Turning into Stephen???

Without even an intentional plan to do so, I'm in the midst of one of my more ambitious periods of reading, this early summer.

In early June, I blew through volume six of the Harry Potter series (my 2nd time through, in preparation - as a lot of others are preparing - for the release of volume seven). That was pretty easy game, and a fast read, of course. I then, on a whim, undertook the legendary Catcher in the Rye. One of those "I know I should read it" situations that'd been lingering for years. I'm pleased to say that I'm Loving It. As I mentioned to Mighty Tom yesterday, it's fascinating (and satisfying) to see such a complex and disarmingly insightful character in a book that is that been so highly regarded and popular through the years. It's a surprisingly short book, and I've been squeezing in a couple of chapters a night, with just a couple to go.

Concurrently, I am aspiring to mix in audiobook "podcasts" into my nearly every day cardio machine workouts. Based on a tip from Mixdorf, I checked out LibriVox, which is a volunteer endeavor to record as many public domain works to electronic audio as possible. My first download, which I'm (also) about a chapter or two from finishing, is The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde, which is (beautifully) read by an Englishman with a wonderful pace and speaking voice. My sense, being new to the whole audiobook thing, is that the reader is everything. I lucked out here. Anyway, my next audiobook is going to be Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. Theme? Classic horror for early afternoon workouts? Two corroborative methods for raising my heart rate???

My next print book I'm planning to launch into? A Morbid Taste for Bones, by Ellis Peters. By chance, on the way back from camping this last weekend, Sharon said she wanted to watch a movie (a relatively rare occurence in and of itself). We swung by the library and found an episode from a PBS movie series based on the Brother Cadfael series. Basically, a murder-solving, progressive and worldly monk, seeming to be a bit in the model of William of Baskerville from Umberto Eco's In the Name of the Rose (though the publication of the first book in the series predates In the Name... by three years). We watched the episode/movie (over 100 minutes long) and, while it was pretty good, we had the sense it was hacked and condensed quite a bit from the original book. I can't wait to get started on that. I'm absolutely fascinated with the history of Christianity through the middle ages. Such vileness, savagery, and political maneuvering; yet how amazing the works of art and richness of pomp & circumstance. If this series proves to be even partly as fascinating on those counts as was Eco's book, I'm in for quite a ride, as there are 20 books in the series.

It's Been Awhile Since My Last Bush Rant

The fact that Bush (& anyone associated) can climb up on a podium and actually begin sentences like, "What the American people have to understand is..." is not only the act of somebody utterly without shame, it's insulting and infuriating to those of us who seem to have a better handle on policy with 1% of the information he has. We've long talked about the whole "is Bush dumb" thing, but I gotta say - there's a lot of evidence to suggest the man is sick in the head. No one would have that much gall.

While I'm on the subject, I'm kind of amazed that a press corps can sit around, straight-faced, and take notes while this moron rambles on. I keep half-expecting somebody - ANYBODY - to stand up and suddenly say, "Is he for real?" What gives?!?" I was watching the press conference with Bush sending off Tony Blair and, regardless of my political differences; when Blair spoke, I was listening to an intelligent and even somewhat inspiring man. Bush followed him and started up with his ridiculous, "I know one thing - what the world needs is courage, and here stands a courageous man..." bullshit. Completely without substance and, of course, hemmed, hawed, & stammered. I swear to God, it seems like one of that spate of movies in the late 80s where kids suddenly were in adult bodies. He sounds like a friggin 4th grader. And a mean bully one, at that.

I'm sitting there, watching the press and various dignitaries in attendance; the majority if not all of them learned people with lengthy, impressive resumes, who have reached the pinnacle of their career to be on the short list of attendees at a White House. And I'm thinking, "Jesus, the President of the United States is the dumbest guy in the room."

It's funny, but this punk-ass chimp wrecking the world renders it not quite so "ha ha funny."

By All That Is Holy...

Friends, buy Harry Potter from a huge bookstore chain, and everything else you read from an independent bookstore.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070611/en_nm/retail_harrypotter_dc

Check THIS Out

My theatre's new kickass website. There's at least three images of me on the various pages, but I'm not suggesting that's what makes it kickass. Stephen, Mighty Tom , and The Johnsons may recognize the image on the front page as one from our production last summer.

