Quote-unQuote

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The kind of humor I like is the thing that makes me laugh for five seconds and think for ten minutes = G. CARLIN...Stain glass, engraved glass, frosted glass
–give me plain glass = JOHN FOWLES...Music is the mathematics of the gods = PYTHAGORAS...Nothing is more fluid than language = R. L. SWIHART
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>I think therefore I am troubled = RENEE DESCARTES<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
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Friday, October 31, 2014

Inspired By A Commentista: More Saul Steinberg

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She not only inspired a blogular comment fest
but that Commentista is also responsible for
Saul Steinberg getting his due
from Mr. Oliveriue.


Steinberg 
View of the World From 9th Avenue





No New Yorker Magazine Cover
better defines the original purpose
of  this magnum opus
as drawn by
Saul










Other than to say that if there were a Group ODeities
ruling the wonderful world of New Yorker cartoonery,
Saul Steinberg is one of them.

The following Steinbergian images
need no verbal commentary 
from me.



































































Saul Steinberg
(1914-1999)
 

  Mr. Steinberg was born in Romania 
  and 2014 is the centennial 
  of his birth.



An unidentified New Yorker cartoonist
appears on the bottom of this page.

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Rennie Ellis: Thanks For The Memory

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© Rennie Ellis
Bondi NSW 1997



Mr. Ellis' photograph
instantly brings to mind
California beaches I visited
in the Sixties, the Seventies,
the Eighties...the Whatevers.







© Oliverio 
Rocky Point, 2004 (± 50)
  
But dwarfed are those memories
by this Long Island beach.

Every pebble in view corresponds
to another Oliverio story.

Thank you, Rennie,
for Memory's gymnastics  

Thank you, Mrs. CarPeo,
for existing



______________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
This Rennie Ellis photograph inspired my memory but most of his photographs
inspire my jealousy.
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Partially, A Poem From The New York Times

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ARS POETICA FOR THE ONES LIKE US
I like the story about the man who talks
God into letting him live until he is done
With his masterwork.

In some versions He is a painter, 
But in this one he is a singer
Who then sings every sentence, whose song
Becomes a poem that does not end
Because it is eternally revised. 

Who can say whether Orpheus, when he found honey
In other hives, did not sing to let the devil know
His body was alive? 

He was the first to grieve,
Years in advance, the news of his death.
At the wake I explained that the poem could be
Thought of as a house: a room where a boy
Undresses before a slightly older girl and vanishes
Inside her robe; a basement where the furnace
And pipes hold what keeps the house erect
...

TERRANCE HAYES ©
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Laptop Dancer ©

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When she walks out the door
And you won't see her no more
A thought goes to your core:
Lock me under the floor

But she can be a "she" –or better
Your dog, your cat or your computer

::::::

Sudden death strikes your hard drive
Without back-up, storage, or any salvation jive
You throw some money in a tent revive

The preacher prays for death reversed
All he says sounds so rehearsed
But death is the truly cursed

Hallelujah He removes the curse
As you empty your purse

You crawl out from under the floor
To answer a knock on the door

JesusChristAlmighty It is HER
All you can do is defer

She exclaims: "You are my hero!
But we are back to ground zero."

Loves returns when it is infinitely true.
There is an infinity of work to do. 


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Footnote
LAPTOP DANCER is the copyrighted property of LCSoL.
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Don't Let The Price Tag Fool You!

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This comic book today is expected to sell for $350,000





























© artdaily.org






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Mr. Photoverio © (#28)

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© Oliverio
The Sky is the Limit
Hazeburg, 2005 







Happy

Halloweening







#29 is here.






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Existential Cookbook + Existential Man (CR #905)

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Roz Chast





You can always cook 

with free will

but remember to pay

your futility bill















BUT...

Undetectably
Discovered!



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Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Basketball Fans: Repeat After Me...

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Thank You, MARTY GLICKMAN





He is the man
who invented
the teminology
of the sport.









"Before there was Marv Albert and Bob Costas,
There was Marty Glickman."      

















