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.

There and Back Again

For those interested in a play-by-play account of the proceedings, check out Mixdorf's Piece of Cheese, which will be recounting the experience, in a serialized format.

As for me, I'll give a few overall ruminations as to my personal experience:

• The remoteness and beauty of Escalante & Glen Canyon's landscape was stunning.
• With cliffs that soared close to if not over a thousand feet at times, the "Gulch" in "Coyote Gulch" has to rank among the greatest understatements in the history of geologic names.
• Escalante backcountry is simply not intended for hiking & camping in July.
• By extension, if our (Mixdorf, Mighty Tom, T-Clog, me) future "expedition" ventures are limited to summers in order to accomodate T-Clog's teaching schedule, (whether by bugs, heat, or severe weather) we are going to severely limit appealing options for getting out in the wilds.
• 28-straight-hour road trips are not as conducing to stimulating, delightful conversation as one might think. Particularly when one is battling open windows, fatigue, and/or a traveling companion whose mood may well be related to the gravitational pull of the moon.
• My days of tent camping may be growing fewer and farther between, even as my interest in spending time in the wild places of the world is as strong as ever. It is mostly a comfort/common sense issue. For me, anyway. We'll see how well I can sell this to Sharon, who I think gets as much enjoyment out of cooking on a camp stove, sleeping in a tent, and all the other little domestic camp tasks as ever.
• I love the mountains.
• I am afraid of heights.
• I love deafening silence that can be found in remoteness.
• The myth behind calorie consumption I have long suspected was laid bare.

and...there were definitely good times, humorous times, amazing times. There were also uncomfortable times, frustrating times, and contention amongst the traveling party. Building up a vision in your head over a period of nearly 15 years is a terrible burden to put on a one-week trip, and it would have been nearly impossible for it to live up to our sweet imagination. In hindsight, I can't help but consider what wise Mixdorf suggested a few days prior to leaving: we could have fun for a week in Evansdale (IA). Meaning, fun and memories usually have a lot more to do with the company you keep than in with the things you do or have. So, the reality of the experience was closer to simply "a week with the guys" than it was "trip of a lifetime;" complete with requisite sporadic episodes of buffoonery, fun & mini-adventures, a new pantheon of humorous references & inside jokes (the week's winner being "Little Lord Fauntelroy:" details to come in Mixdorf's blog, surely), wild mood swings from T-Clog, and pizza.

I was also ruminating that a week in Evansdale might not cost us $400 apiece, but then when I considered the amount of alcohol making our own fun in Evandsdale might require, I realized that it just might.

T-Minus Just Today

Well, the big day of the road trip & expedition are just about upon me.

Man, but I need this trip. We're in the process of trying to arrange a bunch of contractors to do necessary updates to our house via a low-interest loan program through a local community agency (e.g. lots of hoops & paperwork), and are suddenly faced with the city of Minneapolis telling us our tree has to be out by July 30 or they'll do it for us. So the last week has been very hectic, trying to make sure the multiple quotes are done, all the contractors are filling out participation agreements, etc. On top of that, I was involved with helping put together a summer picnic to celebrate the accomplishments of the theatre. I actually had minimal involvement with that, but the beginning of the week to sweat the very awkward prospect of doing multiple improvisational < 90 second re-enactments of our last play in front of fellow actors & volunteers. I also had to find a chance to buy some food items for the event. Not a particularly demanding set of obligations under ordinary circumstances, but it was under the duress of the contractor craziness and all the other stresses that come with trying to make sure you're equipped (backpack food shopping, going over & over the gear list, clothes I am bringing all washed) and all other business matters are attended to (upcoming bills for the next 10 days, work obligations, writing a press release for the theatre etc. etc.) have made for a challenging week. I've also been trying to compensate Sharon a bit for the amount of time she'll be a solo parent over the next week & a half by picking up extra Lucy duties. The only decent thing to do, of course, but making my schedule all the more tight.

But here we are at the end. I've done nearly everything I can do in getting ready and I'm ready to take Michael Jackson's advice and just "...leave the 9 to 5 upon the shelf and just enjoy (my)self. Groove." I'm hoping to just relax tonight and spend a little time with Sharon. Mixxy flies in late tomorrow morning, then we're down to Cedar Falls to pick up T-Clog and we're off Sunday at 6:00 am. We're not going to be like those polar expeditions you read about that send electronic journals to a 3rd grade class in Newark; we're going to be utterly unconnected. So with this, I'm signing off with a promise of a full report upon my return, as well as (undoubtedly) some pictures.

Toodles.

OK...Feeling a Little Better

Duh. I had to be there get here. As the tape-to-mp3 conversions have continued, I've seen the slow growth of a ridiculous child into a musical man. I was bringing over a set of songs from a 1998 44 practice today-from a particular period of time in which our band was, as Pat G has declared, "dripping with art"-when I discovered a very rare recording.

Just in the practice space-single mic into God-knows-what we had rigged for a recording device, so the quality is pretty rough. But we were in the midst of tackling movement 2 of Orphose the Sphere (words: Gibbons, music: Hylton), a rock opera about a young boy eating an orange and we were pretty close to nailing it. Beauty is in the ear of the listener, but I got chills listening. Made me want to dig into Orphose again. I never finished the music for the final movement (movement 8), you know.

Anyway, for those who didn't have the opportunity to follow the career trajectory of Time Did Yank Us through 44 intimately, the lineup for this recording was:

lead vox: me
rhythm guitar: Pat G
lead guitar: Aaron J
drums: Krista J

Listen up, and enjoy (I hope).

p.s. Thank you-new Dan Hylton media host PutFile.

Thok! Part 2

God DAMN it. I ran over to a theatre group meeting early this evening and, two blocks from my destination: *pop* I turned it again. Mo-ther-FUCK-er. I had to walk the rest of the way, but fortunately the pain had, for the most part, subsided for the run home. I have a crazy, goose egg of swelling over my ankle bone. I've been in this kind of ankle sprain loop before, and it kind of sucks. It starts getting in your head and you start doing really stupid things like almost rolling over on the ankle while walking over across your yard. Not sure if it's really a mental thing or if the ankle is actually in such a compromised physical state.

In any event-exactly the condition I want to be in for my upcoming slot canyon backpacking trip!

Consumption

Next 10 in Netflix queue (including the two I have). These aren't necessarily the 10 movies in the world that I am most desperate to see (not sure I would be able to determine which those would be), but just those which happened to fall in line when building my queue:
1. A History of Britain: Disc 1: I'm always interested in learning a little more about the heritage of "my people," and this series comes highly recommended.
2. Sudden Fear : Joan Crawford suspense-thriller. That's all Sharon & I need to know.
3. MST3K: Space Mutiny : Just a random MST3K. If there is anyone out there that laughs harder at this show, I've yet to meet them.
4. King Arthur's Britain: A little overboard on the British history here, but my interest in this is actually unrelated to the above title. A sudden re-interest in the Arthurian legend(s) was triggered a few weeks back while passing through Video Universe (pre-Netflix membership). A recent film version of the events was playing. It has since triggered some Wikipedia research, as well as a painful attempt to read La Morte d'Arthur. Subjects such as this, where there are so many conflicting theories as to what the truth is of actual events, often make me wish I was an academic historian. I find the debate almost as fascinating than the subject itself.
5. The Great Dictator: All these years I've never seen a movie by cultural icon Charlie Chaplin. This seems like as good a place as any to start.
6. The Third Man: Recommended by Pat. 1949, film noir. For some reason, I was assuming this was Hitchcock. Oh well, I'm still very excited to see it.
7. O Brother, Where Art Thou?: Highly recommended for years by, like, all my peers.
8. Love and Death: Woody Allen. I love Woody Allen and, according to the synopsis, this one was rumoured to be his favorite.
9. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead: This has been one that I've heard about for years & years & years and have never gotten around to seeing. Seems appropriate, what with my somewhat recent re-entry into the world of theatrical arts.
10. The Usual Suspects: Doesn't seem like the type of movie I'd normally seek out. But it kept popping up in front of me in my recommendations. I also saw that Netflix friend Aaron loved it.

Between Thok and the Escalante

Not a specific essay or point to this all, other than it being a chance to coalesce some thoughts related to health & well-being.

It's been a week since Thok! It's also just a little over a week since the long-anticipated (and if you don't really know how long, you have no idea) trip to Escalante Grand Staircase. I'm still feeling some residual soreness in my ankle, but I went for my first run since the incident last night. I felt a little clunky. Also, needing to run shirtless (a practice that used to almost be my calling card) due to some extreme heat & humidity, I found myself feeling a little chunky. I don't think I've varied much from my 170-175 lb weight range over the past few years, so I don't think there's anything that's unusually out of control. I've just not been in the general practice, during runs, of being able to look down and actually see that extra 20 lbs I put on following my 1996 marathon.

