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Election years are prime media-inundation time, and we’ve found that some forms—like witty Internet cartoons—are categorically cooler than others—say, party-sponsored ads. The Poster Offensive takes the cool kind—visually appealing public discourse set to the tune of clever wordplay and cheeky graphics—and presents it in a series of posters that are both an offensive against the status quo and just plain offensive to one’s sensibilities—or at least those of the Star Tribune, which declined to run an ad for the exhibition, citing decency standards. We’ll take it over “I’m George W. Bush, and I approve this message” any day. 1224 2nd St. N.E., Minneapolis; 612-617-9965; www.frankstonegallery.com

When amateur photographer Subhankar Banerjee set out in 2001 to document the Arctic Natural Wildlife Refuge across four seasons, he could not have known how many hot buttons his project would push. Last year, with Seasons slated for wide exposure through a prominent Smithsonian gallery exhibit and a nationally distributed book, liberal senators wielded Banerjee’s images of a diverse, flowering ANWR to prove that the refuge was not the “flat white nothingness” as described by officials from the Bush administration. Their tactic appears to have worked, since the Senate scuttled oil drilling in ANWR by a 52-48 vote, though not without a lot of heated words and threats of political revenge. The D.C.-dependent Smithsonian may not have had the courage to display such a controversial exhibit in its entirety, but the Science Museum of Minnesota is game. Banerjee has an eye for both science and art: While his wildlife photos are mostly documentary, the photographer’s landscapes capture the silent elegance and haunting gravitas of the intractable wild. The day-by-day diminishing of wide-open spaces in the Lower Forty-Eight only makes our connections to this small piece of Alaska’s vast wilderness—striped with rainbows and aurora borealis, teeming with snow geese, caribou, grizzlies, and loons—that much stronger. 651-221-9444, www.smm.org

In the realm of home improvement porn, HGTV is the softcore king. Designer dominatrices who flagrantly ignore client safe-words (“Please, no purple walls!”) have no place on this channel. Nor do professional organizers who march around like Dr. Phil with obsessive compulsive disorder, tough-sorting messy homeowners into a state of tidy bliss. In an effort to enliven a genre that is literally based on the notion that watching paint dry is entertaining, HGTV competitors like TLC and The Style Network dish up cheesy theatrics—but HGTV goes a different route. Modestly upscale, stylishly mild, it serves televisual polenta.

The male and female hosts of HGTV shows are uniformly upbeat, gracious, and well-assembled, like Stepford wives but with an even greater interest in the home arts. Shows like House Hunters and Designer’s Challenge, despite their semi-verité sequences, have less dramatic tension than a marketing brochure: Self-conscious homeowners “spontaneously” interact with realtors and designers until, after two or three time-killing missteps, they manage to find the two-bedroom townhouse or solid-oak entertainment center that truly speaks to their souls. If Martha Stewart has earned a reputation as the whitest woman in America, then HGTV would surely seem to be America’s whitest TV network.

Peer deeper into this blizzard of blandness, however, and you will discover a vision of swatchbook inclusiveness. Both the pros (hosts, designers, organizers, etc.) and the amateurs (homeowners and aspiring homeowners) come in a variety of hues. Gays and lesbians are present too, as are biracial couples, single-parent families, and even that oft-marginalized group in the home-improvement universe, renters. (TLC and The Style Network feature the same commitment to diversity, but because their shows aren’t so painstakingly vanilla in temperament, the sense of disjunction isn’t nearly as pronounced.)

Perhaps it’s bad manners even to bring up this observation; the shows themselves are quite demure on matters of ethnicity or sexual orientation. Instead, they concentrate on life’s more pressing concerns, like how to turn a dark, crowded bedroom into a soothing retreat with plenty of storage space. Beyond race, beyond sexual desire, HGTV suggests, a common yearning for vaulted ceilings and chic but functional window treatments binds us all.

