As it turns out, actual contractions did start last night and have continued through today. Very early labor here, and not painful (yet). I actually was in at work today, but am probably done there for awhile. We expect things to start progressing at some point tonight (but, of course, who really knows?).
Anyway, I will be an internaut with my tether cut over the next couple days, so do not expect a report until "it" has occurred. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Raaaaaar!
One very nice thing about "events" not being set in motion yesterday was that we got to take Lucy out for her very first trick-or-treating experience. Four houses. This year has been soooo amazing, watching the wide-eyed wonder and excitement with which my daughter experiences all the amazing spices life has to offer.
From checking up at the sky a few times with her to see if any witches were flying around to watching her run (out of pure excitement) along the sidewalk with a candy bag and tiger tail flying behind her to watching her very methodically remove, count, and place in a line thirteen pieces of candy (her haul for the evening) and pick one to eat that night; it was fun beyond description.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
False Alarm!
Without going too much into biology - female biology - I'll just leave it at that.
But the long & the short of it: no birth imminent. Good on many, many levels, as we still can hold out hope that the baby will be lower down and contractions will start before the water leaks or breaks.
Still looking at sometime in the next week/week and a half...
But the long & the short of it: no birth imminent. Good on many, many levels, as we still can hold out hope that the baby will be lower down and contractions will start before the water leaks or breaks.
Still looking at sometime in the next week/week and a half...
Here We Go...
warning: some discussion of biology - female biology - follows...
Sharon's water started leaking last night. It's what happened with Lucy and precisely what we wanted to avoid this time around. The legendary "water breaking" is something that can kick in contractions. With this slow trickle, however, that may well not happen. Did not last time, anyway. And with the baby still up quite high in the uterus, there's been no "thinning of the cervix;" the event that most often instigates labor.
So carry on for hours & days with the slow trickle until nature is ready to take it's course? Well & good, except that the entire "system" is now at risk for infection, so it is likely that the hospital will pressure us to induce labor within 24 hours. Which, last time, did not work very well and set in motion a series of medications and interventions that turned into about the worst 30 hours of both our lives. Hence; hiring of the doula this time around. It is our hope that, even if we end up having to make some decisions that aren't consistent with our idea of a "dream birth," we can have someone there making sure we're asking the right questions and not getting steamrolled.
Anyway...a bit of a ramble; but I needed to type through it...
We should have a baby within 36 hours...(or, please God, less....) Wish us luck.
Sharon's water started leaking last night. It's what happened with Lucy and precisely what we wanted to avoid this time around. The legendary "water breaking" is something that can kick in contractions. With this slow trickle, however, that may well not happen. Did not last time, anyway. And with the baby still up quite high in the uterus, there's been no "thinning of the cervix;" the event that most often instigates labor.
So carry on for hours & days with the slow trickle until nature is ready to take it's course? Well & good, except that the entire "system" is now at risk for infection, so it is likely that the hospital will pressure us to induce labor within 24 hours. Which, last time, did not work very well and set in motion a series of medications and interventions that turned into about the worst 30 hours of both our lives. Hence; hiring of the doula this time around. It is our hope that, even if we end up having to make some decisions that aren't consistent with our idea of a "dream birth," we can have someone there making sure we're asking the right questions and not getting steamrolled.
Anyway...a bit of a ramble; but I needed to type through it...
We should have a baby within 36 hours...(or, please God, less....) Wish us luck.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Gentlemen...A Toast
...to the inventor of the mulching mower. We spent a good part of the weekend doing a lot of prep for the arrival of Chicky. From making sure the old bins of 0-6 month clothes were dug out & prepared, to packing a bag of Lucy clothes (were she to need to be whisked away suddenly to grandma & grandpa's house), to setting up an extra diaper changing station on level 2 of the house. Tons of odds & ends. Also-making sure leaf work was pretty much done for the year.Now...down one and a half trees from a couple of years ago, we obviously are up against a much more modest collection of leaves than was once the case. But nevertheless, raking an entire yard is a task I have never loved. See here, how our wonderful new electric mower simplifies the process (while adding a healthy layer of mulch that will protect the yard this winter, and vitalize it in the spring). And...Good God, but this saved me a lot of time; time I could spend doing a lot of other shit that really should have been done a few weeks ago.
So three cheers for the inventor of this amazing, simple blockage of the grass chute! Sir, I am in your debt.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Getting Close to "Zero Hour"
Yesterday, actually, was the first day within that "2 week window' around the due date in which 90 some odd percent of all babies are born. So basically, it could happen at any time from here on out. Lucy was four days late, and would have been even later, had events not been put in motion by Sharon's water beginning to leak. But there's been a few physiological things going on that might indicate this baby is a little ahead of that schedule. Who really knows?
But it's insane to consider, as I look over at a new little "0-9 month" snowsuit spread out over a chair in the living room, that it will soon be filled with a little, living, breathing and beautiful human; however needy. For the first part of this Sharon's term; it was hard to concentrate on the upcoming baby; what with coming off such a stressful and busy year, and having my waking hours so dominated with care of my existing child. But I've definitely gotten way into it, the last couple of months; talking to "Little Chicky," making sure all those little pieces of our lives that need to be in order (from having enough infant clothes on hand, to digging out all of Lucy's old newborn toys, to talking endlessly with Lucy about being a big sister). There's a few little odds and ends that need taken care of yet, but we're basically there. And the sooner the better, at this point. In the last few days, Sharon's muscles have been ravaged by a mysterious soreness that feels like she did some huge amount of unusual activity. Like, to the point of barely being able to walk. It's undoubtedly related to the pregnancy, but both we and the midwives are stymied. It's put a bit of a strain on the smooth flow of keeping the house in order, as Sharon is relegated to pretty much laying on the couch, and I assuming almost all homemaking duties, as well as Lucy duty. I try not to miss an opportunity to remind Sharon that I'm in awe of what her body does (and, I suppose, most women throughout history), growing that little person in there and keeping them safe for 10 months. She's really "taking one for the team," as T-Clog might say, and I'm honored to have her as the mother of my child(soon to be "ren"). Hang in there, Sharon!
