Another Round, Harv!

As promised (to T-Clog), some details about my own grandparents that I learnt fairly recently & have not related (to him, anyway).

In talking with with dad after the death of my grandma this last summer, I found out some things I had never known before that were pretty wild. My granddad ran afoul of the Southern Methodists in Kansas.

It was post-prohibition, but smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression's dust bowl. My grandparents were so poor at the time that my grandad, who was running a gas station at the time, had to fur-trap all night, driving my dad (who was around 5 at the time) & grandma around and checking the traps one by one, in order to eke out a living. He also applied for and received the first liquor license in Kansas, and began to operate a profitible and popular beer parlor, while running a bookie business on the side. Aside from the "first liquor license" part, all this I knew. But what I didn't know previously was how this business got them shunned, disapproved-of, and basically booted out of the church community. You can imagine how important of a role churches played in the goings-on of various communities in those years, especially in that part of the country. My grandma, who I never thought of as involved in particularly strenuous philosophical examinations of herself, had always been curiously secular in her lifestyle. I had always wondered why, and now all the pieces fit together. My dad explained how she sort of took on an "I don't want to belong to a church that doesn't want me to feed my child" sort of attitude, and she carried it to her death, which (perhaps standing nearly alone amidst 90+year-olds' burials in Kansas), had no funeral service.

Save the Child!!!

Here is a topic to which T-Clog can relate, Aaron WILL be able to relate, and Mixdorf can maybe just understand. It is the topic of falling with your baby in your arms. It has happened only twice that I can really recall, and in both cases Lucy was safe at the expense of my own safety.

The first time, when she was no more than six months, I slipped and fell from a top stair and actually slid on my back, head-first, down half the flight of (wooden) stairs, yet somehow managed to keep the little girl upright and out of harm's way. Sharon heard the crash from the other room and freaked until she found The Precious was unscathed.

The second time was actually yesterday. Sharon & Lucy came down to visit me at work and take me out for a coffee break. We went to Betsy' Back Porch (the site of the Camden Garden release party). While carrying little Loo, I failed to notice a dropoff of three concrete steps. I stepped out into midair, then crashed my knee down into a concrete side rail at the level of the top step. The force of this fall was so great that it tore a God Damned hole in my work pants. Do you understand me? They did not rip from something cutting across sideways or pressure tearing from either side. The simple act of my knee slamming into the concrete ripped these pants open. Lucy unharmed, of course, again. I had to hand Lucy delicately to Sharon while I had the expression on my face that looked like I had a mouth full of Curly-leaf Pondweed (potamogeton crispus). Both were distressed at my condition, but what could I do?

I have often said, when either of them is in any kind of physical discomfort, that I would take the pain for them if I could. Perhaps in these instances, I did.

That's It, I'm Out

Just talked to my advisor and shot a note off to the assistant director of the MGIS program. I am out of grad. school. The reasons to withdraw remained & if anything got more compelling over my two months off. My jets were totally not recharged and I was dreading the prospect of launching into studies again. It's sad, because I put a lot of work into the program to get this far. But mostly sad only for that reason. I guess my ego will miss out on not having that status symbol and, certainly, the grad degree would have made me more employable. But that's with all things being even. I honestly think I can prepare myself with a better and more real-world applicable skill set by spending time working on it OUTSIDE program. So who's to say which makes me more "employable?"

Cry. CRY FOR MICHAEL JACKSON!

I think pretty much everyone I run with knows I am a crier. Such is the way with one who does not stuff his emotions in a bottle. Anyway, I had a funny one this morning. Funny but not funny. I was listening to Michael Jackson from the early to mid 70s. His voice-so amazing, so beautiful. Then, I thought about where he is now & what he's become. Tears.

I'd say, for pure preposterous crying circumstances, that ranks #2 right behind the time I teared up during an episode of "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" where Will tries drugs for the first time. Can't think of too many other things right now. Anyone else care to feel secure enough in their masculinity to add some of their own preposterous circumstances? Can you knock off the reigning #1?

