Here Goes the Panther

Like a Phoenix from the ashes, so again rises my desire to train, sweat, and burn. It really is amazing, this cycle which can reach amazing lows (such as my 2001 "retirement") and highs (my 25Ks, my marathon). In the past few weeks I've had this general sense that I wanted to start "running again regularly," though have not been doing so on any sort of schedule. I just knew I wanted to be in decent shape for the "Weekend at Dan's Pad." But seeing those runners, & walking the trails out at Afton; well, that's done it.

I get myself so worked up in my own mind. I am now obsessed with running the Afton 25K trail run: http://www.aftontrailrun.com/ Only problem is, it's less than 4 weeks away. The sort of training I'm considering goes against years of wisdom and experience I have with respect to training and injury prevention, but my thinking is this: I have some running capital, and I intend to spend it.

The last two 25K trail runs training programs I have undertaken have been over a period of 12 weeks each, with the idea that I was running enough to swing a 5-6 mile "long run" at the end of the first week. And even after that training, I was hampered by cramps for the last couple of miles on race day. So 4 weeks of training? What am I thinking? Well, here's my thinking on the "running capital":
1. Is it possible that I have more built up reserves, due to my years of off/on running, and can get back up to speed in less time than I have previously realized?
2. Is it possible that my training has not traditionally been very efficient? It is generally 2 short, relatively easy (3 mile) running days sandwiching a tougher, longer "tempo day" midweek, with a long run at the end of the week. Towards the end of the training, the easy runs get a little longer, but looking back at previous schedules last night, I was surprised that the 3 mile distance for those continued through week 8 or so. Is it possible that after the first couple of weeks, I am getting very, very little benefit from those short runs?
3. Injury prevention: hydration & stretching, for both of which I have poor track records. In such a small window, could I do the stretching and water-consumption I need to in order to recouperate and keep my body lithe?
Last night, all these crazy thoughts welling up in my head, I set out on a favorite 7 mile run; not sure I could necessarily even finish it. I did. The best time I have ever recorded for that route is 54 minutes. Last night's time: 1 hr 11 minutes, and I was pretty much maxing myself out. Ouch. That's off about 2 minutes a mile, and is gonna have to change significantly in the next few weeks. How sore I get from that run will also play a major part in determining the fate of my next month.

No guarantee I can pull this off. Hills at Afton are no joke, and not to be dismissed or underestimated. It's a grand experiment (I'll be trying to get in 4 runs a week, with two of them being 7+ miles and a long run that go from 7 to 10 to 13 on consecutive Sundays prior to the race. If I can't keep up the schedule and/or if I can't manage the Sunday distances, I'll know I set the bar too high and pull out. It's definitely gonna take some focus & guts. But my single-mindedness, at least over a small stretch of time, is also not to be underestimated.

Rivers of Mud, Field Rest 2005, and the Stirring of the Heart of a Panther

Ah, Afton State Park, my old friend. The site of the first few February Freeze-Offs, as well as numerous other camping overnighters; it is temptingly close to the Twin Cities, considering the relatively large space in which to frolic, wonderfully hilly terrain, and nicely remote camping facilities (backpack only). Since our attempt to camp in Kansas Territory was thrwarted the previous weekend, we were damned sure going to make it happen this time. Originally, we were planning an overnight at Backbone State Park while down in Waterloo for my niece's high-school graduation open house. But the camping facilities there were too much an unknown, both in terms of availability (Iowa does not allow the reserving of sites) and quality (though Backbone is a cool place, that does not guarantee you are not squashed in between banks of RVs & screaming families, KOA-style, in the campground). I think my future Iowa camping experiences (and, perhaps my camping experiences anywhere) will be limited to backpack-site or backcountry only). Afton was a known and trusted entity.

