Ah, Netflix!

For some reason, I found this extremely funny:

Daniel, the following movies were chosen based on your interest in:
I'm Gonna Git You Sucka
Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One
The Queen

It's Worse Than That (of course)

Labored breathing not entirely due to heart failure, but in fact due to a collapsed lung. Why a collapsed lung? The x-ray looks as though she may have cancer ravaging it. However, x-rays on collapsed lungs are tough to read. They're bringing her back in today to inflate her lung and have the radiologist take another look. All signs point towards cancer except for the fact that it the black mass seems to be limited to one side of her body. Small chance it's not cancer, but a black mass of anything that looks like it's ravaging your lung can't be a good thing.

Good God (bad God?). Bad news is bad enough, of course. But why must we always be dealing with inconclusive evidence of any of a number awful inevitibilities? Add to the burden of grief more tests, more negative results, more debt.

Here We Go...

So, our budget for the next year (and beyond) was based on a "no disaster" principle. A bit of a stretch, since we've not really had a year free of financial catasrophe yet in our marriage, but it was really the only way to make the numbers add up.

Well, we're now three weeks or so in since Sharon's official resignation, and God has decided it's a good time for a curve-ball. Or, perhaps, a hit-by-pitch.

Yesterday, Sharon called to tell me that our washer is done. A 1969 model, we knew we were living on borrowed time. But why now? The same year our dryer goes down and, of course, we incur expenses ranging from asbestos removal to new furnace a/c & ductwork, new electricity, tree removal, and new toilet? *Sigh* So, that will not "add up," except in that it adds to our overall debt.

Then...last night...we discovered that our cat's breathing rate was extremely elevated (40-60 breaths per minute); a condition from which she was suffering last spring after the whole leg removal, when she developed her heart condition. Most likely, she has fluid in her heart. This morning, she was taken to the vet and she is probably in an oxygen tent, as I type. I think it is remediable; but of course, at a price. A price we will most likely be willing to pay.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: when it rains it pours.

And I've also said this before, and I'll say it again: I'm the opposite of most every famous person you see on Barbara Walters. Everything in my life is wonderful, except finances.

Haiku Movie Review: Match Point

this film is designed
to win points just because the
people are British

Grandpa Returns the Favor

Thanks to a belated birthday celebration at my inlaws, and a trip to the Blue Max.

Four of these beers, I've actually had before. I'm looking forward to them all; in particular, the Arcadia Ale London Porter.

Happy Valentine's Day

It doesn't get any better than that (except for Rose, who looks as though she may have seen better times).

Ruminations After the Big Night

Just a quick mention that the show went very well.

Right from the get-go, it was obvious that the audience was really into the performance. Indeed, an added element was the need to hold for laughter following a few exchanges that, prior to the live show, we would not have even guessed would have elicited a response. Having the sense that the audience is fairly rapt is a good way to spur one on to a more confident delivery and performance, and I definitely felt good about how things came together, through the whole show and on to the end.

Very rewarding, very satisfying, and very fun.

Ruminations on the Eve of the Big Night

Tomorrow at 7:30 pm is the big show. "Big show" is entirely relative, of course, but it certainly seems to apply when you're directly involved. In the last few days I have begun to realize that it is probably the biggest part I've ever had in my dozens of plays; I've had a "lead" here and there, but never a role in which I've been onstage for an hour and a half in a play with a cast of two.

It's great fun. As I mentioned in a post a week or so ago, I could be considered to be a bit outside my comfort zone. To me, comedy acting has always seemed a pretty simple process of bringing an audience along by dropping in cultural signposts. Except in its most sophisticated form, I don't think comedy acting requires an audience to suspect their belief and "believe" in much of anything. Sure, they buy in to the theatre concept, but they're generally just happy enjoying one moment of mirth and preparing for the next. If, at the end of the night, something more powerful or transformative has occurred, so much the better. Provided the concept and writing is solid, and provided the actor has been born with a sense of comedy timing, the actual execution is relatively easy. Relatively. It still takes concentration and it still takes energy, but I'm talking relative to dramatic acting.

