In a world a-Twitter with texting and sound bites, the epic poet has given way to the sloganeering pitchman. Writers are distilling works to their fortune-cookie essence, from memoirs to novels, sermons to plays. While this is a new-school phenomenon, the practice goes back at least as far as Hemingway, who once declared his greatest story to be the untitled six-word fiction: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
Today there are Web sites dedicated to producing six-word literature and poetry. Many are quite good, especially Smith Magazine’s memoirs (life stories in six words), a collection of which was published under the title “Not Quite What I Was Planning.” There are advantages to hearing a six-word sermon – as anyone who has sat on hard pews enduring 60,000 words on one of the "Thou Shalt Nots" might attest. Although such a restriction would have forced Jonathan Edwards to alter the title of perhaps the most famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” (an exhausting eight words), to something pithier – “Sinners: Be Good or Be Smote.”
Consider how much more time the old Anglo-Saxon storytellers would have had for building mead halls if they didn’t have to spend days memorizing kennings and inventing alliteration to recite epics such as “Beowulf.” They could’ve just blurted, “Kill the monster. Make momma mad,” and moved onto the next flagon.
Shakespeare, who might’ve actually made something of his life if he didn’t have to write so many sonnets and soliloquies, could have summed up “Hamlet” with “I guess it’s not to be.”
One day all writers will jump on the six-word bandwagon. We’ll have six-word travels (“Stonehenge: Giant rocks and gift shop.”), six-word news (“Cheney leaves bunker, now on Fox.”), even six-word obituaries, although it’s hard to imagine topping Saturday Night Live’s first-season catchphrase: “Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.”
Criticism also has six-word potential. My six-word review of the six-word phenomenon? “Less is more, more or less.”
And can a six-word blog be far behind? I’ve already got the first post: “Everything is measured in Rhode Islands.”
This week’s question takes its cue from those old back-to-school assignments of yore: In six words, what did you do on your summer vacation?
Wishing everyone reading this earlier-than-usual post a cheery Labor Day weekend, even those of you who do not labor…
Friday, September 4, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Vacation blog
Just a skipping stone across Nantucket Sound from Hyannis Port, where Senator Edward Kennedy spent his final hours at the family compound, lies Martha’s Vineyard. The island is one link in the chain of a geological feature that shares a natural history with Cape Cod (as well as Nantucket, Block Island and Long Island), forming “The Outer Lands” of the eastern United States. It also shares a cultural history with all of southern New England, where Ted was more than a headline-maker, sea-lover and Red Sox fan. He was a neighbor.
Last Wednesday I was on vacation on Martha’s Vineyard when Ted Kennedy died. I had arrived between storms, enduring the drip of Bill while escaping the drench of Danny. Here, the harbormasters, watching mariners from other climes scramble to leave their moorings, cynically derided Bill as a “television hurricane” – in other words, a storm that is more hype and hot air than hurricane – even before it arrived. Bill finally showed up sloppily on a Saturday night while friends and I attended a Martin Sexton concert at Nectar’s (the long-ago Hot Tin Roof).
The rest of the week was mostly sunny and breezy and perfect, and the communal feeling took on a Before Ted/After Ted quality, as giddy exuberance gave way to reflective appreciation. We beached and swam at Lambert’s Cove (despite the pink jellyfish warnings) and Long Point (despite seals in the breakers, acting as shark-bait). We biked to Menemsha and Chappaquiddick (despite broken spokes, narrow shoulders and not enough grease on the chains). We took the On Time ferry, which is always on time, because it runs on island time, contingent on tides and moon phases, rendering clocks useless. We pub-crawled in Oak Bluffs and Edgartown, sampling local beers, sushi, crab cakes and calamari. We jogged in a road race along East Chop one morning and watched fireworks and wandered through the gingerbread cottages in Oak Bluffs another night. We shopped for souvenirs at Alley’s General Store in Chilmark and books for the beach at Bunch of Grapes in Vineyard Haven. We happened upon the presidential motorcade twice, once just after the First Family landed while we were coming off a 3-mile dirt road that winds to wild surf and another time on the way back from a road trip to the clay cliffs and clothing-optional beaches of Aquinnah. We feasted on mussels, oysters and lobsters at the Home Port on a misty Menemsha evening, watching state troopers on motorbikes return to their dockside quarters, still on Obama patrol. Most nights we listened to cicadas, slapped mosquitoes, watched lightning bugs and streaking stars, smelled both the ocean and skunks in the pines and ate farmstand corn and tomatoes with our grilled meals.
