2nd Annual Resolution Project

First, checking back on last year, then the new questions. I invite others to join in on the fun.

1. 2006's Resolutions:

• Residence issue resolved: I've not really touched on this over the past few months. However, a change in family status (e.g. Rose, with all the accompanying budget considerations), along with some other soul-searching has made us re-evaluate our move to Zephyr or to elsewhere in Minneapolis and come to the following conclusion: We can make a happy life where we are, for the time being. We may wish, at some point, to make the leap. But enough pieces will be in place, if and when it comes, that it's going to seem the natural thing to do. Right now, it does not. Our five year plan is OK being a 15 year plan.
• Be on a regular cardiovascular schedule AND be eating right/in moderation: Hmm. As at this same time last year, a work in progress. As far as the first part of this, I can certainly put a portion of the blame on the whole Rose thing. Getting away for exercise has been damned near impossible. My recent aquisition of a magnetic resistance mount (which I'm actually using) for my bike, as well as the double jogger for springtime may contribute to a better 2007. But for now, I'd have to say I'm not where I need to be. And on the eating. I still eat good, healthy meals. But the meals are too large. Plus, I have a tendency to binge on stuff that is bad for me. Late in the night, when I am vulnerable. We'll suit up and take this on in again in 2007, I suspect.
• Finish SECRET OF HIM: Two good excuses here. My world of art was diverted into an entire new realm of experience, as I helped launch that theatre group. Since then, that has consumed the vast majority of my art time; however, I have managed to eke out another song from S.O.H., as well as a few beginnings of some others. Plus...Rose who, I must remind my readership at this moment, was simply not in the radar at this point last year. Very crazy to think about it, but the reason she is such a convenient excuse now is because she was not in the plans as of 12/06.
• Overall: 1 of 3, but with a couple of major life events that have to count as legitimate excuses. I have to say, I'm not much for holding myself accountable in a way that does not allow the River of Time to meander and discover new oxbows and carve new chasms.

2. 3 Resolutions for 2007:

• What the hell, Finish Secret of HIM. I'm actually essentially done with 5 songs, with a head start on three more. Is it unthinkable that I could find moments and motivation to finish the son of a bitch off? Certainly not.
• What the hell, Be on a regular cardiovascular schedule AND be eating right/in moderation. Schedule is a bit of a harsh word, but I guess I'd be shooting for a workout of some kind about three times a week, and some level of activity on the "off" days, even if it's just a brisk 30 minute walk over lunch.
• Sharon wants to quit her job and stay home. Preferably with Lucy still attending her Montessori School. This puts an incredible burden on the already strained amount of dollars coming in from my single income. We are re-evaluating our lifestyle in a major way. It will require a retooling of how I view all those things I've come to feel, over the years and through all my trials, that I've somehow earned through blood, sweat, and tears. Sharon being home with Rose, if that's what she wants, is more important than all that other crap, and it's time to put myself to the test. It will require a lot of sacrifice and willpower, as well as a bit of luck; avoiding the kind of unexpected financial catasrophe which has befallen Sharon & me with defeating regularity through the years. So here it is: Sharon stays home, and somehow it works.

3. Best moment of 2006:

Jesus, this one isn't even close. Not even close. Not even close. The birth of Rose, possibly the best moment of my life. I suppose any other time I would have said "Democrats take back both houses!!!" But no. Not this year.

4. Worst moment of 2006:

Finding out the lump in my cat's leg was cancerous. Followed, somewhat distantly, but quite distinctly, by that moment when Sharon called me on the phone while the furnace guys were there and the electricians were there and the abatement guys were there and the tree service was there and the toilet guy was there and telling me the dryer was done for.

5. 2006 Remembered as...

The year my beloved 2nd daughter was born. What can I say, I'm a ladies man!!!

Happy New Year everybody!!!!!

The Dream of EveryKid!

Bedtime stories with Mighty Tom!

Fatherhood Chronicles, Vol. 1

This is actually from 4/05. Possibly the first of many; we'll see.

Early Christmas Present

The first smile.

Actual first smile was a couple of weeks ago, but this is the first one captured on camera. Beyond the thrill we get for obvious reasons, the smile is always great to see just as a sort of benchmark that for that moment, at least, everything is OK so far in our daughters' lives; a "so-far-so-good" reassurance with respect to our parenting skills.

Why - o - Why Can I Not Draw My Own Name?

Instead, helped with a gift for Sharon's Christmas drawing: her father-in-law. A generally fun-loving guy who really enjoys trying new beers I've encountered, though he's rarely investigated the field himself. I'd long heard about this amazing liquor store in the unlikely suburb of Burnsville, in an equally unlikely strip mall. A place called the Blue Max. In an addition to selling a stunning and mouthwatering number of craft beers, they give you the opportunity to "pick a mix" your six pack from a seasonal array they continually update. You're paying extra (generally somewhere between $1.19 and $1.79 a bottle), but nowhere near what you'd pay to try these beers in a restaurant. If you could find them, that is.

Here's the selection I made for Sharon's dad. Not sure if you need anything else to make it a Happy Holiday Season.

Bittersweet, this was, however; as Sharon & I have been continuing to try and explore ways in which she can quit and stay home with Rose. Among the luxuries risking (and almost certainly eventually heading to) the chopping block is my newfound craft beer hobby. At least the frequency with which I imbibe. Things might slow to somewhere between one and two beers a week, and tap beer only in the event of a visit from an out-of-state friend.

Ironic, then, that I just recently hit my 50th review at BeerAdvocate.com. It was the Surly Furious, an IPA I enjoyed on a recent daddy-daughter outing to our neighborhood's Papa's Pizza. It was a fun and rollicking time, as most daddy-daughter events are, almost certainly made even more lively as a result of a 16-oz bottle of 6.00% abv beer consumed in about 10 minutes.

Born at the Right Time

For one that is familiar with the lyrics to Paul Simon's "Born at the Right" time, it's hard for me not to look at my infant daughter and think about how she has "eyes as clear as centuries" and "silky hair (that's) brown." Nor about how she has "Never been lonely, never been lied to, never had to scuffle in fear, nothing denied to..."

Anyway, those words were (once again) going through my head when I saw her tonight and snapped this photo. For a few other shots chronicling her first month and a bit beyond, check out this slideshow (when you get to the page, actually click "slideshow").

Musicology: Emotional Album Response

I was planning to post in The Annex, but I guess that is now de-funked.

Just listening to Peter Gabriel: US at work the other day, it occurred to me how deeply that album affects me on an emotional level. It was one of a number of a handful of albums with which I (usually in concert with Mighty Tom) was obsessed during my college years. A handful that also includes but is certainly not limited to U2: Actung Baby (and who, except for black people, attending college in the early 90s was not obsessed with that album?), Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes, and The Who: Tommy.

Anyway, I can distinctly recall a few episodes of intense listening to that album when I was moved to an unnatural emotional state, carried away by the music. It's weird. I can still be affected on a deep level by music; but in college I seemed to either have the time or the freedom from worry to allow myself that luxury on a near daily basis. I recall a specific time, listening to US's The Blood of Eden when, at the end of a particularly powerful part of the music, I found myself slumped against the door, sweating, exhausted, and almsot as if waking from a trance. Interesting (or very likely related) to the emotional response I have to that album is the fact that I find it to be pretty much the most deeply personal album, lyrically/musically, I have ever heard.

Another album that connects with me on a nearly-equal emotional level is the much more accessible (and critically recognized) Paul McCartney album, Band on the Run. However, in this instance, though I do love the music dearly, my "connection" to this recording has a lot to do with the "T-Clog Model," in which there are particularly vivid memories of a time in my life when I was nearly destitute, financially, and just beginning to date Sharon. This album was particularly heavy in the playlist, and an incredible wave of wistfulness & nostalgia will wash over me upon hearing it; especially through the run of songs beginning with "Let Me Roll It" and ending with "No Words."

Anyone else care to open their soul and discuss an album that hits you right *here?* (I'm gesturing to my heart)

Kickin' off The Season

My expanding family will once again be attending the annual Holiday on 44th celebration in Camden. A generally joyous, uniting affair; the festival brings out the people of Camden like no other event of the year; as sights, sounds, tastes, and activities span the length of the 44th Ave business corridor.

Almost like from a movie, past years' events have found me wading and turning my way through crowds of happy Camdenites, hot-chocolates held high above my head as I recognize and greet familiar faces from my neighborhood. Traditional holiday delights: (Horse-drawn carriages, chestnuts roasted on an open fire, Saint Nicholas), mix with uniquely Minnesotan attractions (iceblock carving with chainsaws), and various ethnic offerings (Polish and Hmoung dancing). Amidst the array of happenings this year is a successive series of scenes from Christmas Carol, performed by my theatre group. I'm currently on a bit of a hiatus, however I will be with them throughout the evening, to render assistance however I may.

While I generally recoil and gag at the domination of two local radio stations by Christmas music from about early November on; I can get "in the spirit" with the best of them, given the right place and time. And, while I understand Dickens' Christmas classic is not necessarily the most representative piece of his work, I do love it so, anyway:

Mankind was my business!!! The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, benevolence, forbearance!!! These were all my business!!!

Hell, yeah! Are you kidding me???

Anyway, I'll talk to you again, post-celebration. And I wish the best of the season to you all!

Not Ready to Face the World of Finance. Not Yet.

