Citizen

post script

2009-04-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

"Another game/of putting things aside/as if we'll come/back to them sometime."
- Toad the Wet Sprocket, 'Something's Always Wrong'

First of all, it's good to be back -- this once. Second, I haven't missed blogging as much as I thought I would. It's kind of nice to have a thought and then tuck it away (for later use). But I do miss my regular readers/commenters. To you loyal few, I thought I would just mention that I am now (love it or hate it) on Twitter (me handle is StanBernadino). So I'm still injecting nonsense into the universe. I'm just injecting it in much smaller doses.

Basically I've come back this once because I thought of a post I always wanted to get to and never did. Also, technically I'm free to come back whenever I want. For you see, when I went back through some of my old posts, I noticed I had actually posted 600 and ONE times before my (at the time) final post (making this post #603). It's a technicality, but does provide the legal framework for my return, should I choose to return...which right now is doubtful.

But I am back right now, so for the moment let's go with it.

This post, the post I've always meant to write, involves a rock and roll show I saw back in 1994. It could have been in 1993, but that doesn't sound quite right to me. It took place here in Minneapolis at the venerable Uptown Bar & Cafe on Hennepin. Besides serving heap-loads of hash browns with every glorious breakfast, the Uptown doubles as an entertainment venue. It's even possible The Replacements once played there, back in the day. As entertainment venues go, it's high on atmosphere, a little muddled when it comes to acoustics and not overly roomy as far as floor space.

This particular night I was there with friends to see some band that was hip at the time. But it's not them I remember. In fact, I don't remember them at all. What I remember is the guy who opened for them. He had a band behind him, but he was the show. It was his band the same way The Dave Clark Five was Dave Clark's band. For an opener, I thought he was really good. He had a strong voice and the songs were catchy. However, no one else in the place was listening. Pretty much everyone except for me and him were focused on drinking and their own conversations. He made multiple attempts to engage the crowd and received exactly nothing for his efforts, valiant though they were. At some point you could tell even he realized the show was over, though he and his band were still stuck onstage, playing in vain.

Which brought him to his closing song -- a cover of 'Wonderful Tonight.' Except this cover was unlike any other cover of 'Wonderful Tonight' I've ever heard. This cover was littered with profanities and obscenities. It also wasn't sung in the spirit Mr. Clapton probably intended it. This cover was laced with acid and venom and the singer made no effort to hide his sheer disdain and dislike of the crowd he had just performed before. At the end of the song, he may have even told us to go ---- ourselves. If he did, I wouldn't have blamed him.

When the band started breaking down their equipment (in preparation for the hip band's set), I kind of felt like walking over to the singer. I wanted to apologize and also applaud his efforts. Again, I really liked his music. As it happened, he was surrounded by a number of his friends (I'm assuming) and it looked like they were giving him plenty of support and reassurance.

He was a little bit older than your average rock and roller, and part of me suspected (and still suspects) that might have been his last rock show. If it was, then it was a little sad and a lot more bitter than sweet. But I've thought about that guy a lot over the years and I think now it's alright. If he did depart the stage for good that night, that's okay. He went out on top as far as I'm concerned. I mean, all you can do is sing your song. If no one's listening, that's their problem.

Post #601 (AKA Radio Silence)

2009-03-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

'And if I don't see ya/in a long, long while/I'll try to find you..'
- The Replacements, Left of the Dial.

The Cheese Post

2009-03-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

It would appear the prophecies are coming true. First, as promised, I wrote about a man with a hatchet. And now The Cheese Post is upon us. The end (of this blog -- for now) is near. Believe it or not, I've been taking notes on the way I would like this post to go. It's my 600th post (actually closer to 750, probably), so you'd think I could just go unplugged. But, no. In front of me are notes. Okay, it's a sticky note. Regardless, it counts.

Now even though I SAY this is my second to last post (for now) -- and I do -- my wife, who knows me better than I do, says I won't be able to stay away from blogging. Maybe she's right. But for now, let's go with the premise that I will stick to my word (at least for a time).

Before we drop the curtain, though, let's take a quick look back. I was trying to decide this week why it was I began blogging in the first place. I couldn't and can't say 100% for sure. Part of it was I had a fringe show to promote; part of it was a number of friends and colleagues of mine in the Hamline Creative Writing program were blogging. And part of it, I'm sure, is that on some very basic level I am an attention whore. There, I said it and I don't feel the least bit bad about it.

Which brings us to 'why am I quitting?' (or taking a hiatus). I think the best way to say it is...because of the octopus. Let's make it less cryptic: On the news recently they had a story about an octopus at the Boston Zoo. Apparently, octopi are intelligent; they're problem-solvers. Put their food in a mayonnaise jar and they'll find a way to get it open. Who knew? Anyhoo, some wiseacre at the Boston Zoo thought it would be interesting to put this octopus's food in a glass box, leaving only a two inch opening in the box. So you can visualize it better, the glass box was about the size of your average treasure chest (the kind you would find on most sunken pirate ships). And the octopus was large, too! He was quite bulbous and probably went about...5'4. You won't believe what that octopus did! He, somehow, funneled himself completely into the box and got his food. Somehow, some way, he...poured himself into this really tight space, so that he was taking up almost all the room inside the box. When I saw that, I thought, 'This blog is that box, and that octopus is ME!' Quite the revelation.