It's interesting...I continue to eat larger meals than I need to, and snack often late into the night. But in terms of quality of food, I'm not sure I've ever eaten better. The majority of our meals are homecooked and Sharon buys, for the most part, either organic or all-natural ingredients in addition to whole grains, foods without trans-fats, & various other pieces of a healthy diet that weren't on the farthest ranges of my radar ten years ago. Never is that more obvious than when I go down to visit my relatives in Iowa (as I did this past weekend). Both my parents and my brothers' family stock their fridges & cabinets with an array of foodstuffs that make my internal systems nearly freeze up if even thought about.

In any event, for this once-in-a-lifetime (actually, more like once every five years) trip, I had always thought I would have an extended training period in extreme heat to condition myself for the rigors of the expedition. As the date grew nearer, however, I realized that 1) all members of the party are going to show up in various states of fitness, and one of them, at least, will be at a level that is far below anything I have ever known 2) this trip is more about solitude, fellowship, and re-energizing than it is about being a recreation of Vasco Núñez de Balboa's journey across the West.

Boy this is really a stream of consciousness. I guess what I can take from all this is that I am not too fat to fit into Coyote Gulch, and the shit I leave at the bottom of my catholes will not alter desert ecology at a molecular level.

Sadness, Wistfulness, and a Tinge of Futility

I possess a strong drive of archiving & record-keeping. In addition to be a near-zealot in terms of cataloging and organizing old photo negatives, I was the original and primary creator and curator with respect to old band recordings, ranging from the earliest days of Time Did Yank Us in college, to the 44 days of Pat, Aaron, & Krista. I have multiple drawers full of cassette tape recordings, ranging from inexplicable marathon, multiple-take sessions of college-aged Pat & Dan buffoonery in the Iowa State Music Hall to mid-1990s performances at legitimate Twin Cities venues such as O'Garas & the Fine Line. And everything in between.

Not only was I making those recordings from the earliest days of my music-making (circa mid-Fall 1990), but I was acutely aware of the posteric significance of them. It was a running joke at the time for Pat & I to refer to moments of dialogue, song introduction, false starts, and various other gallimaufry of material sandwiching actual song recordings as "documentary material." We were conceiving of some mythical Time Did Yank Us Anthology, about half a decade before rumour of the Beatles' effort in that vein ever crossed our ears. So, for years and years, I've had this general sense that someday technology would reach the point where compiling material would be a simple, exciting excercise, and I'd be able to release volumes of it to a joyous public (or at least fairly large circle of appreciative aquaintances). Well, the moment has arrived, and I'm in the midst of it, and I'm experiencing Sadness, Wistfulness, and a Tinge of Futility.

I have a device that allows me to convert "phono-out" jacks (e.g. my tape player) to a USB connection, capturable as a WAV file, using software packaged with that particular piece of hardware. It works like a dream. As simple as "play-record." From that point, I can use a wonderful shareware program called CDWave to (again easily) insert track breaks, name tracks, check off dead space as unneeded, and export mp3s. Beautiful. Unfortunately, listening back to the collection of...there's really no other word for it...crap...simply has not been meeting my sweet rememberances.

Pat and I have a certain knack for songwriting. At least, suffice it to say that writing songs generally comes pretty easy to the both of us, and there songs that we have created that have been thought worthwhile by various people at different times. But what is clear from the very first recording, and continuing on through year three or so (which is where I'm at in this project), is that from the word "go," our concepts and ideas were miles-nay, worlds-nay, universes ahead of our execution. In most recordings, you can catch a spark here or there of a genuinely good idea but the goddamn thing is buried under so many layers of inability to play our instruments or sing that it is almost completely undetectable. At the time, we liked to laugh about our relative inexperience with our instruments, but I don't think we were really even stratching the surface in terms of critical self-appraisal. Anyway, I could go on and on, but the bottom line is that I'm left with a long-term dream of mine (coming away with an interesting and worthwhile historical documentation of my past) being nearly utterly dashed. Perhaps worse, I feel embarrassed on behalf of my past self.

Thank God I was not a solo musician at the time. One value perhaps, of the old Time Did Yank Us recordings is as a backdrop to a future weekend of drinking beer while laughing and reminiscing with the original other member of that trailblazing, childlike duo; none other than Pat Gibbons.

On a sort of side note, while hashing through some of these feelings with Gibbons on the phone last night, we brought up (again) the age old subject of how we had this long-inexorable path forward. From those amazingly humble beginnings, we ended up making a modest run of it by the end of the 90s before beginning to pursue solo ventures. With the piles of documentary material, multiple changes in personnel, and years of stories & material, we've always referred to ourselves as the most documented band that never made it. What's even more interesting, is that we were always moving forward, but just at a snail's pace. I leave you with a great quote by Gibbons: Unfortunately, the evolution of our band was slower than actual evolution.

A Rant on Joyous Occasions

As has been documented, I am faced with a situation where people that surround me both in my immediate neighborhood and at my workplace don't share my values, and it tends to make me a bit (or more than a bit) cynical and jaded about our culture here in the states at large. Evidence beyond those arenas, however (from popular culture to elections) tends to support my general feeling of dismay. It makes it easy to forget that there is a sizeable contingent of true peers out there in the land (those few readers of The Oliopolis, for the most part, included).

Nevertheless, I am out of the frying pan of UN-belonging and into the fire this evening. We are going to a wedding. You know the kind. Where an old high school friend of a spouse finally hooks up and you are invited either as a result of some grand attempt to recreate the glory of yesteryear or (worse, and often my suspicion) the need to fill out a roster and pack the house. All the best to her and her new husband (who I will be meeting for the first and quite probably last time tonight), but I am dreading the occasion like there is no tomorrow.

How about this for advice to all people looking to plan a wedding: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I am not kidding. Put yourself in the position of the couple that you are considering inviting and ask yourself honestly (it's really not that hard): if I were in their position, would I want to come? You may end up discovering that you cut your wedding guest list, and thus expenses, by two thirds or more. But sadly, no; not many people are really in the mindset of sparing any expense for themselves, nor any moments of awkwardness for potential witnesses to their special day. And so tonight we will go, desperately, desperately hoping that they are not going to make a vile announcement such as: Since everyone here is so special to us, we've decided to mix and match your seating arrangement so you'll be meeting people you didn't previously know. That might just about be enough to drive my general level of uncomfortability to the point of madness.

But the kicker: they registered for gifts. Consider this for a moment. They are two full-time working adults, approaching the age of 35 (she is, at least-he could be 78 for all I know). Firmly situated within the ranks of the upper middle class. And they registered at Target. Maybe I'm totally misunderstanding the tradition here, but isn't the whole gift-giving thing about helping a newly-married young couple on their feet? A glance at the 12-page (I shit you not, 12 pages) registry, the first two items I saw were a six megapixel digital camera and an eight person tent. Christ, almighty, why not invite 300-plus guests and turn your memorable occasion into a bona-fide haul? There might yet be one or two items on the red shelves at Target that aren't yet on the beige shelves of your five bedroom suburban home. Or at least not in the color you want. Boy, coming from the school of at least aspiring non-consumerist, this really ticked me off. The wedding will be at a Catholic church (you know-the religion where priests take a vow of poverty?). Did they consider-even once-asking guests if, in lieu of gifts, they donate to a charity? I know the answer of course.

Anyway, we got them potholders.

Thok!

I've been doing lunchtime runs, off and on, ever since Big Buy moved into our current, enormous facility four years ago. In all that time, I've never had an occasion where I came up lame mid-run and have had to limp home. That is, until this current week when it's happened twice.

I guess "limp" is a bit of a strong word. I'm pretty sure that versions of Past Dan (circa early to mid 90s) might have tried to gut it out through the injury or pain and finish the circuit. My perspective that has come about as a result of age and experience, however, tells me that a more thoughful consideration of how I treat my body in such instances can only benefit me down the road.

Well, Monday, about a mile into the run, I started feeling a pain behind my kneecap. ALSO coming as a result of age and experience is my knowledge of how minor aches in my body tend to work; and the lesson is "don't freak out." I will often have a little "ting" or "ding" or "ping" in a knee or arch or ankle, or what have you. This may not be very scientific (or it may be quite scientific, but just in a way that is beyond my ability to evaluate in scientific terms), but I simply know that, in 98% of the cases, the pain will disappear later in the run and will certainly be gone the next time I hit the road or trail. The key is "repeatability," which is scientific. If the same pain occurs in the same place two runs in a row, it's worth checking into further. And to date, that's only happened three times, but that's another story. Anyway, the Monday pain didn't appear as though it were the type that would disappear during the run. I didn't freak out, but neither did I attempt to run it off. I just accepted the fact it was going to be a really short run, turned around and walked back.

Today-Monday's pain gone, per formula, and my run was feeling better and better the farther I got. I was flying along a trail at the Wood Lake Nature Center, took my eyes off the path for a split second to look at something that now I can't even recall when....

THOK

Ankle roll. God DAMMIT. There are those out there that know my long and storied history of ankle sprains. As often happens with individuals who have umpteen sprains & turns in their lives, the individual injuries tend to get less severe the more you have them. Not sure if that's because a flimsy ankle is more likely to ease you into an ankle roll (rather than put up a fight before giving way to a sickening "pop"), or if it's just because the victim is more prepared to absorb and partially deflect the initial instance-almost like learning how to "take a fall." In any event, I could have kept running today. I almost did, but then thought "why risk it" and settled in for another leisurely walk back to home base.

