Valentine's Day

This past weekend. The first opportunity Sharon & I have had to get away for the evening since before the actual Valentine's Day. In one sense, it's not as bad as it sounds. I've had the opportunity to be away many nights for theatre-related stuff, and once to hang out with a friend. And Sharon has been taking a weekly Pilates class, and just last week attended workshop on rain gardens.

But a chance to get away together - ah, there's the rub. It had all the makings of an evening for which our sights were set way too high...

We'd planned to go down to the West Bank (University of Minnesota West Bank), see eat Indian food, then see a play. We got down there and got Indian food in our bellies all right, but both realized we were so exhausted we were going to be battling sleep if we tried to sit through any sort of two-hour form of passive entertainment. It was sunny & cheery out (still only 6:30 or so by that time), and since we were only a couple of blocks from crossing over 35W (and two blocks south of the historic bridge collapse), I suggested we do a river walk down one side of the Mississippi, cross the Stone Arch Bridge , and back up the other side to check out the reconstruction efforts for the I35W bridge.

It ended up being a glorious two hour walk, with a lot of new redevelopment sights to see with in the Guthrie Theatre area. We were down there last year to go to a nearby farmer's market, but didn't get upstream & downstream quite so far. It's quite an amazing little area of riverfront; something Minneapolis should be quite proud of, and something I'd recommend to visitors to my city. You could definitely spend a whole day just wandering down along one side of the river and up the other, if you really took time to digest the various pieces of history and maybe took in an attraction such as the Mill City Museum.

As it was, the only couple of places we stopped were once on the Stone Arch Bridge (recent days of heavy rainfall had made for a spectacularly powerful St. Anthony Falls, with huge, white, rolling waves and a fine mist drifting down from the falls at least a half mile or so), and on the Cedar Ave Bridge for views of the construction. If you haven't checked up links thus far, do check out the first one, above, to see our proximity to I35W. Literally, you're a hundred or so feet over from all the work, and it was quite a sight to see. This massive concrete columns where shifts of workers are toiling 24 hours a day to create a marvel of first-world civil engineering. They're not going to screw this bridge up.

Anyway - they have actually created a pedestrian & bike lane over Cedar Ave, where I do not believe there was one before - just to accomodate folks wanting to get a look at the work, replete with historic marker-type signs indicating exactly what's going on. Stuff like the fact that this bridge is going to have one arch that spans the entire 504 feet of the river (no columns in the water!), and in the arch during that stretch, there will be 150 row beam segments, each weighing between 150 and 200 tons. Cool, mind-blowing stuff like that.

After the bridge, we headed over to the Freight House for coffee & a treat, where we hung out for a couple of hours. It's worth noting that there was a really cool series of paintings there by a guy named (I think) Alex Pederson. Unfortunately, I can't find anything out about him on the web. But the whole series depicted Sasquatch in various settings in and around Minneapolis, and were all really well done. T-Clog would have loved it.

Anyway - though we remained sleepy at the conclusion of the evening, our batteries were charged.

Exibit A

Subjects characterized by precipitous mood swings, calm and peaceful at one moment, wtih fits of almost psychotic rage the next.

A way to think of a house with a five-year-old and one-and-a-half-year-old in it is something like the British considered their mental institutions in the late 1800's.

So much so, that I've started occasionally referring to Lucy and Rose as "the mental patients." Only in the company of Sharon, of course. And now you.

The New Media

Music composed & performed by yours truly.

Tot-Couteur and My Thoughts Again on the Future

My family went out last night to see Mrs. Pigglewiggle at the Children's Theatre, which is an amazing institution - widely regarded at the premier one of its kind in the country. A special birthday gift for Lucy - we really love the ephemeral kind that ends up taking up shelf space only in your memories.

About a thousand people were in attendance, the production value was sky-high - quite spectacular, really, and a wonderful time was had by all. So here you have it; within a span of 10 days, my family experiencing both ends of the spectrum: the bad (if not the worst) and the good that is Urban Living.

Lucy, through her school and with her family, is getting exposed to such a wide array of experiences - and for that, I am so happy for her. Thus far, there's not any one activity she is particularly hooked on that couldn't be done on the backyard swing, snuggling on the couch, or at the kitchen table. So no ballet classes, soccer camps, or piano lessons for the time being; which is totally fine by us. But she knows there's a larger world out there and that's good enough for now.

On a side note - but related to the Children's Theatre: damn. damn damn damn. I was struck with such an intense feeling of "I should be doing that"/"I belong up there on that stage," that it still had a pretty strong hold on me after the show, while we were driving home with Lucy asleep in the back seat. I was waxing a little regretful at the childless years I didn't spend pursuing this particular field, and having those feelings mix wtih those of a growing restlessness my current "career," and Sharon reminded me that it's never too late. I couldn't pin her down on specifics, but we both tend to believe, quite unscientifically, that things happen for a reason. She wonders if my simultaneous growing unrest and re-inspiration in pursuing a future in the arts aren't totally unrelated. Perhaps more on that later.

Victimized!

I would be remiss if I did not mention that we suffered the assholery of a car break-in last weekend.

Having lived 10 years in my current neighborhood as of this August, this is the first time we have experienced any crime upon our property; and, in the big scheme of things, this may have been as the result of me being a bit lazy. I'd finished doing some work in the garage (building some wood storage hanging units from the rafters), and just elected not to park the car in the garage. I left the stereo face on, and come CDs visible in a compartment between the front seat and in a visor sleeve. All of it added up to be, it seems, too irresistable a target for some ne'er-do-well who must've been out wandering in the dark, early hours of the A.M.

When I woke up last Monday morning and went out to the car, the driver's front window had been bashed in. The fool (for fool it was) had knocked out the vent unit above the stereo, but was unable to get the stereo. They had then ripped off the mirror I use to check on the well-being of my children in their carseats, then wrenched off the visor to get the CDs in it (rather then just unvelcro-ing the thing, which would have been easier and probably faster.

Considering they were hell-bent on doing everything in the most destructive manner possible, I incurred a surprisingly small amount of expense in this all. Actually, nothing at all, so far. Glass was totally covered. Vent console popped right back in. Visor has not been replaced, but that'll be pretty cheap at U-Pull-R-Parts, I would think. The only real "loss" (beyond my sense of innocence), was the CDs. Actually, only one pre-recorded CD, and the rest, home recordings.

If it hadn't been for the irreplaceable nature of the home recordings, it'd have made me smile to think of the look on the guy's face when he checked out his haul: Bird of Minnesota double CD set, a recording of the "Versati Scenes" from The Underpants I had for going through my lines, and at least three CDs of me playing acoustic guitar.

The End of an Era (yay!)

That does it for that.

This is all the more remarkable, since Sharon quit her job 17 months ago, and we've been making due with about $15,000 less in yearly take-home pay ever since. In a nickel-and-dime sense, I could list a few things we've been doing to cut back, but I honestly am at a loss for our ability to have paid off about $6,000 of credit card debt in just over a year.

Chaos Theory

It's late - maybe going to ramble on this, but...

The world is being run by advertisers.

Think a minute about how products are marketed - they are qualitatively defined, the full measure of truth and information about them are strategically sliced down to a brief space of time/space, and they are funded so as to be an ubiquitous reminder of what you should believe. Likely, this has had a lot more to do with our various associations and feelings about the products we buy than we - even we who would consider ourselves skeptics - would like to admit.

But what about what we understand about how the rest of the world works? Like "Directors of Brand Management" in the world of advertising, there are a lot of people pulling the strings in the much bigger and scarier world outside of product placement that stand only lose as a result of a wider dissemination of knowledge. Open up Yahoo! randomly and count the number of news stories suggesting you should be frightened of something (that you actually realize is statistically less of a threat than being hit by lightning), and then the number of "news" stories that are actually recounting events that transpired on a reality TV show from the previous night. What does this say about our appetite for information that puts us in greater touch with the world that affects us and those we should care about? Further, where does this seem to be leading us, as a people?

In a best case scenario (and a sad, sad "best case scenario" this is), this simply suggests that the masses are asses and tend to consume at the lowest common denominator. What I fear is that it's a concerted effort: Knowledge is power, and knowledge by everybody slows things down. When we're out of the loop; when we're kept fearful and frantic, or confounded to the point of apathy; or unable to distinguish between a genuine source of information or a unique selling proposition; that's when bastards could really make hay, couldn't they? That's when one of those qualitative, classic advertising pitches could really catch fire.

