Contributor:
Guy Cheblo – chef, corn expert, adventurer, lives in New York, NY.
______________________________
27 March 2009, 8:30 a.m.
On Thursday evening I attended several gallery openings in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. As luck would have it, a gallery on west 27th Street had a rare offering of an Edmund Callipeaux photograph! Despite its $60,000.00 price tag, Eddie’s photograph now hangs in the library of my 32nd floor Manhattan luxury high-rise apartment. – GC
Near Fig Newton and Far Fig Newton
C-print, 36” x 20”, 1995.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Part 12: Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux
Contributors:
M.C. RibEye – Musician, philanthropist, politician, lives in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.
Killdozer –University of Minnesota student, badminton champion, lives in Minneapolis.
Edmund Callipeaux – artist, college instructor, lives in St. Louis Park.
Merle Higgins – curmudgeonly outdoorsman, lives in Minneapolis.
______________________________
M.C. RibEye – 17 March 2009, Sunset – St. Patrick’s Day!
It gives me great pleasure to announce that Edmund and LeTigre Callipeaux have decided to reestablish their long dormant Strange Food Collection. Regular readers may remember Chili Pie’s description of The Strange Food Collection as it thrived in LeTigre and Eddie’s Rochester apartment (23 January 2009, Part 4 of the ongoing Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux). Upon moving from Rochester to St. Louis Park, Minnesota, the Callipeaux’s decided to dissolve the collection and devote their energies to a variety of charitable and relaxing endeavors.
Two days ago - the Ides of March, no less - I was asked to join a board of directors that will oversee a foundation that will work to curate, catalogue, document, and annotate the new collection. Other board members will include Guy Cheblo and Leadership 5. We will also be joined by Killdozer, a student at the University of Minnesota whose paper - The Strange Food Collection: America, the World, and a 4oz Can of Potted Food Meat Product – interrogates the social, cultural, and aesthetic relevance of the collection within the context of the History of Graphic Design. – MR
______________________________
Killdozer – 17 March 2009, 4:00 p.m.
To put forth a mere itemized list of the contents of the Rochester Strange Food Collection would malign the spirit of the collection itself. Indeed, the Rochester collection was comprised of such non-perishable items as Vienna Wieners, Panburger Partner, and Kewpi Mayonnaise. However, the importance of the collection resided not within the list of its contents, but moreover in a gestalt concerning the gastronomical, aesthetic design, and vernacular denotations of the collected products themselves. After all, doesn’t the expression state that we eat with our eyes? If this sentiment has any merit, then the Rochester Strange Food Collection was an exhaustive study of local, national, and international foodways and drinkpaths.
With this said, the joyful experience of viewing the Rochester Strange Food Collection can be put forth by a visualization of the following metaphor:
Imagine yourself at your favorite neighborhood bistro. The service is excellent and the prices are friendly. Imagine that this particular café also has an excellent happy hour with two-for-one drink and appetizer specials consisting of oysters, shrimp, and Mahi Mahi tuna caught fresh daily and flown in from Key West, Florida. Now, imagine that it is sunset and the worries of your day are slowly melting from your mind as cool ocean breezes mix the warm salty air with soothing island melodies emanating from the café’s house band.
Now, take all of that, and, in your mind, transport yourself, the café, the sunset, and the island rhythms from Earth to the surface of the planet Saturn. You’re no longer on Earth; you’re sitting on Saturn, and its planetary rings are filling the sky overhead. Furthermore, imagine that our solar system has two suns instead of just one – it’s now a binary system. So, you’re on Saturn, at an excellent seaside restaurant, enjoying cheap drinks, Oysters Rockefeller and Blackened Mahi Mahi, and because there are two suns, your watching as the first sets to your left while the other rises over your right-hand shoulder. Above, the rings of the planet are aglow in the most brilliant display of sunrise/sunset colors imaginable.
Hold that mental image as I continue to describe how it was to gaze upon the Rochester Strange Food Collection: You’re struck speechless as one day ends while a new dawn arrives. The Universe shocks your senses with cool ocean breezes and a masterfully mixed Margarita. Now, add to this scene - Boz Scaggs – he sings at a microphone while wearing a Moon/Saturn suit and long white pants. He’s the house band at our space-bistro, and he’s on stage with his white pants, his backup band, and several phones that he talks into between songs. He plays “Georgia” as our imaginary cosmic ballet whirls around and your waiter delivers a second round of Margaritas and a delicious plate of Oyster’s Bienville (as a half price happy hour special).
Take the sum of this mental image, multiply it by a million, and you’ll have a close approximation of what it was like to stand before, gaze upon, and revel in the glory that was The Rochester Strange Food Collection. – KD
______________________________
Edmund Callipeaux – 17 March 2009, 10:30am
When LeTigre and I moved from Rochester to St. Louis Park we decided to discontinue a few traditions we had developed at our former apartment. The reason for this resided in prior knowledge gained from having changed residences several times over the years. Simply put, elements from one place do not always fit into the vibe of a new living space. Each place has its own spirit that needs to be developed with care over time. With this in mind, we decided not to transport The Strange Food Collection from Rochester to St. Louis Park.
Two and a half years have now passed since we departed Rochester and we have found ourselves missing the collection. Strolling through grocery stores, we’ve often stopped to pondering a can of this, or a box of that, while discussing its well designed label.
Given the amount of time that has passed between here and Rochester, and the fact that memories of the collection persistently sneak back into our minds, we have decided to begin again, and build a new Strange Food Collection – it will be installed prominently in our St. Louis Park home. Any foreshadowing of future events notwithstanding, on the Ides of March, we purchased four items that officially mark the rebirth of The Strange Food Collection. – EC
______________________________
Ranch Style Beans: Yellow band with starburst reads Appetite Pleasin' - Real Western Flavor
Lemon Scent Crystal White Octagon
A small keg of sliced green olives!
