Food For Thought

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

Lawrence of Arabia, 1920

PrairyErth Country: The Return

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

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

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

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

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

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

PrairyErth Country

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

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

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

The Show Went On

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

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

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

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

The Show Must Go On

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

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

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

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

Flying Under the Radar

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

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

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

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

Minneapolis Downtown: 16 Pix in 16 Days

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

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

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

How To Care for that Precious Little Thing: Part 1

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

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

A Taste of Things to Come (as it were)

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

"Just Dos Equis Amber," replied the server

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

"A regular size and then a large."

"How many ounces is the large?"

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

"That sounds just fine. Bring it on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's My Girl

I love my little Lucy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though not necesarily in that order.

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

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

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

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

The Culture of Loud

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry for the Couple of Activist Posts

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

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

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

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

If This Doesn't Motivate You Against G.W. Bush, Nothing Will

Plan to log Sequoia National Monument. Jesus Christ, please give to the Sierra Club NOW.

http://www.sierraclub.org/wildlands/wildlandsatrisk/sequoia.asp

Exasperation, Then Levity

Here where I work there's these banks of computers where these guys are working on store interior autocad stuff. Kind of in their own little world, hunkered down there, but I pass by on my way to the fridge/microwave area, so I sort of half-see them on a daily basis.

This one guy has a poster of a Hummer on his cube wall. Nothing else on his walls. Just the poster. Let me repeat: A poster of a Hummer. These guys aren't top brass or anything; I wouldn't think this guy would make anywhere near the amount needed to buy a vehicle like that, so it must be one of two things: Unable to afford it, he simply idolizes it, which is sickness at some level that I can't begin to comprehend. Perhaps every penny he can scrape up is used to pay for it, so keen is his intent on the status and self-esteem boost that it bestows upon its owner. I guess a third possibility is that his significant other's salary is huge. That's almost the sickest case of all-he's a sugar daddy that prefers a picture of goods to a picture of his wife.

This guy is my nemesis, though he doesn't know it. It's not a serious deal-I only really give it a thought when I pass by (or right now as I'm typing), but the issues of environmentalism, commercialism, greed, power-struggle, and status are so embodied by that monstrosity, that my only conclusion of those who choose to buy it is that they are either unbelievably ignorant or unbelievably selfish.

So there it is-that little dark spot in my walk to the common area every day. I started wondering if it was just a little conclave of assholes-my attitude about that whole area started to escalate. Funny, though; a couple days ago, there I am passing along and seeing it once again, staring right back at my from the wall opposite the cube entrance, and then I see it: in the next cube over, in the cube of his neighbor. The guy had apparently just stepped away, as his monitor was still fired up and not in a screensaver mode. His desktop: The Bridge of the NCC-1701.

King Leo and the Vector King?

For the last couple of Saturdays, Sharon & I have gone to the coffee shop down the street to watch this jazz pianist, "King Leo." He is one of those musicians that can't read music, but uses popular music songbooks that have chords literally written above the notation; then he just improvises and fills in the measures how he feels-only very loosely following the original arrangement. He's quite amazing at what he does-very fast, very free, and with an incredible autonomy between his two hands.

Hardly anyone's there to see him-he plays from 4-6 as a "talent show," where neighborhood kids get up and sing along. Then, from 6-8 he plays more of a set. A lot of old-school r&b and Mowtown songs-stuff I really like. We also found out just this last weekend that (unles he's lying) he is one of the original members of the Ohio Players. Whoa! And here he is now, playing for 5-7 people on a Saturday night in a coffee shop.

Anyway, the guy's around 60 years old, recently (about 3 weeks ago) relocated to the Twin Cities, and now he wants to make a go of it in the music business once again. But he doesn't have a clue what he needs to do. And if he has any interest in making it in music, he started a conversation that night with exactly the wrong person. When he found out I was a musician and had played there a couple of times, he started asking me questions. I did tell him to check out clubs in the City Pages, and that a good place to start (especially with his talent and style) would be the Freight House-a place downtown with a semblance of a regular audience.

