Pitchers & Poets

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Eric’s

that’s all folks

By now your expectations for this piece of the internet have been set lower than Sarah Palin’s VP Debate bar.

So I’ll leave this blog with a poem, that like Palin’s performance, will disappoint even the most cynical and hopeless of you out there:

There once was a blog called Mudville
that was filled with great content until
the author stopped caring
about writing and sharing
every dumb thing that ever occurred to him.

The reality is this: It’s time to recharge and refocus.  Among other changes in my life, that means putting this wounded and neglected pet of mine to sleep.

Thanks for stopping by.

story of my life

Little bird. Big truth.

The Answer Key to Your Heart

I tried to get Alex Trebeck for a condescending guest answer post, but he was busy talking down to women.  So here are the answers:

Professor Longhair: BLUES. The astute test-taker might have used deductive reasoning to answer this one.  After all, Native Americans didn’t have universities.  Professor Longhair however, didn’t teach anything but soulful vocals and mean New Orleans piano licks.  Interestingly, his hair wasn’t all that long.

Black Kettle: NATIVE: The only Blues Chief Black Kettle sang came when the Kansas and Colorado plains of his Cheyenne tribe were overcrowded by buffalo-killing white settlers.  And like the many bluesmen betrayed by record companies, Black Kettle and the Cheyenne were duped by US Cavalry.  Unlike bluesmen, however, they were massacred.  That’s over 400 dead  at the Battle of Sand Creek many of whom were women and children.

Muddy Waters: BLUES: Probably the most famous man on this list is Muddy Waters.  I didn’t want to include him for this reason, but his name is so damn earthy.  Muddy basically invented the Chicago Blues, belting out hardened vocals over crunchy electric guitar.

Little Crow: NATIVE: Another tragic story.  This Dakota Sioux chief made the mistake of trusting the white men and moving his tribe to a reservation.  After the inevitable US Govt. flake-out, Little Crow brought his people to war.  Months after they retereated, he was killed by a bounty hunter trading Dakota Scalps for rewards.  And to further the insult his English name Little Crow was based on a mis-translation.

Howling Wolf: BLUES: Almost as famous as Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf (yes, Matt, I added the G) was another electric blues legend. But after a poor childhood he never had the financial problems of his contemporaries.  After making it in Memphis, he drove himself up Highway 61 -yes that Highway 61 to Chicago with 4 grand in his pocket and never looked back.  Bonus fact: Though illiterate into his 40s, the Wolf learned to read, got his GED, and even studied accounting later in life.

Trembling Earth: NATIVE Not much is known about Trembling Earth.  He worked as a diplomat for the Sioux Nation in Washington DC, but didn’t make it too far on his way back.  He fell sick in Baltimore and died in 1837.

Lightning Red: BLUES The only living person on this list, Lightning Red is an obscure white guy who plays the blues in Texas.  He’s got a myspace but not a wikipedia page.  The more I write here the more I realize how impossible this quiz was.

Lead Belly: BLUES Much like Green Day there is a great deal of confusion about the spacing of Lead Belly’s name.  Tempting as it is to call him Leadbelly this self-styled King of the 12-string guitar played raw American music, the kind that sounds better when it’s grainy and gets covered by everybody from Ludacris to Led Zeppelin.

Billy Bowlegs: NATIVE Without a doubt Billy Bowlegs has my favorite name of anybody on this list.  If I ever learn an instrument and start start a rock band, I will go by Billy Bowlegs on stage.   The real Billy Bowlegs didn’t go anywhere.  A Seminole, he signed a a treaty in 1832 but refused to leave his Southwest Florida swamps for almost 30 years.  When he finally left, a reporter described Bowlegs as having “two wives, one son, five daughters, fifty slaves, and a hundred thousand dollars in hard cash.”  That and a sweet name.

Iron Jacket: NATIVE Iron Jacket was a Comanche medicine man and chief.  Allegedly, he got his name for being able to blow bullets aside with his breath.  Actually, he merely wore a jacket of Spanish armor that protected him from light weapons fire.  Unfortunately, he died when a Texas Ranger shot him in the head.

I’ve become strangely fascinated in the weird similarity between native and blues names, as well as the people included in that quiz.  I might write about it some more.

Pop Quiz: Blues Musician or Indian Chief

???

???

Below is a list of names.  Please use the blank spaces to mark whether the person listed is an icon of early American Blues music, or a Native American chief.  Keep your eyes off the other student’s papers.  You have ten minutes until pencils down.

Extra Credit: Identify the tribe belonged to or style of blues performed by the people listed below.

Extra Extra Credit:  Don’t use google or I will sic Professor Longhair on you, and he will beat you down with his weapon of choice (guitar? tomohawk? you tell me).

Professor Longhair

Black Kettle

Muddy Waters

Little Crow

Howling Wolf

Trembling Earth

Lightning Red

Lead Belly

Billy Bowlegs

Iron Jacket

It’s Tricky

Q: What’s the difference between an awesome barrier-breaking musician who ironically puts magicians in his clever music videos and a shitty, family-oriented (albeit guilty pleasure of mine) reality show star?

A: About 20 years.

I caught this video on VH1 Classic today. How cool is it that there’s a whole musical genre based on artists talking about how good they are at their art.