Workout!

I've always been a guy that has, for the most part, shunned "that fancy equipment" in the local health clubs and focused on, pretty much, free weights for strength, and running for cardio fitness. Both things I can do on my own time, in (or around) my own home.

Enter 2007: Strapped with two kids that demand all of me at home, I have neither the time nor the energy to workout in the evenings. Mornings? I'm up late trying to get some time to myself, so forget about it. Plus, I'm fairly recently out of an appointment with an orthopedic specialist (should have blogged about it but didn't, for whatever reason), where some of my worst fears were confirmed about the current and potential future condition of my knees. Gone may be the super-intense, all-running-based training sessions and the pounding that puts on my knees. The recommendation? Cross-training; especially the low-impact kind, such as you can get from elliptical trainers, excercise bikes, and stair steppers (all of which I remember mocking heartily in my head as I strode between rows of them on my way to the running track at Bally's in the early 90s).

My workplace has an incredible fitness center that is available to me for $20 a month. I feel compelled to mention that nothing is a pittance these days, but this price is certainly a good one, compared to what I'd be paying at any of a number of health clubs in the Twin Ctiies. This morning I headed in for an initial fitness assessment (not good, not good, as a result of much theatre & parenting, and not many cardio workouts in the past seven months - but nothing too surprising). I went in with the idea that I would try to hit that club a couple of times a week and make it out to Hyland Park for a trail run once a week (all during business hours, mind you). After my first workout, I'm pretty excited about the amount of stuff they have in there, and the potential to mix it up a bit. I may try to step up the frequency from that initial goal, even. We'll see.

In any event, I had - in my first time on an elliptical machine - a grudging sort of awe at the ability to track my heart rate (trying not to let myself fury my way out of the "cardio zone") while working my way through a program that is specifically designed to work different muscle groups in your legs at different points during the workout. Wow.

Invited Dress

Lost from the radar of The Oliopolis is the culmination of the last year of building up funds, audience, connections and experience for my theatre group, and that is our play, "A Company of Wayward Saints." It's lost, no doubt, because I'm not acting in it; a very painful personal decision for me, due to my need to be at home with my family following an Insane Spring. But make no mistake, I've been quite busy with the play - trying to sell ads (gag!), writing press releases, helping at our performance space in assorted capacities ranging from actor fill-in at rehearsals to helping paint a stage.

We're on the eve of a 10 performance extravaganza, spanning three weeks. We're expecting reviewers from a couple of major local publications, and have brought in an impressive array of talent for our director and cast. In short, we've come a long way.

So, not being actually in the play (again, it hurts, it hurts!), I have the opportunity to see it with Lucy, which I will tonight at dress rehearsal. The play is in the commedia dell'arte style (think Gilligan's Island), and is quite uproarious and not a little bawdy. Here's my thoughts on that experience for her, lifted from an email I sent our box office manager today:

I'm just slightly iffy on the content for Lucy. Obviously, innuendo & such will go over her head, but kids are perceptive enough to know when things ARE going over their heads, and it seems kind of mean, in a small way, to let that happen. I guess that's the reason we don't have her watch any sort of "adult-oriented" TV & movies.

That said, I ended up thinking that the opportunity for her to be part of "the live theatre experience" is just too compelling. We've talked, at length, about all the rehearsing ("practicing") that goes on and everything that goes into to getting ready for the show, and about how it's kind of magical to be in the middle of a crowd where everybody is laughing together and getting serious together and seeing it all happen right then, in the moment. I'm hoping she'll just get caught up and be dazzled, and I don't have to sit there and explain thing after thing after thing.

Roll Up Your Sleeves, Amateur Psychologists

I'm moving this discussion from the e-mail world to the blog world. At the end, if anyone has thoughts - send em along:

Dan: The 2nd of 4 important things to remember: You cannot instantiate an object from an interface. You can onlyinstantiate an object from a class that implements the interfaces.

Pat: Shakespearian. Is that right after 'You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd?"

Dan: You can't instantiate an object from an in-ter-face/But you can be happy if you've a-mind to I do about 15 minutes of programming training and suddenly I've gotthose little circles of birds flying around over my head, like someonejust dropped a piano on my head in Looney Toons episode.