Just thinking here...maybe I should hold off on any more runs this week.

Hello, What's This?

An instrument setting on my new digital piano, discovered just the other night. "Piano and Strings." Fun to diddle...Ah...the stuff of soundtracks...

http://us.share.geocities.com/hylton44/pianostrings.mp3

He Lives!

Rip Van Johnson awakens from a nearly 3-month sleep.

Glad to have you back in the fold, if back to stay ye are.

Life Just Got a Little Better

Sharon's grandma left her a small sum of money-just under $1000-when she died. Sharon invested it with the idea that she wanted to grow it (and presumably add to it) until she could buy something that would be a "family legacy," or something that would honor her grandma's memory. Well, the mutual fund totally tanked after 9-11 (lost nearly half its value), and it's taken the last five years for the fund to get back to its original value. Over that time, as expenses have built (mainly expenses related to a growing family) we've become aware that we're not likely to find ourselves in a situation where we're doing much other than living check to check. So this $1000 is not suddenly and/or easily going to turn into $50,000 or $100,000. So...re-evaluate.

Sharon took years and years of piano lessons, growing up. I took a few years and, of course, paino was the first instrument I played as a songwriter. A remarkable, elegant instrument, it is. And now we have an entire family of music lovers with a small potential piano player and another one on the way. With a little encouragement by me, Sharon saw the light and realized that a piano would be a way that we could enrich our lives as a result of the the money her grandma bequeathed us. Well, that money plus a short-lived 403b retirement plan Sharon started investing in at her work. She had accumulated all of about $400 before we decided to both jump onto the back of the retirement investment plan at my work, which includes a matching percentage from Big Buy. So, after taxes, add another $320 to the pot.

Last night, we headed out to make the purchase we had been scoping out for a few weeks: a Yamaha digital piano (the P-140, if it matters to you).

Digital piano craft (at least in this price range) has increased to the point where the keys are now weighted (like a real piano, so it doesn't feel like you're hitting air, like with your old Casio), graded (the lower keys are heavier), and have hammer action (the keys snap back at you, as they would if they were really striking a string in the soundboard). Add to that the fact the sampling is done from a real grand piano and the net effect is that you're getting an amazing, exceptional instrument that never needs tuned at a very reasonable price. It may not have the all encompassing richness and echo of a real grand piano, but considering a real quality grand piano could cost easily in excess of $25K, it's hard to knock going this route. Especially since the digital route adds a few pratical dimensions such as portability, MIDI functionality (a way to digitally synch up recording), and a headphone jack (so we can play long and loud into the night and not wake Lucy). In short, the piano is frigging awesome.

Sharon really resists most new purchases, simply from a non-consumerist standpoint that I admire and respect and, at least in theory, share. But I remember a statement she once made when we were first dating, "You're never wasting money if you're buying anything music related" and I remind her of it often.

Non-Stop Domestic Excitement

Perhaps it's the "world's my oyster" thrill of being done with the play, but what a weekend!

Sharon hit the sack early with Lucy on Friday night, so I swung out to the coffee shop for a performance of Yo Jimbo Jazz: a jazz quintet with a live sound I can just close my eyes and let carry me. I was so inspired that after the performance I went home and hit the recording studio for the first time in a couple of months (at least). I managed to get a keeper acoustic guitar track for a song I'm recording (a re-recording, actually, from an old "Johnson Street" 4-track) called Not Now, Dan. I bit of a chance I'm taking on this one, but I think the potential is there to really make something substantial.

Saturday kicked off the Daddy-Lucy weekend, as Sharon was working both days. Much fun was had as we headed out for the weekly Saturday morning trip to the coffee shop, then out for errands & a visit to the library, and out for lunch. The real highlight of that day, however, was our 2nd backpack run out at French Regional Park. Lucy in the child-carrier backpack and me trotting along at an exceedingly slow pace over hill and dale. We said, "I don't believe it" when we saw really big hills, "I believe it" for small hills, and "I kind of believe it" when we encountered mid-sized hills. Along the way, we played "who's been here?" with the local phenology & animal signs, and had much laughter & good conversation. I'm not in great running shape, so there was also a really nice break where Lucy got out and ran. And I gotta say-sometimes I'm just blown away by how far Lucy has progressed, physically or mentally, from the last time I stopped to consider one milestone or another. In this particular instance, I couldn't believe how fast the girl was running, and how little her run resembled the "toddler waddle" she used to have. And it was a great joy to see this little girl fly along the trail.

Saturday evening, Sharon's mom came by to watch over Lucy while Sharon & I headed out on a long-overdue date which consisted of swinging by the wildlife rehabilitation center to drop off two critters, a trip by Guitar Center to evaluate a digital piano that we're planning on picking up (possibly tonight-yay!), dinner at Baja Sol, and cribbage at the Freight House while listening to an angst-ridden acoustic-alt rock guitarist Leesa.

The highlight of Sunday afternoon (day two of the daddy-daughter weekend) was a trip out to Silver Lake Beach. Lucy was able to hook her armpits over a little flotation ring and kick her way around the perimeter of the swimming area while Daddy bounced along beside. Great fun, many laughs.

Wonderful weekend, until last night. Dehydration from the French Park run combined with a respiratory assault launched by a 60-year old accumulation of dust & asbestos I stirred up in vaccuuming under our basement steps completely incapacitated me. I had to turn over responsibilities for the girl as soon as she was put to bed, and just crash. Between a constricting feeling in my lungs and a significant headache, I felt like a goner. I was unable to go up to our stuffy upstairs for the night, but just laid down on the couch with the window a/c on in total misery. I had a restless, claustrophobic feeling for at least an hour, with crazy images bordering on hallucination about suffocating running wild through my mind before finally drifting off to sleep. My lung situation still sucks today, and my voice is all ragged, but the headache is gone.

Still a good weekend, all in all. Sorry about the digger at the conclusion, but they can't all have Hollywood endings.

Masala Mama, We Meet at Last

Alternate title: Enough Hyperlinks for Ya?

Yesterday we celebrated Fathers' Day a week early, as Sharon will working all day next Sunday. The girls were great to me all day and then treated me to my first trip to the Town Hall Brewery on the University of Minnesota's West Bank. With the exception of a few nights after rehearsal & performance in the past couple of weeks, I don't "go out" much, preferring the comforts and company of my home and family. Where I most miss out, however, is in sampling fine offerings from a number of local breweries & brewpubs.

As a big fan of the exceptionally bitter style of India Pale Ale, I had really been looking forward to trying the Town Hall's Masala Mama, which is among the most highly regarded IPAs in the world (the very highest, in fact, in my BeerAdvocate.com community). This beer did not disappoint-and has now supplanted Goose Island's Honker's Ale as my highest rated beer. Read all about it. I also sampled their West Bank Pub Ale, which I will probably love & review in a future session; however I was already well into my heavily-spiced meal by that time, and the malt character was almost entirely lost on me.

I should also note that I recently tried and LOVED the locally brewed (as in, within about a mile of my home locally brewed) Surly Bender, sharing one off tap with Mighty Tom at nearby Rix Bar & Grill, following Saturday's show. Let me say, this beer is fantastic, complex, and mind-blowing. A bitter brown ale that makes my toes wiggle. But I have yet to get around to the review on this one, so I will say no more at present.

And Just Like That...

After a short but surprisingly successful four-show run, we are done with The Good Doctor. It was an extremely intense, yet ultimately gratifying period of my life, the time between the inception of the Camden Civic Theatre company and last night's closing show.

I rediscovered the thrill and joy of stage acting and the experience was made all the more rich for the extent to which I am, this time around, willing to immerse myself in understanding and appreciating all aspect of the produection. This includes both the thankless slogging and hard work offstage, and the extent to which a group of performers and talented, creative backstage magicians work together to create a whole which is truly greater than the sum of its parts. I don't think I ever approached truly getting that in my first twenty some-odd plays (basically, everything prior to age 22).

Friday night was so sold out, we ended up squeaking in a total of 90 patrons into a space that was intended to accomodate 60; and still had to turn around 10 folks away. Last night was still a sellout, although considerably less so; and a fair number of "comps" (friends, family, advertisers known to company members) were out there. It made for a particularly friendly and loose crowd, laughing in all the right places and then some. Throughout the entire run of the show, CCT and individual actors have received praise and compliments galore. Not sure how much of it is as a result of exceeding a particularly low expectation of what a Camden-based community theatre could put out there on its first shot, but I believe that the talented group of people involved in this whole production, against a considerably stacked deck (time-wise, budget-wise, and in terms of various other random logistics), put together a production of which I would have been proud to be a part in front of nearly any audience, anywhere.

