My First True "The Show Must Go On" Moment!

I haven't mentioned anything about it in this forum, but I had a performance today, at a Mississippi Heritage festival at the regional park near my house. Our theatre group was doing an original, family-interactive piece about Mississippi heritage, including lots of kid participation, storytelling, costume-wearing, etc. etc. I was the storyteller, and playing guitar.

Well...we'd had a scant few rehearsals and were really needing to get together at 1:30 to set up (or 2:00 at the very latest) and get in a run through before the event opened at 3:00 (we went on at 4:00, for about an hour). At about 12:30, while Lucy & I were hanging around in the living room and she was practicing jumping from the top of the couch onto my face, my arm happened to drift up and * pop * out went my little finger into a "w"-shaped contortion. Dislocated. God Dammit! My mind racing. Can I pop it back in, myself? Something I've always heard of being done, but in my (sadly, mulitple) past occurrences, something I've never quite been able to bring myself to do. The thought of a half-assed, "check swing" in such an attempt is enough to curl my toes. I had to get to the doctor, or go in and do the performance in this condition. No, that second option was not really an option - this is in a bad position, and if I don't get it straightened out, the energy of a live stage performance could send me into shock. Really. Plus, the last thing our performance needs is for the audience to be focused on my finger. Plus-I'm supposed to be playing guitar with this thing! No, there were far too many compelling reasons for me to get into the doctor. Quick-call to the artistic director and message to his wife appraising her, and then turning to Lucy with a look in my eyes that could have only have been saying, "OK, little girl: I know that every time we ever need to get out of the house in five minutes, it takes us 30...but if you ever, ever wanted to help your daddy out in a pinch...for the love of God, be a help, not a hinderance now." For, you see, Sharon was at work.

So, getting ready to go into the doctor...Lucy was great. I was unable, in my condition, to help her get all the way dressed, or to help her get her tight shoes on, or lift her into her car seat-anything. She really seemed to get it. She was focused and helpful and we were on the road in, like, less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, urgent care took far, far longer than it needed to. I was sitting around for at least an hour, and I was starting to get a little nauseous, along with the nervous feeling I already had about the dwindling time. Finally, to the triage, and then back to the room, and then the doctor came in. Right before 2:00. So what does he do? Sends me back to get x-rayed!! I've never had that done before in a dislocation! From that point on, I'm trying to explain to every staff person I encounter about how I am going on in a play in a little over an hour and, as they continually slow me down, eventually that at 2:15 I'm simply going to have to walk out the door, whether my finger is fixed or not. It may have been a bluff on my part, but honestly I'm not sure. There literally would have been a point at which I could have waited no more. The show must go on.

Finally, the doctor's in there at about 2:13 explaining that the x-rays showed a small fracture. Ordinarily, he'd give me a shot of painkiller and let it work for about 15 minutes, then pop it into place, THEN take another x-ray to see if the any further damage was revealed. A quick little back and forth that resulted in me making a promise to pay a followup visit to his office on Monday and then he reached forward and * POP *, I was in business. Pinky finger & ring finger on left hand taped together. Guitar? Luckily, it was a super basic little repetitive thing that only took my middle tree fingers. We raced home, I threw all my stuff in the car, including some painkillers (which I really needed, by the way), and a tongue depresser. RACED to the event and, while we were in the midst of the runthrough, I untaped the fingers and retaped the pinky onto the tongue depresser to free up my 3rd chord finger. For the rest of the day, my chords sounded a bit shitty, since I couldn't put much pressure on the side of the neck, but it was good enough for the purpose. And the show went off to a great reception. The show must go on, man, the show must go on.

A Topic About Which I've Not Been Blogging A Bunch, But Which is Foremost on My Mind

They don't really take any more "photos"
(ultrasound images) after week 14, and I missed my shot of posting those. So here we are with this representation on the left. "Little Chicky" has been steadily growing over the past number of months and now, at week 34, resembles the baby you see here. About five pounds and 17 inches long or so, Chick has long since gotten to the point where, if the situation became necessary, he/should could survive in the world ex-utero.

Nothing like seeing a picture like this to remind me of that which I already know so well and just drive it home. We are simply going to be a bigger family in about a month.