Pat: I once hit my head so hard I saw spinning stars, not birds, but stars. The writer of that nonsense likes to keep his audience riveted! (ed. note: "Blazing Saddles" reference, here)

Dan: You slammed my head into the concrete floor in my parents basement and I saw goddamed stars. (ed. note: 18 years ago)

Pat: I don't remember that one. I seem to remember lobbing a rather large, heavy object such that it squashed your nuts, to which you replied,'WHY?!' Good times.

So...We again recount (cause we can't get enough of the re-hashing): the famous Trifecta of (non necessarily unprovoked or completely senseless, but) random Mixdorfian Acts of Violence (MAV). In the episode I recounted, I was wrestling and pinning you, like usual, and sitting on your chest. Suddenly, you swung both feet up around my neck and slammed the back of my head down onto the floor as hard as possible. I either saw stars or utter blackness, but it was outer-space, regardless. The third of the times - perhaps the most famous - was when I was slapping your forehead lightly (to which you may have been very warrented in asking, "WHY?' HOWEVER...) suddenly, you punched me in the head. HARD. Understand, in both instances, your reactions may have been considered justifiable (if somewhat extreme). But the real question still plauging psychologists till this day is: WHY? Why then? I was grappling with and tormenting your ropy ass almost every time we got together. What logic drove the unflappable Valedectorian to lash out in such a violent and suddent manner. It should be noted that I was constantly derided as "the violent one." But I wished to grapple, always. Never to inflict pain. The safety of combatants was always of overriding concern to me. Between Gibbons' lethal flailing on the basketball court and your rare, psychotic lashings-out, I think I was comparatively mild.

Goodbye, Meyer and Underdog

We spent a second night with Meyer in the house Wednesday night. He had settled down considerably, with our biggest issues being that we didn't own a crate (resulting in destroyed bathroom blinds), and that he didn't quite get the part about being asked to pee outside. Other than that, we had some good times amidst the close supervision and general craziness during his visit. It was also apparent that we are not ready to "get back in the game" at this point. Sharon returned Meyer back to his previous foster home - where he has a lot of room and a number of canine companions indefinitely till adopted (which shouldn't be too long, given the record of the rescue group - more on that later).

It has become evident, in hindsight, that Kuna-i - the sweetest, most personable dog I've ever known - was a mess, from an obedience standpoint. While weighing about a quarter of what I do, she managed to occupy (and demand, especially if awoken from sleep) about a third of the width of our entire bed. She could not/would not trot leisurely along at our pace during a run (and positively hated other dogs we met along the way). And, in various bouts of exuberance, she scratched our faces - sometimes badly. Incidentally, and totally accidentally, but badly. And there's not a single one of those issues that would not be untenable with kids in the house. So any dog we want to bring in at this point is going to require commitment to us in the areas of obedience and consistancy. Meyer, while a sweetheart and plain ol' good boy, was a great reminder of that.

Shannon, the executive director of Underdog Rescue (the group through which we worked), was aware of the position we were in when we first showed up at the adoption event, I think. With an amazing mixture of grace and diplomacy, she informed us of as well as let us discover on our own, our limitations and current "dog readiness." And whlie she was at it, she managed to give us a big-time education in the subject of "bully breeds" (pit bulls, staffordshire terriers, and the like; the "fighting dogs"). I'm not going to say this very well, I think but: it seems that it comes down to this: you can say "Pit Bulls should not even exist," and perhaps be true in the sense that nobody in modern times should be breeding dogs for attack, gameness, or any of those other classic "fighting dog" characteristics. But the fact is - they do exist. Neuter and spay your pit bulls and decrease the population, certainly. But do not neglect and hate the pit bulls that are here. Dogs, above all else, want to please. They want to be what we want them to be; both as species (by breeding), and as individuals. And pit bulls are exactly as we made and wanted them to be.

If you have a chance, check out the front page for Underdog Rescue; particularly the "Our Story" section, that details the relatively brief history of the group. For pet lovers, and plain old lovers-of-human-interest-stories, it's truly inspiring. 1,500 classically "unadoptable" animals given homes in the past seven years just because one woman gave a damn. Amazing, and - beyond being the place where we will get a cat (conceivably before we get a dog, we now think) - it is now on our "short list" of charities, come donation time.