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Hap-Pre Halloween From Saul Steinberg

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Saul Steinberg
1966











You don't need to ask
But it's only a paper mask





Photographer = Irving Penn
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THE ANTS AT PRINCETON by Scott Fitzgerald ©

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Sufficient time having elapsed it is now possible to tell the facts about a case concerning which little is known, but about which the wildest speculations have been made. As a Princeton man and a friend of certain University officials, the present author is in a position to know the true story, from its beginning at a faculty meeting to its nigh tragic ending at an intercollegiate football game.

One detail will forever elude me—which member of the faculty first conceived the idea of admitting ants as students to the University. The reasons given, I remember, were that the insects by their highly complicated organising power, their discipline and above all, their industry, would set an example to the other students.

In any event the experiment was inaugurated one autumn under what seemed the best auspices. It was possible through the efforts of Professor_____ of the bacteriological department, and through the generosity of Mr.______ of the Board of Trustees to find a number of ants suitable to the experiment. And so tactfully was it managed that many of the students were totally unaware of the presence of their new classmates, and, but for a certain incident which forms the basis of this story, might have remained so all through college. 

Some of the ants, because of their diminutive stature, found difficulty in “keeping up” with their fellow students and these were reluctantly dropped at midyear examinations. The majority of them did well, however, and all progressed favorably through the year in spite of a growing inferiority complex among them. This complex was strongest in an especially large well developed ant, in whom the conviction gradually grew that it was his destiny to justify his people and their abilities before the rest of the student body.

As I say, his stature approached that of a man, and it was natural that his ambition
should take the form of making for himself a berth on the varsity football team.

This was not so difficult, for during the previous year the team had been disorganized. 

It was between regimes, so to speak, and Fritz Crisler had been called East from the 
University of Minnesota to take the reins.

One of Mr. Crisler’s first acts in assuming control was to ask for full independence
in moulding a newer and better team—and the first matter that came up
in this connection naturally centered about the ant.

For the ant by this time was playing running guard on the second varsity and to older alumni it seemed almost a disgrace that a team which had in other days contained such legendary heroes as Hillebrand, Biffy Lee, Big Bill Edwards and the Poes should have an ant on it, no matter what his personal character or ability.

But Crisler was firm.

“At Minnesota,” he would say, “we have no racial discriminations on our teams—except of course against Scandinavians.”

So as spring practice turned to fall practice the older alumni became resigned to the situation. And meanwhile the ant was moved up to the first varsity in which he became an important cog because of his versatility, playing secondary defense on the offense and secondary offense on the defense.

By the beginning of the season the coaches were beginning to think of him as a potential All- American. He was big and rugged and the dazzling way in which he twisted through the line on all fours, as well as his confusing ability to carry the ball under any of his eight arms, seemed to in- augurate a new era in American football. The whole offense was gradually built about him.

Every old Princetonian will remember that season—how in turn Cornell, Pennsylvania, Dartmouth, Columbia and Yale, and the two “breathers” (as the easy games were called), the Lawrenceville Seconds and the New Jersey School for Drug Addicts fell before the onslaught of the Tiger—or rather of the ant, for it was to him that the sports writers gave full credit. 

When his head was torn off in the Yale game there was dismay on the campus and a sigh of relief went over the undergraduate body when it was once more fixed in place.

Only one obstacle lay in the way of a victorious season and a sure trip to the Rose Bowl. The last game that year was with Harvard and the captain of the Crimson, Cabot Saltonville, who also played running guard, declared that he would rather cancel the game than play against an ant. 

“I do not think it necessary to give any reasons,” he declared to an eager press, “but I assure you on my word as an old Groton man it is not a question of fear.”

The battle raged in the newspapers and on the two campuses. The Princetonians naturally saw in it a disingenuous desire to get rid of their star player. The claim was made that a Maeterlinck had written about ants while only an Adams had written about Bostonians. The Cambridgians stood almost unanimously behind their captain and broke up a radical meeting which considered the matter an aspect of the class war.

In the end Princeton yielded. The ant would sit on the sidelines. Saltonville had won.