As has been chronicled, money concerns have weighed us down a bit in anticipation of this glorious event, and I suppose I have been a bit more industrious in the recording studio as of late simply anticipating being on 100% diaper duty (e.g. in a non-sound secure recording situation) through the first few months. But other than that, it's been all excitement and anticipation. Lucy has embraced the role of big sister-to-be with great gusto and, though we have no basis for comparison, her understanding of what this all means seems to far exceed others' expectations for someone her age. We've been asked, "Does she get that there's a baby growing in there?" when, in fact, if you ask her how Little Chicky eats, she'll say "Mama eats food, and little Chicky gets the energy through the umbilical cord."

That said, Loo is still at an age where, bless her heart, she is incapable of truly understanding there are people in the world with valid needs outside of herself. And we're not quite ready to grant babysitter duties to a potential caretaker who, however enthusiastic, promises to "carry her down the stairs with one arm."

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!

I've been motivated to get down into the recording studio, lately. Due to factors ranging from general stress & chronic tiredness to my pursuit of theatre, it's been nearly a year since I've spent any meaningful time down there. In the past week, however, I've gotten drums and some guitars laid down on a new song.

Last night, I was down there again, and making some great headway. I got a bass track laid down, which I was really excited about. And for those lacking experience working in a multi-track studio, let me just say that (particularly as a musician that is more of a craftsman than a technical virtuoso) making it through a song mistake-free, beginning to end, with nearly any intsrument is an exercise in concentration and stress management. But I did it, and was rarin' for more. I then hit upon a great guitar sound and was able to add an extra guitar layer through the whole song. Really pumped, I gave a shot at the most touchy, visible instrumental part of any song-the guitar solo. Success!!!

I then decided to try some scratch backup vocals; "scratch" referring to something that is laid down as a guide and/or experiment, but not intended for a final mix. I just wanted to see if something worked. I was about 20 minutes into singing a series of "aaaaa"'s when I was shocked to see Sharon at the bottom of the stairs. She informed me that, with our new duct system, my vocals were coming out, clear as day, two floors up in the bedroom. And keeping her awake. Beyond my initial embarassment (when you're experimenting with "aaaaa" and have your headphones on, it undoubtedly sounds pretty fruity), I was kind of bummed....what is the implication for my late-night recording sessions (the only time when I am free to record)? It is possible I will be able to close off the vent enough to get around the problem in the future, but I decided to give the vocals a rest for the night and move on to other things.

I moved over to the Korg (the recording unit) and started switching into some effects to see how everything so far sounded, and the entire unit seized up. Not a button worked. Having run into this before, I knew there could be but one outcome. Nevertheless, I tried everything from slapping the side of the machine to randomly hitting button after button in hopes of getting a response. Nothing, of course. With my brain reeling, and my heart just plain fagged, I did a hard shut down. Everything I did for the night is lost.

An experience like that can drive an emotionally fragile recording artist like myself out of the studio for months, in some instances. As it is, I stayed up late with a cartoon balloon containing grumbly scribbles over my head, and this morning was involved in a funk-induced punt.

Holy Shit!

It was a big damn tree

Stock Options: A First $tep into a Larger World Part Two

Actually not really stock options, it just sounded "upper class."

Along with feeling generally out of place when hearing co-workers talk about the latest trappings of an opulent lifestyle, I've also long felt like I know less about the world of finance than anyone within these walls. I have a theory that I spent a lot more of my twenties with my full energy focused on the world of personal pursuits and introspection, whereas many of the people around which I work spent that time learning about self-amotorizing loans, investments, and generally how to get ahead in the world. There's lots of people here that, nearly 10 years my junior, that are in a different universe, career-wise, than I was at their age. That, along with a few other factors (their lack of interest in just about anything outside of ESPN, grilling, and playing golf) tends to support my theory.

Anyway, I will often hear people asking each other how the company's (our company's) stock "is doing." Aside from 401k (in which I started contributing at age 30-not too late in the game), I've always pretty much blown off any talk of investments and stock, considering such pursuits games as only for an ambitious, hardball-playing, group of wheelers & dealers. Definitely not my style. Not my world.

But they started a program here where any employee could set aside money to purchase company stock over 6-month period, via payroll deduction. At the end of the 6 months, the company will purchase the stock for the employee at a 15% discount from whichever price is lower, the price at the beginning of the six months or end of the six months. After a couple of years of avoiding yet another item in the world of finance, it suddenly started striking home to me what an incredible deal this really was. Basically, unless the stock drops 15% over the six month period, you win. Certainly, that drop could occur, but I'm not sure it ever has in the life of Big Buy. Or if it has, it's almost certainly rebounded shortly after.

