2008-10 Vital Source Mag – October 2008
Reconsidering the turkey
The other day my son and I were driving in the country when we saw a small rafter of wild turkeys hanging out by the side of the road. We stopped to watch, which eventually caused the big tom to lead the dozen or so females and adolescents back to the tall meadow stand at a leisurely pace, one eye on us and one on his charges. He perched in a low tree, puffed up and giving orders in what sounded like a calm but firm voice, not descending until it was time to form a rear guard of one. It was very cool. For a 10-year old, Harrison is a fount of history and science trivia. As we pulled away he asked me if I knew that Ben Franklin thought the turkey would make a better national bird than the bald eagle. “I did know that,” I replied. “Do you know why?” “Because he thought turkeys were smarter and more honest than eagles, and that was a better symbol for America.” I asked if he agreed. “I think,” he replied, “that the turkey would be a better symbol of how we should be, but the eagle is more accurate for how we are.” Indeed. Benjamin Franklin’s now-famous thoughts on the turkey were disclosed in a letter to his daughter in 1784: “For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly. …[T]oo lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him. … [L]like those among Men who live by Sharping & Robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank Coward: The little King Bird not bigger than a Sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the District. He is therefore by no means a proper Emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America who have driven all the King birds from our Country…For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird …He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage…” Franklin never petitioned his idea formally. Maybe he already had a sense of the direction in which things were headed and didn’t see the value in ruffling any feathers (sorry). He was, after all, a pretty smart guy, and eerily prescient on a host of matters. Philosophically, as a publisher, I’m probably a lot like Ben Franklin, who worked as a civil servant late into his life, more interested in improving the postal service, the library system and municipal functions than holding great power on the world stage. So when you read VITAL Source online or in print, […]
Oct 1st, 2008 by Jon Anne WillowOn Assignment
by Matt Wild + Photos by Kat Berger I’m sipping a flat rum and coke at a place called El Bait Shop (Spanish for: The Bait Shop) in downtown Des Moines, Iowa, when I realize how much this town is like a Lou Reed record: difficult, frustrating and haunted by past brilliance. Sure, there’s always something of worth to be found buried beneath the bright bars and non-existent music scene (or, in Lou Reed’s case, concept albums about Edgar Allen Poe) but damn if you don’t have to work for it. To explain: In late August, Vital sent me to cover the inaugural World Xtreme Boxing Challenge being held in Des Moines. Less than 48 hours before I was scheduled to leave, the tournament was cancelled. Figuring a weekend out of town might do me some good, I decided to make the trip anyway. My story would now be of the city itself, its similarities and differences to Milwaukee, its selling points and hidden treasures. It would also be a half-assed travelogue, one that would come to feature a failed Wayne Newton encounter, an appropriately geeky renaissance fair and me getting slapped in the face by a dwarf. And finally, like a Lou Reed album (I’m thinking something along the lines of Transformer now), it would be about how a road trip can be a bundle of blind hope, bitter disappointments and – given enough time and patience – something like a revelation. This is the story of that road trip. This is Des Moines. DAY 1 Looking out the windows of the ultra-swank Embassy Club atop the 801 Grand building, you can see nearly everything there is to see of Des Moines, a city roughly a quarter the size of Milwaukee. It’s a beautiful city, really, with the Iowa State Capitol – its 23-karat gold-plated dome shining in the sunset – overlooking downtown. I’m taking it all in with a glass of red wine in my hand, joined by Milwaukee’s own Amy Elliott, Bridget Brave and Kat Berger. (A quick note to male readers: when making a road trip with three women, it takes less than 20 minutes before the conversation turns to tampons and Judy Blume books.) We’ve just driven seven hours and have barely made our dinner appointment with three members of the Des Moines Convention and Visitors Bureau. There are no prices on our menus and the ladies look amazing. I’ve managed to put on a shirt and tie. The similarities between Des Moines and Milwaukee are striking: both share a clean, compact downtown that has benefited from recent revitalization programs, and both have a contentious, newly-erected bronze statue to contend with (in the case of Des Moines, it’s of recent Olympic gold-medalist Shawn Johnson). Other fun facts learned over our five-course meal: Des Moines is the insurance capital of America, it contains some of the most extensive urban biking/hiking trails in the world, and its four-mile downtown skywalk system is second-to-none. Later, a helpful Wikipedia […]
Oct 1st, 2008 by Matt WildGrails
Some folks label the Portland, OR band Grails instrumental. I deem it ambient or Narada metal. The prolific (and I use this term with a large measure of chagrin) quartet’s 9th release this millennium, Doomsdayer’s Holiday, really is just more of the same, and all the more agonizing because of it. The seven songs within dabble in a few textures, but all of it just blows wind (literally, in many unfortunate instances) and is entirely forgettable. Many have come before Grails, and to much better results. There’s “doom” metal (just grubby blues licks) on “Reincarnation Blues” and “Predestination Blues.” Then there are the aforementioned wind samples, high-fret guitar chimes, and recycled “large room” percussion on the opening title track. The only creative touch or compelling moment of any kind comes at the very end, with the Pink Floyd-apeing “Acid Rain.” All of these songs are frustrating in their sheer lack of direction and overall dullness. Virtually everything here is pretentious: the artwork (perhaps an homage to Danzig: naked breasts, check; power animal, check; fog, check; ominous trees, check), the songwriting (with ho-hum musicianship at best) and the production (will Steve Albini get royalties?). I can best describe this (and in fact, their entire output) as merely different joints all rolled from the same bag of weed. Now, I must ask you … have you ever smoked eight-yearold weed?
Oct 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero