Camp Was Had, Cave Was Explored, Ass Was Kicked

Let me start by saying "Forestville is a fantastic state park and I can't wait till I get back there!" Beautiful trails and rugged, forested hills; fascinating historical sites, and the lovely Root River, meandering throughout. And I saw none of it.

That's not exactly true, as we camped about 50-60 ft from the river, and had wonderful views of both it and the surrounding hills, without going more than a few feet outside of our actual site. Which is good. Cause we didn't. A comedy of errors (not the least of which was heading out of the Twin Cities on 35-W, rather than 52), led to us not arriving till right around 5:00 Friday evening (after Sharon picking me up from work at 1:00). Right about time to get cracking on setting up camp and getting food going.

Rumination: Time was, when Sharon & I used to camp as a childless couple, where all equipment we needed was kept in two bins, and an extra handful of items was either included or excluded, depending on the season. Now, with a four-year old and an under-one year old, we have to start planning what we're going to pack and what we must not forget at least three days in advance. Whatever metric is used to determine that change in getting ready time since the old days; well it is also used for activities that occur within camp.

Nothing is ever "OK, you get food going, I'll set up the tent."

Lucy, God Bless Her, has really got the routine down. She knows why she's there, what needs to be done, and how to help.

But the addition of Rose, as both a distraction to

Lucy and her parents, as well as being a force of reckoning in her own right, has changed our experience towards that of challenge. I don't know how much more I can say about that. Words fail me. Anyway, by the time all was indeed set up and food was consumed, night was falling.

Once Sharon was able to get Rose down, we had a wonderful evening.

It was actually kind of wild, how both evenings (pleasantly cool, wonderfully quiet, Lucy re-discovering the art of cuddling), and both mornings (frazzled, desperate attempts to gather ourselves and get on the way to wherever we were headed) seemed to follow the same pattern. The "X Factor" was Rose going zonking out at 7:00 pm and waking up at about 6:00 am.

Saturday morning, as soon as the frazzled company was able to get out & about, we actually headed down the road about five miles to hit the "Mystery Cave" portion of Forestville/Mystery Cave.

Despite "Turquoise Lake" being disappointingly small (no Dawn Treader-style watercraft being piloted by giant sea monkeys gliding off towards distant, subterranean horizons, unfortunately), it was a pretty amazing tour filled with all kinds of fascinating cave facts.

After that, it was a quick change into running gear and off to Eagle Bluff to meet up with The Bear for the purpose of scaring off small game in a 10 mile radius and setting the world on fire in what turned out to be the most insane 5k race I have ever run. T-Clog had the benefit of being familiar with the place and, thus, being able to match pre-race map to reality during the run. I, on the other hand, kept wondering if I was close to the end or not; indeed, once screaming to a guy about a city block ahead of me, "HEY, IS THIS ABOUT IT UP HERE?" The picture to the left is actually of me finishing (I actually finished 7th overall, which may be about the highest place I have ever had in any race, ever - though it should be noted that it was about the smallest field against which I have ever competed).

Both T-Clog & I both did what we set out to do and congratulated one another with many hi-fives and a photo op with our hard-earned cedar ring finisher medals. (Behind us, you see the bottom of a 300-foot valley we ascended and descended twice during the run).


After the festivities wrapped up, it was back to Forestville State Park and our campsite which, for that evening and the next morning, was pretty much a repeat of our previous evening & morning combo.


An arrangement Sharon & I made a couple of years ago was that each of us (when we're camping with kids) would have the opportunity to have solo trail time while the other "ran defense." Again, if it was just Lucy, it'd be a wonderful nature exploration and bonding experience. With Rose on the scene, and a world of pebbly, chokable hazards (and in my case, a lack of breasts); time with the kids is pure "Playing Defense." For me, "trail time" is invariable a trail run. For Sharon, it is a birding, nature journaling hike. And that is what she got Sunday morning before we left. We were just coming off a tear and defiance-filled morning, so on my recommendation, we just packed up and dropped Sharon off at a trailhead near the edge of the State Park. I then drove both kids eight miles into the town of Preston and just hung out at a park where Lucy could amuse herself while I focused on Rose for awhile. Then it was back to pick up Sharon and then up to MSP.