We ran into rain, though. Good God, in what percentage of my past camping trips have I battled this old adversary? Almost certainly, it exceed the percentage of actual days in which these places have received rain throughout the years. While we did not battle "Rivers of Mud" as the post-title indicates (ala the trip to Eagle Mountain, or on the coast of Maine), we were facing something that ranged from a light drizzle to a steady downpour all the way from the parking lot to the actual campsite which, as some of my readers (2/3 of my readers?) may recall involves perhaps the longest uninterrupted uphill climb in the state of Minnesota. While nice weather is always preferable, I am generally an experienced enough camper these days to take rain in stride (though packing up a wet tent during a rain for continued backpacking would suck even for Will Steiger). As usual, though, the equation is slightly different when one of your party is about two years old. Not that she minded at all. Dressed up in blue rubber rain boots and a little blue raincoat that made it look like she was wearing nothing else, Lucy dutifully toted her froggie backpack along; and, as far as I could tell, she was unencumbered by the slightest amount of stress about how & when we would be able to set the tent up, how we would cook that night (or build a fire) or any other general campout concern. It did let up, right about when we got into camp; and aside from two more very brief deluges (one very shortly after while we huddled in the tent, that brought to mind very vivid recollections of "Rivers of Mud;" and one at about 4 am), the rain clouds did very little other than constantly threaten for the rest of the day/night/next morning. We ended up getting in a brief hike up to the pine forest, having a nice campfire (& eating s'mores), and getting a very comfortable night's sleep (Sharon switched her traditional side with me-sacrificing the ability to zip her bag to her claustrophobic husband's, and granting him the ability to keep his sleeping bag's zipper to the outside), and a beautiful next morning.

The next morning was, indeed, beautiful. We had a leisurely morning, then packed up everything with the intent of backpacking a roundabout way back to the car. My little girl loves hiking, though we end up moving at a pace of about a half mile-per hour. We left the trail up near the pine forest that some of you may recall and, peeking out the other side, I happened to see what may have been the actual site of the original field rest (Feb. of 95-96? when it was 50+ degrees and all the snow melted off a south-facing hillside and we all rested in various stages of disrobe, following an intense snowball fight). I snapped a picture that I will forward to all interested parties. Looks quite different in the summer, as the prairie grasses (technically oak savannah grasses) are tall & green, rather than matted & yellow. The pine forest was long & lovely & provided me a chance to hear my favorite sound in the world-the timeless rush of wind in the tops of evergreens.

At the end of the forest, we got back on the trail, took a huge descent down by the river and began the long trek through river bottoms back to the car. Along the way, we encountered a number of trail runners, padding along with near-zero body fat and rhythmic panting. Man, but I am suddenly wishing I was in the midst of training to be able to do the 25K race at Afton...but alas. I am not. And my body fat percentage is not, well, zero.

The Mayflower Society

Been meaning to get around to this for awhile, but an interesting part of my family history:

James Chilton (one of original 28 people on the Mayflower who had kids)
Mary Chilton married John Winslow begat
Susanna Winslow married Robert Latham begat
Mercy Latham married Isaac Harris begat
Mary Harris married Daniel Packard begat
Sarah Packard married Zachariah Shaw begat
Judith Shaw married John Edson begat
Isaac Edson married Sarah Ford begat
Daniel Edson married Rachel Needham begat
Sarah Edson married Francis Shumard begat
Rachel Shumard married William Groom begat
Roe Groom married Alice Meade begat
Lois Groom married Jack Hylton begat
Dan Hylton

Each state has a chapter of the Mayflower Society-been thinking about joining, and finally got around to filling out some paperwork. My anscestry also makes me eligible for "Sons & Daughters of the American Revolution," but this is just a little cooler...

Don't Get Me Wrong...

The girl can get mad.

She's always had the capability of getting really mad-in the earlier times (and still), not being understood, one way or the other, is something that would set her off. "Tantrums," if you could even call them that, were very short outbursts quickly passed & gone. More recently, however, these episodes have seemed to grow in frequency and somewhat in duration. I think it has to do with some of the earliest comprehension of herself as an individual. She's exploring boundaries-how far she can push for independence, what is appropriate and what is not appropriate, what works and doesn't work in getting what she wants, etc. And, of course, her little head is processing things in a way that Sharon & I can't truly understand.

So, if not getting what she wants sets her off, she stiffens up and wants to fling herself back onto the floor. Unfortunately, her personal safety is not foremost on her mind at those times, and so we're trying to strike the balance between giving her the space she needs and making sure her head doesn't smack into the hardwood floor. Other than that-we let her know that we understand what she wants (and take it seriously-even if it's just something like wanting to wear snowman socks), let her know we'll be there when she's ready, and then just back the hell off.