In any event, I have a specific focus for "getting in the game." Sharon & I are going to start putting 3% of my gross check into this thing, and possibly more, if budget permits in the future. Our specific goal is to grow the money purely for the purpose of paying off our "emergency debt" which, as has been chronicled, has become an emergency in and of itself.

Look out, boys, and would somebody please cue Night Ranger's "Secret of My Success?"

A Skewed View?

I've become aware in recent times that my view of the "average American lifestyle" may be skewed and getting more skewed by the day, as I continue to be surrounded by coworkers with opulent lives and asses firmly planted atop the pyramid. While my own day-to-day existence is relatively modest, in terms of spending & consumption, I fear my own perception of what I should be able to afford; indeed, my sense of entitlement (what an ugly word!), has grown in ways that have been unperceptable along the way, though undeniable now as I evaluate my current recreational tastes and Quicken report of monthly expenditure, relative to what they were before I started work at my current job, just about five years ago.

I don't think enjoying a quality meal in a nice restaurant is a total waste of money, but I remember a time when I thought it was. I remember a time when the only "eating out" we did was at Taco Bell. I also remember a time when the only beer that was "stocked" in my fridge was left over from my last party. And it was shitty beer, in cans. And I didn't have Netflix. Etc. Etc. It adds up.

Scaling back would be healthy to begin with, but our hand has been forced as we are faced with having to eke out an extra $500 or so for childcare expenses we'll be facing when Sharon goes back into work in February. We're in the midst of trying to dial down monthly expenses in just about every recreational/luxury category in the register. Right now, it doesn't appear it will quite add up to the extra $500, but who knows in what way I don't even see now that monthly budget will change over the next five months? Easy come easy go.

The Great Dictator: A First Step into a Larger World?

The "Larger World" refers to Chalie Chaplin movies, and that first step was taken over the past couple of nights, in my viewing of The Great Dictator. I'd put off or just plain ignored this prolific entertainer with almost no real knowledge of what the man was really all about for quite a long time. But I finally decided that, if I am to accept my role as a leading early 21st century American humorist, it would behoove me to study some of the masters.

The Great Dictator, which was released in 1940, was Chaplin's first "all-talkie" film, and thus, not representative of his major body of work prior; but it is considered to be one of his elite films and I found myself all the more amazed that this guy, who is universally recognized as a gifted physical comedian (pre-"talkie" movies, what other kind of actor could you be?), also has an amazing gift for improvisational speech. This is evident as he, in his role as a Hitler-clone dictator, goes on a 10-minute nonsensical screed in some sort of bungle of fake German. Very well done, accompanied by superb body control (like the real Hitler!) Though I get ahead of myself, just a bit.

The Great Dictator is from that weird genre of movies that is made as commentary on World War II prior to its end (and, indeed, years prior to America's involvement). Such movies can have chilling moments for me, as I consider how events that are warned against, etc. will yet unfold in the years following the filming. This one had its share of those moments, with some surprisingly moving and passionate scenes portraying the plight of the persecuted Jews and the madness of the Hitler character interspersed with zany comedy. The juxtaposition was almost too much, except that the humour was just so good. A lot of humourous scenes were undoubtedly the result of flights of fancy from Chaplin-mostly ones in which he is the sole performer on screen just doing what he does best: silly, creative, and amazingly nimble things with his body. Some of the humour reminds me a bit of how I describe Roger Miller's silly lyrics as being not only ahead of their time, but almost (you can just sense it) done purposely with just enough restraint so as not to blow people's minds. There is one scene in which he shaves a man to Slovakian Dances that is almost certainly the basis for a Bugs Bunny bit that would have followed a decade or so later.

Anyway-I'm definitely intrigued with Chaplin's talents, and will seek out more of his works in the future, though I'm mindful that some of the pre-talk movies might require me to break out of a comfort zone a bit in order to appreciate.

About "The Punt"

Mixdorf got such joy out of my mention, in passing, of "the punt," I thought I should elaborate.

The term originated with Gibbs, in as far as I know. Back in the days of the Fortress, he used to employ it, in conversations with his lenient boss, to refer to a day in which he was in the process of mailing it in. It was rather ingenious, to actually head off at the pass any possible issues that might arise from other people in the office seeing you staring blankly at your screen, heading out on a coffee break to return two hours later, or simply sitting at your desk "writing the lyrics." Judicious use of the term actually implies that ususally you are not punting, though whether or not that is a reflection of reality is another issue.

