History of Britain

A subject about which I have some interest, and the subject (& title) of a documentary series, the first volume of which finished last night, courtesy of Netflix. The highly-regarded Simon Schama produces and narrarates this generally fascinating series, which tends to focus a little more on compelling individual personalities than it does the some of the other minutea cultural history; at least, once it gets beyond the stone age. This particular installment actually included the first three episodes of the series: Beginnings, Conquest!, and Dynasty; and, in keeping with what is generally the case after I have consumed non-fiction, I've retained very little I would be able to actually draw upon in a conversation. I just have to trust that there's some sort of "whole is greater than sum of its parts" way in which my mind is expanding as a result of such exercises.

A couple notable things that did lodge themselves in my mind:

• A section on the Orkney village of Skara Brae, where a storm unearthed a stone-age village with a series of dwellings and evidence of culture & social structure far beyond anything that had been discovered from that period. See the link for what appears to be a really great Wikipedia article on the place (though I haven't actually read through it yet).
• English kings were pretty much all dickheads and goofballs. At least, pre-Magna Carta. Most of them were of Norman descent (not even English speaking), and even their rock-star King, Richard the Lionharted, had a pretty ugly run ending with pretty much the bankruptcy of England buying back his freedom after he had been captured during a Crusade.

Much much more in there. A lot of good stuff. I wouldn't send it out as a general recommendation, but anyone with an interest in this subject would find it quite interesting.

Good Omens?

Good Omens. I should probably offer recaps of more books that hit my nightstand, but unless books leave indelible marks on my psyche, I usually forget. Taking a page (so to speak) from Stephen & Matt, I will attempt to do it a little more often. Starting with now.

Good Omens (Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett), a book I originally heard about on MPR, sounded interesting enough to check out. More specifically, Neil Gaiman was engaging enough in the interview to pique my interest. There's probably not a whole lot I can add to the various descriptions & reviews on Amazon, beyond the fact that it was the funniest book I'd read in a long time. In memory, in fact. Funny, to the point of me having to just stop reading, pause, and re-read lines on a regular basis, while muttering to myself, "Good Lord, but that's hilarious..."

In a very brief nutshell, it's a send-up of Armageddon.

A few times in the reviews, Good Omens was mentioned as being something like "the next installment of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I should probably mention that, while I see the comparison, I wish it hadn't been made. While there was some good stuff in "Hitchhikers Guide..," it represents a creative style of writing & art that doesn't generally appeal to me a lot. Rapid-fire, dark, sardonic. Often, it seems to me, sacrificing substance and depth of humor in favor of the relentless nature of the delivery. I guess maybe I'm not generally a huge fan of comedy books, since depth of character & compelling-ness of plot, & many other things I read for are tougher to come by in that framework. They're pretty much sacrificed, in fact. So (in my view), if you're going to ditch those aspects of your book in order to give yourself fully over to the "art of the joke," you better do it damned well, and you better not make me roll my eyes, or I'm gone.

And Good Omens did it, by God. Non-stop, luxurious hilarity and I recommend it heartily.

There and Back Again

For those interested in a play-by-play account of the proceedings, check out Mixdorf's Piece of Cheese, which will be recounting the experience, in a serialized format.

As for me, I'll give a few overall ruminations as to my personal experience:

• The remoteness and beauty of Escalante & Glen Canyon's landscape was stunning.
• With cliffs that soared close to if not over a thousand feet at times, the "Gulch" in "Coyote Gulch" has to rank among the greatest understatements in the history of geologic names.
• Escalante backcountry is simply not intended for hiking & camping in July.
• By extension, if our (Mixdorf, Mighty Tom, T-Clog, me) future "expedition" ventures are limited to summers in order to accomodate T-Clog's teaching schedule, (whether by bugs, heat, or severe weather) we are going to severely limit appealing options for getting out in the wilds.
• 28-straight-hour road trips are not as conducing to stimulating, delightful conversation as one might think. Particularly when one is battling open windows, fatigue, and/or a traveling companion whose mood may well be related to the gravitational pull of the moon.
• My days of tent camping may be growing fewer and farther between, even as my interest in spending time in the wild places of the world is as strong as ever. It is mostly a comfort/common sense issue. For me, anyway. We'll see how well I can sell this to Sharon, who I think gets as much enjoyment out of cooking on a camp stove, sleeping in a tent, and all the other little domestic camp tasks as ever.
• I love the mountains.
• I am afraid of heights.
• I love deafening silence that can be found in remoteness.
• The myth behind calorie consumption I have long suspected was laid bare.