1. Fresh Prince "episode."
2. Early 70s Michael Jackson.
trying to think of more...

My "Signature Themes"

So, about a year ago, I announce my five "Signature Themes," according to a Gallup-devised exercise we did here at my work. Since then, they have unveiled my entire strength-to-weakness spectrum of 34 signature themes. In other words, stuff at the bottom (the higher numbers) are theoretically my weaknesses. There was kind of a weird situation in answering the questions where I wasn't sure whether I should respond as work-Dan or outside work-Dan, but I leaned towards the latter. Any thoughts or comments?


1. Input
2. Connectedness
3. Command
4. Activator
5. Intellection
6. Developer
7. Relator
8. Empathy
9. Ideation
10. Communication
11. Positivity
12. Belief
13. Achiever
14. Responsibility
15. Maximizer
16. Focus
17. Adaptability
18. Self-Assurance
19. Consistency
20. Learner
21. Competition
22. Futuristic
23. Arranger
24. Discipline
25. Context
26. Deliberative
27. Significance
28. Individualization
29. Analytical
30. Harmony
31. Restorative
32. Includer
33. Woo
34. Strategic

McCartpilation.com

http://www.geocities.com/hylton44/mccartpilation.doc for the liner notes, by the way, for anyone who received a copy. Hope you are enjoying it-I would welcome any comments.

Further Evidence of Cultural Elitification, Or am I Just Becoming More Urban?

Tough to say, though it's hard to believe that I'm the same guy that, within the past 5 years, would have said something about not needing to live in a big city because all the things I need in life can be had in an out-state or rural location. While that's techinically true (and, indeed, a lot of my interests: being active, music recording, reading, movie watching, computer-related stuff) are things that can be done pretty much anywhere-especially in the digital age, I have sure found myself assimilating more and more into the urban lifestyle in recent years.

Certainly, I must give Minneapolis credit as just a fantastic big city. So many things to explore, so many things offered, from arts to the parks to dining & entertainment (listen to me, I sound like an article from AAA's Home & Away magazine--but it's true!). In addition to being more comfortable living around loads of people with a political alignment more or less on the same planet as mine, Sharon & I have been taking part in more of these big-city offerings in recent times. It's easy to forget that even some outdoorsy things, such as biking and running, can in some ways be almost better in the big city, if the trail system is nice enough (which it totally is in the Twin Cities). But, if you don't mind spending just a little money, the entertainment you can seek out around town is really only supassed by some of the super-cities (LA, NY, Chicago), and I'll wager the Twin Cities is a lot easier on the pocketbook.

We had the opportunity to go on a date Sat. night (Aaron's already heard this story, more or less, but I'll go on anyway). Lucy was coming off a double-ear infection and we had basically been living in a madhouse for the last week or so. As a result, there was no planning done for this up until about an hour before we headed out. We were actually considering just dragging the TV & DVD player upstairs and doing the date that way, but we were both a bit stir crazy and just wanted to get out, sans-little girl, so we could give each other undivided attention in a public setting for a change.

I happened to remember a Dunn Bros. (local coffee house chain) location in downtown Minneapolis, kind of in the warehouse district, called The Freight House. Pat & Dan had considered doing our release party there-not sure why we eventually decided against it. Anyway, their calendar indicated they had a jazz-trio playing. Now, I've never been a huge jazz guy, but I've always attributed it to me simply not getting it, rather than there being anything flawed with the style. And I've really always sort of wanted to see a jazz trio or quartet play live, thinking that it might be just the thing to kick-start my appreciation of this uniquely American art form. Oh yeah, and since this place was on 3rd Ave, which is bascially just Nordeast's Central Ave once it crosses the river into downtown, we decided we'd eat at a place on Central Ave in this mini-sort of hspanic district.

Eschewing something totally adventuruos, we went to a place we had eaten at before, Chiapas, and the food was outstanding and reasonably-priced (sub $25, which included a huge appetizer and a drink apiece). You can tell really a authentic Mexican place because the food is inexpensive and the decorations are garish and almost campy. Anyway, really good food. The evening was heating up (-10 degree temp aside), and we headed on to The Freight House.

