I Don't Get It

I’ve tried – REALLY TRIED – to be congnizant of those moments in which I am trending towards demagogary (sp?) or “hearing what I want to hear.” I try to think of the freest, most pure “Republican” there might conceivably be. One who is not evil, but truly believes in economic theory behind smaller government. Maybe even one who - for reasons beyond their own control - has views on some social issues that are different than mine. But when I get to that place, I don’t see how this mythical person can buy into all the anti-intellectualism and mean-spirited, chest-thumping jingoisnm.

The hipocrisy of the last two nights of the Republican National Convention has been incredible. Running on a message of "shaking up Washington" not one speaker has offered up anything that strays from the Bush administration's policies of the past eight years. Surely, any swing voters watching would see this, right? I'm not sure I can trust in much of anything, with respect to how "the average American sees things." Strange days, indeed.

Big Girl

Today is Lucy's first day of Kindergarten. It's not as monumental an occasion for her (from her perspective) as is probably is for most kids in her shoes, as she will be returning to the same school, in the same classroom, and with a lot of her old friends. In Montessori, children 3-6 (e.g. through their Kindergarten year) attend "Children's House" classes in the same classroom. The main difference for Lucy will be that she is attending all-day; and in a new building, since her private preschool achieved charter school status this year and relocated to a new, bigger building.

Nevertheless, she will be forging ahead into more advanced skillsets and subjects of interest, and entering that world in which she is held accountable by the educational system.

It will be a little hard for Sharon, who has spent the last number of years with a certain portion of each day, or each week, with a little creature in whom the bright flame of childhood imagination, industry, and inquisitiveness burns hot. Their times together were usually good, sometimes bad, but ultimately precious and irretrievable.

And hard, too, for little Rose, who is losing a constant companion she worships. She has a big, loving sister sister and follows her lead in almost all instances. At the risk of sounding melodramatic while paraphrasing Sam from Lord of the Rings, Lucy is going where she can't follow. For another year, anyway.

As for me, I am celebrating the 15th annual "I Don't Have to Go to School" Day.

Skin-Deep

Akin to how the GOP seems to run campaigns (and govern) on the premise that people just aren't paying all that much attention, they seem to think that people are willing to vote for a person based on a very superficial quality (be that race or gender) unrelated to policy that matters in their constituents' lives. This reminds me, by the way, of the line from U2's "The Fly" (It's no secret that a liar won't believe anyone else).

Anyway, This is a quick post, so I don't enter very many instances as evidence, other than what we can witness from the last two campaigns against Barack Obama.

In 2004, there was Alan Keyes.

And now, Sarah Palin.

Five-Star Book: Tale of Two Cities

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
Great, great, and great. For me, reading this book by choice and at my leisure was almost some sort of repentance for having watched a "Tale of Two Cities" cartoon in high school, rather than read it as assigned.



If there is any criticism of this book (as I'm sure there is), it would be a criticism that could be levied at most Dickens works; that many of his heroes are two virtuous and pure, and villains too treacherous. That said, Dickens masterfully uses the backdrop of the French Revolution to shift readers' sympathies from one side to the other over the course of the book; making a statement about perspective and shades of grey in any seemingly cut and dry political/historical event. In doing this, he does manage to add a layer of depth to many of the characters that start out somewhat caricaturish; and along the way, the development of the enigmatic Sidney Carton becomes quite compelling/



On top this profoundly historic setting - the real treat for me was to enjoy Dickens characteristic wry humor and skewering of the foibles of the human condition; in particular, mob mentality. Word by word, line by line, as I made my way through this book, I became more and more spellbound. I was in the hands of a master.


View all my reviews.

Saying What Really Needs to Be Said, Here.

How about the whole Hillary Clinton & her ridiculous delegates & supporters? All along, I’ve been thinking, c’mon this is a media-driven much-to-do-about-nothing. But now, as the convention is nigh, polls are still suggesting the Hillary Clinton supporters are not on board. What is the deal with that? I mean, I know what the deal is. But these people, if they’re considering voting for McCain, are zealots in the worst sense of the word.