Furthermore...

In addition to not being able to abide bottled water, I cannot/will not abide getting hot tea at a coffeeshop.

For whatever reason - I rarely (rarely!) am able to make coffee at home that is as good as coffee in a coffee shop. And I have yet to figure out exactly why (it may be because of the temperature of the water when it is being brewed).

But tea! C'mon! Order a green tea at Caribou and they give you a cup of hot water and a tea bag. And charge you about $2.

I've said all I need to say.

The Daddy Daughter Day

We held off a day to wait for the weather to improve before taking a special birthday daddy-daughter day. Many more activities occurred, of course, but I had a camera along only for our exploits at French Regional Park and a stop for games & smoothies at Caribou on the way home.

Select shots below (I think I formatted these as "enlargeable").

Holy Cow...5

Lucy will be 5 tomorrow morning. Wow.

Beyond all the standard "where has the time gone" feelings, I am awash with a feeling of pride in my daughter, and a general sense of satisfaction in a job well done, so far.

I will also note that - though the transition from infancy to toddler was momentuous (pure stimulus-response to exploring boundaries, helpless to almost dangerous, non-talking to talking), the transition Lucy has gone through over the past year and a half - that of toddler to that of little girl - has been more amazing to witness. Here, anyway, is the entire progression over the past five years, encapsulated in five simple photos:

Lucy at 1. With an unfortunate shrunken-headed Easter Bunny.

Lucy at 2. Taking tea and toasting "To London!" and "To Monkeys!"

Lucy at 3. In front of the space heater.

At 4. With friend Riley and the best children's story reader in the world.

Lucy at 5. Curses! Do I really not have any pictures of me with her in the past month? Anway, here's her demonstrating some of her work at a recent visit I made to her school.

Happy Birthday, little girl!

(wakka wakka) I am Gandalf, and He is ME!!!

For quite some time, I've been looking forward to Lucy's 5th birthday (next Tuesday) as being her first major introduction to the world of Middle Earth; namely, with a viewing of the Rankin & Bass animated "classic," The Hobbit. Before the actual viewing, though, I wanted to sit down & do a parental pre-screening of the content.

What I remembered was a cute little hobbit running around and some nice songs. What I saw was some crazy-ass animation over a soundtrack with half the songs sounding like they were written and performed by Art Garfunkel, and the other half sounding like the people who put the music together for The Electric Company. The setting is the middle ages, but all I could think was: 1977, man.

With the exception of the Art Garfunkel-inspired songs, the whole thing was pretty dark, and the relatively simple message of the actual The Hobbit was buried in some pretty clumsy retelling of a lot of the individual escapades Bilbo weathers on his way towards The Lonely Mountain. Then there's the old thing (blogged, or at least spoken about before) about these far-eastern animators needing to brush up on their Western history, as they are drawing middle-ages-era people wearing sandles and robes; more The Ten Commandments than The Lord of the Rings. When the adventuring party came upon the men at Lake Town, I thought they'd stumbled across The Masada.

Alas - I may try to come across some of the movie stills on the web and do a dramatic retelling of the story via Powerpoint, with my own words and explanations. Then, read the book a couple of years down the line.

Samantha Powers Was Right

Hillary Clinton IS a monster.

It's become a ridiculous charade: what will each new day bring? Will Hillary be making a "heartfelt" gesture of calling for party unity and a positive campaign? Or will she be making some new out-of-left-field, unsubstantiated charge against the Obama campaign? Hillary, just stop. Not because I worry about the divisiveness of a protracted primary campaign, but because you are starting to act like the mean-spirited, tactless political schemester your opponents have always accused you of being.

Besides, you are becoming as annoying as André Rieu.

I'm Not Paid to Write the Lyrics (and a public plea)

Anyone who follows my musical career (by choice, or incidentally), knows that tunesmithing is almost tantalizingly easy for me, but that writing lyrics is an unbelievable drag. I've written words to many songs that I'm pretty happy with, in retrospect (for the most part, songs post-college), but if anyone (outside Gibbs & Sharon) had any idea the extent to which I struggle, painfully, to get my thoughts coalesced into a non-cheesy, lyrical form, you would be amazed that I ever managed to finish anything at all.

The worst part of it is that, especially these days, inspiration is fleeting. The motivation to go down into the basement comes and goes (and is mostly gone). I need to be able to seize those golden moments and hammer the inspiration into reality. What's maddening is that I don't struggle for words at all in almost any other writing endeavor. But it is what it is. Just a bit ago, Sharon gave me a spate of time free to go down into the basement to sit down with pen & paper to come up with some words to got with this new song I'm writing - a song I'm more excited about (the musical basis, and the chorus) than any I've had cooking in recent memory: My Friends, the Brits. But here I am, an hour an a half later, with nothing to show for my time but some frustrated scribbling and my last free daylight hours for at least the next week or two flushed down the toilet. I have enough of an artistic sense to know really, really good words when I see them. And everything I was putting down on paper today was not it.

What to do? I can no longer waste any more time, especially when I am currently riding a wave of motivation to record. I must call on an old friend - my favorite lyricist (right up there with Paul Simon): P. Gibb! I need you! Please, will you write the words for My Friends, the Brits? Just based on the title alone, I think you know where I'm headed with this, but let's connect on the phone and talk it through a bit more (that is, if you think you're up to the task).

The struggling-with-lyrics thing; a significant enough issue in my life that I think a blog is long overdue. The public plea was something I thought I'd do for fun. But I am serious about it. Everyone else can watch this artistic collaboration come together first hand, and maybe even shed a wistful tear (or any kind of tear) thinking about the musical history of Pat & Dan.

February Movie Recap

(still in the wake of my reading of Dracula this past fall, my vampire movie research continues)
Bram Stoker's Dracula
1992
Rating: 7
Surprisingly faithful to the novel (hence title), however, cinematography was dolled up to the point of being downright distracting.. Some fine performances excepting that of Keanu Reaves, who was in way over his head here.

Clerks
1994
Rating: 7
Points for ambitious concept and ability to roll through a one and a half hour parade of goofballs interacting with convenience store clerks. Some genuinely hysterical moments, some groaners. Still trying to get my head around whether the crappy acting was at all intentional or just an aspect of the exceedingly low production value.

Sisters

A twelve-month retrospective

Sisters

Wirelessless

So, the recap:

The guy from Wireless Minneapolisvisited yesterday morning and the long & short of it is that our weak signal was unrelated to the Vonage issue. Doing a test run on an antenna outside our house got us a super strong signal; however we were still unable to get the phone to operate normally, to the utter mystification of the tech. I have a theory that, since we were relatively early adopters of Vonage, we are working with something like a 1st-generation modem, without some of the bulit-in quality assurance technology, and that it is unable to comprehend the varying signal that is through-the-air. I could have potentially worked through Vonage to try and get an updated modem, but I'm not sure the extra hassle (extra days without phone service, and trying to work out something so Comcast didn't terminate our existing contract in the meantime) was worth a gamble on a theory based on nothing buy nearly undeducated speculation.

Wireless Minneapolis may roll out a package option to include internet phone sometime in another year or so. If so, I'm back in the game.

January Movie Recap

Thought I'd take a cue from Mixx and start offering up movie thoughts - recapping a given month's viewings in a single post . It'll be pretty easy, as I'm just lifting the ones I'm already doing for Dan's Movies 2008. You guys in the "inner circle" will just get a sneak preview. Here's January, a little after the fact. Things started out on a slooow pace, owing to an incredibly busy start to the year; but I was fortunate to begin things on a streak of three straight "8s."

Silent Movie
1976
rating: 8
True, Mel Brooks has a weakness for working really hard on gags that don't advance the story, but I found this non-stop smorgasboard of laughs (some big, some small), refreshing and enjoyable; especially as I did not suffer so much as a single, unwelcomed and cheesy, "poignant moment."

Gilbert Goddfried: Dirty Jokes
2005
rating: 8
Laughs aplenty in this vulgar 49-minute capture of a small club show of the comedian, including an impressive, 12-minute version of infamous "The Aristocrats."

The Apartment
1960
rating: 8
Recalling a workday world setting that is dated but themes of skullduggery that are not, this Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine romantic comedy is compelling, involved, and - in the end - quite sweet.

SPAM as Spoken Word

The cast....

