One Man's Trash

In 1976, Baptist preacher Howard Finster saw a vision of a face on a paint smudge and heard a voice telling him to "PAINT SACRED ART." Prior to this, the reverend had devoted his plot of swampy land in Pennville, outside of Summerville, GA, to structures comprised of bicycle frames and concrete covered in mosaics made from a variety of discarded items, such as figurines, broken plates, and glass and machine parts. The property was named "Paradise Gardens," and after Finster received his new calling, he devoted his life to painting and incorporated his works throughout the existing garden. The result is a fascinating combination between junkyard and folk art gallery, with Bible verses painted on everything from scrap metal to sides of old buildings, and a fanciful chapel which, though in a state of disrepair now, was once used for weddings and other special services.

The following photos are from my recent trip to Paradise Gardens. For more info about the site, visit http://finstersparadisegardens.org/.

The gardens were also the site where R.E.M.'s video for "Radio Free Europe" was filmed. Don't you just love the old-school special effects? (Oooh - some shots are filmed in negative!!!)

Summer Reading List

Ever since I started working as a college English instructor, I have had very little time to do exactly what I urge all my students to do: read books. However, as my current semester comes to an end, and as I face at least a month or two of unemployment paired with lazy, hot summer days, I have begun to accumulate quite the stack of must-reads. Here are the books currently on my summer reading list:



1. The Art of Conversation by Catherine Blyth

(Because I really, really need this book.)



2. The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers by Cathleen Falsani

(Because the Coen Brothers do for film what Flannery O'Connor did for modern literature.)



3. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson

(Because there has been so much buzz surrounding Larsson's posthumously-published novels. Plus, I need a good beach read.)



3. A Journal of the First Afghan War by Lady Florentia Sale

(Because I need to glean insight from an officer's wife who endured greater hardships than most of us can even imagine. Note: the version I am reading is not available through Amazon, so the above link is to another version of the same book).



5. O Pioneers! by Willa Cather

(Because I need to read something to prepare myself for my upcoming move to America's Heartland.)



6. When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris

(Because sometimes I just need a good laugh.)

Ybor City

The Sunday after the ACC Championship game, we checked out of our Extended Stay Hotel room around 9 a.m. and made our way to Ybor City, a historic district with Cuban flair near downtown Tampa.


Though the streets were quiet, and many shops and restaurants were closed, we stumbled upon Sula's Deli, an inviting little coffee and sandwich shop on Ybor's main drag where patrons can enjoy hot coffee and a variety of Cuban sandwiches relatively early on a Sunday morning.

After a very filling breakfast (brunch?) of sandwiches and coffee (their "small" coffee is 16 oz. and the large is a whopping 32 oz.!), we strolled along the quiet main street. The neighborhood is characterized by charming, old brick storefronts containing mostly Cuban cigar lounges (still closed when we were there - around 10 a.m. Sunday morning), beach-themed bars, "British" pubs, and nightclubs (a few of the bars were just opening as we walked by; the clubs had probably closed just a few hours ago).


The Columbia Restaurant building featured beautiful tile-work and Spanish-style architecture:


It is a bit difficult to see in the photo below, but the only patron of SunTrust this morning was a chicken who, alarmed at our approach, scurried into the nearby bushes.

ACC Championship Game: Tampa, Florida

We set out Saturday morning for Tampa, Florida, where Georgia Tech would be playing Clemson for the ACC Championship game. My newfound state of football fandom was at its peak this weekend, and it was accompanied by that peculiar mental state wherein a fan will view a 7- to 8-hour drive as a perfectly reasonable distance to travel to see one's beloved sports team (or band - we did the same thing when we found out The Killers were playing in Ljubljana, Slovenia, while we were living in Germany).

Before the game began, I realized my apathy towards all things football-related had given way to a growing dislike of the fans of the opposing team. This, I feel, was not entirely without cause. As we made our way through the masses of orange and purple (there was a distinctly stronger Clemson presence, it seemed, in the crowds and the tailgaters surrounding the stadium), we were often confronted by groups of men in orange sweatshirts making a concerted effort not to move out of the way as we tried to pass them on the side walk. On more than one occasion, we had to endure their rather obnoxious country music blaring out of some loudspeakers next to their tailgate parties. Furthermore, when we discovered that the pre-game live entertainment was James Otto, ACC's spokes-singer (see the truly awful ACC-sponsored video below), we couldn't help but notice that the majority of people actually crowding around the stage and acting like they were enjoying the thoroughly mediocre performance were Clemson fans.