Now - before any Hillary Haters decide to jump in a pile on and find some sort of kindred discussion, take a breath. Let me be very clear: this is not about Hillary at all. This is about those folks that can't get over it.

All along, I’ve always said that people who are opposed to Hillary Clinton tend to oppose her in a very rabid, irrational way that, really, defies logic. And I’ve generally defended her along those lines. But I’m finally going use that same descriptor about her supporters. Those people really, really think that this was our one chance to get a woman in the White House. Or that her experience so uniquely qualifies her for the presidency. Or that Barack Obama ran such an unbelievably dirty campaign. So much so that they’re willing to vote to continue policies of war, appoint Supreme Court justices to overturn Roe vs. Wade, extend Bush tax cuts, etc. etc. etc. Bascially, flush down the toilet everything that Hillary Clinton ostensibly stands for stands for in what is probably the most defining presidential election of our times, to make a point. Are they really that detached from reality? Is the world really no larger than their own hurt feelings? This is why Republicans call Democrats angry, whiners, and "victims." Your candidate didn't win. Pick yourself up off the matt and do what you can do to make this country better, for the sake of children in poverty, a groaning natural world, and huge, suffering continents; for God's sake don't put a Republican back in the White House.

My God. I mean, really.

My Dad: 1952

Another in the series of tribute pictures I treasure of my dad.
My dad was 23 years old here, stationed at Fort Benning, GA; having been drafted for the Korean War. Little was he to know, at that time, that he would follow this success with three more kids, go into a career of education, and live well over forty of his years on Earth in Waterloo, IA. Additionally, if he knew just a few more things then that he knows now, he might not picked up smoking during his time in the service - but who know s. What I do know as I look at him looking down at his new, beautiful, two-month daughter in this photo, is that he is thinking"life is good." What I can really appreciate now, as a father of two of my own girls, is what is going on in his mind. 56 years later, spanning our respective, disparate histories and vastly different worldviews, I can see his smile and loving gaze and say, "Oh yeah, I know that look, dad! High-five!"

Rocky at Three Weeks

What I know and have learned about my new friend.

• He thinks he's a dog. Unlike any cat I've ever known, he will flop over on his side so you can rub his belly. He follows you everywhere. And - in a subtle but very dog-like indicator - he has no fear. If his butt is in the way of the fridge when you start to open it, he won't move. The end effect is the fridge door slowly pushing him along until it slides him out of the way.
• He has a water fetish. He drinks water out of dirty pans that have water in them to soak. He places one paw in his water dish while he drinks. And, like many pets, he'd drink out of the toilet if it was left open. Worse, this sicko will try to drink out of the toilet while you pee. As the sole male human in my household, this is a particularly awkward occurrence indeed, and requires me to remember to shut the bathroom door even when stumbling downstairs for some 2:00 am bladder reflief.
• He is amazingly tolerant, and calm. This may be akin to #1 (he thinks he's a dog). But he see Rose shambling towards him, squealing in delight, and does not flee. Girls pet him and drape over him while he eats and drinks. He relaxes luxuriously in the middle of the floor while people fly in and out of rooms, over him, and/or if carrying large objects. Basically, all kinds of behavior that would have send the late Saraki into a case of the hives.
• Not a lap cat, yet. This may change. Maybe through the passage of time, or maybe just when the weather gets colder. But for now, he'll seek your company, and do the ol' walk in & out of the legs & so on, but he won't clip up and hang out ON you.

All in all (water fetish notwithstanding), ours has been a happier, more interesting household for the past three weeks.

Thanks to Brown Shoes and a Green Shirt

Announcing My Retirement

While I appreciate the opportunity my employers have given me through the years, it has become increasingly apparent that I am no longer able to approach my daily work with the passion and energy I know it deserves. That I know my employers deserve.

Additionally, it has been difficult for me to find the time I feel I need in order to be the father I'd like to be for my kids; the husband I'd like to be for my wife. And I have a number of pursuits in which I have a long-standing interest; but for which I've never been able to dedicate much time.

And so, it is with mixed feelings that I announce my retirement. I will regret the fast pace, the comraderie involved with being a member of a team, and the exciting potential for growth - both for me as an employee, and for growth of the various businesses that have employed me - that I was able to be a part of, day in and day out. But I am definitely excited to turn the page and enter this next phase of my life.