Anyway, nature of my job, as well as the quality of work I have proven over the course of around five years at my present employer, has granted me quite a bit of discretion as to how & when I get the work done. Extremely loosely, it is assumed my hours are around 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. On bussing days, I get here a couple of minutes after 7, and leave a few minutes before 4 to catch the 4:01. On other days, when I drive-my hours become anybody's guess. I will often stay till 4:30, if I'm heading off to pick up Lucy, or later, if I'm not. I've been known to come in extra early and/or stay extra late, if the need arises. But I can also come in late or even, with an early-afternoon appointment, take off for good without worrying about tracking some sort of time card. It's very cool, but also dangerously tempting in some regards. My personal ethos wouldn't allow me to average less than 40 hours a week over a long period of time, but I've definitely had a few stretches when my cycle of work slows down a bit, I've been exhausted, or some of either or both.

"Punting," for me, over the past couple of years, has referred to those days when I wake up with my alarm at 5:40 and make a totally conscious decision that I'd be better off just sleeping in a bit and getting up naturally. I just know I need the sleep, for whatever reason. So I'm running late to begin with. Then, I'm getting up around when Sharon & Lucy do and it is inevitable I will be drawn into the morning routine ("Hold me, daddy!"). Talking with my family, helping Lucy to get breakfast or get dressed; the time it takes me to get on the road is doubled, at least. So now we're looking at 7:30 or 8:00 (too late for the bus) by the time I even get through my back door.

I should also mention that the morning commute in the Twin Cities starts getting truly bad around 6:00 am, or just a little after. It's quite consistant. So, if I can actually get out the door by 5:55 or so, I know I'm gonna have a relatively quick clean drive in of about 20-25 minutes (of course, I can imagine how that sounds to non-big City dwellers, but I've got a CD player and I can zone out pretty well, especially at cruising speed). At 7:30 or 8:00, forget about it. I'm going to be crawling along, at stop & go long before I even get to the tunnel that gets me past downtown. I'm looking at 40-plus minutes into work. So, at that point, a decision is made. A decision that some may say is a very shaky branch of logic. One that suggests that, if you're going to be late, you may as well be really late. It's not like the commute is gonna get good until 9:30 or so (and even my punts don't have that much hang-time). It's just that the temptation of coffee at Camden Coffee Company in one of their tall, ceramic mugs (oh, baby!) has far surpassed my interest in having one of those clean, normal work days. I'll run into a few people I know, bullshit around, maybe read some of my favorite sections of the Star Tribune that are lying around, and some City Pages, and just chill out. It probably doesn't hurt that, otherwise, the number of daytime hours that I am not either working, driving, or involved in child care, to whatever degree, in a given week might often be around zero. I simply don't get many of those hours, when I'm at my best, truly to myself.

There you have it. The punt. Rise up and join me, brothers and sisters. We'll punt away the whole morning, and maybe head out a little early in the afternoon to boot.

In All Seriousness, Folks...

That last post, which got out of control in a hurry, was posted the day before the Fall '06 election primary here in Minnesota and in many states throughout the country.

Civic particiaption runs pretty high in these parts. Not as high, perhaps, as in some parts of the city, but certainly amongst a majority of the people I run into on a regular basis in the coffee shop and some of my other neighborhood haunts. The first two days of this week, I punted (my term for getting up & heading on my way late enough that I just head on over to the coffeeshop for a sit-down cup). Both mornings, I encountered a cast of characters; some I knew well, some I knew, but not well (including a guy I'd met in his run for County Comissioner two years ago), a couple I'd never met before (including our district's Park Board representative). I got involved in lively debates & discussions that probably spanned about two and a half hours between the two days. Yup, I got into work late.