In the midst of all this, I took Friday off last week to spend, as I told Lucy, "our last daddy-daughter day with me only having one kid." It was great. She learned how to play checkers at the coffee shop, we headed over to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (one of my absolute favorite places in The Cities) for awhile, and then had a lunch together. Despite the occasional challenges that being the daddy of a confident, self-assured (and occasionally, yes, stubborn) 3-year old entails; she's really an amazing little girl, and I can't get enough of her.
But it's insane to consider, as I look over at a new little "0-9 month" snowsuit spread out over a chair in the living room, that it will soon be filled with a little, living, breathing and beautiful human; however needy. For the first part of this Sharon's term; it was hard to concentrate on the upcoming baby; what with coming off such a stressful and busy year, and having my waking hours so dominated with care of my existing child. But I've definitely gotten way into it, the last couple of months; talking to "Little Chicky," making sure all those little pieces of our lives that need to be in order (from having enough infant clothes on hand, to digging out all of Lucy's old newborn toys, to talking endlessly with Lucy about being a big sister). There's a few little odds and ends that need taken care of yet, but we're basically there. And the sooner the better, at this point. In the last few days, Sharon's muscles have been ravaged by a mysterious soreness that feels like she did some huge amount of unusual activity. Like, to the point of barely being able to walk. It's undoubtedly related to the pregnancy, but both we and the midwives are stymied. It's put a bit of a strain on the smooth flow of keeping the house in order, as Sharon is relegated to pretty much laying on the couch, and I assuming almost all homemaking duties, as well as Lucy duty. I try not to miss an opportunity to remind Sharon that I'm in awe of what her body does (and, I suppose, most women throughout history), growing that little person in there and keeping them safe for 10 months. She's really "taking one for the team," as T-Clog might say, and I'm honored to have her as the mother of my child(soon to be "ren"). Hang in there, Sharon!
In the midst of all this, I took Friday off last week to spend, as I told Lucy, "our last daddy-daughter day with me only having one kid." It was great. She learned how to play checkers at the coffee shop, we headed over to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (one of my absolute favorite places in The Cities) for awhile, and then had a lunch together. Despite the occasional challenges that being the daddy of a confident, self-assured (and occasionally, yes, stubborn) 3-year old entails; she's really an amazing little girl, and I can't get enough of her.
Monday, October 23, 2006
It Occurs to Me that It Is at Least Conceivable
That I am the only person in the world currently listening to this CD:
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Bush's Thoughts on the Tet Offensive
Excerpted from a great NY Times story on how, for the first time since Viet Nam, the Democrats are on the offensive in terms of the military debate:
...When Mr. Stephanopoulos asked Mr. Bush whether the increasing violence in Iraq was similar to the Tet Offensive in 1968, the Vietnam War campaign that is often cited as turning American opinion against the war, Mr. Bush said such a comparison “could be right,” suggesting that terrorists were aiming for a similar result...
Hmm...maybe that NY Times reporter thought Bush was suggesting terrorists were aiming for a simialr result. To me, it sounds like the words of a man who has never heard of the Tet Offensive.
...When Mr. Stephanopoulos asked Mr. Bush whether the increasing violence in Iraq was similar to the Tet Offensive in 1968, the Vietnam War campaign that is often cited as turning American opinion against the war, Mr. Bush said such a comparison “could be right,” suggesting that terrorists were aiming for a similar result...
Hmm...maybe that NY Times reporter thought Bush was suggesting terrorists were aiming for a simialr result. To me, it sounds like the words of a man who has never heard of the Tet Offensive.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Comedy Without Soul?
I love, as has been documented it, King of the Hill and The Simpsons. Probably as a result of that, I've often wondered if the animation industry, particularly on some current cable stations to which I have do not have access, has passed me by. How many products of genius, not held hostage to formulae established by traditional family-based sitcoms, am I missing out on through the years? This was probably the impetus behind, after simply stumbling across it in Netflix, shooting Harvey Birdman up to the top of my queue based on the potential of the brilliant concept alone.
Well, I made it through the last of the six episodes last night, and was reminded of what I sort of discovered during my brief foray in to Family Guy: Gags, freedom from convention, and irreverance are great, but they can only carry you so far. Underlying King of the Hill and most seasons of The Simpsons was/is a soul. Something that unifies the individual scenes and ties them together with some sort of universal humanity. Not sure how else to say it, but that pure satire without this element is nothing more than a book of knock knock jokes, however clever. Watching Birdman, I laughed but I did not love.
That said, The Scooby Doo & Shaggy episode was really a hoot, and well worth seeing.
Well, I made it through the last of the six episodes last night, and was reminded of what I sort of discovered during my brief foray in to Family Guy: Gags, freedom from convention, and irreverance are great, but they can only carry you so far. Underlying King of the Hill and most seasons of The Simpsons was/is a soul. Something that unifies the individual scenes and ties them together with some sort of universal humanity. Not sure how else to say it, but that pure satire without this element is nothing more than a book of knock knock jokes, however clever. Watching Birdman, I laughed but I did not love.
That said, The Scooby Doo & Shaggy episode was really a hoot, and well worth seeing.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Keeping the Audience...Riveted
Last night's installment of our Reader's Theatre series was a show called 'Night, Mother, by playwrite Marsha Norman. It is our dramaturg's favorite script in the world and, seeing it performed live last night, I can see why.
An incredible two-woman story of a an adult daughter who announces to her mother (with whom she lives) that she will kill herself "tonight," it is nearly an hour and a half of tense, personal dialogue building to an inevitable conclusion that everyone watching is hoping the mother can somehow avert, but ultimately cannot. Heart-rending is an understatement and at the end, to use a chiche, "there was not a dry eye in the house." It was really quite incredible, and it actually resulted in our company getting our first "Standing O." Then over to Rix for drinks, thankfully. Anyway, read Valerie's great and (as always) uniquely insightful take on the performance here.
Powerful stuff, this theatre. I just get it now; the whole shared experience with the audience, the visceral reality of it all; so much more than I ever did in my acting as a youth.
An incredible two-woman story of a an adult daughter who announces to her mother (with whom she lives) that she will kill herself "tonight," it is nearly an hour and a half of tense, personal dialogue building to an inevitable conclusion that everyone watching is hoping the mother can somehow avert, but ultimately cannot. Heart-rending is an understatement and at the end, to use a chiche, "there was not a dry eye in the house." It was really quite incredible, and it actually resulted in our company getting our first "Standing O." Then over to Rix for drinks, thankfully. Anyway, read Valerie's great and (as always) uniquely insightful take on the performance here.