In the past six months, I've gone from essentially zero to 10 in terms of knowledge of what is required to put on a production (well, more like two to eight or nine). Now, hopefully, we have some infrastructure built in as a company so we're every-so-slightly in a better position, next time around, to hit the ground running. We have some funds (we're way more in the black at the end of this show than we expected, and we've got an outstanding grant application), a few more props, and a few volunteers that are planning on coming back for the next show. I'm hoping a couple of more company members come on board and, for my part, I'm going to try to keep my feet a little less solidly in both camps of planning/preproduction and performing, and try to commit myself to one or the other. But...looking back...wow, a post that was seven months ago seems like it could have been five years ago. In retrospect, I'm so glad I trusted my heart and took a chance!

p.s. special commendation to Mighty Tom, who made the drive from Cottonwood Minnesota and Stephen, who made the drive all the way from Iowa City in order to see me perform. Wow-guys, thanks. I am honored and humbled and I hope you enjoyed the show.

Sold Out! Goodbye, Tootsie...and the Seeing of Little Chicky

Sorry for infrequency of my posting. Things have continued to be a whirwind, but the pace of life has continued on, unabated.

Sellout:
Of course, foremost in my mind over the past few weeks has been the play. Rather than try to describe in detail in my last post, I just linked to The Good Doctor Blog, which thoroughly discussed the success of opening weekend. We were completely unprepared for the response from our neighborhood and beyond, as the first two nights of the show were completely sold out. That, combined with the audience's enthusiastic response to pre-show remarks our Artistic Director made about bringing live theatre back to Camden was enough to bring tears to my eyes. The love-hate relationship I have with my neighborhood definitely continues. As much as it is in the heart of one of the top cultural cities in US, my greater neighborhood has simply lacked the vibrancy & pulse of a good chunk of the city, for as long as I have lived there. It's always been a "chicken or the egg" situation, but from mediocre support for the neighborhood's short-lived chic neighborhood grocer to utter lack of support for live music at the coffee shop, I was really starting to believe that a pulse and heart was not even there for the reviving.

After all the hours of planning, work, sweat, and emotional investment-the über-success of this inagural production gave me a satisfaction unlike anything I have felt since I finished the Twin Cities marathon. And it probably surpassed that, since the goal was a little more selfless. Can Camden Civic Theatre revitalize Camden single-handedly? Certainly not. But we're not alone. The right people are out there, and I believe we're giving them an opportunity for solidarity, and a chance to come out and prove that they're not the only people around who think there's more to life than to retire into your home every night, pull the shutters down, and curse the boom cars.

So, unbelievably: by Monday we were sold out for both (final) shows this coming weekend. Had we known...had we the slightest inkling that support was going to be this great, we would have scheduled a six or eight show run, or booked an actual theatre space with the knowledge that we'd make enough in tickets to cover the cost. Ah-well...this is the first of many productions, eh? Next step...Is There such a ready made theatre space in the neighborhood? Much scouting to be done this summer.

Goodbye, Tootsie:
Our African Giant Black Millipede (archispirostreptus gigas), Tootsie, has passed. As a member of the largest variety of millipede in the world (about seven inches long), Tootsie had an appearance that would freak out some folks that aren't into such kinds of critters, but she was gentle soul. We aquired her from one of Sharon's co-workers nearly a year ago, when she was already quite advanced in age, and are assuming (and hoping) that it was age, rather than care, that ultimately led her to stop eating and eventually die. She will be missed by all in the immediate family. Boy, we've had to explain death a lot to Lucy in the past year...






The Seeing of Little Chicky:
Our first ultrasound appointment! We got some really good images, one or two of which I might post in the coming days. At 17 weeks old, Little Chicky is about nine inches long and amazingly active. Where fetal Lucy was just reclining and occasionally extending, in a languid manner, an arm or leg, L.C. flips about, flailing, and fights back against the ultrasound instrument that pushes in on the uterus. We could be in for a little spitfire.

Opening Night

Yay!

The Board is Set. The Pieces Are in Motion.

Well...opening night tonight.

Yesterday, I headed out from work early to see if they needed any last-minute help with adjusting the lighting. As it turns out, we spent about an hour completely confounded as to what to do with the lights, then ended up ripping off the back 1/4 of the stage in order to accomodate a new lighting arrangement. Wow-to say things are coming together at the last minute is an understatement. It's kind of crazy; so much of my experience back at Waterloo Community Playhouse and Blackhawk Children's Theatre was as part of a finely-tuned operation, with full-time staff members, a dedicated space, and an established process for every step of a production.

I can't stress enough how crazy hard it has been to build this from absolute zero. And it would have been a bit different if we had a multi-thousand dollar budget-to rent our own 24/7 space with built in rigging and real backstage areas, do paid advertisements, pay for a fancy set, etc. etc. etc. There are some aspects of this production that are definitely the result of these various challenges. The extent to which we can hide actors offstage is minimal, as is the ability to truly "black out" the stage or do very complex lighting. The advantage we have, I think, is that there is no precedent for us in this community. If we really do bring in people from the neighborhood (which is the goal for a community theatre, right?), there's naught else to which we can be compared; and I think people are going to be a bit forgiving (or even not all that aware) of those aspects of the production that are necessarily rough around the edges. We can set our own standard.

We did manage to have everything ready to go by the time we did our final dress rehearsal last night and, exhausted though some of us intimately involved with the production were, all the pieces were basically there. It felt like we finally had something ready that appeared to be real, live theatre. To almost a performer, this is among, if not the most makeshift production with which they have ever been involved. But it seems to me that people are starting to get over their fears and beginning to realize what a valuable, if crazy, experience this is to have in your resume. Sort of an, "if I can do this, I can do anything" attitude. And there is comaraderie and energy among the cast. Last night we could really feel it as we had our last opportunity to view & support each other in our respective vignettes from an audience's perspective. The fact that these other scenes, each of which we've seen many, many times before, can still get us to laugh bodes well. Nothing to do at this time but perform, and the stressful nerves are turning into excited nerves.

We've got a few reservations for each night, but not a ton. I have no idea what the "night-of" turnout is going to be, but regardless of how many people show up, I'm feeling pretty proud. We've brought a community theatre to a community that needs it, and the people that show up are going to have a good time.

Still Here, But Ooftah...

Had a really nice weekend with my family. And a more-or-less two day break from concerns of The Good Doctor. Back into the fire today, where it was necessary for me to use up one of the vacation days I had planned to take for my paternity leave.

Starting at 8:30 am this morning, I:

• Re-tracked and edited a music piece that is being used for a scene.
• Loaded up all the risers for our stage, brought them over to the performance space, and helped affix legs.
• Followed up on advertiser money & artwork.
• Worked through tech rehearsal as actor/stagehand.
• Just got back home (10:15) to re-re-re-track the music piece, cause the cues were still not given to me correctly.

Other, minor little considerations (not so minor, if they fall through, unfortunately) were ever-present in my mind, throughout the day. Christ almighty, but it's going to be an enormous load off my mind when we simply get to opening night (when I know that nothing else can be done) and then an even bigger load off my mind when we get through the first performance, by hook or by crook; just simply proving that we can actually do it.

There's a lot of factors making things more difficult this time around; not the least of which are the fact that this is our inagural production. We literally had NOTHING in place; no past advertisers, no precedent for space, no knowledge of our company preceding us in the community, no lights, no stage, no nothing. Next time, some of that infrastructure will be in place. But there were also some issues with some less-than-perfect delineation of duty. And a tiny, tiny company. It was really a lot for five of us to take on, especially when four of us were acting in the play. I'm going to have to dial it back in the fall, as Sharon gets closer and closer to her due date.

On a side note, if you've not been following Valerie Borey's Good Doctor Blog, shame on you! She invites readers in on a very personal perspective of putting this thing together, often with a more thoughtful tangental take on the different steps of the process; unlike me, who feels like I'm just struggling to keep my hair in. From the recent cast photo shoot, see me; insane & sweaty: 50% because I just finished one of my physically & emotionally draining "freak out" scenes in the play, and 50% because that's just how I've been looking & feeling lately.

Boo-Yah and the One-Upping of T-Clog

My purchase on Saturday.

Friday night we were in a state of near-emergency. Our grass and dandelion forest had gone to seed, and everything was far past our ability to cut with our reel mower. I left a desperate message for Mixdorf to give me the lowdown on corded electric mowers, but then had the inspiration to borrow a mower from a neighbor. We did and, by chance, she had an electric, corded one she had just bought this past year. Using it was heavenly. The ease with which the thing cut our front yard the next day was so amazing; and the cord, so little hassle (relative to the use of a reel mower), that I resolved to run out and make a purchase that very day.

What you see above is our new Craftsman, 12 amp, mulching mower. I spent a decent number of hours on Saturday (prior to the front yard mow) and Sunday (prior to the back yard mow) doing my version of the "20-minute gardener," which was essentially just picking off all the dandelion heads that were at full seed, so that the use of a mower would not just scatter them. I then went through and did what will probably be our last our last first and last pass with a grass catcher till possibly fall (when we may use it for leaves). Lawn looks decent, for the time being; though we may be about due for another round of corn gluten to make sure that we're good on preventing the sprout of seeds that have spread in the past couple of weeks.