Of particular concern, amidst the general collection of shoo-ins expending very little effort in fending off the fringe element you expect to see in local elections, was the US House DFL primary for the district that includes Minneapolis. Much like how the American League Pennant is expected to be the "real World Series," it was generally assumed that this would be the real race for Congress in the heavily-blue Minneapolis/inner-ring suburb district; and got quite heated in that the comfortable, perfectly-Scandanavian, venerable and perennial 87%-of-the-vote-getting Martin Olav Sabo was retiring from office, having served since the 1960s. The race was between (in my opinion) a kind of the typical "DFL Establishment" character, who'd been DFL party chair for the state in the past, as well as Sabo's chief of staff; a couple of other local notables (including a member of that Gothan City collection of legislators known as the Minneapolis City Council), and a guy by the name of Keith Ellison; who you will almost certainly hear about, and who-as it turns out this morning-won. He's like Barak Obama with a little more baggage. If (most likely "when") he wins the general election, he will be Minnesota's first black congressperson, as well as the US Congress' first Muslim. According to most who know or have simply seen him speak in public, he is electrifying, passionate, and just a plain warrior for the poor & a host of other progressive issues. However, a number of petty bookkeeping misdemeanors (unpaid parking tickets, late filing for campaign papers, etc.) were haunting him throughout the race. These issues, understandably, were really tough for a lot of voters to get around, and the race ended up being quite a lot closer than it would have otherwise.

Campaign Poster

What do you think?

More Success...

A smaller, more intimate venue and a relatively unknown (in the Midwest, anyway) style of theatre, but I think we pulled it off with great success with "The Guys." And hopefully we're developing a formula by which we can do nine of these without too much undue stress. We'll see.

Anyway, it was a near-full house, albeit in a slightly smaller venue. We were actually performing in a large garage work area of a new Camden art gallery, The Warren. The proprietor, Duane, is this awesome guy who just has this goal of being a sort of patron of the arts. For now, he's offering free gallery space to Camden artists and has arranged to have his space be our venue for the entire run of the Reader's Theatre Series, with the idea that our crowds will get people in the gallery to look at the visual art.

Beyond providing the space, though, he was hands-on, helping us build risers for the show, clearing out the space, etc. etc. And the night of the show, he was absolutely giddy at having, by far, the largest number of people come through the front door in any one evening. The show, of course, was a pretty intense emotional downer, though appropriate in the days leading up to whatever other ways we US citizens are considering to commemorate 9-11. An awesome twist, however, was that right after the show, the garage doors were thrown open and the assembled were treated to a visit by some real "guys" from the Minneapolis Fire Department. Unbeknownst to anyone but Duane and our company, they had pulled one of their engines up outside the establishment in the final moments of the performance, in preparation to do some Q & A and a little demonstration following the show. Kind of cool-after the audience's emotional involvement with individual firefighters' lives in the eulogy-based script of the play, the guys in the real-life crew served as some sort of emotional release, as the crowd broke into spontaneous applause for them.

Anyway, the firefighters just eat up that kind of attention, so it was actually a little tough to get them to wind it down, but when it finally did-almost the entire cast, crew, and audience traipsed across the way to enjoy 1/2 off appetizers, beer, & wine at Rix (ah, it always comes back to Rix, doesn't it?) We got a personal meet & greet from the very thankful owner of the place, and it looks like we'll be partnering with them for a similar deal through the remainder of our season-they're taking out a running ad to feature our performance and their special deal in the City Pages. Great publicity, potentially expanding our draw (and theirs) into new regions of the city.

I will confess to having originally had some reservations about this particular show. It's pretty easy to feel "9-11'd out," though I definitely felt, after reading the script, like it touched on the human element of individuals, with limitations & foilbles that is very often missing in the various commemorative events. I still had/have a slightly odd feeling about the choice of the play. It was definitely a "safe" choice, and not one that was particularly artistically challenging. Especially in light of the fact that we are setting about to establish a little breathing room between ourselves and the notion of a "community theatre." I am glad that we took it on and did it (in my opinion) well. Our ability to execute this end (civic-minded, straight & narrow) need be in no doubt. And the great thing about the entire, 9-show series is that it really will give us a chance to try our hand (& our collective, audience regulars') at a variety of genres of theatre in rapid succession, if all within the context of reader's theatre.

Picture: Cast Along With the Brave Men of Minneapolis Fire Station #20

Anyone Ever Figure Out the "Oxygen Sensor?"

That device in your car with seemingly no purpose other than to keep your “Service Engine Soon” light off?

"The Company", Reader's Theatre, and The Guys

Realizing that we are simply not staffed to put on multiple mainstage productions and having a need to keep an active profile in the community, my theatre company has elected to put on a Reader's Theatre Series, which will consist of one play a month over the next nine months. We plan to pull together a full-fledged stage production by next spring, but this will keep us busy, hopefully growing both our talent pool and audience, and in the news over the next half year.