Just as a result of the business of the remainder of our Fall and the obvious, following, Winter; we probably won't camp again with Rose till she's about 18 months old. And that's good. There's just something about some level of sentience that a kid goes through somewhere between a year and two years. It was the case with Lucy, anyway. At 18 months, or two years or somewhere around there, a child can be on a camping trip and get what they're doing. They can still be a handful, but they know where they are, why they're there, and generally what is expected of them. Rosie - sharp girl though she is - is pretty much stimulus/response at this point. Maybe the better way to put it is that a 10-month old is not really seeing "the big picture."

addendum: I just remembered one other highlight from the trip. Barred owls were going nuts. Both evenings and even in the following mornings, they were going crazy, hooting and responding to each other in a way that I've never heard. There was one particular stretch, in the middle of the first night, when Sharon & I were both awakened, and just couldn't believe it as we listened to this group going at it in trees surrounding our campsite. Here is an MP3 I made with my little player (which is also a voice recorder, I find), as I headed off a little path next to the river, trying to get closer to the bluffs where they were hooting (more distantly, unfortunately), the next morning. You may need headphones, and to turn them up a bit, to hear the owls and not just my footfalls and breathy narration.
http://media.putfile.com/Barred-Owls-Forestville-State-Park

Small Game Beware

The Bear and the Panther are on the loose.

The Hylton clan is heading down to Forestville/Mystery Cave State Park for Friday and Saturday night, with the intention of driving up to Eagle Bluff (about 10 miles away) for me to run the race Saturday afternoon. T-Clog, a little allergy-induced dropoff notwithstanding, will be testing the results of one of his finest periods of sustained cariovascular exercise regimines; and experience the thrill of being part of a pack of sweaty humans, bounding through the woods to the cheers and encouragement of onlookers (including Sharon, Lucy, and Rose). Personally, I don't do all that many 5k runs these days. For me, running for time rather than as a test of endurance, it's the most painful of all races. To get a good time, I need to head out at an uncomfortably fast pace, feeling herky & jerky and not into the flow, and sustain it for 20-21 greuling minutes (longer on a trail, I'm sure; I've actually never done a 5k trail race). In a longer race (10 mile, 25k, etc.), I can ease into my race pace as my body warms up over the first few miles. I've been told that I should run a mile or two to warm up my body for a 5k, but I've never really been able to bring myself to do it, thinking that I'm just going to need every ounce of energy I have for the run itself. Anyway, in the shadow of T-Clog's training is the relatively quiet reality that I, myself, am still in the midst of one of my own "longest sustained cardiovascular exercise regimines." My experiment with the health club at work began on June 9 and I'd have to say I'm still averaging five workouts a week. In recent times, with this race (and actually another race or two) looming, many of my "elliptical" workouts have given way to running over lunch and during the weekend at home. It's not been totally running-specific training, overall; so I really don't know how to guage my "running-shape," per-se; but I can say that I think I'm in about the best overall physical condition since my marathon training days. I am highly curious to put it all to the test.

I'm also looking forward to the camping. It definitely adds an element of challenge (or jsut subtracts an element of R&R), camping with a < 1 year old. Lucy's at an age of curiousity, exploration, and capabilities where almost all experiences shared with are are universally joyful. Rose, however much she may enjoy the fresh air and millions of curious new things to see, is going to need constant supervision. Especially being a lot more mobile & driven to try and stick things in her mouth than was Lucy at that age.

Forestville/Mystery Cave Park is a natural area wth multiple dimensions. I think it has the highest usage by any state park by campers on horseback. It also has some pretty fine trout streams and the wildly varied topo that is common in SE Minnesota. But the two things that really set it apart from most other MN state parks are a restored frontier town with living history presenters (Forestville), and the 12th (not sure about that stat - it's somewhere around there) largest cave in North America. 12+ miles of underground passages that have yet to all be explored, and remain at a constant 48 degrees year-round (it'd be an awesome place to camp in mid-summer). We'll be taking a one hour tour that encompasses quite a bit but apparently is hilighted with a sighting of a transluscent turquoise lake. It almost sounds a little too close to my recent Jules Verne experience for comfort. If we run into any giant lizards with sails glued on their backs, I'm outta there.

rock on, Bear!

O Me of Little Faith

Wonderful, thoughtful program on Dick Gordon's (NPR) program, The Story, on a Christian religion reporter for the LA Times who, through the course of covering the church came to such horrifying revelations about the amount of corruption in modern religion that it led him to question his own faith. Not to be missed by thinking men.