Powerful stuff, this theatre. I just get it now; the whole shared experience with the audience, the visceral reality of it all; so much more than I ever did in my acting as a youth.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Six Times Wonderful
Sharon & I just got back from a three day trip to the North Shore; a last chance for some uninterrupted quiet time as a couple before the arrival of Little Chicky. Not entirely by chance, we stayed at a bed and breakfast owned by Mixxy's mother-in-law. About five miles North of Tettegouche State Park and more or less right on Lake Superior. We had a view of the Lake from our room and great hot coffee & scones greeting us as we woke both mornings. (Of course, that didn't keep us from hitting the brunch buffet at the Northern Lights down the road a bit...)
Relaxing, reinvigorating, and wonderful.
On the way up, we had the opportunity to swing by Duluth's Hawk Ridge, which was resplendent in fall color (the first few pictures in the set below). We also happened to be there to witness a display and release of both a male & female Sharp Shinned Hawk. Very cool. Very beautiful up there at the windy heights a few hundred feet above town and the surface of the lake. Then on to the eventual destination. Night one included a meal at the Northern Lights. I ate too much, of course; but I also had the opportunity to imbibe Superior Brewery's Kayak Kolsch on tap. The next day, following coffee & scones, we set off on a leisurely exploration of the shoreline down from the b&b. Some rock scrambling, some rock hounding, and some rock sitting, while gazing out at the mighty, timeless waters of the world's biggest lake. This is the location the rest of the pictures in the set below were taken. Into Beaver Bay for the buffet, and then we headed to the back end of Tettegouche. Sharon is remarkably mobile for being 9-months pregnant, and we were actually able to go on a couple of hour hike up "Baldy Mountain" (yup, one in Tettegouche) and catch some great views of the Sawtooth Mountains and off to a distant Lake Superior. The weather was perfect the entire trip. Breezy and alternatingly sunny and overcast but always with the funkiest clouds up in the sky. All in all, one of those trips where there's no specific agenda but everything just kind of works out.
So...the pictures. We were extremely lucky in a couple of rare encounters; so make sure you keep careful watch, and you just may catch, amidst these images, the Elf of the Woods and the Elf of the Shore.
Relaxing, reinvigorating, and wonderful.
On the way up, we had the opportunity to swing by Duluth's Hawk Ridge, which was resplendent in fall color (the first few pictures in the set below). We also happened to be there to witness a display and release of both a male & female Sharp Shinned Hawk. Very cool. Very beautiful up there at the windy heights a few hundred feet above town and the surface of the lake. Then on to the eventual destination. Night one included a meal at the Northern Lights. I ate too much, of course; but I also had the opportunity to imbibe Superior Brewery's Kayak Kolsch on tap. The next day, following coffee & scones, we set off on a leisurely exploration of the shoreline down from the b&b. Some rock scrambling, some rock hounding, and some rock sitting, while gazing out at the mighty, timeless waters of the world's biggest lake. This is the location the rest of the pictures in the set below were taken. Into Beaver Bay for the buffet, and then we headed to the back end of Tettegouche. Sharon is remarkably mobile for being 9-months pregnant, and we were actually able to go on a couple of hour hike up "Baldy Mountain" (yup, one in Tettegouche) and catch some great views of the Sawtooth Mountains and off to a distant Lake Superior. The weather was perfect the entire trip. Breezy and alternatingly sunny and overcast but always with the funkiest clouds up in the sky. All in all, one of those trips where there's no specific agenda but everything just kind of works out.
So...the pictures. We were extremely lucky in a couple of rare encounters; so make sure you keep careful watch, and you just may catch, amidst these images, the Elf of the Woods and the Elf of the Shore.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Two More Adventures
Adventure #1 (as told to PMix & Mighty already via phone-but delicious enough to recount, nearly verbatim):
We've been sitting around with an old spinet piano in our living room. Bad enough condition that we literally can't give it away (we've tried). Thus, we're left with seemingly the only option being the arranging of a large-enough vehicle, a couple of friends to help carry, and solid waste transfer station token in order to toss the thing. Just too much to arrange, with times being as busy as they are. Yesterday, the alternate option dawned on me: disassemble the thing into its smallest possible components and just toss the thing away in pieces. Three hours later and a pile of sawdust later, unfortunately, I was left with one "smallest piece" being a solid metal soundboard hopelessly fused against a solid wood back to the piano. About 5' x 4' x 8" and well over 200 lbs. An awkward carry, to say the least. Still too large for the trash guys to take, but a piece, at least, that I could get down into the basement and out of sight/mind for the time being. Well, I huffed and puffed and dragged and (after some creative use of a circular saw) angled the thing out of my living room, through the kitchen, and to the top of my basement stairs. Fuck me. How am I going to slide this thing down the stairs without it crushing me? I heaved to, tilted the one end back, and the thing came sliding at me like a sled of bricks, hitting me in the chest and knocking me back and down one step. But I didn't lose it. I just planted my left foot and caught it. Feeling suddenly hopped up and energized, I actually pushed it back up a stair, just to prove my mastery, then forcibly worked it the rest of the way down the rest of the stairs stairs to the bottom. By that time, I was absolutely wild and the soundboard was bitch and I fairly tossed it into the corner of the basement, letting out a howl. This experience was followed with a well-earned Oktoberfest.
Adventure #2:
My promised followup visit to the doctor for my pinkie (see ...Show Must Go On...) was at an Orthopedic clinic in the south metro. While sitting around waiting for an xray, I started noticing a few guys walking around who, by appearance, just screamed "pro athlete." Then I saw a guy I thought just might be Trenton Hassell going into the restroom. Then some trainer-looking guy with a Minnesota Timberwolves polo on. Then Kevin Garnett. A gaggle of nurses was brining him over to the height-measuring thing (no lie), while he was yacking away, not seven feet from me. I said, "Hey, KG-I'll never run into you again. Can I shake your hand?" to which he obliged. Kind of wild. Had I sat around in a waiting room with him for ten minutes or so, I might have chanced to tell him about how at 24 years old, I considered sending him a letter asking if I could be his butler. But alas, I figure KG probably has to sit around in a waiting room about as often as I win MVP of the NBA All-Star Game.