Thank you.

P-QN4

Lucy, taking on four-and seven-year old sisters in a game of giant chess during the first half of a recent daddy-daughter day. Parental intervention called the game a draw, when both ranks were decimated to one King and one bishop.

That Rare "10": Brief Encounter

Another month, another idea for chronicling my movie-watching endeavors.

It does seem to be overkill to post my capsule reviews, since they'll be sent out en masse, at year's end. However, I am going to plan to go ahead and make special mention of movies that achieve that slimmest end of the mighty bell-curve of my ratings, getting a "10."

Of the 110 or some-odd movies I've seen in the past two years, only three have have gotten this rating: Mary Poppins, The Third Man, and - now - a film I watched the other night with Matt of Panko Crumbs: David Lean's Brief Encounter.

It's a film I actually first first saw in college; and even then, in a more immature state, I was struck by the magnificence of this film, which is based upon a stage play by Noel Coward, is an intimate story of two more or less indescript folks in 1945-era Britain, a housewife and doctor, who meet and strike up an affair they both know cannot continue due to obligations, duty, and - yes - happy marriages in each of their respective lives. Beautiful is the best way to describe it: beautifully told, beautifully shot, beautifully cast and performed (by a collection of not-too-well-known players).

The gentle manner in which this most lurid and commonly filmed topics (the illicit love affair) is treated, as well as the depth of character we are shown in all interested parties (including an innocent, caring husband) is a refreshing breath of air, from before what would prove to be a 60-year run of lowest-common-denominator filth that has only sought to debase and ridicule the instituion of marriage.

Watch it. As soon as you can.

Welcome to the Family

Rocky, age 1 1/2.

Bearing a likeness to our dear, departed Saraki that is downright freaky, you must believe that did not play into the choosing of our newest friend & de-facto family member.

We were visiting the Gentle Touch Animal Sanctuary yesterday, to get a lay of the land and, hopefully, meet some a potential new adpotion or two. The facility is perfect for our purposes, as the multitude of cats are free to wander about and get to know you or avoid you as they choose. In that format, the reaction by cats as you walk through the door with two kids, ages five and one, speaks volumes about the viability of the various candidates. So, immediately after walking through the door, this guy - Rocky, by name (the name he came with: I wasn't immediately too sure about the name, but have since become quite sold on it) - wandered right over to us and made his aquaintance; with Lucy in particular. He even seems fine with Rose and, although I'm sure there will be a few moments in ensuing months when the two of them (Rocky & Rose) will have to test and discover their respective limits & boundaries, so far so good. He's such an amazing mixture of boldness and casualness that he had completely made himself at home within an hour or so of living here.

I gotta say - though there'll always be a place in my heart for Saraki - there's something about being able to actively choose a cat based upon personality type. Rocky doesn't mind being in a cat carrier (nearly gave Squeaky heart attacks), doesn't mind being picked up (Squeaky would rake and claw you), and is cool with strangers (Squeaky, not until her later, later years). In short, he is one cool cat.

Amazing, how natural his presence has already become around the house. We're looking forward to years of yet undiscovered joys and companionship.

My Dad

Just a little commemoration of him, from back when he kicked a little more ass.

My family is notably sparse on pictures from 1929 to about 1989, but I've always liked and sort of treasured this one, which seems to indicate a pretty playful and vibrant character, as he appears to have chased my mom up to the top of a slide. Probably circa 1948 or so.

There's another picture of him right after he was drafted and my sister was born (1952). It's amazing to look at him holding his precious daughter in his arms and looking down into her face with an expression I, now as a father, can understand. I don't seem to have a copy here, but I'll see if I can locate & post at some point in the future.