It's crazy - so soon after seeing Ivanhoe and its references to the same institutionally corrupt Cathlolic church that enacted the Inquisition, here we are in the 21st century with a (still disgracefully undercovered by the media) Catholic priest sexual abuse scandal in the midst of a church leadership that willfully covered up the truth and an entire denomination (for the most part) in a tremendous amount of self-delusion and denial. And the condoning and lack of outcry by "mainstream" clergy over televangelists & faith healers and their continual preying on a gullible (and often financially vulnerable) public? Ah, how little has really changed.

And, as I look about at the state of the world's "great" religions - specifically, the ones of the monotheistic variety, war, war, hate, hate, war, war, hate.

Most of my Christian aquaintances would probably advise me that the various failings of the church around the world are failings of men, not of God. But as William Labdell (the reporter in the program) reasons, aren't these God's institutions? For them to fail so miserably in carrying out God's will? One must begin to question whether this remains God's chosen vehicle at this point, anyway. Religion is a failure. Whether it be of God's design or man's.

I continue to have spiritual moments and a general regard for some sort of unifying oneness. But it's hard for me not to think that's not just so much hopefulness. And as for religion? I think I'd have to check "none of the above."

Ivanhoe & Shadows and Fog

Watched Ivanhoe:
Wow. In this 6-hour epic (originally a BBC-filmed miniseries, I think), I got caught up in a way I have not in a long, long time. A lot of it had to do with the gloriously long and detailed character and plot development; the sort of thing that would make Hollywood executives cringe. As I think I mentioned to Mixdorf, this film had all the wonderful setting and exposition of the first Lord of the Rings movie, with none of the cheap one-liners and plot conventions of the third. This type of historical fiction I really dig, to begin with; as it is set in the same end-0f-the-3rd crusade world as Robin Hood, with (an admittedly idealized version of) King Richard returning to England to reclaim the throne from his treacherous brother, John. In the midst of all the complex characters & storyline, never fear; there's plenty of villainy for Ivanhoe to overcome, from John to the corrupt Knights Templar, and Norman nobility in general. One thing that was kind of funny - the running time was listed on one of the two discs as 150 minutes, which I was expecting for the length of the entire movie. At the end of two nights of two+ hour viewing, I was like "What the hell is going on here?" Of course, I was enjoying the whole thing, so I was actually joyful when I discovered "Oh.....that's the running time for disc one!" Anyway, 5 Netflix stars.

Also watched Shadows and Fog:
This Woody Allen film was a lot more of a cinematic effort (as opposed to a plot & dialogue exploration) than the majority of his films. The whole thing is set in a very m00d-enducing black and white, often through, yes, a fog and often in a very low contrast. It was actually kind of refreshing that it was difficult to see people even moving around during many of the night scenes (as opposed to in most movies, where it's obvious that the sun is shining during the "night" scenes, and they're just using some crazy filter). Definitely adds all the more to the creepiness of the story, which is bascially the W.A. character being summoned by a vigilante group out into the night to help entrap a serial strangler, but then being left totally on his own to wander the streets. Appearances by a crazy number of name actors and some unexpected plot developments add ineterest to the whole experience, even as things plod along a little, at times. This would be a classic 3 1/2 stars for me, if that option was available on Netflix. It's not, so I'd say it's a little closer to a 4 than a 3.

Bad Film Hat Trick

Saw: Journey to the Center of the Earth
1963 screen adaptation of the Jules Verne classic becomes another contributing factor to the nagging suspicion that I may be losing the soft spot in my heart for the campy 60s. A collection of one-dimensional characters I care nothing about thrown into a disjointed storyline with plot holes galore are definitely not overcome by what is, admittedly, a pretty dazzlingly colorful backdrop. Not recommended. 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.

Saw: Dr. Who: In the Beginning
First set of episodes (you know - the Dr. Who's, as I discover, are produced as a series miniseries), including the original pilot episode, which introduces the characters of the Doctor, his granddaughter, and the two science teachers, and follows their adventure as they are thrown backwards into time to witness, and become involved with, a series of cavemen with British accents discovering fire. I was really looking forward to this. Unfortunately, the crappy writing, trite storyline, and marginal acting left me really flat. Really. Another knock on the campy 60s. Also, 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.

Saw: MST3K: The Dead Talk Back
Saw this with a friend, while somewhat inebriated. The potential would seem to have been there, with a mad scientist who solves crimes after creating a radio that can talk to the dead. Unfortunately, the crew was either not up to their usual standards of excellence or else the raw material just wasn't there. For whatever reason - I did not enjoy this one nearly as much as I usually do. I have yet to meet the man or woman who enjoys MST3K as much as I. But this one was a mere 3 of 5 Netflix stars.