I've oft used the scene of Luke Skywalker facing Darth Vader in that crazy heavy-machinery room in Cloud City as a fine example of my attempts to stay afloat financially.

Well, Sharon & I are just toying around with the idea of her staying home and us making a go of it for the next 13 months until Rose is old enough to go to Lucy's school. Only catch is, Lucy would still be going there, so it's essentially the worst of two worlds. The expense of child care without the second income. It was almost seeming like we were coming out ahead for a month and a half, till I went in to do Quicken last night. In Sharon's current maternity leave, we've been writing those Capital One checks to replace her missing income. I forgot to do it for her normal pay period this last Friday and, WHAM! The world of finance was very unforgiving. Thank God our credit union is set up to take money out of savings in the event of an overdraft; because it did this time. Like Bullet the Blue Sky, it peeled out them hundred dollar increments: $100...$200...$300. Savings now depleted down to $91, I desperately deposited the safety net (which, of course, goes right onto the credit card).

Yeah, and we think we're going to somehow find a way to trim Sharon's entire net income (minus daycare cost) out of our budget for a whole year.

And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.

So, after that humbling, humiliating, scarring experience (I always come out of checkbook balancing almost like I would imagine stumbling out of a room where I had just been sexually molested), I proceeded to act out the entire Cloud City battle scene, from the first piece of random computer console smacking into my shoulder, to the last weary attempt at deflecting the onslaught, and onto the window exploding open. The amazing spectacle was capped by me hanging onto the leg of Rose's swing by one hand and flailing my legs about and eventually being "sucked out" onto the ledge. At that point, the metaphor really loses its applicability; but for artistic sake, I played the scene out to its conclusion, asking Sharon to ask me to "join" her, so I could scrunch my face up melodramatically and scream "Never!!!!!'

Lucy was having some trouble figuring out exactly what was going on, but she's been around long enough to not be too freaked out by displays such as this.

Thank God It's 50 Degrees

Went for a rain today, in relatively balmy, drizzly weather, with the intent of looping around the superdeveloped Centennial Lake Park. Hardly a jaunt through the woods, but if my run is to be sub three miles, and my home base is work, I don't have too many options for trails and/or nature during my noontime excursions.

The "lake" itself is a man made, shallow (believe me, I have firsthand experience) body of water surrounded by condos & high-end strip mall stores & eateries, as well as recreational vendors who, during warmer months, sell tickets for mini-golf & paddleboat rides. Think a mini Coney Island devoid of culture. But, again, route beggars can't be choosers.

Around this "lake," also, are a series of perpendicular trails; some paved, some crushed stone, some wooden boardwalk. Between the various steps that lead from one level to another and little decks and other protusions into the water, the whole thing becomes a bit complicated. Well, anyway, I've tried my best in recent years to abide by a "go softly on my knees" running policy, which will have me favoring asphalt over concrete, and unimproved trail (e.g. woodchips, dirt, crushed stone, etc.) over asphalt, whenever possible. Indeed, I've been known to make long detours in order to avoid unfavorable surfaces. So, in this ever-changing caucaphony or intersecting, diverging, and concurrent pathways, I found myself zigging, zagging, and switching an almost dizzying amount as I flew along.

Coming around one bend, having been limited to a wooden boardwalk for a stretch, I saw a lovely leaf-covered path suddenly swinging right alongside my trail, only about three feet below. With anticipation of a cushiony, leafy reception, my next stride took me gracefully over the edge of my path downward to the leafy path which turned out to not be the leafy path at all but the lake.

Lucky for me, I had forgotten my running socks for the day (giving you another piece of evidence as to what kind of day it has been here), so I did not have to contend with nasty, uncomfortable socks as part of my entire drenched get-up on the way. I was also glad I did not encounter another mentally disabled mobility bus on the way back, like the one that pulled to the side of the road and opened its doors for me the last time I was out running, wet & dedraggled, over a rainy lunch hour.

Anway: the water was not too cold, not too many people were watching, and I was at least not dripping a whole lot by the time I got back to work. After my initial indignation, which lasted about ten seconds, it definitely seemed funnier to me by the moment.

Thanksgiving Gift to Self

Having suffered with a substandard Graco jogging stroller over the past three and a half years that ultimately ground my running hobby into the near nothingness, I finally went for it and indulged. Via the beauty of online shopping, I was able to find this beauty for one hundred dollars less than I've seen it anywhere else, with free shipping (and no tax, of course). It felt like even more of a steal when I noticed the company raised the price by sixty bucks the day after I bought it.

The stroller is made by BabyJogger, which is one of the premier names in the jogging stroller business, along with B.O.B and Chariot (all sold at REI). They are intended for "avid runners," so I'm excited about the thing being built to last, as well as its ability to tackle some very light trail duty. Using this vehicle will be an almost absolute necessity, if I plan to train this spring for PMix's & my run across Massachusetts.

Hmm...I was just going to leave it at that. Perhaps it's wisdom that comes with age, but I feel the need to mention that Mix has not yet agreed to do the run. My idea of humour; to put him on the spot. But knowing my good friend, such an act may well have pushed him off the fence and into the yard of refusal, and I certainly don't want it to "go down that way." If he did decide that his heart burned with fire and he'd like to get out there and live an adventure, rather than just reading about them all the time, however; the stroller would come in mighty handy for my training.

In any event, I'm extremely excited to get my girls in this thing, though it's painful to wait through this beautiful 50 degree weather till Rose reaches the 6-week age minimum (after which time it will undoubtedly be too cold and I'll be resigned to waiting till spring).

Hope everyone else's Thanksgiving was as filled with blessings as my own. Toodle loo.

The End of an Era

* sigh *

And just like that, my two week paternity leave is over. Here I am, back forging helms and pulling Uruks out of the mud in the bowels of Barad-dur.

I can't say it was exactly as I imagined my time off, as I spent a good portion of last week "running interference" as a result of Lucy being home with the chicken pox. Nevertheless, what I have said before (and will undoubtedly say again) rings as true as ever: that could get to be a lifestyle. Not going to work. Holy crap. The dream of everyman, right? To spend my days and nights as I please.

But, alas, we had a "farewell to family togetherness" dine-out last night. I toasted to Rose. Sharon toasted to "big sisters," and Lucy (in an amazing exact repeat of her toast of a year ago), toasted "to London," with a followup toast "to monkeys."

Neither "When in Rome..." Nor "If You Can't Beat 'Em...", But in a Similar Vein

So I'm talking about a househusband who's cooped up at home because of a week-old child and another with The Pox. He just has to, you know, get out of the house, he's been looking after, you know, the kids from day to day, he's been washing the dishes, screwing around and watching Sesame Street and he's going CRAZY!

***

So unable to escape these walls for the past few days, I've really been hankering for a meal away from home. However, due to The Pox: no go.

So, in an act of ingenuity, desperation, or pure lunacy, I specifically set about to recreate a meal this evening from Rix. Gaze, if you will, upon the bounty on my table that includes a Cheese and Salsa Burger (partially eaten), Steak Fries, and a Summit India Pale Ale. Gone already is my Feta Cheese and Onion Salad with Mixed Spinach Greens (really, I had one, I swear!). And, lest you think that my current state has got me "pulling a Michael Jackson" over here, that's not my sippy cup.

So...bottoms up from northwest Minneapolis, and hope to talk to you again someday when I can Step Out beyond only in my dreams.

Lucy & Rose Compare/Contrast!

God Didn't Think We Had Enough Going On Here...

Lucy came down with the chicken pox over the weekend. Good God, but between diaper changes, other newborn-oriented interruptions and "Daddy, the bumps are stinging!"...well, let me simply say that a particular, oft-mentioned phrase at daybreak was never quite so apros-pos:

Yes.

Sisterly Love

I like how I phrased this in a communiqué to my theatre group: We need to temper Lucy's enthusiasm for caring for her little sister with concern for Rose's personal safety.

It is a juggling act, to be sure; with the assorted pins of temperment, need, and expediency all in the air at the same time. And while a strong wind of fatigue is blowing these first few days.

But moments like below are, as they say, "...all good."

Welcome to the World, Rose Alice Hylton!

Well...thanks to all the well-wishing in my previous post. As most of you know, things progressed unexpectedly fast Wednesday night after I got home. Sharon's mom came to get Lucy at around 7:30, Sharon was in active labor by 9:30 or so, out of her mind for a few hours, and then Little Chicky was delivered at 1:41 a.m.

Though very, very difficult & demanding during, it was Sharon's "dream birth." Unmedicated, uninvasive, and at the hospital for only the last 40 minutes of it (cutting it a bit short, to be sure). It was an amazing, intimate time for the two of us as a couple; and the time after the birth, with Sharon alert & ecstatic, was too amazing to put into words.

Rose is beautiful and of strong limb. She has a very pink little body and spiky brown hair. There are untold pictures from the delivery that are filled nudity & gore, & probably not quite ready for prime time. This one, of a tender moment between mama & daughter the morning after, I can share:

OK...Here We Go..

As it turns out, actual contractions did start last night and have continued through today. Very early labor here, and not painful (yet). I actually was in at work today, but am probably done there for awhile. We expect things to start progressing at some point tonight (but, of course, who really knows?).

Anyway, I will be an internaut with my tether cut over the next couple days, so do not expect a report until "it" has occurred. Stay tuned.

Raaaaaar!