I have no basis of comparison, so I don't know how to gague the intensity or frequency of the outbursts, but in reading I have trusted, the tantrum is a pressure-valve release-an absolutely necessary method of releasing various stresses and offering some relief from the pressure of all that new learning & processing. People like us can go for a run, zone in front of a TV, smoke a cigarette, meditate, listen to music, or do whatever works for us. Toddlers, of course, don't make conscious decisions on how to attend to their mental health. The tantrum is the answer.

It's hard not to take it personally and wonder if you're doing something wrong (or, worse yet, start that bane of parenthood-wondering if the behavior is "normal"), but the happy, curious, hilarious child that we get in between is definitely a cure-all for all those worries.

Anyway-lest from my blogging anyone think I'm trying to give the impression our household is a nonstop bucket of laughs...unfortunately, only most of the time.

Catching Up on the Sleep Debt

How tired I was on the KS trip this last weekend was kind of a wake-up call, so to speak, with respect to my sleep debt. I'm way, way in the red.

I have a tendency to stay up to late. Partly, it's because after Lucy goes to bed is essentially the first time of each day when I have a chance to catch my breath. It's easy to just sit in one place and let thoughts from the day buzz and buzz about in my head. Sometimes I can use that time to get important things done, such as checkbook balancing and doing the dishes. It's a struggle to motivate myself to be productive at that hour and in that "wasted at the end of the day" state. It's even harder to motivate myself to do something constructive, but that requires brain power, such as write & record music (which essentially explains that chryogenically-frozen state of "The Secret of Him" recording). It's even easier to waste time in front of the computer, or aimlessly strumming a guitar.

Perhaps if I can get back on track a little, sleep-wise, I will have an extra 30-minutes to an hour each night in which I have energy and ambition. We shall see. In any event, putting Lucy down last night, I fell asleep right alongside her and didn't really wake up until morning.

A couple of shining moments last night before we fell asleep:
1. She decided (as she sometimes does) that she wanted to read to ME. The book: Wocket in my Pocket. Though of course she can't read, she got a majority of the characters right as she went from page to page, asking me with much inflection, "Is there a Nink in your sink?" and so on.
2. When we got to the part where I refuse to engage in conversation ("I'm not going to talk anymore, Lucy-it's time to be sleeping") she engaged in what has become the norm. A long-winded, whispery stream-of-consciousness monologue in which she covers a great range of her vocabulary and experience, while I silently listen, eyes closed. I don't even remember what the exact subject of the monologue was at the moment I couldn't control myself anymore, but I couldn't help from cracking a smile and starting to chuckle. Lucy, of course, noticed she had an audience. I could hear the moment of her realization: "Ahhh?," followed by a chuckle of her own and, "Do you think I'm----FUNNY, Daddy?" What could I say, but "Yes, Loo, you're funny. You made your Daddy laugh. But it's still time to sleep."

A cold, cold heart I would have, indeed, if I could not always be open to giving some points for great bouts of humour, or creativity.

Food For Thought

“We have been led in Mesopotamia into a trap from which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honor. We have been tricked into it by a steady withholding of information. The Baghdad communiqués are belated, insincere, incomplete. Things have been far worse than we have been told. Our administration more bloody and inefficient than the public knows. It is a disgrace to our record, and may soon be too inflamed for any ordinary cure. We are today not far from a disaster. Our unfortunate troops, under hard conditions of climate and supply, are policing an immense area, paying dearly everyday in lives for the willfully wrong policy of the civil administration in Baghdad.”

Lawrence of Arabia, 1920

PrairyErth Country: The Return

The drive down was a little tougher than expected. I guess I underestimated how far in the red I was with respect to my "sleep debt." My drowsy driving was starting to put my family in danger just north of Ames, so we stopped at the Super 8 in Story City for the night. A wonderful sleep it was, but the remaining six hours of driving we had ahead of us from that point on was made a lot more complicated, since it had to take place during Lucy's waking hours.