Meyer, Night One

Meyer, the 8-month old pit bull pictured in the previous post, spent the night last night, with the understanding we’re doing a little “trial foster care” to see how things go.

Meyer’s about 40 lbs, but will fill out to about 50. He’s great. He’s a dog. Pink crayon flashing in all its glory, he was a bit restless as he alternately explored his surroundings and chased his tail (he really spent a lot of time chasing his own tail, including a number of instances where he did it while sitting, which netted an effect much like watching a dog on a sit n’ spin). He’s generally pretty well behaved, and responds pretty well to the all-purpose “off,” which can refer to “off the couch,” “let go of the frisbee,” “paws down from me,” and any number of other instances.

I have concerns. Concerns about the amount of energy, effort, and time it will require to discipline this dog to the extent that a “bully breed” requires. Raising these two kids with the amount of energy & devotion we do is a full-time job and a half. There’s nights where we barely stagger to the finish line, and I’m not sure I can imagine staying on top of doggie discipline as religiously as Meyer deserves.

As much of a concern is the idea that kids under five are not to be left alone with pretty much any dog, much less a dog of this breed. Moreso because of kids’ unpredictability than dogs’. We don’t leave the room with Rose in Lucy’s care for the same reason. Lucy is a really intelligent, amazingly responsible little girl for a four year old. And it inevitably takes all of about two minutes of “sister time” for her to forget that Rose is indeed a sister, not a toy. While pit bulls are supposed to be amazing at letting kids tug, pull, play with their paws, etc. – I just don’t know if there’s any accounting for some instance where Lucy tries to jump over Meyer while he’s sleeping, and fails.

I think if Sharon & I were childless, it would be a slam dunk. As it is, we’re in a re-evaluation mode.

School Blues: Part 2

So when we last left off, Northside schools were officially "off the table," even the Montessori school. It should be noted, beyond my earlier few words about this schoolastic (and, really, lifestyle) philosophy, that my becoming aware of "the Montessori Method" was like an epiphany for me. I fell into that category of kids who, by virtue of good scores and good grades coming rather easily to me, was subject to a certain expectation that was painful to meet. I grew up amidst a gaggle of adults that assumed that, due to my scholastic achievement, naturally I should be a studious, rapt pupil in the classroom. In actuality, all my years of formal education were a nightmare. Seriously suffering from ADD, as well as forced into a situation that could not have been more opposed to my natural learning style (exploring, doing), "traditional education" was much like serving a sentence for me. Even into my early 30s, the act of sitting in a lecture hall, having a speaker ramble on (and not in the good, Led Zepplin way), was enough to drive me up a wall. But consider the (ideal) Montessori classrooom: where kids can follow their passions, learn at their own pace, explore, and do. It was a joy to see the classrooms at Lucy's school, when we first paid a visit to check it out. And, as if to confirm that she's got some daddy in her, an instructor at Lucy's first conference said, "I can't imagine Lucy in any other kind of school."

It should also be noted that, in one of our visits to Winona, we had the opportunity to check out a Montessori elementary school; indeed, the first public Montessori charter school in the nation (to give you a glimpse of the progressive nature of that little town). It was open & airy, with neatly-ordered wooden & cloth learning tools in their specific places; sun-dappled and warm. The teachers were engaging and excited about what they were doing, and the turnover rate is incredibly low. It was, in short, what we dream of for Lucy's education. So store that in your memory banks - especially Gibbs, who suggests that I "listen to the call of the Z."

So...next step: any schools "out of district" (e.g. inner ring suburbs; not too far of a drive)? Getting to this step killed a little part of me, as I pictured her going 1) to a school in a neighborhood that is not her own, alongside kids she will know only in school 2) a school that is "traditional" 3) putting the fate of her education in the hands of a school district managed by folks who (suburbs, you know) may have value systems alien to us. This may seem relatively minor, but when you consider the cultural differences that begin to emerge as you move out of the city proper (% of SUVs, size of lawns, lack of -yes -- "diversity") there's certainly going to be a certain framework within which students are directed towards being contributing members of society. Do I want a school board that votes 75% Bush, for example, making determinations on curriculum for History? An extreme example, since the inner-ring suburbs are generally not quite so out there, but you get the idea.