One very nice thing about "events" not being set in motion yesterday was that we got to take Lucy out for her very first trick-or-treating experience. Four houses. This year has been soooo amazing, watching the wide-eyed wonder and excitement with which my daughter experiences all the amazing spices life has to offer.

From checking up at the sky a few times with her to see if any witches were flying around to watching her run (out of pure excitement) along the sidewalk with a candy bag and tiger tail flying behind her to watching her very methodically remove, count, and place in a line thirteen pieces of candy (her haul for the evening) and pick one to eat that night; it was fun beyond description.

False Alarm!

Without going too much into biology - female biology - I'll just leave it at that.

But the long & the short of it: no birth imminent. Good on many, many levels, as we still can hold out hope that the baby will be lower down and contractions will start before the water leaks or breaks.

Still looking at sometime in the next week/week and a half...

Here We Go...

warning: some discussion of biology - female biology - follows...

Sharon's water started leaking last night. It's what happened with Lucy and precisely what we wanted to avoid this time around. The legendary "water breaking" is something that can kick in contractions. With this slow trickle, however, that may well not happen. Did not last time, anyway. And with the baby still up quite high in the uterus, there's been no "thinning of the cervix;" the event that most often instigates labor.

So carry on for hours & days with the slow trickle until nature is ready to take it's course? Well & good, except that the entire "system" is now at risk for infection, so it is likely that the hospital will pressure us to induce labor within 24 hours. Which, last time, did not work very well and set in motion a series of medications and interventions that turned into about the worst 30 hours of both our lives. Hence; hiring of the doula this time around. It is our hope that, even if we end up having to make some decisions that aren't consistent with our idea of a "dream birth," we can have someone there making sure we're asking the right questions and not getting steamrolled.

Anyway...a bit of a ramble; but I needed to type through it...

We should have a baby within 36 hours...(or, please God, less....) Wish us luck.

Gentlemen...A Toast

...to the inventor of the mulching mower. We spent a good part of the weekend doing a lot of prep for the arrival of Chicky. From making sure the old bins of 0-6 month clothes were dug out & prepared, to packing a bag of Lucy clothes (were she to need to be whisked away suddenly to grandma & grandpa's house), to setting up an extra diaper changing station on level 2 of the house. Tons of odds & ends. Also-making sure leaf work was pretty much done for the year.

Now...down one and a half trees from a couple of years ago, we obviously are up against a much more modest collection of leaves than was once the case. But nevertheless, raking an entire yard is a task I have never loved. See here, how our wonderful new electric mower simplifies the process (while adding a healthy layer of mulch that will protect the yard this winter, and vitalize it in the spring). And...Good God, but this saved me a lot of time; time I could spend doing a lot of other shit that really should have been done a few weeks ago.

So three cheers for the inventor of this amazing, simple blockage of the grass chute! Sir, I am in your debt.

Getting Close to "Zero Hour"

Yesterday, actually, was the first day within that "2 week window' around the due date in which 90 some odd percent of all babies are born. So basically, it could happen at any time from here on out. Lucy was four days late, and would have been even later, had events not been put in motion by Sharon's water beginning to leak. But there's been a few physiological things going on that might indicate this baby is a little ahead of that schedule. Who really knows?

But it's insane to consider, as I look over at a new little "0-9 month" snowsuit spread out over a chair in the living room, that it will soon be filled with a little, living, breathing and beautiful human; however needy. For the first part of this Sharon's term; it was hard to concentrate on the upcoming baby; what with coming off such a stressful and busy year, and having my waking hours so dominated with care of my existing child. But I've definitely gotten way into it, the last couple of months; talking to "Little Chicky," making sure all those little pieces of our lives that need to be in order (from having enough infant clothes on hand, to digging out all of Lucy's old newborn toys, to talking endlessly with Lucy about being a big sister). There's a few little odds and ends that need taken care of yet, but we're basically there. And the sooner the better, at this point. In the last few days, Sharon's muscles have been ravaged by a mysterious soreness that feels like she did some huge amount of unusual activity. Like, to the point of barely being able to walk. It's undoubtedly related to the pregnancy, but both we and the midwives are stymied. It's put a bit of a strain on the smooth flow of keeping the house in order, as Sharon is relegated to pretty much laying on the couch, and I assuming almost all homemaking duties, as well as Lucy duty. I try not to miss an opportunity to remind Sharon that I'm in awe of what her body does (and, I suppose, most women throughout history), growing that little person in there and keeping them safe for 10 months. She's really "taking one for the team," as T-Clog might say, and I'm honored to have her as the mother of my child(soon to be "ren"). Hang in there, Sharon!

In the midst of all this, I took Friday off last week to spend, as I told Lucy, "our last daddy-daughter day with me only having one kid." It was great. She learned how to play checkers at the coffee shop, we headed over to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (one of my absolute favorite places in The Cities) for awhile, and then had a lunch together. Despite the occasional challenges that being the daddy of a confident, self-assured (and occasionally, yes, stubborn) 3-year old entails; she's really an amazing little girl, and I can't get enough of her.

It Occurs to Me that It Is at Least Conceivable

That I am the only person in the world currently listening to this CD:

Bush's Thoughts on the Tet Offensive

Excerpted from a great NY Times story on how, for the first time since Viet Nam, the Democrats are on the offensive in terms of the military debate:

...When Mr. Stephanopoulos asked Mr. Bush whether the increasing violence in Iraq was similar to the Tet Offensive in 1968, the Vietnam War campaign that is often cited as turning American opinion against the war, Mr. Bush said such a comparison “could be right,” suggesting that terrorists were aiming for a similar result...

Hmm...maybe that NY Times reporter thought Bush was suggesting terrorists were aiming for a simialr result. To me, it sounds like the words of a man who has never heard of the Tet Offensive.

Comedy Without Soul?

I love, as has been documented it, King of the Hill and The Simpsons. Probably as a result of that, I've often wondered if the animation industry, particularly on some current cable stations to which I have do not have access, has passed me by. How many products of genius, not held hostage to formulae established by traditional family-based sitcoms, am I missing out on through the years? This was probably the impetus behind, after simply stumbling across it in Netflix, shooting Harvey Birdman up to the top of my queue based on the potential of the brilliant concept alone.

Well, I made it through the last of the six episodes last night, and was reminded of what I sort of discovered during my brief foray in to Family Guy: Gags, freedom from convention, and irreverance are great, but they can only carry you so far. Underlying King of the Hill and most seasons of The Simpsons was/is a soul. Something that unifies the individual scenes and ties them together with some sort of universal humanity. Not sure how else to say it, but that pure satire without this element is nothing more than a book of knock knock jokes, however clever. Watching Birdman, I laughed but I did not love.

That said, The Scooby Doo & Shaggy episode was really a hoot, and well worth seeing.

Keeping the Audience...Riveted

Last night's installment of our Reader's Theatre series was a show called 'Night, Mother, by playwrite Marsha Norman. It is our dramaturg's favorite script in the world and, seeing it performed live last night, I can see why.

An incredible two-woman story of a an adult daughter who announces to her mother (with whom she lives) that she will kill herself "tonight," it is nearly an hour and a half of tense, personal dialogue building to an inevitable conclusion that everyone watching is hoping the mother can somehow avert, but ultimately cannot. Heart-rending is an understatement and at the end, to use a chiche, "there was not a dry eye in the house." It was really quite incredible, and it actually resulted in our company getting our first "Standing O." Then over to Rix for drinks, thankfully. Anyway, read Valerie's great and (as always) uniquely insightful take on the performance here.

Powerful stuff, this theatre. I just get it now; the whole shared experience with the audience, the visceral reality of it all; so much more than I ever did in my acting as a youth.

Six Times Wonderful

Sharon & I just got back from a three day trip to the North Shore; a last chance for some uninterrupted quiet time as a couple before the arrival of Little Chicky. Not entirely by chance, we stayed at a bed and breakfast owned by Mixxy's mother-in-law. About five miles North of Tettegouche State Park and more or less right on Lake Superior. We had a view of the Lake from our room and great hot coffee & scones greeting us as we woke both mornings. (Of course, that didn't keep us from hitting the brunch buffet at the Northern Lights down the road a bit...)
Relaxing, reinvigorating, and wonderful.

On the way up, we had the opportunity to swing by Duluth's Hawk Ridge, which was resplendent in fall color (the first few pictures in the set below). We also happened to be there to witness a display and release of both a male & female Sharp Shinned Hawk. Very cool. Very beautiful up there at the windy heights a few hundred feet above town and the surface of the lake. Then on to the eventual destination. Night one included a meal at the Northern Lights. I ate too much, of course; but I also had the opportunity to imbibe Superior Brewery's Kayak Kolsch on tap. The next day, following coffee & scones, we set off on a leisurely exploration of the shoreline down from the b&b. Some rock scrambling, some rock hounding, and some rock sitting, while gazing out at the mighty, timeless waters of the world's biggest lake. This is the location the rest of the pictures in the set below were taken. Into Beaver Bay for the buffet, and then we headed to the back end of Tettegouche. Sharon is remarkably mobile for being 9-months pregnant, and we were actually able to go on a couple of hour hike up "Baldy Mountain" (yup, one in Tettegouche) and catch some great views of the Sawtooth Mountains and off to a distant Lake Superior. The weather was perfect the entire trip. Breezy and alternatingly sunny and overcast but always with the funkiest clouds up in the sky. All in all, one of those trips where there's no specific agenda but everything just kind of works out.