Jenifer Grubbs and Luitpold Tarwater (intrepid reporters)
August Freudenburg (the absent-minded reporter)
Bartholomew Cordova (time-traveler)
Gladwyn Barreto (the hit-man)
Brock Bradshaw (the quarterback)
Luke Lathan (man about town)
Toby Cain (the "other man")
Dylan Potts (the struggling musician)
Bruno Colbert and Jake Martin (from the Motor-Cycle gang)
Simon Frye (wealthy financier)
Barton Bellamy (his driver)
Cooper Adams (anchorman)
Cornelia Neri (daughter of the prophesizer)
Gustavo Wolf (of the German Secret Police)
Young Beard (the hero)
and introducing...
Mitchel Starks (the autistic boy nobody notices)

It is What it Is.

In the four days since I've had it set up, my Wireless Minneapolis has been an unequivocable disaster. Our internet connection is usually there (but sometimes not), but the signal strength is too weak to support Vonage. We can make calls (except when we can't, and never from our handheld unit), but cannot receive them (except twice, and then only on the base unit).

We have a transmitter node a half block away and our antenna is about a foot from a window, angled right towards it. My steel siding should not be an issue, according to the most recent tech to whom I've spoken. According to all of them, my connection speed should just be "screaming," but - in fact - it is like a limp dick.

In my last couple of calls in, I've tried to impress upon them the difficulty of leading a normal life when unable to receive phone calls at home. And I have two more days until Comcast sends out some fucker to terminate our connection to them. In one last-ditch effort to try and keep me as a subscriber, Wireless Minneapolis is going to send out a tech Thursday morning to try and see if an externally-mounted antenna will do the trick. They claim a 98% success rate when such odd cases as mine are “escalated.”

I’ll still believe this one when I see it.

From doctors to tech service people to financial advisors, I have a long history of being told: “Now THAT’s a new one.” For me, in issues ranging from foot care to routing numbers to just plain expecting a CD-ROM to work, abnormality is the norm. At this point – and really since about age 16 – I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.

Amazing. Transformative, almost. The journey begins?

(pretty much transcribed from an email to Mixx earlier to-day)

Amazing. Transformative for me, almost.

Last I saw the final two parts of a three-part series on PBS called "Walking the Bible," in which the host, a guy by the name of Bruce Feiler, traces the path of the Israelites during their exodus out of Egypt during the five books of Moses in the Old Testament. But that doesn't do the program, or its effect on me, justice.

Perhaps it was the peaceful, meditative atmosphere surrounding the viewing (Rose fell asleep in my lap in a darkened living room. I didn't want to risk setting her down anywhere & waking her up, so I just hung out there in the dark until I decided to flip on the tv). But - and I've mentioned this before - I sometimes am awe-inspired by the character of religious antiquity. The permanence and history of of some of the places & cultures this guy visited was pretty amazing. I found it interesting, the transformative (to use the word) journey Feiler went through in writing the book/doing the film. Some interesting stuf fif you happen to want to read an interview with him: http://www.pbs.org/walkingthebible/interview.html He sums up his experience with "The story of Walking the Bible for me is that I went inlooking for science, and came out craving meaning, in a nutshell."

I've been so utterly turned off by almost every religious instance I have observed in the world over the past few years, that I've pretty much closed myself off to even being open to an opportunity for my own religious experience. He doesn't exactly come out of the experience saying that his faith in such and such religion has been confirmed, but just that - going into this incredibly stark environment, in the midst of these powerfully moving symbols that are at the root of these religions, you are suddenly able to let go of various rational pieces of your brain and open yourself up to something higher. Don't freak out - I'm not joining a revivalist congregation of any sort any time soon. But I think this whole thing about me being turned offon religion has made me deny a certain aspect of my being, which is thatI still crave a sort of meaning that is beyond that which I can touch and see and examine in a peer-reviewed scientific study. And I found myself, at the end of the viewing, with this sort of "journey" suddenly back on the radar, where before it was not. Wow - this is the power of public media in action, huh?

In any event, a viewing of all three parts in one sitting is currently on the agenda, and the book is definitely going in the GoodReads queue.

I also hope Mixx will post his own perception-altering experience he shared in response to my original email.

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 4: Takin 'er Home

Where all is well that ends well, except in that Dan is UPSTAGED!!!

This, the final post of the Mini-Serial.

Bittersweet, indeed, as the final weekend of performances came about. Bitter, of course, since a period of intense involvement with a very small group of individuals over a two-month period was coming to a close. Sweet, (equally) of course, because a period of time in which I was - ah - not 100% there for my family was also coming to a close.

Anyone who has put this kind of time into a play understands how tightly-knit a cast and crew can become when all is said and done. Amazing - how well you feel you know these individuals by the end of it all. Without a doubt I felt more comfortable with this lot than I generally do around the people I work with. Some of that has to do with the fact that we're thrown into a position where we're working towards a collective goal that we all believe in passionately (as opposed to working towards a goal which is a joke on the human race). But almost certainly, a lot of it has to do with the simple fact that I am in a group of people with who are simply more my type of people.

So, by Tuesday of the week before the final performance, we were about 10 tickets from selling out for both final shows. The pre-pay option was removed from our website, and the message on our box-office voicemail was changed to announce a sellout. We wanted to keep aside 10 tickets for walk-ups, as well as give ourselves some wiggle room were we to run into a last minute event (such as - hey - Dan's parents decided they could come up!). And, indeed, though my parents had originally said they would "..."not be able to make it because Mystic Lake is sold out" (true story, exact quote), an 11th hour epiphany brought them up Minneapolis way.

Just about every possible seat that could be squeezed out was gone by Friday night, and we were to be facing the "rush line" (the group of walk-ups who wait around to see if reservations don't show up). Which makes it all the more remarkable that Aaron walked right in and got a seat. Still not quite sure what happened there, but I'm so glad he came. "Ha ha funny comments" he may leave after this post notwithstanding, he can now attest to the fact that this whole theatre thing is not a ruse.

Friday night went well - without a hitch and energy level was high. I actually had more people I knew at the show that night (a couple of co-workers, a group of Sharon's old friends as well as both her sisters, and a few of other people who left before I changed and came out from backstage). Magical night. Invigorating, performance. Especially, in front of people I know.

Then, the final night. And it was one to remember. Again, sold out house. And, for those keeping score, that meant we ended our nine-play run on a five sellout streak. Outside of the "Guthries" of this scene, that's pretty uncommon in Twin Cities. There's just so many goddamned theatres. Being part of the company made it all the more special. All these talented theatre folks from throughout the area (well, most from Uptown), many of whom we'd like to see on our stage in the future, are having one of their most positive acting experiences ever, right on our stage. It definitely all bodes well for the future of the company.

Anyway - things were going gangbusters. By this time, I've got my lines so much on autopilot that I can really explore every little nook and cranny of doing just what I want to with my character. Then - as we're just getting into this scene in which my character is supposed to be woo-ing the female lead, I hear a titter from the crowd. As an actor, my focus is bomb-proof. I can blow through this, continue my lines and not let the faintest shadow of any uncertainty cross my face. But inside, I'm starting to wonder "huh? What's going on?" The titter becomes laughter, and suddenly I'm thinking, "OK, my fly is down. I have a booger on my face. My acting is so laughable, they just want me to leave." Yet, the focus and performance continues. Yes, it's a comedy, but - understand - this is not a comedic scene.

That's when I hear the meow. OK...some background. About three weeks into rehearsal, a particularly friendly cat wandered up to a group of us hanging around outside the building, smoking. Long story short: he was adopted by Duane (the guy who owns the facility and is also a company member), and now he lives right there in the building. It was an ongoing "cat-and-mouse game" (so to speak), to make sure he was never able to slip through any of the main three stage doors and get backstage (as, desperately, he wanted to). We wanted to make sure he couldn't make mischief in the prop area and - more importantly - we needed him out before the house opened. At that point, he needed to be locked away in an office for the duration of the show.

Well...on this final night, the box office folks let him wander about in the lobby during the final half of the show. That's when a woman, feeling ill, got up and rushed out of the theatre. And - of course - the cat rushed in.

So here I am, telling the female lead that I have a plan as to how we can be together that night. "I will take Theo out to the boulevard, get him drunk, and return alone..." And at that moment, a gray tail flicked in front of my face. As I was later to find out, this cat was sitting up on the stage stove setpiece, eating a sausage out of a pan.

Different schools of theatre could debate this next moment to the end of time.

