One Big, Not-So-Happy Family (Husbands & Wives and the Children of Húrin)

Read: Narn i Chîn Húrin (The Children of Húrin)
GREAT. Great, great, great, great, great. For the (legions of) people who appreciate the character-driven, powerful portrayal of daily trials, personalities, and themes of friendship and loyalty found in The Lord of the Rings, and for the (somewhat smaller number of) people who appreciated the sweeping, cataclysmic majesty of The Simarillion; The Children of Húrin is a most satisfying blend of the two. Set against the giant, almost Biblical backdrop of the 'First Age' of Middle Earth as depicted in the Simarillion, The Children of Húrin is far more accessible (quite a quick read); expanding upon the tragic character of one Túrin, son of Húrin, as he does his heroic best to aid the the races of men & elves against what is essentially the forces of an evil, fallen god; yet, by rash disregard of wise counsel or plain ill fortune, ultimately brings ruin to everyone and everything he holds dear. Lord of the Rings will forever make my blood run swiftly, inciting noble thoughts of friendship, heroism, and perserverence. The Children of Húrin will always break my heart. A small and beautiful, yet heartbreaking little tale against an annihilative backdrop involving the fall of Kings and the fall of cities, ever in the background but inexorably tied to Turin's doom.

Seen: Husbands and Wives:
Well, it's tough to follow that. But this was a really good Woody Allen character film. Fairly recent, it follows two married couples and examines the forces that to drive the unions apart and keep them together through typically (for Allen) witty dialogue and clever story-development. Not unlike Crimes & Misdemeanors (which I actually preferred, as a movie), in it's cynicism, but it definitely throws some interesting characters into the blender - even if (like in most Woody Allen movies), I can't really relate to very much of his uptown-Manhattan lifestyle.

10

Sharon & my 10-year anniversary today.

For lack of babysitter resources and time for planning, we are not actually going to be able to do anything tonight other than spend some brief moments together after the kids are in bed. But I think that is really representative of the stage of our family right now (e.g. preschooler & infant In The House), as well as the general course of our married life together, to this date: our time together may be hard to come by, but it is precious, and never taken for granted.

We're hoping to get out this weekend to see a play and eat a good meal. The Coast 2 Coast hike in northern England will have to wait a few years.

In Memory of Saraki (Squeaky)

Long, long overdue. A photo tribute has been on Sharon's agenda for the past half a year, but the demands of stay-at-home motherhood did not allow her to finally finish it until this past week. You'll be seeing this caption free, but it pretty much covers her first day in this world to her final day. No surprise here to animal lovers, but she brought us love, joy, laughter, and friendship in equal measure, and was a companion ("friend" might be stretching it) to Kuna-i through all the long years.

To which anyone who has been very close to an animal in their lives can attest, Saraki and Kuna-i were our "kids" before we had kids. They were the centerpoint of our lives, and an integral part of the crazy, vivid, earliest years of our marriage. And it has been difficult, at times, to come to terms with the fact that we are a now family without a pet. Crazy, too, that - despite no shortage of photographic evidence and stories, Kuna-i (that sweet & steadfast girl who welcomed a new baby into the house and - even in her blindness and dementia - kept a watchful vigil over a sleeping newborn) is steadily and surely fading from Lucy's memory, if not gone altogether. Almost certainly, Saraki will follow down that same path. And Rose, when all is said and done, will have only been alive for the four final months of Saraki's life.

New pets will eventually move in and fill a place in the hearts of our daughters, but I'm determined to keep memories of these two founding members of "Minneapolis Hyltons" family unit alive for as long as I'm alive. Thank God for photos. And thank God for a personality that can't get enough of reminiscing to begin with. Anyway, I'm pleased to share with you this tribute.

(Now, originally, I just embedded the slideshow itself. But I think the captions Sharon added are helpful for anyone who'd appreciate a little more context- so the photo below is actually now just a link to the actual web album. Be forewarned - the slide show is a little long. But Sharon put all the pictures in there for a reason, so get off her back.)

Squeaky

Suspicious? You Should Be. Baudolino Lies.

Read: Baudolino
My 2nd read of Umberto Eco is one I would highly recommend to anyone that loves historical fiction; particularly of the sort that comes from a mind that is mind-bogglingly versed on that particular slice of history (European Crusades, in this case). With the sort of lush backdrop, as well as luscious mixture of veneration and mockery of the history of Western religion, this book is superbly crafted. A fictitious character; behind the scenes and with the ear of the Emperor and a gift of language and lies, plays a significant and in pretty much all the major happenings between the 3rd and 4th Crusade. All the historical events are right on (I Wiki'd many of them), but the details are pulled out of an ass. And then - after it has been, if a bit far-fetched, quite realistic; the final third of the book takes the reader on a fantastical journey beyond the world known to Europeans at the time in search of a mythical far-Eastern Christian Emperor, Prestor John. A fun, rollicking adventure. Tales in a backdrop of cataclysmic war has never been so light and playful. Great 2000 interview on Baudolino with the brilliant Eco, here.

Watched: Suspicion
Directed by one A. Hitchcock and starring Cary Grant & Joan Fontaine, this 1941 suspense flick (woman woo'd by rascally man-about-town, only later to suspect he is planning to kill her) had all the pieces in place for me. Blast it, but I just didn't think the writing was all that great. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I was expecting to; fine performances (particularly, by Fontaine) and the hand of The Master couldn't elevate it to classic status for me. If I could have given it 3 1/2 on Netflix, I would have.

Tagged

by Aaron

7 "Interesting" Facts About Me (which I'm interpreting to mean items you may not know about me and, if you didn't know, might surprise you)

1. The extent to which I fail to reach my own toes when stretching puts me in the bottom 10th percentile amongs all men in my age group.
2. I have an advertising minor.
3. I have Tourette's Syndrome.
4. My grandfather lived to be 102. My grandmother (on the other side) lived to be 98.
5. I write beer reviews at BeerAdvocate.com. Feel free to send me samples for review.
6. I know far more about Microsoft Excel than you realize.
7. I've biked a 34 mile round trip into work once a week since mid-June. I will continue to do so as long as the weather holds. Three weeks ago, I entered the Bike2Benefits eight week challenge.

Out in the Open on Feedback

OK - a good & probably necessary discussion has made itself evident as a result of my recent post about Creating Into the Void and Mixdorf's response which, thankfully, did not end up being. "'Boo fuckin' hoo." Overall, I guess this post will be directed primarily at Mixx, with whom I've danced around this issue of feedback for a number of years, but others who count themselves among my friends can certainly take note...

Essentially, you are wary of offending with anything less than positive about a creation that is so personal to me. And if I could sum up a rebuttal in so few words myself, it would be simply:

If not you, who?

Ahh, such is the life of an artist yearning for feedback. It almost reminds me of those folks who, after the loss of a loved one, find that all their former friends are avoiding them as a result of not knowing exactly what to say. It's lonesome down here in Camden Studios, as the extent of my feedback truly comes from only Sharon & Pat G (Pat having experienced, through his career the same "wall of ambivalence," and willing to reciprocate the feedback and discussion over creation for which we both so yearn).

We've established that precise musical tastes are highly subjective, and I'm not going to see eye to eye with very many people in this huge world. But ultimately, if I'm ever going to do anything, music-wise (and Lord knows, I've not given up yet), I'm going to have to make music that will appeal to someone other than just myself and Mighty Tom. And it would be most helpful, somewhere along the line, to have other music fans hearing my stuff with objective and fresh ears, giving me their impressions and thoughts.

But on a more basic level (believe it or not) it's far more damaging to my self esteem to put my hopes and dreams into all the cords and mics and such and have it float off into the void without a bit of acknowledgement that it exists, than it is to hear "I'm sorry, but that one isn't doing it for me." I would assume that you wish all the luck and success for me in the world. As such, I would assume I can count you among my one of my supporters & backers and, dare I say, "fans?" I would like to think that is the case, whether you think all my stuff is great, or most of my stuff is just OK, or whatever. And, if you think I make nothing but Shit Sandwiches, I think our friendship can survive that.

On a side note - trying to crack the local club scene is a game for the young, and one I never could crack even when I was young. If something happens for me at this point, it's going to be as a result of either the right pair of ears hearing my music or some crazy grassroots wildfire, based on a particular song or two generating buzz around the internet. And while I'm hardly the guy to author a book on "how to be successful in a band," I know that either of these possbilities are highly more likely if they start with a dedicated group of supporters. I'm not asking anyone to give up a day job here, but if I could just ask you to listen to these early mixes of songs I'm making and IF (and only if) you feel that you can be honest with yourself in doing so ....spread the word! "Hey, a friend of mine is recording an album - I think this is a pretty good song. See what you think." Or something like that. I have a couple of ideas of how I'm going to try and promote myself when this thing is released, but only a couple. Over the years, the ol' fan base has shrunk to....well, apparently Sharon & Pat G (that's not exactly true - I can usually get a few people to come out when I play live). But still, I could use all the help I can get.

