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Dang. Here I was, clinging on to the last few thin shards of winter 2007, thinking that spring wouldn't actually start until tomorrow (Wednesday, March 21)... and it turns out that the Vernal Equinox actually occurred at 8:07 p.m. Eastern time today. Which means it's spring right now.
So, I guess it's time for pollen, allergies, and sweating too much all the time.
Yeah. Happy Spring, I guess. Whatever.
P.S.: I still have this shower curtain.
On Saturday, I went to a bad poetry party -- not a poetry party that was bad, but a party celebrating bad poetry. It was in honor of the life and work of Julia A. Moore, "The Sweet Singer of Michigan," a spectacularly bad 19th century poet in the grand tradition of bad 19th century poetry. Mrs. Moore is said to have been the inspiration for Emmeline Grangerford, the overwrought, melancholy, romantic poetess in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Party attendees were asked to bring an original bad poem, and to read it in front of the group. It's the kind of party you'd expect to be dreamed up by a bunch of former English grad students, which in fact it was.
So, in recognition of the fact that most bad poetry from the South in the 19th century concerns dead Confederate heroes, I came up with the following, based on a true story. I realize that my meager effort cannot hope to reach the heights of Miss Grangerford's "Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots." Plus, it's kind of long. For the full effect, imagine the plaintive violin theme from "The Civil War" in the background.
The Ballad of Bennett Young
O, have you heard the story
Of Old Kaintuck's bravest son?
No avenue may bear his name
And of statues he has none.
Yet none deeper than he
Into the Yankees' black heart stung
Hear the tale of this bold Southron
By the name of Bennett Young.
He was but a Nicholasville lad
When he heard his country's cry
And was captured in Ohio in '63
On a hot day in July.
Yet from that dreaded Yankee jail
He soon adroitly sprung
"I'll make post-haste for Canada!"
Said Lieutenant Bennett Young.
In the frozen north he soon found
Other brave Sons of the Gray
They planned that soon Vermont-ward
They would lief be on their way.
"The Vermonters will be startled
By the chaos we have brung!
In St. Albans land, we'll make our stand!"
Vowed Lieutenant Bennett Young.
October 10 of '64
Was chosen as the day
When Young and his two cohorts
Would southward make their way.
On arriving in St. Albans,
To a hotel they soon swung.
(Prob'ly signed in with an alias --
Not "Lieutenant Bennett Young.")
Over the next week or so,
More soldiers rendezvoused
And when they were all gathered,
Twenty-one in all accrued.
When arrived the fatal moment,
To this cry he gave full lung:
"Y'all Yanks are now the prisoners
Of Lieutenant Bennett Young!"
"I hereby claim this chilly town
Is conqueréd this day!
And all of wee Vermont is now
Part of the C.S.A.!
Your maple syrup may be nice
And sweet upon the tongue,
But sweeter still the victory
Of me! I'm Bennett Young!"
Then to three local banks
Went those most valiant men of ours.
Made the tellers pledge allegiance
To the grand old Stars and Bars.
Alas, most of the money
They won got lost among
The confusion of escaping
By the men of Bennett Young.
With fiery rage they planned
To turn St. Albans into Hell.
But the Greek Fire bombs they had, alack,
Just did not work too well.
Although one shed was caught ablaze
So at least that much was flung
In the face of the hated Yankees
By the stalwart Bennett Young!
But in their newly conquer'd land
They knew they could not stay.
They fled back north to Canada
And were arrested right away.
But Canada could not hold them,
Since neutrality they sung.
"You'll have to give the cash back, though,"
They said to Bennett Young.
And while the war was waging,
In cold Canada he stayed.
And when the war was over,
He was once more waylaid.
"No amnesty," said Johnson,
"But at least you won't be hung."
So off to Ireland's emerald shores
Went Mr. Bennett Young.
When to Kentucky he returned
In 1868
He went to Louisville, and soon
Became a lawyer great.
So pure of heart until he died
At 76 years young
No alcohol e'er passed the lips
Of saintly Bennett Young.
Many folks may never know
That such a man there was.
Most books do not remember him
(Though St. Albans prob'ly does.)
How rich the soil of Southern lands,
How fertile be the dung
That brought forth the flow'r of manhood
That we knew as Bennett Young!
(Note to anybody finding this page through a Google search for the subject: I'm not really interested in discussions about the righteousness or despicability of the Lost Cause -- please be aware that the poem above is intended as a parody of bad Southern heroic poetry, and not an attack on Lieut. Young, his descendants, or his admirers. I will say this: Whatever you think about the Confederacy and the men who fought for it -- of whom there were several in my family on my father's side -- Bennett Young was a pretty ballsy guy.)
So, the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament is starting up in a couple of days, and that's usually kind of a big deal around these parts. And I was thinking that it might be fun for us -- the Idiom Savant community -- to communally celebrate it by filling in "brackets" that would display how little we actually know about collegiate athletics and the playing of sport in general.