Coming upon the river from the North (northeast) side, a suspicion I have had for some time was totally confirmed. That area, which once upon a time contained a really shitty Red Owl (grocery store) and was the site of gunshots that scared the begeezus out of a certain fresh-faced Iowa kid on his first late-night bus trip home from Greenpeace (let me know if you want that story again), was now all revitalized, dolled up, and happening. Riverfront property, I'll tell you. It is now all condominiums and bistros.

Anyway, we crossed the river and, only about a block from The Freight House, found a bank of empty meters (free after 6 in Minneapolis), and parked. A brisk (and I mean brisk) one-block walk, and we were there. Good coffee and a cookie each, and we headed up to the upper level, where the trio was just getting underway. OK, here's the punchline. It was SMOOTH JAZZ.

We still had a really nice time together and some good conversation, but the crack was made that, rather than listening to live music, our evening was more akin to calling Three Rivers Park District on a speakerphone and getting put on hold.

Monday Luther King (MLK)

Stinkin’ 11 below zero this morning, coming into work. I had the car parked in front of my house last night, rather than in the garage. By the time I scraped the frost off all the windows, my fingers were in pain. For the first half of my drive into work, I pulled my fingers out of their individual glove fingers, and just made a fist, hoping that, like freezing companions in a snowy woods, huddling them together for warmth would do the trick.

Well, I'm Officially in Training

Literary Notables

I think the compilation of Naughty Poems was really the "semenal" moment in Pat Gibbons' writing career. Thoughts?

The Sinking of the Whaleship Essex

Anyone ever read about this (especially anyone out Nantucket way)?

I'm kind of a sucker for human survival stories, and this one is a doozy. The sinking of this whaleboat, about a thousand miles to the northwest of Easter Island, by an enraged sperm whale captivated the Western World in the early 1800s. I just happened across the book (pretty much the definitive version of the story, based on research of two first-hand accounts) at a church's garage sale and decided to give it a shot. Not the most well-written book I've ever gone through, but without a doubt one of the most engaging tales.

I would in particular invite Gibbs to read through this (and any other book in which old mariners go through near-limitless forms of hell on earth), as I've always suspected his love for the sea and sailing was based purely on "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" and, to put it mildly, there's definitely a darker side to the subject.

It Was the Best of Times, it Was the Worst of Times....

Message, Spock? None, perhaps, except "Happy Birthday;" surely, the 'best of times.'

Indeed, a birthday today, my 34th. Most of the celebration was actually Sunday night, where Sharon surprised me with Star Trek (the original series) Season 2. My girl is officially hooked: you don't buy someone 27 episodes of Star Trek without wanting to see a few of them yourself. Other nice birthday gifts: $30 in Best Buy gift cards from Sharon's parents (which I intend to spend today on The Simpsons Season 2), and a coffee grinder from Sharon's sister, Amy. Her family is always very kind & generous with me for Christmas and my birthday, which is nice since my own family is downright famous for its disappointing history of gift-giving.

On Sunday, I also got Sharon's stupendous homemade mac n' cheese, although she stoutly refused to replicate last year's menu, when she offered to make me a meal of my choice and I requested the same mac n' cheese, stuffing, and bread pudding. We were walking around with so much starch in us it was stiffening our shirts for a week.

Fellowshave of the Bic, The Two Blade-Action, and Return of Bic

Been quiet on the blogging front. Just thought I'd mention that the King of Men had to trim it back a bit this morning. Every so often, she (what I call me beard) gets into "Return of the King" range and must be brought back to the early stages of "Fellowship of the Ring." Hope all dudes are chillin.

Earthquake: Good God

It doesn't seem really in good taste to bring up any other subject today, in the wake of the mind-boggling disaster that struck southeast Asia's coasts.

The majority of my charity dollars these days I try to allocate at the beginning of the year, so I am not facing the situation of being "guilted" into giving to someone pressuring me over the phone, etc. But in instances like this, where there is a sudden, unexpected, and critical need for aid, I try to make an exception. I know there's a lot of really good organizations out there doing brave and incredible work, but I offer the two suggestions for giving below to anyone else interested (the first, because I admire the noble work being done by the doctors involved, and the second because they really know what the hell they're doing in cases like this):

Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières
P.O. Box 2247
New York, NY 10116-2247
888-392-0392
www.doctorswithoutborders.org

American Red Cross
International Response Fund
P.O. Box 37243
Washington, D.C. 20013
800-HELP NOW
www.redcross.org

Great, Short Christmas Story I Leave You With

Last weekend, just after waking up for our early Christmas in Waterloo:

Daddy: Lucy, can you say "Merry Christmas?"
Lucy: "DON'T WANT."

