening wear, talent, POISE!
- From “Seinfeld,” episode 87, “The Chaperone,” Sept. 12, 1994
Greta Van Susteren, Fox News Host: When you competed did the pageant people know that those photos were out there of you?
Miss Rhode Island (Alysha Castonguay): Yes. I contacted the Miss Rhode Island staff, and I submitted the photos because they were published, and I knew that somebody could get their hands on them. And to eliminate a catastrophe from happening. I sent them to the Miss Rhode Island staff, and they sent them to Miss Universe, and that left me with three weeks to prepare for Miss Rhode Island USA. I was waiting on a response from the Miss Universe organization on whether or not they cleared the pictures, and they did.
- Fox News, “On the Record” with Greta Van Susteren, May 11, 2009
Jerry: I’m going out with one of the Miss America contestants. You want to go?
Kramer: What state?
Jerry: Rhode Island.
Kramer: They’re never in contention.
- “Seinfeld”
Van Susteren: What do you do now? What is the job of Miss Rhode Island now that the Miss USA Pageant’s over? What’s your obligation.
Miss Rhode Island: We have appearances in Rhode Island. My state isn’t really as big as many of the other states. But I travel around Rhode Island doing different things, different events. There are a lot of parades coming up for Memorial Day. And I just did a charity event the other day. There’s a lot of different things that come up. You just make appearances, anything.
- “On the Record”
Jerry (while watching Miss Rhode Island sing): It’s like watching an animal get tortured.
- “Seinfeld”
Van Susteren: Alysha, thank you very much, and you do a great job representing Rhode Island, I suspect. I think you probably do a really good job. Thank you.
Miss Rhode Island: Thank you for having me. I appreciate it.
- “On the Record”
This week’s question: What question would you like to ask Miss Rhode Island?
Monday, May 11, 2009
The dirt on Rhody
Spent a foggy spring morning getting down and dirty with the Worm Ladies of Charlestown last Saturday. Tucked away on a side field at East Farm in Kingston, Nancy Warner and Lois Fulton preached the composting gospel of their red manure wiggler worms to beginning and advanced gardeners. Six years ago, the two former childhood friends, who grew up in the same neighborhood in the Bronx, bumped into each other again at the R.I. Spring Flower & Garden Show in Providence. After their meeting, Nancy gave Lois a bucket of worms and their friendship was rekindled. Now they raise red wiggler worms in bins in a 6,000-square-foot barn, selling them to gardeners throughout New England. Hearing them wax enthusiastically about creepy-crawlies, I was reminded of bicycling once through Hellhole Swamp, South Carolina, where I stopped at a country store advertising on a giant sign “WORMS AND COFFEE.” From that day forth, I’ve always opened the lid before taking a sip.
But that’s not the only dirt we’ve got on Rhode Island [soiler alert]. Rhody is one of 54 states and territories to contribute soil samples to the Smithsonian Institution for an exhibition titled “Dig It! The Secrets of Soil.” The designated soil samples – called monoliths – are part of a gallery of dirt representing all 50 states, along with D.C., the Caribbean and the Pacific Islands. In the Nov. 2008 issue of Spade and Auger, the official newsletter of the Society of Soil Scientists of Southern New England, it is revealed that the Rhode Island monolith is composed of South County earth, described as “Narragansett soil,” collected in Exeter. So somewhere there is a hole in Exeter.
Can’t forget the Dirt Palace, a female art collective based in Providence that creates funky window displays and group exhibitions. From my review of “The Secret Rooms of the Dirt Palace” at Hera Gallery (Sept. 2007):
And, finally, the DIRT Club is Rhode Island’s only metal detecting and treasure hunting club, better known as DiscoveRIn Rhode Island Treasures. The group holds its winter meetings at Cross’ Mills Library in Charlestown and devotes the rest of the year to looking for treasure. While the black sands of Block Island made detecting difficult, a recent outing produced a number of fishing weights and an antique silver ring. So far DIRT has come up empty in finding any of the pirate treasure supposedly buried in Rhode Island, including the legendary stash of Capt. Kidd, which was reportedly hidden variously on Block Island, Conanicut Island (Jamestown), Patience Island and Hog Island.