Later in the week, there were other scenes:
One day after Kennedy’s death, in the harbor at Vineyard Haven, along the beach next to the ferry dock where rows of wooden dinghies are roped together, someone had scratched words out of driftwood in the wet sand: “BYE, TED.”
Buoys painted red, white and blue bobbed in Nantucket Sound, bearing the message: “R.I.P. TED.”
And along Route 195 West just beyond Fall River and the Braga Bridge (and throughout the highways of Massachusetts), LED monitors deleted their road construction warnings to announce: “THANKS TED. FROM THE PEOPLE OF MASS.”
To some, especially outside of New England, Senator Kennedy was a lightning rod for liberalism, cronyism and scandal. Once when I was at a gym in the Florida Keys, I began talking with a Chicago fireman, who said, “You’re from Ted Kennedy country? How can you stand it?” I barked something back about the Daley family, but there’s no sense in arguing without context, so eventually we dropped the politics and picked up the barbells. Last week’s retrospective gave people a fuller understanding of Ted’s whole story, from the flaws, failures and foibles to his countless triumphs. In the end, Ted was many things, but most of all he was a Boston guy. A Cape Cod guy. A New Englander who cared about this place as much as we do.
While leaving the parking lot at the New Bedford ferry, I spoke to the toll-taker. “It’s a shame about Ted,” she said, “but you knew it was coming when he didn’t make it to Eunice’s funeral. At least he had one last good sail, and he’s with Eunice and his brothers now.”
This week’s question: How will you remember Ted Kennedy?
Last Wednesday I was on vacation on Martha’s Vineyard when Ted Kennedy died. I had arrived between storms, enduring the drip of Bill while escaping the drench of Danny. Here, the harbormasters, watching mariners from other climes scramble to leave their moorings, cynically derided Bill as a “television hurricane” – in other words, a storm that is more hype and hot air than hurricane – even before it arrived. Bill finally showed up sloppily on a Saturday night while friends and I attended a Martin Sexton concert at Nectar’s (the long-ago Hot Tin Roof).
The rest of the week was mostly sunny and breezy and perfect, and the communal feeling took on a Before Ted/After Ted quality, as giddy exuberance gave way to reflective appreciation. We beached and swam at Lambert’s Cove (despite the pink jellyfish warnings) and Long Point (despite seals in the breakers, acting as shark-bait). We biked to Menemsha and Chappaquiddick (despite broken spokes, narrow shoulders and not enough grease on the chains). We took the On Time ferry, which is always on time, because it runs on island time, contingent on tides and moon phases, rendering clocks useless. We pub-crawled in Oak Bluffs and Edgartown, sampling local beers, sushi, crab cakes and calamari. We jogged in a road race along East Chop one morning and watched fireworks and wandered through the gingerbread cottages in Oak Bluffs another night. We shopped for souvenirs at Alley’s General Store in Chilmark and books for the beach at Bunch of Grapes in Vineyard Haven. We happened upon the presidential motorcade twice, once just after the First Family landed while we were coming off a 3-mile dirt road that winds to wild surf and another time on the way back from a road trip to the clay cliffs and clothing-optional beaches of Aquinnah. We feasted on mussels, oysters and lobsters at the Home Port on a misty Menemsha evening, watching state troopers on motorbikes return to their dockside quarters, still on Obama patrol. Most nights we listened to cicadas, slapped mosquitoes, watched lightning bugs and streaking stars, smelled both the ocean and skunks in the pines and ate farmstand corn and tomatoes with our grilled meals.
Later in the week, there were other scenes:
One day after Kennedy’s death, in the harbor at Vineyard Haven, along the beach next to the ferry dock where rows of wooden dinghies are roped together, someone had scratched words out of driftwood in the wet sand: “BYE, TED.”
Buoys painted red, white and blue bobbed in Nantucket Sound, bearing the message: “R.I.P. TED.”
And along Route 195 West just beyond Fall River and the Braga Bridge (and throughout the highways of Massachusetts), LED monitors deleted their road construction warnings to announce: “THANKS TED. FROM THE PEOPLE OF MASS.”
