The Kitsch Convention

Another confused day portends. Each year about this time the craft crofters come out of their cabins and confound civilization. I apologize for the Agnewism but it expresses the mood current. FD SCP is off today, perhaps tomorrow, in adulation of kitsch. For those unfamiliar with the term it is defined as:

kitsch n 1: excessively garish or sentimental art; usually considered in bad taste

It is a term that is infinitely descriptive, if not definitive, of almost all of the old confederacy if not the entire hinterland of the Yankee republic. I suspect that it extends into the coastal urbanologies except there are more people there who will vehemently deny its applicability. Of course there are those who will deny it here – like FD SCP – who may not be card carrying members of the United Daughters of the Confederacy but who are psychological and temperamental paragons of that organization.

Of course we are conflicted by a love-hate relationship with these women, our mothers, wives, significant others, and daughters. They also know much of this is in bad taste but it has some deeper, more primal attraction that overwhelms that repulsion. Think Bronson Alpha. And hence the craft work becomes Bronson Beta.

Nor can we claim to know any better with our overtooled garages and male accoutraments. Even we STEMs have our own, different, kitsch. FD SCP permits me offensive buts like:

so long as they stay in the study away from the view of small children and members of the ad hoc UDC. 

The excuse of all this kraftwerk is evidently the holyday season. The feast of apathy nears the end of this month; I just received guidance last evening about the procurement of dinosaur descendant carcasses for ritual roasting and consumption, hopefully on sourdough bread and anointed with Miracle Whip. And then next month is the winter solstice attended by any number of social and religionist variants on that azimuth, a veritable vector sheaf, as it were. And no celebration of such magnitude can be complete without a bevy of kitsch klods to attract dust and interfere with modal existence. 

The bribe for male acceptance, as usual, is food. Our knowledge of the nature of marriage courtesy of Wrangham of fair Hahvahd does not soothe but does placate. Calories that we are forbidden by medicalists and the same women most of the year soothe more. 

So today FD SCP is off the the Greater Metropolitan Arab Mother’s Craft Show. There is some organization of mothers here in GMA but it is evidently a goddess society. We of the male plumbing persuasion have no need-to-know for any details of that organization including who are the members. No one admits to ever having known or met any member of the organization and evidently they only emerge from their sacred groves this once per year. And then either this afternoon or tomorrow she motors to Nawth Alibam’s Shining City on the Hill for a solstice decoration fair at the hall of American Nazi Admiration. I am unsure of the connection as well as the symbolism but more craft is involved.

The great paradox of this activity is that the purpose is not so much to acquire gear but information. Undoubtedly the aftermath of this safari will be a firestorm of crafting here at home that will be infinitely more distressing than actual purchase.

But it’s all part of continuation of the species. 

I think.

Anyway, it will give me a bit of respite from the usual week out supervision to actually think, in and around the creaks of ORF corpus.