And if not you, who???

on a side side note: Indeed, you do not need a MySpace account to hear songs or read blog posts, only to comment. So if anyone wants to just listen, and occasionally check in, it's not necessary to say anything in that forum. (I may end up disabling comments on the MySpace blog, anyway, as a way of obscuring how small the "fan base" truly is...) If you want to send me some feedback, you can post it here...or even just send me an email. Anything to let me know that I'm not creating into the void.

http://www.myspace.com/danhylton (and I finished another rough mix - From July to April - and posted it just tonight)

Funky Adventure and Ruminations on 'The Heart Meter'

As T-Clog embarks upon an heroic exercise program that will allow him to complete a 5k trail run in late September, so I continue on one of my own. Due to the new lease on my own fitness life brought about by my introduction to cross training via cardio-machines at my workplace's fitness center, combined with a gel band I have to add structural stability to my runner's knee, I am finding it increasingly comfortable and exhilerating to get out on the trails for running, my true exercise love.

Yesterday, at the tail end of a 5-day vacation stint with my family, I was granted a couple of hours to have some "Dan time," and I elected to head out to French Regional Park, home of "Challenge Hill" (which should really be plural - think of the hill at Afton. Maybe about half the height, but repeated about four or five times). It was a muggy 86 degrees and I had water belt hitched up, along with a plan that would have me swing by a fountain at a picnic area after a half hour for a refill.

Well, things felt great at first and I went out a little fast, but the hills kicked my ass a bit. And made me ruminate, thus: A runner is like a character in a Nintendo game. You have a little set of hearts in the upper right corner of your screen that are all filled red. Very slowly (or quickly, depending on your level of fitness), your heart meter will begin to inch it's way down, just by virtue of cruising along at a constant speed.. However, there are many things that you can do that will knock a few points of that heart meter instantly, such as sprinting, jumping over a log, or running up a hill. If you're in decent shape, once you crest a hill - even one that was making your thighs scream for mercy - the five or six hearts you suddenly lost will begin to fill back in slowly, so that, after a while more of relatively level surface running, you'll feel like you didn't miss a beat. You did, though. Replenished though you may feel, that hill has taken a toll on you and those hearts are not truly back up to where they were before you started up. Over time, the hills add up. I've learned this through a lifetime of running, but never was it so driven home to me than at the Afton Trail Run 25K, which I've done twice. Both times, though I was fully capable of running the distance on roads, I ended up with cramps at about mile 12 (probably about 20-21k). Those hills'll kill you.

Just something to keep in mind, T-Clog. I don't remember the terrain & trails at Eagle Bluff, but based on the part of the state it's in, I have no doubt it's extremely hilly. If we come across a hill that's batshit insane, there's no honor lost in walking it.

Now - the funky adventure. I'd run for about forty minutes before making it to the drinking fountain for a fill up and check of my watch. I had a little bit of an upset stomach, so decided to cut my original plan (1 hr, 10 min) down a bit; I'd do one more little loop. However, just after starting down the new trail, I realized my stomach was really fairly sloshy - something bad was potentially brewing, and I thought it best to just call it a day. I turned around and headed back to the visitors' center. There was something in the trail in front of me - "wait -that looks like a mound of wadded up newspaper - oh SHIT (just as I began to leap over) BALD FACED HORNET NEST!!!" I was immediately set upon by about three of the little fuckers. I gave a scream and tore off at a quick pace, trying to remember my old nature readings: "How fast can a hornet fly? 10 mph? Can I run that fast? " Well, either I can run that fast, or they had nothing more to prove, cause they let me go. Exhausted, queasy, and stinging.

I headed back to the car and checked the pound on my water belt to get the key for the car. Key gone. double shit. I retraced my steps back up to the picnic area water fountain (where I'd gotten out my watch and where, presumably, the key had tumbled out). Nothing. Going through the whole area with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing. Back to the visitors' center for a call to Sharon. Not there. Triple shit. Left a message: "If you get this message, come and pick me up. I'll be on the way home." And - what could I do - I started running home, along Rockford Rd (Country Rd 9/42nd Ave). And, proving what a man can do (particularly, the King of Men) when he really has to, I'd made about three miles (about two of which were up a ridiculously long incline) before the little Toyota Corolla with all my girls came cruising up alongside and offered me a ride.

Last night was a night of rehydration and moving in slow motion.

Alice & Rimmer

I finished up a first-ever reading of Alice in Wonderland, a few nights ago. I'd been reading the book, more or less a chapter a night, to Lucy. One of the first things you pick up on in taking on a chapter book in this venue, even one like Alice..., which is ostensibly written for children and from a child's perspective, is how dificult it is for a four year old to get her head around all the moving pieces. In fact, it is doubly and triply the case with this book, since many characters are introduced and then forgotten (until the trial near the end, if you're familiar with the story). Plus, there's all these bygone terms and expressions from early-part-of-the-century England, which bear constant explaining, defining, and putting in context. I don't know. There's a lot of kids out there Lucy's age that are just plopped in front of PG movies and left to drift from one moment of stark, physical comedy (man makes a man's pants fall down, penguin burps, etc.) to the next. My sense has always been that it's an odd, almost demeaning sort of feeling that 77% of literature/entertainment is just simply something you're not going to get and so just deal with it. So, if there's something in the DVD player and Lucy's watching it, we are sitting next to her (or have already at some point, with that particular piece of entertainment), pausing and explaining/talking about things. Constantly. Well, that was happening in Alice.... Constantly. Anyway - looking back at the experience, I'm not sure I would have taken it on, knowing what I know now. And I wonder if a part of my interest had been selfish in nature. I, personally, felt it was high time to make it through this classic tale; from which I can see innumerous cultural trappings that are the fruits of its literary loins. But as for the tale itself (and maybe this is after an experience of trying to make it reconcile with the mind of a surprisingly logical four year old girl), I simply can't believe how pointless/plotless? the whole thing was. I'm not even sure if that's a critique, or simply a rumination of surprise because I did find it fun. Perhaps truly the first in a long line of "it was all just a dream!" in the arts, the whole series of barely-connected scenes played out like (with apologies to Joseph Gehaw), simple, unmotivated bizarreness. Trippy. Mind-blowing, it seems, that it gained such popularity in America's infamously grim and stogy classrooms of the mid-century. How did that happen?

Red Dwarf: I'll make this a lot shorter. BBC sci-fi comedy from the 80s, available on Netflix' "Watch Now," so I thought I'd take a chance. Not all that impressed after the first episode or two, but (realizing that sometimes comedy series have to come into their own a bit) stuck it out for an entire six. If it picks up steam in season 2, I'll never know. Life is too short, and too full of wonderful BBC series such as Father Ted and Blackadder, that are delivering pause-and-watch-again-worthy bellylaughs from the get-go.

Before You Do Pretty Much Anything, Ask Yourself...

WTFWJD?

Creating Into the Void

So much for the IPO.

Posts remain unread. MP3s that are the result of blood & labor remain unheard. And I remain friendless.

"My" Space has never seemed so truly accurate a name...

Hug Those Kids!

Last night as I got home from work, Sharon & the girls were in the backyard pool. I headed inside to do my usual ritual (various clothes and accessories from work in their respective places, and a change into comfortable clothes). I had just headed upstairs to our bedroom, when Sharon called my name out - in an odd and sort of desperate tone. I rushed downstairst o see Sharon in the entryway, and in tears, holding a slightly dazed and off-pallored Rose.

Apparently, there had been an incident in the pool where Rose seemed to be choking on something (Sharon assumed it was water), but then quickly turned a violent shade of blue and went limp in her arms.

Sharon freaked but had presence of mind to flip her over in position to vomit, which is what happend. Affer that point, it was just a matter of a few minutes of recovery time, but Sharon was understandably shaken, and in tears.

Dear God, but with respect to the often-used "every parent's nightmare," that - friends - is it. There were a number of occasions with Lucy, as she was transitioning into solid foods (as Rose is beginning to), where there were momentary instances of choking. All manner of terrors pass before your eyes at that moment, as you fly into action to fish the offending bit of food out of their mouth, or take alternative actions. In all cases, whether by your helping hand or without, the issue was resolved in seconds. But J.C.. that does send a daddy to reeling and reflecting for a short bit.

And that was just during mealtime. Lucy was generally a very stationary baby; and when she did start to move, she was a parent's dream in terms of avoiding trouble. She never had an issue with sticking things into her mouth or exploring things better left alone. Rose is the complete opposite. Crawing a full four months before her older sister did, she is a little Indiana Jane, seeking adventure and treasure all the time and at every turn. It's a whole new level of accountability we have for keeping dangers off our floor and away from her reach; particularly in light of our traditionally lazy housekeeping style.

Not much more to say about all that. Just ruminating this afternoon, as a momentary flashback and chill passed across my spine.