Speaking of art, I think I might be a better dancer than Penn Jillette.    Not Teller though, he can really cut a rug.

Orosco Sucks, Let’s Go

 

Jesse Orosco is on the Hall of Fame ballot that came out today, joining such baseball luminaries as Mo Vaughan, Greg Vaughan, and Ron Gant.  The big O played 24 years of big league baseball across four decades and spent seasons 9, 22, and 23 as a Dodger.  That 9^th year was 1988, the last time the Dodgers won the World Series.

Despite a pretty respectable 3.17 career ERA and a passing resemblance to actor Danny Trejo, Jesse Orosco won’t be elected to the Hall of Fame this or any year.  His legacy will be that of sturdy longevity, kind of like Tony Bennett or a Honda Civic.

My personal memory of Jesse Orosco is mostly befuddled amusement at his late-career incarnation as a lefty-specialist.  Lefty specialists didn’t even exist in 1979 when Orosco’s career began, but by the time he made his second pass through the Dodger organization in 2001 and 2002, they were ubiquitous.  The 44 year old Orosco would come out in the top of the eighth, strike out Larry Walker or Barry Bonds on a big loping curveball, then smile his way off the field to a standing ovation.  I think he was as befuddled as I was.

But one Orosco-related incident stands out.  It was at some otherwise unmemorable Dodger game in 2002.  I don’t know who they were playing or if the game was early or late in the season.  The Dodgers were down by a run in the later innings and then-manger Jim Tracy called for Jesse Orosco from the pen. Seemed ordinary with runners on base and a left-handed hitter coming to the plate.  But the man in front of me disagreed.

Before Orosco made it from the bullpen to the mound, the guy got up and sighed an exasperated sigh.  He looked at his watch, down at his friend, and gulped the last sip of his beer.

“Orosco sucks,” he said as if it were some universal truth like gravity or the infield fly rule.  “Let’s go home.”

And his friend got up.  And they went home. And the Dodgers lost again. 

Bruce Lee is a Man

Okay fine.  It’s fake.  But come on…you thought it was real for a minute there.

Take this moment to appreciate a man who dropped true wisdom.  Especially compared to Chuck Norris, the man I always considered Lee’s opposite,* whose trademark move is the blunt ideological roundhouse kick** to reason’s quivering jaw.

Also, please support (or at least become aware of) the effort by some forward thinking UW students to get a Bruce Lee memorial in place on campus.  They are starting to gain some traction but have a ways to go:  UW 4 Bruce Lee.

*Apologies to Jean Claude Van Damme, Jackie Chan, and any other martial arts experts I have excluded.

**I actually read the first chapter of Black Belt Patriotism.  I ain’t just throwing the first karate chop here for nothing.

Dispatches from Kansas

Sites and sounds from the second-tier highways of America

Greensburg:

Between Wichita and Dodge I passed through a town called Greensburg. According to the signs on the highway, Greensburg is home to the world’s tallest meteorite (not tall enough that I saw it from my car) and the world’s deepest hand-dug well. At first it seemed a normal, boring roadside town with a familiar sounding name; kind of like the ballplayer Hank Greenberg.

But on the outskirts I started seeing hand-drawn posters that read Thanks FEMA and Emergency Responders, Call this Number for Property Info, and RIP So and So. There was caution tape everywhere, massive generators between lots, a hospital made up of bungalows and olive green tents.

Then the buildings were no longer built. And the timber looked more like driftwood than fallen structures. It couldn’t have taken more than three minutes to drive through Greensburg, but it took a full two for me to understand what happened there.

At 9:45 PM on May 4, 2007 95% of the town was destroyed and 11 people were killed. The tornado that ripped through was an E5 -as violent as they get, and at 1.7 miles wide it was larger than the town itself.

But that’s not the story. The story is what happened after May 4, 2007. Greensburg citizens made the decision to rebuild the town up to its name. They formed a nonprofit to ensure that every new building would be constructed to LEED platinum standards, making it the only town in America to do so.

When I found this all out, I remembered where I’d heard of Greensburg –not from baseball, but in an NPR interview with the town’s mayor. Plus, the Discovery Channel’s Planet Green chronicled the effort in a reality show.

Check out greensburggreentown.org. Very cool stuff. I’d say to check out the town, but you won’t see much of interest. A drive through Greensburg is a drive through any other typical tornado-ravaged community, not a heavy-handed lecture on green building. For heavy handedness, I went to Dodge City and jotted some notes over lunch:

Dodge City

Sitting in a tiny local Mexican joint, eating too many stale chips and sipping on my second horchata. The main drag here is called Wyatt Earp Blvd. I’m sure the lawman would be proud of all these chop shops and furniture lots, liquor stores and drive-throughs.

The museum was full of typos and clichés. Oh those violent inxians, always butting into white man’s trade. A clip from Dances with Wolves played on loop in the buffalo exhibit. The staff looked starved for natural light and human contact.

The slogan here, the way they draw you in, is Get the Heck into Dodge! Judging by crowds today, it ain’t working. But the bigger problem is making people stay. Even the waters of the Arkansas River have gotten the hell out of Dodge. There was a soccer game in progress on the grassy riverbed below a bridge.

In here the flies are keeping their distance from my chile relleno. There’s a good mariachi song on the jukebox about a prison break, a mass escape. Vamanos.