We're about a week out from our initial Reader's Theatre offering, "The Guys." My involvement with this production is limited purely "behind the scenes" stuff like press release writing, box office stuff, & various logistics, but I am quite excited about it. Falling generally under a "commemorative 9/11" type of work, I was very suspicious when initially cracking the script open. However, it is an emotionally powerful piece that really extracts the individual human quality and story from all the political chest-thumping and flag waving that seems to surround everything about the event, which (sadly) seems like is often recalled more as a rallying cry than as a personal human tragedy. Which is the only way I think I'd touch the subject.

The City of the Dead (my first attempt at fan fiction)

Studio Exec 1: You know, PJ, I’ve been talking to the boys and they like your City of the Dead scene a lot. But we feel like it’s lacking a certain punch. I mean, so the ghost warriors fulfill their oath and the fellowship just walks right out of there? That’s not what people want.
Peter Jackson: I don’t know…
Studio Exec 2: No-wait-picture this…a City of the Dead, right? Almost like a creepy old haunted house. So what if we added something to give people a little….fright...
Studio Exec 3: Like cobwebs?
Studio Exec 2: No, creepier.
Studio Exec 1: Rats? Bats?
Studio Exec 2: No…no…I’m thinking something really, really fucking creepy. Scary as all hell. Something that’s going to make people squirm, jump out of their seats, and cover their eyes. Like…like….SKULLS….
Peter Jackson: Well…
Studio Exec 3: Brilliant!
Studio Exec 1: Omygod, wait a minute. So there’s these skulls, right?
Studio Exec 2: Uh huh, uh huh…
Studio Exec 1: And people are already freaked out, peeing their pants, whatever…
Studio Exec 3: Yeah? Yeah?
Studio Exec 1: Well-get this…what if there are…like….tons of skulls! Skulls coming out of the walls, pouring from the ceiing and filling up the room…a gazillion fucking skulls piling up a hundred feet high and raining down like hail!!!
Studio Execs 1 & 2: Yay!

The Touching

Daddy-daughter time this whole past weekend, as Sharon went camping with her sister. I've been in the dumps a bit recently, a bit of an after effect from a lifetime of stress crammed into the past year. As such, I didn't have a lot of energy, and it was rather low-key throughout the entire two days. Lucy woke me out of my stupor at one point however, with this chilling proclamation:

Lucy:
Daddy, do you know what "The Touching" is?

Daddy:
No, Loo, what?

Lucy:
It's when the world starts to move
The moon starts to shake
And men begin to die.

Related to #2 in the Last Post

I think a lot of seriously repressed people live vicariously through movie goofballs such as Adam Sandler & Will Farrell. These are people who wouldn't dare rock the boat in their extremely ordinary day-to-day existence, and wouldn't even know quite what to do if they met someone as zany as their comedy movie hero in real life.

They'd probably move away in a hurry, though.

Six Things I Dislike

From Stephen.

1. The Culture of Loud. They talk loud on their cellphones, they have car stereos that you can feel from inside your house, and they seem to have no shame about sharing the innermost secrets of their domestic existence loudly, whether in a conversation on their cell phone, in their yard, or (amazingly) even deeply within the recesses of their own homes. And, unfortunately, I live around a few of them.

2. Anytime somebody gives the capsule movie review of "It's so stupid, it's funny."
The person saying this is bizarrely self-conscious about the fact that they found it quite funny.

3. Going to Church. Note: this is not a shot at the institution or even the organization. Just the act of going. There may be a church service that can speak to me; I just can't sit through it.

4. Status symbols. Lawns, "beamers," FUBU, houses with pillars; you name it, I don't have, want, or even get it.

5. Camouflage Toddler Boys' Clothes: To the parents who buy and have obviously created a market for this: What the fuck are you thinking, you fucking idiots????

6. That itch you get if you roll around in the grass with your shirt off. Haven't actually had to deal with this for a few years, as it was mostly a childhood phenomenon; but Heaven Above, it sucks.

No Turning Back Now

And I have no regrets, in either case...

1. We're into the thick of it on the home improvement front. We got our 100 amp electrical panel installed yesterday, and our asbestos and entire furance were removed today. It'll be interesting to see the basement when I get home.