To some, especially outside of New England, Senator Kennedy was a lightning rod for liberalism, cronyism and scandal. Once when I was at a gym in the Florida Keys, I began talking with a Chicago fireman, who said, “You’re from Ted Kennedy country? How can you stand it?” I barked something back about the Daley family, but there’s no sense in arguing without context, so eventually we dropped the politics and picked up the barbells. Last week’s retrospective gave people a fuller understanding of Ted’s whole story, from the flaws, failures and foibles to his countless triumphs. In the end, Ted was many things, but most of all he was a Boston guy. A Cape Cod guy. A New Englander who cared about this place as much as we do.
While leaving the parking lot at the New Bedford ferry, I spoke to the toll-taker. “It’s a shame about Ted,” she said, “but you knew it was coming when he didn’t make it to Eunice’s funeral. At least he had one last good sail, and he’s with Eunice and his brothers now.”
This week’s question: How will you remember Ted Kennedy?
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Kitsch List
The Russian Sub Museum in Providence was always an odd detour, and now that its star attraction, a Soviet-era K-77 submarine, is destined for an afterlife as recycled scrap metal, the state’s best Boris and Natasha road trip is just another Cold War memory. Too bad, since reports of two modern Russian subs skulking about off the East Coast have been all over the papers and blogs in recent weeks. Maybe one of them wants to be the next Rhode Island museum.
The sub that sank is also a significant blow to the local kitsch list. Before it bottomed out, it fit perfectly into Rhody’s Land of Misfit Toys, a collection that includes:
The Big Blue Bug, a giant cobalt-colored termite hanging over I-95 in Providence, the mascot of New England Pest Control and a party animal typically decorated during holidays;
The Quonset Seabee, wearing a white Navy hat and holding a wrench and a Tommy gun, the mascot of the famed Fighting Seabees, who were stationed in Davisville;
The abandoned Milk Bottle Building in Manville, which may or may not even be there anymore, since I can’t remember the last time I found myself in Manville;
Assorted human-sized, artistically rendered Mr. Potato Heads that sprouted up around the state a few years back. Invented by Hasbro of Pawtucket, Mr. Potato Head earned sidekick star status in the “Toy Story” movies, but jumped the shark as a goofy Rhode Island tourism campaign in 2000.
Some kitsch seems to stick around forever, like the Roof Dragon on the Providence Children’s Museum. Others drop by for a few weeks of bad taste then disappear, like the giant inflatable purple gorilla in a bathing suit I saw hanging from a car dealership while I drove down Route 2 earlier this summer. Cling Kong was somehow supposed to entice me to drop in and buy a car, I guess, but it seems to me they might have done better with a giant, inflatable Fay Wray.
In any case, it’s never a good thing to lose a Russian nuclear sub, whether it belonged here or not. More importantly, Rhode Islanders have to step up and preserve what’s left of our kitsch, lest we be considered a place defined entirely by good taste and a sense of style and aesthetic. Please. Who wants that?
This week’s question: What belongs on the Rhode Island kitsch list?
Also, Half Shell will be on holiday next week, testing the waters off Martha’s Vineyard and bottom feeding for blog fodder. Until next time, keep it raw...
The sub that sank is also a significant blow to the local kitsch list. Before it bottomed out, it fit perfectly into Rhody’s Land of Misfit Toys, a collection that includes:
The Big Blue Bug, a giant cobalt-colored termite hanging over I-95 in Providence, the mascot of New England Pest Control and a party animal typically decorated during holidays;
The Quonset Seabee, wearing a white Navy hat and holding a wrench and a Tommy gun, the mascot of the famed Fighting Seabees, who were stationed in Davisville;
The abandoned Milk Bottle Building in Manville, which may or may not even be there anymore, since I can’t remember the last time I found myself in Manville;
Assorted human-sized, artistically rendered Mr. Potato Heads that sprouted up around the state a few years back. Invented by Hasbro of Pawtucket, Mr. Potato Head earned sidekick star status in the “Toy Story” movies, but jumped the shark as a goofy Rhode Island tourism campaign in 2000.
Some kitsch seems to stick around forever, like the Roof Dragon on the Providence Children’s Museum. Others drop by for a few weeks of bad taste then disappear, like the giant inflatable purple gorilla in a bathing suit I saw hanging from a car dealership while I drove down Route 2 earlier this summer. Cling Kong was somehow supposed to entice me to drop in and buy a car, I guess, but it seems to me they might have done better with a giant, inflatable Fay Wray.