God, I hate that I'm sitting here doing "lawn-talk." I hate lawns nearly as much as I hate cars. But what can I do, other than slowly work towards my ultimate goal of "less lawn." Coverage by various plantings of Sharon's are slowly taking up more & more real-estate; and the area under Lucy's new swings will undoubtedly be a dusty, grassless region by mid-summer. Definitely a work in progress.

Suffering From a Level of Stress that Would Make T-Clog Proud

I've been stressing out about the show. But not for the reason one might expect. In addition to learning my part, I'm having to try and generate ad sales, get the word out in the neighborhood through a variety of creative ways, and take on all kinds of logistical concerns most of which have already been considered by our company director, but about which I nevertheless freak.

It's almost like my own personal performance is the least of my concerns, and that just seems crazy.

Yoink!

We're "off book" this week for rehearsal (meaning, we can no longer have script in hand). Valerie, the Camden Civic Theatre dramaturg, blogger, and actor (whom I play opposite in one of my two scenes), has an interesting post on the subject today.

Little Chicky, Growing Sure and Not-So-Slow

We went to our 2nd prenatal appointment this morning. Much relief, again, to hear that heartbeat chugging along, though a little slower and louder this time.

During the first pregnancy, there were all sorts of little things that happened to Sharon, physiologically, that seemed kind of out of the ordinary and like possible causes for concern; however, when we'd go in and talk to the midwife at an appointment, we would be assured that, "Oh yeah, that happens a lot." Basically, we learned a lesson about "expect the unexpected"during these 10 months.

Well, not much has changed the 2nd time around. Now, both time when we've made a little list of things to ask about (should she be "showing" already, and up this high? why would she be feeling extraordinarilly tired all the time? etc. etc.), we are assured, point by point, that these are things that are very common for a 2nd pregancy.

Overall, a very reassuring visit. Excitement continues to build...

Laser Tagged!

I am: in puruit of something elusive, but hopefully taking advantage of all the wonderful and interesting roadside stops along the way
I want: Personally-top of mind-a digital piano. a Goose Island Honkers ale......say that was easy! Globally: peace, social justice, conservation.
I wish: The slow march of social progress could speed up and scrunch the inevitable next 150 years into the next two. That I could make a living in a creative endeavor.
I hate: The president, his friends, and those that do his bidding. Violence and, and those who perpetrate & encourage it. The love of cars.
I miss: being childless (though, do not confuse this with "regret," as it's not that at all). backpacking. my buddies.
I fear: Personally, regret. Nationally, about 31%-34% of the American people. And Globally, theocracy and corporations.
I hear: The fan from my computer. Sharon's shower.
I wonder: how many people will come to The Good Doctor? I guess that could also go under "fear" and "want"
I regret: Too much. It's one of my biggest faults. Mostly, not getting either a geography or natural sciences degree in college.
I am not: going to send you up the river or suddenly turn into some kind of a dick (unless you think I'm a dick already, in which case "I can't win em all")
I dance: When the mood strikes me
I sing: Almost constantly, when not at work
I cry: Lots. From telling Lucy how much I love her, to that infamous episode of Fresh Prince of Bel Aire, I am liable to mist over at any given moment.
I am not always:
I make: music, laugher (I hope)
I write: songs, blog entries & mini-essays, flash fiction
I confuse: many things, sometimes needlessly
I need: the ability to do nothing
I have: non-stop aspirations
I should: not check email & go online so much at home
I tag: how bout this-NOBODY!

CRAZY Busy!

While responding to a question about whether I'd listened to the latest release from the Coalescent Musical CoOp, I realized how many plates I currently have spinning. The sort of situation where other aspects of my life (mainly, home maintenance issues) feel like they can quickly slide into chaos.

I've been trying to squeeze in practice for a set of songs I am playing at a solo acoustic show at Camden Coffee Company tomorrow. I rended my vocal chords a bit last week during theatre practice and their weakened state allowed a bit of a virus to settle in. I've had a minor cold and have been attempting, with some minor success, to kick it enough to give me a proper voice for Friday night. In addition, rehearsal is heating up for The Good Doctor. Next week we are "off book" (e.g. we can no longer use our scripts), so I have been studying my lines by listening to a recording of me playing all the parts in my scenes on the way to and from work. I had rehearsal Tuesday and last night.

But oh, were it only the art itself I had to worry about! It is crucial to our company that we pull off this performance successfully. It's not just about the quality of the show, but how many audience members we get there (we need 60 a night for 4 performances, minimum) and, unfortunately, how many ads we can sell in our program ($1,000 worth, minimum). In addition to trying to gear ourselves up to perform, the company members need to hit the streets and sell ads. Ugh.

All right, all right, I got my hair cut. Are you happy now?

Hell, Yeah!

Wither the Honky Tonk, Countrypolitan, and Outlaw Albums?

Actually, I have a theory.

As a few might know, I've gotten increasingly into pre-1990's country & western music throughout my adult life. But a strange phenomenon prevents me from exploring the various sub-generes to the fullest. The albums simply...aren't...available.

Anyone who takes a particular interest in classic rock n' roll can find the majority of the supergroups' entire album collections in just about any record store worth half a damn; or at least by visiting two or three. For the next tier down, even; one need only shop around on the internet for a little while, if he wants a choice from every release from a particular discography from this style of music.

But country? Good luck. Actual albums from such artists as Don Williams, Don Gibson, Bobby Bare (and many, many others), who may well have sold millions of LPs in their day are conspiculously absent from the entire realm of popular music commerce. What gives?

Well, as anyone who knows much about popular music knows, country music underwent a transformation sometime leading into the 90s. From my perspective, a soul-selling, disturbing transformation to what I would deem an entirely new and twisted type of music, not really related to the original style. Very similar, actually, to the transformation that occured within the once-meaningful and exciting genre of R&B.

Anyway, I would guess the generation of "new country" fans is similar to the bubblegum "dance group" fans in top-40s music; the appeal of music is about the presentation, the style, and the image of the artist as much as the music itself. With today's mini-skirted, supermodel country divas and metrosexual-sideburned male singers with cowboy hats that have never been within miles of an actual horse, there's very little room for the shaggy, ol' bar room outlaws of the 70s & early 80s. Admittedly, some of those artists were projecting as much of a purposeful image as today's artists, but most of them actually lived a pretty rough and tumble lifestyle that would be considered a pretty genuine reality behind the image.

I would further guess that the fan base of these "legends" artists, in their time, did not include as a large a contingent of "music-head" type fans; ones that study, deconstruct, and devour all that was related to their favorite artists, as their rock music counterparts were doing with Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, the Beatles, etc. These fans, likely, drifted into new interests, aged & died, or were never, otherwise, driven to demand any more from the music industry than a series of retrospectives and "The Essential..." collections. If you look around, you can still find some older Willie albums, and some Johnny Cash (who both have worked overtime to try to keep their appeal and sales over the past quarter decade); but that's pretty much it.

It's a real shame, as I scour the www.AllMusic.com discographies of some of these artists and see the long ranks of five star albums and reviews for CDs that simply don't exist. I really hope that this wonderful, lush period of popular music history, post Hank Williams and pre-Randy Travis, is not lost forever; and that, over time, it's unique and often heart-rending beauty is discovered by a new crop of music afficionados. To that end, you go, Best-Of Collections! You're its greatest ambassador.

I invite all who have an interest to check out the Country Heritage station at www.AccuRadio.com. It includes songs in and out of the particular period of music about which I've been writing, but as good a representation of it as any station I've heard.

For Joy Wk 3

In my succession of picking the most beautiful (forecast-wise) day of the week for my Hyland Park run, I went out yesterday. I was actually accompanied by a co-worker who is in his
mid-fifties but has the body of Batman (the comic-book version, not the Adam West version). The temperature was hotter than anything we've seen yet this year, and we were coming off a few days of rain, so certain parts of the run became a wet slog, undoubtedly slowing us down a bit.

My past experiences running with this particular individual have been when I was in active training for one event or another, in pretty prime shape; and even then, it's always been everything I can do to keep up. He's the kind of guy that has historically run year in and year out, three+ times a week. However, he's shifted his focus in the past six months to Pilates, and has only gone on, by his admission, "two runs since October." As such, I was in the game. He set out at a pace I think he is used to from memory, but that he couldn't sustain in that heat. I was game for attempting, having not really pushed myself to the limit so far this year. We ended up having to stop for a couple walks (he asked for the walk, I was more than willing to oblige) along the way. It definitely took a lot out of me; energy-wise, as well as water-wise, but it was nice to "give her" for a change. Variety in one's runs is but one of but many, many of the spices of life.

In talking during the run, I told him of the idea I'm kicking around with Mixdorf in only the most beginning of stages, about doing a three to four day running (probably more like walk/running) of the Appalachian Trail through Massachussetts from Vermont to Connecticut, bringing along only a water belt, one change of clothes, and a credit card; and getting sauced at a succession of brewpubs along the way. The type of thing about which I'm a lot more likely to get all whipped up than him, but perhaps with a little encouragement we could get Mixxy to pick up the torch, as well. Maybe he could take pledges from coworkers to support "Doctors without Borders" or some shit like that.

