Can Anyone Spell Graffiti?

By G. E. Shuman

The definition of the word ‘graffiti,’ according to Dictionary.com, is as follows: “Graffiti: plural of graffito. Markings, as initials, slogans, or drawings, written, spray-painted, or sketched on a sidewalk, wall of a building or public restroom, or the like.” Now you know what the word means, if you didn’t before. (It is my extreme pleasure and goal that you always leave this column at least slightly more informed than you were when you came here, even if that information gained is of no use to you in the future, whatsoever. Such will likely be the case here today.)

There are differing types of graffiti, just as mentioned in the definition, and I would like to elaborate slightly on those, for a purpose which, I think, is a good one. One type, learned at an early age, is what I would call ‘crayon’ graffiti. These are the lovely pictures of kittens, kites, and other things, sketched in crayon for Mom, on her newly-painted hallway walls or antique mahogany dresser. How adorable! Words are not incorporated here, as a picture, even in crayon, is worth a thousand of those. These early artistic attempts are meant to hone the twin talents of mischievousness and naughtiness at the youngest age possible, and they usually succeed.

Another, only slightly more advanced graffiti form is that which is found on restroom stalls and walls. I don’t have a name for this one. I would call it ’potty pics’, but that term is a bit too obvious. In these hurried attempts at art, (Who would stay in a public bathroom long enough to paint the Mona Lisa?) the pictures have changed dramatically from the crayon ones, but have not improved in quality to any great degree, although the talents of mischievousness and naughtiness are quite well-developed. Of course, the artist’s age can only be guessed. He is, after all, hiding in a toilet stall. Those pictures, and their accompanying words, are usually rendered in permanent marker ink. (It is surprising how many people are equipped with permanent markers when they enter public restrooms.) From the efforts I have seen, spelling is not a huge problem with restroom graffiti, as four-letter words are not that difficult to spell, even for restroom writers. This does bring me to the reason for the title you see way at the top of this tall stack of words.

The reason for this column topic is this: I hate the misspelling of words, even in graffiti. It just irritates me to no end, and makes the writer of those words seem a bit dim-witted, especially if his intention was to express some great bit of profound wisdom, in something as semi-permanent as the defacing of property. Here I’m not talking about abbreviations, or typos. I’m talking about good old-fashioned, honest, awful boo-boos. (By the way, in speaking of abbreviations, is there an abbreviation for the word abbreviation? If not, there should be.)

I come, at last, to my favorite type of graffiti. I would call this graffiti the bricks and mortar of the business, and it is commonly expressed on those very bricks and mortar. It is there, and on huge expanses of cinder block or cement wall areas that the graffiti artist finds the ultimate ‘concrete’ expression of his art. Although often unappreciated, especially by the owners of the bricks and mortar or concrete ‘canvases,’ such works can actually be quite nice. The medium of expression has further evolved and the words and pictures are now depicted in spray paint. (I knew that there had to be some real use for that stuff. I never painted anything very successfully with it.) The theme is, hopefully, a bit more refined and less mischievous than that seen in the restroom stall, and thus, the words tend to be not only much larger, but more complex, as well. Many actually contain two syllables, and more than four letters. Thus, to some graffiti-artists, the spelling can become a challenge.

I must just say that it would behoove the artists to do a quick spell check of any noble thought before performing the toil of transferring it, in huge form, to an unsuspecting wall or bridge abutment. It is a terrible thing to waste a perfectly good act of civil disobedience by spelling it incorrectly. To see a fine example of this problem, take exit 5 on interstate 89, and ponder the artwork wrought on one concrete end of the highway overpass there. Someone has painstakingly written, in large and lovely balloon letters, the kind sentiment, and I quote: “DON’T WORRIE, BE HAPPY!”

Good grief.

　

Lost Nation Theater

By G. E. Shuman

I have a confession to make, and it’s an embarrassing one. Making confessions has never been easy for me, and this one makes me particularly un-easy. The confession is that, well, you see, for reasons I don’t even remember, I had, until last weekend, never attended a production of Lost Nation Theater. There, go ahead and leer, laugh, snicker and snipe all you want. Its okay. I actually feel a bit better now.

As I mentioned, I’m not at all sure why, in all these years of living here in Central Vermont, that I never before got to Lost Nation. My wife and daughters have attended a number of plays there; my number was zero. Likely, in most cases, I was usually unusually tired, after battling the evils of the world all week, protecting and providing all the world’s necessary protections and provisions for my family, along with performing the duty of sharing un-paralleled wisdom here with you, and just couldn’t go out for an evening play. Such is the life of a self-sacrificing husband, father, grandfather, author, English teacher, and all-around overly-modest and self-deprecating, (if culture-denied) guy.