Hobo Soup: the words running around little man read - A JUNGLE RECIPE FIT FOR A KING
Yellow starburst reads: Send in 3 labels with $16.50 for your own Hobo Soup t-shirt, Sizes S, M, L and XL
Cooking instructions read: HEAT N' EAT (DO NOT BOIL)
______________________________________________________
Merle Higgins – 15 March 2009, 11:30pm
Got a flat on Hennepin Avenue earlier today. I steered my truck into the nearest parking lot and got out to take a look at the damage. Tire’s shot…picked up a roofing nail that some liberal bicyclist probably left in the road to mess with traffic!
I cracked open a bottle of homebrew that a buddy and me make and began to get my spare unhooked from under the truck. Looking over my shoulder, I saw what parking lot I was in. You’ve got to be kidding me! This is a co-op grocery store parking lot.
Two seconds later I saw Edmund and LeTigre Callipeaux walking not thirty feet from me.
I yelled, “What are we now, a bunch of Communists?”
Walking over to my truck, Edmund said, “Hello Merle. What a surprise to see you here. We’re just stopping by the co-op to pick up a few things.”
“Hand me that jack,” I said as I threw my empty into the bed of the truck. “It makes sense that you two shop here. I suppose the next time I see you, you’ll be coming out of a dumpster telling me that you’ve turned Freegan.”
Holding up the hubcap so that Edmund could throw lug nuts in as he loosened them from the flat, LeTigre said, “Do you want us to pick you up anything while we’re shopping, Merle?”
I told her that once Edmund was finished tightening all the lugs on the spare, I’d might as well go in there with them to see for myself what this whole co-op business is about.
After inspecting Edmund’s adequate work on the spare, the three of us ventured into the store. They grabbed a basket and we walked into the fresh produce area. I looked around and this is what I saw: people with tattoos; people with radical haircuts and piercings; people wearing bicycle helmets; hippies; freaks; good-for-nothings; liberals and more freaks – all standing around talking about what wonderful organic produce they had!
Organic?
What the hell is that suppose to mean? Organic. Stuff that grows from the ground is organic, right? You can’t tell me that these people think that a head of lettuce is machine fabricated or something. Their brains are all probably all mush from all the pesticides that are sprayed on their precious vegetables. As an outdoorsman, I’ve never eaten any produce that I haven’t either grown myself or bought from a farmer buddy of mine who doesn’t use that crap.
Those damn Callipeaux’s – how did they talk me into this?
I made my way quickly through the produce area. Everyone I walked past was touching five or six things for every one item they placed into these little plastic bags. Don’t these people know how diseases are spread? Those little plastic bags aren’t going to protect them from the woman I watched wipe drool from her baby’s cheek and then proceed to squeeze fifteen or so avocados. Damn.
At the end of the produce area, I found the meat counter. You’ve heard of snow blindness, right? Well, I’m prone to liberal blindness. (It happens every time I bring my cardboard boxes and beer cans over to the recycling center near my house.) It started to happen again as I stood next to the glass display cabinet of butchered meats and a sign that read Organic Beef. There’s that word again – organic – where do these people think beef comes from? A beef machine? What the hell?
Personally, I get all my beef once a year when I go in with a few buddies and buy an entire cow from a farmer up north. The farmer’s son is a butcher who has his own shop, so we can get our cow cut into steaks exactly as we like them. I’ve known their family for years. We hunt on their land, and as an outdoorsman, I’ve rightly advised the old man that the best cattle are free range and corn and grass fed - AND not pumped full of antibiotics and crap. (I was also the one who told him to put up a windmill on his farm, and now he’s off the grid and selling his extra electricity back to the same power company that was robbing him for years with their rising fees and taxes!)
Some guy bumped into me. I stepped to the side as he nudged me again while he tried to get a better view of the meat counter. He was talking on a Bluetooth thing stuck in his ear, he had a bicycle helmet on his head, and he was wearing a full business suit! The liberal blindness was taking hold and my right eye began to completely close down. Adding to my mounting anxiety, it seemed that everywhere I went in the store, someone would try to get in front of me, or look over my shoulder wherever I stood. And the store wasn’t even that crowded!
Even though I was quickly losing my eyesight, I decided to test my new theory. Dairy isle – someone went right for the cheese I was next to. Canned vegetables – someone needed a can of peas so badly they couldn’t wait for me to move past them. Pasta area, same thing happened. Hot dog area, same thing. Laundry detergent. Hair products. Deli area. Bread isle – all the same thing. I began to seek out the most vacant parts of the store, and every time I found a place, someone would come right over to me and practically push me to the ground to get at whatever random item I was nearest. The frozen food isle – that proved my theory once and for all – walking into the frozen food isle, I saw that I was completely alone. I was the only shopper in the entire section. I randomly opened a freezer door and sure enough, some hippy kid appeared at my side and began to reach into the cooler door before I even had a chance to see what sort of crappy microwave dinners were in there.
Dizzily, I found Edmund way down at the end of one isle. I said to him, “Edmund, what are you trying to do to me?”
He replied, “Look Merle! Isn’t this great.”
He then proceeded to show me a can of beans, a can of sliced green olives, a can of soup, and a bottle of dish soap.
Controlling my anger as much as I could, I said, “Edmund, don’t tell me that you’ve never seen canned food before…or a bottle of dish soap. What kind of yuppie freaking world do you live in that you’ve never had to eat food out of a can?”
I was now about 50% in my left eye and completely blind in the other.
Walking with Edmund and LeTigre up to the checkout counter, Edmund set his basket down and walked over to the bagging area. Personally, I never use those cheap grocery store bags…I bring my own canvas bags to the store each time I shop and then I don’t have to worry about some idiot putting my food in some bag made in China or somewhere.
The girl behind the checkout counter turned to Edmund and said, “Sir, could you take your items out of the basket for me?”