and...there were definitely good times, humorous times, amazing times. There were also uncomfortable times, frustrating times, and contention amongst the traveling party. Building up a vision in your head over a period of nearly 15 years is a terrible burden to put on a one-week trip, and it would have been nearly impossible for it to live up to our sweet imagination. In hindsight, I can't help but consider what wise Mixdorf suggested a few days prior to leaving: we could have fun for a week in Evansdale (IA). Meaning, fun and memories usually have a lot more to do with the company you keep than in with the things you do or have. So, the reality of the experience was closer to simply "a week with the guys" than it was "trip of a lifetime;" complete with requisite sporadic episodes of buffoonery, fun & mini-adventures, a new pantheon of humorous references & inside jokes (the week's winner being "Little Lord Fauntelroy:" details to come in Mixdorf's blog, surely), wild mood swings from T-Clog, and pizza.

I was also ruminating that a week in Evansdale might not cost us $400 apiece, but then when I considered the amount of alcohol making our own fun in Evandsdale might require, I realized that it just might.

T-Minus Just Today

Well, the big day of the road trip & expedition are just about upon me.

Man, but I need this trip. We're in the process of trying to arrange a bunch of contractors to do necessary updates to our house via a low-interest loan program through a local community agency (e.g. lots of hoops & paperwork), and are suddenly faced with the city of Minneapolis telling us our tree has to be out by July 30 or they'll do it for us. So the last week has been very hectic, trying to make sure the multiple quotes are done, all the contractors are filling out participation agreements, etc. On top of that, I was involved with helping put together a summer picnic to celebrate the accomplishments of the theatre. I actually had minimal involvement with that, but the beginning of the week to sweat the very awkward prospect of doing multiple improvisational < 90 second re-enactments of our last play in front of fellow actors & volunteers. I also had to find a chance to buy some food items for the event. Not a particularly demanding set of obligations under ordinary circumstances, but it was under the duress of the contractor craziness and all the other stresses that come with trying to make sure you're equipped (backpack food shopping, going over & over the gear list, clothes I am bringing all washed) and all other business matters are attended to (upcoming bills for the next 10 days, work obligations, writing a press release for the theatre etc. etc.) have made for a challenging week. I've also been trying to compensate Sharon a bit for the amount of time she'll be a solo parent over the next week & a half by picking up extra Lucy duties. The only decent thing to do, of course, but making my schedule all the more tight.

But here we are at the end. I've done nearly everything I can do in getting ready and I'm ready to take Michael Jackson's advice and just "...leave the 9 to 5 upon the shelf and just enjoy (my)self. Groove." I'm hoping to just relax tonight and spend a little time with Sharon. Mixxy flies in late tomorrow morning, then we're down to Cedar Falls to pick up T-Clog and we're off Sunday at 6:00 am. We're not going to be like those polar expeditions you read about that send electronic journals to a 3rd grade class in Newark; we're going to be utterly unconnected. So with this, I'm signing off with a promise of a full report upon my return, as well as (undoubtedly) some pictures.

Toodles.

OK...Feeling a Little Better

Duh. I had to be there get here. As the tape-to-mp3 conversions have continued, I've seen the slow growth of a ridiculous child into a musical man. I was bringing over a set of songs from a 1998 44 practice today-from a particular period of time in which our band was, as Pat G has declared, "dripping with art"-when I discovered a very rare recording.

Just in the practice space-single mic into God-knows-what we had rigged for a recording device, so the quality is pretty rough. But we were in the midst of tackling movement 2 of Orphose the Sphere (words: Gibbons, music: Hylton), a rock opera about a young boy eating an orange and we were pretty close to nailing it. Beauty is in the ear of the listener, but I got chills listening. Made me want to dig into Orphose again. I never finished the music for the final movement (movement 8), you know.

Anyway, for those who didn't have the opportunity to follow the career trajectory of Time Did Yank Us through 44 intimately, the lineup for this recording was:

lead vox: me
rhythm guitar: Pat G
lead guitar: Aaron J
drums: Krista J

Listen up, and enjoy (I hope).

p.s. Thank you-new Dan Hylton media host PutFile.

Thok! Part 2

God DAMN it. I ran over to a theatre group meeting early this evening and, two blocks from my destination: *pop* I turned it again. Mo-ther-FUCK-er. I had to walk the rest of the way, but fortunately the pain had, for the most part, subsided for the run home. I have a crazy, goose egg of swelling over my ankle bone. I've been in this kind of ankle sprain loop before, and it kind of sucks. It starts getting in your head and you start doing really stupid things like almost rolling over on the ankle while walking over across your yard. Not sure if it's really a mental thing or if the ankle is actually in such a compromised physical state.