Meanwhile, those of us from the ATL were standing around wishing we were listening to Young Jeezy perform one of the team's signature songs for this season, "Put On":

Sure, the majority of Georgia Tech fans are either middle-aged and WASP-ish or college-aged and geeky, but there is a certain level of bad-assness about hailing from Atlanta that removes the need for excessive attempts at "presence" or intimidation. That's just not how we roll.

So at some point in the game - I am not exactly sure when - I just knew in my heart that Georgia Tech was going to win. There was something about that outcome that seemed like it was in line with the proper Order of Things.

And we did. And all was well with the world.

The Fine Line Between Comedy and Tragedy

Though not an avid reader of modern fiction, I am well aware of the types of books usually esteemed worthy of attention by those involved in the more cerebral publications such as The Atlantic, The New Yorker, and salon.com. Based on numerous reviews I have read in these publications, it appears that what makes a novel worth reading these days is how well it represents the inner despair of mundane, modern existence. For instance, the titles of two of the selections in The Atlantic's very short list of the "Books of the Year: 2009" speak for themselves: It's Beginning to Hurt by James Lasdun and Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. Here is the brief synopsis of Lasdun's novel provided in the Atlantic article:

"This collection of short stories illuminates the everyday agonies of the mind, its anxieties, obsessions, doubts, and yearnings" (Benjamin Schwarz, The Atlantic, Dec. 2009).

And, according to an earlier review in the same publication of Munro's novel, what makes Munro's work worthy of esteem is that she is a "genius" at "evoking lives rich with secret horrors" (from the Nov. 2009 "Cover to Cover").

Sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?

About a week ago, however, I stumbled upon this segment of Kevin James' stand up routine on Comedy Central and I couldn't help but notice that situations which would be considered sources of anxiety and "secret horrors" to the modern novelist were, to the comedian, sources of utter hilarity:




My conclusion is thus: The modern novelist and the comedian are both interested in the same depressing, mundane minutiae of daily existence. The only difference is that the novelist has no sense of humor.

Musings on Football

The masses converge at Bobby Dodd Stadium, Atlanta, GA.

Organized sports have never occupied a place of importance in my life. As a shy, nearsighted, and overweight child, I quickly developed a disliking for any activity involving exertion, coordination, and competition. My inability to perform athletically left me uninterested in watching other people perform feats of physical prowess, so I never learned the rules to anything - baseball, basketball, football - and any enjoyment I did glean from the observance thereof relied mostly on the festive atmosphere of sitting in a particular stadium and eating the related foods (Dodger dogs, peanuts in a shell, frozen lemonade, etc.).

Fast forward about 20 years and I find myself married to a very devoted college football fan. Due to favorable geographic and financial circumstances, we decided to purchase season tickets for the beloved team (Georgia Tech). I decided it was high time to learn the rules of the game (and also, those tickets weren't cheap, so I was determined to get as much out of the investment as possible). I purchased two books: Football for Dummies and the appealingly-titled Get Your Own Damn Beer, I'm Watching the Game!: A Woman's Guide to Loving Pro Football.

Five months later, the football season over, and the ACC Championship game next weekend (yes - we bought tickets!), I must admit that my appreciation for the sport has grown considerably. I still ask embarrassing questions at each game ("I know I have asked this before, but what, exactly, is a sack?" or "Why did they only get six points if they scored a touchdown?" (yes, I am an idiot)), but I am getting there. Who would have thought that football was really a more violent version of chess, where instead of little wooden figures, the coaches use big burly men to carry out their strategy against one another, and instead of a chess board, the action occurs on a gigantic field? While I admire the ability of players, coaches, and ardent sports fans to understand the seemingly obscene amount of intricacies to the game, I must confess I do still feel a twinge of moral indignation whenever I hear people comment, re-hash, and discuss the stuff that happened in one game for minutes to hours afterwards. As someone who grades college papers, I have read papers written by high school coaches, as well as former athletes, and I can't help but wish a bit more of the paper-writers' time was spent reading and, er, learning how to spell. But I leave off griping here, as this is a sore spot that is best not indulged at the moment.

When it comes down to it, college football games are thrilling; the athleticism truly impressive, and the fact that it is all being orchestrated by a particular coach is fascinating. It is fun to have a team to root for. From whence cometh this inherent desire for strife, for competition, and, in some fans' cases, for picking fights? One theory I have is that organized sports (college football in particular, and college football in the South, especially) fills the void left by the end of family feuds. If we can no longer challenge someone to a duel, the next best thing, I assume, is to trash talk the fans and players of the opposing team.

Go Jackets!

Wash With Like Colors

Just sorting the laundry today:

Whites, colors, Vizsla???

I guess I'll need to set that last cycle to "delicate."