HPATOOTP and Powell

Finally got out to the latest Harry Potter movie. Both Sharon & I thought, contrary (it appears) to the vast majority of reviewers, that it was the first step backwards in the ever-goodening franchise. It wasn't so much that there were glaring flaws in the general filmmaking, only that they finally have gotten to that point in the story where the plot is no longer linear - or at least easily portrayed in linear fashion (e.g. we need to solve this, then this will become clear, after which we can do this, etc.). There was just more subtley, nuance, and unspoken intricacy in the book than could be covered in a couple of hours of screen time. To me, it seemed that vast sections of necessary exposition and character/plot development were sacrificed (in favor of gratuitous reaction shots, Sharon would add). Such is the fate of the book reader. My impression would be that certain plot developments or character actions would seem inexplicable or jumpy, without that exposition. But that's obviously not the case, as the film was received quite warmly by Joe Q filmgoer. I don't know. I have a tough time separating myself from the notion that a faithful reproduction of what I read is what needs to be in a book-inspired movie, and just accept movies for what they are: 90-150 minutes of self-contained art.

I didn't intend to say that much.

On the book: Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell's 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon was something I stumbled across as a result of my trip down into the very nearby canyon country of Escalante, last year. Like Mixdorf, I really groove on true stories of great feats of endurance and adventure; though there is definitely a tricky art involved with telling the tales. To what extent does the author fill in the blanks and make assumptions in order to paint a more descriptive, colorful picture? The success with which an author/researcher achieves this balance becomes at least as imporant as actual writing ability. And, dedicating years of life to reasearching colorful characters in history - I can imagine it would be hard for one to not start feeling as if they truly know these guys, and justified in making such assumptions. But, in the case of this book, the author (a former writer for the Boston Globe) opts for ONLY detailing that which is outlined in a series of journals by various members of a crew of 10 guys that set out to make the first boat trip through the 800-900 miles of the Green and Colorado Rivers over a period of 99 days. Through those journals alone, mind-blowing acts of courage, resourcefulness, and hardiness are portrayed; however -perhaps to fill space, he goes on sometimes nearly inexplicable tangents; and he expounds endlessly on the dangers of white water rafting and general river lore, sometimes stringing together a succession of simile, example, and expounding that would make Herman Melville blush. Overall, a gripping read; a real page-turner. Though it could have been a good 100 pages shorter and I would have been able to come away with an appropriate level of appreciation for the power of the mighty Colorado and the accomplishment of these men, all (but Powell) now lost to obscurity of the ages.

Holy Fucking Shit

In a catastrophe that will transform the City of Minneapolis for the foreseeable future, the I-35 bridge over the Mississippi River has collapsed. Miraculously (considering over 200,000 cars pass over the structure daily), only six people have been confirmed at the time I type - a mere four hours after the horrific incident.

In spite of myself, I had the local news on for at least a couple of hours. And as my view of television news coverage, local or otherwise, is mainly shaped by those few times I tune in following a disaster (lets see...that would make only 9/11 and...this), I can't help but to see it as generally lecherous, inane, mindlessly repetitive, and dumbed down to the absolute lowest denominator. My educated guess, however, is that these characteristics are not limited to disaster coverage; regardless of how bent over the barrel they are to fill hours during those times.

Nevertheless, there I was - unable to totally divorce myself from the slowly developing proceedings; the interviews with DOT folks, elected officials, & eyewitnesses. Subjective phrasing and ridiculous prattle that would make the patron saint of journalism roll over in his grave. But it's my city they're talking about, and I had no other option for feeling somehow connected to this internationally significant disaster (I saw it as the lead story on BBC.com), unfolding a mere six miles from my house. The sudden, total loss of a bridge that I crossed nearly every day for my first four years of living in the city; and over which a number of my readers (that number being two) visited me on trips from out of state to stay at Johnson Street.

Holy fucking shit.

On a side note of seemingly lesser significance (though we'll see how insignificant it seems to the community as early as, say, tomorrow morning): traffic is going to suck balls.

Of New Book, Movie

In almost Cummings-ish/Mixdorfian fashion, I finished Deathly Hallows in three nights flat. More than that I really cannot (or should not) say, for now, other than to say I thought it was most excellent.

Lillies of the Field. My mind was drawing a blank, as I placed it into the disc tray, as to the reason I queued this one up in the first place. Was it an interest in seeing in action the revered and noble, but yet-as-unseen-by-me Sidney Poitier? Was it one of those legions of movies I just heard about again and again through the years and thought I should get around to? In any event, it was certainly added during one of my "movies I should see" kicks and, as such, was one about which I was less-than-excited about actually popping in.

Sidney Poitier was, indeed, a sort of Jackie Robinson of the cinema - as far as I know, the first black man to be a regular leading man. He played a character with dignity and depth, and he was really good. And the film itself, I can recognize as being WAY ahead of its time (1963). That said, had it been made in 2002, it would have starred Morgan Freeman and been an eye-roller (beautiful black and white cinematography and languid pacing aside). Overall, there was a soothing quality to the film, and one that did a spot of credit to the Christian religion - leaving one with moments of inspiration, not unlike particularly good gospel music. But I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't keeping track of the time left in the film while I was watching it. You just don't do that on films you really love.

Shat

I should mention that I watched the William Shatner Celebrity Roast with A.J. this past weekend, and it was about the funniest effing thing I've ever seen. More than that, I will not say in this forum.

Dan Speaks Out (on the candidates)

Having just watched the majority of the YouTube debate (and on the heels of earlier debates/forums, my other observations) - and following Pat's lead.

Obama: I'll say what I've said before - I'll trade off a few specifics for an articulate, inspirational speaker that is right on in a general sense, if I believe he can and will surround himself with and work with people that are brilliant experts.
Clinton: My appreciation for her growing by the appearance. She is carrying herself in a very presidential manner (in a good way). Forceful & in command, articulate and specific, and personable.
Edwards: Talk. Show. Host. I find his passionate support for many issues a little disengenuous, considering he's a latecomer to about half the parades. I also have trouble believing he'd show much moxie when the Republican Attack Machine gets under way.
Richardson: ouch. I think I like where he's coming from, but I end up being so embarassed halfway through most of his fumbling answers that I wish he'd just stop. He's well thought out on issues he dealt with as Governor, but he gets asked a question about Darfur or North Korea, and he acts like he just woke up from a nap.
Biden: Trying to win points with anger. Americans (and I) don't want that.
Dodd: Separating himself from Biden, at least. But entrenched and utterly, utterly unelectable.
Kucinitch: He may be a liberal's wet dream, but don't let this guy fool you. He's "playing politics" just like everyone else. Trying to cast the same, wide accusational net over all the other candidates in a manner that is often spurious.
Gravael(sp?): He says some things that other candidates would never dare to say, and that are probably right on: soldiers in Vietnam died in vain, end the War on Drugs, etc. In some senses, he may be 100 years ahead of his time. In most other senses, though, he's insane. Batshit.

A good thing, I suppose, that the two most electable candidates are the front runners.

Watched It, Read It

I'll soon be updating the sidebar, so I thought I'd squeeze out a thought or two on the items to the right.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyl & Mr Hyde: As I mentioned in an earlier post, this was a public domain Librivox volunteer recording of the Robert Louis Stephenson classic, and what looks to be the first in a series of classic horror novels I wish to work(out) my way through during my afternoon exercise at work. It was delectably read by an Englishman, and covered from a rather quaint perspective the whole notion of man dabbling in areas in which he shouldn't. Following the whole "Icarus" thing, was this perhaps about the first tale in history to call to attention the notion of rampant science without understanding? Good escapism, overall.

The Dirty Dozen: So, these days I'm not a huge action/adventure movie guy, but if and when I do go down that route, I'm a lot more likely to seek out an utterly unrealistic depiction of it all from the sixties than I am a gritty, modern bloodfest. There's almost a pall over my life with all the horror and devilry afoot in the real world as it is; I don't necessarily need a graphic depiction of it when I want to unwind at home; I prefer fantastic, campy tales of broad-brushed characters dsipalying valor, heroism, and sometimes treachery in no uncertain terms. Movies like this and The Guns of Navarrone fit into the same category as Star Wars and Harry Potter, for me: stress-free escapism. This movie, in particular and in that light, was good but not great. Par for the genre, I'd say. On a side note - this movie was one of just a handful so far that I've watched with Netflix's "watch now" feature; a technology that completely blows me away. The movies are essentially DVD-quality, steamed to your computer on-demand and in seamless playback. They basically let you use the amount of dollars you spend a month ($10, in my case) to "buy" the amount of hours worth of movies (a somewhat more limited selection, but still quite expansive) for that month. It doesn't cost you anything additional, and does not affect your movies per month status, at all. It's a total "win," as you can sit down and call up a movie on deman, as you wish. Pure goodness - as seems to be rare in new announcements from companies in this day and age. For them, I suppose it's a win, too. The more movies they stream to you, the fewer on which they have to pick up postage. Plus, if you get addicted to the feature, maybe you boost your plan up to get more hours. In any event, I guess that's what folks call a "win-win."

Worked Out!

My workout post garnered so many comments, I thought I'd do a check in, six weeks into the endeavor. Success!!!