We managed to roll in just after three on Saturday, and found the whole situation at Council Grove Lake to be bitterly disappointing. Let me start by just taking a major shot at Kansas Parks & Rec. in general. As I understand, Kansas has a smaller percentage of public land than any other state in the union. In our two successful camping experiences in the state, Cimarron National Grassland and Flint Hills Wildlife Refuge, we have pitched our tent within sight of oil rigs and barbed-wire fences, respectfully. Even their "public" land is simply land that is distinguished by some sort of classification, but is still privately owned. Kansas are so intensely distrustful of the government, it is pervasive in how it bears itself out. Hardly any government-owned land, absolute refusal for development of wind-farm infrastructure (in pastures in one of the windiest regions on earth), etc. etc. Anyway, it seems that all their (15 or so) state parks do not exist for preservation of wild, natural, or scenic areas. They exist purely as a result of the need to provide quick, close access to recreational areas for fishing, hunting, or ATV riding.

We thought we had a great plan when we discovered there were "primitive" camping sites around the lake. Not having to pitch a tent in a city of RVs (a rare opportunity in a Kansas campground). The guy at the main office, when I called ahead, told us that they didn't take reservations, nor were they necessary. Unless, as we found out when we pulled in, on Memorial Day weekend. Even those primitive sites were filled to the gills with tents. Trucks that had hauled boats & ATVs. Crappy tents and enormous coolers and loud families. Even had there been a spot, it would have been the farthest thing from what Sharon & I are looking for when we go camping, which is the ABSENCE OF PEOPLE, and the PRESENCE OF NATURE. To make matters worse, we had spent the entire day talking to Lucy about how we were about to go camping. It was really tough on Lucy and really, really tough on Sharon. I was disappointed in not being able to camp, but I was secretly very very thankful there was not an open spot in that midst of that open-air festival of hillbillies. In any event, it was a rough scene as we had to take the act into town and find a room at the Old Trail Motel.

The next morning we had the opportunity to go out to the cemetary (an amazing, peaceful, historical place) and see my grandma's grave, where tears were shed and respects were paid. We then walked on into downtown Council Grove and met our relatives (Lucy's step-Great Grandmother, and my mom's brothers and sister). Like most gatherings of my relatives, it was moderately awkward, but we ended up at a park, where Lucy was quite entertained. For the longest time, we've talked about this mythical road trip all the way down I-35, where we would stop and spend the night at different relatives that live along the way. It was finally this trip when I realized, "Yeah, just what I need-awkward silence and strange feeling of being out of place all the way from Minneapolis to San Antonio."

By the time late afternoon came around, we found ourselves in another park, and by the end of the day, Lucy was quite spent. We ended up electing to take off prior to supper, a little earlier than originally planned and, after a very uneventful drive (of which I was able to swing all but one our of), we got back home at 3:15 am. Yesterday was a lazy day of recouperating, pulling dandelions, and trading off Lucy duty.

All in all, not too many hilights on the trip, other than great conversation during the part of the trip when Lucy was asleep and Sharon was not (reminiscent of some great pre-parenthood road trips) and, of course, seeing the graves, which made the whole thing worthwhile.

PrairyErth Country

We're heading off at midnight tonight for a trip down to Council Grove. We'll be rolling in about 9 am and heading out to a lake near town where we'll be camping for two nights while we attend to some family "business" in town.

It will be my first chance to visit my grandma's grave, which is something I really need to do. In light of there having not been a funeral, and life having been so busy in the past year, I really haven't gotten the closure I've needed. That could be a pretty emotional time for me. On a lighter note (though I am looking forward to visiting the grave), Lucy will have the chance to visit a few relatives that have never gotten the chance to meet her at dinner on Sunday. My mom & dad will be there too, and she gets a big kick out of them.

Other than that, it's going to be the first time I've visited the town without grandparents and, thus, an obligitory sort of adjenda of visiting people. We may really just spend a lot of time kicking down and relaxing in our campsite.

The Show Went On

Wow-what a trip. It was a rush and a blast. Technically, everything went about as well as could have been expected, and I felt great about how I performed.

