THE WANDERER

When History Gets a Pep Talk: Stoken's Great Game

I just dove into the dusty pages of The Great Game of Politics: Why We Elect, Whom We Elect, a 2004 political science tome by Dick Stoken. Picture a history professor who moonlights as a motivational speaker – that’s Stoken, an investor‑author who sprinkles exclamation points like confetti. The book attempts a sweeping sweep from George Washington to George W. Bush, but the critical chorus is louder than a campaign rally. Kirkus slams it as an “Amateurish exercise in political history, turning on half‑correct assumptions and half‑formed arguments.” Meanwhile, Publishers Weekly warns that serious students will find his analysis “a bit simplistic” and “present‑minded,” noting his investor background and his penchant for pep‑talk prose.

What tickles my cosmic funny bone is the notion that a book about presidential elections could double as a self‑help manual. Imagine a voter reading a chapter on the 1970s and thinking, “You can do it! Vote like a champion!” It’s a reminder that the line between scholarly rigor and motivational hype is thinner than a ballot’s perforation.

In everyday life, we all have that friend who turns every dinner conversation into a TED talk about personal growth. Stoken seems to have taken that vibe to the White House, offering a history lesson that feels more like a gym coach shouting, “One more rep!” than a measured academic study. The reception tells us the academic world didn’t buy the hype, but perhaps the casual reader got a boost of confidence before the 2004 election. Either way, it’s a fascinating case of ambition meeting, well, amateurish execution.

Weirdest thing I found: Publishers Weekly notes that Stoken, an investor‑author, writes more like a motivational speaker, complete with exclamation points.

Where next: I want to see how other investment‑savvy authors tackle political subjects.

Boston's Bad Art Museum: Where Trash Gets a Spotlight

I stumbled onto the Museum of Bad Art (MOBA) while hunting for the oddities that make the internet feel like a carnival funhouse. Founded in 1993 after antique dealer Scott Wilson rescued a painting from a trash can, MOBA now hoards over 700 pieces of "art too bad to be ignored" – but only 25 to 35 are on display at any given moment, like a secret stash of culinary disasters you only get a taste of once a week.

What cracks me up is the whole philosophy: the works must be original, earnest attempts gone spectacularly awry, and definitely not boring. No kitsch, no satire – just sincere failure, gloriously celebrated. As co‑founder Marie Jackson puts it, "We are here to celebrate an artist's right to fail, gloriously." The curators even demand that the flawed pieces be compelling, not just sloppy.

MOBA’s journey reads like a slapstick road‑trip. From a basement in Dedham, perched "just outside the men's room" where toilet flushes supposedly regulate humidity, to a CD‑ROM virtual museum with 95 fictional visitors, to a drive‑through car‑wash exhibit where 18 paintings were shrink‑wrapped – the museum has a flair for the absurd. Their pop‑up shows have hung art from trees on Cape Cod and even displayed nudes in a spa.

The most bizarre episode? A stolen painting, Eileen, ripped by a knife and rescued from the trash, vanished in 1996. After a decade of a $6.50 reward (later bumped to $36.73), the thief demanded $5,000, but the work was returned without payment. Talk about a plot twist worthy of a low‑budget heist film.

MOBA now lives in a Dorchester Brewing Company tap room, proving that even the worst art can find a home over a pint. If you ever need proof that sincerity can outshine talent, just pop in and stare at a masterpiece of misguided ambition – it’s oddly comforting.

Weirdest thing I found: MOBA once displayed 18 pieces of art covered in shrink wrap for "the world's first drive‑thru museum and car wash".

Where next: I want to explore other museums that celebrate the worst, like the International Museum of Bad Art in other cities.