Out of the Hurly-Burly by Max Adeler

We changed some things around in the bedroom, which gave me the opportunity to reconsider which books I really need to keep on the shelf by my side of the bed. Out of the Hurly-Burly made the cut once again, not just because of its bedside-friendly subtitle “Life in an Odd Corner” but because of its sheer exuberance and variety. A loose collection of stories, fantasies, essays, autobiographical anecdotes and poetry, Out of the Hurly-Burly alternately evokes Thackeray, Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll, W.S. Gilbert, and Adeler’s contemporary and rival Mark Twain. It anticipates the rise of a strain of late 19^th and early 20^th century American humor writing typified by John Kendrick Bangs, Don Marquis and F. Anstey.

An international bestseller in its time, Out of the Hurly-Burly doesn’t have much of a following now. I only discovered it myself because its best-known edition has illustrations by the genius cartoonist A.B. Frost, who was to Joel Chandler Harris’ Uncle Remus tales what Ernest Shepard was to A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh, or what George Herriman was to Marquis’ Arch & Mehitabel. Frost is also revered for the slickly sick adventure “Our Cat Eats Rat Poison” and some wonderful talking-animal cartoons for Puck magazine. Out of the Hurly-Burly was Frost’s debut as a book illustrator, and he contributed hundreds of detailed drawings as varied as Adeler’s text pieces.

For bedtime reading, the highest recommendation goes to Chapter 15, in which the narrator gets out of bed at night to answer the door, only to get stuck outdoors with his nightshirt caught in the slammed-shut front door.

Still flashing back to the scene outside UltraRadio last Thursday night, which I viewed comfortably from one of the 20 audience seats for New Haven Theater Company’s site-specific production of Eric Bogosian’s 1987 play Talk Radio.

The people-watching was going on avidly through both sides of UltraRadio’s large picture window. NHTC had to post a guard outside the venue to keep folks from pounding on the windows Today Show-style during the performance. Ultra Radio founder Randy Borovsky, who’d seen the show from within the studio with the rest of the internet station’s staff during a special dress rehearsal, seemed to enjoy being outside on the streets for subsequent performances, interacting with passersby. On the night I attended, the street folk included a bunch of administrative suits from the Shubert Theater right across the street from Ultra Radio. There was someone playing the role of dapper manager as part of the play. And that, of course, was not where the similarities between Bogosian’s frenetic drama and the real-life denizens of New Haven ended. The play has a clueless stoner, and you could find confused guys like that outside wondering what was going on in the Ultra Radio fishbowl. Lots of professional types and “average” folk too.

I liked the show—I’ve been a Bogosian fan for decades, and NHTC did him proud. But I especially liked the view of New Haven at night. It was as far from the “dangerous city” claptrap as you can get. New Haven’s a city of lively storefronts—the shifting non-profit Project Storefronts, the sidewalk seating outside restaurants—and here was another one, a radio window on the world.

The gerbils ran the running wheel right off the side of the cage Sunday night. The wheel fell entrance-down, the runner trapped within. Her sister escaped and frightened Kathleen and Mabel, who were engaged in homework in the next. They didn’t jump on chairs or anything, but they did think “rat” instead of “pet gerbil” and were understandably unnerved.

I trapped the gerbil under a tambourine, which is something I really ought to do for Halloween, because it’s really creepy to see a jangling tambourine scuttle slowly around the floor.

There was actually an indie band called The Gerbils, a lo-fi pop trio from Athens. This is not that.

An instrumental interlude:

Sssssssss.

Kksssssh.

Klik. Thup. Karak!

Sssss. Ssssss. Klssssssh.

Yes, its the espresso machine they leave on during the open mic at the House With Room coffeeshop near campus. There’ve been so many complaints about the gizmo’s hissings and creakings interrupting tranquil sets that some of the earnest folkies have risen up in protest. The other night, one performer implored his listeners not to order espresso while he was on. Not only was he scolded by House With Room management, espresso sales actually went up during his set because of coffee klatschers who didn’t like his attitude OR his music.

But the discontent is real. The machine has never been well-received by the fussy folksingers. Something’s got to give, and when it does, there’ll probably be a big whoosh of steam along with it.

Urgent message on the tin can: dinner is ready.