My character, who has been bounced around throughout the play, actually dies at the end and doesn't stand with the rest of the cast for a bow. However, the whole cast followed the performance with 15 minutes of improv, and at the beginning of that, the director asked me to come forward and take a special bow-I got some whistles and extra cheers, which was immensely gratifying. Later, cast & crew met at a nearby pub for drinks & celebration and I had this amazing feeling of accomplishment, peace, and definitely some relief. A feeling I recall now from my acting of years ago, but that I had forgotten.

The director is hoping to do some organization & fundraising this summer before launching into a full-fledged (full-length, regular practice scheduled) drama this fall: Waiting for Lefty. It would actually involve auditions and have a much more rigorous practice schedule, presumably resulting in a much more polished show with a much larger audience. Man, I had a good time acting again-I think my future artistic involvement may sort of jump from acting venture to musical venture & back & forth, but probably rarely a concerted effort on both fronts at the same time.

On a side note, the performance was videotaped, I believe, if anyone would like a copy.

The Show Must Go On

Well, the big performance day is here: http://www.geocities.com/hylton44/NightmaresPlaybill.pdf
And some of the reality of what we're facing approaches the themes of the productions.

To begin with-we have had a total of 5 scheduled opportunities to get together and work on our plays, averaging about an hour a time for our particular play. About 5 hours of rehearsal. This contrasts to the 100+ odd hours of rehearsal that was standard in any of the plays I did in my youth, including rehearsals where all you did for 5 hours was stand in the right spot in between lines until they got your lighting mapped out, or rehearsals where all you did was "block" (get physical stage directions) certain portions of the play). To put it in perspective, last night (which was our dress rehearsal) was the first time we'd had an opportunity to run through the play from beginning to end. We had an actor drop out of our play about a week and a half ago. In the other play, one of the actors got a call during rehearsal last night that her dad was dying. Our director is having to cram and get ready to take over both roles. Absolute craziness. An Evening of Nightmares, indeed. Last night, lighting & sound effects we'd hoped to include were falling off left and right as it became apparent that we just weren't going to be able to pull them off.

We're the longer of the two plays-ours is a little over 30 minutes, of which I am onstage the whole time. At one point, I have a monologue that lasts about 5 minutes-kind of unbelievable, the amount of lines I've had to learn for this. Another thing I recall from my youth was that most of the memorization that really stuck took place in rehearsal (that way, you could get used to following actual cues, rather than sliding a piece of junk mail down a page, covering up your own lines). No such opporunity this time around, obviously. It has really been a situation of being thrown to the wolves.

As Sharon said last night, the way these plays are going to succeed is if the people in it, "act out of their asses." I intend to.

Flying Under the Radar

It is pretty well documented that I can not, will not shop at WalMart. Maybe 10% of the reason being the crappy merchandise, and 90% of the reason being unethical labor, commerce, and real estate practices.

Somehow, Target has managed to fly under the radar with a relatively squeaky-clean image, but digging in a little reveals that they're little better than their larger, uglier cousin. They are similarly anti-union, pro-import, and pro-superdevelopment.

Factoid to consider:
Annual salary of Target store employee: $13,000
Hourly salary of Target CEO: $19,010
(source: United Food and Commercial Workers Union)

Outside of the glaring irony of my workplace, I consider there to be a relatively good consistency between my values and my consumption. But the age of the all-purpose discount giant is probably here to stay-do I continue to boycott WalMart while ignoring the injustices of the Big Red Beast, in the name of them being the (slight) lesser of two evils? Perhaps I get a Costco membership: http://www.buyblue.org/detail.php?corpId=17

Minneapolis Downtown: 16 Pix in 16 Days

My new bus-trip home has a 15 minute layover in Downtown Minneapolis. After not having worked downtown in the past 6 years (and not heading there all that often for other reasons), the first couple times back in the belly of the beast during rush hour felt a little disconcerting. It did not take too long, however, for me to reacclimate to the pulse and the crowds and the cacauphony of architectural styles.