The method folks will credit my focus, lauding my ability to not direct my focus for one second away from the scene. For, I never saw the cat, but for the tail. And I also never saw exactly who it was that slipped in, not one foot away from me, and scooped the cat away (though I heard the good natured applause). I thought it was Duane. It was the director, Chris.

All the improvisation folks will chastise and ridicule me for not seizing upon the most Carol Burnett Show-like moment I may ever have the fortune to have bestowed upon me. Imagine how this delightful tale might have turned into the most impeccably delivered comedic moment of my life, had I simply stopped talking mid-sentence, paused, flashed Lindsay (the actress opposite me) a calm set of raise eyebrows, reached over and given the cat a pet, then continued the scene.

Was it a triumph of focus? Or a failure to think on one's feet? Alas, it will go down in my annals (two "n"s, here folks, calm down) of my "might-have-been"s along with that 10+ lb muskie that bit through my fishing line when I was 14 years old.

Classic ending to a classic run of the show, however. After it was done, it was slam bam thank you ma'am, and the set was down and strike party on. I'd pretty much done enough partying to last me for about a six year run of Tony & Tina's Wedding, so I acted with my hoped-for level of discretion and left at a modest 12:30 am. All's well that ends well. I got some acting out of my system, and I'm hopefully ready to pursue some other facets of my life with increased vigor.

Peace out.

"The latest fashion is right about..."

"Here."

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 3: WTC Sells Out

Following up on the good review, we were mentioned by one of the "big three" theatre critics in town, and made the City Pages' coveted "A-List" (actually for the 2nd time in as many shows).

Not sure if that played into attendance numbers over this past weekend, if word-of-mouth is spreading, or what, but our attendance is suddenly of control. Our Thursday night "Camden Night" was filled to the gills, with attendance further stretching our opening night record, this time pulling in a whopping 52 patrons. Additional chairs had to be brought in. Older, somewhat less comfortable ones. It was a boisterous night, made up (we imagine) of the blue-collar second-generation Camdenites; the ones who don't normally make live theatre part of their lifestyle, but know a good deal in their backyards when they see it. Laughter was frequent and loud, if sometimes somewhat oddly-placed, with the place generally sporting a faint odor of cigarettes and booze. There was a particular fellow in the back, with a deep resonant voice, who followed a number of lines delivered by actors onstage with a hearty affirmation of "hear, hear!" Good times, and quite rewarding.

The following day I sent emails to people I knew to be considering coming that night or the following, letting them know 1) if you haven't reserved your ticket, get on the stick 2) get there early if you want a good seat 3) consider going next weekend, when there's less people on the list - for the moment. And that night, had to squeeze even more chairs in and attendance was up to a whopping 56. Not too many more seats to squeeze people in.

Or so we thought.

The show tonight was unbelievable. Fifteen minutes prior to curtain we were told people were waiting in the lobby to see if there would be any no-shows. The box office people scrambled (ending up actually using the chair behind the ticket counter) and fit as many people as could possibly be squeezed into the space. Grand total of 66. And it was a fun-loving, seemingly theatre-literate crowd that went with every moment right along with us.

As far as the show itself, the repeated performances (seven under our belts thus far, with one weekend remaining) have continued to solidify. Second nature, now, are lines, "bits," and even appropriate places to anticipate holding for laughter (though "Camden Night" did throw us for a bit of a collective loop). It's immensely satisfying to have enough performances to continue to develop a character, and also to note & correct minor pieces of a performance that might not be to my satisfaction on a given night.

Two shows left, then some much needed down-time (until I fly to Austin on business the first week of March). It's going to be pretty crazy, not thinking, breathing, and dreaming The Underpants over the next five days.

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 2: Opening Weekend

In Which "Delightfully Over-The-Top" and "Not-So-Delighfully Over-The-Top" are Used To Describe Dan in the Same Evening

Bam-bam-bam-bam. Four shows in four days, following the dress rehearsal. Attendance has been up, and we even had a man who is probably the pre-eminent "theatre blogger" in the Twin Cities show up for night one and praise us somewhat lavishly in a review that just came out yesterday. If want to take time to read the entire article, he actually describes the play and just about everything that went into it, while heaping compliments on just about everything and everyone involved. If you don't want to take time to read through, I'll just note that my performance was described as being "...delightfully over-the-top." Thank goodness for that particular choice of adverb. But anyway - everything in the first night's show could not have gone much better. Huge crowd (49 patrons - we had to add chairs from our standard arrangment, which is somewhat smaller with the new, expanded stage and some somewhat reduced sightlines), lots of laughs, and I was very humbled by a lot of very kind things people said at the opening night reception, following the show.

That is - I must assume I felt that way at the reception, because I do not remember the hours after 10 pm very clearly.

I'm going to make a long and messy story very short and simply say - WHY O WHY do I not have the ability to just kind of party?

And I'm going to follow it up by saying that my hangover I had the next day was beyond agonizing. To the point that, after I had suffered through a day of a severe chills (yes, friends, chills), and probably my seventh fit of vomiting (no exaggeration) at 4:30 pm (2nd night show approaching fast with a 6:30 call-time), I actually had begun to wonder if I was maybe actually suffering, instead, from a bout of food poisoning. (I happened to posit that possible theory in the presence of my fellow actors that evening - while strategically placing plastic bags backstage - and it since become the stuff of legends, with the term "food poisoning" always being accompanied by requisite "finger quotes").

Funny also (only in retrospect) as I was curled up in front of a space heater, shaking, at 5:45 or so when Sharon came in and asked how late I'd wait till I'd decide whether to call someone.

"Call someone?" (I shot upright) "What are you talking about?!?"

"About whether you can do the show."

"And what do you suppose they'd do if I said I couldn't do the show."

"Cancel it?"

She's so cute.

Aaaanyway, the food poisoning had worked its way out of my body in time for the Sunday matinee. Crowds (from Friday through the Monday pay-what-you-can-night) have gotten steadily smaller (par for the course; they'll pick up again for the final two weekends), while I have felt my performance get more comfortable and "on."

For now, I'm looking forward to a solid final couple of weeks of the show and a little more recreational discretion in my remaining decades of This Life.

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 1: Dress Rehearsal

In which Dan prepares himself and his daughter for the dress rehearsal and valiantly fights off an infirmity.

Tonight is Dress Rehearsal. For the layperson, that's the final rehearsal - often with close friends, family, & production crew in attendance so the performers can get a sense of timing with laughs & other audience reaction - before opening night.

Sharon & Lucy will be there. It's a pretty innuendo-laden, suggestive show, but all that stuff is going to fly right over Lucy's head. She's going to love the constant mugging, the flying in & out of doors, and the general sense of zaniness, as well as joining in with the rest of the audience when they have a good belly laugh. And she'll get a huge kick out of seeing her dad. I've been talking her through the production process; she's gotten to meet the other actors and see behind the stage doors (to backstage!), and all sort of other this-is-how-it's-done stuff and this will be a great opportunity to see how all the pieces of a production come together; how a group of committed individuals can work together to produce something that adds something to the fabric of her community. Whether or not she sees in quite those terms at age four, something will stick in that little head, somewhere. And it also is pretty cool to be a dad who can grant special privleges (Lucy wearing her own costume in the "costume parade," seeing portions of rehearsals, etc.) as a result of me being a fancy-schmancy company member.

I woke up yesterday sick. Nearly full-blown cold. Poor, poor timing. In the past 36 hours, however, an unGodly amount of forced down time, Vitamin-C, Zicam, water, (and even the mysterious, homeopathic aconite) has managed to force the thing more or less out of my body and I think I'm ready to go.

The last few nights of tech week (the final week, when all the "technical" pieces are in place), I've been either attempting to meditate, running through my scenes in my head, or reading The Geography of Nowhere (see GoodReads sidebar). Tonight I'm going to sit back and listen to the audience (hopefully) enjoy the show in the way I'm expecting them to.

The board is set. The pieces are in motion.

A Tale of Two Parties, Minneapolis MN, 02/02/08

Mitt Romney in an unnamed office complex in Edina.

Barack Obama at the Target Center.

(photos by Jennifer Simonson and Alissa Haupt, Star Tribune)

To Kill A Mockingbird

Overated?

Even just a bit?

Discuss...

And Proud Of It

The Whistle Stop Tour

US Senate candidate Al Franken came to do a North Minneapolis meet & greet at the facility where my theatre group performs. Coolio! PMixx & I both streamed his show pretty religiously for the two-odd years it was on, and consider him to be a helluva guy, with the makings to be a public servant of the highest order.