I squinted at the blurry basket as it sat right in front of the teller. What in Sam Hill is she talking about? The stuff’s right there! Ring it up so we can get the hell out of here! I can barely see…and the last time this happened, I stayed blind for three days!
Edmund began to remove the three cans and the bottle of dish soap from his basket. My vision dropped to 25% as the teller explained, “Everyone has to take their own items out of their baskets so that we don’t get repetitive stress injury.”
Repetitive stress injury? Repetitive stress injury! Try walking for an hour in the shoes of the guy who picked half the crap you’re selling in this place! Then you can talk to me about repetitive stress injury!
I could barely see six inches in front of my face as we made our way for the door and out into the parking lot. But it was too late, just as we were clear of the doors, a guy wheeled by on one of those recumbent, lay down bicycles and everything went dark – Total Liberal Blindness.
I had to let Edmund drive me back to their place. And it was a tight fit for the two of us. I had the cab of the truck packed pretty full with a couple of cases of homebrew and a stock of material and a new sewing machine. As an outdoorsman, I learned long ago from some friends up north that I can repair the clothes I currently own and make pants and shirts stronger and more durable with my own two hands. And then I don’t have to spend my hard-earned money on any of that cheap crap they make in China or somewhere.
When my vision finally returned, I was sitting in the Callipeaux home. Edmund was placing his cans of beans, olives, soup, and the bottle of dish soap on a shelf near the kitchen ceiling.
“What are you doing now, Edmund?” I asked.
“I’m adding these items to The Strange Food Collection,” he replied.
“You mean to tell me that I lost my eyesight so that you could buy food that you’re not even going to eat?!”
I got the hell out of that house before another attack of blindness could overtake me. That’s the last time I let the Callipeaux’s drag me anywhere with them. The whole afternoon was shot and I completely missed the carpenter I was driving to meet when I got that flat tire. I’m looking at having solar panels installed across the entire south-facing roof of my house. That way, when Armageddon comes and society collapses, I’ll be able to keep the lights on. – MH
M.C. RibEye – Musician, philanthropist, politician, lives in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.
Killdozer –University of Minnesota student, badminton champion, lives in Minneapolis.
Edmund Callipeaux – artist, college instructor, lives in St. Louis Park.
Merle Higgins – curmudgeonly outdoorsman, lives in Minneapolis.
______________________________
M.C. RibEye – 17 March 2009, Sunset – St. Patrick’s Day!
It gives me great pleasure to announce that Edmund and LeTigre Callipeaux have decided to reestablish their long dormant Strange Food Collection. Regular readers may remember Chili Pie’s description of The Strange Food Collection as it thrived in LeTigre and Eddie’s Rochester apartment (23 January 2009, Part 4 of the ongoing Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux). Upon moving from Rochester to St. Louis Park, Minnesota, the Callipeaux’s decided to dissolve the collection and devote their energies to a variety of charitable and relaxing endeavors.
Two days ago - the Ides of March, no less - I was asked to join a board of directors that will oversee a foundation that will work to curate, catalogue, document, and annotate the new collection. Other board members will include Guy Cheblo and Leadership 5. We will also be joined by Killdozer, a student at the University of Minnesota whose paper - The Strange Food Collection: America, the World, and a 4oz Can of Potted Food Meat Product – interrogates the social, cultural, and aesthetic relevance of the collection within the context of the History of Graphic Design. – MR
______________________________
Killdozer – 17 March 2009, 4:00 p.m.
To put forth a mere itemized list of the contents of the Rochester Strange Food Collection would malign the spirit of the collection itself. Indeed, the Rochester collection was comprised of such non-perishable items as Vienna Wieners, Panburger Partner, and Kewpi Mayonnaise. However, the importance of the collection resided not within the list of its contents, but moreover in a gestalt concerning the gastronomical, aesthetic design, and vernacular denotations of the collected products themselves. After all, doesn’t the expression state that we eat with our eyes? If this sentiment has any merit, then the Rochester Strange Food Collection was an exhaustive study of local, national, and international foodways and drinkpaths.
With this said, the joyful experience of viewing the Rochester Strange Food Collection can be put forth by a visualization of the following metaphor:
Imagine yourself at your favorite neighborhood bistro. The service is excellent and the prices are friendly. Imagine that this particular café also has an excellent happy hour with two-for-one drink and appetizer specials consisting of oysters, shrimp, and Mahi Mahi tuna caught fresh daily and flown in from Key West, Florida. Now, imagine that it is sunset and the worries of your day are slowly melting from your mind as cool ocean breezes mix the warm salty air with soothing island melodies emanating from the café’s house band.
Now, take all of that, and, in your mind, transport yourself, the café, the sunset, and the island rhythms from Earth to the surface of the planet Saturn. You’re no longer on Earth; you’re sitting on Saturn, and its planetary rings are filling the sky overhead. Furthermore, imagine that our solar system has two suns instead of just one – it’s now a binary system. So, you’re on Saturn, at an excellent seaside restaurant, enjoying cheap drinks, Oysters Rockefeller and Blackened Mahi Mahi, and because there are two suns, your watching as the first sets to your left while the other rises over your right-hand shoulder. Above, the rings of the planet are aglow in the most brilliant display of sunrise/sunset colors imaginable.
Hold that mental image as I continue to describe how it was to gaze upon the Rochester Strange Food Collection: You’re struck speechless as one day ends while a new dawn arrives. The Universe shocks your senses with cool ocean breezes and a masterfully mixed Margarita. Now, add to this scene - Boz Scaggs – he sings at a microphone while wearing a Moon/Saturn suit and long white pants. He’s the house band at our space-bistro, and he’s on stage with his white pants, his backup band, and several phones that he talks into between songs. He plays “Georgia” as our imaginary cosmic ballet whirls around and your waiter delivers a second round of Margaritas and a delicious plate of Oyster’s Bienville (as a half price happy hour special).