We've been sitting around with an old spinet piano in our living room. Bad enough condition that we literally can't give it away (we've tried). Thus, we're left with seemingly the only option being the arranging of a large-enough vehicle, a couple of friends to help carry, and solid waste transfer station token in order to toss the thing. Just too much to arrange, with times being as busy as they are. Yesterday, the alternate option dawned on me: disassemble the thing into its smallest possible components and just toss the thing away in pieces. Three hours later and a pile of sawdust later, unfortunately, I was left with one "smallest piece" being a solid metal soundboard hopelessly fused against a solid wood back to the piano. About 5' x 4' x 8" and well over 200 lbs. An awkward carry, to say the least. Still too large for the trash guys to take, but a piece, at least, that I could get down into the basement and out of sight/mind for the time being. Well, I huffed and puffed and dragged and (after some creative use of a circular saw) angled the thing out of my living room, through the kitchen, and to the top of my basement stairs. Fuck me. How am I going to slide this thing down the stairs without it crushing me? I heaved to, tilted the one end back, and the thing came sliding at me like a sled of bricks, hitting me in the chest and knocking me back and down one step. But I didn't lose it. I just planted my left foot and caught it. Feeling suddenly hopped up and energized, I actually pushed it back up a stair, just to prove my mastery, then forcibly worked it the rest of the way down the rest of the stairs stairs to the bottom. By that time, I was absolutely wild and the soundboard was bitch and I fairly tossed it into the corner of the basement, letting out a howl. This experience was followed with a well-earned Oktoberfest.
Adventure #2:
My promised followup visit to the doctor for my pinkie (see ...Show Must Go On...) was at an Orthopedic clinic in the south metro. While sitting around waiting for an xray, I started noticing a few guys walking around who, by appearance, just screamed "pro athlete." Then I saw a guy I thought just might be Trenton Hassell going into the restroom. Then some trainer-looking guy with a Minnesota Timberwolves polo on. Then Kevin Garnett. A gaggle of nurses was brining him over to the height-measuring thing (no lie), while he was yacking away, not seven feet from me. I said, "Hey, KG-I'll never run into you again. Can I shake your hand?" to which he obliged. Kind of wild. Had I sat around in a waiting room with him for ten minutes or so, I might have chanced to tell him about how at 24 years old, I considered sending him a letter asking if I could be his butler. But alas, I figure KG probably has to sit around in a waiting room about as often as I win MVP of the NBA All-Star Game.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
My First True "The Show Must Go On" Moment!
I haven't mentioned anything about it in this forum, but I had a performance today, at a Mississippi Heritage festival at the regional park near my house. Our theatre group was doing an original, family-interactive piece about Mississippi heritage, including lots of kid participation, storytelling, costume-wearing, etc. etc. I was the storyteller, and playing guitar.
Well...we'd had a scant few rehearsals and were really needing to get together at 1:30 to set up (or 2:00 at the very latest) and get in a run through before the event opened at 3:00 (we went on at 4:00, for about an hour). At about 12:30, while Lucy & I were hanging around in the living room and she was practicing jumping from the top of the couch onto my face, my arm happened to drift up and * pop * out went my little finger into a "w"-shaped contortion. Dislocated. God Dammit! My mind racing. Can I pop it back in, myself? Something I've always heard of being done, but in my (sadly, mulitple) past occurrences, something I've never quite been able to bring myself to do. The thought of a half-assed, "check swing" in such an attempt is enough to curl my toes. I had to get to the doctor, or go in and do the performance in this condition. No, that second option was not really an option - this is in a bad position, and if I don't get it straightened out, the energy of a live stage performance could send me into shock. Really. Plus, the last thing our performance needs is for the audience to be focused on my finger. Plus-I'm supposed to be playing guitar with this thing! No, there were far too many compelling reasons for me to get into the doctor. Quick-call to the artistic director and message to his wife appraising her, and then turning to Lucy with a look in my eyes that could have only have been saying, "OK, little girl: I know that every time we ever need to get out of the house in five minutes, it takes us 30...but if you ever, ever wanted to help your daddy out in a pinch...for the love of God, be a help, not a hinderance now." For, you see, Sharon was at work.
So, getting ready to go into the doctor...Lucy was great. I was unable, in my condition, to help her get all the way dressed, or to help her get her tight shoes on, or lift her into her car seat-anything. She really seemed to get it. She was focused and helpful and we were on the road in, like, less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, urgent care took far, far longer than it needed to. I was sitting around for at least an hour, and I was starting to get a little nauseous, along with the nervous feeling I already had about the dwindling time. Finally, to the triage, and then back to the room, and then the doctor came in. Right before 2:00. So what does he do? Sends me back to get x-rayed!! I've never had that done before in a dislocation! From that point on, I'm trying to explain to every staff person I encounter about how I am going on in a play in a little over an hour and, as they continually slow me down, eventually that at 2:15 I'm simply going to have to walk out the door, whether my finger is fixed or not. It may have been a bluff on my part, but honestly I'm not sure. There literally would have been a point at which I could have waited no more. The show must go on.
Finally, the doctor's in there at about 2:13 explaining that the x-rays showed a small fracture. Ordinarily, he'd give me a shot of painkiller and let it work for about 15 minutes, then pop it into place, THEN take another x-ray to see if the any further damage was revealed. A quick little back and forth that resulted in me making a promise to pay a followup visit to his office on Monday and then he reached forward and * POP *, I was in business. Pinky finger & ring finger on left hand taped together. Guitar? Luckily, it was a super basic little repetitive thing that only took my middle tree fingers. We raced home, I threw all my stuff in the car, including some painkillers (which I really needed, by the way), and a tongue depresser. RACED to the event and, while we were in the midst of the runthrough, I untaped the fingers and retaped the pinky onto the tongue depresser to free up my 3rd chord finger. For the rest of the day, my chords sounded a bit shitty, since I couldn't put much pressure on the side of the neck, but it was good enough for the purpose. And the show went off to a great reception. The show must go on, man, the show must go on.