What I mean by that is this blog is A creative outlet for me. It's fun, I enjoy blogging (and my fellow bloggers and people who are kind enough to comment on this blog from time to time) and it gives me a vehicle to air new material. However, it is not lucrative, it does not pay the bills and it does not get me closer to that magical HOLLYWOOD sign. So for now, that's my rationale for walking away. I was also struck by something The Joker said in last summer's blockbuster, The Dark Knight. He said, 'if you're good at something, don't do it for free.' I'm not sure I'm a good blogger/writer, but I'm at least okay. And I'm not sure if taking career advice from The Joker is the wisest course. Still, I've always been one to pick up wisdom wherever I find it, and I have to say, that makes sense to me (what The Joker said).

Still, it will be an adjustment. For instance, I will no longer have a place to write about all my great ideas -- like my idea for liquid Pop Tarts. I was thinking, 'In this crazy world, who has time to eat Pop Tarts anymore? What if you could drink your Pop Tarts while walking out the door?' Then I thought, 'Who has time to drink their Pop Tarts anymore? Why not 'I-V Pop Tarts?' It's stuff like this that I'll miss (at least for the time being).

And now? The Cheese! As some of you know, I've said all along that 'all we are is blocks of cheese, and every day's another slice.' However, the actual idea behind The Cheese Post began months ago when I was watching Reality Bites for the 78th time. Or perhaps it was when I caught St. Elmo's Fire for the 106th time. The premise of The Cheese Post, then, is this: If you've seen the movie Blade, you know there was a Blade 2, which was not a good movie, unlike Blade (a near-classic). However, there was a part in Blade 2 which stuck with me. Blade, by the way, is a character played by Wesley Snipes. He's half-human and half-vampire (and all butt-kicking machine) and he really has a thing for vampires, which is why he kills as many of them as he can. However, and ironically, he himself has to taste blood from time to time to keep his motor running. And there's a part in Blade 2 where poor Blade is on the ropes. He's been kicked around but good! Lucky for him, though, not 20 feet below the ledge upon which he stands is a vat full of fresh blood. Unluckily, there's a guy with a gun about to shoot him. Long story a little shorter, Blade tumbles over the edge as the gun goes off. He lands in the blood with a splash, sinking into the crimson liquid. Is he dead? Is he alive? Is he now among The Living Dead? You're not sure. Then, all at once, he explodes up out of the blood and you just KNOW he is back to good and ready to kick some more vampire tail, ASAP.

I'm not Blade, of course. And other than the fact we both like to wear sunglasses, we don't have much in common. But, like Blade, I myself get run down from time to time. When he gets run down, he needs to immerse himself in blood; when I get run down, I need to immerse myself in cheese. Pure, unadulterated, cinematic cheese. That's what shows like St. Elmo's Fire and Reality Bites are to me, soothing cheese of the finest kind. You know how it is out there. This old world will wear you down any which way it can. It gouges at you and chips away at you until all that's left is a frown. When it does this, as it is wont to do, do I give up then? No. No, that's when I pick up the remote control, dial in the upper channels and flip around until I lock in on an old pseudo-classic. I then let myself sink to the very bottom of a vat filled with cheesy Hollywood goodness -- not unlike a broken tortilla chip -- and emerge recharged -- ready to kill more vampires! Or ready at least to give the next day another chance.

You know, The Cheese Post may have been overhyped. I guess that's okay. It's getting late, and it's my night to monitor the stars (to make sure nothing goes too wrong).

I'll leave you with just a bit of advice: First, never forget that life is a lot like chess: If you want to win, sometimes you have to put your pieces in danger. And by that I don't mean you have to take stupid risks. What I mean is you just have to put yourself out there from time to time, and keep in mind that there's risk involved in everything -- even whittling. I'm serious! One minute you're shaving down a stick, the next minute there's a hook where your right hand used to be and you're captaining a pirate ship. Don't think it can't happen! It happened to my great-great grandpa, and I'm reminded of it every single time I'm at the store, buying peanut butter. Lousy Peter Pan..

Lastly, never forget it's the flowers that keep the hills standing...and the hills that give the flowers a place to bloom.

Phew, that's a lot. I'm exhausted.

speaking of speaking..

2009-03-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

I remember a college textbook I had once. In this textbook -- a psychology textbook, I believe -- there was an anecdote about a highly respected person who was giving a speech. As far as anyone knew, the guy was sane, sound as the British Pound. How-ever, as he got deeper into his speech, he began to explain to his audience how every song that had ever been written was about him. He ended his speech by throwing a hatchet out into the crowd (I don't believe it struck anyone). The moral of that story is/was that mental/emotional problems are very real, and some are quite treatable. In fact, I believe this fellow who was giving the speech was straightened out right quick when put in touch with the proper meds.

Anyway, that anecdote really struck a chord with me. First I thought, 'Wow, how crazy is that?' But the more I thought about it, I thought, 'How come I always miss the good speeches?'

Oh, well. You can't win them all. Neither can I. Still, even today, that guy gives me hope. Sometimes when I'm sitting through a boring speech, or worse, giving one, I'll think, 'Maybe that guy with the hatchet will show up..'

DISCLAIMER: I do not want to see anyone struck with a hatchet. That is NOT what I'm about. I'm simply a big believer in keeping things interesting.