Where Did You Leave Your Heart?

Discussion.

A Quick Read and Last Stand for the 19" Sharp

Read Montessori Insights for Parents of Young Children: This longish book/booklet was recommended to all parents of students at Lucy's school, as it covers pratical ways of creating a Montessori environment in the home; both as a way to supplement and support what's going on in the classroom, as well as to foster an environment generally conducive to learning. I'm not going to go on one of my personal parenting philosophy rants I may have been guilty of a couple of years ago, but I will simply say that, for anyone considering having kids, I would highly recommend at least exploring the Montessori method (really, as much about lifestyle and philosophical choices as an academic program), and the ideas behind sensitive periods of learning and the absorbent mind. I hope the terminology doesn't make it sound like Scientology or anything. It's all stuff that seems very intuitive (to me). It's just been nice to discover an entire system of learning seemingly designed around my personal beliefs and value system. Plus, it's nice whenever I can learn about some of the psychological and scientific theory behind the philosophy. It's a subject I'd be very happy to speak more about with anybody, in person. Or feel free to borrow the book.


Watched Bourne Supremacy: Alas, this was pre-new TV. What can I say? This is not the sort of movie I am normally drawn to, but it's a type I can certainly get drawn into. A couple of friends (friends that are "a couple") invited us over for a movie watching a year or two ago, and Bourne Identity was the feature in play. It was good. Really good, in fact; though I got the sneaking suspicion that there's about a dozen or so movies that come out every year that don't differ a whole heck of a lot from that formula. You know: Espionage. Blow-ups. Secret CIA missions so complex you know our bumbling government agencies couldn't possibly be capable of such machinations is real life. Anyway, the sequel (Bourne....SUPREMACY!!! Effing-YEAH!) is more of the same. Also very riveting, and very well done. Not much more to add than that. Four stars on Netflix.

Also Watched: Rashomon: Beautifully shot, a bit sluggishly paced. Storyline (five versions of the "truth;" who do you believe?) was perhaps groundbreaking in it's day, but I did not find that it stood the test of time as well as I'd hoped. As well as I'd even remembered, even; as I did see the film in college and remembered liking it quite a bit. This was the last film I saw on the old TV - I would love to have seen that stark and haunting cinematography on the New Widescreen, but we all want lots of things we can't have.

In the Can

OK, this one was done in about two hours today. It was actually easier, as there was only the merest skeleton of a guide as to how the music would go. I was pretty much free to do whatever the Hell I wanted to do within the context of the lyrics (again, by Valerie) and the idea it was to be a duet by two Work House inmates involved in the original building of the (now) historical TB Hospital. I took that to mean it would be something you'd expect to see in a modern musical.

Click here to listen to 'In-the-Can'

Mississlonely

Guitar chords transcribed, all parts performed & recorded, song mixed, CD burned all in about three hours.

My theatre company is making our annual appearance at Mississippi Heritage Day, and our dramaturg, Valerie, penned some lyrics to be sung to the tune of "Mr. Lonely," by Bobby Vinton. Sharon (in sparkly, blue wig and long flowing blue gown) will be portraying The Mississippi River and singing a karoke version of this recording on Sept. 28.

For now, I threw in some vocals as a guide.

Much fun, as doo-wop is near and dear to my heart. But also one of my most productive, intensive, slapdash nights of recording ever; showing what one is capable of with a simple thing like a real deadline.

Click here to hear 'Mississlonely'

"High" Sierra

Watched: High Sierra

Wasn't I recently talking about the "non-classic" movie? Sort of the way one might refer to "imperfect man."

Well, this Humphrey Bogart stinker survived through the years in spite of its sketchy premise, and a combination of bad acting and badly written dialog that had to haved seemed square and out-of-touch even in 1941. It had to have. Bogart, in his first starring role, still appears at least two and a half times the age of one of his two romantic interests, and is utterly unbelievable as a streetwise ex-con. Of course, the couple of ne'er-do-wells he hooks up with for a heist make guys that played crooks on Andy Griffith look like the entourage of Pacman Jones.

It might be worth it for you to catch this movie if you want to brush up on your Mystery Science Theatre 3000 "skewering skills," but other than that, don't waste your time.