This week’s question: What’s the strangest thing you’ve found in (or on) the ground in Rhode Island?
But that’s not the only dirt we’ve got on Rhode Island [soiler alert]. Rhody is one of 54 states and territories to contribute soil samples to the Smithsonian Institution for an exhibition titled “Dig It! The Secrets of Soil.” The designated soil samples – called monoliths – are part of a gallery of dirt representing all 50 states, along with D.C., the Caribbean and the Pacific Islands. In the Nov. 2008 issue of Spade and Auger, the official newsletter of the Society of Soil Scientists of Southern New England, it is revealed that the Rhode Island monolith is composed of South County earth, described as “Narragansett soil,” collected in Exeter. So somewhere there is a hole in Exeter.
Can’t forget the Dirt Palace, a female art collective based in Providence that creates funky window displays and group exhibitions. From my review of “The Secret Rooms of the Dirt Palace” at Hera Gallery (Sept. 2007):
The carnival quality to the exhibition almost disguises one of the running themes – the subversion of female symbols and notions of femininity and domesticity. Toward this end, works are made using fabrics and yarn. The colors pink and red predominate. Mirrors are everywhere, as are conical shapes and triangles. There’s even a cookbook.
One tiny drawing shows two kittens clawing one another under the heading “Catfight.” A series of three black, vibrating pods shaped like breasts comprise Pierce’s “Maidens #2.” Goldberg’s “Secret Vanity” is a make-up send-up, a mixed-media beautification station of colored wigs and hairstyles accompanied by the advice to “Glom on the globs, pile on the pancake, trim your bangs, file your fangs.” Torsone’s twisted archetype, “The Secret Delivery Room Where We Give Birth to Kittens,” is a laugh-out-loud installation featuring a woman in gold (think the first victim in the James Bond movie, “Goldfinger”), wearing shades and a headband, legs open, giving birth to a litter of kittens on a spinning wheel. The deconstructed spinning wheel, an ancient icon of domesticity prominent in fairy tales, is given a surreal spin here. Gronner’s animal constructions convey a sense of folk tradition, echoing the art of indigenous people, while showing a modern flair. Two bear-like figures, “Secret Guardians of the Palace, stand upright on patrol. One has pink paws and wears a fox scalp on his forehead. The other’s white chest is adorned in medals made from clothing pins and washers. Her “Greeter,” a buff-colored camel’s head, is a parody of the moose-and-deer’s heads that project from the walls of hunters' households. It carries a colorful flag in its mouth, showing a rabbit in a triangular design with floral touches, a scene reminiscent of banners hanging from the contratas of Siena. Kent’s “Consumption Cavity” (made from paint, wire, fabric, wood, air, food, paper and garbage) turns an interactive toy into a carnival meditation on wasting time and matter. It’s merely part of an organic blob of a show in which everything is art, even the walk-out-the-door, “Please Take a Gift” gift basket, constructed by Zornova, offering a collection of – what else? – Gummy Worms.
And, finally, the DIRT Club is Rhode Island’s only metal detecting and treasure hunting club, better known as DiscoveRIn Rhode Island Treasures. The group holds its winter meetings at Cross’ Mills Library in Charlestown and devotes the rest of the year to looking for treasure. While the black sands of Block Island made detecting difficult, a recent outing produced a number of fishing weights and an antique silver ring. So far DIRT has come up empty in finding any of the pirate treasure supposedly buried in Rhode Island, including the legendary stash of Capt. Kidd, which was reportedly hidden variously on Block Island, Conanicut Island (Jamestown), Patience Island and Hog Island.