We did discover a Spanish immersion school in Robbinsdale (next suburb over - about 3 miles from our home). While it leaned a little closer to the traditional format of instruction, Sharon & I both believe strongly in the value of 2nd language instruction, early on in education. And there's plenty of research that supports the idea that immersion students achieve better in pretty much everything, as they continue on through middle school. Plus - when you find parents who share belief in the value of immersion in anything non-English, you're generally talking about some people with a shared value set (and one that is more or less aligned with ours). That is - opposed to the "love it or leave it"/"make English the official language" set.

UNFORTUNATELY, there is a waiting list. And if you don't live IN Robbinsdale, your name goes into a lottery. And the waiting list is of such size that they don't even get TO the lottery.

So we're out of the mix. They do have a special program in the city of Minneapolis., whereby if you're in poverty, or pretty close to it, you get equal standing with suburbian kids if you choose to go out of district. No such provisions however, as seems to be the case in almost every instance of society, for those of us in lower-middle class. God forbid kids of modest income have the same opportunity for quality education that those of low income. Not to get all arrogant here, but wouldn't you think the City of Lakes would be very concerned with keeping families just like ours in town? They have a funny fucking way of showing it.

Again, t(o)b(e)c(ontinued). Stay tuned for School Blues: Part 3

School Blues: Part One

45%: The percentage of elementary schools in the Minneapolis district receiving a "1" rating from the impartial www.greatschools.net (which takes a number of factors into account but weighs test scores particularly high).. That is, on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being high. If you look at the North Side of Minneapolis, that percentage jumps dramatically. Like, to 90% (and 100% for those receiving a "1" or "2."

Not a good scene for anyone wanting a quality education for their children; but a particularly sticky wicket for those of us that have a particularly high expectation to meet. Of all the educators I know (and I know a lot), there is not one who will tell you that underachieving kids from dicey backgrounds do not divert enormous amounts of energy and resources and ultimately detract from the educational experience of kids who are at the high end of the learning curve. For all my general walk & talk of being a f(here goes a gross mischaracterization of myself) ree-spending liberal who believes in throwing money at social ills - I'm not willing to let me daughter be a part of that experiment. And I'm not alone. Peers of ours, when they do exist in my part of the city (and that is rare), are sending their kids out of the district, left and right. Minneapolis Schools are in a horrible Catch-22, for obvious reasons. High achieving kids leave, schools get worse, repeat. To make matters even more challenging, Minneapolis (and St. Paul) has to accomodate the vast majority of ESL students, as well as all those "transitional" kids; the ones teachers really dread (not the kids themselves, but the situation), where kids come in halfway through the year and require catching up, then drop out a few weeks later. What do you do when you have parents who don't have a culture of placing a high value on education? Show me a teacher who can answer that. Hand-in-hand with that, what do you do when you have parents who don't realize their child's quality education starts at home?

8 Sight * So we decided to give it a chance, anyway. Our earliest research involved checking out a Public Monessori School in the (really cool, but really small) neighborhood of Bryn Mawr. On the North Side, but barely. And a "magnet school" (with free bussing from my area). Lucy's wonderful experience at Brightwater Montessori Preschool has only raised the bar of our expectations as to what an education can be like. Personally, I have a wistful "how might my own learning experience have been better with this educational philosophy?" every time I walk through the door to pick her up. We thought that the special nature of the "Montessori education" might have kept the makeup of the families somewhat exclusive to people who subscribe to the philosophy personally, but no dice. What we saw what the remnants of what appears to be a once great school, now bursting at the gills with kids that are packed in arbitrarily as year after year, more Northside Schools close, and they have to find some place to stuff more kids (as an aside, five more Northside schools are slated to close in the next year).