I actually just returned from one of my "for joy" days - a trail run out at Hyland Park; so I wasn't even in "the gym," proper. But between the fitness center, daytime trail runs, biking to work, and runs on the weekend with the girls in the Baby Jogger, I've managed to fit something in probably at least five times a week on average over the past month and a half. The fitness center workouts are intense 30 minute cardiovascular sessions (heart rate steady between 147 - 152), alternating between various machines but focusing on the ellpitical trainier (something I thought was a generic term but now find refers to a specific machine that approximates one's natural running motion, but without the impact). I churn away with water bottle and mini-towel within reach, listening to MPR podcasts or horror novels, and chase it down with a few weights, afterwards. This is mid-afternoon, when the weight room is nearly empty, and I return to my desk after a shower, to face the remaining couple of hours of work with focus & vinegar. My trail runs are of varied lengths, but usually from 30 to 40 minutes, and my bike ride into work is a farily substantial 1 hr 20 min each way. I'm aspiring to bike once each week from here on out, this summer, so I sort of feel like that covers me for the days I beg off a workout for one reason or another.

I 'm feeling just great. For all the disadvantage I have of a body with high-mileage, I have a very distinct advantage of a body that has a history of fitness. I feel like it has not taken me long to get back to a really good postion. I've dropped about seven pounds (a lot of which has been simply a new focus on not having a beer every day, and simply not eating two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at 12:30 am every night), the jiggle is beginning to re-absorb itself into my body, and (most promising for the future) I'm still really excited about keeping on keeping on. Feeling good physically is such a powerful motivating factor; and when I can attend to this sort of body maintenance during my work day, so much the better.

I should also mention that this fitness "craze" seems to be coinciding with a general personal renaissance of sorts. I've been recording in the studio again, finding time to read books (both audio & traditional), and even stretching (well) on a daily basis; deciding that I would no longer use "well I had knee surgery in there" as an excuse as to why I'm so ridiculously far from being able to touch my own toes. Not sure if this is all great news, or if I should be a bit cautious. You know how personal betterment is like the NYSE. These bubbles tend to burst...

New Elements

If you look to the left, the view is not very inspiring. But if you look to the right, you'll see my newest feature: Just Read, and Just Watched.

I credit the idea to Matt's On the Nightstand and In the DVD Player, on Panko Crumbs. I didn't flat out copy the format since 1) I don't keep a book on the nightstand 2) I thought the potential for meaningful discussion about these two items (oh, and I GET OFF on "meaningful discussion" about movies I watch and books I read) would be greater after I conclude the viewing/reading.

I'm not sure how such discussions will occur, as it's not like anyone else can post random comments on this blog. I suppose you could always just comment at the bottom of the most recent post, when/if it ever strikes you. Alternately, I may look for some sort of generic "chat box" to include on the side bar. We'll also see how long I can keep this current.

Finally, I realize that I risk, by doing this, scorn and ridicule during the "dry periods" (the weeks on end when I am uninspired or virtually unable to find time to read books). It doesn't seem like some people I know (I'm thinking of Stephen & Pat in particular here, and probably Matt) go through such periods, but such as it is. And as a wise man once said, "If we're going to be damned, let's be damned for who we really are."

IPO Part 2

I should mention a couple of things regarding my new home on MySpace...

I've had a long-time dream to do updates of my recording process -which may or may not be of interest to friend. The idea behind is is sort of documentary-like in purpose. For anyone who has a curiosity about how music recording is done (albeit just one man's method, in this case), or my creative process & observations about it (while maybe not everyone's cup of tea - perhaps there is a person or two in the Oliopolis readership that might have some level of interest); this would be a place to check out. I am somewhat ambitiously planning to post entries (ugh - another blog!!!) around once a week or so for the remainder of the creation of my Secret of HIM album. Topics will range from actual studio recording progress to musings about the creation of music/lyrics to other practical and/or philosophical considerations of album-making (choosing album art; how to credit songwriting if I wrote the song but maybe I'm incorporating some musical elements added by past fellow bandmates, etc.).

I think you can just go and check out the blog and read it whenever you want, anonymously. Alternately, you can actually subscribe to the blog to get a notice when it's updated. This option would require you to actually have a MySpace account - something I encourage you all to do......SO YOU CAN BE MY MYSPACE FRIEND!!! (think you may need the account in order to post comments, as well)

Evian, Anyone?

I’ve always thought drinking bottled water was about the most ridiculous, inexplicable phenomenon in modern popular culture and now I have some stats to prove it:

Minneapolis Star Tribune

By John Ewoldt
July 02, 2007

A wave of guilty bemusement washed over Tom Chochrek of Edina as he pulled a 12-pack of Ice Mountain off the shelf at Target. "It galls me that I buy it," he said. "I could get it cheaper from the tap, but that's not so practical in the car with the kids."

Why do so many Americans choose bottled water? Certainly convenience, but better taste and smell are reasons, too. Many Americans believe that bottled water not only tastes better, but contains fewer impurities. The labels soothe us with words such as "purified,"natural springs,"artesian" and even "wellness water." Who wouldn't want to drink liquid refreshment that comes from an aquifer deep within the Earth on a remote island? That sounds better than "from the river so murky you're afraid to swim or fish in it."

Still, in a blind, informal taste test in the newsroom, seven of eight tasters thought that Minneapolis tap water was equal to or better than Dasani, Ice Mountain or Fiji. Only one taster preferred the most expensive water from the island. Others said it was "so so,"flat" or "had an aftertaste." One reviewer was convinced that all four were the same.

In 2000, Lynne Rossetto Kasper of the Splendid Table radio show did a taste test comparing Dasani, Evian, Chippewa and Minneapolis tap water. Not only did Minneapolis tap win, but Kasper was sure that Evian was tap water.

What many buyers of bottled water may not know is that Coca-Cola (Dasani), Pepsi (Aquafina) or Nestle (Ice Mountain) don't have to release their water testing results to the public like municipalities do. Nor do they add fluoride to deter tooth decay, as most municipal water operations do.

Minneapolis, for example, tests its water for more than 100 contaminants. A new filtration system in Columbia Heights removes more impurities than are required for federal water quality standards. More than 500,000 residents, including Minneapolis, Golden Valley, Crystal, New Hope and Columbia Heights get water from its plant.
Buying a bottle of water at a convenience store for 79 cents may seem cheap, but a consumer can fill the same bottle 2,850 times at the price of Minneapolis water, according to the city's website. While many Americans moan about the price of gasoline, few seem to groan about the price of bottled water, which, if you're choosing Fiji's rectangular bottle, costs about $8.50 a gallon ($2.25 for a 1-liter bottle). In total, Americans spend about $11 billion yearly on bottled water.

###

The article has a 2nd part that goes on to discuss the amount of oil used to produce those disposable plastic bottles and how only 20% of them are recycled (a far lower percentage within the wall at my place of work, I might add). It also mentions that theres a growing movement of critics of the industry, pointing out the ethical sticky wicket of using all that energy to bottle, transport (transport of goods over long distances fast becoming my new issue of choice), and package this "fancy" water for US citizens, when there's lots of people in the world that would give anything for a plentiful supply of plain old halfway clean tap water.

IPO

So, seeing where the winds were blowing...last fall I started a MySpace page as an alternative to trying to maintain a website for my music. It will allow me to:
a) have a presence on the web that is accessible, free, and more or less on par, quality-wise, with anything else out there.
b) have all the features - from song uploads to message board to blog posting, to even calendar listings (should that ever be necessary) - that I would reasonably need in order to promote myself and reach out to a larger audience (larger being very relative, of course).
c) be a place where I can post regular updates on the recording process (provided recording is "regularly" happening), something that I've always thought would be a nice thing to do.

As readers of this blog are pretty well aware, sessions down in the studio have been at a premium. I'm ostensibly attempting to put together my first true solo album (have been for the past three years, in fact), but the realities of other personal pursuits and my family have left me with little time and energy left for the endeavor. This is painfully obvious as, if you check out this site, you'll see that my creation of this page was in Nov. 06. Granted, my intention was to not "go public" with it until I had something worthwhile to report, but certainly very little has happened until a very recent and intense burst of creative power and ambition. But I decided I might as well throw it out there now, so here it is: http://www.myspace.com/danhylton

I'm not sure if you need a MySpace account in order to post comments, or even in order to listen to songs, but low risk/high reward, I suppose, if you set one up.

The other thing is - I need to decide if I want this site to do anything other than promote my music. If I start doing a little more acting around, eventually, would it be weird to have it also be a page where I promote my stage appearances and so on? Or have an acting resume? I suppose it's the same low risk/high reward situation for me. Nothing I've ever done has ever really put me on the map, anyway, so I suppose I can afford to make up my own rules.

Turning into Stephen???

Without even an intentional plan to do so, I'm in the midst of one of my more ambitious periods of reading, this early summer.