Well...we'd had a scant few rehearsals and were really needing to get together at 1:30 to set up (or 2:00 at the very latest) and get in a run through before the event opened at 3:00 (we went on at 4:00, for about an hour). At about 12:30, while Lucy & I were hanging around in the living room and she was practicing jumping from the top of the couch onto my face, my arm happened to drift up and * pop * out went my little finger into a "w"-shaped contortion. Dislocated. God Dammit! My mind racing. Can I pop it back in, myself? Something I've always heard of being done, but in my (sadly, mulitple) past occurrences, something I've never quite been able to bring myself to do. The thought of a half-assed, "check swing" in such an attempt is enough to curl my toes. I had to get to the doctor, or go in and do the performance in this condition. No, that second option was not really an option - this is in a bad position, and if I don't get it straightened out, the energy of a live stage performance could send me into shock. Really. Plus, the last thing our performance needs is for the audience to be focused on my finger. Plus-I'm supposed to be playing guitar with this thing! No, there were far too many compelling reasons for me to get into the doctor. Quick-call to the artistic director and message to his wife appraising her, and then turning to Lucy with a look in my eyes that could have only have been saying, "OK, little girl: I know that every time we ever need to get out of the house in five minutes, it takes us 30...but if you ever, ever wanted to help your daddy out in a pinch...for the love of God, be a help, not a hinderance now." For, you see, Sharon was at work.
So, getting ready to go into the doctor...Lucy was great. I was unable, in my condition, to help her get all the way dressed, or to help her get her tight shoes on, or lift her into her car seat-anything. She really seemed to get it. She was focused and helpful and we were on the road in, like, less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, urgent care took far, far longer than it needed to. I was sitting around for at least an hour, and I was starting to get a little nauseous, along with the nervous feeling I already had about the dwindling time. Finally, to the triage, and then back to the room, and then the doctor came in. Right before 2:00. So what does he do? Sends me back to get x-rayed!! I've never had that done before in a dislocation! From that point on, I'm trying to explain to every staff person I encounter about how I am going on in a play in a little over an hour and, as they continually slow me down, eventually that at 2:15 I'm simply going to have to walk out the door, whether my finger is fixed or not. It may have been a bluff on my part, but honestly I'm not sure. There literally would have been a point at which I could have waited no more. The show must go on.
Finally, the doctor's in there at about 2:13 explaining that the x-rays showed a small fracture. Ordinarily, he'd give me a shot of painkiller and let it work for about 15 minutes, then pop it into place, THEN take another x-ray to see if the any further damage was revealed. A quick little back and forth that resulted in me making a promise to pay a followup visit to his office on Monday and then he reached forward and * POP *, I was in business. Pinky finger & ring finger on left hand taped together. Guitar? Luckily, it was a super basic little repetitive thing that only took my middle tree fingers. We raced home, I threw all my stuff in the car, including some painkillers (which I really needed, by the way), and a tongue depresser. RACED to the event and, while we were in the midst of the runthrough, I untaped the fingers and retaped the pinky onto the tongue depresser to free up my 3rd chord finger. For the rest of the day, my chords sounded a bit shitty, since I couldn't put much pressure on the side of the neck, but it was good enough for the purpose. And the show went off to a great reception. The show must go on, man, the show must go on.
Friday, September 29, 2006
A Topic About Which I've Not Been Blogging A Bunch, But Which is Foremost on My Mind
They don't really take any more "photos"(ultrasound images) after week 14, and I missed my shot of posting those. So here we are with this representation on the left. "Little Chicky" has been steadily growing over the past number of months and now, at week 34, resembles the baby you see here. About five pounds and 17 inches long or so, Chick has long since gotten to the point where, if the situation became necessary, he/should could survive in the world ex-utero.
Nothing like seeing a picture like this to remind me of that which I already know so well and just drive it home. We are simply going to be a bigger family in about a month.
As has been chronicled, money concerns have weighed us down a bit in anticipation of this glorious event, and I suppose I have been a bit more industrious in the recording studio as of late simply anticipating being on 100% diaper duty (e.g. in a non-sound secure recording situation) through the first few months. But other than that, it's been all excitement and anticipation. Lucy has embraced the role of big sister-to-be with great gusto and, though we have no basis for comparison, her understanding of what this all means seems to far exceed others' expectations for someone her age. We've been asked, "Does she get that there's a baby growing in there?" when, in fact, if you ask her how Little Chicky eats, she'll say "Mama eats food, and little Chicky gets the energy through the umbilical cord."
That said, Loo is still at an age where, bless her heart, she is incapable of truly understanding there are people in the world with valid needs outside of herself. And we're not quite ready to grant babysitter duties to a potential caretaker who, however enthusiastic, promises to "carry her down the stairs with one arm."
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!
I've been motivated to get down into the recording studio, lately. Due to factors ranging from general stress & chronic tiredness to my pursuit of theatre, it's been nearly a year since I've spent any meaningful time down there. In the past week, however, I've gotten drums and some guitars laid down on a new song.
Last night, I was down there again, and making some great headway. I got a bass track laid down, which I was really excited about. And for those lacking experience working in a multi-track studio, let me just say that (particularly as a musician that is more of a craftsman than a technical virtuoso) making it through a song mistake-free, beginning to end, with nearly any intsrument is an exercise in concentration and stress management. But I did it, and was rarin' for more. I then hit upon a great guitar sound and was able to add an extra guitar layer through the whole song. Really pumped, I gave a shot at the most touchy, visible instrumental part of any song-the guitar solo. Success!!!
I then decided to try some scratch backup vocals; "scratch" referring to something that is laid down as a guide and/or experiment, but not intended for a final mix. I just wanted to see if something worked. I was about 20 minutes into singing a series of "aaaaa"'s when I was shocked to see Sharon at the bottom of the stairs. She informed me that, with our new duct system, my vocals were coming out, clear as day, two floors up in the bedroom. And keeping her awake. Beyond my initial embarassment (when you're experimenting with "aaaaa" and have your headphones on, it undoubtedly sounds pretty fruity), I was kind of bummed....what is the implication for my late-night recording sessions (the only time when I am free to record)? It is possible I will be able to close off the vent enough to get around the problem in the future, but I decided to give the vocals a rest for the night and move on to other things.
I moved over to the Korg (the recording unit) and started switching into some effects to see how everything so far sounded, and the entire unit seized up. Not a button worked. Having run into this before, I knew there could be but one outcome. Nevertheless, I tried everything from slapping the side of the machine to randomly hitting button after button in hopes of getting a response. Nothing, of course. With my brain reeling, and my heart just plain fagged, I did a hard shut down. Everything I did for the night is lost.