Our answer is/cannot be in North Minneapolis. Which opens up a new quandry. The options we're left with is: us driving WAAY out of our way to get Lucy to South Minneapolis (where a few great schools remain in some of the better neighborhoods), or home-schooling. I'm in a place that I don't think 26-year old Dan could have possibly imagined. We're considering actually moving to locate ourselves in a different school district. It's crazy. I feel creepy sometimes, almost. Like these decisions I'm considering are bordering on some sort of - not racism - but socio-economic-ism; where the reality that is borne out in the face of all the best "ideal world" scenarios of multiculturalism and diversityis that - again - I'm not going to sacrifice my daughter to an delicate icing and elf-laden grand social theory.

Just realized how long this is getting. This will require a part two.

The General vs. The General

Man: 1 The Beasts: 0

Congratulations, T-Clog.

Cop Out Post: My Netflix Queue

Not too much of a cop-out, though, as I will include a couple of thoughts as to WHY each selection is in the queue.

Three's Company: Season 1
NR
Television
Those who have known me for awhile know that I actually have a "Three's Company Phase" in my adulthood history, to go along with my "Gilligan's Island Phase" (much superior to PGibb's "Erkel Phase"). Disarming, physical slapstick humour, coupled with pleasant memories of my preteen TV viewing years, when most of the innuendos & double-entendres were lost on me. Recently, I discovered that a lot of sitcoms (Gilligan, Simpsons, etc. etc.) are based on the Italian "commedia d'el arte" style. I am seeking that style on which "Three's Company" is based, as there's obviously a formula for this type of cast.

Short Cuts
R
Drama
Often, the independent or "thinker" movies - by the time they've drifted to the top of my queue, I have trouble remembering exactly what I was thinking when I added them; just some vague notion of "boy, this is something I should see." And then I end up being not all that excited when they arrive in the mail. That said, I am rarely disappointed with the films when I see them (a recent, thoroughly enjoyable viewing of the über-indie film "Funny Ha Ha" being a very recent example). Of this one, I only remember that it is Robert Altman, and a bunch of (I think) short "tales of the city" that was pretty highly regarded when it came out; when I was working at Title Wave in 1994, all the intellectuals were renting it in droves.

Lilies of the Field
UR
Classics
Another Title Wave connection. Somehow, I remember always passing by it and being somewhat curious. I'm not going to cheat right now and look up anyone that's in it, but I have no doubt that I was excited and intrigued when I checked over the details before adding it. "Classics" are usually a pretty safe bet for me.

Suspicion
UR
Classics
Hitchcock and Joan Fontaine. And a genre that I really dig.

Husbands and Wives
R
Independent
Par for the course as I slowly work my way through the Woody Allen catalogue.

Rashomon
UR
Foreign
Saw this Antoine Kurusawa film in a college class, and really enjoyed it then. Very unique: a bunch of different witnesses to a bandit robbery/murder have very different recollections of what took place. Can't wait to see it again with my 36-year old eyes.

MST3K: The Dead Talk Back
TV-PG
Television
I'm trying to make a point of including one MST3K in every 10 movies I see. I enjoy them so.

Doctor Who: The Beginning: Disc 3
NR
Television
Caught a "Watch Now" early episode with the William Hartnell (first) Doctor. Really enjoyed it, for many of the same reasons I enjoy the original Star Trek. I am, thus, choosing to begin a long, looooooong, meandering course through the few titles that have been released on DVD.

Shadows and Fog
PG-13
Comedy
More Woody Allen. This one seems a bit in the vein of "Manhattan Murder Mystery," which I really, really enjoyed; actually on Mighty Tom's recommendation. But hmmm...I really should not have two Woody Allens within 10 of each other. I may go back in and reshuffle the queue a bit.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
UR
Classics
A film I saw during my "Westerns" semester in college. Enjoyed it then. With the context of my advanced age (ala Rashomon), I may enjoy it more, now. That French guy who said the only two original American art forms were jazz and The Western was just plain wrong, but they're certainly significant ones. And I definitely still count myself as a big fan of a well-made Western.

Remembering 44 On This Day

Through an employee auction at my work, I just scored a VHS-DVR dual deck recorder and have begun the process of bringing old video tapes: basketball games w/friends, old TCA projects from college, and (not the least) old 44 videos.

