Camp Was Had, Cave Was Explored, Ass Was Kicked

Let me start by saying "Forestville is a fantastic state park and I can't wait till I get back there!" Beautiful trails and rugged, forested hills; fascinating historical sites, and the lovely Root River, meandering throughout. And I saw none of it.

That's not exactly true, as we camped about 50-60 ft from the river, and had wonderful views of both it and the surrounding hills, without going more than a few feet outside of our actual site. Which is good. Cause we didn't. A comedy of errors (not the least of which was heading out of the Twin Cities on 35-W, rather than 52), led to us not arriving till right around 5:00 Friday evening (after Sharon picking me up from work at 1:00). Right about time to get cracking on setting up camp and getting food going.

Rumination: Time was, when Sharon & I used to camp as a childless couple, where all equipment we needed was kept in two bins, and an extra handful of items was either included or excluded, depending on the season. Now, with a four-year old and an under-one year old, we have to start planning what we're going to pack and what we must not forget at least three days in advance. Whatever metric is used to determine that change in getting ready time since the old days; well it is also used for activities that occur within camp.

Nothing is ever "OK, you get food going, I'll set up the tent."

Lucy, God Bless Her, has really got the routine down. She knows why she's there, what needs to be done, and how to help.

But the addition of Rose, as both a distraction to

Lucy and her parents, as well as being a force of reckoning in her own right, has changed our experience towards that of challenge. I don't know how much more I can say about that. Words fail me. Anyway, by the time all was indeed set up and food was consumed, night was falling.

Once Sharon was able to get Rose down, we had a wonderful evening.

It was actually kind of wild, how both evenings (pleasantly cool, wonderfully quiet, Lucy re-discovering the art of cuddling), and both mornings (frazzled, desperate attempts to gather ourselves and get on the way to wherever we were headed) seemed to follow the same pattern. The "X Factor" was Rose going zonking out at 7:00 pm and waking up at about 6:00 am.

Saturday morning, as soon as the frazzled company was able to get out & about, we actually headed down the road about five miles to hit the "Mystery Cave" portion of Forestville/Mystery Cave.

Despite "Turquoise Lake" being disappointingly small (no Dawn Treader-style watercraft being piloted by giant sea monkeys gliding off towards distant, subterranean horizons, unfortunately), it was a pretty amazing tour filled with all kinds of fascinating cave facts.

After that, it was a quick change into running gear and off to Eagle Bluff to meet up with The Bear for the purpose of scaring off small game in a 10 mile radius and setting the world on fire in what turned out to be the most insane 5k race I have ever run. T-Clog had the benefit of being familiar with the place and, thus, being able to match pre-race map to reality during the run. I, on the other hand, kept wondering if I was close to the end or not; indeed, once screaming to a guy about a city block ahead of me, "HEY, IS THIS ABOUT IT UP HERE?" The picture to the left is actually of me finishing (I actually finished 7th overall, which may be about the highest place I have ever had in any race, ever - though it should be noted that it was about the smallest field against which I have ever competed).

Both T-Clog & I both did what we set out to do and congratulated one another with many hi-fives and a photo op with our hard-earned cedar ring finisher medals. (Behind us, you see the bottom of a 300-foot valley we ascended and descended twice during the run).


After the festivities wrapped up, it was back to Forestville State Park and our campsite which, for that evening and the next morning, was pretty much a repeat of our previous evening & morning combo.


An arrangement Sharon & I made a couple of years ago was that each of us (when we're camping with kids) would have the opportunity to have solo trail time while the other "ran defense." Again, if it was just Lucy, it'd be a wonderful nature exploration and bonding experience. With Rose on the scene, and a world of pebbly, chokable hazards (and in my case, a lack of breasts); time with the kids is pure "Playing Defense." For me, "trail time" is invariable a trail run. For Sharon, it is a birding, nature journaling hike. And that is what she got Sunday morning before we left. We were just coming off a tear and defiance-filled morning, so on my recommendation, we just packed up and dropped Sharon off at a trailhead near the edge of the State Park. I then drove both kids eight miles into the town of Preston and just hung out at a park where Lucy could amuse herself while I focused on Rose for awhile. Then it was back to pick up Sharon and then up to MSP.