In any event-exactly the condition I want to be in for my upcoming slot canyon backpacking trip!

Consumption

Next 10 in Netflix queue (including the two I have). These aren't necessarily the 10 movies in the world that I am most desperate to see (not sure I would be able to determine which those would be), but just those which happened to fall in line when building my queue:
1. A History of Britain: Disc 1: I'm always interested in learning a little more about the heritage of "my people," and this series comes highly recommended.
2. Sudden Fear : Joan Crawford suspense-thriller. That's all Sharon & I need to know.
3. MST3K: Space Mutiny : Just a random MST3K. If there is anyone out there that laughs harder at this show, I've yet to meet them.
4. King Arthur's Britain: A little overboard on the British history here, but my interest in this is actually unrelated to the above title. A sudden re-interest in the Arthurian legend(s) was triggered a few weeks back while passing through Video Universe (pre-Netflix membership). A recent film version of the events was playing. It has since triggered some Wikipedia research, as well as a painful attempt to read La Morte d'Arthur. Subjects such as this, where there are so many conflicting theories as to what the truth is of actual events, often make me wish I was an academic historian. I find the debate almost as fascinating than the subject itself.
5. The Great Dictator: All these years I've never seen a movie by cultural icon Charlie Chaplin. This seems like as good a place as any to start.
6. The Third Man: Recommended by Pat. 1949, film noir. For some reason, I was assuming this was Hitchcock. Oh well, I'm still very excited to see it.
7. O Brother, Where Art Thou?: Highly recommended for years by, like, all my peers.
8. Love and Death: Woody Allen. I love Woody Allen and, according to the synopsis, this one was rumoured to be his favorite.
9. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead: This has been one that I've heard about for years & years & years and have never gotten around to seeing. Seems appropriate, what with my somewhat recent re-entry into the world of theatrical arts.
10. The Usual Suspects: Doesn't seem like the type of movie I'd normally seek out. But it kept popping up in front of me in my recommendations. I also saw that Netflix friend Aaron loved it.

Between Thok and the Escalante

Not a specific essay or point to this all, other than it being a chance to coalesce some thoughts related to health & well-being.

It's been a week since Thok! It's also just a little over a week since the long-anticipated (and if you don't really know how long, you have no idea) trip to Escalante Grand Staircase. I'm still feeling some residual soreness in my ankle, but I went for my first run since the incident last night. I felt a little clunky. Also, needing to run shirtless (a practice that used to almost be my calling card) due to some extreme heat & humidity, I found myself feeling a little chunky. I don't think I've varied much from my 170-175 lb weight range over the past few years, so I don't think there's anything that's unusually out of control. I've just not been in the general practice, during runs, of being able to look down and actually see that extra 20 lbs I put on following my 1996 marathon.

It's interesting...I continue to eat larger meals than I need to, and snack often late into the night. But in terms of quality of food, I'm not sure I've ever eaten better. The majority of our meals are homecooked and Sharon buys, for the most part, either organic or all-natural ingredients in addition to whole grains, foods without trans-fats, & various other pieces of a healthy diet that weren't on the farthest ranges of my radar ten years ago. Never is that more obvious than when I go down to visit my relatives in Iowa (as I did this past weekend). Both my parents and my brothers' family stock their fridges & cabinets with an array of foodstuffs that make my internal systems nearly freeze up if even thought about.

In any event, for this once-in-a-lifetime (actually, more like once every five years) trip, I had always thought I would have an extended training period in extreme heat to condition myself for the rigors of the expedition. As the date grew nearer, however, I realized that 1) all members of the party are going to show up in various states of fitness, and one of them, at least, will be at a level that is far below anything I have ever known 2) this trip is more about solitude, fellowship, and re-energizing than it is about being a recreation of Vasco Núñez de Balboa's journey across the West.

Boy this is really a stream of consciousness. I guess what I can take from all this is that I am not too fat to fit into Coyote Gulch, and the shit I leave at the bottom of my catholes will not alter desert ecology at a molecular level.

Sadness, Wistfulness, and a Tinge of Futility

I possess a strong drive of archiving & record-keeping. In addition to be a near-zealot in terms of cataloging and organizing old photo negatives, I was the original and primary creator and curator with respect to old band recordings, ranging from the earliest days of Time Did Yank Us in college, to the 44 days of Pat, Aaron, & Krista. I have multiple drawers full of cassette tape recordings, ranging from inexplicable marathon, multiple-take sessions of college-aged Pat & Dan buffoonery in the Iowa State Music Hall to mid-1990s performances at legitimate Twin Cities venues such as O'Garas & the Fine Line. And everything in between.