Of course, this is just all from my perspective, but dramatic acting requires so much of you. It was suggested last night after our dress rehearsal that I was, perhaps, a "method actor," which (to grossly oversimplify) is someone who subscribes to that philosophy of "becoming the character." I think I must be, because frankly, I don't see any other way to go about it. In fact, it seems only fair, in light of the fact that if you're acting in a dramatic role, you're more or less asking your audience to be "method." You want them to suspend belief, to believe for a few hours that you are someone other than yourself. And I think the concentration level of the audience is so much higher during a dramatic performance. They're not just watching for those signposts. They're trying to relate. Not in the overall situation facing the character(s), but in how the characters relate to what's going on around them. Not everyone can act, but everyone knows what real people act like, and they can smell someone being "out of character" from a mile away. And so, as a method actor you "become" your character. It's not just delivery of lines. It's how you hold your hands, how you breathe when frustrated, the direction your eyes wander when you're lost in thought, how tightly or loosely you clench your jaw. And it's not a simple, one-time transformation. Putting aside how you react to the world around you and all your own thoughts and concerns, you must grow; line by line and scene by scene, as your character grows. It's not a single thread, but a stem that continually branches out, with every new scene and line carrying the weight and influence of all that has come before.

Of course, in spite of this entire transformation, you need to remain somehow aware that there is an audience that needs to be able to see you, hear you, and understand your enunciation. There's no break (well, intermission, if there is one). You're "on" for an hour and a half (in tomorrow night's case). It takes an enormous amount of concentration and energy. And it takes a hell of a lot out of you. Out of me, at least. Maybe there's natural "dramatic actors" to whom this comes easily. They pain & strain over comedy and I'm fighting against the current in their world.

Anyway, that's all for now. More to report after the show, I'm sure.

The Speeds of Light and Sound Remain Constants

But the speed of crap accelerates like a rocket luge on Crisco Mountain.

So reads the first line of Jim Ridley's small review of Epic Movie on page 57 of the January 31, 2007 City Pages. I will never, ever see that movie. I would not have, anyway. But I'm sure glad I was treated to the review. A handful of people will ever read this it, but here's to enabling just a handful more. Of course, there are many more fine and clever writers (a small contingent, even, amongst my small readership), whose various and wonderful witten labors of love will be quickly lost and forgotten.

But here's to any and all writers I know, have known, or will never konw; who care enough about the craft of wit and words to put their hearts into Wanking Off Into the Void. Your efforts are appreciated.

Day 6 of the "Transition to Earthlink

Sander' says: Thank you for contacting EarthLink LiveChat, how may I help you today?

Dan: Hello-so, I'm having a crazy issue here. I signed up with a live chat representative for cable modem service just a few days ago. I was previously a Comcast customer, but was trying to take advantage of Earthlink powered by Comcast, in order to not have my rates go up $15/month. My account got set up and everything, but I was unable to reach anyone in customer service that was able to get my Comcast service stopped and my Earthlink service started. SO...finally, I reached someone that told me (after I got my account set up, sent out emails to all my contacts about the address change & everything) that Earthlink is, in fact, no longer available in my area (Minneapolis, MN), but that a lot of the national sales reps didn't know it yet. Before I go sent another email out to everyone I know and give up on this, can you confirm or deny for me that Earthlink is, indeed, no longer an available option?

Sander: Hello, I’ll be glad to assist you in resolving the issue.

Dan: Wonderful.

Sander: Please stay on hold while I read your message.

Sander: Thank you for staying on hold.

Dan: Yup.

Sander: I understand that you are unable to connect using cable modem.

Dan: Wrong. I AM connected, using my Comcast cable modem.

Sander: Are you with me?

Dan: Yup.

Sander: Do you have the billing issues with comcast?

Dan: No no no. I signed up for Earthlink, and am now told that Earthlink is not available in my area.

Sander: To best assist you, you need to speak with a BroadBand Customer Service Representative. Please standby while I transfer you.

Davin S' says: Thank you for contacting EarthLink LiveChat, how may I help you today?

Dan: Can you read the discussion with the Earthlink rep that led to me getting transferred here?

Saul B' says: Thank you for contacting EarthLink LiveChat, how may I help you today?

Dan: ? Hi, Can you read the discussion with the Earthlink rep that led to me getting transferred here?

Saul B: Yes, I can read.

Dan: ? ? OK..so I'll await your response...