As the game progressed the result was as prophesied. Without their quintuple threat the Princeton team was as paralyzed. Steadily the score mounted 7-0, 14-0, 50-0, 65-0—while the cheering from the Tiger stands gradually, took on the semblance of a groan.
Finally someone—legend ascribes it to a freshman—started a singsong slogan:

“We want ‘Aunty’.
  We want ‘Aunty’.”

Those near-by took it up and finally the whole orange and black section were chanting it.
“We want Aunty!”

It was here that Captain Saltonville of Harvard made his great mistake. There were only ten minutes to play and in the overweening confidence engendered by the score he was moved to one of those gestures of chivalry inherited from a long line of New England ancestors.

He called time out and shouted to the Princeton sidelines.
“Send in that insect.”

They sent him in. He was in his civilian clothes for he had not expected to play, but before ten seconds had passed that seemed to make no difference, for once he was on the field a new spirit possessed the Princeton players. They swung into their old formations and with the ant leading the tandems rushed down the field. Crisler, as has been said, had built an offense around him that had carried them through an undefeated season. 

As “Aunty” bucked, tackled, spun, reversed, kicked & passed, hundreds of other smaller ants making their way cautiously through the grass swarmed over the Harvard players, and at each starting signal nipped them with such vehemence as to completely destroy their charge and spoil any vestige of an offense. (Some of them, by penetrating the players’ nether garments, gave rise to a famous phrase which would be indelicate to set down here.)

Captain Saltonville, his face black with ants so that he could scarcely see, cursed his generosity. But still he saw the score roll up 6-65, 25-65, 55-65, 64-65—until Princeton was ahead at last. Then he decided on a desperate measure.
He would “get” Aunty. He would violate all the traditions of his family and play dirty.

The signal was given and in he rushed.

“Bim!” went his fist, under the scrimmage, “Bim! Bam! Bim!”

Something warned him even at the moment that he was being rash.

And presently the huge throng was treated to a strange sight. Out of the pile burst Captain Saltonville, running at full speed, and after him, with a ferocious light in his beady eyes came the ant. Past his own goal posts ran the Cambridgian, and then with a glance behind and a terrified cry, up he went over the barrier into the stands, up the aisle he climbed with the ant always behind him.

Terrified, the crowd watched knowing that eventually Captain Saltonville would reach the top of the stadium with no alternative to a fifty foot leap to the ground.

The stricken Massachuten reached the press box and paused, white with anguish. Nearer and nearer came the ant, impeded only a little by the efforts of Harvard men to head him off.

And then another anonymous figure walks into this story. It was a young resourceful sports writer.
“If you will give the proper statement to the press,” he said, “I think I can calm him down.”
“Anything!” cried Saltonville.

Carefully the reporter dictated and Saltonville repeated after him into the mike, his blood quivering with shame at the words.

“This anim– I mean my honorable opponent is superior to me… in industry, character and courage.” 
He hurried on for his adversary was within hearing, “He is a gentleman and sportsman and I am proud to have encountered him even in defeat.”

The ant heard and stopped. Flattery is sweet and his fighting nature was mollified.
The pressman spoke for him.

“Do you mean that, Captain Saltonville?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” faltered the son of John Harvard, “That’s why I hurried up to the press box. I couldn’t keep back the truth any longer.”

And that is the true story of the ants at Princeton. That they became a nuisance and had to be exterminated the following spring does not detract from the credit of their achievement.

The extermination order did not of course apply to “Aunty.” You can see him any day now, if you are curious, for he has specialized in the future of his own people and holds down with credit the Harkness Chair of Insectology at Yale and in his spare time coaches the team. And Captain Saltonville is still remembered as one of the fastest running guards the Crimson ever knew. 


______________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
THE ANTS AT PRINCETON was originally published in 1936.

The next Fitzgerald page is here.
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Monday, October 27, 2014

Dear Joe From Dear John

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John Lennon Hand-written Letter to Broadcast Legend Joe Franklin: SOLD

 















The semi-complete text of this 2-page letter
appears on the Art Daily link below:


© artdaily.org

You do not have to be a Beatles' fan
to appreciate this Joe Franklin video.