In early June, I blew through volume six of the Harry Potter series (my 2nd time through, in preparation - as a lot of others are preparing - for the release of volume seven). That was pretty easy game, and a fast read, of course. I then, on a whim, undertook the legendary Catcher in the Rye. One of those "I know I should read it" situations that'd been lingering for years. I'm pleased to say that I'm Loving It. As I mentioned to Mighty Tom yesterday, it's fascinating (and satisfying) to see such a complex and disarmingly insightful character in a book that is that been so highly regarded and popular through the years. It's a surprisingly short book, and I've been squeezing in a couple of chapters a night, with just a couple to go.

Concurrently, I am aspiring to mix in audiobook "podcasts" into my nearly every day cardio machine workouts. Based on a tip from Mixdorf, I checked out LibriVox, which is a volunteer endeavor to record as many public domain works to electronic audio as possible. My first download, which I'm (also) about a chapter or two from finishing, is The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde, which is (beautifully) read by an Englishman with a wonderful pace and speaking voice. My sense, being new to the whole audiobook thing, is that the reader is everything. I lucked out here. Anyway, my next audiobook is going to be Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. Theme? Classic horror for early afternoon workouts? Two corroborative methods for raising my heart rate???

My next print book I'm planning to launch into? A Morbid Taste for Bones, by Ellis Peters. By chance, on the way back from camping this last weekend, Sharon said she wanted to watch a movie (a relatively rare occurence in and of itself). We swung by the library and found an episode from a PBS movie series based on the Brother Cadfael series. Basically, a murder-solving, progressive and worldly monk, seeming to be a bit in the model of William of Baskerville from Umberto Eco's In the Name of the Rose (though the publication of the first book in the series predates In the Name... by three years). We watched the episode/movie (over 100 minutes long) and, while it was pretty good, we had the sense it was hacked and condensed quite a bit from the original book. I can't wait to get started on that. I'm absolutely fascinated with the history of Christianity through the middle ages. Such vileness, savagery, and political maneuvering; yet how amazing the works of art and richness of pomp & circumstance. If this series proves to be even partly as fascinating on those counts as was Eco's book, I'm in for quite a ride, as there are 20 books in the series.

It's Been Awhile Since My Last Bush Rant

The fact that Bush (& anyone associated) can climb up on a podium and actually begin sentences like, "What the American people have to understand is..." is not only the act of somebody utterly without shame, it's insulting and infuriating to those of us who seem to have a better handle on policy with 1% of the information he has. We've long talked about the whole "is Bush dumb" thing, but I gotta say - there's a lot of evidence to suggest the man is sick in the head. No one would have that much gall.

While I'm on the subject, I'm kind of amazed that a press corps can sit around, straight-faced, and take notes while this moron rambles on. I keep half-expecting somebody - ANYBODY - to stand up and suddenly say, "Is he for real?" What gives?!?" I was watching the press conference with Bush sending off Tony Blair and, regardless of my political differences; when Blair spoke, I was listening to an intelligent and even somewhat inspiring man. Bush followed him and started up with his ridiculous, "I know one thing - what the world needs is courage, and here stands a courageous man..." bullshit. Completely without substance and, of course, hemmed, hawed, & stammered. I swear to God, it seems like one of that spate of movies in the late 80s where kids suddenly were in adult bodies. He sounds like a friggin 4th grader. And a mean bully one, at that.

I'm sitting there, watching the press and various dignitaries in attendance; the majority if not all of them learned people with lengthy, impressive resumes, who have reached the pinnacle of their career to be on the short list of attendees at a White House. And I'm thinking, "Jesus, the President of the United States is the dumbest guy in the room."

It's funny, but this punk-ass chimp wrecking the world renders it not quite so "ha ha funny."

By All That Is Holy...

Friends, buy Harry Potter from a huge bookstore chain, and everything else you read from an independent bookstore.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070611/en_nm/retail_harrypotter_dc

Check THIS Out

My theatre's new kickass website. There's at least three images of me on the various pages, but I'm not suggesting that's what makes it kickass. Stephen, Mighty Tom , and The Johnsons may recognize the image on the front page as one from our production last summer.

Workout!

I've always been a guy that has, for the most part, shunned "that fancy equipment" in the local health clubs and focused on, pretty much, free weights for strength, and running for cardio fitness. Both things I can do on my own time, in (or around) my own home.

Enter 2007: Strapped with two kids that demand all of me at home, I have neither the time nor the energy to workout in the evenings. Mornings? I'm up late trying to get some time to myself, so forget about it. Plus, I'm fairly recently out of an appointment with an orthopedic specialist (should have blogged about it but didn't, for whatever reason), where some of my worst fears were confirmed about the current and potential future condition of my knees. Gone may be the super-intense, all-running-based training sessions and the pounding that puts on my knees. The recommendation? Cross-training; especially the low-impact kind, such as you can get from elliptical trainers, excercise bikes, and stair steppers (all of which I remember mocking heartily in my head as I strode between rows of them on my way to the running track at Bally's in the early 90s).

My workplace has an incredible fitness center that is available to me for $20 a month. I feel compelled to mention that nothing is a pittance these days, but this price is certainly a good one, compared to what I'd be paying at any of a number of health clubs in the Twin Ctiies. This morning I headed in for an initial fitness assessment (not good, not good, as a result of much theatre & parenting, and not many cardio workouts in the past seven months - but nothing too surprising). I went in with the idea that I would try to hit that club a couple of times a week and make it out to Hyland Park for a trail run once a week (all during business hours, mind you). After my first workout, I'm pretty excited about the amount of stuff they have in there, and the potential to mix it up a bit. I may try to step up the frequency from that initial goal, even. We'll see.

In any event, I had - in my first time on an elliptical machine - a grudging sort of awe at the ability to track my heart rate (trying not to let myself fury my way out of the "cardio zone") while working my way through a program that is specifically designed to work different muscle groups in your legs at different points during the workout. Wow.

Invited Dress

Lost from the radar of The Oliopolis is the culmination of the last year of building up funds, audience, connections and experience for my theatre group, and that is our play, "A Company of Wayward Saints." It's lost, no doubt, because I'm not acting in it; a very painful personal decision for me, due to my need to be at home with my family following an Insane Spring. But make no mistake, I've been quite busy with the play - trying to sell ads (gag!), writing press releases, helping at our performance space in assorted capacities ranging from actor fill-in at rehearsals to helping paint a stage.

We're on the eve of a 10 performance extravaganza, spanning three weeks. We're expecting reviewers from a couple of major local publications, and have brought in an impressive array of talent for our director and cast. In short, we've come a long way.

So, not being actually in the play (again, it hurts, it hurts!), I have the opportunity to see it with Lucy, which I will tonight at dress rehearsal. The play is in the commedia dell'arte style (think Gilligan's Island), and is quite uproarious and not a little bawdy. Here's my thoughts on that experience for her, lifted from an email I sent our box office manager today:

I'm just slightly iffy on the content for Lucy. Obviously, innuendo & such will go over her head, but kids are perceptive enough to know when things ARE going over their heads, and it seems kind of mean, in a small way, to let that happen. I guess that's the reason we don't have her watch any sort of "adult-oriented" TV & movies.

That said, I ended up thinking that the opportunity for her to be part of "the live theatre experience" is just too compelling. We've talked, at length, about all the rehearsing ("practicing") that goes on and everything that goes into to getting ready for the show, and about how it's kind of magical to be in the middle of a crowd where everybody is laughing together and getting serious together and seeing it all happen right then, in the moment. I'm hoping she'll just get caught up and be dazzled, and I don't have to sit there and explain thing after thing after thing.

Roll Up Your Sleeves, Amateur Psychologists

I'm moving this discussion from the e-mail world to the blog world. At the end, if anyone has thoughts - send em along:

Dan: The 2nd of 4 important things to remember: You cannot instantiate an object from an interface. You can onlyinstantiate an object from a class that implements the interfaces.

Pat: Shakespearian. Is that right after 'You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd?"

Dan: You can't instantiate an object from an in-ter-face/But you can be happy if you've a-mind to I do about 15 minutes of programming training and suddenly I've gotthose little circles of birds flying around over my head, like someonejust dropped a piano on my head in Looney Toons episode.

Pat: I once hit my head so hard I saw spinning stars, not birds, but stars. The writer of that nonsense likes to keep his audience riveted! (ed. note: "Blazing Saddles" reference, here)

Dan: You slammed my head into the concrete floor in my parents basement and I saw goddamed stars. (ed. note: 18 years ago)

Pat: I don't remember that one. I seem to remember lobbing a rather large, heavy object such that it squashed your nuts, to which you replied,'WHY?!' Good times.