Take the sum of this mental image, multiply it by a million, and you’ll have a close approximation of what it was like to stand before, gaze upon, and revel in the glory that was The Rochester Strange Food Collection. – KD
______________________________
Edmund Callipeaux – 17 March 2009, 10:30am
When LeTigre and I moved from Rochester to St. Louis Park we decided to discontinue a few traditions we had developed at our former apartment. The reason for this resided in prior knowledge gained from having changed residences several times over the years. Simply put, elements from one place do not always fit into the vibe of a new living space. Each place has its own spirit that needs to be developed with care over time. With this in mind, we decided not to transport The Strange Food Collection from Rochester to St. Louis Park.
Two and a half years have now passed since we departed Rochester and we have found ourselves missing the collection. Strolling through grocery stores, we’ve often stopped to pondering a can of this, or a box of that, while discussing its well designed label.
Given the amount of time that has passed between here and Rochester, and the fact that memories of the collection persistently sneak back into our minds, we have decided to begin again, and build a new Strange Food Collection – it will be installed prominently in our St. Louis Park home. Any foreshadowing of future events notwithstanding, on the Ides of March, we purchased four items that officially mark the rebirth of The Strange Food Collection. – EC
______________________________
Ranch Style Beans: Yellow band with starburst reads Appetite Pleasin' - Real Western Flavor
Lemon Scent Crystal White Octagon
A small keg of sliced green olives!
Hobo Soup: the words running around little man read - A JUNGLE RECIPE FIT FOR A KING
Yellow starburst reads: Send in 3 labels with $16.50 for your own Hobo Soup t-shirt, Sizes S, M, L and XL
Cooking instructions read: HEAT N' EAT (DO NOT BOIL)
______________________________________________________
Merle Higgins – 15 March 2009, 11:30pm
Got a flat on Hennepin Avenue earlier today. I steered my truck into the nearest parking lot and got out to take a look at the damage. Tire’s shot…picked up a roofing nail that some liberal bicyclist probably left in the road to mess with traffic!
I cracked open a bottle of homebrew that a buddy and me make and began to get my spare unhooked from under the truck. Looking over my shoulder, I saw what parking lot I was in. You’ve got to be kidding me! This is a co-op grocery store parking lot.
Two seconds later I saw Edmund and LeTigre Callipeaux walking not thirty feet from me.
I yelled, “What are we now, a bunch of Communists?”
Walking over to my truck, Edmund said, “Hello Merle. What a surprise to see you here. We’re just stopping by the co-op to pick up a few things.”
“Hand me that jack,” I said as I threw my empty into the bed of the truck. “It makes sense that you two shop here. I suppose the next time I see you, you’ll be coming out of a dumpster telling me that you’ve turned Freegan.”
Holding up the hubcap so that Edmund could throw lug nuts in as he loosened them from the flat, LeTigre said, “Do you want us to pick you up anything while we’re shopping, Merle?”
I told her that once Edmund was finished tightening all the lugs on the spare, I’d might as well go in there with them to see for myself what this whole co-op business is about.
After inspecting Edmund’s adequate work on the spare, the three of us ventured into the store. They grabbed a basket and we walked into the fresh produce area. I looked around and this is what I saw: people with tattoos; people with radical haircuts and piercings; people wearing bicycle helmets; hippies; freaks; good-for-nothings; liberals and more freaks – all standing around talking about what wonderful organic produce they had!
Organic?
What the hell is that suppose to mean? Organic. Stuff that grows from the ground is organic, right? You can’t tell me that these people think that a head of lettuce is machine fabricated or something. Their brains are all probably all mush from all the pesticides that are sprayed on their precious vegetables. As an outdoorsman, I’ve never eaten any produce that I haven’t either grown myself or bought from a farmer buddy of mine who doesn’t use that crap.
Those damn Callipeaux’s – how did they talk me into this?
I made my way quickly through the produce area. Everyone I walked past was touching five or six things for every one item they placed into these little plastic bags. Don’t these people know how diseases are spread? Those little plastic bags aren’t going to protect them from the woman I watched wipe drool from her baby’s cheek and then proceed to squeeze fifteen or so avocados. Damn.
At the end of the produce area, I found the meat counter. You’ve heard of snow blindness, right? Well, I’m prone to liberal blindness. (It happens every time I bring my cardboard boxes and beer cans over to the recycling center near my house.) It started to happen again as I stood next to the glass display cabinet of butchered meats and a sign that read Organic Beef. There’s that word again – organic – where do these people think beef comes from? A beef machine? What the hell?
Personally, I get all my beef once a year when I go in with a few buddies and buy an entire cow from a farmer up north. The farmer’s son is a butcher who has his own shop, so we can get our cow cut into steaks exactly as we like them. I’ve known their family for years. We hunt on their land, and as an outdoorsman, I’ve rightly advised the old man that the best cattle are free range and corn and grass fed - AND not pumped full of antibiotics and crap. (I was also the one who told him to put up a windmill on his farm, and now he’s off the grid and selling his extra electricity back to the same power company that was robbing him for years with their rising fees and taxes!)
Some guy bumped into me. I stepped to the side as he nudged me again while he tried to get a better view of the meat counter. He was talking on a Bluetooth thing stuck in his ear, he had a bicycle helmet on his head, and he was wearing a full business suit! The liberal blindness was taking hold and my right eye began to completely close down. Adding to my mounting anxiety, it seemed that everywhere I went in the store, someone would try to get in front of me, or look over my shoulder wherever I stood. And the store wasn’t even that crowded!
Even though I was quickly losing my eyesight, I decided to test my new theory. Dairy isle – someone went right for the cheese I was next to. Canned vegetables – someone needed a can of peas so badly they couldn’t wait for me to move past them. Pasta area, same thing happened. Hot dog area, same thing. Laundry detergent. Hair products. Deli area. Bread isle – all the same thing. I began to seek out the most vacant parts of the store, and every time I found a place, someone would come right over to me and practically push me to the ground to get at whatever random item I was nearest. The frozen food isle – that proved my theory once and for all – walking into the frozen food isle, I saw that I was completely alone. I was the only shopper in the entire section. I randomly opened a freezer door and sure enough, some hippy kid appeared at my side and began to reach into the cooler door before I even had a chance to see what sort of crappy microwave dinners were in there.