...but you can't make him think

2009-03-14T06:03:00.000-07:00

Steady Erosion
I was driving along
the Mississippi River
yesterday and
happened to
glance down
at the river.
The section
I was looking down
upon appeared
just really...pathetic.
A weak trickle.
Right then I wanted
to hike down to the
river bottom and shout,
'You call yourself Mighty?
Are you kidding me?
My dog pisses more than this
each morning at six o' clock!'

I'm pretty sure
I could use a vacation
from my scars.

bringing down the horse

2009-03-12T16:32:00.000-07:00

"I don't care that you won't quit this notion/of burying the carnival."
- Michael Penn, Half Harvest

I have an announcement, of sorts. I'm thinking very seriously of taking an extended leave from this blog. Now, don't get up on that city ledge just yet. Basically, it's just a good time for me to get to work and focus on other creative ven-tures (pronounced like dentures ((pronounced like den-tours)) ). I know myself pretty well, and as long as I have a creative outlet of some kind -- like this blog -- I will continue to drag my feet and avoid other projects which might prove to be at least mildly lucrative. So I think after post #601, that will be it for awhile. I'm not planning on abandoning the site, but I will be away from it for an extended stretch. In these few posts that remain pre-hiatus I will attempt to serve up the same nonsense you've come to expect from me. I will finally write The Cheese Post. I will likely write about a man with a hatchet. I will write about...things. And then, for a time, I won't. But then I will again, unless I don't. As the great George Harrison once wrote, all things must pass.

And he would know.

Finally, a poem.

Fader Knob
My whole life,
it's been this way:
when everyone is
listening,
I tune out.
And when no one
is listening,
I tune in.
Now,
someone
could probably
tell me
just why
that is.
But I promise you,
when they did
I would not
be listening.

transmigration

2009-03-10T14:53:00.000-07:00

Recycling
When I'm officially
re-incarnated,
I hope to come back
as either a panda bear
or a bamboo tree.
But not both
at the same time!
That could get
confusing.

clamato juice

2009-03-08T06:46:00.000-07:00

Readers Digest
This mechanized world
has made us
cold
unfeeling things,
like bodies buried deep
in damp sand.
All of us working
slowly on
our own bits of internal debris,
clutter stuck
inside of us,
shards we can't
process.

Our jobs, then,
are to find ways
to reach out
in the dark
and reconnect,
to discover
means of making pearls
from the grit
within
our chests.

No Myth

2009-03-06T10:08:00.000-08:00

Into the Sunset
Someday
before I hit
those eternal bricks,
I want to take a job
at some company
for half a day.
I'll work hard through
the morning,
and then break
for the breakroom
at lunchtime.
I'll pull my sandwich
out of the fridge,
unwrap it
before my colleagues
and exclaim, 'Well, would
you look at this!'
What they'll see
is a freshly-made hay sandwich;
two pieces of bread
with a goodly amount
of hay stuffed between them.
I'll chuckle, then say,
'That must mean Sally
has MY sandwich.'
Then I'll shrug, as if to say,
'well, these things happen.'
After that I'll go back downstairs
and tell the boss I'm quitting.
That afternoon people will be all abuzz
about, and I will forever be known as,
The Guy Who Made His Horse a Sandwich.

From there, I'd let a month
or two go by.
Then I would mail the company
an 8 and 1/2 x 11 color photo of me
standing placidly next
to a stately chestnut mare.

You might ask,
What's in this for me?
See, I want to break free
from the bonds of reality
and become
the stuff
of myth.

And I think this just might do it.

Orwellian

2009-02-20T10:15:00.001-08:00

I'm reading a book on George Orwell. It's called Finding George Orwell In Burma. It's not the worst read ever. In fact, sometimes it's almost engrossing. Interesting fellow, Orwell. Very interesting, indeed. It turns out his real name was Eric Blair. Go figure.

A couple of days ago I was reading this book and decided to call it quits -- for the time being. I was on page 184, and I thought, 'Well, that will be easy to remember!' First, because George Orwell wrote Animal Farm. Second, because 1 + 8 + 4 = 13, and George Orwell was hugely superstitious -- hugely! He once threw a porter out of a second story window when he discovered he had been checked into Room 213. The guy was a raving lunatic!

Of course, going crazy is a time-honored tradition for writers. Certainly Orwell isn't the only author who lost it from time to time. There was also the time Rudyard Kipling went a little 'coocoo.' If memory serves, he had an episode where he thought the Irish Potato Famine was still going on and he believed that he was a potato, causing him to run down the streets of London shouting, "I am a potato! Eat me, people -- eat me!" Rudyard got sent away on a little 'vacation' shortly after that. It seems to have straightened him out.

Of course, we all need some straightening out, though, don't we? From time to time.

a scary thought

2009-02-16T15:15:00.001-08:00

I'm beginning to think Joaquin Phoenix has the right idea. Not in a specific way, but in a general sense.
Infact:

Walk Out
I'm not
a monkey
in your zoo.
I do what I do.
Feel free
to take the hint
and/or get a clue.

it's a shame about Abe

2009-02-14T09:38:00.001-08:00

First, it's Valentine's Day. Happy Valentine's Day! To you. And/or yours.

Second, Abe Lincoln week is over. I'm calling it. I'm kind of sorry to see it go, but on the other hand I'm ready to say goodbye to it, and him, at least for another year. Abe Lincoln was a great fellow, no question. He was also a little...mystic. He had visions and dreams that seem to have often come true. And he was wily. Wicked wily! Yes, Abe Lincoln definitely scares me a little bit. Thank God he's no longer with us.