An experience like that can drive an emotionally fragile recording artist like myself out of the studio for months, in some instances. As it is, I stayed up late with a cartoon balloon containing grumbly scribbles over my head, and this morning was involved in a funk-induced punt.
Last night, I was down there again, and making some great headway. I got a bass track laid down, which I was really excited about. And for those lacking experience working in a multi-track studio, let me just say that (particularly as a musician that is more of a craftsman than a technical virtuoso) making it through a song mistake-free, beginning to end, with nearly any intsrument is an exercise in concentration and stress management. But I did it, and was rarin' for more. I then hit upon a great guitar sound and was able to add an extra guitar layer through the whole song. Really pumped, I gave a shot at the most touchy, visible instrumental part of any song-the guitar solo. Success!!!
I then decided to try some scratch backup vocals; "scratch" referring to something that is laid down as a guide and/or experiment, but not intended for a final mix. I just wanted to see if something worked. I was about 20 minutes into singing a series of "aaaaa"'s when I was shocked to see Sharon at the bottom of the stairs. She informed me that, with our new duct system, my vocals were coming out, clear as day, two floors up in the bedroom. And keeping her awake. Beyond my initial embarassment (when you're experimenting with "aaaaa" and have your headphones on, it undoubtedly sounds pretty fruity), I was kind of bummed....what is the implication for my late-night recording sessions (the only time when I am free to record)? It is possible I will be able to close off the vent enough to get around the problem in the future, but I decided to give the vocals a rest for the night and move on to other things.
I moved over to the Korg (the recording unit) and started switching into some effects to see how everything so far sounded, and the entire unit seized up. Not a button worked. Having run into this before, I knew there could be but one outcome. Nevertheless, I tried everything from slapping the side of the machine to randomly hitting button after button in hopes of getting a response. Nothing, of course. With my brain reeling, and my heart just plain fagged, I did a hard shut down. Everything I did for the night is lost.
An experience like that can drive an emotionally fragile recording artist like myself out of the studio for months, in some instances. As it is, I stayed up late with a cartoon balloon containing grumbly scribbles over my head, and this morning was involved in a funk-induced punt.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Stock Options: A First $tep into a Larger World Part Two
Actually not really stock options, it just sounded "upper class."
Along with feeling generally out of place when hearing co-workers talk about the latest trappings of an opulent lifestyle, I've also long felt like I know less about the world of finance than anyone within these walls. I have a theory that I spent a lot more of my twenties with my full energy focused on the world of personal pursuits and introspection, whereas many of the people around which I work spent that time learning about self-amotorizing loans, investments, and generally how to get ahead in the world. There's lots of people here that, nearly 10 years my junior, that are in a different universe, career-wise, than I was at their age. That, along with a few other factors (their lack of interest in just about anything outside of ESPN, grilling, and playing golf) tends to support my theory.
Anyway, I will often hear people asking each other how the company's (our company's) stock "is doing." Aside from 401k (in which I started contributing at age 30-not too late in the game), I've always pretty much blown off any talk of investments and stock, considering such pursuits games as only for an ambitious, hardball-playing, group of wheelers & dealers. Definitely not my style. Not my world.
But they started a program here where any employee could set aside money to purchase company stock over 6-month period, via payroll deduction. At the end of the 6 months, the company will purchase the stock for the employee at a 15% discount from whichever price is lower, the price at the beginning of the six months or end of the six months. After a couple of years of avoiding yet another item in the world of finance, it suddenly started striking home to me what an incredible deal this really was. Basically, unless the stock drops 15% over the six month period, you win. Certainly, that drop could occur, but I'm not sure it ever has in the life of Big Buy. Or if it has, it's almost certainly rebounded shortly after.
In any event, I have a specific focus for "getting in the game." Sharon & I are going to start putting 3% of my gross check into this thing, and possibly more, if budget permits in the future. Our specific goal is to grow the money purely for the purpose of paying off our "emergency debt" which, as has been chronicled, has become an emergency in and of itself.
Look out, boys, and would somebody please cue Night Ranger's "Secret of My Success?"
Along with feeling generally out of place when hearing co-workers talk about the latest trappings of an opulent lifestyle, I've also long felt like I know less about the world of finance than anyone within these walls. I have a theory that I spent a lot more of my twenties with my full energy focused on the world of personal pursuits and introspection, whereas many of the people around which I work spent that time learning about self-amotorizing loans, investments, and generally how to get ahead in the world. There's lots of people here that, nearly 10 years my junior, that are in a different universe, career-wise, than I was at their age. That, along with a few other factors (their lack of interest in just about anything outside of ESPN, grilling, and playing golf) tends to support my theory.
Anyway, I will often hear people asking each other how the company's (our company's) stock "is doing." Aside from 401k (in which I started contributing at age 30-not too late in the game), I've always pretty much blown off any talk of investments and stock, considering such pursuits games as only for an ambitious, hardball-playing, group of wheelers & dealers. Definitely not my style. Not my world.
But they started a program here where any employee could set aside money to purchase company stock over 6-month period, via payroll deduction. At the end of the 6 months, the company will purchase the stock for the employee at a 15% discount from whichever price is lower, the price at the beginning of the six months or end of the six months. After a couple of years of avoiding yet another item in the world of finance, it suddenly started striking home to me what an incredible deal this really was. Basically, unless the stock drops 15% over the six month period, you win. Certainly, that drop could occur, but I'm not sure it ever has in the life of Big Buy. Or if it has, it's almost certainly rebounded shortly after.
In any event, I have a specific focus for "getting in the game." Sharon & I are going to start putting 3% of my gross check into this thing, and possibly more, if budget permits in the future. Our specific goal is to grow the money purely for the purpose of paying off our "emergency debt" which, as has been chronicled, has become an emergency in and of itself.
Look out, boys, and would somebody please cue Night Ranger's "Secret of My Success?"
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
A Skewed View?