And so it is my pleasure to introduce the First Annual Idiom Savant Invitational Fill Out Those Brackets On Yahoo Sports Thingit Type Deal! *
This is open to all readers of Idiom Savant. If you are reading these words right now, you are welcome to participate. Seriously. For reals. Don't let lack of interest in basketball, or lack of hoops savvy, stop you. Christ (pictured above) knows I don't know jack squat about the sport, and I'm doing this just for larfs. Hell, even a stopped clock is right twice a day.
It's not like any of us will have anything to lose, as no wagering per se will take place and no funds will be exchanged. No, we are simply playing for pride. What the sporting folk call bragging rights.
Excuse me: braggin' rights.
So, what must one do to participate? Just go here and use the password "idiomsavant." You may have to get a Yahoo! ID if you're one of the few sentient creatures on Earth who doesn't have one yet.
If the above link doesn't work, try going here. Click on the "join group" button, and, when prompted, enter this information:
Group ID#: 144369
Password: idiomsavant
So. We doin' this?
Oh, yeah, man. We doin' this.
* Name of event subject to change pending corporate sponsorship. For example, how does the "Skyline Chili Idiom Savant Invitational Fill Out Those Brackets On Yahoo Sports Thingit Type Deal" sound? Or the "Neese's Liver Pudding Idiom Savant Invitational Fill Out Those Brackets On Yahoo Sports Thingit Type Deal"? Or maybe the "Moxie Idiom Savant Invitational Fill Out Those Brackets On Yahoo Sports Thingit Type Deal"? Okay, I just want weird regional foods.
I trust that this is the last Internet quiz I'll ever have to take, which is kind of a relief:
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| Politics Your political views would best be described as Socialist, whom you agree with around 83% of the time. | Socioeconomic Your attitude toward life best associates you with Middle Class. You make more than 0% of those who have taken this test, and 31% less than the U.S. average. |
| If your life was a movie, it would be rated PG-13. By the way, your hottness rank is 48%, hotter than 68% of other test takers. |
Apparently, I'm ten percent less adventurous than I am "adventurious." Which means, I guess, I'm ten percent more likely to take a risk on something that's misspelled.
Actually, I don't think I'm very adventurous or adventurious. I also would not have thought I was a socialist. Just in case anybody from the FBI is checking up on me, I do love the free market. Mmmm-hmmmm. Yay, capitalism!
And I absolutely cannot argue with being one hundred percent old geezer and 87 percent punk rock.
My big contribution to the economy today was buying a haircut. I always like the light, crisp feeling my scalp has after a shearing, but God if I don't look like a huge nimrod now. More so than usual, I mean. Just a big ol', puffy-faced, pasty, doughy, four-eyed lummox, that's me. Like if Poppin' Fresh was severly myopic, and had a quasi-crew cut.
And, hey -- don't forget it's Daylight Saving Time tonight! Be sure to set your clocks ahead an hour, slaughter a goat and dance naked in the fields as a sacrifice to Khronos, the primeval god of time!
(I don't actually know if slaughtering a goat and dancing naked in the fields is an appropriate sacrifice to that particular god, but better safe than sorry, you know?)
DORK FEST 2 AT THE BROAD STREET CAFE IN DURHAM STARTING AT 9PM SATURDAY MARCH 3 ZOMG ROFL WHAT
To answer the question that Marianne asked elsewhere, I have a feeling that this will be full of "faux dorks," not real dorks. Hipsters claiming to be dorks. Real dorks don't hang out at the smoky indie rock clubs, drinking such as Pabst Blue Ribbon. But I'm going anyway. Somebody has to represent authentic dorkdom. (I'll probably skip the first few bands, since the last time I saw Clang Quartet it just made me angry and gave me a headache.)
Non-dorks trying to pass as dorks, or trying to claim this mythical aura of "dork cred" ... well, I had a friend in college in the late '80s who suddenly started wearing round wire-rimmed glasses, just because they had apparently become fashionable. He didn't need them; in fact, he had perfect vision. His lenses were just clear plastic. Meanwhile, my nearly legally-blind eyes are struggling to focus through inch-thick lenses, and I'm thinking, what's next? Is everybody going to suddenly decide to start wearing leg braces? It's kind of like that.
(My feelings on the matter are complex, and I'm not sure I understand them completely myself, and I certainly don't expect to find the resolution of it all in this blog. Also, I can certainly vouch for the dorkiness of most of Veronique Diabolique. Not that I'm the arbiter of dorkiness over here, or that I'm looking for some kind of... dork purity, or anything -- hey, it's complicated! Leave me alone!)
Anyway. Five bucks, a bunch of bands, at least one of which I know for sure is worthwhile. Represent!
Photograph by Phil Marsosudiro
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