Lastly, I'd just like to say that if I did have access to a time machine I would not go back and steal Abe Lincoln's hat. If the opportunity presented itself, I can't say I wouldn't purloin it, but I would not specifically go back just for that. No, I'd do the right thing and stop John Wilkes Booth from firing on old Abe.

I'd set myself up right in front of the Lincolns' balcony. I'd pretend I was reading an old dime novel. Then, once I ID'd the perp, I'd make my move.

"Well, well, who do we have here? If it isn't John Wilkes Booth. Well, hi, John. Whatcha up to tonight? You here to see the play?" I'd ask caustically. Then I'd give him a good one, right to the gut. After he caught his breath, then, and after I disarmed him, I'd drag him into the President's balcony and say, "Mr. President, this man was about to shoot you. Don't worry, I've disarmed him. I guess I just wanted you to know that I saved your life tonight. No need to thank me. Please, just enjoy the play. It's a good one! Now you'll have to excuse me, I've got to get this d-bag downtown, for processing."

Then I'd tip my hat to Mrs. Lincoln and say, 'Ma'am.'

It's important to be respectful, I think. Especially on Valentine's Day!

husband and wifi

2009-02-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

'Happy Birthday/whose ever birthday/it is today.'
- The Replacements, 'Asking Me Lies'

A lot of people say things like, 'If I could go back in time I'd..' Then they usually finish that thought by relating a short narrative wherein they use their new-found time-traveling ability go back in time and prevent some tragedy or disaster from happening.

Not me. If I could go back in time I'd steal Abe Lincoln's hat. Then I'd come back to the present and sell it on e-Bay.

I've even got what I consider to be a fairly sound plan in place to get my hands on his lid. What I would do first -- when I went back in time -- would be to get a mid-level government job. I'd probably be a liaison to the Dutch consulate or something like that. I'd maintain a fairly high profile around the Capitol, making sure to bump into Abe Lincoln from time to time. We'd start out with short nods of acknowledgment and then soon graduate to pleasant hellos. Eventually I'd get to the point where I'd ask about his wife and children. From there, a dinner engagement would be practically inevitable.

After the proper arrangements were made, I would be sure to greet him and his family at the door, with a firm handshake and a hearty smile, and I would say, 'Mr. President, thank you for coming to my humble abode. Let me take your hat.' And take his hat I would.

Then when it came for the Lincolns to leave, I'd be like, 'A hat? I don't remember you wearing a hat, Mr. Lincoln. Are you sure you wore one here? Really? That's funny. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever seeing you in a hat. Are you feeling alright, sir?'

From there, the song just plays itself -- and it's money in the bank!

Abe Lincoln, comic genius?

2009-02-11T16:34:00.000-08:00

I'll preface this post by telling you I don't know if the story I relate within this post is true. I could have fact-checked it, sure. But that would take time. So I say let's just go with it.

Story goes like this: After Union troops swept the Rebels out of some city in Virginia (during the Civil War) Abe Lincoln traveled with them and wandered the streets of said city. If this story is true, this city is where General Pickett lived. Now even though Pickett was a Confederate general, Lincoln allegedly knew him from before the war. So, hat in hand, Lincoln goes to the door and asks after General Pickett. He is told (by whoever allegedly answered the door) that General Pickett is away. They (the person that may or may not have answered the door) then supposedly said, 'Who should I say called?'

Now the easy thing, the obvious thing, for Lincoln to have said (if he said anything at all, if this story is even true) would have been 'Abe F'n Lincoln, that's who.' Ever the good sport, though, Lincoln is said to have said, simply, 'A friend from Illinois.' That's a pretty good comic line. Subtle. Not bad.

But let's break this down for just a second. Whoever answered the door, if there even was a door, how in God's name could they have not known who Abe Lincoln was? And would Abe Lincoln really have been so reckless as to visit a general on the side of the opposition? Someone who almost certainly would have been armed? It doesn't make much sense. Because if Pickett would have been there and if he had had a weapon, you can bet he would have taken old Abe hostage and then the whole Civil War would have turned into just another episode of '24.'

Speaking of which, have I told you my new line? Every time I fail someone, every time someone does something heroic and then someone else asks me, 'Why can't you be more like (that person)?' I calmly reply, 'This isn't '24.' We can't all be Jack Bauer.'

And truer words have never been spoken.

Abe Lincoln Week continues

2009-02-10T17:42:00.001-08:00

If I would have been Abe Lincoln, I would have checked into hotels as 'A. Blinken.' Just to throw the groupies and the paparazzi off. When it comes to groupies and the paparazzi, you've always got to be thinking one step ahead.

Always.

it's nice to be wanted (but not in 5 states)

2009-02-09T16:48:00.000-08:00

It's funny. After all these years of bending the law to and fro, yesterday I finally crossed the line. That's right, I crossed over. I went from minor villain to Master Criminal in the space of a heartbeat. I've been turning over the whole incident in my mind all day while listening to some old Johnny Cash tunes. I thought I understood his songs before, but now? Now I really get them.

It all went down like thus: We were at the movie theater yesterday, buying snacks, which in itself is innocuous enough. We ordered a pretzel (yum!), nachos (yummer!) a large Diet Coke (really large!). Now you might think that would be enough, but the theater was also selling mongo Rice Krispies bars at a bargain (for charity). We ordered one of those, too. Without thinking, I reached out and put one in my sweatshirt pocket. From there, I calmly surveyed the lobby scene and waited for the girl behind the counter to purvey the rest of our goods. She gave us our stuff and we entered the theater.

