Pop: Chapter 15a

    For early afternoon, the traffic is fairly light going to the north end of the city.  Most people don't head out this way after work.  One of the many reasons why I chose this center for the rehearsal.  It's a quick walk from the hotel.  They practically share the same parking lot, but not really.  It's also close to the airport.  In fact, Rick drove right by it when he picked us up.  You can't see it from the highway, due to other buildings and trees, but it's not hard to get there.

    Sam doesn't talk to me the entire way.  He doesn't make any other noises either.  He knows better than trying that intestinal trick he pulled Tuesday in my Camaro. 

    I take a right turn onto the street with the center and find a parking space about halfway down.  A few dozen cars fill up the spots closest to the doors.  A young man with a boy come out as I come to a stop.  The kid is carrying a soccer ball.  Odd.

    "Wait by the car while I get something from the trunk, will you Sam?"

    "What do you need to get?" he asks while getting out.

    "I'm just getting the cover.  I have a feeling I'll need it tonight."

    "You're expecting a snowstorm.  In late May?"

    "No.  Hail."

    I take a look at the skies as I drape the cover over the windshield and hood.  I see a lot more clouds than I did a few hours ago.  Maybe some darkening on the horizon, but that could be caused by many things.  Man, I wish I remembered to check the weather before we left.

    I place the ends of the cover inside the doors and lock them.  Sam's right about it being more useful for snow and frost, but it will help cushion smaller hail.  Maybe even some larger ones.  Waterproof too, since it will be raining, at least.  Should have brought a coat.  At least I've got the small, collapsible umbrella.  Better than nothing.

    More parents and kids were coming out the center's doors as Sam and I walk up, many of them holding soccer balls as well. It's a little after five.  Putting up the cover has made me a tad late, but Mr. Phillips suggested to meet with him at this time anyway, so it all balances out.

    Phillips' office was just off the main hall from the door.  He was already standing outside it, locking his door to leave.  The small, youngish man turned to us at our approach.

    "Mr. Burton?  You're here a little early.  I thought the dinner would be a seven?"

    I shake his hand.  Reluctantly.

    "Hello Mr. Phillips.  This is my younger, but much taller, brother, Sam."  He's just as reluctant to shake hands as I am.

    "Hello to you too.  I know I told you to come early, but this is a surprise."

    "About that.  I called ahead so that we could move everything up an hour or so.  Bad weather in the forecast and all.  I left a message with your secretary, so that the catering crew would be allowed into the meal prep area early."

    "Ah, yes.  She did say that you were facing some scheduling problems.  I have been so busy helping out with the youth soccer planning that I must have forgot to check in on that personally.  No worries, though.  I'm sure that Leigh Ann got everything straightened out without my help.  Let's go downstairs to check in on everything ourselves.  Shall we take the rear stairs?  It's really faster than the elevator to get there."  He motions to a door a little ways down, across from the rest rooms.

    "Most of our larger rooms are on the second and third floor.  The first floor is reserved more for office spaces and smaller rooms for a personal touch."

    "Yes, we reserved a slightly smaller room on the second floor for the dinner.  Just big enough to approximate the wedding."

    Phillips had reached the door and opened it for us as we went down to the basement prep areas.

    "Yes, that room would be the most like a church.  May I ask a question?"

    "Go right ahead." The stairs are well-lit and stretch up to the other floors.

    "Well, we usually don't get many offers for a Thursday night.  In fact, your event is the only thing scheduled tonight, after the soccer committee left.  Most other nights, we usually have two or three small meetings scheduled.  Whatever possessed you to have a rehearsal dinner, here, tonight?"

Pop: Chapter Fifteen

     "Sam, start getting a move on.  We'll be leaving in twenty."

    I hear him grumbling from behind his partially open bedroom door.  At least I can tell that he is getting ready.  More for Dad than for me.  We are going to have to tell him.  Tomorrow.  He needed to know by now.

    I place one final rack of clothes in the spare bedroom's closet.  After I finished reading Dad's original editorial, I decided to start moving my things upstairs in preparation for the contractors to finish the remodel.  I would have taken my things to the master suite, but I'm going to wait on that.  Addie still needs to finish decided on the furniture.  She's been looking online for a few weeks now, but it is taking her forever to make up her mind.  Sure, there would be enough room in the closet for both our things, but I think I wait until she brings her wardrobe in before I put my clothes up.  So, the spare bedroom it is.

    I'll have to get Sam to help me out with some of the bigger objects I'm keeping.  If he agrees to it.  Sure, he's tall, but he doesn't have that much upper body strength.  Especially when compared to me. I'll probably have to ask the movers taking away the exercise equipment and the old furniture from the apartments to help me instead.  Most of my old bedroom furniture will be taken too.  I might keep the bed and the matching bureau, but most of the rest were just picked up randomly.  No real sentimental value, although the extra storage might be useful for awhile. No.  I'm going to need to space later.  Might as well have them take it now.  At least someone else will get use of them.