2. Sharon & my nine-year anniversary today. What can I say? There's definitely couples out there that find a way to spend more uninterrupted time together than do we, but I'd put the enjoyment of the time we spend together up against just about anyone. It's been a crazy last 12 months, and these episodes of hanging-out time we do find have been islands of sanity in an otherwise insane world.

Lucy will be hanging out with friend Harper from about four till eight this evening a Sharon & I plan to go out for a walk in the woods, followed by a low-key dinner and lotsa good conversation, I'm sure.

Jebus

So...

Asbestos abatement: $1,800
New high-efficiency furnace & central A/C: $9,600
New 100 amp panel & grounded outlets: $2,000
New 40-year roof: $5,200
Tree removal: $2,600

The first four things, while a bit expensive because we're going with the top-of-the-line/energy efficient option in each case, are all upgrades that are simply bringing our house into accordance with current Minneapolis code, and essential (generally, if not to the specific level of quality we've chosen) if we are ever to sell our home. The fifth thing was an order from the City of Minneapolis.

Now, today, as we had the local plumber in to check out a weakly-flushing toilet, we have been informed that our outdated toilet is on its last legs. Under ordinary circumstances & levels of stress, I might consider taking on the toilet replacement myself. I'm finally to the "just pile it on in" point, however.

$500.

Sharon called me from home to give me the lowdown and I could hear the background buzzing & clanking of the electrician, plumber, and the gas company guy. Gas company? Oh yeah, our dryer has been on the fritz for the last week and a half. But at least that is covered by our "Service Plus" arrangement, though we are warned each & every visit that "the day will come when these parts aren't available anymore".

Well they are right now, buddy, so "fuck you" and get busy.

The Recap

Oh, boy. So, for the most part, the visit went exactly as one might have expected. We had a pretty good time playing basketball. We ate & imbibed (though only a single drink each, per night). We watched a Mystery Science Theater episode Friday night; and Saturday, in one of the all time promising acts of compromise, watched a Woody Allen movie staring Will Ferrell.

But, unplanned by either of us, a topic (THE topic) emerged-originally just in passing-that would grind the weekend to a near-complete halt. I will attempt to recreate the discussion, which began in the video rental store:

me: You ever watch horror movies...
him: That depends.
me: On what?
him: On whether it's based on Evil.
(pause on topic, until we get outside-me, with my own sense of "horror" creeping up)
me: What, like, Satanic influence?
him: Yup.
(pause, while I consider how to diplomatically put my next statement)
me: Let me see if I get this straight...Is it your belief that the Devil is alive and well, and actively involved in pulling strings and trying influence Man on a daily basis?
him: Yes, I'm a Christian.
me: Yeah, but not all Christians see it quite like that.
him: Yeah, they do. The real ones do.
(pause...no good can come of this discussion going any further, I realize)
me: But surely you realize that there's lots of clergy & scholars and so on, who don't see things quite so literally. A lot of Biblical study is about interpreting the various conflicting messages & so on and trying make sense of it all. I mean there's the whole thing about how, if we took everything literally, we couldn't eat pork...
him: Ok, stop. Just stop. That's blasphemy.
me: OK, wait...hold on. Not trying to cause trouble here, I'm just trying to understand. What about Bible study? Isn't that about figuring out what the Bible is trying to say?
him: No, the Bible is very clear on what it says.
me: What? Then what's Bible study all about?
him: How to be more Godlike.

OK. There are not words in this language or any other to convey the extent to which this blows my mind. Keep in mind, we're talking about a man who quite freely admits he's never, in his life, read a book for personal reasons. I'm pretty sure he has not cracked open The Good Book outside of an actual Church Service or put much thought or effort into any of this any time along the way. So...consider: It's one thing to be zealous when you read scripture and get the wrong idea. But it's an entire other thing to be zelous based on some general idea of what you assume the Bible probably says.

Good Fucking Grief! At another point during the weekend he made it known that he & his wife were severing their relationship with another couple who had seen, then discussed, the DaVinci Code movie while driving my nephew home from seeing a different show. More resolute, confident lessons in family values from a man whose pre-teen kids can quote the latest Adam Sandler sex-joke-filled movie from beginning to end, and play violent Playstation 2 games from dawn till dusk. Again, mind blowing.

This is all from a guy of privelege in America who may well be not mentally retarded. What hope do we have for the future in a world where 90% of the people don't have the same kind of time & resources to sort it out on religion, and a lot more reason to turn their crazy ideas into hate?