About twenty minutes into the movie we decided to eat the Rice Krispies bar. As you might expect, it was strictly delicious. Roughly five minutes after that I decided a trip to the restroom might be a good idea (it was indeed a large Diet Coke). I excused myself and strolled casually down the theater hallway to the mens restroom. As I entered the mens restroom, I slipped my hand into my sweatshirt pocket and discovered...another Rice Krispies treat! Yes, that's right, I had pulled a classic con; the old switcheroo -- the old 'double-dip.'

I hurried to the bathroom mirror and looked at my reflection; as I suspected, my pupils were dilated. Breathing hard, I splashed cold water on my face and tried to think clearly. In the movies, they tell people to stay calm at times like this. I'm here to tell you, it's not that easy. Not when your world is coming apart.

I realized I had two options. One, light out for old Mexico. Two, I could go turn myself in, throw myself at the mercy of the snack counter folks. I opted for option two. In the end, it turned out it really wasn't such a big deal. The kid I confessed to looked at me like I was either a) a dork for turning myself in when I had successfully perpetrated the heist or b) simply a dork. He took my money and that was that.

Or was it? Clearly I have some talent for thievery. And I've seen a lot of heist movies. And as I've said all along, I already have well over 10 million dollars in the bank. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to get it out of there without anyone getting threatened or hurt.

Hmmm..

a little story

2009-02-08T06:02:00.001-08:00

I know I was going to feed you another Abe Lincoln tale today, but that single post is now morphing into a series of posts, so let's let those marinate a bit longer. I've also got just a bit of historical research to do before I go too far down that dusty path. Thus, without further ado:

There was once a singer named Tim Buckley. He died. But before he did, he had a son -- Jeff Buckley. Jeff Buckley was a singer too, who also died. But before he did, he recorded an album called Grace. On that album was a song called Mojo Pin.

http://www.last.fm/music/Jeff+Buckley/_/Mojo+Pin?autostart

In the late 90's a fledgling rock band in North Dakota liked that name so much that that's what they christened their band. They were pretty good -- so good, in fact, it surprised me when they agreed to open for me at a poetry reading/book release (a simple self-published chapbook) party I hosted in the year 2000, back when I did that sort of thing. I'm getting offtrack.

Mojo Pin eventually disbanded. Their lead singer wanted to go back home, to Norway. Who could blame her for that? However, the band's guitarist decided to strike out on her own and released her own record. Years later, I discovered she ended up playing in a band with Juliana Hatfield.

Long story short? Juliana Hatfield and I are practically related!

I should give her a call one of these days...find out what she's been up to all these years.

birthday planning

2009-02-07T06:20:00.001-08:00

As some of you may know, Abraham Lincoln has a birthday coming up. No need to rush out and buy him anything. He doesn't need any aftershave. Still, I think it's important the day is noted. He was a great man. Over the Holidays, I flipped through a book about Mr. Lincoln. Apparently, shortly after his assassination, his son Tad asked someone if his father was in heaven.

Whomever he asked replied, 'Yes.'

Upon hearing that, young Tad seemed satisfied -- pleased. He said something to that effect, and then noted, 'This place wasn't good for him.' And it was pretty clear he wasn't simply talking about the White House.

Upon reading that, I just wanted to ruffle the hair on top of that kid's head. It's clear to me that he (Tad) was like his dad; he was someone who got it. And there aren't many people who get it in this world. Most of them who do are either hanging silently on walls in staid museums or sitting frozen on granite horses in the hearts of city parks.

That being said, there are lots worse places to be than here. You can't get falafel on the moon.

In closing, look for another Tale of Abe Lincoln in tomorrow's post, as we continue to celebrate his life and legacy here at Citizen. I might even buy a cake..

you can't keep a halfways decent man down

2009-02-04T16:13:00.000-08:00

Bouncing right off the canyon floor, the old brain box fired back with yet another idea this morning. Picture the scene: You're in front of the stove. It's an early morning and you're transacting business on your cellular phone in front of your oven, making eggs while working your business casual mojo. Suddenly you realize those eggs need to be flipped -- and you don't have a spatula! (which should really be called a 'flipula.' Why it isn't called that, that I'll never know).

Hold the phone! Or, in this case, simply take it away from your ear and flip it open yet again to reveal the mini-flipula (that flips out from behind your mouthpiece) and smoothly flip those eggs over before they burn, or worse, get really hard and gross. Oh, and don't forget to keep talking, close the deal and get that sweet raise management has been dangling in front of you since last quarter. And when you're enjoying your perfect eggs, basking in the tasty glow of your sweet success, don't forget to thank the bald, bespectacled fellow that made it all possible -- that would be me.

I swear to God, I'm the Thomas Edison of bad ideas!

another one bites the dust

2009-02-03T17:01:00.000-08:00

I just got off the phone with Michael Buble's lawyers. I can sum up the largely one-sided conversation with two (technically three) words: cease and desist. So, no more Buble Wrap. I now have no choice but to incinerate the three rolls of Buble Wrap I managed to fabricate over the weekend. It's a little difficult to say goodbye to all of my hard work, but if they want to dam up that revenue stream, that's their business. They can drown for all I care. I've got bigger fish to fry.

That reminds me: Add to grocery list - one (1) box of Fry'N Magic.