On occasion, Hollywood shows similar insight. 2002, the last year for which statistics are available, was a record year for minority representation in TV and movie productions, with 24.2 percent of all roles going to African-Americans, Latinos, Asian/Pacific Islanders, or Native Americans. The current TV sitcoms My Wife and Kids, The George Lopez Show, and The Bernie Mac Show all feature minority families, and in general, race is as incidental a factor on these shows as it is on those like Everybody Loves Raymond or Malcolm in the Middle.

But despite such progress, Hollywood still has a penchant for portraying ethnic characters exclusively in terms of their ethnicity (and gay and lesbian characters in terms of their carnal preferences). And it still has fairly narrow notions about how ethnicity and sexual orientation map to potential roles. Last year’s Exhibit A was Banzai, Fox’s Japanese game-show spoof that tossed out Asian stereotypes like a peanut vendor at a baseball game. This year’s Exhibit A is the new sitcom Method and Red, yet another exercise in racial harmony in which funky black people serve as the antidote to white suburban sterility, and white suburban sterility serves as the varnish of propriety that funky black people need to pass in the land of leaf-blowers and McMansions.

In Method and Red, two rappers (aka Method Man and Redman) move to Nottingham Estates, a snooty gated community where African-Americans are apparently as rare as unicorns. By demonstrating their essential decency, however, Method and Red gradually earn some cul-de-sac cred with their Caucasian neighbors, and they don’t even have to change the way they dress or talk to do it. Like Queen Latifah in the hit movie Bringing Down the House, they prove that they can succeed in the suburbs on their own terms. But self-affirmation and empowerment aren’t the only messages at play here: Such storylines tacitly endorse the idea that the suburbs aren’t a natural place for blacks to live, and they present African-American authenticity as a narrow, fixed phenomenon. Unless you look like you’re rolling with the Wu-Tang Clan or G-Unit, they suggest, you’re not truly black.

HGTV is much less doctrinaire. As long as you’re dedicated to home improvement, you’re in. And, thus, the network ends up featuring people with a variety of income levels and personal styles. This is true of everyone on the network, regardless of their ethnicity or gender preference. Sometimes you see an affluent black attorney dreaming of a backyard putting green; sometimes you see a black family of more modest means renovating their kitchen. On HGTV, there’s no single way to be black or white or gay.

Still, in some instances, the network does seems too willing to keep its progressive perspective in a (brightly lit, neatly organized) closet. When the double sinks in the master bathroom suite are his and his or hers and hers, HGTV’s indifference to gender preference seems at least as timid as it is enlightened. On a recent episode of Curb Appeal, for example, the featured gay couple was never actually referred to as a couple, or even as partners. Instead they were simply, neutrally, the “homeowners.” And while one of the pair gave their designer a hug at the end of the episode, they were never shown hugging (or even touching) each other.

Given that gays and minorities still contend with discriminatory mortgage lending practices and other related issues, HGTV’s reluctance to address such realities is disappointing—and yet even this has an upside. By completely ignoring race and gender preference, HGTV helps normalize the idea that American families come in many varieties. If HGTV was your only source of information about the state of American culture, you’d have no idea that millions of “family-values” zealots hate gays, that biracial marriages still raise eyebrows, or that media depictions of middle-class black and Latino families are relatively rare. Indeed, it’s either a testament to HGTV’s bland artistry or, perhaps, to its modest Nielsen ratings that conservative finger-waggers aren’t fulminating against the network on a regular basis.

Despite what the producers of Method and Red might think, there’s nothing particularly novel about black people owning their own homes. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, African-American homeownership has risen six percent in the last fourteen years, to approximately forty-eight percent today. With numbers like that, you’d think that Hollywood could easily pump out rainbow-tinted visions of multi-culti domesticity that conformed both with reality and the perennial daydreams of Californian bleeding hearts. After all, as talk-radio squirt-guns like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity love to remind us, Hollywood is a giant liberal propaganda machine, right?