That kind of kicked me back into gear on the old tape to CD conversion I began last summer. an attempt at archiving past, taped, musical endeavors (chronicled on two consecutive posts, one sad and wistful, and one somewhat more hopeful.

Anyway - another song here from that time period where 44 was in its prime, such as that was, with artistic true-seeing constrained within the limits of twice a week practices. This is a live, practice space recording of a Dan-penned song, sometime in the spring of 1999, I See You When I Can.

I'd had the chorus running through my head for a couple of years. In the genre of songs that had to do with Sharon living far away and not being very accessible, but playfully, with a "Green Eggs and Ham" sort of idea playing itself out: "I see you when I can/I'd see you in a van/I'd see you in Japan/etc etc. Couldn't get any farther than that. Then I decided to pursue an idea I'd always wanted to try - as a lark, but it seemed to work. Using the chord progression - literally - of A, B, C, D, E. You hear this at the beginning and we return to it a couple of more times. Gibbs wrote the freaky stalker sort of words at the very end, which I embraced within this song which was more just a fun departure than any true expression of feelings. Also - in an "I buried Paul" sort of moment, with a close listen in the final chorus, you might just catch something that sounds like "I eat my sausage from a can."

Recording is with a single mic on a regular old tape deck, so there's no accounting for quality - but I think it sounds like a band having fun. Hopefully, you can spare five minutes, and hopefully you enjoy this.

I See You When I Can

Still Here

It's crazy - this is probably the longest break between posts I've had since entering the Blogosphere back in - what - 2004?

Doubly crazy; one would think I'd have more time for bloggin', as I am theoretically dialing it back a notch and taking time to be with my family for a few months and not leave Sharon with as big of the parenthood load; especially during a period of time when Rose is at such a high-needs stage of development.

But I've been tired, lately. Very tired, and in a way that is different than my chronic state of being underslept, to which I'm pretty accustomed, After a number of weeks of going to bed crazily early (for me, anyway, that means prior to 10:30 pm), I was unable to feel any more rested. Of course, the fact that I was able to drag myself to bed that early at all should have tipped me off that something was amiss. Following on the heels of this mental & physical exhaustion came a melancholy feeling, and an eerie suspicion began to grow in my mind that I was dealing with the outer fringes of some mild form of depression. No ambition to take care of even very simple household responsibilities, and minor reminders of our strained financial situation was sending my mind reeling into a black, hopeless state. What was/is the cause? Culprits:

• Work has been nuts. We're in the (long, drawn-out) process of converting over to a GIS that will benefit my future career aspirations in a great way; however, right now there is a steep learning curve plus all the development & work that goes into the actual conversion of our data & way of doing business plus my normal workload which is, of course, a full-time job. This is just exhausting me. I've been coming home and literally wanting to just drop my bag and keel over. Of course (with a 4-year old running up to me and squealing "Daddy! Daddy!"), that's not an option. Of course, Lucy's vitality is sustaining & infectious to a point, but I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't understand Ward Cleaver's need to spend a few quiet minutes when he first got home, unwinding on the friggin couch.
• Pyschologists might suggest that over the past two years, as I've been so busy, I've submerged some pretty fairly traumatic experiences with the need to keep plugging away and not missing a beat. Now that my post-daughter-bedtime evenings are consisting of noodling away on a computer while Lucy falls asleep on a chair behind me - and little else, I'm paying some emotive back taxes.
• Maybe I really DO need to be busy, and I don't know how to cope.
• Post-partum depression? Or just baby-blues?
• Lack of time with my spouse? Sharon & I have often, in our nearly 9 years of married life, been able to trace irritableness and frustration in life to our inability to find time together. That, appears to run counter to a vast majority of our society, but good for us. Bad for us, though (bad for us spending time together - not bad in the long run, we hope), is the extent to which our parenting techniques are aligned with those in the attachment parenting philosophy. It means that Rose is rarely put down, and usually "slung" by Sharon, and that Sharon's life regulated entirely by Rose's sleeping schedule and feeding habits. It was the same thing when Lucy was a baby - but Lucy didn't have a 4 year old sister vying for parental interaction. It's two on two and we're playing man to man defense, which often draws us off to opposite sides of the court. Tough to have grown up conversations, and with Rose waking Sharon up at 5:30 - 6:00 every morning (and Sharon going to bed necessarily early), we're not finding time together in the evenings, either.