If I don't write it down, I'll never remember it.

the big idea

2009-01-29T15:18:00.001-08:00

So here it is (no sense wrapping it up, so to speak), my big idea: Buble Wrap. Not Bubble Wrap, Buble Wrap. Yes, instead of...bor-ing clear plastic bubble wrap, my protective wrapping would have singer Michael Buble's handsome mug on it; just like that, Buble Wrap.

That's it. It's simple, practical and potentially quite lucrative.

I think I know how Tolstoy felt after he wrote War and Peace -- tired. A little thirsty.

But overall, pretty fricking great!

who will watch the watchmen?

2009-01-28T09:34:00.000-08:00

Dream job
Being
a night watchman
would probably
be the best job
ever.
All you need
is a flashlight
and
a stick
to hit people with.

Where
do I apply?

a footnote

2009-01-25T07:43:00.000-08:00

In regards to The Pantomime Canal, I would especially like to recognize the 397* mimes who were killed (by villagers who mistook them for witches) during its construction. They died doing what they loved, and I know if they had it to do all over again they would do so, with painted-on smiles painted lovingly upon their pasty white faces.

*396 mimes were killed by villagers. 1 died of old age.

engineering feat

2009-01-25T05:58:00.000-08:00

Today I would simply like to make note of one of the greatest engineering feats of our time. It's an accomplishment, I feel, that is often overlooked. But no less impressive for that. For you see, on this very day 95 years ago today, The Pantomime Canal was completed.

The skeptics scoffed and the critics said it could never be done. But a dedicated team of mimes said...well, they didn't say anything. They simply joined hands, and created a post-modern marvel -- under budget and years ahead of schedule, might I add.

Regrettably, no evidence of The Pantomime Canal remains in existence. But for one brief, glorious second it was there, looming over our collective unconscious -- and that's all that matters. The mimes who did this? Their names are forgotten, lost to history. No one probably knew them in the first place. It's not important. What is important is how they showed us what can be done if we all could just learn to think outside the box.

Please join me in a moment of silence to honor these heroic men and women.

a new era

2009-01-20T09:34:00.000-08:00

Well, good people, colour me excited! We have us a brand new Presidente' (as of about 33 minutes ago) AND I have just been given an exciting new project to spearhead at work! Yes, after months of badgering the powers that be for more responsiblity, they have finally relented and put me in charge of The Alan Parsons Project.

Now the details are still pretty hazy. This was the first I had ever heard of this particular project. Nonetheless, I am very excited! And I'm going to be really proactive on this one. My first task will be to set up a meeting with Mr. Parsons to see if I can glean the objectives of this project. I think it would be good to hear from him firsthand. From there, I will put together a killer PowerPoint presentation. I'm telling you, I'm going to nail this thing -- to the wall!

Stay tuned for further developments!

egg nog follies

2009-01-17T07:56:00.001-08:00

Well, it's definitely that time of year; that time of year when the egg nog starts to get hinky. Always a dangerous time. I'm one, of the roughly four people in existence, that drinks egg nog on a semi-regular basis. I'd drink it all year long, but they only make it in November and December. After that, you take your chances.

So I'm taking them. And there's really only one way to tell if the egg nog in your refrigerator is still 'good.' What you do is you take an 8 oz (ounce) glass, you fill it to the very brim with egg nog and then you slam it down in as few gulps as possible. Then you take a few steps back. And quietly observe.

Some further tips: If the egg nog tumbles out of the container in thickish clumps, the game is over, my friend -- and you've lost. Do not pass go. Just grab a chair and wait for November to roll around again. Sigh wistfully if it helps.

Oh, and this is really important: if you begin to vomit as though your life depends on it, don't fight it. Your life might truly depend on it. Just let it all come out. Wipe that dirty slate clean. If you have hair, you might want to ask someone you know to hold it back for you (so that it doesn't become intermingled with your vomit).

Finally, take this post with a grain of salt. And remember, the boneyard is littered with the skeletal remains of folks who have taken my advice. God rest their once merry souls..

a world on autopilot

2009-01-14T16:39:00.000-08:00

These are strange times we're living in. Just the same, I'm quite excited about the prospect of a new president. There are few things I savor more in this world than that new president smell. It's almost as good as the smell of a new car! But, of course, nothing can beat that. Not even a whiff of fresh pomegranate. That's really big these days - pomegranate. Yup, everyone's drinking Pom juice these days. It's all the rage. And why not? It's good -- and it's good for you!

And how about this cold weather? Yikes!

Finally, a poem:

Perpetual motion (AKA Gear Daddies)
The Machine
runs itself now.
All we are
is the grease
that keeps it
running smooth

and
the stuff
that gets
caught
in the gears.

toasting the New Year

2009-01-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

As usual, New Year's Eve was totally awesome! As scheduled, Helen Gurkelbee showed up and we did jello shots and played Hungry Hungry Hippos until the wee hours of the morning. Things got a little crazy, let me tell you. But, nobody got hurt and that's what matters most. The night ended with Helen making the lonely 'walk of shame' to her home four houses down the street, shame derived from the fact she didn't win a single game of Hungry Hungry Hippos.

To keep her company, and to make sure she got home safely, I mocked her from our front steps. "Feel free to come back anytime, just as soon as you get yourself some game, Gurkelbee!" I shouted, my voice echoing down the silent street. "That's right; hang your head - I don't blame you! I'd hang my head too!" I even threw in a few 'U-S-A's, too. For good measure.