Goodbye, Old Friend

I went down this past weekend to do the big move for my parents. In a nuts & bolts sense, things went extremely well. Everything got moved in a single day, and everything pretty much seems to fit in the (much smaller) new place. ALSO - and this is actually a very big thing - this "moving my parents along to their next stage of life" has seemed to really bring out the best in my brother & sister's families. From willingness to pitch in and do whatever to an absolute absence of any bickering over "who gets what" as my parents downsize, there was been very little intra-family stress in these past couple of months

But other than that - it was a pretty emotionally draining weekend. I went down by myself; partly because my kids would have just been in the way of the work; but partly also because I had a lot to process, both on the way down and on the way back up. Though the choice to move was fairly proactive on my mom & dad's part (on their proverbial "own terms"), it was not a celebratory event. Nobody is under any illusions. They are simply too old to keep up with the rigors of maintaining a large house and yard, and my dad is far too unhealthy to live in a house with more than one level.

It was a very painful scene for me to witness - my dad, this once vital, powerful man who moved into a house in Waterloo, IA with his two kids in 1967, at age 37 (my age, coincidentally); now ancient and withered appearing, with tubes up his nose, sitting on a lawn chair in the garage watching his offspring carry the accumulations of his past 41 years past him and onto a moving van; too helpless to even assist. We stayed busy enough through the day, though, that there was not a ton of time to dwell on anything, and various interactions the rest of that day and evening prevented me from dwelling on the psychology of the whole weekend.

It was the next morning, when I made my long-planned "last visit" to the old place, all alone, when I was consumed by memory. Undoubtedly, the circumstances of my parent's leaving played into my feelings, but my parents aside, it was a sad enough parting just between me and the house. As I moved room to room, I was frequently overcome, remembering (burning memories, actually) past times; particularly those ones from my young childhood - those times when we all had a moment-to-moment, almost meditative absorbsion of our surroundings: tracing a path between the bumps of spackle on the walls, interpreting the patterns on a tile floor, the rough grating feel of that part of the carpet you can only reach by tunneling your finger in between the individual pieces of pile ,the distinct smell that only comes from smashing one's nostrils right up to a heating vent and inhaling completely. The minuteae of your immediate environment which, at that time in your life, is pretty much just the house you live in. All this came back to me in wave after wave of intense recollection, and I worked to get my head around two of the greatest pieces of evidence I've ever experienced, supporting the notion that I simply don't live in a protected, ageless bubble. The truest "home" I've ever known, gone; and my dad's mortality. Father Time marches on, and he is wearing Vasque Sundowners.

I spent a while in the old house. I may have even spent the time I needed there. At the end, I bid tear-stained farewell, and was off.

What Did I Do to Deserve This?

Behind the Music

Dear God, Stephen, you're right.

44: 1998

44: 2008

We Want MORE 44!!!

Not a whole lot to say about this. Only - the old gang got together for our first performance in the past eight years. Six songs, acoustic (except for electric bass): The Shirt, Against the Background, Thank You Though, Green Pink & Blue, One Way Flow Jet, and Anxiety. A smattering of the olde tyme contingent came out to see us, and much fun was had.

Not a Cop-Out: My Next 10 in Netflix

I enjoy this, as an exercise in trying to remember why I added these movies when I did:

Just returned:
Dragon Lives Again / Star of Stars

So, I did end up seeing this. I can say more at another time but -let me simply say: there's a reason this movie is not found under the heading "classics."

1. Seven Samurai
Japanese director Kurusawa's masterpiece inspiration for "The Magnificent Seven." I'm surprised I haven't seen this already, actually. But it certainly seems to be in that "must see" category for a guy like me. So here it is.

2. MST3K: The Giant Spider Invasion
I have sprinkled MST3K episodes (ones that are rated by others at 4.5+ stars) throughout my queue, at the rate of about one out of every 10. Here comes another. And I can't wait.

2.My Son the Fanatic
Indie film (comedy, I think) about a Pakistani living in England who turns to Islamic Fundamentalim as a result of stresses in his own life. Just seemed pretty interesting, the write-up I read. Seems like it would be fun to read & compare how someone with similar stresses as me handles it very differently in the context of another culture.

3. Me Myself I
Fairly recent film taking on the "what would my life have turned out like, had I made a different choice?," a subject with which I have endless fascination.

4. Kung Fu Hustle
Crazy, comedic, madcap martial arts movie. Seems like it should have Jackie Chan in it, but it doesn't. This was recommended by Mixdorf, if I'm not mistaken.