So...the pictures. We were extremely lucky in a couple of rare encounters; so make sure you keep careful watch, and you just may catch, amidst these images, the Elf of the Woods and the Elf of the Shore.

Two More Adventures

Adventure #1 (as told to PMix & Mighty already via phone-but delicious enough to recount, nearly verbatim):
We've been sitting around with an old spinet piano in our living room. Bad enough condition that we literally can't give it away (we've tried). Thus, we're left with seemingly the only option being the arranging of a large-enough vehicle, a couple of friends to help carry, and solid waste transfer station token in order to toss the thing. Just too much to arrange, with times being as busy as they are. Yesterday, the alternate option dawned on me: disassemble the thing into its smallest possible components and just toss the thing away in pieces. Three hours later and a pile of sawdust later, unfortunately, I was left with one "smallest piece" being a solid metal soundboard hopelessly fused against a solid wood back to the piano. About 5' x 4' x 8" and well over 200 lbs. An awkward carry, to say the least. Still too large for the trash guys to take, but a piece, at least, that I could get down into the basement and out of sight/mind for the time being. Well, I huffed and puffed and dragged and (after some creative use of a circular saw) angled the thing out of my living room, through the kitchen, and to the top of my basement stairs. Fuck me. How am I going to slide this thing down the stairs without it crushing me? I heaved to, tilted the one end back, and the thing came sliding at me like a sled of bricks, hitting me in the chest and knocking me back and down one step. But I didn't lose it. I just planted my left foot and caught it. Feeling suddenly hopped up and energized, I actually pushed it back up a stair, just to prove my mastery, then forcibly worked it the rest of the way down the rest of the stairs stairs to the bottom. By that time, I was absolutely wild and the soundboard was bitch and I fairly tossed it into the corner of the basement, letting out a howl. This experience was followed with a well-earned Oktoberfest.

Adventure #2:
My promised followup visit to the doctor for my pinkie (see ...Show Must Go On...) was at an Orthopedic clinic in the south metro. While sitting around waiting for an xray, I started noticing a few guys walking around who, by appearance, just screamed "pro athlete." Then I saw a guy I thought just might be Trenton Hassell going into the restroom. Then some trainer-looking guy with a Minnesota Timberwolves polo on. Then Kevin Garnett. A gaggle of nurses was brining him over to the height-measuring thing (no lie), while he was yacking away, not seven feet from me. I said, "Hey, KG-I'll never run into you again. Can I shake your hand?" to which he obliged. Kind of wild. Had I sat around in a waiting room with him for ten minutes or so, I might have chanced to tell him about how at 24 years old, I considered sending him a letter asking if I could be his butler. But alas, I figure KG probably has to sit around in a waiting room about as often as I win MVP of the NBA All-Star Game.

My First True "The Show Must Go On" Moment!

I haven't mentioned anything about it in this forum, but I had a performance today, at a Mississippi Heritage festival at the regional park near my house. Our theatre group was doing an original, family-interactive piece about Mississippi heritage, including lots of kid participation, storytelling, costume-wearing, etc. etc. I was the storyteller, and playing guitar.

Well...we'd had a scant few rehearsals and were really needing to get together at 1:30 to set up (or 2:00 at the very latest) and get in a run through before the event opened at 3:00 (we went on at 4:00, for about an hour). At about 12:30, while Lucy & I were hanging around in the living room and she was practicing jumping from the top of the couch onto my face, my arm happened to drift up and * pop * out went my little finger into a "w"-shaped contortion. Dislocated. God Dammit! My mind racing. Can I pop it back in, myself? Something I've always heard of being done, but in my (sadly, mulitple) past occurrences, something I've never quite been able to bring myself to do. The thought of a half-assed, "check swing" in such an attempt is enough to curl my toes. I had to get to the doctor, or go in and do the performance in this condition. No, that second option was not really an option - this is in a bad position, and if I don't get it straightened out, the energy of a live stage performance could send me into shock. Really. Plus, the last thing our performance needs is for the audience to be focused on my finger. Plus-I'm supposed to be playing guitar with this thing! No, there were far too many compelling reasons for me to get into the doctor. Quick-call to the artistic director and message to his wife appraising her, and then turning to Lucy with a look in my eyes that could have only have been saying, "OK, little girl: I know that every time we ever need to get out of the house in five minutes, it takes us 30...but if you ever, ever wanted to help your daddy out in a pinch...for the love of God, be a help, not a hinderance now." For, you see, Sharon was at work.

So, getting ready to go into the doctor...Lucy was great. I was unable, in my condition, to help her get all the way dressed, or to help her get her tight shoes on, or lift her into her car seat-anything. She really seemed to get it. She was focused and helpful and we were on the road in, like, less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, urgent care took far, far longer than it needed to. I was sitting around for at least an hour, and I was starting to get a little nauseous, along with the nervous feeling I already had about the dwindling time. Finally, to the triage, and then back to the room, and then the doctor came in. Right before 2:00. So what does he do? Sends me back to get x-rayed!! I've never had that done before in a dislocation! From that point on, I'm trying to explain to every staff person I encounter about how I am going on in a play in a little over an hour and, as they continually slow me down, eventually that at 2:15 I'm simply going to have to walk out the door, whether my finger is fixed or not. It may have been a bluff on my part, but honestly I'm not sure. There literally would have been a point at which I could have waited no more. The show must go on.

Finally, the doctor's in there at about 2:13 explaining that the x-rays showed a small fracture. Ordinarily, he'd give me a shot of painkiller and let it work for about 15 minutes, then pop it into place, THEN take another x-ray to see if the any further damage was revealed. A quick little back and forth that resulted in me making a promise to pay a followup visit to his office on Monday and then he reached forward and * POP *, I was in business. Pinky finger & ring finger on left hand taped together. Guitar? Luckily, it was a super basic little repetitive thing that only took my middle tree fingers. We raced home, I threw all my stuff in the car, including some painkillers (which I really needed, by the way), and a tongue depresser. RACED to the event and, while we were in the midst of the runthrough, I untaped the fingers and retaped the pinky onto the tongue depresser to free up my 3rd chord finger. For the rest of the day, my chords sounded a bit shitty, since I couldn't put much pressure on the side of the neck, but it was good enough for the purpose. And the show went off to a great reception. The show must go on, man, the show must go on.

A Topic About Which I've Not Been Blogging A Bunch, But Which is Foremost on My Mind

They don't really take any more "photos"
(ultrasound images) after week 14, and I missed my shot of posting those. So here we are with this representation on the left. "Little Chicky" has been steadily growing over the past number of months and now, at week 34, resembles the baby you see here. About five pounds and 17 inches long or so, Chick has long since gotten to the point where, if the situation became necessary, he/should could survive in the world ex-utero.

Nothing like seeing a picture like this to remind me of that which I already know so well and just drive it home. We are simply going to be a bigger family in about a month.

As has been chronicled, money concerns have weighed us down a bit in anticipation of this glorious event, and I suppose I have been a bit more industrious in the recording studio as of late simply anticipating being on 100% diaper duty (e.g. in a non-sound secure recording situation) through the first few months. But other than that, it's been all excitement and anticipation. Lucy has embraced the role of big sister-to-be with great gusto and, though we have no basis for comparison, her understanding of what this all means seems to far exceed others' expectations for someone her age. We've been asked, "Does she get that there's a baby growing in there?" when, in fact, if you ask her how Little Chicky eats, she'll say "Mama eats food, and little Chicky gets the energy through the umbilical cord."

That said, Loo is still at an age where, bless her heart, she is incapable of truly understanding there are people in the world with valid needs outside of herself. And we're not quite ready to grant babysitter duties to a potential caretaker who, however enthusiastic, promises to "carry her down the stairs with one arm."

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!

I've been motivated to get down into the recording studio, lately. Due to factors ranging from general stress & chronic tiredness to my pursuit of theatre, it's been nearly a year since I've spent any meaningful time down there. In the past week, however, I've gotten drums and some guitars laid down on a new song.

Last night, I was down there again, and making some great headway. I got a bass track laid down, which I was really excited about. And for those lacking experience working in a multi-track studio, let me just say that (particularly as a musician that is more of a craftsman than a technical virtuoso) making it through a song mistake-free, beginning to end, with nearly any intsrument is an exercise in concentration and stress management. But I did it, and was rarin' for more. I then hit upon a great guitar sound and was able to add an extra guitar layer through the whole song. Really pumped, I gave a shot at the most touchy, visible instrumental part of any song-the guitar solo. Success!!!

I then decided to try some scratch backup vocals; "scratch" referring to something that is laid down as a guide and/or experiment, but not intended for a final mix. I just wanted to see if something worked. I was about 20 minutes into singing a series of "aaaaa"'s when I was shocked to see Sharon at the bottom of the stairs. She informed me that, with our new duct system, my vocals were coming out, clear as day, two floors up in the bedroom. And keeping her awake. Beyond my initial embarassment (when you're experimenting with "aaaaa" and have your headphones on, it undoubtedly sounds pretty fruity), I was kind of bummed....what is the implication for my late-night recording sessions (the only time when I am free to record)? It is possible I will be able to close off the vent enough to get around the problem in the future, but I decided to give the vocals a rest for the night and move on to other things.