So...We again recount (cause we can't get enough of the re-hashing): the famous Trifecta of (non necessarily unprovoked or completely senseless, but) random Mixdorfian Acts of Violence (MAV). In the episode I recounted, I was wrestling and pinning you, like usual, and sitting on your chest. Suddenly, you swung both feet up around my neck and slammed the back of my head down onto the floor as hard as possible. I either saw stars or utter blackness, but it was outer-space, regardless. The third of the times - perhaps the most famous - was when I was slapping your forehead lightly (to which you may have been very warrented in asking, "WHY?' HOWEVER...) suddenly, you punched me in the head. HARD. Understand, in both instances, your reactions may have been considered justifiable (if somewhat extreme). But the real question still plauging psychologists till this day is: WHY? Why then? I was grappling with and tormenting your ropy ass almost every time we got together. What logic drove the unflappable Valedectorian to lash out in such a violent and suddent manner. It should be noted that I was constantly derided as "the violent one." But I wished to grapple, always. Never to inflict pain. The safety of combatants was always of overriding concern to me. Between Gibbons' lethal flailing on the basketball court and your rare, psychotic lashings-out, I think I was comparatively mild.

Goodbye, Meyer and Underdog

We spent a second night with Meyer in the house Wednesday night. He had settled down considerably, with our biggest issues being that we didn't own a crate (resulting in destroyed bathroom blinds), and that he didn't quite get the part about being asked to pee outside. Other than that, we had some good times amidst the close supervision and general craziness during his visit. It was also apparent that we are not ready to "get back in the game" at this point. Sharon returned Meyer back to his previous foster home - where he has a lot of room and a number of canine companions indefinitely till adopted (which shouldn't be too long, given the record of the rescue group - more on that later).

It has become evident, in hindsight, that Kuna-i - the sweetest, most personable dog I've ever known - was a mess, from an obedience standpoint. While weighing about a quarter of what I do, she managed to occupy (and demand, especially if awoken from sleep) about a third of the width of our entire bed. She could not/would not trot leisurely along at our pace during a run (and positively hated other dogs we met along the way). And, in various bouts of exuberance, she scratched our faces - sometimes badly. Incidentally, and totally accidentally, but badly. And there's not a single one of those issues that would not be untenable with kids in the house. So any dog we want to bring in at this point is going to require commitment to us in the areas of obedience and consistancy. Meyer, while a sweetheart and plain ol' good boy, was a great reminder of that.

Shannon, the executive director of Underdog Rescue (the group through which we worked), was aware of the position we were in when we first showed up at the adoption event, I think. With an amazing mixture of grace and diplomacy, she informed us of as well as let us discover on our own, our limitations and current "dog readiness." And whlie she was at it, she managed to give us a big-time education in the subject of "bully breeds" (pit bulls, staffordshire terriers, and the like; the "fighting dogs"). I'm not going to say this very well, I think but: it seems that it comes down to this: you can say "Pit Bulls should not even exist," and perhaps be true in the sense that nobody in modern times should be breeding dogs for attack, gameness, or any of those other classic "fighting dog" characteristics. But the fact is - they do exist. Neuter and spay your pit bulls and decrease the population, certainly. But do not neglect and hate the pit bulls that are here. Dogs, above all else, want to please. They want to be what we want them to be; both as species (by breeding), and as individuals. And pit bulls are exactly as we made and wanted them to be.

If you have a chance, check out the front page for Underdog Rescue; particularly the "Our Story" section, that details the relatively brief history of the group. For pet lovers, and plain old lovers-of-human-interest-stories, it's truly inspiring. 1,500 classically "unadoptable" animals given homes in the past seven years just because one woman gave a damn. Amazing, and - beyond being the place where we will get a cat (conceivably before we get a dog, we now think) - it is now on our "short list" of charities, come donation time.

Meyer, Night One

Meyer, the 8-month old pit bull pictured in the previous post, spent the night last night, with the understanding we’re doing a little “trial foster care” to see how things go.

Meyer’s about 40 lbs, but will fill out to about 50. He’s great. He’s a dog. Pink crayon flashing in all its glory, he was a bit restless as he alternately explored his surroundings and chased his tail (he really spent a lot of time chasing his own tail, including a number of instances where he did it while sitting, which netted an effect much like watching a dog on a sit n’ spin). He’s generally pretty well behaved, and responds pretty well to the all-purpose “off,” which can refer to “off the couch,” “let go of the frisbee,” “paws down from me,” and any number of other instances.

I have concerns. Concerns about the amount of energy, effort, and time it will require to discipline this dog to the extent that a “bully breed” requires. Raising these two kids with the amount of energy & devotion we do is a full-time job and a half. There’s nights where we barely stagger to the finish line, and I’m not sure I can imagine staying on top of doggie discipline as religiously as Meyer deserves.

As much of a concern is the idea that kids under five are not to be left alone with pretty much any dog, much less a dog of this breed. Moreso because of kids’ unpredictability than dogs’. We don’t leave the room with Rose in Lucy’s care for the same reason. Lucy is a really intelligent, amazingly responsible little girl for a four year old. And it inevitably takes all of about two minutes of “sister time” for her to forget that Rose is indeed a sister, not a toy. While pit bulls are supposed to be amazing at letting kids tug, pull, play with their paws, etc. – I just don’t know if there’s any accounting for some instance where Lucy tries to jump over Meyer while he’s sleeping, and fails.

I think if Sharon & I were childless, it would be a slam dunk. As it is, we’re in a re-evaluation mode.

School Blues: Part 2

So when we last left off, Northside schools were officially "off the table," even the Montessori school. It should be noted, beyond my earlier few words about this schoolastic (and, really, lifestyle) philosophy, that my becoming aware of "the Montessori Method" was like an epiphany for me. I fell into that category of kids who, by virtue of good scores and good grades coming rather easily to me, was subject to a certain expectation that was painful to meet. I grew up amidst a gaggle of adults that assumed that, due to my scholastic achievement, naturally I should be a studious, rapt pupil in the classroom. In actuality, all my years of formal education were a nightmare. Seriously suffering from ADD, as well as forced into a situation that could not have been more opposed to my natural learning style (exploring, doing), "traditional education" was much like serving a sentence for me. Even into my early 30s, the act of sitting in a lecture hall, having a speaker ramble on (and not in the good, Led Zepplin way), was enough to drive me up a wall. But consider the (ideal) Montessori classrooom: where kids can follow their passions, learn at their own pace, explore, and do. It was a joy to see the classrooms at Lucy's school, when we first paid a visit to check it out. And, as if to confirm that she's got some daddy in her, an instructor at Lucy's first conference said, "I can't imagine Lucy in any other kind of school."

It should also be noted that, in one of our visits to Winona, we had the opportunity to check out a Montessori elementary school; indeed, the first public Montessori charter school in the nation (to give you a glimpse of the progressive nature of that little town). It was open & airy, with neatly-ordered wooden & cloth learning tools in their specific places; sun-dappled and warm. The teachers were engaging and excited about what they were doing, and the turnover rate is incredibly low. It was, in short, what we dream of for Lucy's education. So store that in your memory banks - especially Gibbs, who suggests that I "listen to the call of the Z."

So...next step: any schools "out of district" (e.g. inner ring suburbs; not too far of a drive)? Getting to this step killed a little part of me, as I pictured her going 1) to a school in a neighborhood that is not her own, alongside kids she will know only in school 2) a school that is "traditional" 3) putting the fate of her education in the hands of a school district managed by folks who (suburbs, you know) may have value systems alien to us. This may seem relatively minor, but when you consider the cultural differences that begin to emerge as you move out of the city proper (% of SUVs, size of lawns, lack of -yes -- "diversity") there's certainly going to be a certain framework within which students are directed towards being contributing members of society. Do I want a school board that votes 75% Bush, for example, making determinations on curriculum for History? An extreme example, since the inner-ring suburbs are generally not quite so out there, but you get the idea.

We did discover a Spanish immersion school in Robbinsdale (next suburb over - about 3 miles from our home). While it leaned a little closer to the traditional format of instruction, Sharon & I both believe strongly in the value of 2nd language instruction, early on in education. And there's plenty of research that supports the idea that immersion students achieve better in pretty much everything, as they continue on through middle school. Plus - when you find parents who share belief in the value of immersion in anything non-English, you're generally talking about some people with a shared value set (and one that is more or less aligned with ours). That is - opposed to the "love it or leave it"/"make English the official language" set.

UNFORTUNATELY, there is a waiting list. And if you don't live IN Robbinsdale, your name goes into a lottery. And the waiting list is of such size that they don't even get TO the lottery.

So we're out of the mix. They do have a special program in the city of Minneapolis., whereby if you're in poverty, or pretty close to it, you get equal standing with suburbian kids if you choose to go out of district. No such provisions however, as seems to be the case in almost every instance of society, for those of us in lower-middle class. God forbid kids of modest income have the same opportunity for quality education that those of low income. Not to get all arrogant here, but wouldn't you think the City of Lakes would be very concerned with keeping families just like ours in town? They have a funny fucking way of showing it.

Again, t(o)b(e)c(ontinued). Stay tuned for School Blues: Part 3

School Blues: Part One

45%: The percentage of elementary schools in the Minneapolis district receiving a "1" rating from the impartial www.greatschools.net (which takes a number of factors into account but weighs test scores particularly high).. That is, on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being high. If you look at the North Side of Minneapolis, that percentage jumps dramatically. Like, to 90% (and 100% for those receiving a "1" or "2."