5. Of Mice And Men
Hmm. I'm not excited about this movie, at the moment. Retelling of tale by (Steinbeck?) that came out in the early 90s. I remember the movie's heyday being when I was renting movies out back at Title Wave, and people I aspired to be seemed to be the ones renting it. Here's that obligation I've never been able to shake coming to pass, I guess.

6. 49 Up
Amazing documentary undertaking as filmmaker interviewed a group of seven year olds in 1964, then again 42 years later. It's been sitting in my list of "Watch Now" possibilities for some time, with me passing over it again and again. But only when it arrives on my doorstep, will the watching truly be inevitable.

7. The Squid and the Whale
One of Jeff Daniels' quasi-indie endeavors, which bodes well. I'd forgotten anything about it - I have no idea why (only because of the marine-related title?), I was confusing it with that Bill Murray movie, Life Aquatic. I guess this one has to do with relationships.

8. Oldboy
Kind of wild movie, the summary of which I just must have stumbled across, about a guy who was drugged, imprisoned, and tortured for 15 years by he knows not who. He then decides to exact revenge (but, again, on he knows not who). The summary seems to indicate some sort of mind-blowing finale. Overall, a departure for me. But I'm game.

9. Mysterious Skin
Indie flick about the relationship between two weirdo friends not all that promising of a premise, but Netflix seems to think I'll give it a 4.1, even though the average rater has given it a 3.5. Those are some pretty good odds.

10. The Conformist
1970s Italian action adventure. Seems like I've heard good things about it, but I cannot recall at this date.

One Stress Off the Plate

My parents found a place. For those that know the area (and, I guess, care), about a half block to the southwest of Hoover, so in the general area where they already live - which is great. It's a duplex they'll be sharing with a retired woman. Everything on one floor, no yard work/shoveling, and much, much cheaper than any decent retirement community. Though I haven't seen the place yet, it seems like about as good a scenario as could have happened, considering he current state of the rental market in communities along the Cedar River.

Also - also - apparently, in a checkup yesterday, my dad was told that the oxygen has been doing wonders for him. When he went in originally, they (the medical staff) say his face was beet red from his lungs having not been able to process enough oxygen., and that the differece is night and day.

yay - on those two things, and here's two a couple of stresses, at least, that won't be hanging over my head in the immediate future.

A Soul-Baring Post, Like in the Old Days

And why I haven't been posting with reguarity or substance, of late.

Things are rough here. Work really, really getting me down, as is the situation in Waterloo with my dad's health and my parents' impending move (though it’s hard for me to know how much each factor is contributing) I’ve been depressed in the last few weeks. Had to send a note to my theatre group telling them I need to pull back for awhile. I’m completely overloaded at work – pursued with shit as I stumble out of the door each night and have no energy to be the father I want to be. And Rose & Lucy are having trouble going down for the night, so I’m finding that my day begins at 6:30 (when I leave home) and doesn’t slow down till 9:30 or 10:00, though I'm moving like a broken shell of a man during the hours when I'm not in at work. The stress seems to be building by the day. I was so blasted and incapable of function at home last night I told Sharon I felt like I needed to be institutionalized. Not true, probably, but I felt like it.

Trying GoodReads HTML Cut & Paste Review Function

Genghis Khan: Emperor of All Men by Harold Lamb

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
The first of a number of books passed on to me from my grandmother's collection, this was a generally informative, though a tad sympathetic, chronicling of the rise of young chieftan-son Temujin of the Gobi Desert into a merciless supreme emperor and arguably the most successful military commander of all time. The author has managed to compile a surprisingly complete account of events from a culture largely without a written history. Indeed, a majority of the historical accounts of his battles are from the records of the defeated; somewhat remarkable as when the Mongol Horde ovverran your civilization, they tended to put an end to everything.


View all my reviews.

Knock on Wood

About what? Discuss...