Dan: I wasn't clear from your "Yes, I can read" response that you understood my question-just making sure you're still there.

Dan: I had a big long discussion with the first rep I chatted with that led to me getting tossed back into "the queue." Do you wish for me to re-post my original question?

Saul B: No, one moment.

Saul B: I see we are not charging you anything it is the cable company that is charging.

Saul B: We will not also not charge

Dan: What about my Earthlink account? Is that esstentially just a free Webmail account?

Saul B: Yes, it is a free webmail account.

Dan: I see. Then I need to call Comcast and give them hell. Thanks.

Saul B: I am sorry but I did not get you.

Dan: Comcast bought up Earthlink in my area. I was told by an Earthlink rep I would be able to sign up for Earthlink powered by Comcast and get a cheaper rate than I would with regular Comcast. Apparently, that is not the case, as Comcast shut down Earthlink's cable internet capability. And caused me an unbelievable amount of hassle in the meantime.

Saul B: I see the account is fine, have you not tried to login.

Dan: No NO, nevermind! I think I'm done for today. Thanks.

Take-Your-Breath-Away Cold

Temps in the Twin Cities ranging from minus 15 to minus 20 degrees this morning.

I don't think we've seen it like this since, like, 1994.

Hi, Jeff!

Jeff likes to report back on all the things he learns about me from surreptitiously reading my blog on a regular basis; but he told me that he's too shy to actually post any comments, since everyone who does is on a "nickname" basis. But then I thought "You know, all Jeff needs is a little encouragement."

What do you say, fellas? Can we all chime in and let him know there's nothing to be afraid of? Tell us what's on your mind, Jeff!

Why We Might Have Turned the Corner as a Society

In at least these few instances...

Where but a few years ago big media conglomerations threatened the end of the independent film, Netflix has ushered in its new golden age.

Ditto big media conglomerations with respect to the independent musical artist. Enter digital music.

Half a decade ago, we thought email was threatening the end of grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure in the written word. Now, nearly every one of millions of bloggers are suddenly holding their writing to a higher standard.

Of course, there's still war, disease, and poverty. But perhaps this bubble is actually bursting because it got poked by the top of Maslow's Pyramid, and the residual hope for the world has to trickle down the sides.

Jumping In on The Movie Review Haiku

This, being the most recent movie I've seen; and in homage to the Mixdorf sensation that is sweeping the web:

Being John Malkovich

Funniest first half

In my recent memory

Most depressing last

Also, since it's been a recent topic of discussion...

Napoleon Dynamite

Teen misfit goes wild

Laugh yet pity to sweet end

Hmmm...Sixteen Candles?

Love Letters

The name of our next Reader's Theatre production, in which I have a co-starring role. In the words of our company:

Written by A.R. Gurney, the play follows a lifelong string of correspondence between staid, dutiful lawyer Andrew Makepeace Ladd III and the vivacious, somewhat unstable painter Melissa Gardner. From second grade through middle-age, the details of their poignantly funny friendship and ill-fated romance emerge from what is written- and what is left unsaid- in their letters.

So-poignant romantic comedy. I'm a little outside of my normal comfort zone of sketch comedy, playing a bit of a starched-collar go-getter, but it's that sort of new realm that I am really seeking in my born-again acting life. We know I can play a spaz, but how do I tackle the the meaty, tearful delivery? Reader's Theatre is really cool, because so much depends on the delivery. Not hiding behind technical wizardry or even blocking. The audience hangs on the words, going up for the highs and being brought down with the actors for the lows, moreso than in any other theatre I've seen. I'm so excited to take on the challenge of not only playing a character that is a bit outside myself (though one to which I can relate for a couple of different reasons, not the least of which is my own personal history with love letters to Paraguay), but a character at all ages of his life between eight and 55.

We had our first readthrough Tuesday night, and I'm paired up with a couple of pros (literally); in the director and female lead, both of whom have an employment resume that includes Minneapolis' Brave New Workshop, a place in which I have at one time or another considered "plying my sketch comedy craft."

More on this show, undoutedly, as the rehearsal process continues.

Sure, It's Good For The Kids and All...