It was nice to see him in person, and pretty wild that he was sitting there, addressing a crowd of supporters, on the same stage I will be performing on in less than three weeks.

Al on our stage. Note the ever-improving interior set.

Al, Lucy, & me. Lucy doing quite well, actually, being held by a strange man. This shot is going in a box somewhere right next to the one with me & George Takei.

The Underpants

Louise discovers the fleeting price of fame when her underpants drop during the King’s parade, much to her stuffy bureaucratic husband’s dismay. Suddenly, the couple’s "Room for Rent" sign goes down and the renters (all male) seem to want their sugar included. The Underpants is Steve Martin’s riotous adaptation of Carl Sternheim’s 1910 German farce, Die Hose. Things haven’t changed much since 1910… think Janet Jackson’s Superbowl fiasco or the recent Brittney Spears tabloid shots.

So, my theatre company has been quietly marching along this season, at least as far as my communication in this venue is concerned. But I guess it is time to mention that we have an upcoming show, The Underpants, by Steve Martin (yes, that Steve Martin), and I'm in it.

You get the gist of the show in the description above. It's a sex farce; and a fast-paced, pun-laden, slapstick one at that. I play one of the renters - Frank Versati - an elegant poet (and foppish womanizer) who works to seduce Louise (unbeknownst to her husband) and makes an enemy of a rival suitor - Cohen, an asthmatic barber who seeks to thwart my efforts.

We play nine shows over three weekends beginning on Feb. 9. For those in town or within striking distance, I'd love to see you there. And for anyone who last saw one of our full-length plays in the community center, this may blow your balls off. We now have a (semi) permanent raised stage, a fully-constructed set with three doors (the more doors, the more hi-larious the farce!), and a full lighting system. The space is hot.

Smell ya later.

Project 365 is So 2007...

See the ambitious endeavor upon which my friend Matt has embarked...

(actually - Kudos to the Project 365ers. Stephen doing what I could not - again - and Aaron for going against the odds)

Packaged Up with a Bow for T-Clog

He knows where he stands on the issues. He just wants to cut through the bullshit and know who he should vote for.

The Candidate Selector, brought to you by Minnesota Public Radio.

I found it a little frustrating, as there were some issues where I was forced to choose an answer for which I would have added a caveat. But it is what it is.

My candidates, in order:
Edwards/Obama: 25
Clinton: 23
Richardson: 21
Kucinich: 19
Gravel: 15
Guiliani: 10
Paul: 9
Romney: 7
McCain: 6
Huckabee: 4
Hunter: 4
Thompson: 4

T-Clog - this is an example of how someone can be a partisan, but not for the sake of being a partisan. I can answer questionaires and do blind surveys till I'm blue in the face, but I will always end up looking like like a duck, quacking like a duck, and voting Democrat.

Later Addition: Dan's Take

I returned from a theatre rehearsal about an hour ago to see the results of the Iowa Caucus (see previous post). Understanding that I see things pretty much like Mixdorf (on all things except music and perhaps abortion), and having just wonked out to NPR for the past 45 minutes, let me offer my take on the picture, as it clears a bit.

Democrats:

Obama: To listen excerpts from his victory speech: chills. I'll tell you, there is something about that guy. He is electric, and politicians like him don't come around too often. He is a rock star, and one that seems to be on the right (read: progressive) side of pretty much every issue.

Hillary: To listen to her, she sounded mad. And Stephen, she used that "Ready to be president on Day One" thing. I'm with you on that - it just sounds wrong. It's almost like Obama caught up and passed her as soon as she started that shit. Even if it's just subconscious, I think it's tripping some kind of trigger in the back of people's minds where they wonder if the last 20 years of her life, including her time as First Lady, were not mere "experience" for the job, but a premeditated warmup. And it's freaky. Nobody should be thinking about being president for that long.

Edwards: I can't believe he's in this much longer. I haven't looked at how he's polling in New Hampshire, but it can't be good. He's been working on Iowa for 12 years now, and pretty much just blew his wad to come in 2nd (see Romney, below).

and that's just about it for the Democrats at this point.

Republicans:

Huckabee: Let's get real here. This was not a "winning the hearts of Iowa" thing, nor a huge surge in his popular appeal. Well, there was a little of both of those. But for the most part, this was all about Evangelicals doing what Evangelicals do: becoming politically active when their pastors tell them to. If you look at the non-Evangelical exit polls, he got destroyed by Romney, 3 to 1. I don't think they go for that shit in New Hampshire. The longer this race goes, the smaller the percentage of locked-in support he's going to be able to count on.

Romney: That was about the feeblest, most depressing "there's still a lot of fight left in us" speech I have ever heard. I guess it's what you should expect from A Man With Nothing. And, see "blew wad in Iowa" (Edwards, above).

McCain: This may be the guy to beat - which would be good only in this sense: on the odd chance we have to have a Republican in the Oval Office. Bad, in that I think he'd be the toughest draw for Obama when it came right down to it. That whole bullshit "maverick" thing.

Guiliani: Perhaps this is the last mention we have to have for this awful, mean little idiot (and Man Who Has Nothing #2) who is so close to being done that he should hang it up now.

no one else worth mentioning

Yay!

Obama wins. 220,000 Democrats turn out!!! That's, like, 1/10 of all Iowans.

It'd be interesting to know how many Republicans came (but, Mixx, I don't feel I have the time to seek out the answer). I do have a theory that they are much less motivated, all but admitting that their field of potential candidates sucks balls.

I also have a theory that the better Obama does, the better Obama will do. I think a lot of groups of people with traditionally low percentages of turnout (black people, young people) will consider jumping on this bandwagon when it looks like the possibility of him actually winning the nomination looks realistic. When I learned over Christmas that Obama was at the top of my dad's list, it was one of my first, "My God, this could actually happen" moment.

Dan's Movies: 2007

Friends, expect this email in the next day or two.

Simpsonized!

All I Got for Christmas Was Tagged

Christmas Questionnaire thanks to Aaron.

Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3. Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs*.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.Welcome to the Christmas edition of "Getting to Know Your Friends."

Questions:
1. Wrapping or gift bags? As I get older, I'm coming more and more to terms with my list of limitations, which includes the ability to wrap packages. I'm about 80% gift bags now, and it's just getting higher.
2. Real or artificial tree? Artificial
3. When do you put up the tree? My family's tradtion, Dec. 1. Sharon's, Christmas Eve. It has led to a little Holiday Butting of Heads. This year, things were in such disarray, the tree went up on Dec. 22, and has yet to be decorated.
4. When do you take the tree down? Shortly after New Years
5. Do you like egg nog? Not generally. But the pre-alcohol mix makes interesting French Toast batter.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Either Hugo, or the Hoth Playset.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? No. We're holding out for something really cool (but probably expensive), like something made of olive wood from the Holy Land.
8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Possibly something from my step-grandma. We'd get something really kitcschy that really didn't belong in our house, year after year. I specifically recall this garishly dressed teddy bear that screeched "Silent Night" if you squeezed him too hard.
9. Mail or email Christmas cards? Arg. Nothing. We really need to start doing something.
10. Favorite Christmas Movie? It's a Wonderful Life.
11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I'm pretty early. Like, before Thanksgiving, usually. Sharon, not so much so; and one way or another, her dilemma ends up dragging me in, somehow.
12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom's brownies. Or my mom's macaroni & cheese.
13. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Multi-colored, definitely.
14. Favorite Christmas song(s)? I know it's Catholic, but Ave Maria is just beautiful. I do also love the more secular White Christmas, I'll Be Home for Christmas, and The Christmas Song. There's lots I love.
15. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel to W'loo for Christmas, or a week beforehand. It alternates each year.
16. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? It seems like I could, but I'm guessing I'd end up forgetting one.
17. Angel on the tree top or a star? Angel would be cool. We have nothing, for now.
18. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning? Christmas morning, if possible.
19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Co-opting of two local radio stations that would normally be in my lineup for Christmas music for an entire two months, at least. I cannot even begin to imagine how annoying this would be if I were Jewish.
20. Do you decorate your tree in any specific theme or color? No.
21. What do you leave for Santa? Nothing yet.
22. Least favorite holiday song? Hmm. Maybe that "better not shout, better not cry" one. Nothing like threatening kids for Christmas.
23. Favorite ornament? Gibbons' Galileo 7 with the Spock voice that says: "Shuttle craft to Enterprise, shuttle craft to Enterprise. Spock here. Happy Holidays."
24. Family tradition? Going to W'loo. A few Christmas movies I'm trying to make more of a tradition. A number of others (unwrapped gifts are from Santa, pancakes, etc.) - but not anything particularly huge & noteworthy.
25. Ever been to Midnight Mass or late-night Christmas Eve services? I think so. A lot of Candlelight services at my old church in Iowa. The only church services out of the year that I enjoyed.