More Waterloo News, of a Different Sort

Two pretty big things:

One, my dad's health is poor. He's had some type of blood/oxygen thing going on for some time that they've actually had some trouble pinpointing; but his lungs have been quite stressed, and he's not able to catch his breath after even some pretty low key activity. They've finally got him on oxygen 24 hours a day (like, a machine with a tether and a tank and the whole nine yards). I'm not sure where all this is headed, but I don't have a very good feeling about it. You guys have known him personally, to various extents, throughout the years - so, keep him in your thoughts, as you are able.

Two, my parents' house just sold. I'm wondering if the fact they were high & dry through the recent flooding made their neighborhood suddenly seem like a very desireable location or what, but there it is. Mind-blowing, as again - this is the only house I have ever known them in. They still haven't landed on the apartment or condo to which they'll be moving, but that'll be figured out sooner as opposed to later, one would think.

The Incredible Shrinking Newspaper

Obviously, this is good in an environmental/paper waste sense, but other than that – I find the struggles of news organizations to thrive in the world of “new media” one of the great, ominous issues of our age; and one that – due to the lack of a true political motivation one way or the other –one that no one (other than journalists themselves) really gives that much thought to.

Carried Away, As Usual

So, I got so excited about creating intro music for my new podcast, I never got around recording anything else:

http://media.putfile.com/Poliopolis-Bump-Music

Hello, Old Friend!

Tomorrow, 10 am, a bearded Mixdorf will knock on my round, green door.

I will say, "Go away, I do not want any well-wishers, or distant relations."

And he will reply "And how about very old friends?"

and...well, you get the picture.

Actually, I'll be meeting him at the airport. And though the Hilron house in a bit of disarray and maybe with hot water running in only one of four taps (with the one not being the shower), I will receive him and we will have an amazing joyride, nonetheless.

Full report down the line, no doubt.

I Will Not Die Tonight

Quite apropos, I think, this amazing poem I heard yesterday on Garrison Keillor's Writers' Almanac. Especially in light of the subjects covered in Mixdorf's post about China.

"Borrowed Time"
by David Moreau from Sex, Death and Baseball
© Moon Pie Press, 2004

I will not die tonight
I will lie in bed with
my wife beside me,
curled on the right
like an animal burrowing.
I will fit myself against her
and we will keep each other warm.

I will not die tonight.
My son who is seven
will not slide beneath the ice
like the boy on the news.
The divers will not have to look
for him in cold water.
He will call, "Daddy, can I get up now?"
in the morning.

I will not die tonight.
I will balance the checkbook,
wash up the dishes
and sit in front of the TV
drinking one beer.

For the moment I hold a winning ticket.
It's my turn to buy cold cuts
at the grocery store.
I fill my basket carefully.

For like the rain that comes now
to the roof and slides down the gutter
I am headed to the earth.
And like the others, all the lost
and all the lovers, I will follow
an old path not marked on any map.

I'm Actually Not Kidding Here (Well, All That Much, Really)

As I read the report of the robot, ASIMO (who can also recognize faces, walk on uneven terrain, and respond to most basic commands), directing the Detroit Symphony orchestra; I had the recurrence of a long-time and growing fear that I will live to see entire races of sentient, intelligent robots enslaved.

And again, my views on a matter will place me in the category of "fringe element."

As I Mentioned Recently...

There is an additional source of stress, of late.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Ouch

I hope that was just not having my basketball legs under me yet, and not age. It was pretty brutal this morning.

The bad:

• Pretty much every time I tried to drive, I got stuffed. I just had no spring in my step - it was like I knew what I wanted to do, but my body couldn't do it.
• I missed everything in sight. I remember (in the olden days!) being pretty much dependable from just inside the three point line on in. I had a stretch this morning where I am positive I missed more than 10 in a row.

The good:

• When I was not driving, I seemed to be able to get any open look I wanted. That may have had something to do with them not thinking I was worth covering (see the missing, above), but people usually aren't as focused in on your bad day as you are yourself, so I don't know if they were familiar with me enough to make that sort of judgement.

I also got totally gassed. I can go out and run four miles without thinking twice, but Mixx is right - this is a toally different sort of exercise. And all those baskets (actually, not all that many baskets) I've been shooting in the back yard over the past seven years don't do a whole lot to prepare you for a full-court game of four on four.

