Talk Talk

Flush with a newly successful business venture and the joy of being reunited with old friends, I became overly rambunctious at a convention several years ago. I still cringe at the memory of babbling incessantly as a talented folk-rock artist glared at me from a nearby stage. I know, consequently, that jerks are often merely oblivious rather than malicious. Even so, I have low tolerance for similar rudeness in others. Please- just stop talking.

Kansas City Murder Factory

In February I wrote about the murder of my acquaintance Sliccs Gotcha. Since then two more Kansas City-area rappers- Mo' Kash and JP Tha Mex- have been killed. The loss of a hip hop artist, of course, is no more significant than the death of any other human being. And at least eighty people have been murdered in Kansas City, Missouri, so far this year. So when I discovered the trailer for Ben Meade's new film Kansas City Murder Factory today (via Tony's Kansas City), it really hit home.

Sycamore

Magnificent, isn't it? I'd axe this sycamore if it wasn't so impressive. Each day a fresh round of bark, branches, leaves and seeds blankets the surrounding ground. I marvel that there's anything left standing.

Conception

I realize the observation is trite and obvious, yet I'm continually astounded by the miracle of creation. The act of planting a flowering bush almost spontaneously generates a thriving self-contained universe. Flying, crawling and squirming creatures live and die in the four square yards of incidental habitat. The implications are staggering.

Car Potato

I'd like to ascribe my revulsion of in-car televisions to moral principle. It's not true. I'm just jealous. Back when air travel was cost-prohibitive, I sat in the back of a smoke-filled, seatbelt-free station wagon on cross-country car trips. There were no hand-held electronics. Even FM radio was a luxury. Those long journeys were awful. So I cringe every time I see a kid slap on the television during a ten-minute car ride. I was born too soon.

And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda

Is it the beer? The relentless year-round marketing campaign by a large ethnic-identifying community? Or is it the music, a niche that holds special appeal for aging hippies and hipsters? I always marvel at how Kansas City's annual Irish festival manages to attract tens of thousands of people. I published an interview with the director of the Prairie Village Jazz Festival at Plastic Sax yesterday. I honestly don't know if the September 11 event will attract 500 or 5,000 people. I can't wait to find out.

Give Me Something Fried

My plans for the holiday weekend are far from finalized, but with any luck at all I'll hit more than one of the area's three big festivals. KC Irish Fest, Santa-Cali-Gon Days and Old Settlers offer unique charms. Funnel cakes are fine, but what I really want is a "frickle" or a "screwed spud."