Now, joyfully, the culture-drought that had pervaded my life for several years has been, finally, ended! My thirst of mind, spirit, and bone-dry humor have all been quenched by Lorna’s and my experience at this great little local theater, two Sunday evenings ago. The evening out had been a birthday present to my wife. She is getting along in years, and it is always good to accommodate the wishes of one in her situation, whenever possible. It is even better if doing so brings a great experience to the present-giver, also. (That would be me.) Just as sharing a great meal at a fine restaurant in celebration of a birthday is as much a gift to the giver as to the give-ee… (That can’t be a word.) so also, sharing a great play in celebration blesses the giver, too. In these cases, payback is always fun for both. (My birthday is next month.)

The play Sunday evening at Lost Nation was ‘Moonlight and Magnolias.’ Flawlessly acted by Dan Renkin, Bob Nuner, Maura O’Brien, and Shawn Sturdevant, and directed by Tara Lee Downs, the performance was a simply joyous escape into Hollywood’s past. The comedy was hilarious; the characters were captivating. Bravo, Lost Nation Theater!

I began this column with a confession. I end it with an admonition. I highly recommend, if you have never found your way to the thoughtful theater that is Lost Nation, that you do so, and soon. (Remember, my birthday is just next month.) Nestled in the heart of downtown Montpelier, and tucked away, coyly, upstairs in our capital city’s City Hall, you will find music, mystery, satire and comedy, all presented, quite brilliantly, in a diminutive house of absolute theatrical magic.

Lost Nation Theater is a treasure! I’m glad I finally found it.

Strange Times

By G. E. Shuman

I think that I must not be the only Central Vermonter who is wondering what’s going on in our state, and in our country, in the year of our Lord, 2011. These times simply seem to be strange times. Two or three Saturdays ago we were promised the Biblical rapture, which did not occur. No surprise, but please note: This writer believes, with zero doubt, that Jesus will return to the earth, and could do this even on the day you’re reading these words. He just didn’t do it on the day one man told us that He would. That guy could have saved himself and a lot of other people some trouble, as the Bible clearly says that no man will know when that day will be.

The following Thursday, (after the non-rapture) and nearly every day since then, our beloved portion of the state has been flooded, re-flooded, wind-blown, sandbagged, washed out, cleaned, re-washed out, and re-cleaned, only to be rained on still again. If you have felt, lately, that you might have been moved to the Amazon, you’re not alone. Vermonters have lost driveways, (That includes this Vermonter.) vehicles, and even homes. Mud has been just everywhere, and is still being cleaned up. Rivers rose, and roads eroded. Cellars filled with water, and residents and businesses paid the price. Insurance policies and nerves have been strained to their limits. Bank accounts have been busted. (Please don’t tell my English students that I used the word ‘busted’. Thank you.) It’s hard to believe that only a handful of weeks ago we were wondering if winter would ever end. And, all of this is little, compared to the devastation some other of our fifty United States have recently experienced because of tornadoes. Even Springfield, MA just had their first tornado in fifty years. Yes, to my mind, these are strange times, indeed.

At this point some of you are thinking, and may even comment to our editor, as one reader recently did, that I’m “rambling on” about the odd things happening in our world today, and that those things have always happened. Yes, earthquakes and tsunamis have always occurred, just like thunder storms and tornados have. Still, something these days just doesn’t seem right. Can you feel it? I can’t speak for you, but a combination of things, including natural disasters, a very hard winter, political unrest around the world, political unrest here, and four dollar a gallon fuel prices, causing rising prices on everything else has me a bit un-nerved about the times we live in. These days, our scientists are seriously discussing issues like time-travel, anti-matter, anti-gravity, the “God” particle, and even zombies. Yes, zombies. If you don’t believe me, google it. Strange times, yes.

To me, perhaps all of this is for our good. It takes a lot to scare, surprise or amaze people today. Just ask a Hollywood movie producer. But, things have been pretty exciting lately. Perhaps nature, and our unwitting politicians are simply providing unnerving happenings capable of convincing the world that even an event like the return of our Lord is not so far-fetched, after all. Christians like me are not looked upon as quite so wacky these days. Just ask some of our acquaintances who were a bit uneasy as the day of the predicted rapture approached.

For what it’s worth, and you may think it is worth nothing, these are strange enough times to just actually be the last times. I wish you would consider that.