Not only was I making those recordings from the earliest days of my music-making (circa mid-Fall 1990), but I was acutely aware of the posteric significance of them. It was a running joke at the time for Pat & I to refer to moments of dialogue, song introduction, false starts, and various other gallimaufry of material sandwiching actual song recordings as "documentary material." We were conceiving of some mythical Time Did Yank Us Anthology, about half a decade before rumour of the Beatles' effort in that vein ever crossed our ears. So, for years and years, I've had this general sense that someday technology would reach the point where compiling material would be a simple, exciting excercise, and I'd be able to release volumes of it to a joyous public (or at least fairly large circle of appreciative aquaintances). Well, the moment has arrived, and I'm in the midst of it, and I'm experiencing Sadness, Wistfulness, and a Tinge of Futility.

I have a device that allows me to convert "phono-out" jacks (e.g. my tape player) to a USB connection, capturable as a WAV file, using software packaged with that particular piece of hardware. It works like a dream. As simple as "play-record." From that point, I can use a wonderful shareware program called CDWave to (again easily) insert track breaks, name tracks, check off dead space as unneeded, and export mp3s. Beautiful. Unfortunately, listening back to the collection of...there's really no other word for it...crap...simply has not been meeting my sweet rememberances.

Pat and I have a certain knack for songwriting. At least, suffice it to say that writing songs generally comes pretty easy to the both of us, and there songs that we have created that have been thought worthwhile by various people at different times. But what is clear from the very first recording, and continuing on through year three or so (which is where I'm at in this project), is that from the word "go," our concepts and ideas were miles-nay, worlds-nay, universes ahead of our execution. In most recordings, you can catch a spark here or there of a genuinely good idea but the goddamn thing is buried under so many layers of inability to play our instruments or sing that it is almost completely undetectable. At the time, we liked to laugh about our relative inexperience with our instruments, but I don't think we were really even stratching the surface in terms of critical self-appraisal. Anyway, I could go on and on, but the bottom line is that I'm left with a long-term dream of mine (coming away with an interesting and worthwhile historical documentation of my past) being nearly utterly dashed. Perhaps worse, I feel embarrassed on behalf of my past self.

Thank God I was not a solo musician at the time. One value perhaps, of the old Time Did Yank Us recordings is as a backdrop to a future weekend of drinking beer while laughing and reminiscing with the original other member of that trailblazing, childlike duo; none other than Pat Gibbons.

On a sort of side note, while hashing through some of these feelings with Gibbons on the phone last night, we brought up (again) the age old subject of how we had this long-inexorable path forward. From those amazingly humble beginnings, we ended up making a modest run of it by the end of the 90s before beginning to pursue solo ventures. With the piles of documentary material, multiple changes in personnel, and years of stories & material, we've always referred to ourselves as the most documented band that never made it. What's even more interesting, is that we were always moving forward, but just at a snail's pace. I leave you with a great quote by Gibbons: Unfortunately, the evolution of our band was slower than actual evolution.

A Rant on Joyous Occasions

As has been documented, I am faced with a situation where people that surround me both in my immediate neighborhood and at my workplace don't share my values, and it tends to make me a bit (or more than a bit) cynical and jaded about our culture here in the states at large. Evidence beyond those arenas, however (from popular culture to elections) tends to support my general feeling of dismay. It makes it easy to forget that there is a sizeable contingent of true peers out there in the land (those few readers of The Oliopolis, for the most part, included).

Nevertheless, I am out of the frying pan of UN-belonging and into the fire this evening. We are going to a wedding. You know the kind. Where an old high school friend of a spouse finally hooks up and you are invited either as a result of some grand attempt to recreate the glory of yesteryear or (worse, and often my suspicion) the need to fill out a roster and pack the house. All the best to her and her new husband (who I will be meeting for the first and quite probably last time tonight), but I am dreading the occasion like there is no tomorrow.

How about this for advice to all people looking to plan a wedding: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I am not kidding. Put yourself in the position of the couple that you are considering inviting and ask yourself honestly (it's really not that hard): if I were in their position, would I want to come? You may end up discovering that you cut your wedding guest list, and thus expenses, by two thirds or more. But sadly, no; not many people are really in the mindset of sparing any expense for themselves, nor any moments of awkwardness for potential witnesses to their special day. And so tonight we will go, desperately, desperately hoping that they are not going to make a vile announcement such as: Since everyone here is so special to us, we've decided to mix and match your seating arrangement so you'll be meeting people you didn't previously know. That might just about be enough to drive my general level of uncomfortability to the point of madness.