Not a good scene for anyone wanting a quality education for their children; but a particularly sticky wicket for those of us that have a particularly high expectation to meet. Of all the educators I know (and I know a lot), there is not one who will tell you that underachieving kids from dicey backgrounds do not divert enormous amounts of energy and resources and ultimately detract from the educational experience of kids who are at the high end of the learning curve. For all my general walk & talk of being a f(here goes a gross mischaracterization of myself) ree-spending liberal who believes in throwing money at social ills - I'm not willing to let me daughter be a part of that experiment. And I'm not alone. Peers of ours, when they do exist in my part of the city (and that is rare), are sending their kids out of the district, left and right. Minneapolis Schools are in a horrible Catch-22, for obvious reasons. High achieving kids leave, schools get worse, repeat. To make matters even more challenging, Minneapolis (and St. Paul) has to accomodate the vast majority of ESL students, as well as all those "transitional" kids; the ones teachers really dread (not the kids themselves, but the situation), where kids come in halfway through the year and require catching up, then drop out a few weeks later. What do you do when you have parents who don't have a culture of placing a high value on education? Show me a teacher who can answer that. Hand-in-hand with that, what do you do when you have parents who don't realize their child's quality education starts at home?

8 Sight * So we decided to give it a chance, anyway. Our earliest research involved checking out a Public Monessori School in the (really cool, but really small) neighborhood of Bryn Mawr. On the North Side, but barely. And a "magnet school" (with free bussing from my area). Lucy's wonderful experience at Brightwater Montessori Preschool has only raised the bar of our expectations as to what an education can be like. Personally, I have a wistful "how might my own learning experience have been better with this educational philosophy?" every time I walk through the door to pick her up. We thought that the special nature of the "Montessori education" might have kept the makeup of the families somewhat exclusive to people who subscribe to the philosophy personally, but no dice. What we saw what the remnants of what appears to be a once great school, now bursting at the gills with kids that are packed in arbitrarily as year after year, more Northside Schools close, and they have to find some place to stuff more kids (as an aside, five more Northside schools are slated to close in the next year).

Our answer is/cannot be in North Minneapolis. Which opens up a new quandry. The options we're left with is: us driving WAAY out of our way to get Lucy to South Minneapolis (where a few great schools remain in some of the better neighborhoods), or home-schooling. I'm in a place that I don't think 26-year old Dan could have possibly imagined. We're considering actually moving to locate ourselves in a different school district. It's crazy. I feel creepy sometimes, almost. Like these decisions I'm considering are bordering on some sort of - not racism - but socio-economic-ism; where the reality that is borne out in the face of all the best "ideal world" scenarios of multiculturalism and diversityis that - again - I'm not going to sacrifice my daughter to an delicate icing and elf-laden grand social theory.

Just realized how long this is getting. This will require a part two.

The General vs. The General

Man: 1 The Beasts: 0

Congratulations, T-Clog.

Cop Out Post: My Netflix Queue

Not too much of a cop-out, though, as I will include a couple of thoughts as to WHY each selection is in the queue.

Three's Company: Season 1
NR
Television
Those who have known me for awhile know that I actually have a "Three's Company Phase" in my adulthood history, to go along with my "Gilligan's Island Phase" (much superior to PGibb's "Erkel Phase"). Disarming, physical slapstick humour, coupled with pleasant memories of my preteen TV viewing years, when most of the innuendos & double-entendres were lost on me. Recently, I discovered that a lot of sitcoms (Gilligan, Simpsons, etc. etc.) are based on the Italian "commedia d'el arte" style. I am seeking that style on which "Three's Company" is based, as there's obviously a formula for this type of cast.

Short Cuts
R
Drama
Often, the independent or "thinker" movies - by the time they've drifted to the top of my queue, I have trouble remembering exactly what I was thinking when I added them; just some vague notion of "boy, this is something I should see." And then I end up being not all that excited when they arrive in the mail. That said, I am rarely disappointed with the films when I see them (a recent, thoroughly enjoyable viewing of the über-indie film "Funny Ha Ha" being a very recent example). Of this one, I only remember that it is Robert Altman, and a bunch of (I think) short "tales of the city" that was pretty highly regarded when it came out; when I was working at Title Wave in 1994, all the intellectuals were renting it in droves.

Lilies of the Field
UR
Classics
Another Title Wave connection. Somehow, I remember always passing by it and being somewhat curious. I'm not going to cheat right now and look up anyone that's in it, but I have no doubt that I was excited and intrigued when I checked over the details before adding it. "Classics" are usually a pretty safe bet for me.

Suspicion
UR
Classics
Hitchcock and Joan Fontaine. And a genre that I really dig.

Husbands and Wives
R
Independent
Par for the course as I slowly work my way through the Woody Allen catalogue.

Rashomon
UR
Foreign
Saw this Antoine Kurusawa film in a college class, and really enjoyed it then. Very unique: a bunch of different witnesses to a bandit robbery/murder have very different recollections of what took place. Can't wait to see it again with my 36-year old eyes.

MST3K: The Dead Talk Back
TV-PG
Television
I'm trying to make a point of including one MST3K in every 10 movies I see. I enjoy them so.

Doctor Who: The Beginning: Disc 3
NR
Television
Caught a "Watch Now" early episode with the William Hartnell (first) Doctor. Really enjoyed it, for many of the same reasons I enjoy the original Star Trek. I am, thus, choosing to begin a long, looooooong, meandering course through the few titles that have been released on DVD.

Shadows and Fog
PG-13
Comedy
More Woody Allen. This one seems a bit in the vein of "Manhattan Murder Mystery," which I really, really enjoyed; actually on Mighty Tom's recommendation. But hmmm...I really should not have two Woody Allens within 10 of each other. I may go back in and reshuffle the queue a bit.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
UR
Classics
A film I saw during my "Westerns" semester in college. Enjoyed it then. With the context of my advanced age (ala Rashomon), I may enjoy it more, now. That French guy who said the only two original American art forms were jazz and The Western was just plain wrong, but they're certainly significant ones. And I definitely still count myself as a big fan of a well-made Western.

Remembering 44 On This Day

Through an employee auction at my work, I just scored a VHS-DVR dual deck recorder and have begun the process of bringing old video tapes: basketball games w/friends, old TCA projects from college, and (not the least) old 44 videos.

That kind of kicked me back into gear on the old tape to CD conversion I began last summer. an attempt at archiving past, taped, musical endeavors (chronicled on two consecutive posts, one sad and wistful, and one somewhat more hopeful.

Anyway - another song here from that time period where 44 was in its prime, such as that was, with artistic true-seeing constrained within the limits of twice a week practices. This is a live, practice space recording of a Dan-penned song, sometime in the spring of 1999, I See You When I Can.

I'd had the chorus running through my head for a couple of years. In the genre of songs that had to do with Sharon living far away and not being very accessible, but playfully, with a "Green Eggs and Ham" sort of idea playing itself out: "I see you when I can/I'd see you in a van/I'd see you in Japan/etc etc. Couldn't get any farther than that. Then I decided to pursue an idea I'd always wanted to try - as a lark, but it seemed to work. Using the chord progression - literally - of A, B, C, D, E. You hear this at the beginning and we return to it a couple of more times. Gibbs wrote the freaky stalker sort of words at the very end, which I embraced within this song which was more just a fun departure than any true expression of feelings. Also - in an "I buried Paul" sort of moment, with a close listen in the final chorus, you might just catch something that sounds like "I eat my sausage from a can."

Recording is with a single mic on a regular old tape deck, so there's no accounting for quality - but I think it sounds like a band having fun. Hopefully, you can spare five minutes, and hopefully you enjoy this.

I See You When I Can

Still Here

It's crazy - this is probably the longest break between posts I've had since entering the Blogosphere back in - what - 2004?

Doubly crazy; one would think I'd have more time for bloggin', as I am theoretically dialing it back a notch and taking time to be with my family for a few months and not leave Sharon with as big of the parenthood load; especially during a period of time when Rose is at such a high-needs stage of development.