In any event, yesterday was really good evidence that an endeavor like that is not the type of thing you just pick up and do without some preparation.

Breaking the Rule of Thumb to Make an Announcement

The rule of thumb being not a whole hell of a lot of "shop talk" in this forum. Though, regardless of whether I feel compelled to discuss it on a regular basis, the fact is that I'm a professional geographer that considers himself pretty good at his job, and long undervalued in his workplace.

That is, perhaps, until today. In a move that my boss has been acknowledging is overdue but in need of the final few signatures (for, like, the last year) I just got promoted. When speaking to me, you may now all address me as Senior GIS Analyst. Not a huge bump in base salary, but I am now apparently "bonus eligible," which is a bizzare concept for a Crocodile Dundee like myself. I'm eagerly looking forward to finding out more about it, however...

On Second Thought, Maybe Once a Month...

I was thinking there'd be the chance I'd bike into work maybe once a week this late spring & summer. I did today, and the total time it took (one way): one hour and 40 minutes. And my legs are somewhat jelly-like. It's a beautiful ride, as probably 85% of the ride as on biking trails & around lakes and so on, but as I do pretty much no other biking, it seems like that's a bit of undue stress I would be subjecting my "bikers" to, if I were to try the ride too often. Not to mention that a three-plus hour round trip puts a pretty excessive constraint on my work schedule; especially on the days in which I pick up Lucy.

On a side note: I was having all sorts of ruminations and thoughts along the way on the various geography (both physical and cultural) I encountered along my ride. I think it would be fun to do the ride, take notable photos; then do a narrarated slide show or something . Fun for me anyway...maybe not those that would be expected to view it.

"I Hate Special Effects"

A great quote, the title of this post, from my brother, Lindon. He uttered it late one night the last time he came to visit my parents in Iowa. I got up late to go down an check out cable TV and found him watching American Movie Classics, or some other similar station, and we got in a conversation about movies, with both of us generally agreeing on the fact that there has been an almost perfect inverse relationship between the rise of the special effects wizards and the decline of the importance of the script as a foundation for American film.

With the notable exceptions of Star Wars, LOR, and Harry Potter, I haven't gone near a first-run action/adventure film in years; and pretty much don't rent them. I know there's good stuff still out there, and I don't mean to cast aspersions on the filmmaking crews out there-there's some amazing cinematography, editing and other post-production out there (a friend introduced me to Bourne Identity a few months back, and it was a fine enough film); but it seems that more often than not; characters, dialog, and even scenes are recycled, recycled, recycled (Bourne Identity better than most action adventure movies these days in that respect, but not really paving any new ground). It's something that really, really bugs me-that Hollywood keeps dishing it out and people either stand for it, don't notice it, or (worst) eat it up. Reviewers, even, seem to let to all but the most horrendous of repackaged offerings slide by; knowing that if they go down that dangerous road, they'll be out of a job, for they'll have to start ripping nearly every film that exceeds a $15MM budget (and goes through the "Hollywood Executive Finishing School" or whatever it is that requires a protagonist to say something cool before punching someone in the face, or all Native Americans to have unbelievable, mystical powers and be underscored with a woodwind instrument).

Anyway, when I rented Three Musketeers (1948) Sunday night, it was during a 2 for 1 special. I was really in an "escapism" sort of mood, and decided to take a chance. At some point in the past couple of years, I saw a preview for Hildago. The plot seems an obvious enough recipe for disaster: American cowboy enters long-distance horse race in the Arab world. Especially, in this crazy post 9-11 world; where one-upmanship over anyone in a turban can be a cheaper, easier hook than a guy getting kicked in the nuts. However, the one thing that intrigued me was that Viggo Mortensen was the star. From some various things I'd read and heard about him, I thought that he would not become associated with anything that would not approach representing cultures in anything other than a tactful manner and, basically, that he would not do a crappy film.

However, from the first scene of the movie; where he bests an uppity Englishman in a race; then punches him in the face while diverting his eyes with a coin flipped into the air, I suspected I was in trouble. In the second scene, when he somehow, inexplicably, finds himself riding about in the carnage after the Massacre at Wounded Knee, I knew I was in trouble. At that point, I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this was going to be a series of eye-rolling, groan-inducing scenes designed to hold together a bunch of thrilling, action-packed scenes. In other words, the very thing I was talking about for the first few paragraphs of this post. And Lord, was I right on about that. Audible, indeed, were my groans when the sheik's beautiful daughter announces she doesn't want to marry an Arab prince by arrangement, when she is caught in a compromising (but innocent, mind you) position in Viggo's tent, when she is kidnapped and Viggo is told he must rescue her or get his balls cut off, when this big muscular black guy helping Viggo in the rescue kicks an unblievable amount of ass but then (oh yeah, you guessed it) dies valiantly, when Viggo rescues at least two guys from dying that would have not done the same for him and that then have a chance of heart, that indeed-all the Arabs seem to have a change of heart (maybe we should just send a cowboy over to Iraq...), that a wealthy British woman present for the race is trying to seduce seduce him and fix the race at the same time, that Arab culture is portrayed as primitive and ridiculous relative to the modest and quiet wisdom of the American cowboy......well, it goes (and went) on and on.

Viggo, what...the...hell...happened? I know I'm hardly the audience they're going for here, but that was pretty much the nail in the coffin. There's too many good classic films and new, independent films being made to waste my time even trying movies like this any more. Or sequels. Or comic book character movies. Or anything with Tim Allen or fucking Nicholas Cage. Or talking fucking animals. Fucking, fucking animation with the pig that farts and the duck with the Jamaican accent.

My question is simply this: how hard is it to simply do films like this and make it unique and original. Just try an interesting twist; or a lot of interesting twists. Give your audience credit enough that they'll jump on board with you-you might just find that you have a classic on your hands. Am I alone here?

Non Stop Excitement, Domestic-Style

Busy, but enjoyable weekend filled with family fun and numerous indulgences.

Among other things:

• Watched, with Sharon, the second part of the 1938 George Cukor film, The Women, which I had seen in college but not since. From that genre of pre-special effects film where dialogue is fast-paced & witty, it was better than I remember. A man doesn't appear on screen in the entire film, as these various wealthy socialites plot, disrupt, and otherwise connive their way into one another's relationships and marriages. Highly, highly recommended.
• Watched, by myself, the 1948 swashbuckling rompus of The Three Musketeers. I consider this one to be from some yet-unnamed genre of bigger-than-life spectacles featuring cringe-worthy anachronisms and no end of unbelievable characters and dialog, I would like to refer to as "The Ridiculous Era of Film." Ridiculous as the film was, however, it was a bit of a visual treat, as it featured such stars as Gene Kelly (as D'Tangan, no less), Angela Lansbury, Lana Turner, and Vincent Price; and some of the most amazingly choreographed swordfighting scenes (Kelly-you can imagine) I have ever seen. Definitely worth seeing; maybe even worth renting, as who knows when you'd ever have a chance to catch this one on TV.
• Drank my first, but not last, Goose Island Honker's Ale. A wonderful English bitter.
• Did a bike ride (70s & sunny, here in Mpls) with Lucy in the bike trailer. She's cool with it this year, which opens up load of possbilities for enjoyable late spring and summer afternoons...
• Got together at the coffee shop with an old chess mate for a couple of games. Good conversation. Great bagel. Lost both games.
• Went for the first read-through (all cast assembled) of The Good Doctor. That's gonna be a lot of fun. Our director, however, is also scenic designer for another production in town right now, and so is trying to balance a couple of schedules, especially early on. We won't convene again until May 1, and from that point there will be rehearsals every night (though my particular scenes will only be two or three nights a week, I suspect), with the expectation being that we are "off book" (not using scripts) within two weeks' time. Kind of atypical; but in all theatre companies, I would guess that the atypical is pretty typical.
• Went for a great, early evening run of my river loop (just a hair under three miles, on paved path for most, but backwoods trail for about 1/4 mile along the Mississippi).

What else can I say? Looking forward to more great weekends and more great evenings, as my work schedule permits...