Dizzily, I found Edmund way down at the end of one isle. I said to him, “Edmund, what are you trying to do to me?”
He replied, “Look Merle! Isn’t this great.”
He then proceeded to show me a can of beans, a can of sliced green olives, a can of soup, and a bottle of dish soap.
Controlling my anger as much as I could, I said, “Edmund, don’t tell me that you’ve never seen canned food before…or a bottle of dish soap. What kind of yuppie freaking world do you live in that you’ve never had to eat food out of a can?”
I was now about 50% in my left eye and completely blind in the other.
Walking with Edmund and LeTigre up to the checkout counter, Edmund set his basket down and walked over to the bagging area. Personally, I never use those cheap grocery store bags…I bring my own canvas bags to the store each time I shop and then I don’t have to worry about some idiot putting my food in some bag made in China or somewhere.
The girl behind the checkout counter turned to Edmund and said, “Sir, could you take your items out of the basket for me?”
I squinted at the blurry basket as it sat right in front of the teller. What in Sam Hill is she talking about? The stuff’s right there! Ring it up so we can get the hell out of here! I can barely see…and the last time this happened, I stayed blind for three days!
Edmund began to remove the three cans and the bottle of dish soap from his basket. My vision dropped to 25% as the teller explained, “Everyone has to take their own items out of their baskets so that we don’t get repetitive stress injury.”
Repetitive stress injury? Repetitive stress injury! Try walking for an hour in the shoes of the guy who picked half the crap you’re selling in this place! Then you can talk to me about repetitive stress injury!
I could barely see six inches in front of my face as we made our way for the door and out into the parking lot. But it was too late, just as we were clear of the doors, a guy wheeled by on one of those recumbent, lay down bicycles and everything went dark – Total Liberal Blindness.
I had to let Edmund drive me back to their place. And it was a tight fit for the two of us. I had the cab of the truck packed pretty full with a couple of cases of homebrew and a stock of material and a new sewing machine. As an outdoorsman, I learned long ago from some friends up north that I can repair the clothes I currently own and make pants and shirts stronger and more durable with my own two hands. And then I don’t have to spend my hard-earned money on any of that cheap crap they make in China or somewhere.
When my vision finally returned, I was sitting in the Callipeaux home. Edmund was placing his cans of beans, olives, soup, and the bottle of dish soap on a shelf near the kitchen ceiling.
“What are you doing now, Edmund?” I asked.
“I’m adding these items to The Strange Food Collection,” he replied.
“You mean to tell me that I lost my eyesight so that you could buy food that you’re not even going to eat?!”
I got the hell out of that house before another attack of blindness could overtake me. That’s the last time I let the Callipeaux’s drag me anywhere with them. The whole afternoon was shot and I completely missed the carpenter I was driving to meet when I got that flat tire. I’m looking at having solar panels installed across the entire south-facing roof of my house. That way, when Armageddon comes and society collapses, I’ll be able to keep the lights on. – MH
Friday, March 13, 2009
Part 11: Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux
Contributors:
Edmund Callipeaux – artist, college instructor, lives in St. Louis Park.
Eleanor Katz – Master gardener, gambler, historian, lives in St. Paul.
______________________________
Edmund Callipeaux – 10 March 2009, 3:00 pm
In the summer of 1990, I planted a Red Peanut M&M tree on a beach in Haines, Alaska. I wonder how big it is these days? – EC
Haines, Alaska with Kidpowertool's Toyota Land Cruiser.
The beach in Haines where the Red Peanut M&M tree was planted, 1990.
______________________________
Eleanor Katz – 8 March 2009, 10:30 p.m.
Edmund Callipeaux began dating my daughter, LeTigre, during the summer of 1993. I remember him driving up to the house in his little blue pickup truck that he called “Truck 12” and he was wearing fire-engine red corduroy pants. Ten years ago this past January, LeTigre and Ed were married at the Ramsey County Court House. At their wedding party, Ed wore a fire-engine red leisure suit.
Not long after they were married, Ed and LeTigre traded in their beloved Truck 12 for The General. The General is a huge Ford F-150 pickup truck and its color, by coincidence, is fire-engine red. Ed is also the son of a St. Paul firefighter; a man who drove a fire engine for many years before retiring not long ago.
Soon after my daughter, LeTigre, finished her education, she and Ed bought a house in St. Louis Park, and one of the first things they did, after moving in, was too tear out some old carpet and put down fire-engine red linoleum tile throughout a main floor hallway. And recently, my daughter, Ed’s wife, LeTigre, had her stylist dye her hair red…not fire-engine red, mind you, but red nonetheless.
At this point in my tale, you may think that our subject will be the color red (or fire engines) – but it is not. These coincidental descriptors of pants, trucks, hair, and floors are meant only to predicate color itself as an element of my topic. And by color, I mean (more accurately) the sum of all colors, or, the color white. And more specifically, I mean to say that my subject is the movie White Fang.
The 1906 American novel, White Fang, written by Jack London, was made into a Hollywood movie back in the early 1990s. And tonight, it played on television. I had it on as background entertainment while I went about organizing my sitting room. I soon found myself intrigued by the story of the boy and his wolfdog, but moreover, I was captivated by the setting and surroundings that the movie was filmed in - Alaska.
Thinking back to stories of how Ed had traveled through Alaska prior to meeting my daughter, I decided to give him a call to ask if he had ever seen the movie.
Ed answered the phone and I said, “Have you ever seen the movie White Fang? The scenery is so beautiful…do you know if it was actually filmed up in Alaska? Do you know the movie?”
Without hesitation, Ed said, “I was in that movie!”