But the kicker: they registered for gifts. Consider this for a moment. They are two full-time working adults, approaching the age of 35 (she is, at least-he could be 78 for all I know). Firmly situated within the ranks of the upper middle class. And they registered at Target. Maybe I'm totally misunderstanding the tradition here, but isn't the whole gift-giving thing about helping a newly-married young couple on their feet? A glance at the 12-page (I shit you not, 12 pages) registry, the first two items I saw were a six megapixel digital camera and an eight person tent. Christ, almighty, why not invite 300-plus guests and turn your memorable occasion into a bona-fide haul? There might yet be one or two items on the red shelves at Target that aren't yet on the beige shelves of your five bedroom suburban home. Or at least not in the color you want. Boy, coming from the school of at least aspiring non-consumerist, this really ticked me off. The wedding will be at a Catholic church (you know-the religion where priests take a vow of poverty?). Did they consider-even once-asking guests if, in lieu of gifts, they donate to a charity? I know the answer of course.

Anyway, we got them potholders.

Thok!

I've been doing lunchtime runs, off and on, ever since Big Buy moved into our current, enormous facility four years ago. In all that time, I've never had an occasion where I came up lame mid-run and have had to limp home. That is, until this current week when it's happened twice.

I guess "limp" is a bit of a strong word. I'm pretty sure that versions of Past Dan (circa early to mid 90s) might have tried to gut it out through the injury or pain and finish the circuit. My perspective that has come about as a result of age and experience, however, tells me that a more thoughful consideration of how I treat my body in such instances can only benefit me down the road.

Well, Monday, about a mile into the run, I started feeling a pain behind my kneecap. ALSO coming as a result of age and experience is my knowledge of how minor aches in my body tend to work; and the lesson is "don't freak out." I will often have a little "ting" or "ding" or "ping" in a knee or arch or ankle, or what have you. This may not be very scientific (or it may be quite scientific, but just in a way that is beyond my ability to evaluate in scientific terms), but I simply know that, in 98% of the cases, the pain will disappear later in the run and will certainly be gone the next time I hit the road or trail. The key is "repeatability," which is scientific. If the same pain occurs in the same place two runs in a row, it's worth checking into further. And to date, that's only happened three times, but that's another story. Anyway, the Monday pain didn't appear as though it were the type that would disappear during the run. I didn't freak out, but neither did I attempt to run it off. I just accepted the fact it was going to be a really short run, turned around and walked back.

Today-Monday's pain gone, per formula, and my run was feeling better and better the farther I got. I was flying along a trail at the Wood Lake Nature Center, took my eyes off the path for a split second to look at something that now I can't even recall when....

THOK

Ankle roll. God DAMMIT. There are those out there that know my long and storied history of ankle sprains. As often happens with individuals who have umpteen sprains & turns in their lives, the individual injuries tend to get less severe the more you have them. Not sure if that's because a flimsy ankle is more likely to ease you into an ankle roll (rather than put up a fight before giving way to a sickening "pop"), or if it's just because the victim is more prepared to absorb and partially deflect the initial instance-almost like learning how to "take a fall." In any event, I could have kept running today. I almost did, but then thought "why risk it" and settled in for another leisurely walk back to home base.

Just thinking here...maybe I should hold off on any more runs this week.

Hello, What's This?

An instrument setting on my new digital piano, discovered just the other night. "Piano and Strings." Fun to diddle...Ah...the stuff of soundtracks...

http://us.share.geocities.com/hylton44/pianostrings.mp3

He Lives!

Rip Van Johnson awakens from a nearly 3-month sleep.

Glad to have you back in the fold, if back to stay ye are.

Life Just Got a Little Better

Sharon's grandma left her a small sum of money-just under $1000-when she died. Sharon invested it with the idea that she wanted to grow it (and presumably add to it) until she could buy something that would be a "family legacy," or something that would honor her grandma's memory. Well, the mutual fund totally tanked after 9-11 (lost nearly half its value), and it's taken the last five years for the fund to get back to its original value. Over that time, as expenses have built (mainly expenses related to a growing family) we've become aware that we're not likely to find ourselves in a situation where we're doing much other than living check to check. So this $1000 is not suddenly and/or easily going to turn into $50,000 or $100,000. So...re-evaluate.