The Great Magazine Search

I've been without a magazine subscription since my one-year Runner's World in 2001 (the last year I attempted marathon training). Before that, I had canceled a subsription to Outside, when it seemed their irreverant, gonzo-approach to the world of non-traditional sport started to lean a little more in the direction of L.L Bean and Toyota Pathfinder. Currently the only human member of my household without a subscription, I decided to possibly get back in the game, when I received a Girl Scout-sponsored form from my niece, Taylor. Choosing from their selection of magazine, I checked out two issues each of four publications that were under consideration from the library:

Outside: Somewhere along the line, I had the idea they had gotten a wakeup call, and were a cool magazine again. Nope. They had a lot to say about high-tech hiking gear and expensive vacations I could not afford, and were filled to the gills with luxury vehicle/SUV ads (including about six prior to the table of contents-a practice that I think would really annoy me, were I a journalist). The very essence of the magazine seemed to be the anithesis of the "light footprint" approach to outdoor travel and sport, and I could not have been turned off more, relative to what I was hoping for.
National Geographic: I found about half the articles fairly interesting, though I kind of have the same beef with the advertisers. What is the deal with the marriage between automobile manufacturers and magazine ads, anyway? They're ubiquitous. In Outside and National Geographic, I found a real sort of dichotomy between a series of articles every issue talking about conservation ("Saving America's Last Wild Places" or whatever) or the science of global warming; and then all these ads for this products that represent overconsumption and a big ol' fuck you to the very point the articles were arguing for. I don't know whether the blame falls more on the editorial staff for allowing this (less likely), or the readers for supporting this with the spending (more likely), but I don't care. I just won't have it. Joe America would like to tell me "if you don't like it, then don't read it," so fine. I won't. I'll find a publication that doesn't give me the heebie jeebies when I read it, or go entirely without. Or maybe I'll check out (literally, from the library) a magazine from time to time. Some of my biggest "activism" (or, perhaps, "slacktivism") is where I choose to put my dollars. I take it very seriously. And I don't want to throw it behind hypocrisy like this. In my mind they are making a choice (and certainly, it's a no-brainer for them) between my dollars and Buick's.
National Geographic Traveler: The ads didn't seem quite so in contrast to the editorial content as they did in the above publications, but they were generally of the same bent. My experience with this magazine, actually, had been in digging through old back issues at my mom & dad's. There, I was able to grab numerous articles of places throughout the world that I found extremely interesting. In retrospect, I realize that I was probably grabbing a pile of magazines in which to find those articles. I don't think the subject matter is quite consistently fascinating enough to me (or wasn't, in the two sample issues), to entice me to subscribe. Especially when you consider the "this is a pipe dream; I can't afford these trips" factor thrown in. I did, generally, find the writing and the approach towards travel to be fairly high caliber. But ultimately, I don't think I would get enough, issue in and issue out.

Backpacker: The most pleasant surprise of the bunch. Still a few Nissan X-Terra ads & crap thrown in, but also plenty of flat out gear & outfitter ads. The editorial slant definitely seemed to be firmly in the spirit of backpacker culture; not trying to appeal to some wealthier, older, larger, yet watered-down demographic of their bread & butter readership. The articles were pretty cool; though I would feel almost a little out of place reading the magazine these days. Fact is, we only camp about 3-4 times a year these days, and we never backpack (and probably won't again until Little Bean #2 is at least five). It would be a totally detached place from which I'd be reading the articles, and I can't help but to feel that there'd be subject matter that would be more personally relevant to me than what I find in those pages.

Wow-so where am I on this? Perhaps the magazine for me doesn't exist at all? Or perhaps (like most things of interest to me) it's not to be found on a "America's Top 200 (Magazines, in this case)" order form. I don't think poor Taylor is going to have me help her reach her quota. I've considered a subscription to "The Nation" or "Mother Jones," but to be honsest, I'm a little worn out from all the outrage. I feel like I'm getting the majority of information I need to have informed political opinions, and more preaching to the choir in which I sing is just going to whip me up and depress me unnecessarily. Maybe I consider the newly discovered Damn Interesting my "subscription." Their articles are fascinating. Maybe I up my blogroll. But God, sometimes I just want to kick back on the couch with a cat in my lap and a beer on a coaster. Say...perhaps I'll opt for some pure indulgence and be a founding subscriber of Beer Advocate Magazine. Hmm. I just may do that. Or I may opt for nothing. I will take suggestions, though...

Born at the Right Time

It's been amazing, how my relationship with Lucy has changed & grown over time. As she has evolved from an infant whose existence was defined purely on the basis of physical needs and comfort to a complex, inquisitive, creative little girl; time I spend in her company has gone from being touch-and-go to being, more often than not, pure joy.

We still have moments where the "resistance to authority" trait rears its head; but that has really, really subsided in the past few weeks. Almost like she's gone through another developmental step forward that maxed her out for awhile and reached a more peaceable and happy state. It's really a cycle that's repeated itself over and over in her first three years.

It's hard to explain the extent to which our interactions, and the way in which I get to perceive this amazing world vicariously through her eyes exceed my wildest imaginations of how much a source of joy and precious a little child of mine could be. I get to see her break into spontaneous, uncontrollable galloping about in pure unadulterated happiness at the mention of stopping by a park on the way home from school. And listen to her sing 15-minute, stream of consciousness songs that would put Alice's Restaurant to shame. And play games of chess where one of her moves sends a rook up onto my knee. Games, conversations, and stories. Running, hugging, sharing a treat. True-Heart Bear underwear, coffee shops, and puppet shows. These are truly the best of times. Though in the heat of occasional, minor frustrations it can be a little tougher to remember, I know that this little girl has long since gotten to the point where she gives as much as she gets.

For Joy Wk 2

Yesterday-about 70 degrees with a breeze. I headed off to Hyland Park again-this time taking a south loop and running for about 40 minutes with a pushup/situp break in the middle. Once again, a wondrous experience. Saw: red-tailed hawk, plenty of deer tracks, fur and bleached bones of some sort of coyote prey. Heard: pheasant (two different places), cry of red-tailed hawk, chorus frogs.

Man, that just recharges my jets.

Another Grand Experiment

So, making the green decision to buy a powerless reel mower has been one that has caused some extra work and frustration. Yes, it cuts grass cleanly. But you have to go over every inch of your lawn twice. And if you happen to skip a week or two and the grass gets high? Well, it gets particularly ineffectual, actually just knocking the grass over, rather than cutting it.

To make matters worse, a reel mower is incapable of cutting dandelions. So, while everyone else in the neighborhood sets the blades on their mowers so low they leave burns in the dirt, and nip dandelions in the bud, so to speak; we had a couple of occasions about three years ago, where we knocked over dandelions in full seed and basically succeeded in spreading them throughout our lawn. That was a stupid act for which we are still paying consequences. Last year, we spent many hours working on our knees, trying to make a dent in the dandelion population, which takes over our lawn to an embarassing extent every spring.

I am definitely in the "less lawn" camp. If you get me going, I'll try to explain how it is ludicrous how Americans are so in love with large swaths of lawn, paying an unkowing tribute to our British roots, while ignoring the fact that 95% of the US does not have the natural climate to support it. Over time, I'd love to have a lawn that we turn into a mixture of native plantings, walkways, and wildlife corridor.

That said, the dandelion explosion in our yard is embarrassing.

So, the Grand Experiment? Corn Gluten pre-emergent weed and feed, which we spread on last week. It won't get rid of the existing dandelions, but will keep new ones from spreading as we continue to slowly eradicate the existing ones. Giving Green one last try, there. Results of the Grand Experiment to follow in weeks to come.

On a side note: the product was developed by researchers at Iowa State.

Happy Easter!

For Joy

It's in the 70s, beautiful, & sunny today. I indulged myself for a short drive to Hyland Park (where Sharon used to work in Bloomington) so I could go on a 30 minute trail run.

Clear, blue skies; light breeze; chorus frogs in full gear; and an immensely peaceful and gratifying moment of "yes...yes...this is where I belong." I couldn't wipe the smile from my face as I ran.

Consider a moment like this a point in favor of Zephyr Valley.

Chess & Theatre Updates

So, starting from the easiest levels has done wonders for my confidence and my game. I strung up a quick series of five vitories vs. level one of "Ivan the Conquerer," then graduated to level two. I destroyed Ivan on level two, actually gaining one victory in a mere seven moves. I then moved onto level three, and won a number of somewhat harder-fought battles; twice actually coming back for victories after losing my queen. I've started to get a lot more comfortable with the game; seeing how scenarios will play out, and work my pieces together effectively. A couple of times, I've gone in with the board to show Sharon the last four or five moves that were made, as the circumstances of the final attack and checkmate seem (to me) pretty unique and intersting.

Last night, then, in the third staying up past-midnight evening in a row, I decided to give the dreaded level four a shot again. Victory.

On the theatre front: callbacks were last night. You can read a little about the experience (and, of course, a journal of pretty much our entire production process) here. Afterwards, we headed out to an eatery for our director (Jaron) and artistic director (Jeff) to discuss final casting. As it turns out, I will be playing two characters (a guy who becomes obsessively preoccupied with sneezing on his boss, and a banker with gout who is driven up the wall by a nutty, persistant woman looking for a loan). Both are quite different characters, and should be a lot of fun to both practice and perform. Rehearsals begin mid-next week.

lcd

Ah-the concept of marketing to the least common denominator. Simply trying to buy some pjs for my three year old daughter, I find an ridiculous and narrow array of stereotypical options for girls: only fairy princesses, butterflies, and flowers. Literally only princesses, butterflies, and flowers. And for boys? Trucks and basketballs. It is mind-blowing, in this modern world of supposed equality. People who would be outraged and offended by any verbal suggestion or implication that girls are a dainty, fragile gender think nothing of clothing their young children in this insulting attire.