Silence
Now, I’ve known Ed for over fifteen years, and I’ve never heard him mention that he was an extra in the movie White Fang.
Ed continued, “My friends and I were completely broke, and without any cash, in Haines, Alaska. We were camped out on this beach when we met these people who said they were looking for extras for the movie. We thought, free food, 50 bucks a day; maybe we’ll meet someone famous. But the thing that really got us was, as an extra on a movie, all you do is sit around and eat all day, and you don’t have to do anything accept stand where they tell you. Plus, they dressed us up in olde tymey outfits...like we were gold miners. Considering all those factors, it seemed like a pretty good deal.“
Well.
I never.
Here I am, watching this movie, and all the while my son-in-law is one of the background players! Ed said that if I watched closely, he’s in a dogfight scene in a barn. He said that he was partially silhouetted by a window he stood near.
“Wow, I haven’t thought of that movie in years!” Ed mussed as we talked on the phone, “A bunch of my friends got more prominent camera exposure than I did.”
I happened to be taping the movie onto my VCR and I rewound the film and found Ed standing in front of a window during the dogfight scene - - exactly where he said he would be! How bizarre!
The following day, Ed came over to the house with a box of Girl Scout cookies (my favorite, the purple box, Samoas). Munching on cookies, we watched the dogfight scene and he said, “Man, I haven’t thought of this in years!” – EK
On the set with the wolfdog!
Olde tymey extras hanging around the set.
The barn where the dogfight was filmed.
Edmund Callipeaux relaxing in the shade of the Globe Saloon sign.
The VCR tape! "I wonder if Edmund is listed on the IMBD?"
Edmund Callipeaux – artist, college instructor, lives in St. Louis Park.
Eleanor Katz – Master gardener, gambler, historian, lives in St. Paul.
______________________________
Edmund Callipeaux – 10 March 2009, 3:00 pm
In the summer of 1990, I planted a Red Peanut M&M tree on a beach in Haines, Alaska. I wonder how big it is these days? – EC
Haines, Alaska with Kidpowertool's Toyota Land Cruiser.
The beach in Haines where the Red Peanut M&M tree was planted, 1990.
______________________________
Eleanor Katz – 8 March 2009, 10:30 p.m.
Edmund Callipeaux began dating my daughter, LeTigre, during the summer of 1993. I remember him driving up to the house in his little blue pickup truck that he called “Truck 12” and he was wearing fire-engine red corduroy pants. Ten years ago this past January, LeTigre and Ed were married at the Ramsey County Court House. At their wedding party, Ed wore a fire-engine red leisure suit.
Not long after they were married, Ed and LeTigre traded in their beloved Truck 12 for The General. The General is a huge Ford F-150 pickup truck and its color, by coincidence, is fire-engine red. Ed is also the son of a St. Paul firefighter; a man who drove a fire engine for many years before retiring not long ago.
Soon after my daughter, LeTigre, finished her education, she and Ed bought a house in St. Louis Park, and one of the first things they did, after moving in, was too tear out some old carpet and put down fire-engine red linoleum tile throughout a main floor hallway. And recently, my daughter, Ed’s wife, LeTigre, had her stylist dye her hair red…not fire-engine red, mind you, but red nonetheless.
At this point in my tale, you may think that our subject will be the color red (or fire engines) – but it is not. These coincidental descriptors of pants, trucks, hair, and floors are meant only to predicate color itself as an element of my topic. And by color, I mean (more accurately) the sum of all colors, or, the color white. And more specifically, I mean to say that my subject is the movie White Fang.
The 1906 American novel, White Fang, written by Jack London, was made into a Hollywood movie back in the early 1990s. And tonight, it played on television. I had it on as background entertainment while I went about organizing my sitting room. I soon found myself intrigued by the story of the boy and his wolfdog, but moreover, I was captivated by the setting and surroundings that the movie was filmed in - Alaska.
Thinking back to stories of how Ed had traveled through Alaska prior to meeting my daughter, I decided to give him a call to ask if he had ever seen the movie.
Ed answered the phone and I said, “Have you ever seen the movie White Fang? The scenery is so beautiful…do you know if it was actually filmed up in Alaska? Do you know the movie?”
Without hesitation, Ed said, “I was in that movie!”
Silence
Now, I’ve known Ed for over fifteen years, and I’ve never heard him mention that he was an extra in the movie White Fang.
Ed continued, “My friends and I were completely broke, and without any cash, in Haines, Alaska. We were camped out on this beach when we met these people who said they were looking for extras for the movie. We thought, free food, 50 bucks a day; maybe we’ll meet someone famous. But the thing that really got us was, as an extra on a movie, all you do is sit around and eat all day, and you don’t have to do anything accept stand where they tell you. Plus, they dressed us up in olde tymey outfits...like we were gold miners. Considering all those factors, it seemed like a pretty good deal.“
Well.
I never.
Here I am, watching this movie, and all the while my son-in-law is one of the background players! Ed said that if I watched closely, he’s in a dogfight scene in a barn. He said that he was partially silhouetted by a window he stood near.
“Wow, I haven’t thought of that movie in years!” Ed mussed as we talked on the phone, “A bunch of my friends got more prominent camera exposure than I did.”
I happened to be taping the movie onto my VCR and I rewound the film and found Ed standing in front of a window during the dogfight scene - - exactly where he said he would be! How bizarre!
The following day, Ed came over to the house with a box of Girl Scout cookies (my favorite, the purple box, Samoas). Munching on cookies, we watched the dogfight scene and he said, “Man, I haven’t thought of this in years!” – EK
On the set with the wolfdog!
Olde tymey extras hanging around the set.
The barn where the dogfight was filmed.
Edmund Callipeaux relaxing in the shade of the Globe Saloon sign.
The VCR tape! "I wonder if Edmund is listed on the IMBD?"