I moved over to the Korg (the recording unit) and started switching into some effects to see how everything so far sounded, and the entire unit seized up. Not a button worked. Having run into this before, I knew there could be but one outcome. Nevertheless, I tried everything from slapping the side of the machine to randomly hitting button after button in hopes of getting a response. Nothing, of course. With my brain reeling, and my heart just plain fagged, I did a hard shut down. Everything I did for the night is lost.

An experience like that can drive an emotionally fragile recording artist like myself out of the studio for months, in some instances. As it is, I stayed up late with a cartoon balloon containing grumbly scribbles over my head, and this morning was involved in a funk-induced punt.

Holy Shit!

It was a big damn tree

Stock Options: A First $tep into a Larger World Part Two

Actually not really stock options, it just sounded "upper class."

Along with feeling generally out of place when hearing co-workers talk about the latest trappings of an opulent lifestyle, I've also long felt like I know less about the world of finance than anyone within these walls. I have a theory that I spent a lot more of my twenties with my full energy focused on the world of personal pursuits and introspection, whereas many of the people around which I work spent that time learning about self-amotorizing loans, investments, and generally how to get ahead in the world. There's lots of people here that, nearly 10 years my junior, that are in a different universe, career-wise, than I was at their age. That, along with a few other factors (their lack of interest in just about anything outside of ESPN, grilling, and playing golf) tends to support my theory.

Anyway, I will often hear people asking each other how the company's (our company's) stock "is doing." Aside from 401k (in which I started contributing at age 30-not too late in the game), I've always pretty much blown off any talk of investments and stock, considering such pursuits games as only for an ambitious, hardball-playing, group of wheelers & dealers. Definitely not my style. Not my world.

But they started a program here where any employee could set aside money to purchase company stock over 6-month period, via payroll deduction. At the end of the 6 months, the company will purchase the stock for the employee at a 15% discount from whichever price is lower, the price at the beginning of the six months or end of the six months. After a couple of years of avoiding yet another item in the world of finance, it suddenly started striking home to me what an incredible deal this really was. Basically, unless the stock drops 15% over the six month period, you win. Certainly, that drop could occur, but I'm not sure it ever has in the life of Big Buy. Or if it has, it's almost certainly rebounded shortly after.

In any event, I have a specific focus for "getting in the game." Sharon & I are going to start putting 3% of my gross check into this thing, and possibly more, if budget permits in the future. Our specific goal is to grow the money purely for the purpose of paying off our "emergency debt" which, as has been chronicled, has become an emergency in and of itself.

Look out, boys, and would somebody please cue Night Ranger's "Secret of My Success?"

A Skewed View?

I've become aware in recent times that my view of the "average American lifestyle" may be skewed and getting more skewed by the day, as I continue to be surrounded by coworkers with opulent lives and asses firmly planted atop the pyramid. While my own day-to-day existence is relatively modest, in terms of spending & consumption, I fear my own perception of what I should be able to afford; indeed, my sense of entitlement (what an ugly word!), has grown in ways that have been unperceptable along the way, though undeniable now as I evaluate my current recreational tastes and Quicken report of monthly expenditure, relative to what they were before I started work at my current job, just about five years ago.

I don't think enjoying a quality meal in a nice restaurant is a total waste of money, but I remember a time when I thought it was. I remember a time when the only "eating out" we did was at Taco Bell. I also remember a time when the only beer that was "stocked" in my fridge was left over from my last party. And it was shitty beer, in cans. And I didn't have Netflix. Etc. Etc. It adds up.

Scaling back would be healthy to begin with, but our hand has been forced as we are faced with having to eke out an extra $500 or so for childcare expenses we'll be facing when Sharon goes back into work in February. We're in the midst of trying to dial down monthly expenses in just about every recreational/luxury category in the register. Right now, it doesn't appear it will quite add up to the extra $500, but who knows in what way I don't even see now that monthly budget will change over the next five months? Easy come easy go.

The Great Dictator: A First Step into a Larger World?

The "Larger World" refers to Chalie Chaplin movies, and that first step was taken over the past couple of nights, in my viewing of The Great Dictator. I'd put off or just plain ignored this prolific entertainer with almost no real knowledge of what the man was really all about for quite a long time. But I finally decided that, if I am to accept my role as a leading early 21st century American humorist, it would behoove me to study some of the masters.

The Great Dictator, which was released in 1940, was Chaplin's first "all-talkie" film, and thus, not representative of his major body of work prior; but it is considered to be one of his elite films and I found myself all the more amazed that this guy, who is universally recognized as a gifted physical comedian (pre-"talkie" movies, what other kind of actor could you be?), also has an amazing gift for improvisational speech. This is evident as he, in his role as a Hitler-clone dictator, goes on a 10-minute nonsensical screed in some sort of bungle of fake German. Very well done, accompanied by superb body control (like the real Hitler!) Though I get ahead of myself, just a bit.

The Great Dictator is from that weird genre of movies that is made as commentary on World War II prior to its end (and, indeed, years prior to America's involvement). Such movies can have chilling moments for me, as I consider how events that are warned against, etc. will yet unfold in the years following the filming. This one had its share of those moments, with some surprisingly moving and passionate scenes portraying the plight of the persecuted Jews and the madness of the Hitler character interspersed with zany comedy. The juxtaposition was almost too much, except that the humour was just so good. A lot of humourous scenes were undoubtedly the result of flights of fancy from Chaplin-mostly ones in which he is the sole performer on screen just doing what he does best: silly, creative, and amazingly nimble things with his body. Some of the humour reminds me a bit of how I describe Roger Miller's silly lyrics as being not only ahead of their time, but almost (you can just sense it) done purposely with just enough restraint so as not to blow people's minds. There is one scene in which he shaves a man to Slovakian Dances that is almost certainly the basis for a Bugs Bunny bit that would have followed a decade or so later.

Anyway-I'm definitely intrigued with Chaplin's talents, and will seek out more of his works in the future, though I'm mindful that some of the pre-talk movies might require me to break out of a comfort zone a bit in order to appreciate.

About "The Punt"

Mixdorf got such joy out of my mention, in passing, of "the punt," I thought I should elaborate.

The term originated with Gibbs, in as far as I know. Back in the days of the Fortress, he used to employ it, in conversations with his lenient boss, to refer to a day in which he was in the process of mailing it in. It was rather ingenious, to actually head off at the pass any possible issues that might arise from other people in the office seeing you staring blankly at your screen, heading out on a coffee break to return two hours later, or simply sitting at your desk "writing the lyrics." Judicious use of the term actually implies that ususally you are not punting, though whether or not that is a reflection of reality is another issue.

Anyway, nature of my job, as well as the quality of work I have proven over the course of around five years at my present employer, has granted me quite a bit of discretion as to how & when I get the work done. Extremely loosely, it is assumed my hours are around 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. On bussing days, I get here a couple of minutes after 7, and leave a few minutes before 4 to catch the 4:01. On other days, when I drive-my hours become anybody's guess. I will often stay till 4:30, if I'm heading off to pick up Lucy, or later, if I'm not. I've been known to come in extra early and/or stay extra late, if the need arises. But I can also come in late or even, with an early-afternoon appointment, take off for good without worrying about tracking some sort of time card. It's very cool, but also dangerously tempting in some regards. My personal ethos wouldn't allow me to average less than 40 hours a week over a long period of time, but I've definitely had a few stretches when my cycle of work slows down a bit, I've been exhausted, or some of either or both.

"Punting," for me, over the past couple of years, has referred to those days when I wake up with my alarm at 5:40 and make a totally conscious decision that I'd be better off just sleeping in a bit and getting up naturally. I just know I need the sleep, for whatever reason. So I'm running late to begin with. Then, I'm getting up around when Sharon & Lucy do and it is inevitable I will be drawn into the morning routine ("Hold me, daddy!"). Talking with my family, helping Lucy to get breakfast or get dressed; the time it takes me to get on the road is doubled, at least. So now we're looking at 7:30 or 8:00 (too late for the bus) by the time I even get through my back door.

I should also mention that the morning commute in the Twin Cities starts getting truly bad around 6:00 am, or just a little after. It's quite consistant. So, if I can actually get out the door by 5:55 or so, I know I'm gonna have a relatively quick clean drive in of about 20-25 minutes (of course, I can imagine how that sounds to non-big City dwellers, but I've got a CD player and I can zone out pretty well, especially at cruising speed). At 7:30 or 8:00, forget about it. I'm going to be crawling along, at stop & go long before I even get to the tunnel that gets me past downtown. I'm looking at 40-plus minutes into work. So, at that point, a decision is made. A decision that some may say is a very shaky branch of logic. One that suggests that, if you're going to be late, you may as well be really late. It's not like the commute is gonna get good until 9:30 or so (and even my punts don't have that much hang-time). It's just that the temptation of coffee at Camden Coffee Company in one of their tall, ceramic mugs (oh, baby!) has far surpassed my interest in having one of those clean, normal work days. I'll run into a few people I know, bullshit around, maybe read some of my favorite sections of the Star Tribune that are lying around, and some City Pages, and just chill out. It probably doesn't hurt that, otherwise, the number of daytime hours that I am not either working, driving, or involved in child care, to whatever degree, in a given week might often be around zero. I simply don't get many of those hours, when I'm at my best, truly to myself.

There you have it. The punt. Rise up and join me, brothers and sisters. We'll punt away the whole morning, and maybe head out a little early in the afternoon to boot.