Funny-and kind of sad-I can get off my first bus and wait for the second right across the street from 5th Street Towers. Were Gibbs to still be employed there, we would undoubtedly convene there for brief mischief on a regular basis. Almost in honor of past good times, I started embarking on Skyway Walkin and Street Walkin, seeing how much of this city I can take in each day during those few minutes. What has really struck me in my walks so far is how visually exciting downtown is. As I gazed around, image after image was composing itself in my head for imaginary photos until it hit me-I need to actually take some shots. So, on days when Lucy is at school (cause when she's at home, Sharon reserves the right to keep the digital camera), I'm walking the streets and skyways looking for the perfect shot, with the goal of one keeper per day/walk. This will result in an my ultimate plan of 16 shots in 16 days that will convey my own interpretation of Minneapolis, visually. I got my first one last night.

Not sure yet what the final "presentation" should be-just emailing them out seems a little lame. Maybe publishing them to the web (though I'd have to dumb down the resolution a lot, which I would rather not do). I'm open to suggestions...

How To Care for that Precious Little Thing: Part 1

Well, I had a post here previously and then, after some reconsideration, I removed it. It's hard (for me, anyway), to try to put down into words what I think about parenting without coming across as an insufferable, holier-than-thou prick of a parent who lets my kid walk all over me.

Child-rearing and the profound impact a parent's behavior has on their child's development is a subject I feel amazingly passionate about-to the point where I may not be distinguishing the line for tactfulness. I would love and welcome a one on one discussion about the subject, but let me simply say here those few simple concepts that I utterly believe will make all the difference in having a child that is creative, independent of thought, confident, and happy:
1. Be consistent.
2. Validate your child's feelings always.
3. Take great interest in everything your child does.
4. Treat your child as in individual capable of understanding, and deserving of the opportunity to contribute.
5. Be silly!
6. No good will ever come hitting, shaming, or scolding your child.

A Taste of Things to Come (as it were)

Went out to La Casita with Sharon & Lucy tonight-had some good food. I also asked if they had any Mexican imports on tap.

"Just Dos Equis Amber," replied the server

"That sounds great-what sizes do you have?" I queried.

"A regular size and then a large."

"How many ounces is the large?"

"Uh-I'm not sure-it's around (gesturing) this big.."

"That sounds just fine. Bring it on."

It was at least 24 oz., but maybe closer to 30. The draft was cool and inviting as it slid down, and I gotta say-for a guy that can put them away when he has to, I sure do settle into a pleasant buzz after just a couple. I realized that I've not had more than a single beer at a sitting since probably when Cory & I shared a pitcher at Christmastime. And prior to that, it was probably my trip out to Massachusetts last summer. And I think I miss it nearly as much as Mixdorf.

Anyway, I was thinking about the impending visit by my good friend from the East Coast this summer, and just reflecting how we may be unleashed in a somewhat debaucherous manner upon the strange brew each evening during our time together, and the potential of strenuous, peak-performance styled physical activities of the daylight hours, when our mission hit me: We shall have such a mixture of athletic, adventurous achievement and alcohol consumption as to put French Adventure Racing teams to shame.

He Loves and Hates the Ring, Like He Loves and Hates Himself

So says Gandalf about Gollum, in Fellowship of the Ring.

I can relate-not with respect to myself, but a number of other things in my life.

My Neighborhood
My Job
The Internet
The NBA
Pizza
Politics
Sleep
Relaxation
Rock and Roll
Spending the Night in a Tent

How about anyone else-what do you simultaneously love and hate?

That's My Girl

I love my little Lucy!

She is getting to an age where she's really exploring fun, creative verbal stuff. We often get in little exchanges where we go back and forth saying the zaniest thing we can; something like:
Daddy: Well, Lucy, blooba blooba bloo!
Lucy: Well, Daddy, zip zaaaaa zoga!
Daddy: Well, Lucy, nibba nibba flapbbbbbb
Lucy: Well, Daddy, ba ba ba ba wooooo!
and so on...We get laughing so hard we almost fall off our chairs.

Other awesome thing-yesterday she told Sharon she has a sister named "Feaky Bender."

Hardware Wars, The Office, and Netflix vs. The Library

So, there was a 2 for 1 Sunday special at Video Universe when I picked up Motorcycle Diaries the other night. I have long wanted to see the little spoof Hardware Wars, and thought it would be a perfect free little supplement to the evening's cinema feature. Unforunately (and chalk it up as a first) I stumped the best movie rental store in the Twin Cities on that one.