As it turns out, though, the network that does the most to flesh out such statistics isn’t really part of the Hollywood establishment. HGTV is owned by Scripps Networks, the cable arm of the E.W. Scripps Company. This is a newspaper conglomerate that owns approximately two dozen daily papers in cities like Abilene, Kansas; Birmingham, Alabama; and Knoxville, Tennessee. With its corporate headquarters in Cincinnati, Ohio, Scripps is a heartland enterprise whose corporate bullpen of political commentators, may of whom are syndicated and distributed through the Scripps Howard News Service, features more than a few hard-throwing righties. A few recent column titles: “Ronald Reagan, Intellectual,” “Gun Control Loses Firepower,” and “Kerry’s Plan to Wreck The Economy.”

Perhaps it’s Scripps’ red-state bona fides that keep the Limbaughs and Hannitys of the world at bay; Hollywood elitists trying to engineer a more politically correct society from their Malibu mansions make much juicier targets. Or perhaps HGTV draws so little criticism for its progressive vision because scapegoats are so much easier to demonize when they’re kept abstract, or caricatured in movies, TV shows, and hip-hop videos.

On HGTV, gay couples go about the everyday mundanities of domestic life, and guess what? They seem every bit as boring and innocuous as straight people! Even the most tremulous defenders of the sanctity of heterosexual marriage must take comfort in such essential truths, because, really, how can the nation’s homosexuals undermine Western Civilization when they’ve got basement clutter to battle and new kitchen fixtures to contemplate? And, ultimately, HGTV has this humanizing effect on everyone that it invites into its placid utopia. White, black, Asian, Hispanic, gay, straight, whatever—everyone is welcome at HGTV, everyone shares similar aspirations and desires, and everyone looks completely at home.

Greg Beato has written for Spin, the Washington Post, LA Weekly, and many other publications.

Wisconsin author McCown follows up his previous War Memorials with this marvelously sardonic satire of seat-of-the-pants, renegade journalism. As a boy in Alabama, Taylor Wakefield watches his no-count cousin commit a murder—and then later suffers a humiliating defeat in the National Spelling Bee by screwing up the word “responsibility.” When, years later, his cousin accuses an innocent man of the killing he’s responsible for, Taylor’s long-suppressed moral outrage finally erupts, and he uses his meager position as a forecaster on a small, syndicated TV station in Birmingham to try to subtly clue in his viewers to the truth. Available September 1

“Be on the alert to recognize your prime at whatever time of your life it may occur.” So once said the author of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Spark has enjoyed quite a prime herself, having just published her twenty-second novel. The Finishing School is a story of literary competition and love affairs set at an eccentric Swiss school called College Sunrise. This is a place where the rich send their wayward offspring who haven’t yet found a more traditional institution of higher learning, and it’s where novels are written (or not), and where jealous rages about said novels abound. By all reports, the aging Spark has not lost her ability to tap into the perverse, and even heading into her tenth decade, her legendary wit and insights into human psychology are as sharp as ever. Available September 21

Ellroy. Tough-guy writer. L.A. noir. Calls himself Demon Dog. Uses short sentences. Not even complete ones. Sounds tougher that way. (Not faking toughness—see here? In new book? Page 115. Right—his mug shot.) Sure, he wrote L.A. Confidential. Still, not his fault about Kim Basinger winning Oscar when she can’t act. New book, this Destination: Morgue! thing—some nonfiction, some short stories. Some old but most new. Three new novellas, that’s good. Plus screeds on death penalty, boxing, Robert Blake. Better read it. Otherwise Ellroy might get mad. What, you gonna make something of it? I’m talkin’ to you! Available September 14

Anyone who knows Bill Hillsman knows two things. He’s both a very serious and a very funny guy. And he is a master at the art of promotion, including self-promotion. Here’s a man with no compunction about self-praise: “Regarded as without peer nationally when it comes to achieving results through unorthodox marketing methods to a jaded public,” says his staff bio at his North Woods Advertising firm’s website. But what the heck? Even if he is his own number-one fan, he’s not wrong.