I really do think a lot of it has to do with re-familiarizing myself with the game - and my limitations. And I do think/hope that whole "getting my b-ball legs under me" thing plays a part, too. I probably won't ever be able to do what I used to, in terms of driving the lane. But I can pick my spots, start hitting shots, and distribute the ball.

We'll see if I can have a better outing next week.

The Full Monty and Back into the Fray

All along, they've been indicating that we will be receiving an Economic Stimulus Check that gives us $600 apiece (Sharon and me), and up to $300 per child. Some scary wording, there: up to. Well, I'm pleased to announce that I just checked the ol' bank statement and it's a full $300. Seeing as our tax lady told us we could claim 10 dependents and still come out even, this should not have been surprising. But you never want to count those chickens till they hatch.

In other news, I tracked down the old wake-up basketball league I last played in 10 years ago and asked them if they'd have need for an occasional sub. Things worked out much better than I'd hoped, as they put me in the "draft" for the summer league. My first game is tomorrow morning, 6 a.m. sharp. I remember how creaky and non-limber I felt playing at that hour when I was 29. I can only imagine what it's going to feel like tomorrow morning.

Relax, He Doesn't Care!

As was touched on in comments to my post yesterday, my father-in-law is redoing our hot water piping. We may not have a family on either side that's going to leave us a whopping inheritance, but in the practical skills and boundlessly generous nature of my father-in-law, we are truly blessed. He's helped us on numerous other home improvement items in the past, but this is the biggest - almost certainly beyond my skills at present; though, even if it wasn't, the chance of me finding the time to do this work is slim to nil. So thanks, Ken.

And so, yet another long-overdue item of home improvement (old hot water pipes were just about rusted through) out of the way; but also yet another non-visible item of home improvement out of the way.

It's a bit of a thorn in my craw that of the thousands and thousands of dollars I've dumped into making my house more up-to-code, energy efficient, and generally livable; we have yet to do any aesthetic improvements to our house since painting Lucy & Rose's room about six years ago. Perhaps we're employing some of the same wisdom that put us in that class of folks who did not take out a aubprime mortage; but it would be nice, for once, to be one of those people that have a newly remodeled kitchen or bathroom to enjoy. As it is, we're living in the same old shithole. But a shithole that's got it where it counts. Ala the Millenium Falcon.

Sharon & I are also in the process of taking on a major feng shui-driven cltuter clearing that's made us evaluate all that we have assumed or held dear about not giving/throwing away for the past 10 years (more on that in a later post), and - as we sit in the midst of this endeavor (don't forget - every household endeavor with two kids under the age of five moves at a glacial pace), the aesthetic condition of our home seems all the more hopeless.

I've actually started getting a bit stressed, with a visit from Mixdorf on the near horizon. I wish the patio was done! I wish we'd just slapped a coat of paint in the hall! I wish we had our new steel roof! (look for that in summer 2009) Etc, etc.

I think I just need to chill out. I'm long past the point of being judged by close friends (e.g. the judgements are long since rendered). Quality times are made by company kept and ephemeral happenings; not by showing off a cork-floor kitchen. I just need to make sure potential hazards are out of the way and rest up for some potential late-night skullduggery. About the appearance of my property? Relax, he doesn't care.

For Joy (sort of)

Easy come, easy go on the battery re-charging.

A buttload of stresses, ranging from our hot water currently being in & out of service to an external source of stress I will undoubtedly be blogging about in the next few days, to some odds & ends around some customer service-related nagging issues we're trying to resolve - but probably mostly related to my chronic condition of being underslept, led to be being near the flipping point last night. Sharon suggested I take a day off.

A call into work this morning, and I was free. As of 11:48 am, I've already biked to Steamworks for a waffle, coffee, and read of the morning paper; and then down to the Theodore Wirth mountain bike trails for a trail run and then bike home. It would have been pure "for joy," but for me rolling my ankle twice; the first one just a tweak, and the second one somewhat more severe. I had to walk it off for about five minutes, then gingerly run/limp back to my bike.

I'm getting around OK now, and I think I'm going to be spending the rest of the day attending to some household maintainence things at a leisurely pace.

Peace out.

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)