The next Beatles' page is here.
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Mr. Photoverio © (#27©): HapPRE Halloween

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© Mrs. Oliverio 
10-27-14

© Mrs. Oliverio 
10-27-14





 ...Treats  or Tricks...

     





Photoverio #28 is here.
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The Monsignor & The Teenager

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"Why do I make lists?" Amory asked him one night. 
"Lists of all sorts of things?"

"Because you're a mediaevalist," Monsignor answered. 
"We both are. It's the passion for classifying and finding a type."

"It's a desire to get something definite."

"It's the nucleus of scholastic philosophy."

"I was beginning to think I was growing eccentric 
 till I came up here. It was a pose, I guess."

"Don't worry about that; for you not posing 
 may be the biggest pose of all. Pose—"

"Yes?"

"But do the next thing."

F. Scott Fitzgerald 
This Side of Paradise
 (1920)







The fictional Monsignor is Thayer Darcy.

The 17year-old teenager is Amory Blaine.












Alleged authorities have proven that

Amory Blaine was the most influential teenager 
of the 20th Century before JD Salinger 
sent Amory through the Looking Glass 
and created Holden Caulfield...

You may now start your search engines.

The next Fitzgerald page is here.
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Sunday, October 26, 2014

The Aint Poem: Inspired By Louis Jordan

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There aint nobody here
But us chickens
There aint nobody here
But three mice

There’s a drunken sailor
In the corner.
We thanked him for the ice

There aint nobody here
But your mother
There aint nobody here
But your dad

Their waiting for
Your sister Sue.
Lately, she’s been so sad

There aint nobody here
But the farmer
There aint nobody here
But his wife

They meet us at the door
With a basket of cheer.
Welcome to your next life

I’ll be a monkey’s Uncle
Or maybe a plumber’s giraffe
Multiply my fun by ten
And cut my troubles in half
Feed them to the real  chickens
Before dinner is served with a laugh

There aint nothing here
But good weather
There aint nothing here
But green lights

Most of the rain
Is still in Spain.
We get the warm summer nights

There aint nobody here
But nobody

And nobody’s everybody
That is true
The only thing missing 
Is you

Well..I’ll be a monkey’s Uncle
Or maybe a plumber’s giraffe
Multiply my fun by ten
And cut my troubles in half
Feed them to the real  chickens
Before dinner is served with a laugh

There aint nobody here
But nobody

And nobody is a metaphor
That is true
The only thing missing 
Is you


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Footnotes
THE AINT POEM is the copyrighted property of LCSoL.


However, the first two lines–verbatim–are from a Louis Jordan song.
If you do not believe me, then just click here.
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Thursday, October 23, 2014

Magrithmetic

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Then A = The Son of Man








Let    X =




Then B = This is not a pipe


 Let    Y =







Then X+Y = biZarro






Then X+Y =   











 With gratitude to Rene Magritte & Dan Piraro.


______________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
This mathemagic formula would not have been possible
without the inspiration of Mrs. CarPeo.


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Death & Un-Death

______________________________________________________________________________________

My hard drive
Took a dive

From proud as plethora
To sad as zero

My hard drive
Took a dive

I cried me a river
But Mrs. CarPeo
Swam by my side

My hard drive...
I took a dare
Cuz Apple didn't care

Found a doctor
Named Danny
Could he or couldn't he

He had a prestigious address
Just off  Park Avenue
One door away from
Where uniformed Wilsonians 
Jump all over Jamba juice

Two doors away from
Frappucino Central

...Forty eight hours of intensive care...

Is there life after strife?

Doctor Danny is a miracle worker
Despite the demise
of this, that & the other file

Despite the state of the art
External hard drive
Being state of the fart

The millipede's surgery is a success
one leg at a time 

There will always be data

There will always be Mrs. CarPeo
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Monday, October 20, 2014

This Side Of Scott Fitzgerald

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Aint he/she sweet
Won't he/she knock
You off your feet?
I tell very confidentially
Mr. Fitzy sure looks sweet!  



The stag line is a most  
homogeneous mass of men. 