But I've been tired, lately. Very tired, and in a way that is different than my chronic state of being underslept, to which I'm pretty accustomed, After a number of weeks of going to bed crazily early (for me, anyway, that means prior to 10:30 pm), I was unable to feel any more rested. Of course, the fact that I was able to drag myself to bed that early at all should have tipped me off that something was amiss. Following on the heels of this mental & physical exhaustion came a melancholy feeling, and an eerie suspicion began to grow in my mind that I was dealing with the outer fringes of some mild form of depression. No ambition to take care of even very simple household responsibilities, and minor reminders of our strained financial situation was sending my mind reeling into a black, hopeless state. What was/is the cause? Culprits:

• Work has been nuts. We're in the (long, drawn-out) process of converting over to a GIS that will benefit my future career aspirations in a great way; however, right now there is a steep learning curve plus all the development & work that goes into the actual conversion of our data & way of doing business plus my normal workload which is, of course, a full-time job. This is just exhausting me. I've been coming home and literally wanting to just drop my bag and keel over. Of course (with a 4-year old running up to me and squealing "Daddy! Daddy!"), that's not an option. Of course, Lucy's vitality is sustaining & infectious to a point, but I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't understand Ward Cleaver's need to spend a few quiet minutes when he first got home, unwinding on the friggin couch.
• Pyschologists might suggest that over the past two years, as I've been so busy, I've submerged some pretty fairly traumatic experiences with the need to keep plugging away and not missing a beat. Now that my post-daughter-bedtime evenings are consisting of noodling away on a computer while Lucy falls asleep on a chair behind me - and little else, I'm paying some emotive back taxes.
• Maybe I really DO need to be busy, and I don't know how to cope.
• Post-partum depression? Or just baby-blues?
• Lack of time with my spouse? Sharon & I have often, in our nearly 9 years of married life, been able to trace irritableness and frustration in life to our inability to find time together. That, appears to run counter to a vast majority of our society, but good for us. Bad for us, though (bad for us spending time together - not bad in the long run, we hope), is the extent to which our parenting techniques are aligned with those in the attachment parenting philosophy. It means that Rose is rarely put down, and usually "slung" by Sharon, and that Sharon's life regulated entirely by Rose's sleeping schedule and feeding habits. It was the same thing when Lucy was a baby - but Lucy didn't have a 4 year old sister vying for parental interaction. It's two on two and we're playing man to man defense, which often draws us off to opposite sides of the court. Tough to have grown up conversations, and with Rose waking Sharon up at 5:30 - 6:00 every morning (and Sharon going to bed necessarily early), we're not finding time together in the evenings, either.

So - what is it? Increasingly realizing as I grow older that we don't actually live in the black-and-white world that our president sees, I am a champion of the concept of the Nuanced World. As such, I realize that all the above factors are probably affecting me. I am actually finding motivation to turn this post out today because I've been feeling a possible change in the weather the past couple of days. I may be coming out of it, whatever it has been. Tiredness-be-damned, I've stayed up tll past midnight two nights in a row, and actually appear to be no worse for the wear. I'm operating at a high level at work (just not here, now, as I type), and feeling a little motitvated to take on a minor project or two (one that won't draw me away from home, mind you). Here's to the crack of dawn that comes to vanquish each of our own horrible nights, in our own ways.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

* Sigh * In a scene that's been all-too-familiar the past couple of years, we said goodbye to Saraki this morning.

Last night, I was fortunate to have had the opportunity share time with her, as she rested peacefully on my lap while I watched a movie. Around midnight, I carried her upstairs (something that she never would have permitted, were she in full health) to our room and set her on the bed. I then brought her a spoonful of canned cat food - which we'd been using over the past few days to entice her into actually eating. She showed great interest and gobbled it up; some kind of indication that she was feeling good enough at that point. In the morning, however, I was moderately surprised to not find her in bed. And as soon as I made my way downstairs to the living room, I found her body. She must have known "it was time" and come down there to be alone for the end - something that animals will always do if they can (I think it probably is descended from wild anscestors avoiding the troubles that would be associated with dying in a lair).

We said our tearful goodbyes this morning and brought her in to the vet. I took the morning off and Sharon & I reminisced at the coffee shop, during which time our conversation actually turned towards, "OK, so when are we going to get our next dog?" And a very lucky dog it will be.

The picture below is from the vigorous cat we knew about a year ago (not that she was doing all that badly up until very recently). Pre-leg amputation and living life large in a spot of sun.

Not a False Alarm and For Joy Part (?)

Seems like the end of our pets' lives are like those volcanoes that erupt one time and scare the bejeezus out of everyone in a village at the foot of the mountain. Villagers emerge from under the ash and soot, amazed that they're still alive, dusting themselves off and thanking the gods. Of course, pressurized gasses and magma have been creating a giant, growing lump on the other side of the mountain which, after a couple more weeks, explodes and vaporizes everything within 50 miles.

Saraki is now experiencing profound kidney failure (just like Kuna-i); however, she is already on heart medication which thins her blood and makes intravenous fluids not a long-term solution. In short, she's in bad shape and probably won't see the end of the week. In this instance, just like in the case of Kuna-i, the early scare gave me an opportunity to work through a lot of emotions and more or less make peace with my beloved friend's mortality. It will still be really hard for me on the day of - but not nearly as hard as it will be for Sharon, who tends to dwell and regret. Also - I don't relish watching Lucy say goodbye for the last time.

I got away from work for a couple of hours over lunch to go to nearby Hyland Park, where I enjoyed my first trail run of the year. Freakish 70-odd-degree temperatures, chorus frogs so loud I could hear them from a quarter mile away, and my own sure and silent plodding along the turf cast away the pall a bit and uplifted my spirit. Warm, sunny skies and ife in process of renewal will do that.

Speaking of life being renewed - in light of the rash of death, destruction, and calamity that has beset my little home over the past year and a half, I don't know what state I'd be in if little Rose hadn't come along to reverse the trend. And what a joyous reversal she is.

Movie Review Rondeaux: Crooklyn

Damn white people in the background
Warm, earthy streets and funky sounds
We live our lives justs scraping by
Under blue filtered glowing sky
Lots of kids living in one flat
Hit one white guy and that was that

We love each other though we fight
And steal chips though we're taught what's right
A struggle each day just for food
And dad plays jazz, so that's no good
Damn white people

Daily life of a 70s girl
Bliss in an urban jungle world
Sound as if it's lacking a plot?
Consider the appeal its got
Urban nostalgic need to meet?
Dazed and Confused, set in the streets!
Damn white people

This IS Acting: Vol. 6

Photo by Duane Atter

Movie Review Haiku: The Fog of War

30 years late, I
was Robert McNamara'd
into submission

Thanks, Mighty Tom

Well, a long-awaited visit by a close friend is over and the traditional NSE (Non-Stop Excitement), mixed with the newer MDI (Moments of Domestic Inevitability) has subsided, leaving me back in the constant roil of everyday business and routine.

I could do the usual recap, which would include specific details of our adventures and misadventures, but I will simply provide you with this shot, which pretty much sums up a particular shared joy of our time together. Tom was in the mood for Wheat Beer, and I was in the mood for Volume, so it really seemed like the things to do. At the point this picture was taken, we were probably about a gallon or so into the endeavor, so you must excuse the expressions on our faces.

Let's Not Forget Loo

Everyone always wants to know, "How's the baby?" At times, it almost seems forgotten that we have an amazing 3-year old in the house with fancy that is captured by everything under the sun and with a spark in her that burns brighter than the sun. She is a neverending source of joy, merriment, and wonder and I love her with everything I've got. So let's all not forget Loo.

Haiku Movie Review: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Something familiar
Total Recall sans guns, or
Star Trek: TNG

I Can't Help Myself

I just keep acting.

Actually, the truth is that we were trying to cast someone a little older, a little rougher around the edges (appearance-wise, anyway), for the part of Garcin in Sartre's 'No Exit.' Unfortunately, a few people we reached out to didn't pan out; and, in the whirlwind world of once-a-month Reader's Theatre productions, we just ran out of time. And so, for young Dan of Waterloo, opportunity knocked.

I really did try to find other people to fill the role, and I really did intend to slow down a bit and let the world catch up to me. But I'd be lying if I said the opportunity to really stretch myself into a role in which not only didn't I see myself, but I wasn't even sure how to approach. Now, I'm gaining confidence by the readthrough, and having a blast.

Of course, I'm doing this in and amidst also producing the show, and making preparations for an upcoming guitar/vocal stint this Saturday for friend & music teacher Krista (performing dual role of Lennon & McCartney, accompanying a number of her students in a "favorite Beatle song" recital).

In any event, I hit the stage again next Friday.

Cat Update

So, this is nuts. They brought Saraki back in on Friday, rolling her over onto her other side so she could inflate that one lung. I thought she had a collapsed lung as a serious medical condition. I guess if a cat is laying just right, their lungs can just simply "collapse." Part of the whole twisty, bendy, malleable physiology that is one of earth's odder creatures. Well - and this is the part that's nuts (and also another odd characteristic of feline physiology) - whatever the black mass was that they saw; it's now pretty much cleared up.

The explanation? "Cats can do that." They can, apparently, alternately hide and fake the most serious medical issues. So, we've got her back on an additional, second, medication; one that she'd been on shortly after she was diagnosed with a heart condition about a year ago, and her breathing is down to about 20/minute, which is well within normal parameters. Is it still possible that there's something very, very wrong that's still going on and that it's going to rear its head in the next few weeks? The only ways to find out more conclusively what's going on in her body are C.A.T. Scan (for which cats get no discount - I checked), or ultrasound-guided aspiration biopsy. And, at this point, that's not somewhere (financially, or in terms of what our 7 pound, three-legged cat with a heart condition can handle) even the Hyltons are willing to go.

She seems happy & companionable and we're going to continue to enjoy her company for as long as we can.