I'm weekending in Ardmore, Oklahoma, already starting to get "trunky" for the circus season to end. I've got two more weeks of work and then phffft!, it's over. I'll be scouting around for another soft berth -- I've thought of hiring myself out as a gigilo for blind women, but that would entail buying a pair of sunglasses, which I hate.
I'm happy to report that I'm up to 3rd District Arkansas Congressman John Boozman in my collage campaign. His collage, a masterpiece if I do say so myself, is entitled "Puppies from a sewer pipe". That's the newspaper headline I pasted over the whole thing as it was drying. Drifting off to sleep at night I like to imagine that Congress has called me in front of an investigative committee for my subversive artwork. I'm dressed in jeans, a white turtleneck, and have a black beret at a rakish angle on my head. I'm wearing sandals, of course, and when the stuffy senator asks what I do for a living I casually say I'm a conceptual artist.
Senator: "And what exactly is a conceptual artist, Mr. Torkildson?"
Me: "My art embraces concepts that normal channels do not address, so it is done with abnormal material through abnormal means."
Senator (attempting a joke): "So you're telling this committee you consider yourself abnormal?"
Me: "I consider myself an American citizen with the right to express myself freely and fully in any medium I wish -- which apparently makes me abnormal in your eyes, Senator."
The senator hems and haws, then abruptly adjourns the committee meeting. I am soon after awarded the Nobel Prize.
Moving right along . . .a little travel writing. If you gaze upon a map of Oklahoma long enough you will become intrigued by a pinprick near the Texas border called Ringling. It is 31 miles due west of Ardmore, on State Highway 70, so I thought I'd mosey on over there this morning to see what the town is all about. The Ringling Chamber of Commerce put up a sign in the shape of a circus tent, welcoming visitors to town, but the sign is engulfed in kudzu and slippery elm branches so it's almost impossible to see. The paint is also peeling off of it, and it's streaked brown from years in the pitiless sun and rain. Outside of that, there was nothing in the town to indicate why the town is named Ringling. There are signs everywhere, including right on the town water tower, bragging that Ringling is the home of the Blue Devils football team. If I lived in Ringling, Oklahoma, (population 495) I'd have the blue devils, too. Wanting to give my readers some legitimate background, I stopped by the local newspaper, The Ringling Eagle, but they were closed. If I was somebody like Paul Theroux, who has written 20 travel books, I'd have struck up a conversation with the locals to see what they could tell me. But I'm not Theroux and besides the place was a ghost town on a Saturday morning; I saw two teenage boys walking down the middle of Main Street trying to punch each other in the crotch, but otherwise nada jente.
Then it started a steaming drizzle, so I hopped back into my Ford Taurus station wagon, cranked the a/c up full blast, and tooled back to Ardmore. A late breakfast at IHOP of fruit filled crepes, washed down with thick hot chocolate, put me in an excellent mood, so I stopped by Walmart to develop some digital photos. This is a Supercenter, so they've got an excellent supermarket as well. I went looking for humus, to spread on some french bread this evening as my dinner. But the Walmart in Ardmore does not have humus, and none of the store clerks I asked had ever even heard of it. They looked at me strangely when I explained it was a dip made out of garbanzo beans, tahini, lemon juice, and olive oil. The store has lobster, head cheese, frozen sushi, pickled okra, pigeon peas, and even matzoh ball soup, but no humus. I settled for spinach dip.
Kick back and relax with hot games and cool activities at the Messenger Café. Play now!
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