Inexplicably, today is the birthday of two famous men named Mann – Theater mogul and philanthropist Ted Mann in Wishek North Dakota in 1916, and hip flutist Herbie Mann in Brooklyn, in 1930.

Both Mann men made something big out of rather thin soup. Through talent and timing Ted Mann is known today in the Twin Cities for having his name on a performance space at the University of Minnesota – the Ted Mann Concert Hall. Mann got his start as a University of Minnesota student when he rented the struggling Selby Theater in St. Paul for $100 per month and proceeded to return it to financial health by doing all the booking, ticket selling, popcorn making, etc. by himself. His empire expanded to 25 theaters across Minnesota, and later to Southern California where he made a fortune. At one time he owned Graumann’s Chinese Theater, renaming it Mann’s Chinese Theater, of course. Late in life is rumored to have said about his journey, “Not bad for a sod kicker from the sticks.”

And if that’s not strange enough, Herbie Mann became a star playing jazz on the flute – an achievement that no longer seems possible in an American music scene dominated by self-indulgent pop vocalists. The flute isn’t loud enough or dangerous enough to get much attention today. Still, you have to admit this looks (and sounds) pretty cool.

If you were granted the ability to successfully launch any business venture, or become a star while playing any musical instrument, what would you choose?

Today’s post comes from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden.

Hey, Mr. C.,

They called it an April Snow Day today at Wilkie High, which is amazing! I’ve been a sophomore a long time so I can tell you for certain that This Almost Never Happens. It’s a good sign that 2013 is something special.

Anyway, before my mom left for work today (why is it they almost NEVER cancel work?) she told me that as long as I’m going to be home alone I should wash all the dishes that have been piling up by the sink. Why that should be MY job is something I’ve never been able to figure out. I don’t cook the food, so what kind of logic says I should have to clean up? Mom has always told me I need to be responsible for my messes, but she’s the one who takes out all the pots!

Anyway, I was cruising around online last night and found this story about Japanese people and pottery. It turns out they started making cookware eons ago so they could prepare fish for dinner. That’s not very surprising or interesting, but the thing that got my attention was this line:

“Archaeologists have found that charred shards some of the world’s oldest ceramic pots still contain residues of the food that was cooked in them.”

So that means getting the dishes absolutely sparkling clean like my mom wants to be all the time them is totally, totally the wrong thing to do if you’re thinking about scientific research! It’s the crusty stuff left in the bottom that’s going to tell researchers from the future what they need to know about us.
So how are people in the year 4545 going to learn anything about pizza if I don’t leave some tomato sauce and cheese stuck to the pan? They might think we lived on burgers instead, but everybody knows that’s not true!

And besides, mom always calls the dirty dishes “a science experiment”. And any scientist worth her (or his) salt is in it for the long run, so why not let the dishes sit until they can be decoded by an expert?

Mom says I’m lazy, but I think letting the dishes sit is my only real chance at being immortal. More people should take a hint from me – it’s pretty selfish for us to keep things so clean when the evidence is everywhere that the future has nothing to learn from tidy people.

I’m thinking of starting an organization called “Slobs Leaving A Permanent Document About Sloppy History”, or S.L.A.P.D.A.S.H. – a club for concerned people who don’t want to erase our story with reckless overuse of soap. My social studies teacher, Mr. Boozenporn, says the future is going to be all about forming affinity groups online.

Pretty cool idea, huh? I think I’ve found my cause in life!

Your pal,
Bubby

I told Bubby he has a promising idea there – uniting dish slobs everywhere in a noble crusade. But he’d better make certain all his recruits live with like-minded dish slobs, or the movement is going to self-destruct.

Who does the dishes at your house?

Today is the birthday of blues harmonica player Blind Mississippi Morris. He arrived on the planet on this day in 1955, in Clarksdale, Mississippi as Morris Cummings.

His artistry is the subject of this short documentary.

Blind Mississippi Morris from Bill Totolo on Vimeo.

Blind Mississippi Morris lost his harmonicas and a valuable microphone when his truck was robbed three years ago. It was just one in a series of losses and disappointments which included losing his eyesight to glaucoma, his childhood to institutionalization, and a home to foreclosure. He has also parted company with at least a dozen wives along the way if this article is to be believed.

Turning fifty-eight today, Morris began playing harmonica when he was four and has now become old enough and has suffered enough trouble to comfortably wear the persona of a genuine Old Blues Guy.  It’s reassuring to know such characters still exist in the digital world.

What was the first musical instrument you remember playing?

Today’s post is by Bart the Bear, a hairy beast who found a smart phone in the woods. His comments have been translated from the original Ursus Textish.

H’lo. Bart here.

I’m up. Been a long winter. Still is. Though I guess it’s just a game to you. As soon as I was alert enough to start surfing the Internet I saw this one article that picks “winners” and “losers” for the season. Looks like the losers are sheep and garden centers. The winners? Hot chocolate and apple trees.

Yup, I’ve got coverage up here in the woods but those aren’t the kind of “bars” I’d like to have. I’m just coming around and will be out looking for meals here in the next few days. Don’t know what I’m going to find, so if you wanted to toss some day-old bagels or bags of potato chips into the roadside ditches near my patch of the forest … maybe some Easter leftovers like the red Jello with mandarin orange slices suspended in it … I wouldn’t complain, y’know? Meal planning is hard, especially when the raw materials are still under two feet of crusty snow.

But that’s not what’s been bugging me.

What’s bugging me is the way people snoop on bears and share really private details about where we are and what we’re doing – all thanks to your “brilliant” invention – radio collars for animals. I laugh when I see how you worry about Google and Facebook sharing your “private” information, and smart phones tracking your whereabouts. These days a bear in the woods has no more privacy than a bear in a zoo.

That’s why I kinda get a kick out of your complaints that police are storing information about where your car was spotted around town.

You have a car? I’d love to have one of those – I keep trying to climb in one when people come touring up here in the summer, but there aren’t too many of them that are built for a guy my size.

You’d like some privacy? What makes you so special when a noble animal can’t climb out of his pajamas without triggering a worldwide alert? It’s true! I saw online that they’re all a-twitter in Banff because “Grizzly #122” is out of his hibernaculum.

Yup, I said “hibernaculum.” Think I’m stupid? Go look it up. Or what’s worse, try typing it out on the tiny keys of a smart phone. And then try doing it with paws that are four times the size of your itsy-bitsy hands. Paws with matted fur, and there might be some poop caked in there, too. And I haven’t had my nails trimmed either, so don’t complain about how hard it is to do some texting! You have no idea.

I wake up ornery, what of it? I won’t apologize for who I am.

Anyway, Grizzly #122 is out of his bed and the panic is on, like they know he’s been dreaming of raiding a passing school bus for morning snacks.

Oh, he’s dangerous. But you’d be dangerous too if sirens went off every morning when your feet hit the floor.

My favorite quote in the Grizzly #122 story is this one:

“Resource management specialist Ron LeBlanc said ‘Residents need to … dispose of empty beer cans left outside’.

In other words, “time to pick up the trash you’ve been tossing in the yard all winter.”

Now, I ask you. Who’s the animal?

Your pal, Bart

Bart definitely has an edge this Spring.   How’s your mood when you wake up?