Hillsman and his North Woods crew’s ads (“Fast-Paced Paul,” “Jesse Ventura Action Figure”) were the driving forces—some would say the burning spears—behind the low-budget election upsets of Senator Paul Wellstone and Governor Jesse Ventura. He also fashioned the much-respected Ralph Nader ad campaign in 2000.
Hillsman’s first book, Run the Other Way: Fixing the Two-Party System, One Campaign at a Time, hooks its audience early on with plenty of dishing about those famed renegade campaigns. Hillsman details at length the initial reluctance of Wellstone and his chief handler, Pat Forciea, to air the hilarious “Fast-Paced Paul” ad in 1990, on the grounds that it failed to make Wellstone “look senatorial”—as if the Garfunkel-haired, spark-plug-sized professor could ever look the part. The more media-savvy Ventura, on the other hand, did not hesitate to approve the action-figure motif for his ad campaign—though it took some fast talking to get Ventura’s family to agree to his famous last-minute “Jesse the Mind” spot, in which The Body appeared as an apparently nude, winking version of Rodin’s The Thinker.

The book drops a couple of other fascinating side notes, too. It reveals, for instance, that early in the 2000 race, Wellstone and Jesse Jackson considered running on a single presidential ticket, but the idea fell apart when they couldn’t decide who should top the bill. It also pointedly describes sad changes in Paul Wellstone between the time of his idealistic 1990 Senate victory and his more orthodox 1996 re-election bid. By then, Wellstone had waffled on gay rights, voting for the Defense of Marriage Act. He flip-flopped on motorized vehicles in the protected Boundary Waters. He flipped on whether he would vote for a flag-burning constitutional amendment.

Hillsman all but accuses the senator of morphing into a pawn of the system he had once fought against. The 1996 race was a reelection bid that Hillsman plainly found dispiriting, especially as it became clear the senator was falling under the sway of big campaign donors and election-mill hacks and pollsters—the open cabal that Hillsman dubs “Election Industry Inc.” In fact, on this point (and partly in defense of the senator), it could be noted that in his unsparing and even somewhat unkind treatment of Wellstone, Hillsman himself might be charged with a bit too much idealism. Without rejecting Hillsman’s critique out of hand, it’s worth asking: What mere mortal wouldn’t be forever altered by six soul-compromising years on Capitol Hill?

In Wellstone’s case, the influence of Election Industry Inc. led to a bit of senatorial paranoia, according to Hillsman. His book describes an episode in which Wellstone pulled the adman aside, expressing fear that a Republican flack photographed him in a compromising position as he left the opulent home of a California donor after a fundraiser. Wellstone was worried that Republicans might publish the picture, which could make it appear the senator was hiding his face in his coat, like some mafia don fleeing a courthouse (he apparently was simply putting the jacket on when he heard a camera shutter click). The photo was never produced, and Hillsman suspects the camera was empty.

***

But paparazzi ambushes have only become more common since 1996, which says something about the tactical maneuvers of Election Industry, Inc. The heart of Hillsman’s book is an indictment of this industry—and the political parties, pollsters, political consultants, media mavens, special interest groups and lobbyists that exist to serve it.

In his view, the system exists for two purposes—self-preservation and money. It’s all about incumbency. Incumbents, subordinated to the system, don’t create problems the way occasional mavericks like Ventura and John McCain do. Elected officials accustomed to the royal treatment, who have it in their power to fix rules to prohibit the intrusion of outsiders, have little incentive to change those rules in the interest of the public.

“Election Industry Inc. is a vast and mendacious enterprise that has fooled all but the smartest and bravest candidates into believing that their way is the only way,” Hillsman writes. “Using the power of money and media, it is debasing our democracy and aligns itself against the best parts of our nature. Election Industry Inc. is an enemy of the people, with colossal advantages and odds that are overwhelmingly in its favor.” The rhetoric is a little hot, but the sentiment resonates.

