Bob Dylan Documentary: No Direction Home

I am a fan of the documentary, be it a Ken Burns production on Baseball, Jazz or the Civil War, an A&E Biography on just about anybody, or the presidential campaign of 1992. Martin Scorsese's documentary on Bob Dylan, No Direction Home, was good, and despite it's two dics length, anyone hoping it will encompass the grandeur and scale of the Beatle's Anthology may be disappointed. Covering Dylan's life from his early start in Minnesota to his return to live performances after an 8 year hiatus after a motorcycle accident, Dylan fans are sure to be enjoy this production.

I can't say that Dylan was iconic, despite what many fans would argue. And I like that about Dylan. he is interestiong. But he prefers to shy away from such adulation, as Eric Clapton and Eddie Vedder both pronounced themselves as performers, musicians, and nothing more, Dylan does the like. This is evident throughout the film, and makes Dylan an endearing figure.

In many instances, he reminds me of Beck, who was undoubtedly influenced by Dylan in some sense. And on occasion, I can see Bob Dinklemeyer in Dylan, although history may better remember Dinklemeyer for his paintings.

If you have a long Sunday afternoon sans Steelers footbal, I recommend checking out
Dylan's documentary.

Now . . . when does the Burt Bacharach documentary come out? And when is he doing a crossover with Snoop Dogg?

End of September Update

Looks like Softball is done for the year. This was slack year for softball to be sure. Lots of people say they 'want to play,' but few showed up. What, you have an actual life? Anyways... now that Steeler season is on again, the remaining strongholds have weakened and the game has dissolved. But next year...

I have now been in my new place for almost a month. Things are settling in, and I hope to have a house warming party/gathering soon, maybe when the wedding stuff settles down a bit. Not that I'm getting married, but it seems everyone else I know is. Ahh . . . life long commitments. Some even go longer.

Like the commitment of some former tenant's litter box. I like cats, but I do not own a cat. Somebody at some time owned a cat here, and this morning, the ghost of this litter box haunted my basement. There is no more litter box. But this morning, the distinct scent of Fresh Step that had been recently kicked around a litter box lingered in the hallway. I have no idea where it came from, so my thinking is that it's the ghost of a former tenant's litter box.

I am saving bacon grease, ostensibly for smearing on my naked torso before dancing around the bonfire at Mike and Autumn's wedding reception this Saturday. And in the process, I've found that bacon grease, in small amounts, is a suitable substitute for butter when making grilled cheese sandwiches. Add some bacon and tomato, too, and you have a tasty but not heart healthy sandwich. I have Homer Simpson to thank for turning me on to
these snack/lunches again. And no, I have not yet seen an image of the litter box ghost appear on my grilled cheese sandwiches. But I'm looking ...

Speaking of substitutes, I am now a sub at a couple different area schools.

Speaking of litter box ghosts, I want to share these images of dead bunnies, squirrels and kittens, as seen on Anne Brannen's blog

Monday, September 12, 2005
Potter's Museum of Curiosity: Hail and Farewell

One of the treats of moving house is coming across little bits of forgotten stuff. Much to my joy, one of the things that appeared recently (out of what box? from whence? don't know) is the catalog to a museum I found in Arundel, Sussex, in 1977, Potter's Museum of Curiosity.

The last time I was in Arundel, I went looking for it, but it was gone. Turns out it'd been bought up and sent to Cornwall. And I find now that it's gone entirely; it was sold in pieces at auction in 2003.

So you can't go there. And I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, cause I can't go there, either, and it was the best museum in the entire world.

It made no sense, really. It was packed from floor to ceiling with carefully labeled crap, in no relation to the carefully labeled crap around it. The entire lot had been collected, and in part created, by Walter Potter (1835-1918), an eccentric Victorian taxidermist, who amused himself, when he wasn't stuffing beloved dead pets for his neighbors, by stuffing entire litters of kittens, puppies, and bunnies, and dressing them up and arranging them in tableaux.

Little dead bunnies at school.

Little dead squirrels smoking and playing cards.

Little dead kittens getting married.

I'm glad to tell you, though, that although Potter's Museum is gone, there's a San Francisco taxidermist/artist who admires his work; click here for a page devoted to the master; scroll down for more pictures of the tableaux from hell than I've linked to.

And.

It's possible to buy things from this artist, I think, though the dead kitten with a plaster crown might not be for sale; maybe not the fortune-telling chicken, either.

But I am SO in love with this artist. I do believe I require lots of stuffed dead dressed up things for the new house. They'll look so nice in the log room, don't you think?

Oh! My! God! It's a dead cat with wings!

The king is dead; long live the queen.

I went to see the Ann Arbor Film Festival with Meredith over the weekend. Animals with Self Awareness. That was the theme of the first animated short we saw... shock value, a la The Aristocrats.

This coming weekend, I hope to see Ray LaMontagne play at the Rex Theater this Friday, Sept. 30 . If you like Crosby Stills and Young, or My Morning Jacket, you'll like him.