In any case, it’s never a good thing to lose a Russian nuclear sub, whether it belonged here or not. More importantly, Rhode Islanders have to step up and preserve what’s left of our kitsch, lest we be considered a place defined entirely by good taste and a sense of style and aesthetic. Please. Who wants that?
This week’s question: What belongs on the Rhode Island kitsch list?
Also, Half Shell will be on holiday next week, testing the waters off Martha’s Vineyard and bottom feeding for blog fodder. Until next time, keep it raw...
Monday, August 10, 2009
Shafted by Shatner
“No more blah, blah, blah!”
- William Shatner as Capt. James T. Kirk in the “Star Trek” episode, “Miri”
Forget the “Wrath of Kahn.” William Shatner earned the wrath of Rhode Island last week when he canceled an appearance at the last minute, causing R.I. International Film Festival organizers to scramble and give back $5000 in advance tickets. Shatner was scheduled to appear at the Columbus Theater last Thursday to show his film, “William Shatner’s Gonzo Ballet” and accept the first Nathanael Greene Humanitarian Award from RIIFF, along with a President’s Medal from Rhode Island College. Instead, he threw one of his red-shirted ensigns to the wolves. Film festival organizers found out by an e-mail sent by Shatner’s minion (“personal handler”) a few days before the event that The Man Who Would Be Kirk would not be coming because of “contractual obligations for an upcoming film project.” Of course, since Rhode Islanders are more cynical than your average Klingon, nobody’s buying that excuse.
Top Ten Reasons Why Shatner Shafted Rhode Island
10. Just now found out that Rhode Island wasn’t one of the Greek Isles.
9. Sudden upsurge in popularity as Sarah Palin interpretive poet spurred him to cancel all current obligations to concentrate solely on his art.
8. Heard that he would have to endure red carpet interview from the old R.I. public access “Star Trek” guys.
7. Insulted when state police wanted no part of “T.J. Hooker” marathon.
6. Discovered that, in the early days of the federation, Rhode Island was a haven for Romulans.
5. Balked when RIIFF organizers refused to change name of Nathanael Greene Humanitarian Award to Denny Crane Humanitarian Award.
4. Furious that Rhode Island hotel wouldn’t give him Priceline discount.
3. Upset after learning that Shatner versions of “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” would not be played at Providence WaterFire.
2. Heard rumor that RIIFF wanted Sulu first.
1. Didn’t realize that there was going to be so much blah, blah, blah.
What is your best conspiracy theory for why William Shatner dissed Rhode Island?
Monday, August 3, 2009
Roger that
Three years ago vandals broke off and stole six fingers - all five on the left hand and the thumb on the right - from the statue of Roger Williams in Providence’s Prospect Terrace Park. The fingers of Rhody’s founder were never found, and poor Williams has been left to stand there stoically through the seasons, suffering the indignity of lopped hands and the occasional graffiti makeover. The most recent defacing, or de-fingering, was the third time in the last two decades. Reluctantly, the Providence Parks Department plans to replace the missing digits by the end of the year, but the continuing saga of the First Rhode Islander demonstrates that, more than 325 years after his death, Williams remains a bizarre and controversial figure.
Long before religious toleration and the separation of church and state became fundamental principles of American democracy, Williams espoused these ideas and was considered a radical religious nut by many of his contemporaries. He left London for Boston after a disagreement with his church in England, but found Boston no more hospitable to his views. The Salem church wanted Williams but a Boston faction prevented his move there, so he ended up in the Plymouth Colony for two years. But the Plymouth congregation soon tired of his tolerant views of American Indians, so he went back to Salem, where he assisted a Pastor Skelton, who died suddenly, leaving Williams in charge. Once again, he got into trouble and was brought before the Salem court for his “diverse, new and dangerous opinions” that questioned church orthodoxy, and was formally exiled from Massachusetts. The Bay State was so steamed at Williams, its leaders didn’t repeal his banishment until 1936, 253 years after his death, when, presumably, it was safe to let him back in.