Sharon took years and years of piano lessons, growing up. I took a few years and, of course, paino was the first instrument I played as a songwriter. A remarkable, elegant instrument, it is. And now we have an entire family of music lovers with a small potential piano player and another one on the way. With a little encouragement by me, Sharon saw the light and realized that a piano would be a way that we could enrich our lives as a result of the the money her grandma bequeathed us. Well, that money plus a short-lived 403b retirement plan Sharon started investing in at her work. She had accumulated all of about $400 before we decided to both jump onto the back of the retirement investment plan at my work, which includes a matching percentage from Big Buy. So, after taxes, add another $320 to the pot.

Last night, we headed out to make the purchase we had been scoping out for a few weeks: a Yamaha digital piano (the P-140, if it matters to you).

Digital piano craft (at least in this price range) has increased to the point where the keys are now weighted (like a real piano, so it doesn't feel like you're hitting air, like with your old Casio), graded (the lower keys are heavier), and have hammer action (the keys snap back at you, as they would if they were really striking a string in the soundboard). Add to that the fact the sampling is done from a real grand piano and the net effect is that you're getting an amazing, exceptional instrument that never needs tuned at a very reasonable price. It may not have the all encompassing richness and echo of a real grand piano, but considering a real quality grand piano could cost easily in excess of $25K, it's hard to knock going this route. Especially since the digital route adds a few pratical dimensions such as portability, MIDI functionality (a way to digitally synch up recording), and a headphone jack (so we can play long and loud into the night and not wake Lucy). In short, the piano is frigging awesome.

Sharon really resists most new purchases, simply from a non-consumerist standpoint that I admire and respect and, at least in theory, share. But I remember a statement she once made when we were first dating, "You're never wasting money if you're buying anything music related" and I remind her of it often.

Non-Stop Domestic Excitement

Perhaps it's the "world's my oyster" thrill of being done with the play, but what a weekend!

Sharon hit the sack early with Lucy on Friday night, so I swung out to the coffee shop for a performance of Yo Jimbo Jazz: a jazz quintet with a live sound I can just close my eyes and let carry me. I was so inspired that after the performance I went home and hit the recording studio for the first time in a couple of months (at least). I managed to get a keeper acoustic guitar track for a song I'm recording (a re-recording, actually, from an old "Johnson Street" 4-track) called Not Now, Dan. I bit of a chance I'm taking on this one, but I think the potential is there to really make something substantial.

Saturday kicked off the Daddy-Lucy weekend, as Sharon was working both days. Much fun was had as we headed out for the weekly Saturday morning trip to the coffee shop, then out for errands & a visit to the library, and out for lunch. The real highlight of that day, however, was our 2nd backpack run out at French Regional Park. Lucy in the child-carrier backpack and me trotting along at an exceedingly slow pace over hill and dale. We said, "I don't believe it" when we saw really big hills, "I believe it" for small hills, and "I kind of believe it" when we encountered mid-sized hills. Along the way, we played "who's been here?" with the local phenology & animal signs, and had much laughter & good conversation. I'm not in great running shape, so there was also a really nice break where Lucy got out and ran. And I gotta say-sometimes I'm just blown away by how far Lucy has progressed, physically or mentally, from the last time I stopped to consider one milestone or another. In this particular instance, I couldn't believe how fast the girl was running, and how little her run resembled the "toddler waddle" she used to have. And it was a great joy to see this little girl fly along the trail.

Saturday evening, Sharon's mom came by to watch over Lucy while Sharon & I headed out on a long-overdue date which consisted of swinging by the wildlife rehabilitation center to drop off two critters, a trip by Guitar Center to evaluate a digital piano that we're planning on picking up (possibly tonight-yay!), dinner at Baja Sol, and cribbage at the Freight House while listening to an angst-ridden acoustic-alt rock guitarist Leesa.

The highlight of Sunday afternoon (day two of the daddy-daughter weekend) was a trip out to Silver Lake Beach. Lucy was able to hook her armpits over a little flotation ring and kick her way around the perimeter of the swimming area while Daddy bounced along beside. Great fun, many laughs.

Wonderful weekend, until last night. Dehydration from the French Park run combined with a respiratory assault launched by a 60-year old accumulation of dust & asbestos I stirred up in vaccuuming under our basement steps completely incapacitated me. I had to turn over responsibilities for the girl as soon as she was put to bed, and just crash. Between a constricting feeling in my lungs and a significant headache, I felt like a goner. I was unable to go up to our stuffy upstairs for the night, but just laid down on the couch with the window a/c on in total misery. I had a restless, claustrophobic feeling for at least an hour, with crazy images bordering on hallucination about suffocating running wild through my mind before finally drifting off to sleep. My lung situation still sucks today, and my voice is all ragged, but the headache is gone.