In All Seriousness, Folks...

That last post, which got out of control in a hurry, was posted the day before the Fall '06 election primary here in Minnesota and in many states throughout the country.

Civic particiaption runs pretty high in these parts. Not as high, perhaps, as in some parts of the city, but certainly amongst a majority of the people I run into on a regular basis in the coffee shop and some of my other neighborhood haunts. The first two days of this week, I punted (my term for getting up & heading on my way late enough that I just head on over to the coffeeshop for a sit-down cup). Both mornings, I encountered a cast of characters; some I knew well, some I knew, but not well (including a guy I'd met in his run for County Comissioner two years ago), a couple I'd never met before (including our district's Park Board representative). I got involved in lively debates & discussions that probably spanned about two and a half hours between the two days. Yup, I got into work late.

Of particular concern, amidst the general collection of shoo-ins expending very little effort in fending off the fringe element you expect to see in local elections, was the US House DFL primary for the district that includes Minneapolis. Much like how the American League Pennant is expected to be the "real World Series," it was generally assumed that this would be the real race for Congress in the heavily-blue Minneapolis/inner-ring suburb district; and got quite heated in that the comfortable, perfectly-Scandanavian, venerable and perennial 87%-of-the-vote-getting Martin Olav Sabo was retiring from office, having served since the 1960s. The race was between (in my opinion) a kind of the typical "DFL Establishment" character, who'd been DFL party chair for the state in the past, as well as Sabo's chief of staff; a couple of other local notables (including a member of that Gothan City collection of legislators known as the Minneapolis City Council), and a guy by the name of Keith Ellison; who you will almost certainly hear about, and who-as it turns out this morning-won. He's like Barak Obama with a little more baggage. If (most likely "when") he wins the general election, he will be Minnesota's first black congressperson, as well as the US Congress' first Muslim. According to most who know or have simply seen him speak in public, he is electrifying, passionate, and just a plain warrior for the poor & a host of other progressive issues. However, a number of petty bookkeeping misdemeanors (unpaid parking tickets, late filing for campaign papers, etc.) were haunting him throughout the race. These issues, understandably, were really tough for a lot of voters to get around, and the race ended up being quite a lot closer than it would have otherwise.

Campaign Poster

What do you think?

More Success...

A smaller, more intimate venue and a relatively unknown (in the Midwest, anyway) style of theatre, but I think we pulled it off with great success with "The Guys." And hopefully we're developing a formula by which we can do nine of these without too much undue stress. We'll see.

Anyway, it was a near-full house, albeit in a slightly smaller venue. We were actually performing in a large garage work area of a new Camden art gallery, The Warren. The proprietor, Duane, is this awesome guy who just has this goal of being a sort of patron of the arts. For now, he's offering free gallery space to Camden artists and has arranged to have his space be our venue for the entire run of the Reader's Theatre Series, with the idea that our crowds will get people in the gallery to look at the visual art.

Beyond providing the space, though, he was hands-on, helping us build risers for the show, clearing out the space, etc. etc. And the night of the show, he was absolutely giddy at having, by far, the largest number of people come through the front door in any one evening. The show, of course, was a pretty intense emotional downer, though appropriate in the days leading up to whatever other ways we US citizens are considering to commemorate 9-11. An awesome twist, however, was that right after the show, the garage doors were thrown open and the assembled were treated to a visit by some real "guys" from the Minneapolis Fire Department. Unbeknownst to anyone but Duane and our company, they had pulled one of their engines up outside the establishment in the final moments of the performance, in preparation to do some Q & A and a little demonstration following the show. Kind of cool-after the audience's emotional involvement with individual firefighters' lives in the eulogy-based script of the play, the guys in the real-life crew served as some sort of emotional release, as the crowd broke into spontaneous applause for them.

Anyway, the firefighters just eat up that kind of attention, so it was actually a little tough to get them to wind it down, but when it finally did-almost the entire cast, crew, and audience traipsed across the way to enjoy 1/2 off appetizers, beer, & wine at Rix (ah, it always comes back to Rix, doesn't it?) We got a personal meet & greet from the very thankful owner of the place, and it looks like we'll be partnering with them for a similar deal through the remainder of our season-they're taking out a running ad to feature our performance and their special deal in the City Pages. Great publicity, potentially expanding our draw (and theirs) into new regions of the city.

I will confess to having originally had some reservations about this particular show. It's pretty easy to feel "9-11'd out," though I definitely felt, after reading the script, like it touched on the human element of individuals, with limitations & foilbles that is very often missing in the various commemorative events. I still had/have a slightly odd feeling about the choice of the play. It was definitely a "safe" choice, and not one that was particularly artistically challenging. Especially in light of the fact that we are setting about to establish a little breathing room between ourselves and the notion of a "community theatre." I am glad that we took it on and did it (in my opinion) well. Our ability to execute this end (civic-minded, straight & narrow) need be in no doubt. And the great thing about the entire, 9-show series is that it really will give us a chance to try our hand (& our collective, audience regulars') at a variety of genres of theatre in rapid succession, if all within the context of reader's theatre.

Picture: Cast Along With the Brave Men of Minneapolis Fire Station #20

Anyone Ever Figure Out the "Oxygen Sensor?"

That device in your car with seemingly no purpose other than to keep your “Service Engine Soon” light off?

"The Company", Reader's Theatre, and The Guys

Realizing that we are simply not staffed to put on multiple mainstage productions and having a need to keep an active profile in the community, my theatre company has elected to put on a Reader's Theatre Series, which will consist of one play a month over the next nine months. We plan to pull together a full-fledged stage production by next spring, but this will keep us busy, hopefully growing both our talent pool and audience, and in the news over the next half year.

We're about a week out from our initial Reader's Theatre offering, "The Guys." My involvement with this production is limited purely "behind the scenes" stuff like press release writing, box office stuff, & various logistics, but I am quite excited about it. Falling generally under a "commemorative 9/11" type of work, I was very suspicious when initially cracking the script open. However, it is an emotionally powerful piece that really extracts the individual human quality and story from all the political chest-thumping and flag waving that seems to surround everything about the event, which (sadly) seems like is often recalled more as a rallying cry than as a personal human tragedy. Which is the only way I think I'd touch the subject.

The City of the Dead (my first attempt at fan fiction)

Studio Exec 1: You know, PJ, I’ve been talking to the boys and they like your City of the Dead scene a lot. But we feel like it’s lacking a certain punch. I mean, so the ghost warriors fulfill their oath and the fellowship just walks right out of there? That’s not what people want.
Peter Jackson: I don’t know…
Studio Exec 2: No-wait-picture this…a City of the Dead, right? Almost like a creepy old haunted house. So what if we added something to give people a little….fright...
Studio Exec 3: Like cobwebs?
Studio Exec 2: No, creepier.
Studio Exec 1: Rats? Bats?
Studio Exec 2: No…no…I’m thinking something really, really fucking creepy. Scary as all hell. Something that’s going to make people squirm, jump out of their seats, and cover their eyes. Like…like….SKULLS….
Peter Jackson: Well…
Studio Exec 3: Brilliant!
Studio Exec 1: Omygod, wait a minute. So there’s these skulls, right?
Studio Exec 2: Uh huh, uh huh…
Studio Exec 1: And people are already freaked out, peeing their pants, whatever…
Studio Exec 3: Yeah? Yeah?
Studio Exec 1: Well-get this…what if there are…like….tons of skulls! Skulls coming out of the walls, pouring from the ceiing and filling up the room…a gazillion fucking skulls piling up a hundred feet high and raining down like hail!!!
Studio Execs 1 & 2: Yay!

The Touching

Daddy-daughter time this whole past weekend, as Sharon went camping with her sister. I've been in the dumps a bit recently, a bit of an after effect from a lifetime of stress crammed into the past year. As such, I didn't have a lot of energy, and it was rather low-key throughout the entire two days. Lucy woke me out of my stupor at one point however, with this chilling proclamation:

Lucy:
Daddy, do you know what "The Touching" is?

Daddy:
No, Loo, what?

Lucy:
It's when the world starts to move
The moon starts to shake
And men begin to die.

Related to #2 in the Last Post

I think a lot of seriously repressed people live vicariously through movie goofballs such as Adam Sandler & Will Farrell. These are people who wouldn't dare rock the boat in their extremely ordinary day-to-day existence, and wouldn't even know quite what to do if they met someone as zany as their comedy movie hero in real life.

They'd probably move away in a hurry, though.

Six Things I Dislike

From Stephen.

1. The Culture of Loud. They talk loud on their cellphones, they have car stereos that you can feel from inside your house, and they seem to have no shame about sharing the innermost secrets of their domestic existence loudly, whether in a conversation on their cell phone, in their yard, or (amazingly) even deeply within the recesses of their own homes. And, unfortunately, I live around a few of them.

2. Anytime somebody gives the capsule movie review of "It's so stupid, it's funny."
The person saying this is bizarrely self-conscious about the fact that they found it quite funny.

3. Going to Church. Note: this is not a shot at the institution or even the organization. Just the act of going. There may be a church service that can speak to me; I just can't sit through it.

4. Status symbols. Lawns, "beamers," FUBU, houses with pillars; you name it, I don't have, want, or even get it.

5. Camouflage Toddler Boys' Clothes: To the parents who buy and have obviously created a market for this: What the fuck are you thinking, you fucking idiots????

