Witch Hunt

The city fathers and mothers of Salem wanted to have some unique, touristy event that capitalized on its local theme, which was based on it being the place where the famed Salem witch trials in 1692 occurred. There, as you know, 19 witches were hanged and one was pressed to death. (Five more died in prison, making one wonder about what the prison was like.) Unfortunately, there are no more witches in Salem nowadays, if there ever were any. Most people nowadays are doubters. Indeed, Salem is strangely free of alternative thinking: there's not even a head shoppe or a New Age practitioner, just a few homeopaths.

Therefore, the idea of having a Salem Witch Hunt was found to be impractical.

But one creative soul thought of an alternative: how about a Salem Bitch Hunt? Yes, what a great idea. Find the person who is the bitchiest, and give her prizes such as six pairs of bitch shoes and a bottle of Bitch perfume. Obviously, she is likely also to be a high-maintenance bitch; so the winner would get a year's certificate for manicures and to have her own talk radio program.

The Tennessee Postmodern Realism School of Art

Myron Crumb is generally regarded as the founder of the Tennessee Post-Modern Realism School in art; this is clearly manifested in his lifelong career of innvoativeness in art. In his early days, while a resident undergoing treatment in West Tennessee Mental Hospital, he was introduced to the art of painting ceramic frogs. This was followed by his naturalistic period after his discharge, in which he painted the iconic 'See Rock City' on barns all over the Southeast. Some of his works are still discerned, if the kudzu is not too thick at that time of year.

His middle period was his most prolific: this was his Elvises on Black Velvet Period. At least sixty-one of these ironic commentaries on popular fame are known to exist, including one under wraps in the Frist Museum and two in the Museum of Modern Art. His middle period was followed by his Clown Period, a favorite with collecters and critics.

Presently, Mr. Crumb is experimenting with the painting of upper female torsos, using primaries that are textured with sawdust. He respectfully requests models to provide a medium of his art.

The Burlington Museum is pleased to offer this one-man retrospective of this outstanding Tennesseean artist. Prints are available in the Museum Shop on the second floor.

The Changing Rate of Orgasms in South Dakota

Scientists at the Institute for Sex Research were puzzled at some data regarding a peculiar change in rate of orgasms for South Dakota. During Spring and Summer, South Dakota ranked 17th of the 50 states in frequency of orgasms (just ahead of Arkansas); but the Coyote State's rate dropped to 47th (just ahead of Massachuetts). Some researchers hypothesized that this was due to Seasonal Affective Disorder.

However, a simpler explanation was found to be the real reason. South Dakotans wear mittens in the winter.

A Musical Accompaniment

Sometimes in the world of odd things reality is too strange: more than my unimaginative mind could possibly make up.

Now for most of us the occasion of using a toilet is a dreary chore; something that we're slightly embarassed about and so we are as circumspect as possible. But no more!

Maybe all we really needed was a musical accompaniment for out efforts. Now just think of how more cheery things would be if, when you reached for the t-p, the dispenser would play a nice little tune!

Just look at this site and use your imagination: http://www.justtoiletpaper.com/tt.shtml

Let's see . . . .

For Southern patriots, they can wipe to the tune of "Dixie."

And you just have to direct your feet to the tune of "Singing in the Rain."

Once a year, you can surprise your family members with a fine rendition of "Happy Birthday." No, there won't be any replay of "Sixteen Candles" this year.

Old karaoke hams can sing along to "My Way."

The deluded among us can dream to "Over the Rainbow" and put on their red slippers.

Patriotic airs, such as "The Star-Spangled Banner" and "God Bless America" can be played. Somehow, I shrink at this irreverence.

Plaintive ballards such as "Love Me Tender" and "Yesterday" and "You Are My Sunshine" are for the choosing.

But there is no pleasure more satisfying than to have your roommate come back slightly inebriated, she deciding to use the toilet before going beddy-bye and sleeping it off, and then getting serenaded to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game"!

Rehashing the News

The standard hazard of upcoming New Years is that both the televised and print media go into the rehash mode: printing numerous items regarding The Top Ten News Events of 2010, The Tope Ten (or Twenty) Entertainers of 2010, The Best Dressed of 2010, The Twelve Biggest Rectum Pains of 2010, and so forth.

This should be looked at as opportunities the media exploits for doing it on the cheap: recycling news. This is not to say that the quantity of news is a constant: sometimes there is not much happening, sometimes there is.

Actually, some forms of recycling is commendable. If newspapers or glass bottles could be recycled, then that's cool. And summer re-runs on television can be viewed as an opportunity to varying one's viewing or see an episode that might have been missed. It's knowing what is okay to recycle, and what is not, that is crucial.

Wouldn't it be refreshing if, somewhere, a television evening news team were to begin the program with, "Folks, nothing much really happened today, but we plan to fill in this half-hour agreeably, should you care to watch. Oh yes, Myra will unbutton one button on her blouse every five minutes."

Christmas, Moon Pie Highs, and Other Nostalgia

I wish I could buy Moon Pies in Montana. I could use a Moon Pie high right now despite the extra time I need exercising and running to work off those extra calories from that Southern indulgence.

And wouldn't it be nice to spend the afternoon hanging out at the Cool Springs mall with the girls, or eating Thai food in M'boro.

And cheering for Middle Tennessee State.

Nostalgia works in odd ways. Sometimes the little things loom inportant. Whatever outsiders feel about Tennessee, I will always be a Tennesseean. At the Christmas time it is joyous to get reconnected with family, to help trim the tree, to put on a pretty dress on Christmas morning and go to church, enjoy family dinners, and in general reconnect.

I hope everyone has a joyous Christmas or Holiday Season.

Hairballs

It was sorority song night, and the Chili Dog Sisters were to take part by arranging, practicing, and staging a skit for this evening of mandatory fun and games. Now other groups went in for the intricately coreographed show tunes, sometimes with canes and straw hats, the Greek choruses, the oldie rock numbers, and (of course) that schmaltzy sentimental state song "Tennessee Waltz."

We elected to do cute. We each wore white felt [literal] cat suits with kitty cat whiskers and kitty cat ears, and sang a nonsensical song, "The Cat Came Back" which harkens back to nursery school days. In truth, we were perfectly awful: too cute by half -- just the kind of thing that soothes the nerves of Student Activities people and encourages their world view that college students are basically benign.

At the climax of the song, all seven of us turn around in unison, twirl our tails in synchrony, insert large darkened cotton balls into our mouths, turn back forward, and spit out the cotton "hairballs" in unison.

We got the most applause.

But no prize.