Then I closed the door, turned out the light and went to bed.

Like I said, it was a great New Year's Eve!

for those who have never once played

2008-12-31T12:37:00.000-08:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungry_Hungry_Hippos

as the New Year approaches

2008-12-30T16:52:00.001-08:00

This is it, good people; my last post of 2008. And it's just a pinch bittersweet. For while a New Year offers new opportunities, one also has to recognize that a temporal window has been closed -- forever. Or until someone patents that elusive flux capacitor.

Still, I'm not really one to look back. I was once so sentimental I almost couldn't function in this oh-so fleeting world. Now? You could say I've toughened up just a little bit. I've built up some calluses in my soul.

That's not to say I can't get hurt. I can get hurt. I get hurt all the time. Like today, for instance. You see, originally, to celebrate the ringing in of a New Year, my wife and I were going to go wind-surfing with Helen Gurkelbee in the Columbia Gorge. But today the phone rang and it turns out Helen's board has a major crack in it. Long story short? Adios, wind-surfing in the Gorge.

Still, I'm big on flexibility. A person should always have a contingency plan -- and we did. So this year, instead of wind-surfing in the Columbia Gorge, we'll have our traditional New Year's celebration (i.e. doing jello shots and playing some rousing games of Hungry Hungry Hippos) at home -- with Helen G. And I, for one, cannot wait.

Happy New Year to whomever might be reading this, and, to all, a good (and safe) night!

godzilla ice cream

2008-12-29T18:03:00.000-08:00

"A-nd sometimes I/just ain't in the mood...to take my place/and laugh with the loudmouths."
- The Replacements, 'Here Comes a Regular'

And so a new year approaches. I'm just a bit ambivalent about this. Don't get me wrong, I -- like most everyone, I assume -- can't wait to slam the door on this f------ year. Still, I've always resented the implied obligation that comes with a new year. You know what I'm talking about; that 'gosh, what better way to celebrate a New Year than by getting completely obliterated?' vibe that permeates the universe about this time. I mean, I'm sure there were times that Godzilla just didn't feel like trashing Tokyo.

I'm often the same way.

new band name

2008-12-27T08:41:00.001-08:00

Do you know what would be a great name for a rock and roll band? Elephant Gerald!

Think about it.

Holiday Gun Show

2008-12-26T16:01:00.000-08:00

Deltoid Force
I prefer my Delts
to my Lats.
Nothing against
my Lats.
I just like my Delts
better.

a little Q and A

2008-12-23T15:27:00.001-08:00

Q: What do you think about humanity?

A: It's the only hope we have.

Happy Holidays, folks!

Holiday letter

2008-12-21T17:51:00.000-08:00

Holiday Christmas Wishes
From the desk of Henry J. Rifle
Volume 7

Dearest chums,

First, this will likely be my last Holiday letter. It's not a big thing, and don't worry; I still plan on being around. However, my experience has been that you can only jab at a broken window so many times before you slice your hand to ribbons (i.e. sometimes it's best to move on, so you can start breaking new windows).

2-nd, it is with a sober heart and great relief that I note the passing of another year. I think I speak for a vast majority of us when I say 2008 will not be missed. In a nutshell, it's been a vile and nasty concoction we've all been stuck sucking. Of course, the same can be said for every second of the last eight years. If I were Barack Obama, the first thing I'd do is buy a round of mouthwash for everyone in the whole U.S.A. Yes, dear friends, the time at last has come to rinse.

Of course, now that our country has been morally, spiritually, and financially strip-mined, that begs the questions, 'What next?' and 'Where do we go from here?' Good questions. It would be even better if someone had some plausible answers. I think in the short-term, we, as Americans, have to focus on the small things and pray that some of the bigger things take care of themselves.

First, the days are now getting longer. More daylight means more productivity -- and more time to wash our cars. One should never underestimate the increased sense of self-worth one gets from driving a clean automobile. Let's see...oh, there will be new episodes of 'Burn Notice' in January. It's a program on the USA Network. Quality tee-vee show. I highly recommend it. Hm..

There's also the Super Bowl! And with the Super Bowl will come another round of zesty commercials! The great thing about those commercials? If you don't like one, just be patient. There will be another one right afterwards! And, worst-case scenario, even if it's a God-awful commercial, you're still only out 30 seconds of your finite lifespan. Not too shabby!

Um...well, you know, it's easy to be cynical. The bottom line is, this country has been here for two hundred and thirty some years. It's not unreasonable to think it will be here for quite a lot more of them. My advice to you in these uncertain times? Be cool. And by cool, I mean cool, not the jerkwad-esque, 'hey, I'm wearing sunglasses, look at me, I'm cool!' way. I'm talking the real thing, not something you read or saw in a magazine. If everyone does that, why, I expect we'll be just fine.

All the best to you and yours,

Henry J. Rifle

this isn't really a blog about whales

2008-12-21T17:37:00.000-08:00

"I'm Mike D and it's been proven."
- Beastie Boys, 'Jimmy James'

"Whales are ambassadors of the deep."
- Ancient Atlantean saying.

Well. First off, this is not a blog about whales. Though I admire whales greatly, writing about them day in and day out isn't what I set out to do. And so I'll set that fork aside and move on.