This week’s question: What’s the strangest thing you’ve found in (or on) the ground in Rhode Island?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Requiem for a Lost Day
I feel as if I should be out quahogging or calculating the precise length of the Rhode Island coastline with a 444-square-mile tape measure. Or competing in an all-you-can-eat gaggers-till-you-gag eating contest. Or joining Awful-Awful-aholics Anonymous.
Instead, like most Rhode Islanders, I’m slogging through work on a typical too-much-to-do Monday. Not that the work is physically taxing. Just a matter of putting the Arts & Living section to bed, writing a magazine piece on Rhode Island beaches and typing whatever comes into my head on this blog. But that’s not the point. We shouldn’t be working today. It’s Rhode Island Independence Day. At the very least, we should be doing something independently Rhode Island.
Like collecting starfish from a tide pool. Getting drunk on coffee milk. Fortifying our border with Connecticut.
I mentioned this last week but it bears repeating: They know what they’re doing in Massachusetts. Patriots Day is a terrific holiday, a celebration of Bay State and New England culture. You get the world’s best marathon, the only baseball game in the majors that begins before noon, and a bunch of folks in Halloween costumes shooting at each other on Lexington Green. More importantly, if you live in Massachusetts, you get the day off.
Now, to Rhode Island. Where we celebrate our independence from British tyranny with a yawn. Where the Independent Man stands proudly on the State House, covered in pigeon guano. Where The Independent is published every Thursday. (Shameless plug alert, one sentence too late.)
Oh, I’m sure that somebody is reading a proclamation somewhere. That’s the State House idea of fun. Toss out a bunch of “whereases” and “wherefores,” light a candle on a cupcake and call it a night. As I wrote last year in a column kind-of, sort-of on this same topic, every state should have its day. Give Texas an Alamo Day, Tennessee a Volunteer Day and tell Connecticut fine, go ahead, have a nice Nutmeg Day.
Rhode Island needs a day. It also needs a name for its day because, let’s face it, Rhode Island Independence Day ... not so much. It’s clunky, confusing, boring, has too many words and makes a lousy acronym (RIID). So this week’s question: What should be the new name of Rhode Island Independence Day?
Instead, like most Rhode Islanders, I’m slogging through work on a typical too-much-to-do Monday. Not that the work is physically taxing. Just a matter of putting the Arts & Living section to bed, writing a magazine piece on Rhode Island beaches and typing whatever comes into my head on this blog. But that’s not the point. We shouldn’t be working today. It’s Rhode Island Independence Day. At the very least, we should be doing something independently Rhode Island.
Like collecting starfish from a tide pool. Getting drunk on coffee milk. Fortifying our border with Connecticut.
I mentioned this last week but it bears repeating: They know what they’re doing in Massachusetts. Patriots Day is a terrific holiday, a celebration of Bay State and New England culture. You get the world’s best marathon, the only baseball game in the majors that begins before noon, and a bunch of folks in Halloween costumes shooting at each other on Lexington Green. More importantly, if you live in Massachusetts, you get the day off.
Now, to Rhode Island. Where we celebrate our independence from British tyranny with a yawn. Where the Independent Man stands proudly on the State House, covered in pigeon guano. Where The Independent is published every Thursday. (Shameless plug alert, one sentence too late.)
Oh, I’m sure that somebody is reading a proclamation somewhere. That’s the State House idea of fun. Toss out a bunch of “whereases” and “wherefores,” light a candle on a cupcake and call it a night. As I wrote last year in a column kind-of, sort-of on this same topic, every state should have its day. Give Texas an Alamo Day, Tennessee a Volunteer Day and tell Connecticut fine, go ahead, have a nice Nutmeg Day.
Rhode Island needs a day. It also needs a name for its day because, let’s face it, Rhode Island Independence Day ... not so much. It’s clunky, confusing, boring, has too many words and makes a lousy acronym (RIID). So this week’s question: What should be the new name of Rhode Island Independence Day?
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