In addition to the general annoyance of it all, is this feeling that the thing is a sort of the culmination of numerous cultural sore points for me:

• Constant merging of retailers and brands, resulting in fewer consumer choices.
• The war on intellectualism: "We've merchandised out the need for imagination! And the need for your child to try and figure out on their own what their place is in the world!"
• Pervasiveness of marketing. In some instances, we've found that a clothing item simply isn't available at all without a character likeness on it.
• Perhaps the worst: Sexism, pure and simple. On boys' clothes? I've seen lizards, sharks, tents, basketballs, etc. etc. and all that is bold, adventurous, and diverse about the world. On girls'? Princesses, flowers, and butterflies. Oh yeah, and rainbows. Dream-land. I shit you not. There's seriously nothing else. And all is right in the world when Sharon does a program for a group of second grades and all the boys want to get their hands all muddy and all the girls shriek when a snake is taken out of a cage. Is it any fucking wonder? I do behlieve that there is an innate factor at work in the two genders for gravitating towards some of these preferences and tendencies. But Christ, our culture exacerbates it. Can a girl currently grow up to be a scientist, or a life-long athlete, or a president? Sure-but right now I have the depressing feeling that-in most cases-it has to be in spite of her background, rather than as a result of it.

160

Beats per minute, a little heartbeat that was difficult to find right away, but which came through, crystal-clear with the little belly microphone that was concentrated in his/her direction. Apparently, 160 is right on target, as Little Bean 2 (we really need a new nickname, and fast) is only an inch and a half long at this point.

With our family coming out of a pretty stressful whirlwind of a six months and me, personally, being a bit overwhelmed by the number of spinning plates I have currently, there has actually not been all that much time to just sit back and reflect on the miracle we have growing steadily in our midst. For all the uncertainty we have surrounding our environment seven months from now, I remember how my initial reaction to the positive prenancy test was pure mirth and joy. It was a similar feeling yesterday, when we heard that heartbeat. I had forgotten what sort of first, enormous milestone that really is-that moment when all your nagging thoughts of "what if the test was just wrong?" or, worse, "what if something has gone wrong in these first couple months?" (the midwife reminded us yesterday that the vast majority of miscarriages, were they to occur, would have happened by this point) are laid to rest and the baby becomes real. Indescribable, the love & closeness you feel for your partner at a moment like that. More laugher ensued. And it was wild, having Lucy there. She really didn't get a whole heck of a lot out of much of anything else (although there was some curiousity during the actual "examination"), but she joined in the excitement during that listening session.

On a side note-the first night of auditions went well. We had a few no-shows, but also had some really talented performers come; some with surprisingly impressive resumes and professionally done head shots (publicity photos). We went out to Perkins (where the flag is bigger than the parking lot) afterwards with the director to sort of run through the auditioners and discuss callbacks. I had a short stack and, stupidly, a couple of cups of coffee which ended up keeping me from hitting the sack until 2:00 a.m. Got up at at 5:45 a.m. Based on my experience, 3:00 p.m. should be interesting.

Birthday Bash Wrapup, Onward with Little Bean 2, and Tryouts!

It would have been great to have the playset together for the party, but oh well...It was still a great time. Lucy's best friend, Harper, was there, as was one-year-old Elsa, making her first appearance in the Hylton household in quite a while. Both were smash hits. Adults present were A&K of south Minneapolis, our neighbor Ginger, grandma Lois & Grandpa Jack who are both spirited enough following last weeks trauma to engage in some lively bickering over diabetic menus, and Harper's mom.

Tops were popped of Spring Ales & Spring Bocks, and Papa Murphy's pizza was consumed. Much sharing of parenthood stories while the little ones did their thing; and then adults had the opportunity to be treated to a puppet show by Harper & Lucy prior to festivities winding down. Yesterday was a day of some recouperation, though it was also the day in which we chose to break the news officially (though we'd been dropping hints), that mamma's got Lucy's little brother or little sister growing in her belly.

Lucy & I will be going with Sharon to all of the pre-natal checkups, and today is the first one. Kind of a the first big moment after the intial positive pregnancy test, when you get past that dicey first six or so weeks and have a little one-and-a-half piece of precious cargo that is finally "real" with respect to the medical profession. Goal number one is to keep Sharon and, by extension, the baby, comfortable and healthy through the entire pregnancy. Goal number two is to prepare Lucy to be a big sister; making sure she feels like a very necessary and important part of the whole process. That began yesterday and continues full-force at the appointment today.

Finally, my theatre company had a meeting with a number of our production team to discuss our overall plan & the director's vision for our play. Today will be our first of two tryout days. The community response has been overwhelming, as we have over 30 folks showing up for auditions. My job there will be to take head shots of auditioners so the director can look & compare prior to making decisions for callbacks. Other company members may also be paired with an auditioner or two so he can get an idea of how various actors would work with us in these scenes. Exciting, exciting...

Gearin' Up

Gearin' up for the weekend; Lucy's having a birthday party. A couple of small friends (& parents) will be there, as well as my parents, up from Iowa. My dad was released form the hosital, by the way, and everything appears to be uner control-which is great. Anyway, we invested a fair amount of money in a wooden swingset for Lucy. I took a couple of afternoons off this last week in an attempt to get it together for a wonderful birthday surprise, but it wasn't nearly enough time. Alas, it'll just be a lot of running around in the backyard. Definitely looking forward to the swingset for this summer, though (the picture above is of the idea finished state-I've currently got it in the state you always see the boat in recreations of the Noah's Ark story, when people are heckling Noah) . Again, a decent amount of money (for us, anyway); but when I look back and remember some of the great adventures in imaginary lands from my youth, I see this as being a great, great part of Lucy's life for years to come.

Shocking, But Not So Shocking

My dad was hospitalized yesterday. As a result of constant peeing, constant thirst, and extreme lethargy, they brought him in, and his blood sugar level was tested at 700 (I don't know a ton about this, but I think 100 is the target level for diabetics). They stabilized him and gave him an insulin shot; it appears he is probably diabetic.

The last three or four years have been really rough on my dad who, at 77, is no spring chicken. It's tough to see this decline in a man who, in his youth, was so athletic & vital. Yet, the truth of the matter is that; whether because of the mindset of his generation, or because of his own ignorance/subbornness, the vast majority of his issues are as a direct result of ignoring his health for the last fifty years. Fifty years of no exercise and eating badly. You just can't do that.
My grandad on his side died of a heart attack at 76 and I have long been aware that my dad has not put himself in a position to be around for a lot of years of Lucy's upbringing. But a few years back, when he had an aneurism, it was a call to action and he immediately and successfully gave up smoking, cold turkey (it bascially took a near-death experience for the dangers of cigarettes to sink in). I can only hope this episode (especially if it is borne out that he is, indeed diabetic), will force some dietary rigor and control into his life. My mom is diebetic; this could have the added benefit of him not keeping foods around the house that are tempting for her. Wish him the best.

On a side note: two diabetic parents. Outlook for me not good.

On a side side note: He'd apparently (unbeknownst to me) had increased levels of pee & thirst for months, and has been repeatedly been in to see his personal practicioner to try to track down the cause of some other, seemingly unrelated, issues of swelling of the legs and tiredness. In all that time, no one thought to do a urinalisis or test his blood-sugar level? Hello, Covenant Medical Center? The Mayberry Clinic called; they want their doctor back. Jeebus.

I Don't Suck!

Use of one of the two chess sets I received for my birthday, the electronic chess set Ivan the Conquerer, has been a humbling experience. Playing game after game on the easiest level, I found myself repeatedly crushed. Hearing the robotic "Check...Mate" has become almost unbearable, and I found myself losing interest in even attempting a new game.

Well, during our family's "quiet time" (a down time set aside, in lieu of naps, which Lucy no longer takes), I was drinking a Summit India Pale Ale (which was quite hoppily bitter and divine), and scrolling through the options to turn off even the most basic vocalizations for Ivan. Suddenly, I realized that it had not been set on the most basic level at all! It was on "4" (indicating Ivan had four seconds to think). I switched it promptly to "1" and won the next game. Oh joy and exaltation, to take that fucker down!

It probably seems like a really lame move by a desperate loser. But to which anyone who has played me at chess can attest; I may be somewhat of a hack, but I'm not a bad chess player, versus other hacks. I asked for the chess set this year in attempt to get back into the game and maybe improve to a level where I wouldn't consider myself a total hack. Understand strategy; maybe think a few moves ahead in a way that isn't completely linear. But these repeated drubbings on level 4 were not accomplishing anything, unless it was to dispirit me and make me lose confidence. I swear that there was NO margin for error. On that level, if you make a single slip up, there was no praying that Ivan "wouldn't see" your mistake and take advantage. Pawns were deployed expertly in triangulated defense schemes in concert with other pieces as he marched his forces inexorably towards victory at the other end of the board. I still shudder at the remembrences. I may get back to that point at some point, but I think I need to string together a few victories at the lowest levels, and challenge myself incrementally. Level 1 is no cakewalk, but the playing field is evened out somewhat as he, too, occasionally will end up giving pieces away in exceptionally ridiculous blunders.

On that game I won, by the way: I turned the volume back on just in time to hear the historic, "I..lose..."