Arts and Crafts

Williamsburg is full of famous eccentrics, but it's still possible to live here (even as luxuriously as I do, across from the Spotswood bridge (http://www.Goldenhorseshoegolf.com) and feel like a square peg.

According to a current Virginia Living magazine article, academy-award winning actress and famous astroprojector Shirley McClaine felt a bit constrained while growing up in Richmond's west side.

Williamsburg's lack of luthiers compelled us to journey to the Rat Pack babe's former environs, which we found to be an interesting mix of faded gentility and unbridled decay--unlike the well-preserved Ms. McClaine, but a great deal like the defeated Confederacy.

After entrusting Kapeller Violins with the task of rehairing my bow, we retraced our steps across the Manchester Bridge, and retreated to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts' inviting arms.

We enjoyed a delicious lunch, then toured J. Paul Mellon's collection--surprisingly good, even the expected overflow of equine statuary was brilliant (I suspect Mr. Mellon often snuck a horse into his house, a la Mr. Ed..."Willllber! Is that Brie?")--and as usual, we ended our visit in the Contemporary Art wing.

I love Pop Art. It's an iconographic interpretation of 20th C. American commercialism and society's general insanity--much like the Super Bowl halftime show.

Why on earth did the network censor Rolling Stone lyrics, as if no one had ever heard the words--phrases that basically entered the western lexicon in 1975? Would Dorito stuffing violence lovers find the verb "come" more offending than a "GoDaddy.com" advert?

Shouldn't there have been greater concern that geriatric Mick Jagger would see his image on the giant stadium screen and realize that he looked a right rotter, thus causing him to collapse, allowing luscious, young lip-syncer Ashley Simpson another go at entertaining a football fan crowd of booze-fueled booers? Why is wrinkly old rocker Mick Jagger rated sexy halftime material, while former Virginian Ms. McClaine and her generation are considered grandma material?

When the arts confound mere mortals, we can always look to the world of politics for a hearty cup of clarity.

Whoever said "Washington is Hollywood for ugly people" will be totally bamboozled by rumors surounding the potential political candidacy of Shirley McClaine's lothariothon-retired brother, Warren Beatty.

Because he assembled an acting career and star power more impressive than that of D list public servants like the late Ronald Reagan, the guy who played "Cooter" on Duke's of Hazard, and of course, that chap who played "Gopher" on Love Boat, Mr. Beatty would probably be the most invincible political animal ever created.

Warren also possesses an astonishing JFK/Clinton-like history of sexual conquest, amassing a list that includes Barbra Streisand AND Madonna (imagine the argument over who would first sing at the governor's mansion--I smell some serious cat fight potential).

And finally, since wealthy liberal donators like George Soros could be made to cough up large sums of money, or else face the threat of sitting through three excruciating hours of "Reds", Mr. Beatty would boast unlimited fund-raising ability.

Unfortunately for Williamsburg residents, our town council members have none of Warren Beatty's well-schooled charm or independence, although they may have a bit of his former libido under their belts.

I discovered these not too surprising facts when I decided to attend Tuesday's city council working group session.

A "working group session" means that various CW executives (http://www.cw.org) preside over a lectern and screen power point presentations while the council members sit behind a large, voluptuous bench, nodding their sage heads in agreement like those bobble-head dog toys found in the rear window ledge of elderly people's cars.

The most fascinating aspect of watching our local government in action is to observe the pre-meeting circle jerk, when council members wholeheartedly embrace the gaggle of CW escorts, oblivious to the voyeurs--I mean citizens--foolish enough to drag themselves through the bother of participatory government, in this case, protest against CW's DoG Street closure.

Since the Gazette (http://www.vagazette.com) warned that the council had already decided to support the closure, I suppose I shouldn't complain about the lack of democratic process.

Still, the whole affair was porno smarmy. One could almost hear background music: bomb chicka bomb bomb: "Did someone order a mayor?"

As I sat there, mired in politico-smagma, I wondered how Shirley McClaine discovered she could astroproject to other lifetimes. I imagined myself traveling back to the Colonial Era, when leaders like Patrick Henry gave governmental whores the old heave ho.

Then I realized that if we were in the Colonial Era, I'd not be able to vote, own property, or prance about town wearing trousers while yelling "Go, Daddy!"

Ah well, Mr. Jagger is right. Sometimes we square pegs can't get no satisfaction.