6. That itch you get if you roll around in the grass with your shirt off. Haven't actually had to deal with this for a few years, as it was mostly a childhood phenomenon; but Heaven Above, it sucks.

No Turning Back Now

And I have no regrets, in either case...

1. We're into the thick of it on the home improvement front. We got our 100 amp electrical panel installed yesterday, and our asbestos and entire furance were removed today. It'll be interesting to see the basement when I get home.


2. Sharon & my nine-year anniversary today. What can I say? There's definitely couples out there that find a way to spend more uninterrupted time together than do we, but I'd put the enjoyment of the time we spend together up against just about anyone. It's been a crazy last 12 months, and these episodes of hanging-out time we do find have been islands of sanity in an otherwise insane world.

Lucy will be hanging out with friend Harper from about four till eight this evening a Sharon & I plan to go out for a walk in the woods, followed by a low-key dinner and lotsa good conversation, I'm sure.

Jebus

So...

Asbestos abatement: $1,800
New high-efficiency furnace & central A/C: $9,600
New 100 amp panel & grounded outlets: $2,000
New 40-year roof: $5,200
Tree removal: $2,600

The first four things, while a bit expensive because we're going with the top-of-the-line/energy efficient option in each case, are all upgrades that are simply bringing our house into accordance with current Minneapolis code, and essential (generally, if not to the specific level of quality we've chosen) if we are ever to sell our home. The fifth thing was an order from the City of Minneapolis.

Now, today, as we had the local plumber in to check out a weakly-flushing toilet, we have been informed that our outdated toilet is on its last legs. Under ordinary circumstances & levels of stress, I might consider taking on the toilet replacement myself. I'm finally to the "just pile it on in" point, however.

$500.

Sharon called me from home to give me the lowdown and I could hear the background buzzing & clanking of the electrician, plumber, and the gas company guy. Gas company? Oh yeah, our dryer has been on the fritz for the last week and a half. But at least that is covered by our "Service Plus" arrangement, though we are warned each & every visit that "the day will come when these parts aren't available anymore".

Well they are right now, buddy, so "fuck you" and get busy.

The Recap

Oh, boy. So, for the most part, the visit went exactly as one might have expected. We had a pretty good time playing basketball. We ate & imbibed (though only a single drink each, per night). We watched a Mystery Science Theater episode Friday night; and Saturday, in one of the all time promising acts of compromise, watched a Woody Allen movie staring Will Ferrell.

But, unplanned by either of us, a topic (THE topic) emerged-originally just in passing-that would grind the weekend to a near-complete halt. I will attempt to recreate the discussion, which began in the video rental store:

me: You ever watch horror movies...
him: That depends.
me: On what?
him: On whether it's based on Evil.
(pause on topic, until we get outside-me, with my own sense of "horror" creeping up)
me: What, like, Satanic influence?
him: Yup.
(pause, while I consider how to diplomatically put my next statement)
me: Let me see if I get this straight...Is it your belief that the Devil is alive and well, and actively involved in pulling strings and trying influence Man on a daily basis?
him: Yes, I'm a Christian.
me: Yeah, but not all Christians see it quite like that.
him: Yeah, they do. The real ones do.
(pause...no good can come of this discussion going any further, I realize)
me: But surely you realize that there's lots of clergy & scholars and so on, who don't see things quite so literally. A lot of Biblical study is about interpreting the various conflicting messages & so on and trying make sense of it all. I mean there's the whole thing about how, if we took everything literally, we couldn't eat pork...
him: Ok, stop. Just stop. That's blasphemy.
me: OK, wait...hold on. Not trying to cause trouble here, I'm just trying to understand. What about Bible study? Isn't that about figuring out what the Bible is trying to say?
him: No, the Bible is very clear on what it says.
me: What? Then what's Bible study all about?
him: How to be more Godlike.

OK. There are not words in this language or any other to convey the extent to which this blows my mind. Keep in mind, we're talking about a man who quite freely admits he's never, in his life, read a book for personal reasons. I'm pretty sure he has not cracked open The Good Book outside of an actual Church Service or put much thought or effort into any of this any time along the way. So...consider: It's one thing to be zealous when you read scripture and get the wrong idea. But it's an entire other thing to be zelous based on some general idea of what you assume the Bible probably says.

Good Fucking Grief! At another point during the weekend he made it known that he & his wife were severing their relationship with another couple who had seen, then discussed, the DaVinci Code movie while driving my nephew home from seeing a different show. More resolute, confident lessons in family values from a man whose pre-teen kids can quote the latest Adam Sandler sex-joke-filled movie from beginning to end, and play violent Playstation 2 games from dawn till dusk. Again, mind blowing.

This is all from a guy of privelege in America who may well be not mentally retarded. What hope do we have for the future in a world where 90% of the people don't have the same kind of time & resources to sort it out on religion, and a lot more reason to turn their crazy ideas into hate?

O Brother Here Come Thou

My odd family is well chronicled in this forum. For years, I've heard my friends speak of good times spent hanging out with siblings, going on visits to see one another, etc. It's always seemed so foreign to me. Of course, I have the generation-older brother & sister, but even with my brother Sean, who is a mere two & a half years older, there's really not been a whole ton of chumminess since we got into our teen years.

Not hatred or anything, but (with the notable exception of our love for playing basketball) our interests have diverged over the years to the point where we are living in respective "universes" about as far apart as could possibly be, for two men who are both morally grounded. Trying to keep the characterization fair as possible, he probably considers me an artsy-fartsy, liberal egghead who got "weird ideas" when he went off to college (that part in quotations, a real quote of his, by the way). I have generally regarded him as having a relatively unexamined life, not particularly interested in growing his base of experience & knowledge much beyond his currently comfortable array of life's pleasures, and insular in his worldview, with little regard for the origin or ultimate affect of that which we encounter every day. But we get along (except for, ironically, some blowouts during basketball games), see each other at holidays, and...well, that's just about it.

Within the last year, though, I decided enough is enough and it was time to try and build something a little more substantial. I reached out to him about us getting together to hang out for the weekend. He actually thought it was a good idea, and the ultimate evolution to our planning led us to this weekend. He's swinging by to pick me up from work, and then we'll pretty much hang out till, I'm guessing, late Sunday morning.

Sudden almost panic attack about a week ago: Shit, what are we going to do!?

He doesn't want to drink coffee in a coffee shop! He doesn't want to watch an arthouse film! He doesn't want a cultural tour of Minneapolis! He doesn't want to go on a run or hike!

I don't want to watch Anchorman! I don't want to golf! I don't want to "catch a Twins game"

I'm actually secretly hoping that some substantial conversation can come about this weekend, but seeing as that is something that my relationships with everyone in my family (non Minneapolis family, obviously) have completely, utterly lacked through my entire life, I definitely don't want to set my sights too high. I definitely wanted him up in Minneapolis, rather than going down to hang out in Waterloo/Cedar Falls for a couple of days. Talk about really having nothing to do. Anyway, I've been going dutifully down there to visit for years and years and I think it's time for someone to come up and be in my world for a change.

Still not exactly sure what we're going to do. To weird him out with eclectic activities is not going to be fun for anyone. I was thinking about having him drive us from my work up to my neighborhood by taking a roundabout, leisurely drive along the legendary Chain of Lakes, which almost anyone might find interesting ( I could provide running anthropological and cultural commentary, but there's that thing about weirding him out that I need to keep in mind). Then, maybe to Rix for a nice meal and some beer, the great uniter of men. I was encouraged a few weeks ago when he (in contrast to my dad) did not indicate any particular aversion to craft beer. It's as good a place to start as any.

Fringe and Lancelot du Lac

For the first time in my 13+ years in the city, I attented a show at the Minneapolis "Fringe Festival," an annual huge conglomeration of alternative &/or new amateur theatre with venues throughout the Twin Cities over a number of weeks. It was really only loosely on my radar the last number of years, but came to the forefront this year, as my network of friends & associates in local theatre scene is growing.

The show we saw last night, Elaine Thompson's Showbiz Showcase, actually was written by and starred the actress who played the wife of my "sneeze" character in "The Good Doctor," and will be starring in the first of our upcoming Reader's Theatre Series; as well as featuring one of my troupe's company members. Seemed like a really good place to start. It was an enjoyable show three energetic & funny skits with a number of talented performers. One of my main critiques would be bang for the buck, as the show cost $12 (plus a $3 "Fringe Button" required to see any Fringe performances) and clocked in at only about 50 minutes of total time.

Luckily, that left us with enough "sitter equity" to swing on over to Town Hall Brewery, where I had a great veggie burrito and a really, really tasty seasonal California Cooler-style beer: the SFO.

Later on, after returning home, I decided to take some time to myself and watch a movie. Our DVD player recently went on the fritz so I've taken to what may be my primary method of solo movie watching in the future: watching it on my computer. Especially considering my poor eyes can't consistantly even read subtitles from my couch in the living room, sitting relatively close to the computer screen (which has far superior resolution than my TV, to begin with) is a welcome upgrade in quality of picture. It works great; the controls are far more simply than in my remote, and this comfy old chair I inherited from my grandfather is just perfect for sitting back, headphones on, for a good watch.