Hillsman complains that campaign staffs rarely employ anyone who understands modern communications and methods of persuasion. Campaign managers earn their stripes not by mastering communications, he writes, but by knowing how to organize an office and run a volunteer organization. On top of that, the best ad agencies generally want nothing to do with the blood sport of electoral politics. That leaves the field wide open to Election Industry charlatans, who uniformly don’t get it, according to Hillsman. Most political advertising fails to convey candidates’ core message, particularly those candidates who are trying not to go negative. The ads do nothing to grab viewers’ attention and elicit no response—in short, they fail all the tests of modern marketing. This is of no consequence to Election Industry Inc. because their m.o. is simply to carpet-bomb their advertising, targeting TV viewers with the same ads again and again until they grow nauseous. Then they broadcast them some more.

“Let’s face it: Most political ads are crap,” Hillsman writes. “If Coke or Pepsi were advertised as badly as most candidates are, we would never drink cola.”

Still, he acknowledges, it takes more than a few well-placed creative and effective ads to stage the kind of upsets Wellstone and Ventura achieved. It takes intelligence, sound strategizing, expertly targeted marketing, and—if Hillsman is to be believed—dedication to the notion that the candidate’s message is real.

There’s one other requirement that Election Industry Inc. seems unable to grasp, let alone provide. The candidate must be likeable. As he does repeatedly in his book, Hillsman ably boils down such complexities to a few cogent lines. “Voters have to feel comfortable having you the candidate in their living room, especially in these days of TV-oriented campaigns. If they’re not—if they can’t trust you and don’t like you—it doesn’t matter what you have to say about Social Security or education or foreign policy or any of the Big Issues. They aren’t listening. You can have the best ideas in the world. But if voters don’t like you, they aren’t going to vote for you.”

Hillsman’s analysis does not portend well for frosty presidential aspirant John Kerry, chosen not so much for his likeability as his “electability”—a supposed Kerry characteristic that was vigorously peddled during the Democratic primaries by practitioners of Election Industry Inc.

***

Run the Other Way doesn’t just dissect the entrenched problems of the American electoral system—after all, as an adman Hillsman is charged not just with identifying challenges, but also with finding creative ways to surmount them. His proposal for taking down Election Industry, it turns out, may not be all that radical. Hillsman advocates a new progressive third-party movement, optimistically predicting that it is merely a matter of time before a third-pa
rty candidate is elected president. So not surprisingly, Hillsman directs his greatest disgust at the two major parties, which he believes actively attempt to limit the number of voters drawn to the polls.

Despite their perfunctory teeth-gnashing about low voter turnout, the electionmeisters pretty much want everyone to stay home, he says—everyone except for their own party faithful, those whose votes and attitudes they can predict, if not actually control. That’s why the emergence of figures like Ross Perot and Ventura, or even nominal major-party mavericks like McCain and Arnold Schwarzenegger, threw Election Industry Inc. into convulsions. These candidates carry a message—and elicit a response—that can’t be easily measured, polled or controlled. And that, Hillsman insists, is because they appeal to independent-minded voters: people who think for themselves, take their time deciding how to cast their vote, and ignore the sludge that passes for “information.”

“As far as Election Industry Inc. is concerned, participation in our democracy is only good as long as it is predictable,” writes Hillsman. “Political parties don’t want independent- minded voters going to the polls. They want like-minded voters going to the polls. They and their pollsters want to know what issue is most important to you and where you stand on that issue. Then—and only then—do they care or want to know if you intended to vote. If you’re with ’em, golly gee yes, they want you to vote and they’ll spend plenty of money telling you how right you are to think the way you think and vote the way you do. They’ll even arrange a ride to the polls for you.

“If you’re agin ’em, however, they will do everything they can to make you stay home, including making it difficult for you to get into the polls once you get to the polling place. Sometimes—as we saw in our last presidential election—they make it difficult for your vote to count even after you’ve cast it.”