Hugh Laurie, Let Them Talk. I really avoided this, despite the blitz of positive features and reviews in my favorite UK music magazines. Then there it was, posted for free listening on AOL Music. Even then I hesitated. But I pushed “Play” and got a headful of determinedly idiosyncratic “Saint James Infirmary.” Challenging and confident, Hugh Laurie spends no time proving himself to the skeptical. You’re the one who has to follow him. Unlike so many actor/musicians who play the spotlight more than they do an instrument, Laurie finds affinities in slowed-down instrumental work-outs. When he duets with Dr. John, both men still their hyperactive sides for a sultry, sweethearted “After You’ve Gone.” Even the pattery “They’re Red Hot” gets a slow, train-conductor-intonation build-up. By the time you’re getting to the final track, the title song, and Hugh Laurie actually invokes comparisons to the great Randy Newman, well… you’re speechless.

It’s one of the biggest publishing company overhauls ever, and a forward-thinking embrace of internet publishing.

But alll these new DC number one issues–52 titles (including the venerable Action and Detective) renumbered as if they’d never existed before, as a way of promoting the new simultaneous releases of the print and online editions– has not overwhelmed me at all. I haven’t bothered with any of ’em. And I’m a diehard longtime DC fan.

After Batman’s death and rebirth, the Flashpoint nexus, Brightest Day, Blackest Night and Grayest noon, I’m completely new-concepted out. The new DC number ones don’t swirl their storylines together as avidly as those other stunts have, but they do reinvent or reinterpret a host of heroes (again), and I’m done with that for a while.

To add insult to ubiquity, in launching all these new books, they’ve canned or stalled a bunch of my favorites. Bryan Miller’s brilliant take on Batgirl? Over, replaced by the return of Barbara Gordon in the role. Superman’s year-long stroll across country, scripted by Michael straczinsky? Out of step; Supes flies again. Batman Incorporated? Its stock has split.

The only new DC title that really interests me its the latest revelation of Swamp Thing, but I’m more curious than especially of true (or new) quality there. Luckily, I’ve been cleaning the basement and have baskets of back issues to dig through. I’ll take rediscovery over reinvention any time.

“Have you been to Chairigami?,” a neighbor asked. I hadn’t even heard of it, but I immediately appreciated the concept. For years I’ve been folding origami animals and other objects to put in with my daughters’ school lunches. (I thought when they learned how to read, they’d be happy to move on to written lunchbox notes, but they still want the origami.) Origami is a language I speak. And here’s a guy who’d adapted the ancient Asian paperfolding artform to furniture and home furnishing.

A sexy small-business story for the local press, to be sure, especially since the proprietor is a Yale student and his York Street storefront has been given him gratis for one month through the munificence of Yale’s University Properties landlords.

The stories have celebrated the cleverness of the concept, the difficulties of starting up a small business, the aesthetic qualities and consumer demand for the chairs and other offerings in the shop. But unless you’ve done it yourself, it’s hard to convey the joy and wonderment of folding paper into sturdy objects of beauty.

I walked by Chairigami a few days after it opened. It was after 9 p.m., closing time for York Street and Broadway businesses. A time of night when the excitement had already shifted to the crowd in line outside Toad’s, or the pizza shops already into the first-wave of late-night snackers.

Chairigami’s door was still open. The place was brightly lit. The furniture looked immaculate and lovely. Pop music was blaring from a boombox. And there, alone in the shop was the chairman of Chairigami, bopping and weaving and dancing to the music, enlivened and entranced by this miraculous little world he had folded himself into.

…this time from Jughead’ s Double Digest #109 (Feb. 2005 issue).

Class Gas

Career Sphere

Split Bit

Tall Fall

Stock Yock

Search Perch

Ever Clever

Paint Complaint

Frank Prank

Growl Howl

Puck Pluck

Hill Spill

Prize Surprize [sic]

Fright Sight

Heat Treat

Hint Stint

Hot spot

Snow Woe

Munch a Bunch

Two Coup

Thumb Fun

Flash Dash

Proof Spoof

Gag Bag

Heart Art

Gripe Snipe

Chin Din

…and Snow Snafu.

This will be on your permanent record. A skip on a track sampled for the forthcoming Rank Case of Reason album—a project which also marks the first efforts of DJ Fistula as a producer of music by others—had a natural affliction which caused it to repeat, with a sinuous beat.

When they heard the skip, Fistula says he completely reinvented and “inverted” the song. The band was initially baffled, but has grown to love the track, to the point where they intend to play it live next week at the Bullfinch alongside and antique turntable spinning the original skipping vinyl.

The Baby Snooks and Clara, Lu and Em at the Bullfinch, with shoes on… The Dandunns and Dennis Day in the Life at Hamilton’s, covering the you-know-whos… look for a tattered poetry book in every pocket at the Painted Dreams/Portia Faces Life drear-athon at D’ollaire’s…