But, in the heat of the various monetary stresses involved with Sharon quitting, it's easy for me to overlook some of the more subtle benefits that, now that I sit down for a lunch of squash chili and homemade cornbread leftovers, don't seem quite so subtle.

NSE

From the wildly successful show my theatre company put on Friday night (great reaction from a sellout crowd) to pulling off a somewhat last-minute booked visit by T-Clog, this past weekend was Non Stop Excitement in its purest form.

First-I had been sweating out the situation with the Reader's Theatre show, since we'd had a glitch in our mass email system and had reason to believe a vast majority of our contact list did not receive two email that were sent out in the runup to the show. So, we really didn't know what to expect. But whether it was the exposure we got via the huge turnout we got for our Christmas Show or that our audience base is growing as a result of word-of-mouth from our small but deep set of "regulars," the community was out in full force. We literally had to turn a couple of people away when we topped out our seating capacity at 50. I was overwrought with nerves, prior to the show. Performing does not bug me in the least; but the prospect of "winging it," as I was expected to do in some pre-show remarks, was making me a basket case; as was the prospect of hitting all my technical cues (a light flip, sound) at the right time. I just hate doing that stuff-my brain is not hard-wired to pull that type of thing off very well. But everything went about as smoothly as possible, and after the show I was awash in what is becoming a familiar blend of relief and satisfaction.

Then, late Saturday morn. Hanging out at the coffee shop with my family; one T-Clog stops in, as per the arrangement. And, from that point on, a potentially delicate balancing act between a Daddy-starved family and a friend who has made a journey to visit was pulled off by all parties with grace and good cheer. The Clog and I remained around enought to ease my daughters through some of the touch-and-go moments of the day and, in fact, performed the "nighttime ritual" that night; Lucy's 2nd story read while sitting on the lap of a close friend of mine in just over two weeks! Things didn't get too raucous over the weekend-it was "NSE" of a rather domestic sort, but we all understood that going in. Activities included checking out a few local haunts (including two coffee shops), "forest football" actually played on a nearby jogging path, a visit to the "zero-G" slide that was built in local park, beer, pizza, Mouse Trap, Trivia Pursuit, a couple of Star Trek episodes, some good conversation, YouTube exploration, my first viewing of Napoleon Dynamite and...I'm sure I'm forgetting something...

Thanks for the visit, Clog.

The Producers

Actually, the Producer: me.

In trying to spread the load a bit in our current Reader's Theatre season, the other two members of my theatre company have picked up producing duties from our artistic director. I've never truly been in this role before and, though I can't say I'm surprised by the number of things to try and stay on top of, actually being in this position definitely gives me an appreciation for it all. Producer is basically in charge of making sure everything comes together for a production. That there is someone for every role, onstage to off (consider: actors/director, sound, lights, tickets, etc. etc. etc.); that all logistics are coming together (from a cash box for the ticket booth to designing & printing all promotional materials and programs to making sure a buttload of chairs get loaded into the performance space a day before the show). And so much more.

So, tomorrow night is the performance. My load is lessened significantly by the fact that this is Reader's Theatre, and every so more slightly by the fact it is a one-man show, starring our Artistic Director, Jeff. You can read a little about the show here.

Of course, I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't scrambling about like a duck on speed. After the whirwind visit by T-Clog this weekend, I'm back to having a company meeting Monday night and then doing the first read-through of our February show (in which I return to the stage) on Tuesday night. This is all in and around care for two-month-old Rose (to the extent I am around to offer it) and self-imposed pressure of Project 365, and various other projects that hang over my head, like music recording and CMC. Oh yeah, and that Beatles tribute recital in which I will play guitar and sing to help out music teacher friend and former bandmate Krista in March.

Zowie.

Anyway, tonight is dress-rehearsal. There is a distinct possibility that P-365 will feature theatrically-related photos over the next couple of days, if shots present themselves.

The Undiscovered Country

Well, it's official. Sharon just called in and announced her resignation. She is officially a stay-at-home mom.

The thing that's really nuts about it is how she had pretty much one of the most idea set-ups in the world: working part-time only in a job she loved (taking kids on nature hikes-are you kidding me?). But staying home with Rose and keeping her out of the day care mill, as well as the idea of helping to keep our collective lives a little less crazy, just won out in the end. And, of course (to add nuts to nuts), I continue on in Barad-Dur.