    I go back downstairs to finish getting ready myself.  I take my old clothes off and throw them on the bed before slipping into my bathroom to freshen up a bit.  Moving a few clothes racks and boxes wasn't too hard, but I did get a little less presentable.  I take a look in the mirror.  Just a teeny bit of stubble.  Perfect. Nowhere near bad enough to warrant an extra shave.  A quick leak in the toilet and I'm back into my bedroom to my dress shirt and slacks back on from earlier.  After a spritz of cologne.  Hey, I like to smell good when I'm around Addie.  Okay, in general, but especially around her.

    I decide to wear the jacket.  It wasn't suitable for the signing, but this is a somewhat more formal occasion.  I forego a tie, though.  It just doesn't seem right for tonight.  I hesitate.  Maybe I should.  If Addie's father and brothers are wearing ties, I'm going to stand out in a negative way.  On the other hand, if Rick and the guys aren't wearing ties, and they might go that way, I'm going to make them feel bad by wearing one.

    In the end, I decide to take a tie with me and shove it into my jacket breast pocket with my phone.  I'll make a final decision after I see what everyone else is doing.  I just hope there is some consensus without me being the deciding vote.

    I grab my wallet and car fob.  They go into my pants pockets.  No.  Better put them in the jacket as well.  Don't want to ruin the lines of the slacks.  Too many bulges aren't fashionable, and I already have a fairly noticeable one.

    I take one last look in the mirror, combing my hair back with my fingers as I do.  I'm looking good.

    I hurry out of the bedroom and rush to the stairs to get Sam.

    "Five minutes, Sam.  Or I'm coming up there to get you."

    "I'm here," Sam says as he comes around the stairs.  He's wearing his white dress shirt and gray slacks.  No tie, but at eighteen, he can get away with it.  Barely. Because of his size, most of his dress clothes had to been specially tailored.  At least we can afford it.  Still, the top button of his shirt isn't buttoned, and I can just barely see some of his ankles as he goes down the steps.  Plain white socks with beige Oxfords.  How gauche.  Still, the pants cuffs should be hitting lower and that top shirt button used to fasten better.  How big is this kid getting?

    Maybe I'm just imagining it.  Worrying over nothing.

    "Time to go then."

Pop: Chapter 14b

     I mean, there is still a stigma around comic books, especially with all of those blockbuster movies that are all action and low on plot.  Still, many do achieve the literary honors that they deserve.  

Lichtenstein managed to take what is still considered a low art form, if art at all, and 

elevate it into works ready for galleries around the world.  Albeit, even he didn't always

acknowledge the artists of the original works--the penciller, the inker, the colorist, and

even the letterer.  There is even the writer and editor to take into consideration here.

Without their original contributions, Lichtenstein wold never have been able to create

his panel reconstructions.  While many of those original artists weren't always credited for

their work, they did create art.  Mass-produced and generally considered to be worthless

and disposable, but art nonetheless and appreciated by some part of the public.

        Now, if the editorial had quoted this section, then I would have been fairly raked over the coals.  I admit, my novel/s are based on the work of others.  I acknowledge most, if not all, of the original creators for their contributions and thank them for allowing me to play in their sandbox.  I even manage to put in a good word for Rick, Will, and Pete, since it was some of their ideas that I am fleshing out. Sure, their actual characters won't be showing up until volume twelve, if I make it that far, at the earliest. I double checked everything with my publisher's legal team, as well as Thad and my agency.  And Rick.  He might not be the best as this field, but since his characters will be brought up someday, I had to ask him.

Art is to be seen by all.  Understood by all.  Art isn't supposed to be some esoteric secret

that only critics can fathom the depths of.  While art can, and should, have deeper meaning,

art can be seen as it is.  The "how" and "why" it was made isn't always meant to be explained.

In fact, knowing too much about a work of art and the artist can damage the experience of 

liking it.  Dada showed how the definition of art can be expanded to take in many different

outlooks and media.  Pop art showed how the masses can be an effective subject and audience

for art.  Such pop cultural references, known on some level by the majority of public, does

have a place in the greater art world. Just because one knows what a piece of art is

doesn't mean it isn't good art.  It just makes appreciating it easier.

        Dad was right about how his original piece was better.  Even looking at his original and comparing it with what was actually published is telling.  The Times removed much of the praise for mass produced images.  The comic book influences on Lichtenstein were barely mentioned in the final editorial. The new piece used parts of each somehow, but not equally.  Whole sections that would have hurt me were ignored, while a few choice quotes were favored to support the writer's claims even if they originally failed to do so.

    I bookmark the links and try to figure out what to do next.

Pop: Chapter 14a

     It takes a few seconds for the link to download.  I guess Dad wasn't as current with the technology as he thought.  Still, I've encountered worse delays, on recent sites at that.  The document, no, two documents are on the link.  An original version and the revised version that was printed.  I click on the revised version first.

    I quickly scan it, trying to catch anything from the new editorial, but I stop after a few paragraphs. This may have been the version that saw print, but it still had the editorial notes attached.  I can't remember how such programs worked back then, but it would make sense that a major newspaper would be using the   best version available.