Just as a result of the business of the remainder of our Fall and the obvious, following, Winter; we probably won't camp again with Rose till she's about 18 months old. And that's good. There's just something about some level of sentience that a kid goes through somewhere between a year and two years. It was the case with Lucy, anyway. At 18 months, or two years or somewhere around there, a child can be on a camping trip and get what they're doing. They can still be a handful, but they know where they are, why they're there, and generally what is expected of them. Rosie - sharp girl though she is - is pretty much stimulus/response at this point. Maybe the better way to put it is that a 10-month old is not really seeing "the big picture."

addendum: I just remembered one other highlight from the trip. Barred owls were going nuts. Both evenings and even in the following mornings, they were going crazy, hooting and responding to each other in a way that I've never heard. There was one particular stretch, in the middle of the first night, when Sharon & I were both awakened, and just couldn't believe it as we listened to this group going at it in trees surrounding our campsite. Here is an MP3 I made with my little player (which is also a voice recorder, I find), as I headed off a little path next to the river, trying to get closer to the bluffs where they were hooting (more distantly, unfortunately), the next morning. You may need headphones, and to turn them up a bit, to hear the owls and not just my footfalls and breathy narration.
http://media.putfile.com/Barred-Owls-Forestville-State-Park

Small Game Beware

The Bear and the Panther are on the loose.

The Hylton clan is heading down to Forestville/Mystery Cave State Park for Friday and Saturday night, with the intention of driving up to Eagle Bluff (about 10 miles away) for me to run the race Saturday afternoon. T-Clog, a little allergy-induced dropoff notwithstanding, will be testing the results of one of his finest periods of sustained cariovascular exercise regimines; and experience the thrill of being part of a pack of sweaty humans, bounding through the woods to the cheers and encouragement of onlookers (including Sharon, Lucy, and Rose). Personally, I don't do all that many 5k runs these days. For me, running for time rather than as a test of endurance, it's the most painful of all races. To get a good time, I need to head out at an uncomfortably fast pace, feeling herky & jerky and not into the flow, and sustain it for 20-21 greuling minutes (longer on a trail, I'm sure; I've actually never done a 5k trail race). In a longer race (10 mile, 25k, etc.), I can ease into my race pace as my body warms up over the first few miles. I've been told that I should run a mile or two to warm up my body for a 5k, but I've never really been able to bring myself to do it, thinking that I'm just going to need every ounce of energy I have for the run itself. Anyway, in the shadow of T-Clog's training is the relatively quiet reality that I, myself, am still in the midst of one of my own "longest sustained cardiovascular exercise regimines." My experiment with the health club at work began on June 9 and I'd have to say I'm still averaging five workouts a week. In recent times, with this race (and actually another race or two) looming, many of my "elliptical" workouts have given way to running over lunch and during the weekend at home. It's not been totally running-specific training, overall; so I really don't know how to guage my "running-shape," per-se; but I can say that I think I'm in about the best overall physical condition since my marathon training days. I am highly curious to put it all to the test.

I'm also looking forward to the camping. It definitely adds an element of challenge (or jsut subtracts an element of R&R), camping with a < 1 year old. Lucy's at an age of curiousity, exploration, and capabilities where almost all experiences shared with are are universally joyful. Rose, however much she may enjoy the fresh air and millions of curious new things to see, is going to need constant supervision. Especially being a lot more mobile & driven to try and stick things in her mouth than was Lucy at that age.