Still a good weekend, all in all. Sorry about the digger at the conclusion, but they can't all have Hollywood endings.

Masala Mama, We Meet at Last

Alternate title: Enough Hyperlinks for Ya?

Yesterday we celebrated Fathers' Day a week early, as Sharon will working all day next Sunday. The girls were great to me all day and then treated me to my first trip to the Town Hall Brewery on the University of Minnesota's West Bank. With the exception of a few nights after rehearsal & performance in the past couple of weeks, I don't "go out" much, preferring the comforts and company of my home and family. Where I most miss out, however, is in sampling fine offerings from a number of local breweries & brewpubs.

As a big fan of the exceptionally bitter style of India Pale Ale, I had really been looking forward to trying the Town Hall's Masala Mama, which is among the most highly regarded IPAs in the world (the very highest, in fact, in my BeerAdvocate.com community). This beer did not disappoint-and has now supplanted Goose Island's Honker's Ale as my highest rated beer. Read all about it. I also sampled their West Bank Pub Ale, which I will probably love & review in a future session; however I was already well into my heavily-spiced meal by that time, and the malt character was almost entirely lost on me.

I should also note that I recently tried and LOVED the locally brewed (as in, within about a mile of my home locally brewed) Surly Bender, sharing one off tap with Mighty Tom at nearby Rix Bar & Grill, following Saturday's show. Let me say, this beer is fantastic, complex, and mind-blowing. A bitter brown ale that makes my toes wiggle. But I have yet to get around to the review on this one, so I will say no more at present.

And Just Like That...

After a short but surprisingly successful four-show run, we are done with The Good Doctor. It was an extremely intense, yet ultimately gratifying period of my life, the time between the inception of the Camden Civic Theatre company and last night's closing show.

I rediscovered the thrill and joy of stage acting and the experience was made all the more rich for the extent to which I am, this time around, willing to immerse myself in understanding and appreciating all aspect of the produection. This includes both the thankless slogging and hard work offstage, and the extent to which a group of performers and talented, creative backstage magicians work together to create a whole which is truly greater than the sum of its parts. I don't think I ever approached truly getting that in my first twenty some-odd plays (basically, everything prior to age 22).

Friday night was so sold out, we ended up squeaking in a total of 90 patrons into a space that was intended to accomodate 60; and still had to turn around 10 folks away. Last night was still a sellout, although considerably less so; and a fair number of "comps" (friends, family, advertisers known to company members) were out there. It made for a particularly friendly and loose crowd, laughing in all the right places and then some. Throughout the entire run of the show, CCT and individual actors have received praise and compliments galore. Not sure how much of it is as a result of exceeding a particularly low expectation of what a Camden-based community theatre could put out there on its first shot, but I believe that the talented group of people involved in this whole production, against a considerably stacked deck (time-wise, budget-wise, and in terms of various other random logistics), put together a production of which I would have been proud to be a part in front of nearly any audience, anywhere.

In the past six months, I've gone from essentially zero to 10 in terms of knowledge of what is required to put on a production (well, more like two to eight or nine). Now, hopefully, we have some infrastructure built in as a company so we're every-so-slightly in a better position, next time around, to hit the ground running. We have some funds (we're way more in the black at the end of this show than we expected, and we've got an outstanding grant application), a few more props, and a few volunteers that are planning on coming back for the next show. I'm hoping a couple of more company members come on board and, for my part, I'm going to try to keep my feet a little less solidly in both camps of planning/preproduction and performing, and try to commit myself to one or the other. But...looking back...wow, a post that was seven months ago seems like it could have been five years ago. In retrospect, I'm so glad I trusted my heart and took a chance!

p.s. special commendation to Mighty Tom, who made the drive from Cottonwood Minnesota and Stephen, who made the drive all the way from Iowa City in order to see me perform. Wow-guys, thanks. I am honored and humbled and I hope you enjoyed the show.

Sold Out! Goodbye, Tootsie...and the Seeing of Little Chicky

Sorry for infrequency of my posting. Things have continued to be a whirwind, but the pace of life has continued on, unabated.

Sellout:
Of course, foremost in my mind over the past few weeks has been the play. Rather than try to describe in detail in my last post, I just linked to The Good Doctor Blog, which thoroughly discussed the success of opening weekend. We were completely unprepared for the response from our neighborhood and beyond, as the first two nights of the show were completely sold out. That, combined with the audience's enthusiastic response to pre-show remarks our Artistic Director made about bringing live theatre back to Camden was enough to bring tears to my eyes. The love-hate relationship I have with my neighborhood definitely continues. As much as it is in the heart of one of the top cultural cities in US, my greater neighborhood has simply lacked the vibrancy & pulse of a good chunk of the city, for as long as I have lived there. It's always been a "chicken or the egg" situation, but from mediocre support for the neighborhood's short-lived chic neighborhood grocer to utter lack of support for live music at the coffee shop, I was really starting to believe that a pulse and heart was not even there for the reviving.