The adman wraps up his book with a series of recommendations on how to run winning insurgent campaigns. It isn’t the book’s brightest spot, consisting mainly of a series of generalities (“Use the Internet effectively”; “Achieve critical mass in your fundraising”; “Be creative”) that don’t go very far in describing how to achieve those objectives. With all the obstacles put in place by the major-party powers, that is, after all, the central question.

But that’s a fairly small complaint. Overall, this is a unique, valuable, idiosyncratic analysis of our American state of political paralysis. Even if the hyperbolic polarization of the current election cycle suggests that there is little chance of immediately implementing much of the Hillsman program, his book nevertheless makes worthy reading for anyone seeking to understand how the current crisis happened and what might be done about it.

Kevin Featherly (www.featherly.com) is a Bloomington reporter and columnist who covers politics and technology.

One of our favorite second novels is Wilton Barnhardt’s Gospel, a rollicking, world-spanning adventure starring a couple of hapless and deeply flawed archaeologists. Reading The Egyptologist, the second novel by Minneapolis-born Phillips, brought back good memories of Gospel, perhaps only because of a superficial similarity in setting and the fact that both books are damn good reads. The intricate plot of The Egyptologist revolves around a naively delusional tomb raider named Ralph Trilipush (try anagramming that), who disappears in 1922 while searching for the burial site of Pharaoh Atum-hadu, whose name is spelled in pornographic hieroglyphics and may be a hoax. Clueless Ralph, however, seems less interested in his expedition than in designing the cover of the best-seller he plans to write when he becomes famous. Author Phillips has a chameleonic prose style and caustic sense of humor, which is especially potent in the book’s surprising ending. His facility with puzzles—not surprising in a five-time Jeopardy! champion—only makes the book more intriguing. 1500 Grand Ave., St. Paul; 651-646-2665; www.boundtoberead.com

Truly smart poetry, with its seductive surfaces, sometimes risks the hollow note. But the poems in Earthling, the first book from Minneapolis poet Steve Healey (just published by Coffee House Press), display a heart that beats with the iambic resonance of a credible soul. Intelligent, playful, and fast-moving, they also contain a sense of genuine wonder and the power to astonish again and again; when least expected, Healey reaches deftly down into the achingly human: “Something sharp and soft, / a turning corner that didn’t say good-bye, / there’s a reason for being gone.” These are poems with a sensibility of quiet humor, startling inversion, and depth: “A backwards escape artist, the way clothes / wear us, it takes detergent to wash us out.” Healey reads from Earthling as part of the Rain Taxi Reading Series. 110 5th Ave. S.E., Minneapolis; www.soapfactory.org

The publication of political books is coming so thick and fast that you’d be forgiven for wondering if a recent NEA study, the one about the decline of reading in America, just plain got it wrong. Among them is the paperback release of Molly Ivins’ best-selling Bushwhacked: Life in George W. Bush’s America, with an author tour cannily timed to add to the heat under Bush’s (seemingly fireproof) ass. The policy-oriented sleuthing of Ivins and co-author Lou Dubose connects the struggles of average people over the past forty-three months to actions taken—or withheld—by the Bush administration. An elderly Philadelphian who died of listeriosis illuminates USDA policies regarding the meatpacking industry; a high-school student in Texas gets “Bushwhacked” twice by No Child Left Behind rigamarole; and a single mother represents millions of pre- and post-9/11 unemployed who fell through the cracks during the great jobless recovery. In these and more than a dozen other tales as witty as they are well-researched, the authors pointedly note that culture wars, smoking, lifestyles, religion, etc. are all distractions from the basic fight at hand: “It is about who’s getting screwed, and who’s doing the screwing. And anybody who tells you different is lying for money.” Additional nuggets of common sense will surely be dispensed at the reading. Galleria, 3225 W. 69th St., Edina; 952-920-0633; www.bn.com