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.

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