Anyway, I delved outside of my Netflix queue, which is something I'll continue to do on my visits to the library. See what's available (usually not much, but yet usually at least one or two things interesting), and take a chance. A good way to see relatively random things that otherwise might never make it into the rotation. This time it was between some classic B/W movie which I cannot now recall, and a 1974 French-made story of Lancelot of the Lake. Given my recent small deliving into the Arthurian legends, I thought the latter would be a good choice.

Interesting movie. Very different, style-wise, than most anything else that's out there. The setting is after the decimated knights of the Round Table have returned following a failed quest for the Grail. Sparse sets, dialogue, and even pacing'; along with a really dreary backdrop and very understated performances all contribute toward this feeling of melancholy and lack of morale among the knights. Arthur wants his shell-shocked, few remaining knights to spend time in prayer before taking part in any more action, as surely it was their lack of purity that led to their failure. All the while, Lancelot is internally conflicted & tortured over his secret love with Guinivere, wanting to forsake her in the name of God but, of course, unable. Ultimately, all the melancholy & sparseness left me a little hollow, but I think I did give it three stars on Netflix. I may go back and do four, as my appreciation has grown after a little reflection.

More importantly...in the same manner that Destry Rides Again was clearly the model for Blazing Saddles; this movie clearly was the model for Monthy Python's: The Holy Grail. Set-wise, costume wise, but especially battle-wise. The first five minutes of "action" features the knights rampaging with sword-fighting and "gore" so remarkably, laughably identical to King Arthur's battle with the Black Knight in Monty Python, that it will leave you gaping and asking aloud: is that for real?

I think it was an interesting film, and probably worth watching on its other merits. But God damn, those first five minutes are unbelievable.

The Monterion

Bummed because you've been checking in and there's no Oliopolis post for the day and wondering why I've not filed a report on my trip to Escalante Grand Staircase? Well...kill two birds with one stone and visit Mixdorf's Piece of Cheese, where he is the midst of recounting the adventure in a truly epic style.

I ask that you all space out your visits over the next day, however, as we'd like to avoid crashing his server...

Goodbye, Old Friend

Yet another? Yes, as today a contractor will be cutting down our enormous old elm (150+ inches around the trunk, well over a hundred feet high). The money we need to spend on this, especially in light of all our other current expenses, hurts. But all the stresses related to the money & so on has not, until today, given me enough time to reflect on the hurt of seeing a beautiful, magestic living thing (far older than me) have to go in this fashion.

We assume that it was after last fall's storms that took off some huge branches that the Dutch Elm beetles got in the open wounds. This summer, our tree has quickly succumbed to the disease, going from a lush green canopy of more leaves than there are people in the state of Minnesota to a state of absolute defoliation. Walking back by the tree this morning on my way to the car I was, completely without warning, overcome with the realization I was walking away from this gentle giant for the very last time. A tree that was there prior to the first house going up in my neighborhood, and whose crown afforded birds views of a score of miles or more in any direction, would not be there when I return home. I just had to stand there, craning my neck up to try and catch final glimpses of its upper reaches. It's immense, quiet nobility was evident even as it stood there a dying shadow of its glory from only a year ago. I cried. I patted it and said "goodbye."

As a verifiable animal lovers and bona-fide tree huggers, it's incredible-almost utter lunacy-what our family has had to bear over the past year. Think about it. Top half of Silver Maple: cracked & gone. Kuna-i: dead. Saraki: cancer, leg removed. Now, Elm: dead.

Cripes, the humans in the Hylton household better start holding each other tight.

The Joys of a Naturalist Wife

A favorite story of mine: the time Sharon was reading "The Hungry Little Caterpillar" to Lucy.

Sharon: And then he built a cocoon...which is actually a chrysalis...

Yup, I learned that night that butterflies don't make cocoons. Who knew? Sharon knew. Who does make cocoons? Moths do! So, the another thing that a naturalist mama will do is find wildlife, bring it home, and actually not kill it cause she knows what the hell she's doing. She knows, for instance, that the cercropia moth caterpillar, once hooked on specific type of leaf, will not eat anything else. So, though it's meant aquiring that leaf on trips to a specific Pin Cherry tree at the nature center where she works, she's dutifully kept the terrarium (yup, we've got a couple) supplied. About a month ago, Lucy got to experience the joy of watching a Monarch caterpillar become a butterfly (got to release it and watch it fly away, no less). Tonight, these plump little cercropias began spinning the silk that will be their home over the winter.

Here's a shot from the pseudo-macro of my digital cam. Spinning end kind of obscured in darkness, but curving around below. He/she/it's been going at it all night long.

One Of These Things We All Like Doing More Than Others Like Reading

This comes via email from Sharon, who doesn't blog:

A) Four jobs I have had in my life (as a guy who has had a lot, and I mean a lot of jobs, trying to pull out some of the more obscure...):
1. Security at a retirement home
2. Reading computer texts to a blind guy
3. Teaching rowing and canoeing merit badges at a scout camp
4. Dining Room Captain

B) Four movies I would watch over and over (as has been well documented, I'm not a big "watch movies over & over type of guy, but the below have certainly fallen into this cateogry thus far in my life):
1. Blazing Saddles
2. Lord of the Rings trilogy
3. Star Wars original trilogy
4. the well is dry...

C) Four places I've lived (no real surprises here...)
1. Minneapolis, MN
2. Waterloo, IA
3. Ames, IA
4. Waverly, IA

D) Four TV shows I love to watch: (question seems to suggest current shows, for which there are none. I choose to delve into a few syndicated, rented, or otherwise pre-recorded joys)
1. Star Trek
2. Simpsons
3. King of the Hill
4. Blackadder

E ) Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Foz de Igazu, Brazil/Argentina/Paraguay
2. Los Cabos, Mexico
3. Coyote Gulch (Glen Canyon National Recreation Area), Utah
4. Cutler Coast Public Reserved Land, Maine

4 Websites visited daily: (not counting little circle of friends' blogs, here)
1. www.startribune.com
2. www.damninteresting.com
3. www.espn.com (in spite of myself)
4. www.my.yahoo.com

G) 4 favorite foods:
1. pizza
2. tie-many things Mexican
3. tie-many things South Indian
4. donuts, cake or otherwise-I care not

H) Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Hanging out with various friends
2. On tour
3. England, where my heart lies
4. Rix

I) Four passions (love, truth, goodness, & fun come to mind, but trying to offer something a little more concrete...
1. those I love & consider friend
2. creative arts (encompassing music, visual arts, literature)
3. social/environmental justice
4. "getting down"




Oh, and "tag."

History of Britain

A subject about which I have some interest, and the subject (& title) of a documentary series, the first volume of which finished last night, courtesy of Netflix. The highly-regarded Simon Schama produces and narrarates this generally fascinating series, which tends to focus a little more on compelling individual personalities than it does the some of the other minutea cultural history; at least, once it gets beyond the stone age. This particular installment actually included the first three episodes of the series: Beginnings, Conquest!, and Dynasty; and, in keeping with what is generally the case after I have consumed non-fiction, I've retained very little I would be able to actually draw upon in a conversation. I just have to trust that there's some sort of "whole is greater than sum of its parts" way in which my mind is expanding as a result of such exercises.

A couple notable things that did lodge themselves in my mind:

• A section on the Orkney village of Skara Brae, where a storm unearthed a stone-age village with a series of dwellings and evidence of culture & social structure far beyond anything that had been discovered from that period. See the link for what appears to be a really great Wikipedia article on the place (though I haven't actually read through it yet).
• English kings were pretty much all dickheads and goofballs. At least, pre-Magna Carta. Most of them were of Norman descent (not even English speaking), and even their rock-star King, Richard the Lionharted, had a pretty ugly run ending with pretty much the bankruptcy of England buying back his freedom after he had been captured during a Crusade.

Much much more in there. A lot of good stuff. I wouldn't send it out as a general recommendation, but anyone with an interest in this subject would find it quite interesting.

Good Omens?

Good Omens. I should probably offer recaps of more books that hit my nightstand, but unless books leave indelible marks on my psyche, I usually forget. Taking a page (so to speak) from Stephen & Matt, I will attempt to do it a little more often. Starting with now.

Good Omens (Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett), a book I originally heard about on MPR, sounded interesting enough to check out. More specifically, Neil Gaiman was engaging enough in the interview to pique my interest. There's probably not a whole lot I can add to the various descriptions & reviews on Amazon, beyond the fact that it was the funniest book I'd read in a long time. In memory, in fact. Funny, to the point of me having to just stop reading, pause, and re-read lines on a regular basis, while muttering to myself, "Good Lord, but that's hilarious..."

In a very brief nutshell, it's a send-up of Armageddon.

A few times in the reviews, Good Omens was mentioned as being something like "the next installment of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I should probably mention that, while I see the comparison, I wish it hadn't been made. While there was some good stuff in "Hitchhikers Guide..," it represents a creative style of writing & art that doesn't generally appeal to me a lot. Rapid-fire, dark, sardonic. Often, it seems to me, sacrificing substance and depth of humor in favor of the relentless nature of the delivery. I guess maybe I'm not generally a huge fan of comedy books, since depth of character & compelling-ness of plot, & many other things I read for are tougher to come by in that framework. They're pretty much sacrificed, in fact. So (in my view), if you're going to ditch those aspects of your book in order to give yourself fully over to the "art of the joke," you better do it damned well, and you better not make me roll my eyes, or I'm gone.

And Good Omens did it, by God. Non-stop, luxurious hilarity and I recommend it heartily.