Friday, March 6, 2009
Part 10: Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux
Contributors:
Count Manchego – 5 years old, Paleontologist, Star Pupil of the Day at La Crèche KinderCollege, Oct. 2nd, 3rd, and Nov. 25th. Lives in St. Paul.
Merle Higgins – curmudgeonly outdoorsman, lives in Minneapolis
Guy Cheblo – chef, corn expert, adventurer, lives in New York, NY.
______________________________
Count Manchego – 6 March 2009, Naptime
My Mommy brought me over to visit Uncle Eddie today. He was downstairs, in the basement busting up this big castle! He had a giant hammer that he was using to blow up the walls of the fortress and I could hear all the knights and army guys fighting back to defend their kingdom.
He stopped to tell me to not to get too close to the rubble. I wasn’t going to go over there anyways, because I knew that a dragon would probably attack him for messing up the kingdom. Then I got some cookies and when no one was looking, I left a cookie on the wrecked castle to help feed all the poor people who’d just lost their home. – CM
______________________________
Merle Higgins – 6 March 2009, 7:30pm
I stopped by the old Callipeaux place earlier today only to find Edmund tearing out an old cement washtub from his laundry room. He was busting the damn thing up with a sledgehammer and making a hell of a mess.
Startled at my sudden appearance at the foot of his basement stairs, Edmund said, “Merle! I didn’t hear you come in.” At which point he looked around at the mess and added, “I was just going to take a break. Do you want a glass of ice water?”
“It’s after three o’clock, don’t you have anything a little stronger to offer me?” I replied.
Walking upstairs to the kitchen, Edmund poured himself a glass of water and reached in the fridge to grab me a beer.
Extending some fancy “European” dark beer to me, I said, “You don’t expect me to drink that, do you? And besides, didn’t I just say that it’s after three o’clock…don’t you have anything a little stronger?!”
Pulling down a bottle of Canadian Club from the cabinet above the fridge, Edmund said, “What are you up to today, Merle? You just missed my sister and her five year old son.”
He clunked some ice cubes into a glass and I said, “You should have called me…it’s pretty clear that you don’t know what you’re doing down there. Why do you have that garbage can next to the front door of the house?”
Handing me my drink, he said, “I’m breaking up the tub with a hammer and throwing the pieces into the bin after I carry them up the stairs in 5-gallon buckets.”
Looking at the meager drink Edmund had given me, I said, “Gimme that damn bottle.” Reaching into the cupboard for a tall glass, I poured myself a proper drink, and I said, “So, Mr. Iknowhowtodoeverything, what’s your garbage man going to say when he’s out there trying to lift a two hundred pound trashcan?”
The hippy freak didn’t have much to say to that!
We walked back down stairs and I looked at the mess. I didn’t want to ask, but I did anyway, “Do you know anything about plumbing - like hooking up the drainpipes for the new washtub?”
I knew the answer before the fool even opened his mouth to respond. He don’t know a damn thing about plumbing! He just tore out a perfectly good old tub because it didn’t fit with his yuppie tastes.
I said, “Okay, smart guy, so how are you going to plumb out the new drainpipe and water fixture?”
He told me that he had a “how to” book on plumbing from Home Depot. I then said, “A book from Home Depot? Are you insane?”
I walked upstairs to get some fresh ice and poured myself another whiskey, and I thought: Hell, I can’t believe this. Doesn’t know a thing about plumbing, doesn’t know a thing about drainpipes. Doesn’t know anything about nothing!
I walked back downstairs where Edmund had resumed busting up the old tub. I saw that he had a propane-soldering torch on a table right near where he was swinging the sedge. Looking down at his pile of rubble, I said, “Edmund, why is there a goddamn cookie sitting on top of that chunk of concrete?”
Before he could answer, I downed my drink and got the hell out of that basement, and I got hell out of that house! There’s no way that freak-who-thinks-he’s-mister-fix-it is going to drag me into to doing all his work for him. I’ll have to watch the ten o’clock news tonight to see if any houses in St. Louis Park either blew up or burned to the ground. There should be a law against selling propane-soldering touches, sledgehammers, and “how to” plumbing books to guys like Edmund Callipeaux. Anyone with those three items in their cart at the checkout counter should be immediately arrested. – MH
______________________________
From an e-mail between Edmund Callipeaux and Guy Cheblo
6 march 2009
from: guy.cheblo@gmail.com
to: edmund.callipeaux@gmail.com
date: Fri, Mar 6, 2009 at 12:52 PM
subject Re: Question?
mailed-by gmail.com
12:52 PM (6 minutes ago)
Reply
Edmund:
I do not think that it is advisable for you to do this work yourself. Call a plumber! You're the only guy I know who could simultaneously cause a flood AND set his house afire! Think of what LeTigre will do to you if you destroy her basement!
CALL IN A PROFESSIONAL!
Warmest regards,
Guy
--------------------------------
from: edmund.callipeaux@gmail.com
to: guy.cheblo@gmail.com
date: Fri, Mar 6, 2009 at 12:27 PM
subject: Question?
mailed-by gmail.com
12:27 PM (28 minutes ago)
Hello Guy,
Say, do you know anything about replacing old washtubs? We have this monster of a cement washtub in our basement and it has a huge crack that I just made bigger by trying to unclog its drain with a plunger. I must have plunged too much, because now it's leaking all over the floor. So, I think that I can't put off replacing it any longer.
Any ideas? The thing is huge and it looks pretty heavy. I doubt I'd be able to lift it. How do you get something like that up the stairs and out of the basement? Also, all the pipes leading to the tub are all green and corroded, and they look like they need to be replaced.
Any suggestions?
Best,
Edmund
P.S. I decided not to take your advice about throwing out water softener salt pellets to melt the snow. I know that shoveling is a drag, and I would enjoy the freedom of never having to shovel again, but I think that dumping a fifty-pound bag of water softener salt pellets on my driveway might be bad for the environment or something. – EC
The new washtub as installed by Edmund Callipeaux
Count Manchego – 5 years old, Paleontologist, Star Pupil of the Day at La Crèche KinderCollege, Oct. 2nd, 3rd, and Nov. 25th. Lives in St. Paul.