So - what is it? Increasingly realizing as I grow older that we don't actually live in the black-and-white world that our president sees, I am a champion of the concept of the Nuanced World. As such, I realize that all the above factors are probably affecting me. I am actually finding motivation to turn this post out today because I've been feeling a possible change in the weather the past couple of days. I may be coming out of it, whatever it has been. Tiredness-be-damned, I've stayed up tll past midnight two nights in a row, and actually appear to be no worse for the wear. I'm operating at a high level at work (just not here, now, as I type), and feeling a little motitvated to take on a minor project or two (one that won't draw me away from home, mind you). Here's to the crack of dawn that comes to vanquish each of our own horrible nights, in our own ways.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

* Sigh * In a scene that's been all-too-familiar the past couple of years, we said goodbye to Saraki this morning.

Last night, I was fortunate to have had the opportunity share time with her, as she rested peacefully on my lap while I watched a movie. Around midnight, I carried her upstairs (something that she never would have permitted, were she in full health) to our room and set her on the bed. I then brought her a spoonful of canned cat food - which we'd been using over the past few days to entice her into actually eating. She showed great interest and gobbled it up; some kind of indication that she was feeling good enough at that point. In the morning, however, I was moderately surprised to not find her in bed. And as soon as I made my way downstairs to the living room, I found her body. She must have known "it was time" and come down there to be alone for the end - something that animals will always do if they can (I think it probably is descended from wild anscestors avoiding the troubles that would be associated with dying in a lair).

We said our tearful goodbyes this morning and brought her in to the vet. I took the morning off and Sharon & I reminisced at the coffee shop, during which time our conversation actually turned towards, "OK, so when are we going to get our next dog?" And a very lucky dog it will be.

The picture below is from the vigorous cat we knew about a year ago (not that she was doing all that badly up until very recently). Pre-leg amputation and living life large in a spot of sun.

Not a False Alarm and For Joy Part (?)

Seems like the end of our pets' lives are like those volcanoes that erupt one time and scare the bejeezus out of everyone in a village at the foot of the mountain. Villagers emerge from under the ash and soot, amazed that they're still alive, dusting themselves off and thanking the gods. Of course, pressurized gasses and magma have been creating a giant, growing lump on the other side of the mountain which, after a couple more weeks, explodes and vaporizes everything within 50 miles.

Saraki is now experiencing profound kidney failure (just like Kuna-i); however, she is already on heart medication which thins her blood and makes intravenous fluids not a long-term solution. In short, she's in bad shape and probably won't see the end of the week. In this instance, just like in the case of Kuna-i, the early scare gave me an opportunity to work through a lot of emotions and more or less make peace with my beloved friend's mortality. It will still be really hard for me on the day of - but not nearly as hard as it will be for Sharon, who tends to dwell and regret. Also - I don't relish watching Lucy say goodbye for the last time.

I got away from work for a couple of hours over lunch to go to nearby Hyland Park, where I enjoyed my first trail run of the year. Freakish 70-odd-degree temperatures, chorus frogs so loud I could hear them from a quarter mile away, and my own sure and silent plodding along the turf cast away the pall a bit and uplifted my spirit. Warm, sunny skies and ife in process of renewal will do that.

Speaking of life being renewed - in light of the rash of death, destruction, and calamity that has beset my little home over the past year and a half, I don't know what state I'd be in if little Rose hadn't come along to reverse the trend. And what a joyous reversal she is.

Movie Review Rondeaux: Crooklyn

Damn white people in the background
Warm, earthy streets and funky sounds
We live our lives justs scraping by
Under blue filtered glowing sky
Lots of kids living in one flat
Hit one white guy and that was that

We love each other though we fight
And steal chips though we're taught what's right
A struggle each day just for food
And dad plays jazz, so that's no good
Damn white people

Daily life of a 70s girl
Bliss in an urban jungle world
Sound as if it's lacking a plot?
Consider the appeal its got
Urban nostalgic need to meet?
Dazed and Confused, set in the streets!
Damn white people

This IS Acting: Vol. 6

Photo by Duane Atter