Small Miracles

There is an old joke about a guy who is on top of his house with flood waters rising all about. A man in a rowboat happens by and asks the man to climb aboard. He replied, "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." Next, a helicopter passes overhead and drops him a rope ladder. "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." And so on and so forth. Of course, the guy drowns. Up in heaven, he asks God why he didn't save him and God replies, "What's the matter with you? First I sent you a boat, then I sent you a helicopter...."

I forget what, exactly, was this impetus for this - perhaps a series of discussions Sharon & I had about how people tend to make their own luck - but Sharon decided, a little under a month ago (when we were facing out latest monetary crisis of realizing all of the water supply pipes in our house will need replaced), that she would stop sort of wafting through life, reacting to disaster and challenge as they arose, but instead begin actively seeking out 'miracles,' with a goal of a miracle a day. Mind you - this is not 'miracle' in the religious sense, though maybe the cosmic sense. And some would be as small as discovering Minnesota-grown apples on sale for $1.19/lb, but miracles on a larger scale would certainly be welcome, and even expected.

So far, it seems to have been an unqualified success. A lot of minor tribulations of life seem to be sorting themselves out, but the crowning achievement of 'miracles' has been what's going to happen with Lucy's $485 month tuition for school, which starts next month: Sharon has been hired on again to do a monthly naturalist program for $100 a shot (knocking tuition cost cown to, effectively, $385/month). We just also just made our last payment on the Saturn (minus another $129 - down to $256). Then, the biggest 'miracle' of all: in the spirit of this new endeavor, Sharon actually filled out a need-based scholarship application & submitted it to the school. Exceeding our wildest expectations, they granted us a $135/month scholarship. Essentially, we have to find a way to come up with $121 beyond what we were finding in the budget through the majority of the summer. We can totally do that.

Thank heavens for small miracles.

One Big, Not-So-Happy Family (Husbands & Wives and the Children of Húrin)

Read: Narn i Chîn Húrin (The Children of Húrin)
GREAT. Great, great, great, great, great. For the (legions of) people who appreciate the character-driven, powerful portrayal of daily trials, personalities, and themes of friendship and loyalty found in The Lord of the Rings, and for the (somewhat smaller number of) people who appreciated the sweeping, cataclysmic majesty of The Simarillion; The Children of Húrin is a most satisfying blend of the two. Set against the giant, almost Biblical backdrop of the 'First Age' of Middle Earth as depicted in the Simarillion, The Children of Húrin is far more accessible (quite a quick read); expanding upon the tragic character of one Túrin, son of Húrin, as he does his heroic best to aid the the races of men & elves against what is essentially the forces of an evil, fallen god; yet, by rash disregard of wise counsel or plain ill fortune, ultimately brings ruin to everyone and everything he holds dear. Lord of the Rings will forever make my blood run swiftly, inciting noble thoughts of friendship, heroism, and perserverence. The Children of Húrin will always break my heart. A small and beautiful, yet heartbreaking little tale against an annihilative backdrop involving the fall of Kings and the fall of cities, ever in the background but inexorably tied to Turin's doom.

Seen: Husbands and Wives:
Well, it's tough to follow that. But this was a really good Woody Allen character film. Fairly recent, it follows two married couples and examines the forces that to drive the unions apart and keep them together through typically (for Allen) witty dialogue and clever story-development. Not unlike Crimes & Misdemeanors (which I actually preferred, as a movie), in it's cynicism, but it definitely throws some interesting characters into the blender - even if (like in most Woody Allen movies), I can't really relate to very much of his uptown-Manhattan lifestyle.

10

Sharon & my 10-year anniversary today.

For lack of babysitter resources and time for planning, we are not actually going to be able to do anything tonight other than spend some brief moments together after the kids are in bed. But I think that is really representative of the stage of our family right now (e.g. preschooler & infant In The House), as well as the general course of our married life together, to this date: our time together may be hard to come by, but it is precious, and never taken for granted.

We're hoping to get out this weekend to see a play and eat a good meal. The Coast 2 Coast hike in northern England will have to wait a few years.

In Memory of Saraki (Squeaky)

Long, long overdue. A photo tribute has been on Sharon's agenda for the past half a year, but the demands of stay-at-home motherhood did not allow her to finally finish it until this past week. You'll be seeing this caption free, but it pretty much covers her first day in this world to her final day. No surprise here to animal lovers, but she brought us love, joy, laughter, and friendship in equal measure, and was a companion ("friend" might be stretching it) to Kuna-i through all the long years.