Coincidentally, that very year his remains were placed within a bronze container and put into the base of a monument where his disfigured statue stands today at Prospect Terrace Park. When he died, Williams had been buried on his own property but he was moved in the 19th century to the tomb of a descendent in the North Burial Ground. Before reburial, his remains were discovered under an apple tree but only a small amount of actual bone was found. The roots of the tree had grown into the place where his skull rested and traced the shape of his decomposing bones, growing roughly into his skeleton. Known as the “Williams Root,” it is part of the collection of the R.I. Historical Society, mounted on a board in a basement of the John Brown House Museum.
Several businesses in Rhode Island are named after him – everything from Roger Williams Hospital in Providence and Roger Williams University in Bristol to Roger Williams Auto Repair in Providence and Roger Williams Sleep Lab in Johnston. His legacy also includes those missing fingers. If they keep disappearing at this rate, soon there will be enough to distribute to every Rhode Island driver. Given the workout that solo fingers get on the roads of Rhody, perhaps it's only fitting to call this time-honored salute, “giving the Roger.” Another idea: Hold Rhode Island’s version of the Oscars, Tonys, Emmys. Call them the Rogers. Hand out bronze Roger fingers on a base of Cumberlandite to deserving Rhode Islanders. The ceremony would take place at - where else? - the Venus de Milo.
This week’s question: Where would be the most likely place to look for the statue of Roger Williams’ missing fingers?
Long before religious toleration and the separation of church and state became fundamental principles of American democracy, Williams espoused these ideas and was considered a radical religious nut by many of his contemporaries. He left London for Boston after a disagreement with his church in England, but found Boston no more hospitable to his views. The Salem church wanted Williams but a Boston faction prevented his move there, so he ended up in the Plymouth Colony for two years. But the Plymouth congregation soon tired of his tolerant views of American Indians, so he went back to Salem, where he assisted a Pastor Skelton, who died suddenly, leaving Williams in charge. Once again, he got into trouble and was brought before the Salem court for his “diverse, new and dangerous opinions” that questioned church orthodoxy, and was formally exiled from Massachusetts. The Bay State was so steamed at Williams, its leaders didn’t repeal his banishment until 1936, 253 years after his death, when, presumably, it was safe to let him back in.
Coincidentally, that very year his remains were placed within a bronze container and put into the base of a monument where his disfigured statue stands today at Prospect Terrace Park. When he died, Williams had been buried on his own property but he was moved in the 19th century to the tomb of a descendent in the North Burial Ground. Before reburial, his remains were discovered under an apple tree but only a small amount of actual bone was found. The roots of the tree had grown into the place where his skull rested and traced the shape of his decomposing bones, growing roughly into his skeleton. Known as the “Williams Root,” it is part of the collection of the R.I. Historical Society, mounted on a board in a basement of the John Brown House Museum.
Several businesses in Rhode Island are named after him – everything from Roger Williams Hospital in Providence and Roger Williams University in Bristol to Roger Williams Auto Repair in Providence and Roger Williams Sleep Lab in Johnston. His legacy also includes those missing fingers. If they keep disappearing at this rate, soon there will be enough to distribute to every Rhode Island driver. Given the workout that solo fingers get on the roads of Rhody, perhaps it's only fitting to call this time-honored salute, “giving the Roger.” Another idea: Hold Rhode Island’s version of the Oscars, Tonys, Emmys. Call them the Rogers. Hand out bronze Roger fingers on a base of Cumberlandite to deserving Rhode Islanders. The ceremony would take place at - where else? - the Venus de Milo.
This week’s question: Where would be the most likely place to look for the statue of Roger Williams’ missing fingers?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Emmy for a 'Guy'?
[Blogger's note: Apologies for the post-Monday post, but all Half Shell staff spent the past three days in the mountains of New Hampshire, listening to the screeching of barred owls into the wee hours. And now back to our regularly scheduled blog...]
News that the set-in-Rhode Island cartoon “Family Guy” earned an Emmy nomination for best comedy series has created a firestorm of angst on the airwaves and in the blogosphere. Often vulgar and tasteless, “Family Guy” has offended just about everybody since it was created in 1999 by R.I. School of Design graduate Seth MacFarlane, who based his fictional town of Quahog, R.I. on Cranston. If you haven’t seen it, think “All in the Family” meets “The Flintstones.”
