TALK OF THE TOWNS

grand center

We thought you might want to know about the upcoming night of conversation and comedy with comedian-cum-senator Al Franken at The Sheldon Concert Hall on Sunday, Nov. 21. Well, the aptly named “Al Franken’s The Only Former U.S. Senator Currently On Tour Tour!” is sold out, but at least now you know that, too. As far as anyone knows, Franken is the only U.S. senator who was also one of the original writers for Saturday Night Live. During his 15 seasons with SNL, Franken won five Emmys for writing and producing. He’s authored No. 1 New York Times bestsellers, including Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them—A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right and Al Franken, Giant of the Senate. Franken served Minnesota from 2009-2018, and he served on the Judiciary, Energy, Indian Affairs and HELP (Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions) committees. He resigned from the Senate in December 2017 following accusations of sexual impropriety. In any case, the Al Franken Podcast is one of the nation’s top 10 politics and public affairs podcasts with guests like Malcolm Nance, Sarah Silverman, Paul Krugman and Chris Rock.

talk

OF THE TOWNS

by bill beggs jr.

u. city

An unnatural disaster struck us at home Oct. 28. We noticed a brook babbling down the sidewalk into the storm drain right outside the front door, but it was barely drizzling. Then, OMG: At the end of the walk about 30 feet away, water burbled out of two other drains. Cate dispatched me for sandbags and contacted CPM, our condo management company. Lisa at CPM asked whether we’d called the water company; Lisa said she would, too. But Missouri-American’s switchboard wouldn’t accept calls from Cate’s or my phone: We aren’t customers—CPM is! Cate, frantic, managed to get somebody at the water company on the line and pleaded for an emergency response—muddy water was spurting out of the drains. She called 911; U. City police and fire both responded promptly—seems firefighters know rushing water as well as they do roaring blazes. One unclogged the drain outside our door, shoveled mud against the sandbags, then rearranged them to release the encroaching waters. Neighbors and gawkers with cameras and dogs appeared. Meanwhile, thanks to Lisa, I waved to the plumber who showed up, shrugged, and left; a disaster mitigation company called us, too. Our impressive water feature was turning the yard into a mess that mud wrestlers would have loved. Finally—three hours after the first calls—a water-company van drove up. The driver pulled a long, T-shaped wrench out of the back, but his shut-off efforts were for naught. Mud kept sloshing in, blocking the valve. Without a word, he drove off. Trucks started appearing. They turned off the water to the street. As a backhoe rumbled across the yard, dusk was falling— then, ‘Poof!’… flood lights bright enough to prevent a prison break. The sounds of thumping, scraping and concrete cracking were like fingernails on a blackboard. A big chunk of sidewalk thunked next to the mud pile on our cute baby grass. Workers dumped gravel over the maw where they’d removed the walk and replaced the pipe, turned the water back on, sprayed and shoveled away some mud, and vamoosed. Bottom line: Despite a day of noise and rushing waters outside, we stayed dry inside … somehow. We are grateful. But also left to wonder when Missouri-American might plan to come back and restore the yard. Oy; what chutzpah—at this writing it’s been, oh, 12 days since all this muddy mishegas started.

the metro

When my two younger brothers and I were snot-noses in the 1960s sitting in the rear-facing back seat of our Ford Country Squire station wagon, a game we’d play to relieve our boredom on a trip was to see what state license plates we could spot. Since we lived in the Baltimore-Washington area, everybody spotted a boatload of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania plates. (I spied an Alaska plate once, but nobody ever saw one from Hawaii.) As an adult who’s over the hill and picking up speed, with our kids grown, I often have only myself to amuse during the awful traffic backups on I-170. For the last few years, it’s been fun to spy ‘status’ plates. One rush hour a few weeks ago, traffic was a doozy, and so were the plates. I merged in at a crawl right behind a gorgeous electric-blue Lamborghini that was so close to the pavement you’d have to limbo in and out of it. The Florida plate read WRIT-OFF. Hmm… snarky. A minute and maybe 50 yards farther down the Inner Belt, a sporty red Audi merged in slowly beside me: TTTTTTT ... I counted seven T’s—Seventies. Wowsers. There once was a cherry red ’65 Mustang convertible in a downtown Webster Groves display window: NE1410S. Anyone for tennis? Another: WLEXOT. It belonged to the husband of my son’s 5th grade teacher, an awesome artist for either Marvel or D.C. comics. (Don’t we all sort of feel sorry sometimes for Wiley Coyote? The ‘X’ stands for the Greek letter Chi, you see.) 2HARTZ on a minivan—last name or awww? But my favorite is on another Audi, a white one I’ve seen the hind end of at Deer Creek Coffee in Ladue: 4TUNE8. It always makes me feel exactly that.