Forestville/Mystery Cave Park is a natural area wth multiple dimensions. I think it has the highest usage by any state park by campers on horseback. It also has some pretty fine trout streams and the wildly varied topo that is common in SE Minnesota. But the two things that really set it apart from most other MN state parks are a restored frontier town with living history presenters (Forestville), and the 12th (not sure about that stat - it's somewhere around there) largest cave in North America. 12+ miles of underground passages that have yet to all be explored, and remain at a constant 48 degrees year-round (it'd be an awesome place to camp in mid-summer). We'll be taking a one hour tour that encompasses quite a bit but apparently is hilighted with a sighting of a transluscent turquoise lake. It almost sounds a little too close to my recent Jules Verne experience for comfort. If we run into any giant lizards with sails glued on their backs, I'm outta there.

rock on, Bear!

O Me of Little Faith

Wonderful, thoughtful program on Dick Gordon's (NPR) program, The Story, on a Christian religion reporter for the LA Times who, through the course of covering the church came to such horrifying revelations about the amount of corruption in modern religion that it led him to question his own faith. Not to be missed by thinking men.

It's crazy - so soon after seeing Ivanhoe and its references to the same institutionally corrupt Cathlolic church that enacted the Inquisition, here we are in the 21st century with a (still disgracefully undercovered by the media) Catholic priest sexual abuse scandal in the midst of a church leadership that willfully covered up the truth and an entire denomination (for the most part) in a tremendous amount of self-delusion and denial. And the condoning and lack of outcry by "mainstream" clergy over televangelists & faith healers and their continual preying on a gullible (and often financially vulnerable) public? Ah, how little has really changed.

And, as I look about at the state of the world's "great" religions - specifically, the ones of the monotheistic variety, war, war, hate, hate, war, war, hate.

Most of my Christian aquaintances would probably advise me that the various failings of the church around the world are failings of men, not of God. But as William Labdell (the reporter in the program) reasons, aren't these God's institutions? For them to fail so miserably in carrying out God's will? One must begin to question whether this remains God's chosen vehicle at this point, anyway. Religion is a failure. Whether it be of God's design or man's.

I continue to have spiritual moments and a general regard for some sort of unifying oneness. But it's hard for me not to think that's not just so much hopefulness. And as for religion? I think I'd have to check "none of the above."

Ivanhoe & Shadows and Fog

Watched Ivanhoe:
Wow. In this 6-hour epic (originally a BBC-filmed miniseries, I think), I got caught up in a way I have not in a long, long time. A lot of it had to do with the gloriously long and detailed character and plot development; the sort of thing that would make Hollywood executives cringe. As I think I mentioned to Mixdorf, this film had all the wonderful setting and exposition of the first Lord of the Rings movie, with none of the cheap one-liners and plot conventions of the third. This type of historical fiction I really dig, to begin with; as it is set in the same end-0f-the-3rd crusade world as Robin Hood, with (an admittedly idealized version of) King Richard returning to England to reclaim the throne from his treacherous brother, John. In the midst of all the complex characters & storyline, never fear; there's plenty of villainy for Ivanhoe to overcome, from John to the corrupt Knights Templar, and Norman nobility in general. One thing that was kind of funny - the running time was listed on one of the two discs as 150 minutes, which I was expecting for the length of the entire movie. At the end of two nights of two+ hour viewing, I was like "What the hell is going on here?" Of course, I was enjoying the whole thing, so I was actually joyful when I discovered "Oh.....that's the running time for disc one!" Anyway, 5 Netflix stars.

Also watched Shadows and Fog:
This Woody Allen film was a lot more of a cinematic effort (as opposed to a plot & dialogue exploration) than the majority of his films. The whole thing is set in a very m00d-enducing black and white, often through, yes, a fog and often in a very low contrast. It was actually kind of refreshing that it was difficult to see people even moving around during many of the night scenes (as opposed to in most movies, where it's obvious that the sun is shining during the "night" scenes, and they're just using some crazy filter). Definitely adds all the more to the creepiness of the story, which is bascially the W.A. character being summoned by a vigilante group out into the night to help entrap a serial strangler, but then being left totally on his own to wander the streets. Appearances by a crazy number of name actors and some unexpected plot developments add ineterest to the whole experience, even as things plod along a little, at times. This would be a classic 3 1/2 stars for me, if that option was available on Netflix. It's not, so I'd say it's a little closer to a 4 than a 3.