It would be an understatement to say that we're dialing back our budget a few notches. For anyone who comes to visit and wonders why I balk at going out for a "night on the town," consider that we weren't quite keeping our heads above water as it was, and we just lost a net income of around $15k a year.

DDS

Are there any library science theorists out there trying to improve upon the Dewey Decimal System? I mean, a system for cataloging books that dates to 1874? Structured to categorize all areas of human scholarship in order "...from the divine (philosophy and religion) to the mundane (history and geography)." It's such an old-world view of knowledge and fields of study that it would be laughable if it weren't currently holding hostage our nations' books.

Book lovers? Your thoughts?

Somehow, the general acceptance of this obsolete holdover reminds me of our Minnesota law whereby you can't sell alcohol on Sunday. WTF?

Underground!

So it seems that I've come full-circle. Or maybe half-circle-as we're talking a hundred & eighty degree turn.

After being hailed by Stephen as one of the most open & revealing bloggers he's seen (in terms how I've tended to blog about my personal life), I have decided to remove The Oliopolis from the public blogroll. Off Blogger's listings, and out of my profile view. The more I think about it, the more I realize that my various thoughts & mini-essays are really intended for a small audience; those who know me & generally share my perspective. I may wish to preserve my "bloggins" at some point in the future for my own personal satisfaction, but I have no particular need to shoot everything that occurs to me out the the world at large. If and when I produce something in this forum that I wish to "take public," I'll look for the appropriate forum. Till then, I'm generally satisfied with my "readership," and can point "2nd tier readers" to specific posts if & when it seems appropriate.

The turning point, really, was my Project 365. Link from this page is one way, baby. It occurred to me how it is possible that there are those people in my life that I may wish to point towards this photographic endeavor that I wouldn't want within 50 miles of some of the rantings that go on in The Oliopolis (I'm thinking of work associates and family in Iowa in particular, here).

Anyway, for the others in this particular corner of the Blogosphere - I'm sorry this is not going to turn out to be the traffic generator you expected.

I'm Gonna Regret

This.

Beatles Anthology, Part IV?

Sugn by Lucy in real-time, as I type...

He's a real nowhere man/
He lives in Ashraka eating all the mines/
He'll eat you, if you try/
He's a real nowhere man.

He's a real tri-minute/
He does a lot of things/
His mom says he's not a nice man/
He lives in Ashraka, eats a lot of food/
He doesn't know what to do, a lot of things/
He's knows of a bread of your friend/
You know his mind, you would even say it glows in the dark.

2nd Annual Resolution Project

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

1. 2006's Resolutions:

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

2. 3 Resolutions for 2007:

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

3. Best moment of 2006:

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

4. Worst moment of 2006:

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

5. 2006 Remembered as...

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

Happy New Year everybody!!!!!

The Dream of EveryKid!

Bedtime stories with Mighty Tom!

Fatherhood Chronicles, Vol. 1

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

Early Christmas Present

The first smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Born at the Right Time

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

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

Musicology: Emotional Album Response

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

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

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

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

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

Kickin' off The Season

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

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

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

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

Hell, yeah! Are you kidding me???

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.

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

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

Thank God It's 50 Degrees

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Gift to Self

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

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

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

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

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

The End of an Era

* sigh *

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

Lucy & Rose Compare/Contrast!

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

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

Yes.

Sisterly Love

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

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

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

Welcome to the World, Rose Alice Hylton!

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

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

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

OK...Here We Go..

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

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

Raaaaaar!

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

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

False Alarm!

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

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

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

Here We Go...

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

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

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

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

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

Gentlemen...A Toast

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

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

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

Getting Close to "Zero Hour"

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

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

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

It Occurs to Me that It Is at Least Conceivable

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

Bush's Thoughts on the Tet Offensive

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

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

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

Comedy Without Soul?

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

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

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

Keeping the Audience...Riveted

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

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

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

Six Times Wonderful

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

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

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

Two More Adventures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

Holy Shit!

It was a big damn tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Skewed View?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About "The Punt"

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

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

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

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

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

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

In All Seriousness, Folks...

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

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

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

Campaign Poster

What do you think?

More Success...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone Ever Figure Out the "Oxygen Sensor?"

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