To which anyone who has been very close to an animal in their lives can attest, Saraki and Kuna-i were our "kids" before we had kids. They were the centerpoint of our lives, and an integral part of the crazy, vivid, earliest years of our marriage. And it has been difficult, at times, to come to terms with the fact that we are a now family without a pet. Crazy, too, that - despite no shortage of photographic evidence and stories, Kuna-i (that sweet & steadfast girl who welcomed a new baby into the house and - even in her blindness and dementia - kept a watchful vigil over a sleeping newborn) is steadily and surely fading from Lucy's memory, if not gone altogether. Almost certainly, Saraki will follow down that same path. And Rose, when all is said and done, will have only been alive for the four final months of Saraki's life.

New pets will eventually move in and fill a place in the hearts of our daughters, but I'm determined to keep memories of these two founding members of "Minneapolis Hyltons" family unit alive for as long as I'm alive. Thank God for photos. And thank God for a personality that can't get enough of reminiscing to begin with. Anyway, I'm pleased to share with you this tribute.

(Now, originally, I just embedded the slideshow itself. But I think the captions Sharon added are helpful for anyone who'd appreciate a little more context- so the photo below is actually now just a link to the actual web album. Be forewarned - the slide show is a little long. But Sharon put all the pictures in there for a reason, so get off her back.)

Squeaky

Suspicious? You Should Be. Baudolino Lies.

Read: Baudolino
My 2nd read of Umberto Eco is one I would highly recommend to anyone that loves historical fiction; particularly of the sort that comes from a mind that is mind-bogglingly versed on that particular slice of history (European Crusades, in this case). With the sort of lush backdrop, as well as luscious mixture of veneration and mockery of the history of Western religion, this book is superbly crafted. A fictitious character; behind the scenes and with the ear of the Emperor and a gift of language and lies, plays a significant and in pretty much all the major happenings between the 3rd and 4th Crusade. All the historical events are right on (I Wiki'd many of them), but the details are pulled out of an ass. And then - after it has been, if a bit far-fetched, quite realistic; the final third of the book takes the reader on a fantastical journey beyond the world known to Europeans at the time in search of a mythical far-Eastern Christian Emperor, Prestor John. A fun, rollicking adventure. Tales in a backdrop of cataclysmic war has never been so light and playful. Great 2000 interview on Baudolino with the brilliant Eco, here.

Watched: Suspicion
Directed by one A. Hitchcock and starring Cary Grant & Joan Fontaine, this 1941 suspense flick (woman woo'd by rascally man-about-town, only later to suspect he is planning to kill her) had all the pieces in place for me. Blast it, but I just didn't think the writing was all that great. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I was expecting to; fine performances (particularly, by Fontaine) and the hand of The Master couldn't elevate it to classic status for me. If I could have given it 3 1/2 on Netflix, I would have.

Tagged

by Aaron

7 "Interesting" Facts About Me (which I'm interpreting to mean items you may not know about me and, if you didn't know, might surprise you)

1. The extent to which I fail to reach my own toes when stretching puts me in the bottom 10th percentile amongs all men in my age group.
2. I have an advertising minor.
3. I have Tourette's Syndrome.
4. My grandfather lived to be 102. My grandmother (on the other side) lived to be 98.
5. I write beer reviews at BeerAdvocate.com. Feel free to send me samples for review.
6. I know far more about Microsoft Excel than you realize.
7. I've biked a 34 mile round trip into work once a week since mid-June. I will continue to do so as long as the weather holds. Three weeks ago, I entered the Bike2Benefits eight week challenge.

Out in the Open on Feedback

OK - a good & probably necessary discussion has made itself evident as a result of my recent post about Creating Into the Void and Mixdorf's response which, thankfully, did not end up being. "'Boo fuckin' hoo." Overall, I guess this post will be directed primarily at Mixx, with whom I've danced around this issue of feedback for a number of years, but others who count themselves among my friends can certainly take note...

Essentially, you are wary of offending with anything less than positive about a creation that is so personal to me. And if I could sum up a rebuttal in so few words myself, it would be simply:

If not you, who?

Ahh, such is the life of an artist yearning for feedback. It almost reminds me of those folks who, after the loss of a loved one, find that all their former friends are avoiding them as a result of not knowing exactly what to say. It's lonesome down here in Camden Studios, as the extent of my feedback truly comes from only Sharon & Pat G (Pat having experienced, through his career the same "wall of ambivalence," and willing to reciprocate the feedback and discussion over creation for which we both so yearn).