Merle Higgins – curmudgeonly outdoorsman, lives in Minneapolis
Guy Cheblo – chef, corn expert, adventurer, lives in New York, NY.
______________________________
Count Manchego – 6 March 2009, Naptime
My Mommy brought me over to visit Uncle Eddie today. He was downstairs, in the basement busting up this big castle! He had a giant hammer that he was using to blow up the walls of the fortress and I could hear all the knights and army guys fighting back to defend their kingdom.
He stopped to tell me to not to get too close to the rubble. I wasn’t going to go over there anyways, because I knew that a dragon would probably attack him for messing up the kingdom. Then I got some cookies and when no one was looking, I left a cookie on the wrecked castle to help feed all the poor people who’d just lost their home. – CM
______________________________
Merle Higgins – 6 March 2009, 7:30pm
I stopped by the old Callipeaux place earlier today only to find Edmund tearing out an old cement washtub from his laundry room. He was busting the damn thing up with a sledgehammer and making a hell of a mess.
Startled at my sudden appearance at the foot of his basement stairs, Edmund said, “Merle! I didn’t hear you come in.” At which point he looked around at the mess and added, “I was just going to take a break. Do you want a glass of ice water?”
“It’s after three o’clock, don’t you have anything a little stronger to offer me?” I replied.
Walking upstairs to the kitchen, Edmund poured himself a glass of water and reached in the fridge to grab me a beer.
Extending some fancy “European” dark beer to me, I said, “You don’t expect me to drink that, do you? And besides, didn’t I just say that it’s after three o’clock…don’t you have anything a little stronger?!”
Pulling down a bottle of Canadian Club from the cabinet above the fridge, Edmund said, “What are you up to today, Merle? You just missed my sister and her five year old son.”
He clunked some ice cubes into a glass and I said, “You should have called me…it’s pretty clear that you don’t know what you’re doing down there. Why do you have that garbage can next to the front door of the house?”
Handing me my drink, he said, “I’m breaking up the tub with a hammer and throwing the pieces into the bin after I carry them up the stairs in 5-gallon buckets.”
Looking at the meager drink Edmund had given me, I said, “Gimme that damn bottle.” Reaching into the cupboard for a tall glass, I poured myself a proper drink, and I said, “So, Mr. Iknowhowtodoeverything, what’s your garbage man going to say when he’s out there trying to lift a two hundred pound trashcan?”
The hippy freak didn’t have much to say to that!
We walked back down stairs and I looked at the mess. I didn’t want to ask, but I did anyway, “Do you know anything about plumbing - like hooking up the drainpipes for the new washtub?”
I knew the answer before the fool even opened his mouth to respond. He don’t know a damn thing about plumbing! He just tore out a perfectly good old tub because it didn’t fit with his yuppie tastes.
I said, “Okay, smart guy, so how are you going to plumb out the new drainpipe and water fixture?”
He told me that he had a “how to” book on plumbing from Home Depot. I then said, “A book from Home Depot? Are you insane?”
I walked upstairs to get some fresh ice and poured myself another whiskey, and I thought: Hell, I can’t believe this. Doesn’t know a thing about plumbing, doesn’t know a thing about drainpipes. Doesn’t know anything about nothing!
I walked back downstairs where Edmund had resumed busting up the old tub. I saw that he had a propane-soldering torch on a table right near where he was swinging the sedge. Looking down at his pile of rubble, I said, “Edmund, why is there a goddamn cookie sitting on top of that chunk of concrete?”
Before he could answer, I downed my drink and got the hell out of that basement, and I got hell out of that house! There’s no way that freak-who-thinks-he’s-mister-fix-it is going to drag me into to doing all his work for him. I’ll have to watch the ten o’clock news tonight to see if any houses in St. Louis Park either blew up or burned to the ground. There should be a law against selling propane-soldering touches, sledgehammers, and “how to” plumbing books to guys like Edmund Callipeaux. Anyone with those three items in their cart at the checkout counter should be immediately arrested. – MH
______________________________
From an e-mail between Edmund Callipeaux and Guy Cheblo
6 march 2009
from: guy.cheblo@gmail.com
to: edmund.callipeaux@gmail.com
date: Fri, Mar 6, 2009 at 12:52 PM
subject Re: Question?
mailed-by gmail.com
12:52 PM (6 minutes ago)
Reply
Edmund:
I do not think that it is advisable for you to do this work yourself. Call a plumber! You're the only guy I know who could simultaneously cause a flood AND set his house afire! Think of what LeTigre will do to you if you destroy her basement!
CALL IN A PROFESSIONAL!
Warmest regards,
Guy
--------------------------------
from: edmund.callipeaux@gmail.com
to: guy.cheblo@gmail.com
date: Fri, Mar 6, 2009 at 12:27 PM
subject: Question?
mailed-by gmail.com
12:27 PM (28 minutes ago)
Hello Guy,
Say, do you know anything about replacing old washtubs? We have this monster of a cement washtub in our basement and it has a huge crack that I just made bigger by trying to unclog its drain with a plunger. I must have plunged too much, because now it's leaking all over the floor. So, I think that I can't put off replacing it any longer.
Any ideas? The thing is huge and it looks pretty heavy. I doubt I'd be able to lift it. How do you get something like that up the stairs and out of the basement? Also, all the pipes leading to the tub are all green and corroded, and they look like they need to be replaced.
Any suggestions?
Best,
Edmund
P.S. I decided not to take your advice about throwing out water softener salt pellets to melt the snow. I know that shoveling is a drag, and I would enjoy the freedom of never having to shovel again, but I think that dumping a fifty-pound bag of water softener salt pellets on my driveway might be bad for the environment or something. – EC
The new washtub as installed by Edmund Callipeaux
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