TT trivia ☛ CHUTZPAH AND MISHEGAS, OR MISHIGAS, ARE FAVORITE YIDDISH WORDS OF YOUR SCRIBE, A LAPSED PROTESTANT. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? (‘MISHEGAS,’ NOT ‘LAPSED PROTESTANT,’ ALTHOUGH IT’S A VALID QUESTION.)

LAST ISSUE’S Q&A

What’s one business slated to occupy the acreage cleared in western U. City? Costco has laid claim to the vast acreage cleared at the northeastern quadrant of I-170 and Olive in U. City. For about the last seven years, several blocks have fallen within the 50-some acre ‘Interchange District’—one of four set out along Olive by U. City planners. To the east of McKnight/Woodson is the ‘International’ District,’ followed by the ‘Park District,’ then the ‘Industrial District’ as Olive approaches Skinker.

downtown west

Before you read past the dash in this passage, close your eyes. Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Try this—“Hamburger Bacon Black Olive and Mushroom with Salted Caramel Pretzel Concrete and Hi Fi Fo Fum.”* If impulses are zipping from your confused brain to your tongue and back again, that’s OK. You’re browsing in the StL’s finest used-to-be stereo store, your favorite square beyond compare in one hand, a Ted Drewes concrete in the other. Listen. Bad Bunny’s hip-hoppy Latin pop booms through a suitcase-sized portable stereo. You’re just having a Katherine Bernhardt experience. Go with it! ‘Eclectic’ doesn’t quite fit Bernhardt’s oeuvre. It’s big, loud and in your face. We visited the artist in her converted Downtown West warehouse, blessed with enough sun spilling through skylights to keep a botanical garden thriving. Where to start? Everywhere. The panel with a green, graffiti-esque Imo’s logo bleeding into other not-so-random collegiate debris and yet-to-be-consumed goodies? Wow; you’re a freshman again. If studying happens here, it’s off to one side, represented by a pencil taller than Bernhardt, who’s wearing her ‘“pandemic sweatshirt’” (quotes mine): Six fresh rolls of TP and three lit cigs grace the front. What else does one need to survive during lockdown? (Hint, kids: Nutrition! Exercise!) Abutting the dorm room is the outline of an iconic cartoon panther; he’s pinkish, yes, and somewhat hieroglyphical. Doing yoga? She says there’ll be about 10 of the feline when she’s wrapped up the series. Not all imaginary felines are so svelte, natch: Facsimiles of the rotund Garfield are in the house. He’s another cultural signpost Bernhardt favors. (Her Garfield phone works … in Europe: “My sister found it in a thrift shop in Italy.”) In Wellston, on a mural that north St. Louis youth helped Bernhardt paint behind a custom-designed wooden bus shelter at the corner of Hodiamont and Dr. Martin Luther King, a crabby, chubby orange cat stands next to Colin Kaepernick and a handgun—red circle and diagonal slash obscuring it: a silent memorial to victims of gun violence. Two people have been shot to death there. Back at the studio, a different corner: It’s all about Chanel No. 5, the omnipresent scent wafting from your too-hip-for-middle-school little sister and everybody else’s grandmother. Bernhardt was commissioned by Italian Vogue to commemorate the legendary fragrance’s centennial this year. Chanel panels are leonine; Coco was a Leo, into astrology, extreme politics—you name it, along with, oh, that little revolutionary reconstruction of 20th century women’s fashion. Then, if there is a pièce de résistance: Her va-va-va-voom 1994 Jaguar XJ6: “I painted it for a Los Angeles car show: Venus Over Los Angeles—‘Piston Head 2: Artists Engage the Automobile,’ back in 2016.” Right below the windshield? A pinkish panther bust. Arrayed across the front of the bodacious vehicle, straddling the Jag’s iconic hood ornament, are art books by Bernhardt: She’s produced at least eight volumes, for only the most stylish of coffee tables.

*That mouthwatering ‘word salad’ is the title of Bernhardt’s exhibition at The Greenberg Gallery in Clayton through Dec. 31. Visit dragoncrabturtle.com, online home of a space Bernhardt rehabbed and where she regularly exhibits—2814 Locust. BTW: Bernhardt is to be inducted into the Hall of Fame at Clayton High School next spring.

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