We've established that precise musical tastes are highly subjective, and I'm not going to see eye to eye with very many people in this huge world. But ultimately, if I'm ever going to do anything, music-wise (and Lord knows, I've not given up yet), I'm going to have to make music that will appeal to someone other than just myself and Mighty Tom. And it would be most helpful, somewhere along the line, to have other music fans hearing my stuff with objective and fresh ears, giving me their impressions and thoughts.

But on a more basic level (believe it or not) it's far more damaging to my self esteem to put my hopes and dreams into all the cords and mics and such and have it float off into the void without a bit of acknowledgement that it exists, than it is to hear "I'm sorry, but that one isn't doing it for me." I would assume that you wish all the luck and success for me in the world. As such, I would assume I can count you among my one of my supporters & backers and, dare I say, "fans?" I would like to think that is the case, whether you think all my stuff is great, or most of my stuff is just OK, or whatever. And, if you think I make nothing but Shit Sandwiches, I think our friendship can survive that.

On a side note - trying to crack the local club scene is a game for the young, and one I never could crack even when I was young. If something happens for me at this point, it's going to be as a result of either the right pair of ears hearing my music or some crazy grassroots wildfire, based on a particular song or two generating buzz around the internet. And while I'm hardly the guy to author a book on "how to be successful in a band," I know that either of these possbilities are highly more likely if they start with a dedicated group of supporters. I'm not asking anyone to give up a day job here, but if I could just ask you to listen to these early mixes of songs I'm making and IF (and only if) you feel that you can be honest with yourself in doing so ....spread the word! "Hey, a friend of mine is recording an album - I think this is a pretty good song. See what you think." Or something like that. I have a couple of ideas of how I'm going to try and promote myself when this thing is released, but only a couple. Over the years, the ol' fan base has shrunk to....well, apparently Sharon & Pat G (that's not exactly true - I can usually get a few people to come out when I play live). But still, I could use all the help I can get.

And if not you, who???

on a side side note: Indeed, you do not need a MySpace account to hear songs or read blog posts, only to comment. So if anyone wants to just listen, and occasionally check in, it's not necessary to say anything in that forum. (I may end up disabling comments on the MySpace blog, anyway, as a way of obscuring how small the "fan base" truly is...) If you want to send me some feedback, you can post it here...or even just send me an email. Anything to let me know that I'm not creating into the void.

http://www.myspace.com/danhylton (and I finished another rough mix - From July to April - and posted it just tonight)

Funky Adventure and Ruminations on 'The Heart Meter'

As T-Clog embarks upon an heroic exercise program that will allow him to complete a 5k trail run in late September, so I continue on one of my own. Due to the new lease on my own fitness life brought about by my introduction to cross training via cardio-machines at my workplace's fitness center, combined with a gel band I have to add structural stability to my runner's knee, I am finding it increasingly comfortable and exhilerating to get out on the trails for running, my true exercise love.

Yesterday, at the tail end of a 5-day vacation stint with my family, I was granted a couple of hours to have some "Dan time," and I elected to head out to French Regional Park, home of "Challenge Hill" (which should really be plural - think of the hill at Afton. Maybe about half the height, but repeated about four or five times). It was a muggy 86 degrees and I had water belt hitched up, along with a plan that would have me swing by a fountain at a picnic area after a half hour for a refill.

Well, things felt great at first and I went out a little fast, but the hills kicked my ass a bit. And made me ruminate, thus: A runner is like a character in a Nintendo game. You have a little set of hearts in the upper right corner of your screen that are all filled red. Very slowly (or quickly, depending on your level of fitness), your heart meter will begin to inch it's way down, just by virtue of cruising along at a constant speed.. However, there are many things that you can do that will knock a few points of that heart meter instantly, such as sprinting, jumping over a log, or running up a hill. If you're in decent shape, once you crest a hill - even one that was making your thighs scream for mercy - the five or six hearts you suddenly lost will begin to fill back in slowly, so that, after a while more of relatively level surface running, you'll feel like you didn't miss a beat. You did, though. Replenished though you may feel, that hill has taken a toll on you and those hearts are not truly back up to where they were before you started up. Over time, the hills add up. I've learned this through a lifetime of running, but never was it so driven home to me than at the Afton Trail Run 25K, which I've done twice. Both times, though I was fully capable of running the distance on roads, I ended up with cramps at about mile 12 (probably about 20-21k). Those hills'll kill you.