Despite a high gross factor (something that seems indelibly connected to the Rhody funny bone – see Farrelly Brothers), the show can also be outrageously clever, funny and satirical. Twice canceled, “Family Guy” was the first show to be resurrected based on DVD sales. Some TV watchers consider it a cheap knockoff of “The Simpsons” (including, apparently, the creators of “The Simpsons,” who took a shot at “Family Guy” by depicting Peter Griffin as a “clone” of Homer Simpson in a Halloween special). The creators of “South Park” aren’t fans, either. They devoted a two-part episode (“Cartoon Wars”) to savaging “Family Guy,” depicting the show’s writers as manatees who create episodes by pushing rubber “idea balls” inscribed with random topics into a bin. MacFarlane responded to his critics by saying they’re right.
Rhode Islanders, of course, watch the show differently than people who live anywhere else, looking for the local references and inside jokes that make this cartoon essential viewing on a par with “Caught in Providence.” Several times in most episodes, the Providence skyline is visible in the distance. Kids go to Buddy Cianci Junior High School and James Woods Regional High School. Happy-Go-Lucky toys, Inc., where Peter works on an assembly line checking for unsafe toys, is a stand-in for Hasbro in Pawtucket. The Web site www.quahog.org routinely updates its “Family Guy” concordance, connecting the Rhody dots on the show. My favorite local culture moment: In “The Cleveland-Loretta Quagmire,” Peter paints over the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with the Andre the Giant “Obey” graphic invented by former R.I. School of Design student Shepard Fairey. The now iconic street art image started popping up in Providence neighborhoods in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
Worthy of a Wicked Pissah?
Kevin Costner in “Thirteen Days?” Fred Gwynne in “Pet Sematary?” Tom Bosley in “Murder, She Wrote?” Rob Morrow in “Quiz Show?” You’ve heard them, you’ve cringed, and now Half Shell wants to know: What’s the worst New England accent ever attempted in film or on television?
Extra Pissah
New England is not only Red Sox country. It’s Team Wicked Pissah country. A New England-based adventure racing team, Team Wicked Pissah represents the region on those 9-day eco-challenges that involve kayaking, mountain biking, rock climbing and bushwhacking without sleep in remote parts of the world. It’s also the best New England sports team name this side of the professional tennis Boston Lobsters and the R.I. high school Coventry Knotty Oakers.
News that the set-in-Rhode Island cartoon “Family Guy” earned an Emmy nomination for best comedy series has created a firestorm of angst on the airwaves and in the blogosphere. Often vulgar and tasteless, “Family Guy” has offended just about everybody since it was created in 1999 by R.I. School of Design graduate Seth MacFarlane, who based his fictional town of Quahog, R.I. on Cranston. If you haven’t seen it, think “All in the Family” meets “The Flintstones.”
Despite a high gross factor (something that seems indelibly connected to the Rhody funny bone – see Farrelly Brothers), the show can also be outrageously clever, funny and satirical. Twice canceled, “Family Guy” was the first show to be resurrected based on DVD sales. Some TV watchers consider it a cheap knockoff of “The Simpsons” (including, apparently, the creators of “The Simpsons,” who took a shot at “Family Guy” by depicting Peter Griffin as a “clone” of Homer Simpson in a Halloween special). The creators of “South Park” aren’t fans, either. They devoted a two-part episode (“Cartoon Wars”) to savaging “Family Guy,” depicting the show’s writers as manatees who create episodes by pushing rubber “idea balls” inscribed with random topics into a bin. MacFarlane responded to his critics by saying they’re right.
Rhode Islanders, of course, watch the show differently than people who live anywhere else, looking for the local references and inside jokes that make this cartoon essential viewing on a par with “Caught in Providence.” Several times in most episodes, the Providence skyline is visible in the distance. Kids go to Buddy Cianci Junior High School and James Woods Regional High School. Happy-Go-Lucky toys, Inc., where Peter works on an assembly line checking for unsafe toys, is a stand-in for Hasbro in Pawtucket. The Web site www.quahog.org routinely updates its “Family Guy” concordance, connecting the Rhody dots on the show. My favorite local culture moment: In “The Cleveland-Loretta Quagmire,” Peter paints over the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with the Andre the Giant “Obey” graphic invented by former R.I. School of Design student Shepard Fairey. The now iconic street art image started popping up in Providence neighborhoods in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
Worthy of a Wicked Pissah?
Kevin Costner in “Thirteen Days?” Fred Gwynne in “Pet Sematary?” Tom Bosley in “Murder, She Wrote?” Rob Morrow in “Quiz Show?” You’ve heard them, you’ve cringed, and now Half Shell wants to know: What’s the worst New England accent ever attempted in film or on television?
