I have been informed that WordPress puts ads on this blog. I don’t see them in the Author view, so I didn’t know. I find the idea that anyone thinks my writing could somehow be leveraged to sell anything unaccountably amusing, but, y’know, if I’m being called on to endorse products, I want to choose which ones.



Yes, Mr. & Mrs. America, you too may have need of FLEISCHMANN’S YEAST! FLEISCHMANN’S YEAST combats the dread ailments of tired blood, fallen stomach, and enryphasia. When asked, nine of ten doctors recognized that FLEISCHMANN’S YEAST were two words in the English language. For years, I suffered in silence. Now I take FLEISCHMANN’S YEAST three times a day, and suffer as loudly as I want!

But don’t take my word for it. Ask TV funnywoman Laraine Newman!

(Laraine Newman is shown standing in a verdant glade, smiling. She withdraws her lips to reveal a cube of yeast held between her teeth.)

Friends, don’t delay! Ask for FLEISCHMANN’S YEAST anywhere it’s still 1935!



(LYSID is in a darkly lit piano bar. LYSID is in a tuxedo. LYSID is at the piano)

Folks, I know I’ve been playing some pretty heavy numbers tonight…the apologia, the whole philosophy trip…but now I want to change the mood a little, take it to a different level…

(LYSID plays a bit of “Girl From Ipanema”)

I don’t know if you’ve ever visited, but in recent years, the town of Meredith, New Hampshire has heavily invested in public art. They have what they call the Sculpture Walk, from the lakefront up to the Town Hall, works from local artists, sharing their visions made solid, providing a surprise for the stroller, a gift for the visitor. I love it. It puts a song in my heart—but I gotta be honest, I can’t sing that song. So tonight, I asked some very dear friends to come help me out.


(A curtain lifts, lights go up. The band launches into the tune of “Hungry Heart.” Bruce, circa 1980, steps up to the microphone and begins to sing:)

It dots the waterfront in Baltimore, Jack
Gives the place some class, makes the tourists come back
A eight-foot man made of buffalo bone
A glass Klein bottle that just keeps flowin’

Everybody wants some public art
Everybody wants some public art
You pay your taxes so you own a part
Everybody wants some public art

I saw it in a Kingstown park
Hammered copper pans, in the shape of a hen
Vandals took it and they ripped it apart
But they restored it down in Kingstown again

Everybody wants some public art
Everybody loves that public art
You pay your taxes so you own a part
Everybody wants some public art

(Bridge. Dancers dressed as the “Chicago Picasso” come out and do the Swim.)

Everybody likes a faceless man
Everybody likes a coral throne
Don’t make no difference what the critic says
Ain’t no town should be unadorned

(LYSID joins Bruce at the mic. Bruce screams “EVERYBODY NOW!”)

Everybody wants some public art!
Everybody needs that public art!
You pay your taxes so you own a part!
Everybody loves some public art!


(reprise the chorus…)

The title of the last post comes from a witticism heard among the chattering classes in Paris in March of 1815:

“The monster has broken out of his den; the brigand has landed at Cannes; the general has reached Lyon; Napoleon passed the night at Orleans; the Emperor is expected hourly at the Tuileries; His Imperial Majesty will address his loyal subjects to-morrow.”

Except from a different version of the joke (one with the word ‘monster’ in it) than I first learned, in David Johnson’s The French Cavalry 1792-1815.