Just something to keep in mind, T-Clog. I don't remember the terrain & trails at Eagle Bluff, but based on the part of the state it's in, I have no doubt it's extremely hilly. If we come across a hill that's batshit insane, there's no honor lost in walking it.

Now - the funky adventure. I'd run for about forty minutes before making it to the drinking fountain for a fill up and check of my watch. I had a little bit of an upset stomach, so decided to cut my original plan (1 hr, 10 min) down a bit; I'd do one more little loop. However, just after starting down the new trail, I realized my stomach was really fairly sloshy - something bad was potentially brewing, and I thought it best to just call it a day. I turned around and headed back to the visitors' center. There was something in the trail in front of me - "wait -that looks like a mound of wadded up newspaper - oh SHIT (just as I began to leap over) BALD FACED HORNET NEST!!!" I was immediately set upon by about three of the little fuckers. I gave a scream and tore off at a quick pace, trying to remember my old nature readings: "How fast can a hornet fly? 10 mph? Can I run that fast? " Well, either I can run that fast, or they had nothing more to prove, cause they let me go. Exhausted, queasy, and stinging.

I headed back to the car and checked the pound on my water belt to get the key for the car. Key gone. double shit. I retraced my steps back up to the picnic area water fountain (where I'd gotten out my watch and where, presumably, the key had tumbled out). Nothing. Going through the whole area with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing. Back to the visitors' center for a call to Sharon. Not there. Triple shit. Left a message: "If you get this message, come and pick me up. I'll be on the way home." And - what could I do - I started running home, along Rockford Rd (Country Rd 9/42nd Ave). And, proving what a man can do (particularly, the King of Men) when he really has to, I'd made about three miles (about two of which were up a ridiculously long incline) before the little Toyota Corolla with all my girls came cruising up alongside and offered me a ride.

Last night was a night of rehydration and moving in slow motion.

Alice & Rimmer

I finished up a first-ever reading of Alice in Wonderland, a few nights ago. I'd been reading the book, more or less a chapter a night, to Lucy. One of the first things you pick up on in taking on a chapter book in this venue, even one like Alice..., which is ostensibly written for children and from a child's perspective, is how dificult it is for a four year old to get her head around all the moving pieces. In fact, it is doubly and triply the case with this book, since many characters are introduced and then forgotten (until the trial near the end, if you're familiar with the story). Plus, there's all these bygone terms and expressions from early-part-of-the-century England, which bear constant explaining, defining, and putting in context. I don't know. There's a lot of kids out there Lucy's age that are just plopped in front of PG movies and left to drift from one moment of stark, physical comedy (man makes a man's pants fall down, penguin burps, etc.) to the next. My sense has always been that it's an odd, almost demeaning sort of feeling that 77% of literature/entertainment is just simply something you're not going to get and so just deal with it. So, if there's something in the DVD player and Lucy's watching it, we are sitting next to her (or have already at some point, with that particular piece of entertainment), pausing and explaining/talking about things. Constantly. Well, that was happening in Alice.... Constantly. Anyway - looking back at the experience, I'm not sure I would have taken it on, knowing what I know now. And I wonder if a part of my interest had been selfish in nature. I, personally, felt it was high time to make it through this classic tale; from which I can see innumerous cultural trappings that are the fruits of its literary loins. But as for the tale itself (and maybe this is after an experience of trying to make it reconcile with the mind of a surprisingly logical four year old girl), I simply can't believe how pointless/plotless? the whole thing was. I'm not even sure if that's a critique, or simply a rumination of surprise because I did find it fun. Perhaps truly the first in a long line of "it was all just a dream!" in the arts, the whole series of barely-connected scenes played out like (with apologies to Joseph Gehaw), simple, unmotivated bizarreness. Trippy. Mind-blowing, it seems, that it gained such popularity in America's infamously grim and stogy classrooms of the mid-century. How did that happen?

Red Dwarf: I'll make this a lot shorter. BBC sci-fi comedy from the 80s, available on Netflix' "Watch Now," so I thought I'd take a chance. Not all that impressed after the first episode or two, but (realizing that sometimes comedy series have to come into their own a bit) stuck it out for an entire six. If it picks up steam in season 2, I'll never know. Life is too short, and too full of wonderful BBC series such as Father Ted and Blackadder, that are delivering pause-and-watch-again-worthy bellylaughs from the get-go.