I've become aware in recent times that my view of the "average American lifestyle" may be skewed and getting more skewed by the day, as I continue to be surrounded by coworkers with opulent lives and asses firmly planted atop the pyramid. While my own day-to-day existence is relatively modest, in terms of spending & consumption, I fear my own perception of what I should be able to afford; indeed, my sense of entitlement (what an ugly word!), has grown in ways that have been unperceptable along the way, though undeniable now as I evaluate my current recreational tastes and Quicken report of monthly expenditure, relative to what they were before I started work at my current job, just about five years ago.
I don't think enjoying a quality meal in a nice restaurant is a total waste of money, but I remember a time when I thought it was. I remember a time when the only "eating out" we did was at Taco Bell. I also remember a time when the only beer that was "stocked" in my fridge was left over from my last party. And it was shitty beer, in cans. And I didn't have Netflix. Etc. Etc. It adds up.
Scaling back would be healthy to begin with, but our hand has been forced as we are faced with having to eke out an extra $500 or so for childcare expenses we'll be facing when Sharon goes back into work in February. We're in the midst of trying to dial down monthly expenses in just about every recreational/luxury category in the register. Right now, it doesn't appear it will quite add up to the extra $500, but who knows in what way I don't even see now that monthly budget will change over the next five months? Easy come easy go.
I don't think enjoying a quality meal in a nice restaurant is a total waste of money, but I remember a time when I thought it was. I remember a time when the only "eating out" we did was at Taco Bell. I also remember a time when the only beer that was "stocked" in my fridge was left over from my last party. And it was shitty beer, in cans. And I didn't have Netflix. Etc. Etc. It adds up.
Scaling back would be healthy to begin with, but our hand has been forced as we are faced with having to eke out an extra $500 or so for childcare expenses we'll be facing when Sharon goes back into work in February. We're in the midst of trying to dial down monthly expenses in just about every recreational/luxury category in the register. Right now, it doesn't appear it will quite add up to the extra $500, but who knows in what way I don't even see now that monthly budget will change over the next five months? Easy come easy go.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Great Dictator: A First Step into a Larger World?
The "Larger World" refers to Chalie Chaplin movies, and that first step was taken over the past couple of nights, in my viewing of The Great Dictator. I'd put off or just plain ignored this prolific entertainer with almost no real knowledge of what the man was really all about for quite a long time. But I finally decided that, if I am to accept my role as a leading early 21st century American humorist, it would behoove me to study some of the masters.
The Great Dictator, which was released in 1940, was Chaplin's first "all-talkie" film, and thus, not representative of his major body of work prior; but it is considered to be one of his elite films and I found myself all the more amazed that this guy, who is universally recognized as a gifted physical comedian (pre-"talkie" movies, what other kind of actor could you be?), also has an amazing gift for improvisational speech. This is evident as he, in his role as a Hitler-clone dictator, goes on a 10-minute nonsensical screed in some sort of bungle of fake German. Very well done, accompanied by superb body control (like the real Hitler!) Though I get ahead of myself, just a bit.
The Great Dictator is from that weird genre of movies that is made as commentary on World War II prior to its end (and, indeed, years prior to America's involvement). Such movies can have chilling moments for me, as I consider how events that are warned against, etc. will yet unfold in the years following the filming. This one had its share of those moments, with some surprisingly moving and passionate scenes portraying the plight of the persecuted Jews and the madness of the Hitler character interspersed with zany comedy. The juxtaposition was almost too much, except that the humour was just so good. A lot of humourous scenes were undoubtedly the result of flights of fancy from Chaplin-mostly ones in which he is the sole performer on screen just doing what he does best: silly, creative, and amazingly nimble things with his body. Some of the humour reminds me a bit of how I describe Roger Miller's silly lyrics as being not only ahead of their time, but almost (you can just sense it) done purposely with just enough restraint so as not to blow people's minds. There is one scene in which he shaves a man to Slovakian Dances that is almost certainly the basis for a Bugs Bunny bit that would have followed a decade or so later.
Anyway-I'm definitely intrigued with Chaplin's talents, and will seek out more of his works in the future, though I'm mindful that some of the pre-talk movies might require me to break out of a comfort zone a bit in order to appreciate.
The Great Dictator, which was released in 1940, was Chaplin's first "all-talkie" film, and thus, not representative of his major body of work prior; but it is considered to be one of his elite films and I found myself all the more amazed that this guy, who is universally recognized as a gifted physical comedian (pre-"talkie" movies, what other kind of actor could you be?), also has an amazing gift for improvisational speech. This is evident as he, in his role as a Hitler-clone dictator, goes on a 10-minute nonsensical screed in some sort of bungle of fake German. Very well done, accompanied by superb body control (like the real Hitler!) Though I get ahead of myself, just a bit.
The Great Dictator is from that weird genre of movies that is made as commentary on World War II prior to its end (and, indeed, years prior to America's involvement). Such movies can have chilling moments for me, as I consider how events that are warned against, etc. will yet unfold in the years following the filming. This one had its share of those moments, with some surprisingly moving and passionate scenes portraying the plight of the persecuted Jews and the madness of the Hitler character interspersed with zany comedy. The juxtaposition was almost too much, except that the humour was just so good. A lot of humourous scenes were undoubtedly the result of flights of fancy from Chaplin-mostly ones in which he is the sole performer on screen just doing what he does best: silly, creative, and amazingly nimble things with his body. Some of the humour reminds me a bit of how I describe Roger Miller's silly lyrics as being not only ahead of their time, but almost (you can just sense it) done purposely with just enough restraint so as not to blow people's minds. There is one scene in which he shaves a man to Slovakian Dances that is almost certainly the basis for a Bugs Bunny bit that would have followed a decade or so later.
Anyway-I'm definitely intrigued with Chaplin's talents, and will seek out more of his works in the future, though I'm mindful that some of the pre-talk movies might require me to break out of a comfort zone a bit in order to appreciate.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
About "The Punt"
Mixdorf got such joy out of my mention, in passing, of "the punt," I thought I should elaborate.
The term originated with Gibbs, in as far as I know. Back in the days of the Fortress, he used to employ it, in conversations with his lenient boss, to refer to a day in which he was in the process of mailing it in. It was rather ingenious, to actually head off at the pass any possible issues that might arise from other people in the office seeing you staring blankly at your screen, heading out on a coffee break to return two hours later, or simply sitting at your desk "writing the lyrics." Judicious use of the term actually implies that ususally you are not punting, though whether or not that is a reflection of reality is another issue.