Bad Film Hat Trick

Saw: Journey to the Center of the Earth
1963 screen adaptation of the Jules Verne classic becomes another contributing factor to the nagging suspicion that I may be losing the soft spot in my heart for the campy 60s. A collection of one-dimensional characters I care nothing about thrown into a disjointed storyline with plot holes galore are definitely not overcome by what is, admittedly, a pretty dazzlingly colorful backdrop. Not recommended. 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.

Saw: Dr. Who: In the Beginning
First set of episodes (you know - the Dr. Who's, as I discover, are produced as a series miniseries), including the original pilot episode, which introduces the characters of the Doctor, his granddaughter, and the two science teachers, and follows their adventure as they are thrown backwards into time to witness, and become involved with, a series of cavemen with British accents discovering fire. I was really looking forward to this. Unfortunately, the crappy writing, trite storyline, and marginal acting left me really flat. Really. Another knock on the campy 60s. Also, 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.

Saw: MST3K: The Dead Talk Back
Saw this with a friend, while somewhat inebriated. The potential would seem to have been there, with a mad scientist who solves crimes after creating a radio that can talk to the dead. Unfortunately, the crew was either not up to their usual standards of excellence or else the raw material just wasn't there. For whatever reason - I did not enjoy this one nearly as much as I usually do. I have yet to meet the man or woman who enjoys MST3K as much as I. But this one was a mere 3 of 5 Netflix stars.

Where Did You Leave Your Heart?

Discussion.

A Quick Read and Last Stand for the 19" Sharp

Read Montessori Insights for Parents of Young Children: This longish book/booklet was recommended to all parents of students at Lucy's school, as it covers pratical ways of creating a Montessori environment in the home; both as a way to supplement and support what's going on in the classroom, as well as to foster an environment generally conducive to learning. I'm not going to go on one of my personal parenting philosophy rants I may have been guilty of a couple of years ago, but I will simply say that, for anyone considering having kids, I would highly recommend at least exploring the Montessori method (really, as much about lifestyle and philosophical choices as an academic program), and the ideas behind sensitive periods of learning and the absorbent mind. I hope the terminology doesn't make it sound like Scientology or anything. It's all stuff that seems very intuitive (to me). It's just been nice to discover an entire system of learning seemingly designed around my personal beliefs and value system. Plus, it's nice whenever I can learn about some of the psychological and scientific theory behind the philosophy. It's a subject I'd be very happy to speak more about with anybody, in person. Or feel free to borrow the book.


Watched Bourne Supremacy: Alas, this was pre-new TV. What can I say? This is not the sort of movie I am normally drawn to, but it's a type I can certainly get drawn into. A couple of friends (friends that are "a couple") invited us over for a movie watching a year or two ago, and Bourne Identity was the feature in play. It was good. Really good, in fact; though I got the sneaking suspicion that there's about a dozen or so movies that come out every year that don't differ a whole heck of a lot from that formula. You know: Espionage. Blow-ups. Secret CIA missions so complex you know our bumbling government agencies couldn't possibly be capable of such machinations is real life. Anyway, the sequel (Bourne....SUPREMACY!!! Effing-YEAH!) is more of the same. Also very riveting, and very well done. Not much more to add than that. Four stars on Netflix.

Also Watched: Rashomon: Beautifully shot, a bit sluggishly paced. Storyline (five versions of the "truth;" who do you believe?) was perhaps groundbreaking in it's day, but I did not find that it stood the test of time as well as I'd hoped. As well as I'd even remembered, even; as I did see the film in college and remembered liking it quite a bit. This was the last film I saw on the old TV - I would love to have seen that stark and haunting cinematography on the New Widescreen, but we all want lots of things we can't have.