* As always, I'm sure whoever tagged me tagged everyone I would have tagged. So the buck stops here.

Good Ol' Lucy

At the doctor's with Sharon, the other day:

Doctor: So, what do you want for Christmas?
Lucy: Chapstick. My lips are very dry.

(Doctor, to himself: "Christ almighty, get the kid some chapstick already!")

About Face

I stand at a potentially pivotal moment in my lfe. The theory governing the entire history and intent behind my wardrobe may be at stake.

My entire adult life, the guiding principal of my clothes selections has been one of comfort over fashion. While I, admittedly, may have some vague conception (correct or not) of general styles that "become me" or somewhat adhere to my notion of myself as a hispter doofus of sorts, in the end, it comes down to comfort; both physical comfort, and psychological comfort that comes with threads that are tried and true, and not rocking the boat (think: the old Adidas hat).

Here I am, not quite three weeks out from my 37th birthday, considering throwing that entire philosophy out the window and concentrating entirely on looking good. It all depends upon whether I can find a really nice sweater to go with these amazingly hip new shoes I just purchased. I'm thinking, a sweater with argyle diamonds down the front and a collared shirt with tabs sticking out over my belt. Thoughts?

Out of the Loop

As in, I'm so friggin.

For the past few years, I've (probably somewhat proudly) considered myself as being in the highest percentile of folks in terms of being abreast of events going on that shape our world. This has been a really busy, stressful, and somewhat sickly Fall that has pulled my focus away from current events and fixed it on staying afloat of my own life. It's been necessary for me to operate at such a high level at work that I actually cannot focus enough if I have public radio going on the web stream - a common practice of mine in the past.

Put maybe more influential in this drift away from connectedness on my part has been Wonk Overload. News related to three subjects in particular; 2008 presidential campaigning, Iraq, and Iran have been so relentless; yet seemingly, the story lines never change. I think I am actually experiencing what so many politically apethetic people in this country do when they hear the name of the Attorney General or something about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and their eyes glaze over. "Oh no, here we go again." It's why they tend to glom onto the latest cable news fixation (read: the Omaha gunman, and before that - take your pick). The latest thing is where it's at; it's why Alicia Keyes is outselling Jimi Hendrix.

In my adult life I've held fast to the notion that an informed citizen is a powerful citizen that can make a difference in the world. Of course, all the informed, "powerful" citizens didn't prevent the election of George Bush, or the Iraq War, et. al.; and I must confess, the ceaseless barrage of news of the world, little of which is positive, has a pretty disheartening effect that can almost drive me to a state of "What's the point?" In my free time (a reminder, readers - that this generally begins around 8:30 or 9:00 pm), I am choosing escapism (pleasure reading, movie watching), rather than studying the NY Times.

A sense of civic duty may be about to drive me back into an attempt to get back on track, but I thought I'd just make this admission as some sort of late-2007 milepost.

Post Just to Post: My Netflix Queue Top 10

My full queue is up to 150, but here's the next 10 on tap (and the one I have at home):

(at home) Glen or Glenda: Ed Wood debacle from 1953. He was trying to make a social commentary on crossdressing, unbeknownst to Bela Legosi and his girlfriend, Dolores Fuller (both of whom were co-starring in the film). A car crash at which I cannot resist a peek.

Dracula: I've always had a bit of a fascination Dracula lore. Currently about three chapters from finishing the Librivox reading of this wonderful book, I am all the more curious about a seemingly unlimited array of interpretations have played themselves out on the silver screen. I saw the 1929 silent film Nosferatu a couple of years back and this one, released in 1931 and starring Bela Legosi (a crazy, pure co-incidence he is in my next two queued movies!), is pretty much considered the chronological 2nd of the landmark productions of the Dracula genre.

A Mighty Wind: In difference of opinion from some others, I felt Christopher Guest fell off pretty steeply in Best in Show; however, the earlier brilliance of Guffman and Spinal Tap still place his mockumentaries in a "must see" category for me.

Silent Movie: Bold concept of Mel Brooks, back in the era where he was still fresh & funny (1976), this has been on the periphery of my "gotta get around to this one" world for years and years now.

The Apartment: I'm a big Jack Lemmon fan; I think he's a tremendous actor. And this is supposed to great film, by almost any measure.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown: In my queue purely as a result of this recommendation by Aaron: "I suggest you add this movie to Your Queue. I think you'll enjoy it!" A documentary about a little-known group of background musicians for untold number of Mowtown hits througout the sixties. Think, the Jordanaires of Mowtown.

Clerks: First Cut (Not Theatrical Version): I've never had a huge yearning to see this film, but it's been generally very highly regarded by my peers. And the entire Jay & Silent Bob phenomenon came and went before I'd even heard of it, so this is me going back to gather up some of that hipster pop culture long after the parade has passed on by.

Calendar Girls: Basically, the writeup reads like a female version of The Fully Monty, which I think is one of the best comedies of recent years. Mixdorf take note: "viewers like me" rate this movie 0.4 of a point more than the average viewer.

Harvey Birdman: Vol. 1: Disc 2: My review of Vol. 1: Disc 1 was something about a great concept and moments of comedic brilliance sprinkled amidst an offering that is insubstantial and unengaging enough to not matter in the end equation. Like so many other animated comedies, in my opinion. One of my general rules of TV series, however, is: all TV series have a right to get their footing. Therefore, although I expect more of the same, the comedy was good enough when it was on to let me give disc 2 a chance.

A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy: A Woody Allen adaptation/spoof of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Slowly working my way through the Allen catalog, which ranges from OK to brilliant for me.

Local Hero: The Doc Hollywoodish sounding synopsis would definitely not have landed this in my queue, but the Mixdorf recommendation did.

Impossible Feats And Broken Cleats

(or, I've never missed a recap of a friend visit or visit to a friend and I'm not about to start now)

So, without going into too much detail surrounding my relative absence from the blogging community of late, I will embark on this by saying that the unestimable Mr. L. of Cedarloo treated me to a much-needed respite from what has been an incredibly stressful, frustrating, and exhausting beginning to The Great Relax. Perhaps more on that later, time pending.

Last Friday:

Having finished my tenth consecutive ten-plus hour day at work (only one of which included a lunch break), I violently trust my wheeled office chair back into my cubicle locker. "To Hell with this," I snarled between gritted teeth as, ripping my earbuds out and flinging them into the open mouth of my stunned superior, I crammed everything on my desk I suspected I might need on a late night drive into Iowa territory into my shoulder bag. And I walked out of that office with the walk of a man who would not return without a healthy dose of non-work-related non-stop excitement.

It was an utterly uneventful drive, marked by a journey through an 18-song blues CD given me some years ago by a younger Aaron J., and a full pass through the unearthly, ambient sounds of a mysterious artist who goes only by The Fireman. Cory was right by the big picture window just as I pulled in, almost like he was expecting me. Taking only the time to bring a thing in through the door, we traipsed down the lane to this crazy bar which - face it - only gets our patronage because it's within walking distance. My request for a pitcher of a beer that was on tap seemed to meet with about as much understanding as if I had asked the server for a look at his Sanctus. We ended up each drinking two quality beers each, at quite excessive prices. Especially since I had eight beers of even higher quality already sitting in Cory's fridge. But it was all good. It's always good to hang out at a bar with good friends. Loud, obnoxious retelling of oft-told tales and brazen planning for the good times ahead do not rise above the general din of revelrie that surrounds your table. And the fact that some funky-ass gentleman got Bill Withers' "Use Me" going on the jukebox and then cranked it, was quite alright with me. Twelve tiny cheese curd nuggets for $6.95 was not so alright. Then it was back to home for a little quiet conversation (for you see, under the auspices of an utter lack of soundproofing, QUIET is the name of the game in the Bear Den, come nightfall). But going to bed was not so bad - we had a big day ahead of us, what with hanging out with the L kids in the morning and the much anticipated matchup against college-level athletes that were 10 years our junior.