Anyway, nature of my job, as well as the quality of work I have proven over the course of around five years at my present employer, has granted me quite a bit of discretion as to how & when I get the work done. Extremely loosely, it is assumed my hours are around 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. On bussing days, I get here a couple of minutes after 7, and leave a few minutes before 4 to catch the 4:01. On other days, when I drive-my hours become anybody's guess. I will often stay till 4:30, if I'm heading off to pick up Lucy, or later, if I'm not. I've been known to come in extra early and/or stay extra late, if the need arises. But I can also come in late or even, with an early-afternoon appointment, take off for good without worrying about tracking some sort of time card. It's very cool, but also dangerously tempting in some regards. My personal ethos wouldn't allow me to average less than 40 hours a week over a long period of time, but I've definitely had a few stretches when my cycle of work slows down a bit, I've been exhausted, or some of either or both.
"Punting," for me, over the past couple of years, has referred to those days when I wake up with my alarm at 5:40 and make a totally conscious decision that I'd be better off just sleeping in a bit and getting up naturally. I just know I need the sleep, for whatever reason. So I'm running late to begin with. Then, I'm getting up around when Sharon & Lucy do and it is inevitable I will be drawn into the morning routine ("Hold me, daddy!"). Talking with my family, helping Lucy to get breakfast or get dressed; the time it takes me to get on the road is doubled, at least. So now we're looking at 7:30 or 8:00 (too late for the bus) by the time I even get through my back door.
I should also mention that the morning commute in the Twin Cities starts getting truly bad around 6:00 am, or just a little after. It's quite consistant. So, if I can actually get out the door by 5:55 or so, I know I'm gonna have a relatively quick clean drive in of about 20-25 minutes (of course, I can imagine how that sounds to non-big City dwellers, but I've got a CD player and I can zone out pretty well, especially at cruising speed). At 7:30 or 8:00, forget about it. I'm going to be crawling along, at stop & go long before I even get to the tunnel that gets me past downtown. I'm looking at 40-plus minutes into work. So, at that point, a decision is made. A decision that some may say is a very shaky branch of logic. One that suggests that, if you're going to be late, you may as well be really late. It's not like the commute is gonna get good until 9:30 or so (and even my punts don't have that much hang-time). It's just that the temptation of coffee at Camden Coffee Company in one of their tall, ceramic mugs (oh, baby!) has far surpassed my interest in having one of those clean, normal work days. I'll run into a few people I know, bullshit around, maybe read some of my favorite sections of the Star Tribune that are lying around, and some City Pages, and just chill out. It probably doesn't hurt that, otherwise, the number of daytime hours that I am not either working, driving, or involved in child care, to whatever degree, in a given week might often be around zero. I simply don't get many of those hours, when I'm at my best, truly to myself.
There you have it. The punt. Rise up and join me, brothers and sisters. We'll punt away the whole morning, and maybe head out a little early in the afternoon to boot.
The term originated with Gibbs, in as far as I know. Back in the days of the Fortress, he used to employ it, in conversations with his lenient boss, to refer to a day in which he was in the process of mailing it in. It was rather ingenious, to actually head off at the pass any possible issues that might arise from other people in the office seeing you staring blankly at your screen, heading out on a coffee break to return two hours later, or simply sitting at your desk "writing the lyrics." Judicious use of the term actually implies that ususally you are not punting, though whether or not that is a reflection of reality is another issue.
Anyway, nature of my job, as well as the quality of work I have proven over the course of around five years at my present employer, has granted me quite a bit of discretion as to how & when I get the work done. Extremely loosely, it is assumed my hours are around 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. On bussing days, I get here a couple of minutes after 7, and leave a few minutes before 4 to catch the 4:01. On other days, when I drive-my hours become anybody's guess. I will often stay till 4:30, if I'm heading off to pick up Lucy, or later, if I'm not. I've been known to come in extra early and/or stay extra late, if the need arises. But I can also come in late or even, with an early-afternoon appointment, take off for good without worrying about tracking some sort of time card. It's very cool, but also dangerously tempting in some regards. My personal ethos wouldn't allow me to average less than 40 hours a week over a long period of time, but I've definitely had a few stretches when my cycle of work slows down a bit, I've been exhausted, or some of either or both.
"Punting," for me, over the past couple of years, has referred to those days when I wake up with my alarm at 5:40 and make a totally conscious decision that I'd be better off just sleeping in a bit and getting up naturally. I just know I need the sleep, for whatever reason. So I'm running late to begin with. Then, I'm getting up around when Sharon & Lucy do and it is inevitable I will be drawn into the morning routine ("Hold me, daddy!"). Talking with my family, helping Lucy to get breakfast or get dressed; the time it takes me to get on the road is doubled, at least. So now we're looking at 7:30 or 8:00 (too late for the bus) by the time I even get through my back door.
I should also mention that the morning commute in the Twin Cities starts getting truly bad around 6:00 am, or just a little after. It's quite consistant. So, if I can actually get out the door by 5:55 or so, I know I'm gonna have a relatively quick clean drive in of about 20-25 minutes (of course, I can imagine how that sounds to non-big City dwellers, but I've got a CD player and I can zone out pretty well, especially at cruising speed). At 7:30 or 8:00, forget about it. I'm going to be crawling along, at stop & go long before I even get to the tunnel that gets me past downtown. I'm looking at 40-plus minutes into work. So, at that point, a decision is made. A decision that some may say is a very shaky branch of logic. One that suggests that, if you're going to be late, you may as well be really late. It's not like the commute is gonna get good until 9:30 or so (and even my punts don't have that much hang-time). It's just that the temptation of coffee at Camden Coffee Company in one of their tall, ceramic mugs (oh, baby!) has far surpassed my interest in having one of those clean, normal work days. I'll run into a few people I know, bullshit around, maybe read some of my favorite sections of the Star Tribune that are lying around, and some City Pages, and just chill out. It probably doesn't hurt that, otherwise, the number of daytime hours that I am not either working, driving, or involved in child care, to whatever degree, in a given week might often be around zero. I simply don't get many of those hours, when I'm at my best, truly to myself.
There you have it. The punt. Rise up and join me, brothers and sisters. We'll punt away the whole morning, and maybe head out a little early in the afternoon to boot.
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