What I ended up picking out was Season 1 (from which I knew I'd only have time for one episode) of "The Office," a British comedy, done documentary-style, about the inner-workings of a dysfunctional office. It was absolutely hilarious-and extremely well-done. Sort of "This is Spinal Tap" in the production, acting, and humour, though a little more subtle. Hard to believe they kept up that level of quality through the remainder of the series (which has at least two seasons under its belt), but word is that they did.

Since Mixdorf decided to go with the Netflix membership, I've been thinking about it myself. I did look at the $9.99 option, though that only allows you to keep a single movie out at a time. You have to be really on the ball about getting the thing back if you want to make that membership worth it. I have also considered just doing a better job of reserving movies I want to see from the library. They don't have the stock nor the selection that Netflix does, but it's free and they have enough of a collection to keep me watching new, quality movies as far into the future as I can imagine (they have, for instance, "The Office"). In either case, it seems like it kind of sucks that you only have a limited amount of control over what you are able to watch at any given time-seeing as you get what's available. Then there's the deal that Sharon & I simply don't end up with that much movie-watching time available to us in a month. Must think a little more.

(Weekend Musings) The Motorcycle Diaries, Lindenberries, 15 mph, and Other Things

Though not necesarily in that order.

Saw Phantom Menace Friday night in preparation for the upcoming release of Revenge of the Sith. It was not the best, closest, most uninterrupted viewing I'll ever have, but I'm finally quite certain of this: it is definitely a level (or two) below episodes 4 and 5, for sure.

Sharon went camping with Lucy and her cousins and I had the chance to spend Saturday afternoon through Sunday afternoon alone at home-my first night home without Lucy and/or Sharon since Lucy's birth. Kind of wild, and unbelievable how much I got done. From finishing off a brick border to our front bush/planting area, transplanting about 30 ft of wild strawberries in front of our house, mowing, sawing up brush for firewood, and a buttload of stuff inside the house. And I still had time to go sleep in till 9:30 Sunday morning (not sure I've slept past 7:00 in the last year) and go to a local coffeeshop for morning coffee, a leisurely read of The Minneapolis Observer, and a breakfast of waffle with lindenberries.

I also managed to go for a run on both days-first time running around my neighborhood without Lucy in quite a while. It was a rare treat, in the course of each run, to take a little winding half-mile trek through the woods down by the river. It's a cool little diversion that is "off-road" in the truest sense of the word-there's two little spring-fed streams to leap, as well as a couple of giant downed logs (one must be 2 1/2 to 3 feet to clear), and one other spot where you must leap atop a log and run along it for about 20 ft. Basically a lot of fun. As I was heading down my street for the final half-block, I did my usual kick into full spring mode. Then, when I stopped, a van pulled up beside me and a guy told me he clocked me at 15 mph. Not too shabby.

Last night, as part of celebration for Mothers' Day, we watching 'The Motorcycle Diaries,' which Sharon had wanted to see for a long time. It was good-possibly very good. Sharon did like it a little more than me, though I think in another time, in another mood I could have been really really taken with it. Basically, the story of Che Ernesto Guevara (a Argentine guy who became a human rights activist) during the part of his life in which he discovers some of the injustices that people in South America face that compel him to this higher calling. But the story itself (as the movie states a couple of times) is not about heroic deeds. Ernesto (who is a semester from graduating medical school) takes off on a road trip with a friend, intending to go all the way down the South American coast from Buenos Aires, up the other side all the way to Caracas, all while riding double on a shitty old motorcycle called "The Mighty One." I will say the authenticity of people they meet along the way is absolutely amazing, as is the scenery. Would definitely recommend going in "the queue," Mixxy & AJ.

The Culture of Loud

This is a subject which I have been interested in discussing for some time (and may have touched on in past conversations with friends), but have only now decided to tackle via blog/brief essay. One reason I have not gotten into it much before now is that my first inclination was that I was treading in some dangerous waters, as far as cultural sensitivity is concerned. But I no longer think that's the case.

I have long considered myself a proponent of diversity; the idea that all of our different backgrounds and worldviews can combine to make a more interesting and, ulimately, better whole. What that presupposes, however, is that we all have a common vision of good. Of course, good-hearted people all DO share values of personal safety, low crime, etc. But I have only recently begin to really realize just how many aspects which I consider part of the "quality of life" equation are not necessarily common at all. In terms of where you actually make your residence, the title of this piece becomes quite an issue.