Last Saturday:

Up shortly after daybreak for a big start to a big day. He fed me the breakfast of champions. Juice, toast, oatmeal (sans sugar, cinamon, brown sugar, or - well, really any staple you would find in an ordinary house), and a bannana. Then it was off to check out some good works by a good man. We saw the school where he teaches, the forest he planted, and the prairie which - desipte the obstacles of prairie seed-lovin' birds, needs only a good, controlled burn to sprout into a prairie such as would make a buffalo blush. Then, off to Hartman Preserve for a little hiking with young Jonah who has the moves of Adrian Peterson but, alas, the small hands of Daunte Culpepper; and the unsinkable, 12-year-old Emily, who is game for about anything and about an inch shorter than me. A little forest football was done, my love of dogs calmed the young boy and made him pet and enjoy a pit bull we met along the way, and then we realized it was getting nigh on lunch.

We ran the kids home, then went to main street in Cedar Falls - not too far away from Cory's house and - I gotta say - a real credit to the region. The type of eclectic, vibrant non-chain businesses that really make a community. Think: the types of places you might see in Stephen's Project 365. Well - I guess the common denominator is "college town." But it's a cool place. Cory was interested in taking me to Los Cabos (the restaurant, rather than the place - which I've already visited with a woman, and thus would be tough for him to top). Despite his great professed love of the Southwest, Cory has never been a fan of either Mexican food or the heat, and I've never had the heart to tell him that there's really not much more to the Southwest than those two things. But he was really doing a stretch for my benefit - a first-class host move, and I hope I told him how much he appreciated it. He locked his keys in the Sombrero (an episode during which he lost his appetite for Mexican fare), but then remembered he'd stored an extra one in his wallet (after which he got it back). We then proceeded to eat far more than two 36-year old men should eat before taking on two sub-26 year old former college football players. Did I mention one was a junior college All American?

Then, it was back to the ranch house for a change into football gear. Cory was upset that I was refusing to deck myself out in Vikings apparel (a choice I'd made for more reasons than one) and, in retrospect, it is my hope that he is just as thankful I made the choice as I now am.

Off for football. Now - over the weekend, the New England Patriots beat the Buffalo Bills 56 - 10. That's a team of professionals beating their peers by 46 points. During the course of our game, Cory pulled a floating groin and I ran (chased these two young fuckers around) on both sides of the ball, going out for most of the passes, and covering the receivers most of the time. For a guy that had (to Cory's dismay) a soberly realistic appraisal of our chances going into the game, I played my ass off, literally getting one of the spikes from my cleats shorn off on a rock-hard and bumpy turf upon which I skidded and landed innumerable times over the course of two hours.

(see New England v. Buffalo, above) I think the fact that we finished the game only down 36 points at the end of two hours (final score: 8 - 44) might be enough to vault this "moral victory" into the realm of being truly one of our greatest victories of all time. Yes, we scored eight. Can you believe it? A remarkable, by-the-grace-of-God-type of drive in which, during a rare role revearsal, the usually flappable arm of me led a quick march down the field consisting of a quick threading of the needle to a sure-handed T-Clog during a crossing route just short of the first down, then a "you wouldn't dare!" 30-yard bomb feet from the far endzone as these guys were expecting us to be satisfied with a chance for our first foray into enemy territory of the entire day. One last little shot into the corner of the end-zone, and then -oh yeah - the exclamation point of a two-point conversion to follow. I just about popped a boner. I hope these guys had a good time explaining to their former teammates - now in the NFL - how these two 35+ year old guys, both under six feet tall, neither of whom played organized football, marched down and scored on their double-team defense. Beeyatches.

After that - it was off to shoot baskets for a couple of hours (I know!), and then back to the L-household for a delectable dish of spaghetti with portabello mushrooms and some hanging out, drinking beer in the bitter, windy cold, sitting by a firepit placed in the easement next to a thoroughfare. What can I say? People were honking. They thought we were striking for the local 352. It was good beer. My beer I brought. I explained to Cory why beer is better from a glass, and why amber ale is a good place to start for someone who wants to try good beer.

Then it was inside, and time for the fast-paced action of the Return of the Jedi: Battle at Sarlacc's Pit board game, another beer, and off to bed.

In the morning:

Fond farewells, a stop at Happy Chef for a meal worthy of a man (me solo by this time), and a drive home during which I had time to think and reflect.

Today:

I was quite sore.

Waking Up, Overcoming Fear

(In commemoration of the birth of Rose, just one year ago, I am including this piece written by Sharon, which documents Rose's natural birth. If you are among those folks who get squeamish about a descriptive portrayal of chilbirth, you may not wish to read on. But if you're interested in hearing about this experience - and hearing about the case against excessive medical intervention in this natural process - read on. And, of course, Happy Birthday, Rose!)

Waking Up, Overcoming Fear

by Sharon Hylton

I lay awake. My mind began its middle of the night ritual yet again and ran restless circles around my tired body, wondering, worrying, and planning. I would focus on a soothing, sleep-inducing mantra, only to find myself miles down the road of some new thought. I was 8 months pregnant and terrified.

My first daughter had been born on the train of medical intervention. We had gotten on board when my water started leaking with no signs of labor, and try as we might we couldn’t get off. I had Cytotec, rupturing of my membranes, Pitocin, an epidural, vacuum suction, and the sense that this labor had been done to me. Somewhere along the line I had shut down emotionally, overwhelmed by what was happening. My dreams of a natural birth had been destroyed.

When Lucy was finally born and I got to see her, I proclaimed her perfect and was relieved, more than anything, to be done. I was a mother and I had a beautiful, healthy daughter, yet I felt I had missed out on something essential, something I continued to grieve even years later during the current pregnancy. Here I was, again wanting a natural birth and terrified that this was too much to hope for.

Somehow, in the mysterious way things unfold when they are meant to be, I came across some information on doulas. I hadn’t sought out a doula last time; I would give it a try this time. I found someone quickly, easily, and in the nick of time. We had just enough time for our two prenatal visits with Emme and several phone calls, during which I confessed the deep-seated fears that kept me up at night. Her calm voice reassured me that my fears were normal and that I could believe in myself and the possibility of a natural birth.

The night after our second visit with Emme, I awoke to wetness in my underwear and sinking in my heart—not my water leaking again! I lay awake, tormented by both the thought that I had to sleep to prepare for labor, and the fear that labor would not start. Sleep never came, nor did labor. The next day was spent in frenzied last minute preparations by Dan and desperate waiting mixed with cautious hoping by me as we awaited a call from our midwife.

What relief we felt when late that afternoon our midwife called and confirmed that there was no ferning, no amniotic fluid. Incredible! My heart was filled with lightness. Perhaps inspired by this good news, my uterus began to stir and the world changed. Later that evening, against the precious backdrop of Lucy running down the block in her tiger costume for her first time trick-or-treating, a small aching would come and go at the base of my uterus. It was sporadic and infrequent, but it did not subside like Braxton-Hicks contractions. As I went to bed that night, it continued. When I woke up during the night, it was still going. It kept on going through my morning work meeting the next morning—a steady pulse in the distance, the awakening of a mysterious force.

That afternoon I began to get ready.…just in case….I cancelled an appointment and instead took a nap and a walk…called Emme, called my mom, called my work. I fixed supper and tried to eat. My contractions which had held steady at 15 minutes apart became 5 minutes. And then, talking to Lucy, I found I had to stop—just for a minute—and breathe. The beginning of active labor! That’s not so bad, I thought. But how much more difficult will it get? And how long will it last? It was about 6:30. Would we still be at home in the morning? Hopeful that we might not be, Dan called my mom to come get Lucy and very soon she came to collect her little charge. Lucy ran around as we got ready, full of excitement about getting to sleep at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I was helping on and off and resting on the ball during contractions. By 8 or 8:30 we finally had Lucy packed up and out the door. That was the last time we saw her as our only daughter, as our small daughter. A monumental goodbye.

I got in the tub and stayed there listening to music for about an hour and then thought I’d try to get some rest in bed. Within moments I realized that these contractions were too strong for sleep so on Dan’s advice I returned to the tub, after calling Emme to give her an update. By now I wanted company. So Dan joined me in the dimly lit bathroom, Christmas choral music playing softly in the background. As each contraction came I would tell Dan and breathe deeply while he poured water over my belly with Lucy’s little teapot. Again and again and again. I began to wonder what possessed me to hold on to this crazy idea of a natural birth. I could not conceive of how I was going to get through hours and hours more of this. But Dan kept reminding me how different this was than last time. This time labor that had started on its own and I was doing great and had come so far already. I was afraid to be too hopeful, but I was grateful that he was so positive and encouraging.