Extra Pissah
New England is not only Red Sox country. It’s Team Wicked Pissah country. A New England-based adventure racing team, Team Wicked Pissah represents the region on those 9-day eco-challenges that involve kayaking, mountain biking, rock climbing and bushwhacking without sleep in remote parts of the world. It’s also the best New England sports team name this side of the professional tennis Boston Lobsters and the R.I. high school Coventry Knotty Oakers.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Uglification still in progress
Goethe called architecture “frozen music.” Extending the metaphor, Rhode Island over the centuries has composed a fairly impressive unfinished symphony. From the stone-enders in rural areas to Colonial box houses in towns and cities, white clapboard churches to rambling stone mills, the state is blessed with buildings that find a balance between aesthetic and function. As elsewhere, long years of poverty may have helped the landscape, requiring residents to be creative about preservation when development dollars were lacking. So the East Side of Providence, the villages of Wickford and Kingston, the granite-quarried streets of Westerly, the modest shingle shacks along the coast and the tidy skyline of the state’s capital city are among the cluster of unparalleled architectural scenes that Rhode Islanders enjoy daily. As Ted Sanderson, executive director of the R.I. Historical Preservation and Heritage Commission, said to me earlier this spring: “In some states, they put a velvet rope around a building and invite people to walk around it on special occasions. Here in Rhode Island, people live, work, shop and worship in historic places every day.”
Even allowing for the state’s love of kitsch – which explains the fondness for the Quonset hut, another local invention – Rhode Island has survived the Houstonification of modern life through its passion for preservation and by building with an eye on its surroundings. Until recently, that is, when a combination of suburban sprawl and money-grab development has produced some stunningly bad architecture. New eyesores seemingly pop up like poisonous mushrooms nowadays.
I’ve mentioned some of them before in my annual Broken Anchors Awards, a column devoted to dubious achievements in Rhode Island (Jan. 10, 2008):
Another building that causes a wince is the former Kaiser Aluminum tower that has been converted into penthouses for the Carnegie Abbey Club in Portsmouth. Any joy experienced while driving over the elegant Mount Hope Bridge, taking in the expanse of blue-water, white-sail Narragansett Bay and emerald-green Aquidneck Island below, is quickly muted by noticing the colossal jutting tower, so out of place in its delicate surroundings. I call it the Blight on the Bay, or Old Blightie, when I’m in a Ye Olde Rhode Islander mood. Something that ugly is usually found among the pelicans and palm trees on the Florida coast.
What is the ugliest building in Rhode Island?
Even allowing for the state’s love of kitsch – which explains the fondness for the Quonset hut, another local invention – Rhode Island has survived the Houstonification of modern life through its passion for preservation and by building with an eye on its surroundings. Until recently, that is, when a combination of suburban sprawl and money-grab development has produced some stunningly bad architecture. New eyesores seemingly pop up like poisonous mushrooms nowadays.
I’ve mentioned some of them before in my annual Broken Anchors Awards, a column devoted to dubious achievements in Rhode Island (Jan. 10, 2008):
THE UGLIFICATION IN PROGRESS AWARD
To developers and politicians in our capital city, where the river walk has jumped the shark from a place of cobblestone and cozy bridges to a showcase for boxy buildings on steroids. Where once there were views, now huge rectangles blot out the State House and surrounding church steeples, casting cold shadows and creating wind tunnels in winter. From the Ice Cube (GTECH World Headquarters), with its neon blue scar illuminating the night sky to Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, the twin Waterplace Towers painted in the color of bad squash, Providence is transforming into North Dallas before our eyes.
Another building that causes a wince is the former Kaiser Aluminum tower that has been converted into penthouses for the Carnegie Abbey Club in Portsmouth. Any joy experienced while driving over the elegant Mount Hope Bridge, taking in the expanse of blue-water, white-sail Narragansett Bay and emerald-green Aquidneck Island below, is quickly muted by noticing the colossal jutting tower, so out of place in its delicate surroundings. I call it the Blight on the Bay, or Old Blightie, when I’m in a Ye Olde Rhode Islander mood. Something that ugly is usually found among the pelicans and palm trees on the Florida coast.
What is the ugliest building in Rhode Island?
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