An Hour with Alyx

A freaky otherworldly experience. ALYX is actually a new procedure being used by some blood centers that is capable of taking twice the amount of red blood cells as a standard donation. They way they achieve this is by extracting your plasma from the blood in a cetrifuge and then actually returning it to your body on site and during the procedure.

The process actually involves four extraction/return processes, so you are never out the full amount of fluid at any time. But it was weird-both physically and psychologically. Physically, in that the plasma would be near room temperature by the time they were ready to pump it back in--which, of course, is far below body temperature. They had a heating pad over my shoulder to help maintain my temperature, but I still developed a chill. From a mental standpoint, it was crazy watching this mostly clear substance that was my plasma fill up a bag, and then watch the level begin to go down as it was pumped back in. Sort of like I woke up at an inopportune time during an alien abduction.

On a side note, I was eligible to donate cause the iron content in my blood was very high. The lady testing me said, "You must eat a lot of red meat."

Shitting in the Stacks Vol 2

Over the past number of months, I have received a vast amount of correspondence from readers asking for a follow-up to my piece, "Shitting in the Stacks." It was not until last night, however; an hour and a half before my GIS class final, that I had a second personal experience from which to draw.

Shitting in the Stacks Vol. 2

With rasters, vectors, and interpolation crowding my weary head, I was testing the law of diminishing returns with respect to fact-retention in the last couple of hours prior to this final test. The weather was bitter cold; 1 degree above zero with a biting wind, and without warning, a sudden, butt-crippling urge to take a shit was upon me. Without hesitation, I headed for Wilson Library (built 1961).

I glided through the level-one turnstile and jogged left a step or two into a familiar torchere-lit hall to the men's room. It was an hour prior to the last slot on the last finals day of the semester. Nobody was around. Banks upon banks of empty, iron-wrought stalls lined the back room of the two-room facility. In each was a marvelous, ivory-white porcelin stool that were made from a Time of Craft, with brass plungers and a curious, vaguely odd shape that brought to mind notions of antiquity, not unlike those old bathtubs with feet. I breathed a sigh of anticipation that echoed off multitudinous surfaces and entered the third one from the left. It crammed full of shit and toilet paper, so I exited and went to the stall on the far right.

Sitting down, I noticed fancy light fixtures above that sent beams of golden incandescence down to reflect off the water's surface, then back up between my thighs to dance upon the intricate, relief-filled walls and ceiling. Whatever turds emerged I do not remember. They must have descended quietly in turn, almost reverently, to the bottom of the bowl. Whatever smell there may have been I also cannot recall, for I was taken with the dusty smell of tomes that worked decades to find its way through cracks and vents. My task was rendered academic with thoughts of scholars that have filled incalculable number of bowls preceding me.

Finishing, I left to find a quiet place to get my mind ready before the test.

Shit, Man

The longest commute I have ever had going into the Best Buy office this morning. We had a very unique type of freezing rain that only comes around once every few years-it instantly freezes & becomes ice upon hitting your window. I had parked in the garage, so my car was totally clear when I pulled out. By the time I got out of the alley and around the corner, there was a thick layer of ice over my window over which my windshield wiper was bumping. I made it three blocks down the street, barely able to make out the intersections and praying there were no pedestrians out and about, and pulled up to the coffee shop. I stayed there till 8:45, studying for my final tomorrow night, with the idea I'd wait for the ice storm to pass and for rush traffic to subside a bit. The weather let up, but my drive was so slow and so slippery, I didn't get to work until 10:30. Shit, man.

Things I Will Never Say. Dot Com.

http://www.geocities.com/hylton44/thingsiwillneversay

Straight-line winds in Minneapolis on Sunday were bad. How bad? We came home from Sunday morning coffee to this sight of our across-the-street neighbors. Really sad--that was one of my favorite trees on the block!