After all the hours of planning, work, sweat, and emotional investment-the über-success of this inagural production gave me a satisfaction unlike anything I have felt since I finished the Twin Cities marathon. And it probably surpassed that, since the goal was a little more selfless. Can Camden Civic Theatre revitalize Camden single-handedly? Certainly not. But we're not alone. The right people are out there, and I believe we're giving them an opportunity for solidarity, and a chance to come out and prove that they're not the only people around who think there's more to life than to retire into your home every night, pull the shutters down, and curse the boom cars.

So, unbelievably: by Monday we were sold out for both (final) shows this coming weekend. Had we known...had we the slightest inkling that support was going to be this great, we would have scheduled a six or eight show run, or booked an actual theatre space with the knowledge that we'd make enough in tickets to cover the cost. Ah-well...this is the first of many productions, eh? Next step...Is There such a ready made theatre space in the neighborhood? Much scouting to be done this summer.

Goodbye, Tootsie:
Our African Giant Black Millipede (archispirostreptus gigas), Tootsie, has passed. As a member of the largest variety of millipede in the world (about seven inches long), Tootsie had an appearance that would freak out some folks that aren't into such kinds of critters, but she was gentle soul. We aquired her from one of Sharon's co-workers nearly a year ago, when she was already quite advanced in age, and are assuming (and hoping) that it was age, rather than care, that ultimately led her to stop eating and eventually die. She will be missed by all in the immediate family. Boy, we've had to explain death a lot to Lucy in the past year...






The Seeing of Little Chicky:
Our first ultrasound appointment! We got some really good images, one or two of which I might post in the coming days. At 17 weeks old, Little Chicky is about nine inches long and amazingly active. Where fetal Lucy was just reclining and occasionally extending, in a languid manner, an arm or leg, L.C. flips about, flailing, and fights back against the ultrasound instrument that pushes in on the uterus. We could be in for a little spitfire.

Opening Night

Yay!

The Board is Set. The Pieces Are in Motion.

Well...opening night tonight.

Yesterday, I headed out from work early to see if they needed any last-minute help with adjusting the lighting. As it turns out, we spent about an hour completely confounded as to what to do with the lights, then ended up ripping off the back 1/4 of the stage in order to accomodate a new lighting arrangement. Wow-to say things are coming together at the last minute is an understatement. It's kind of crazy; so much of my experience back at Waterloo Community Playhouse and Blackhawk Children's Theatre was as part of a finely-tuned operation, with full-time staff members, a dedicated space, and an established process for every step of a production.

I can't stress enough how crazy hard it has been to build this from absolute zero. And it would have been a bit different if we had a multi-thousand dollar budget-to rent our own 24/7 space with built in rigging and real backstage areas, do paid advertisements, pay for a fancy set, etc. etc. etc. There are some aspects of this production that are definitely the result of these various challenges. The extent to which we can hide actors offstage is minimal, as is the ability to truly "black out" the stage or do very complex lighting. The advantage we have, I think, is that there is no precedent for us in this community. If we really do bring in people from the neighborhood (which is the goal for a community theatre, right?), there's naught else to which we can be compared; and I think people are going to be a bit forgiving (or even not all that aware) of those aspects of the production that are necessarily rough around the edges. We can set our own standard.

We did manage to have everything ready to go by the time we did our final dress rehearsal last night and, exhausted though some of us intimately involved with the production were, all the pieces were basically there. It felt like we finally had something ready that appeared to be real, live theatre. To almost a performer, this is among, if not the most makeshift production with which they have ever been involved. But it seems to me that people are starting to get over their fears and beginning to realize what a valuable, if crazy, experience this is to have in your resume. Sort of an, "if I can do this, I can do anything" attitude. And there is comaraderie and energy among the cast. Last night we could really feel it as we had our last opportunity to view & support each other in our respective vignettes from an audience's perspective. The fact that these other scenes, each of which we've seen many, many times before, can still get us to laugh bodes well. Nothing to do at this time but perform, and the stressful nerves are turning into excited nerves.

We've got a few reservations for each night, but not a ton. I have no idea what the "night-of" turnout is going to be, but regardless of how many people show up, I'm feeling pretty proud. We've brought a community theatre to a community that needs it, and the people that show up are going to have a good time.