Then the funny thing happened. The previous week, just to see how good he was, I had asked him if he could play Bill Withers' "Use Me" (one of my favorite songs). It took him only about eight seconds of experimenting around before he had it-then he started trying to get me to sing. I simply didn't know the words, so I declined. But this last Saturday, he kept asking me again to get up there to sing. He was playing "Son of a Preacher Man." I was finally like, "What the hell?" and I went up to try. Unfortunately, I quickly realized that I only knew how the chorus went, so that first attempt went awry. Then he started playing "Unchained Melody," and asked me if I could do that. I felt a little foolish, but launched into it. Apparently, this was his way of staging a tryout. From that point on, he was trying to convince me to join up with him, saying that he can play and play, but what he really needs is a guy that can sing along with him. He said, "a lot of white guys don't sing like that-you've got a lot of soul." Kind of funny-to extract that from my little nervous experiment. The guy is funky and old school, but he might also be completely and certifiably insane.

Still-I must confess being tempted. I've always had this keen, keen desire to sing r&b songs, but the chords are always f*d-up 7ths, 9ths, and diminishes. Crazy stuff that would require bending my guitar fingers in places they can't go. Better for keyboards. But this is also a perfect opportunity for me to fight against one of my greatest weaknesses, which is to have 20 ongoing creative projects, only one or two of which I have time for in actuality. He thinks we'd only need to get together a couple of times to practice, but I think I'm just going to have to say no.

Tell Me More About This "Dark Side"...

One thing that must not be lost in all the discussion about the dark arts and Jedi training and all that is that the Dark Side clearly is more powerful. We see it in the movies, time and again; badly outnumbered Sith kicking Jedi Council asses left and right.

Tell the truth, Yoda! It's easier AND better. It's just that most people approach it in the wrong way. Why couldn't I just give in to my emotions and employ the dark arts, as long as I know I am still in control? It would still be me in there; I'd know right from wrong. I am positive that I would have the strength of will to harness the dark side and use it for good.

So Much for the Breakthrough

So, those running trips that helped put Lucy to sleep? Started working a little more inconsistantly, which resulted in me getting home all sweaty with a girl who was all of a sudden going to bed quite a bit later than I intended.

Another breakthrough, though, came about as I was just too tired to embark on stage three (with stages one & two being a failed run and laying for a few minutes upstairs). Lucy (as I was expecting) popped up in the bed after a couple of minutes and said, "I want to go in the car!"

To which I replied, "You know, Loo, Daddy's just too tired. We're just going to lay down and try to go to sleep here for awhile." It was a longshot, but I was exhausted and just trying to eke out a few minutes of laying down prior to what I saw was the inevitable failure. Lucy protested and then began a little back and forth that will go down in history (and that has transpired in a form very similar to what is below, every night since):

First, understand that my little girl does not hate me-this whole "going down" procedure is preceded by a 15-30 minute ritual of brushing teeth, changing into jammies, holding hands up the stairs, then crawling into the bedroom like lions "bed-a-RRRRooom!" then reading stories and/or a session of "talk about it." All magical, wonderful times. But then, a mere few minutes later, when the lights go out...
Lucy (in tears): "I want momma, I want momma, I want momma, I want momma, I want momma, I want momma..."
Daddy: "Lucy, I know you want momma. But it's daddy's turn."
Lucy: "But it's momma turn!"
Daddy: "No, Loo, I know you want it to be momma's turn, but it's daddy's turn tonight."
Lucy: "But it's momma's turn tonight!" (continues crying-tears are genuine, but the vocalizations are about 50% forced)
Daddy: "I know you're sad Lucy. But daddy's right here and he loves you." Can daddy put his arm here? (try to put arm around her-she flings it off)
Lucy: "I want momma!" (continues crying)
Daddy: "Lucy, I know you're sad. But even if you're sad, and even if you're crying, it's still momma's turn."
and so on & so forth. It usually includes a moment when I am told I'm on momma's pillow and I have to move over to daddy's pillow and be far away from her. She also flops her leg up on a safety bed rail and there's a little testing of boundaries that I indulge until I eventually tell her the foot must come down. Then, after I've apparently been insulted sufficiently, she relaxes a bit. After a few more minutes, she flops her little bottom across the bed and nestles against me and says, "Put a arm around you" (put your arm around me). Then, after a few more minutes, the blessed drift has overtaken her. Gornack has returned to his underground cavern, and flights of angels are carrying May Smallburrow gently off to sleep.

Total procedure once lights go off: 30-45 minutes.