    I decide to bring up the original and compare the two side by side.  Maybe it will be easier to read that way.

    One glance at the original confirms my decision.  I'm guessing Dad left the notes in the printed version because he didn't like some of the editorial comments.  Wait, not all of the comments were left in.  I see a few punctuation marks that were replaced and a few misspellings and word choices that were changed.  It looks like he only left in the notes about content and not grammar.  

    The differences are more glaring as I read the first unaltered lines.

   Yes, pop artists used familiar mass-produced images and products for the basis of 

their works.  Yet, artist been borrowing from others for centuries.  The problems some

critics have is that the pop movement did so from such 'base' commercial images

and not from loftier sources.  The source material for a work of art does not have to be

always taken into account to make a work successful or 'great.'  In fact, such sources 

might be considered as secondary to the value of the final product.

        Exactly as I thought.  While the new editorial borrows its viewpoint from the revised version, Dad's original is much more understanding of pop culture.  I read on.

Warhol chose to use familiar soup cans because they were familiar.  If he had chosen

a lesser known brand, such works would not have stood out.  While familiar, those cans

were designed, at least on a basic level, to stand out, make a statement.  While the details

of the design of those cans might be changed, the overall look has to stay the same.

Otherwise, the cans would lose their familiarity, and sales would suffer for it.

    The same goes for the portraits of celebrities, such as the ubiquitous Monroe.  Warhol

chose her because of that mass-produced symbolism of beauty and fame.  Even with the coloration

changed, her look remained recognizable.  The varying color pallets emphasizes that

concept of beauty, how it is separated from the original person.

    It's just like Dad to support Warhol.  He actually met with some members of Warhol's studio when he was just a child.  I don't think he met the artist himself.  I would remember that.  Besides, Warhol was too famous to have met with him when my Dad was that young, even if the Burton family had the money and clout to pull it off.

    I scan down to where Dad mentions Lichtenstein. The editorial really ripped into his works. Apparently, that writer hates comic books.

Pop: Chapter Fourteen

    The drive back is relatively fast.  With school being out for the summer, there isn't too much mid-afternoon traffic to deal with.  I only get stopped just before my block due to a delivery van blocking the street.  Someone is getting a new living room suite.  Normally, I would've been able to pass, but there's a car parked on the other side of the van preventing that.  I least I get to look at a cat lounging in the window of the house next door.  Suddenly, a gray kitten crawls up to the other side of the frame.  It looks nothing like the tabby that it has joined.  The tabby barely pays it any attention, as it just gives the kitten a look and then goes back to resting.

    I sit there for about six minutes before the van finally leaves.  If I had been any earlier, I would have been forced to detour.  A few cars did exactly that while I waited.  I probably should have too.  I guess I just don't want to read my Dad's article.

    I don't see any smoke or fire engines as I drive down my street, so I guess Sam hasn't burned the house down.  Maybe he's gotten over his fit.  Or he remembers that eighteen year olds can be sent to jail.  I pull up to the garage and park, remembering to plug the Camaro in to charge.  I can't wait until I can start fueling this baby up again. I walk to the back door and unlock it.  At least Sam is staying safe.  I don't see any empty bottles, so I guess Jim remembered to take them with him.  I hide my protein bars in one of the cabinets in the laundry room.   One of the lower ones, although Sam might try to look there, but I doubt it.  He barely knows anything about how to work a washing machine.  I think.  I know I tried to teach him, but the one at the manor was a little tricky for both of us.

    Sam is in the living room, almost napping with the television on.  At least his pants are still on.  I've caught him a few times with them down.  He's caught me once or twice, too, but I've been much better at it.  He still forgets to lock the door sometimes.

    "Hey, Sam.  I'm back."

    Sam slowly raises his head and turns to look at me.  His eyes are slightly puffy, probably from the disruption in his sleep.

    "So," Sam registers.

    "We'll be leaving for the dinner a little after five.  I called Dad.  He's taking a detour to Richmond to go to a hotel the college provided for him.  He'll meet us there.  You might want to have a snack before you get ready.  Dinner might be delayed if Dad gets held up, but I don't think there will be any major problems."

    Sam just nods his head and gets up to leave, heading towards the stairs and not the kitchen.  Maybe he had already eaten something just before I got back.  He makes a show of having to bend his head under the door, even though he just barely needs to.  I can't remember, did he have do that last Christmas?  I mean, he might have been tall enough then, but if he's in middle of another growth spurt...

    I head to my bedroom and set up the computer, putting my phone back to charge it as much as a can before leaving.  Addie sent me a message that she and her family flew in without any trouble.  Apparently, they missed the storms entirely, but not by much. I wish I could have helping picking them up, but Addie understood about the signing.  They are staying at a hotel near the center, so commuting won't be an issue, no matter what the weather brings.

    I respond with a simple 'Love you.  See you soon.' and move on to the link to Dad's article.