In the Can

OK, this one was done in about two hours today. It was actually easier, as there was only the merest skeleton of a guide as to how the music would go. I was pretty much free to do whatever the Hell I wanted to do within the context of the lyrics (again, by Valerie) and the idea it was to be a duet by two Work House inmates involved in the original building of the (now) historical TB Hospital. I took that to mean it would be something you'd expect to see in a modern musical.

Click here to listen to 'In-the-Can'

Mississlonely

Guitar chords transcribed, all parts performed & recorded, song mixed, CD burned all in about three hours.

My theatre company is making our annual appearance at Mississippi Heritage Day, and our dramaturg, Valerie, penned some lyrics to be sung to the tune of "Mr. Lonely," by Bobby Vinton. Sharon (in sparkly, blue wig and long flowing blue gown) will be portraying The Mississippi River and singing a karoke version of this recording on Sept. 28.

For now, I threw in some vocals as a guide.

Much fun, as doo-wop is near and dear to my heart. But also one of my most productive, intensive, slapdash nights of recording ever; showing what one is capable of with a simple thing like a real deadline.

Click here to hear 'Mississlonely'

"High" Sierra

Watched: High Sierra

Wasn't I recently talking about the "non-classic" movie? Sort of the way one might refer to "imperfect man."

Well, this Humphrey Bogart stinker survived through the years in spite of its sketchy premise, and a combination of bad acting and badly written dialog that had to haved seemed square and out-of-touch even in 1941. It had to have. Bogart, in his first starring role, still appears at least two and a half times the age of one of his two romantic interests, and is utterly unbelievable as a streetwise ex-con. Of course, the couple of ne'er-do-wells he hooks up with for a heist make guys that played crooks on Andy Griffith look like the entourage of Pacman Jones.

It might be worth it for you to catch this movie if you want to brush up on your Mystery Science Theatre 3000 "skewering skills," but other than that, don't waste your time.

Small Miracles

There is an old joke about a guy who is on top of his house with flood waters rising all about. A man in a rowboat happens by and asks the man to climb aboard. He replied, "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." Next, a helicopter passes overhead and drops him a rope ladder. "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." And so on and so forth. Of course, the guy drowns. Up in heaven, he asks God why he didn't save him and God replies, "What's the matter with you? First I sent you a boat, then I sent you a helicopter...."

I forget what, exactly, was this impetus for this - perhaps a series of discussions Sharon & I had about how people tend to make their own luck - but Sharon decided, a little under a month ago (when we were facing out latest monetary crisis of realizing all of the water supply pipes in our house will need replaced), that she would stop sort of wafting through life, reacting to disaster and challenge as they arose, but instead begin actively seeking out 'miracles,' with a goal of a miracle a day. Mind you - this is not 'miracle' in the religious sense, though maybe the cosmic sense. And some would be as small as discovering Minnesota-grown apples on sale for $1.19/lb, but miracles on a larger scale would certainly be welcome, and even expected.

So far, it seems to have been an unqualified success. A lot of minor tribulations of life seem to be sorting themselves out, but the crowning achievement of 'miracles' has been what's going to happen with Lucy's $485 month tuition for school, which starts next month: Sharon has been hired on again to do a monthly naturalist program for $100 a shot (knocking tuition cost cown to, effectively, $385/month). We just also just made our last payment on the Saturn (minus another $129 - down to $256). Then, the biggest 'miracle' of all: in the spirit of this new endeavor, Sharon actually filled out a need-based scholarship application & submitted it to the school. Exceeding our wildest expectations, they granted us a $135/month scholarship. Essentially, we have to find a way to come up with $121 beyond what we were finding in the budget through the majority of the summer. We can totally do that.

Thank heavens for small miracles.

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