I suspect I'm not alone in this, but I have a tendency, when hearing a "boom car" (of which there are many in my neighborhood), to visualize the driver as someone "marking a statement." Sort of a "tell me to turn it down, I dare you!" sort of attitude. Maybe some rebellious act by a teenager, or some nose-thumbing by someone who thinks they've been done wrong by society. But I'm not so sure that's the case anymore. People like me (affiliated very loosely as, say, the "Culture of Quiet") may consider these "offenders" as as deviants to this general consensus of societal decorum. But I gotta say-the noise from these cars is so regular that the concept of them representing only a disaffected segment of society is just not one I buy anymore. At what point does a behavior become so prevalent as to become the cultural norm; or, if not the norm, as least an accepted backdrop to everyday life? These people cannot be judged as deviants, or even as people with some purposeful intent to invade my space. I know some of my neighbors personally who fit right in the "loud" category, and they are not particularly bitter or angry about anything (in fact, often quite the opposite) And it's not just the cars. We hear phone conversations through the walls of their house and on in through the walls of our house. Walk out their front walk talking loudly on cell phones. They come home loud, late at night. They leave loudly in the morning. And when their friends come to visit, they stride out into the middle of the street and greet them loudly while blocking traffic in the middle of the street, and revving their engines loudly. This is the city. You wouldn't expect to live without the buzz of people or the constant drone of cars if you lived in a New York City condo. Sure, Minneapolis ain't NYC, but it is a city. I simply live on a urban, residential street. At what point do I actually just up and realize that those sounds ARE the background sounds of life if I choose to live in a neighborhood like this?

Do I have to like it or even learn to live with it? Hell, no! It's the old "if you don't like what's on TV, turn the channel." I can choose to live in a place where others share my values, provided I can find one. In my ideal environment, neighbors know one another, genuinely like & trust one another, and greet each other with a smile. They also have an appreciation of a blessed quiet drifting on the breeze through an open window on a summer evening.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I was a little afraid to tackle this subject-racial overtones or undertones? God knows the white-dominated suburbs have their own "Culture of Loud": blaring gas-powered lawn care devices and the drone of power tools from every garage. I've been reasonably content in my neighborhood for seven years, but I don't think I could last one week in Woodbury without beginning to climb the walls, so great would be the cultural differences. So actually the COL correlation probably has more to do with socio-economic status. In any event, I'd rather chalk it up to lifestyle. People that are content to live like that simply have a different notion of what constitutes quality of life. No longer feeling as though there's a problem that needs fixed, or as though I have a duty to judge what it going on around me has led to a certain peace about this whole subject. I've been saying along that I prefer to move because of what opportunities are there in the new locale, not because I am running away from anything. If I am, indeed, going to take my leave of the city (the direction to which I am now-and perhaps finally-leaning), I wish to do it in peace and without any resentment. I definitely feel as though this is a bold step in that direction.

Sorry for the Couple of Activist Posts

I promise I'll be back to the mundane in short order, but...another issue that I could not ignore.

So, in an "action notice" I received from a progressive political organization with which I am affiliated, I just read this:

On Sunday morning, Christian Coalition founder Pat Robertson told TV viewers nation-wide that the threat posed by liberal judges is "probably more serious than a few bearded terrorists who fly into buildings." When an incredulous George Stephanopoulos asked if Robertson really believed that these judges posed "the most serious threat America has faced in nearly 400 years of history, more serious than al Qaeda, more serious than Nazi Germany and Japan, more serious than the Civil War?," he responded, "George, I really believe that."

So...all this hatred, fear mongering, and activism...all on behalf of what? 2 things: The ability for same-sex couples to marry, and abortion rights. This is what reality-based people in this country are up against-a vociferous and maddeningly effective group of nutcases that are out to impose their morality on the rest of the world, and for whom no tactic is over the line. Boy, I sure like Christianity, such as it was conceived. But for anyone who wonders what has driven me away from the church in recent years, look no further. There's nothing Christian about hate, lies, and bigotry.