The Chris Moeller Archives

Let's Class Up The Joint - by Aaron Moeller

Chris usually only gives flowery, obligatory lip service to the arts on this blog, so I thought I'd include a link today to engage our appreciation for some of the finer things. Pay particular attention not just to the delicacy and visual expansiveness of some of the art work in the collection, but to some of the descriptions as well. In particular, I loved The Athlete, one of the most remarkable Crayon on canvas works in all of Christendom. Also, pay attention to Think Again and it's comment on how our society has numbed itself to violence. Lucy in the Field with Flowers is, deservedly, a classic. (Hey, I think Chris once dated that lady. Haha.)

The mysterious beauty of these works derives especially, I believe, from special acknowledgment of the most represented artist therein - that artist with the most complex and elusive of artistic psyches: Unknown.

When you arrive there, click on "the collection".


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Chris isn't here, but this is something he would link to. I rarely "mix it up", as they say, when it comes to political discourse, but Iowa congressman Steve King is a nut. It's even reached the national music media.


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Looks like the media is finally acknowledging something about the Cubs that baseball fans have been slowly figuring out for years. If I was a Cub fan I wouldn't be blaming a curse, but the Cubs' own media: the Tribune Company.


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Here's a joke, then I'm outta here:

On a hot July day, in the none too specific future, a terrible, unnamed calamity wipes out the city of Cooperstown, New York, on the very weekend of that summer's annual Hall of Fame induction. All of baseball's surviving Hall of Famers in attendance are killed...and Pete Rose, who's also in town to sign autographs. (Per usual, his line of fans is the longest.)

Upon arriving in Heaven, each deceased baseball great is reintroduced to their already dead loved ones and then directed to their individual residences of Eternal Contentment and Rest, where for eternity every pitch shall be a strikeout, every homerun a titanic blast, and every steroid test negative.

Soon the recently deceased Hall of Famers are grandly introduced to those greats who had already been immortalized in the Great American Ballpark in the Sky (as opposed to the equally hallowed Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, Ohio). Except for Tommy Lasorda - who went to Hell - they're all there. The angelic Roberto Clemente shakes hands with Reggie Jackson and Ozzie Smith. Even the dastardly Ty Cobb is introduced to Paul Molitor and Mike Schmidt. Babe Ruth, Stan Musial and Willie Mays compare notes, etc. etc.

After a chance to get acquainted, St. Peter shows up to give them a tour of the grounds and upon doing so the baseball legends come upon an immaculate mansion of gold with a spectacular view of far-off mountains and a gorgeous lake outlying the immense property. The trim of the house is in bright red and in the front yard flies two prominent banners, one is a Cincinnati Reds pennent, the other has Hit King:4256 emblazoned on it. A large batting cage stands adjacent to the house. From where they're standing, the Hall of Famers can see a small figure taking cuts in the cage. The figure is alternating swings from both sides of the plate, rising repeatedly from a familiar, crouched batting stance to spray line drives all over the field.

The Hall of Famers look at each other in shock. Warren Spahn is dumbfounded.

"What is he doing here?!" Bob Feller asks St. Peter, in a rage.

"That's not who you think it is," St. Peter assures them. "That's only God. He thinks he's Pete Rose!"

posted by Anonymous @ 4:26 PM