I felt my belly to check Chicky’s position—the head was very high, halfway between the base of my pelvis and my hip. Lucy had also been high and off to the side, so of course this worried me. Dan suggested talking to Chicky, asking him/her to move, so I did. Shortly after that a wave of nausea overtook me and I left the tub for the toilet. After several violent heaves the nausea passed and the contractions were stronger. I wasn’t sure what to do to cope, so Dan recommended we call Emme.

By the time she arrived, around 11:30, I had figured out that it helped to stand and hang on Dan, with my head nestled into his shoulder, while he whispered encouraging words in my ear. His body absolutely could not touch my belly. In between contractions I would sit and rest on the ball. Emme joined our rhythm, rubbing my back during contractions and giving me water when I rested. Dan’s neck kept me safe and Emme’s hands on my tense shoulders helped me release them. My breathing got me to the end of each contraction without panicking. The room was nearly dark and the soft music continued in the background. The backrubs were great, Dan’s words were so sweet, the water felt wonderful in my dry mouth. Dan was so involved in helping me. I was shivering so he brought me a blanket and the heater, and my face was sweating so he got a cool wet washcloth for me. At this point my contractions were anywhere from 2-4 minutes apart and lasting about a minute.

Emme said I was really calm. I told her I didn’t feel calm at all. Panic would rise in me as the aching rose from the base of my uterus, but she said I was doing great. We began talking about when to go to the hospital. Emme said it was up to me, whenever I felt ready. In preparation she pulled our car around to the front of the house for us and loaded some of our stuff. I was nervous about leaving. I didn’t want to get to the hospital and find out I was dilated to 2 or 3. With my last labor I had stalled out at 3 cm for 18 hours, and the back labor without progressing wore me down to the point of needing an epidural. Emme said that 3 cm would be really good. It would mean I was solidly in active labor, and the longest part of labor was getting from 0 to 4.

I now started worrying about the car ride. I didn’t know how I was going to handle being strapped into a seat during multiple contractions. And my contractions were getting stronger, making it hard to stand still. I started shifting my weight from one foot to the other agitatedly, and moaning quietly, my face buried in Dan’s neck. At one point I squeaked out in panic, "I don’t think I can do this anymore!" Both Dan and Emme suggested that leaving soon might be a good idea, since the car ride would only get more difficult the longer we waited. So I agreed to go.

Emme left first so she could park her car and then meet us to park our car. As one more contraction ended Dan and I also headed out into the cold and dark for the dreaded 15 minute ride. At this point my mind was still intact.

The ride to the hospital was, as I had imagined, torture. I had to move—I couldn’t sit still with the intensity of pain deep in my pelvis, and yet I was imprisoned by my seatbelt. With eyes mostly closed I stretched out as straight as I could while strapped in, and gripped Dan’s arm, unconcerned about how this might affect his driving. As I yelled and squirmed my way through contractions, Dan’s desperate updates would reach my ears; we’re on the freeway…we’re heading south now…we’re off the freeway…During the course of this car ride I departed Earth for another world, some deep internal place I’ve never been. Glimpses of outer reality would float past like fish in water when I occasionally opened my eyes.
I felt like a zombie in a tunnel when we got to the hospital. Nothing mattered; smiles were not part of this universe. Only the sidewalk in front of me existed. I was vaguely aware that Emme met us at the emergency room entrance and she and Dan took care of unloading and parking logistics as I took one plodding step after another towards the glass doors. We were barely inside when I felt pain rising within me again. I was desperate for Dan’s shoulder but he was loaded down with suitcases. "Put it down!" I cried and he dropped everything but I collapsed onto my hands and knees and bellowed at the top of my lungs. Someone passed and said something…Then I was able to get up again and we walked to the desk.

A woman appeared with a wheelchair and I sat. We waited. My mouth was so dry…I asked Dan for some water, hoping to drink it before the next contraction…Emme appeared after parking our car, surprised we hadn’t already been taken up. Then the nurse took us up to triage…said something I didn’t understand, a joke, it seemed. I didn’t respond.

We reached triage at 1:06am. Emme has to leave, they said unexpectedly. Privacy, too crowded, or something. So Dan and I were on our own. I undressed from the waist down, Emme having advised me I could leave the rest on rather than wearing a hospital gown. The nurse wanted me to lay down. I tried to comply but the surge of a contraction hit and I heaved myself onto all fours, knocking monitor straps askew and shouting. I was informed that this was not OK, that I would not get admitted until they could get the monitors on me for 20 minutes (20 minutes!?) while I was lying down. "Well, if she needs to be on her hands and knees again, she’s going to do it!" Dan exclaimed in my defense. Somehow though, I managed to lay on my side for them for 20 interminable minutes. My contractions were so intense, I felt completely out of control. My hands were clenched on Dan’s shirt as I breathed into the depths of my guts and yelled. The nurse wanted me to do shallow breathing, though. "Think about it, think about it," she would say with her hands on my chest.

At last, Emme returned. "Breathe it away," she said as I came to the end of a contraction. Suddenly I felt a strange bulging pressure between my legs and a need to push, so I did. A hot wetness gushed out onto my legs. I had the strange notion that no one noticed this, but I was incapable of telling anyone. Someone, Emme I think, tried to mop it up. She called out to the midwife in the hall that my water had just broken and I was feeling pushy. Finally, the midwife came and checked me. "You’re a 10 and the baby’s right there!" she announced. "A 10, Sharon! Isn’t that wonderful?" Dan marvelled. I was amazed on some level, because this blew out of the water all my notions about how labor would progress at the hospital, but I was too busy to celebrate.

Everything was in motion to get me into a delivery room in time. Dan and Emme, our luggage rack, our midwife and a host of nurses pushed my bed down hallway after hallway to a delivery room at the other end of the earth. Whenever I opened my eyes I saw halls hurtling past. I bellowed away, gripping Dan’s hand to keep me anchored. All of a sudden, Dan’s hand slipped away and I opened my eyes to see him receding from my bed. "Dan!" I called out in terror. "I’ll be right there, Sharon!" he answered. Apparently we had reached the room and he couldn’t fit through the doorway along with the bed, but all I knew was that my anchor was gone.

Dan and Emme helped me get into the birthing bed and undress. It was 1:32. I lay on my side and immediately felt a huge urge to push. For the pushing, too, I roared. This was nothing like the medicated numbness I had experienced with Lucy, attempting something I hoped was pushing when they told me to. This was a force that took control of my body. Emme suggested I focus my energy downward with each contraction.

After a few moments the midwife asked me to turn over because the baby’s heart tones were low, possibly because of being deep in the birth canal. After I turned over the baby was crowning. They asked me if I wanted to touch the head so I reached down and felt something wet, wrinkled, and fuzzy. I was ecstatic. I was doing it!

The pressure between my legs was tremendous. I felt a slight burning and fear about what might come out of me, but I realized I had to just let go and push everything. The midwife wanted me to slow down, gentle pushes, but I couldn’t. She said she wanted to put a scalp heart monitor on the baby because she couldn’t get a good read on heart tones, but there was no time. Very shortly after crowning I felt an immense whoosh as the baby’s head slid out, and then another whoosh as the body followed. It was 1:41.

Screams came immediately from this beautiful baby, who was then placed on my chest, wet, warm, and the most amazing thing I had ever seen. In my state, I thought we had a boy, but Dan was able to correctly determine that we had another girl…I felt great. I felt incredible! No exhaustion, no pain afterwards, like last time. Just pure joy!

I lay awake the rest of that night, but this time in disbelief and joy. I had had a beautiful and glorious birth, the most energizing, intense, and otherworldly experience of my life, and now I was soaking up every detail of my amazing daughter Rose as I relived the birth, second by second. I cried as I thought about how incredibly fortunate I was.

This could be the end of my birth story, but it’s not. Lessons from that magnificent experience have permeated my life, causing changes I couldn’t have predicted—most importantly following my heart’s desire to stay home with my daughters, something I was afraid to do after Lucy’s birth. I’m finding I have more courage to reach out to others and to follow my desires, more energy and openness, more creative juices flowing.
It feels as though I’m waking up to my life….And nursing notwithstanding, I’m finally able to sleep at night.