It fairly sways with a single soul.  
A dark-haired beauty dances by   
and there is a half-gasping sound   
as the ripple surges forward.  
Scott Fitzgerald       
This Side Of Paradise       
(1920)      



Fitzgerald's first and most revolutionary novel.      

The next FSF page is here.      






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THE BOSS by Blake Griffin (2014)

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Let's Jump on the Clippers' Ship

Donald Sterling had me 
by the hand.

You know that thing 
elderly women do
where they grab 
the top of 
your hand...

We were in Malibu for his annual White Party, 
and it was the first time I was meeting him 
since the Clippers had drafted me 
in the spring of 2009...

The Players' Tribune
It behooves the GoodFather
to commence a petition
and a prediction:

Derek Jeter 
for President
in 2024

That is the year Mr. Griffin's
team will win their fifth
NBA title.  


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SHE

______________________________________________________________________________________

At the touch of a syllable
She can inspire

At the wink of an eye
She creates fire

At the frown of your face
She can expire

And leave you howling
at the mire

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Footnotes
SHE is the copyrighted property of LCSoL.

You can hear the one about
She's got everything she needs
She's an artist. She don't look back.
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WAR WHOLE & ART DAILY

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A visitor faces a wall showing ties and bow ties by  artist Andy Warhol


Fifteen seconds of fame
is associated with his name

But there is more:
The whole world is a retail store

And this:
All truth is a lie

Quoting Andy Warhol:
Please select your tie


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Sunday, October 19, 2014

Godmather & Cousin Reunion

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How do you measure the smile
of an undated photograph?

Whatever measuring unit
answers that question...

It needs to be multiplied by 1001
to approximate how my Godmother
smiled three days ago


That is when my cousin Richard
joined his mother and father–
in a place I like to call Oliverio 2.0

I hope not to be there anytime soon.


To count my memories of Cousin Richard, Aunt Kay and Uncle Willy,
I would need to multiply 1001 by itself.

It was my Uncle Willy who introduced my father to the art of Mixology.
In 1944, Uncle Willy was the best man at my parents' wedding.

It was sixteen year-old Richard who introduced his eleven year-old cousin
to the best short story ever written by Ernest Hemingway.
 
It was either my Godmother or her brother, Sam Oliverio,
who described this magnificently flawed 1930-something
photo by the caption beneath it.

"Burt Lancaster with eye-black and a Hollywood starlet."






   












R.I.P.
Richard Kampe ____________________________________________________________________________________


A Tribute To John Lennon & Yoko Ono

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© Mariano Peccinetti

By way of 

Magritte 
+         
PhotoShop 


The artist calls it a collage.  

The eyes  belong to John & Yoko.  
Therefore, a Beatles song is in order.  
  
 Unfortunately, there is no collage music  
or parody entitled I Dig A "One-Trick" Pony.  



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Saturday, October 18, 2014

Knowing Rock & Roll Is As Simple As Black & White

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If you do not know JOHNNY WATSON,
you do not really know Rock&Roll.
 





I robbed the local beauty contest

For their first place winner

They found her with me
out in Hollywood

Eating a big steak dinner








Steve Miller
Mr. Abracadabra


The original Gangster of Love
is the hyperlink above
but if the crow
must thank the dove
then Mr. Watson
thanks STEVE MILLER
whose cover of Gangster
helped propel the name 
Johnny "Guitar" Watson
into the hearts & minds of the young & the restless
and the rest of us. (I hope that
now includes:::
You:)





______________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
Pardon me while I savor the next hyperlink. It features Johnny Watson on guitar
but the singer is Cardella De Milo, who performed at Jefferson High School.

Her payment required the sale of 1200 donuts.
I should know: I was the fund raiser.

I do not recall the year but it was the day the verdict
was reached in OJ Simpson's  civil trial.

Ms. DeMilo put on one hell of a show for 1200 students.
Each one had purchased a donut from Mr. Oliverio.
LOL

God Bless, Cardella and enjoy her music but,
surely that is belaboring the obvious.

The song is  Aint Gonna Hush.
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