I don't even really remember what set me down that road, but it brought to mind one of my favorite stories. It's actually probably an urban legend. I should probably check it out on Snopes.com, but it's Sunday night and I'm tired. So let's just roll with it. Basically, I read this article in a magazine once. The article was about 'lost' records, promising recordings which had either been shelved, lost or abandoned. One of the lost records they discussed was a record Mike D (of the Beastie Boys) had supposedly recorded after falling and hitting his head. Allegedly, it was a country record -- at least that's what this article stated (which more and more I'm thinking had to be a spoof). Anyway, that kind of fascinated me. I'm not the biggest Beastie Boys fan in the world, but I admire them. I also like country music and Mike D is my favorite Beastie Boy. So if this record did exist, I would buy it. Hell, I'd even buy a record player, so I could play it. And if I bought a record player, then I imagine I'd likely buy a pipe too.

There isn't much point in owning a record player if you don't own a pipe, let's be honest.

mackerel daze

2008-12-20T07:16:00.000-08:00

'First the glass, then the leaves that pass, then comes the snow..'
- The Replacements, 'Here Comes a Regular'

'Excuse me while I kiss the sky.'
- Jimi Hendrix, 'Purple Haze'

Minneapolis Landmark
Someday I hope
we have enough money
to live comfortably
on the shores
of Lake of the Whales.
To wake up each day
beneath blue skies,
a warm cup of coffee in hand,
whales breaching just
two hundred yards offshore,
and the morning sun
french-kissing
the IDS Tower
off in the distance...
what in the world
could possibly
be
more inspiring
than that?

A stale bagel on a train
in Grand Central Station?
Yeah, somehow
I don't think so.

* A side note: If this was someone else's poem, I might be liable to say something like, 'That's not too bad. Do you have any poems that aren't about erections?'

A lot of people don't know this but I could be a real jerk if I wanted to be. It's a suit in my closet that I rarely wear, but it fits me - to a T.

more songs about whales

2008-12-17T10:18:00.000-08:00

Depth Finder
I'm only as crazy
as I need to be
to make it
through
a given day.

But I
can
go deeper
if conditions
require it.

Killer whales
got nothin'
on me.

track leaker

2008-12-14T10:09:00.000-08:00

It occurred to me the other day that it's probably fortunate I'm not in a band. First, I can't play any instruments; I have no formal training as a musician. Second, I'm not a very good singer. I'm a passable mimic (meaning I can sing some songs the way I've heard other people sing those songs -- on their records), but I have no vocal style of my own. Not to speak of.

However, what concerns me most is the fact that I would undoubtedly be a track leaker, were I to be in a band. What I mean by that is, in this modern era, after recording a particularly groovy song I wouldn't have the patience to wait for our record to come out. On the contrary, I'd be on the web, leaking that track like air from a tire.

Behind me, in the recording studio, my mates would be congratulating themselves, saying, 'This song is going to change the world!' Meanwhile, I'd be online, posting the song free to all, muttering quietly, 'Yes it is, mates. Yes...it...is.'

Then they'd be like, "Hey, Dan, what are you doing over there on the computer?" And I'd be like, "Just finishing up an email to my Aunt Tilly. There we go, 'hugs and kisses to you and Wallace,' and...send! Alright, then, it's time to celebrate! Who's up for nachos?"

A few days later word that the track had been leaked would filter back to the boys and I'd have to feign some serious outrage. "Who could have done such a thing?" I would bluster. "Who would have?! This no laughing matter. This is deadly serious stuff!" Then I'd pound a clenched fist into the flat of my other hand. I might even kick the mixing board. Then I'd turn to the rest of the band and say, "Look. I'm not going to rest until I figure out who it was that leaked that track. I'm going to make it my mission in life -- you can count on that. And when I find him, well, my friends, it will not be pretty."

Then someone in the band would inevitably say, 'It was you, wasn't it?'

And I would say, "Yup. Yes, it was." And they would depart, leaving me alone in the recording studio.

Rock and roll is a lonely business.

Bruce Frickin' Campbell

2008-12-07T07:14:00.001-08:00

So last night my wife and I went down to the Lagoon Cinema to see the one -- the only -- Bruce Campbell. He was/is in town to promote his new film, 'My Name is Bruce.' The film itself is no classic. But if you know Bruce Campbell and care about his work, it passes the time enjoyably enough. However, the high point of the evening came when Mr. Campbell himself appeared in person after the movie for a raucous Q and A session -- and both he and it rocked!

The guy definitely knows how to play a room; he's funny, witty, acerbic. He clearly has affection for his many fans, but he's honest with them. He calls them out when they take their geekiness too far and he doesn't indulge their fan-boy fantasies with pointless discussions about sequels that will never come to pass. The guy also carries himself with just the right mix of self-regard and disdain. And he's not afraid to have a good time, or to mock himself or his image, as evidenced by this fine commercial: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yg6bZSM48vU

With his looks and charisma, he probably could have been a leading man. But it's a B-list heart that beats in his chest, and God bless him for staying true to that.

After seeing him last night (and you can see him tonight, too, at the evening showings of 'My Name is Bruce' -- if you live in the Twin Cities Metro area and have a ticket), I'm convinced that when NASA finally gets around to sending a human being into outer space, that human being should be Bruce Campbell. He's not Abraham Lincoln.

He's better.

on the subject of dough

2008-12-06T07:53:00.000-08:00

'You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo/what a thing to do!'
- The Beatles, 'Baby, You're a Rich Man'

'We work twice as hard to get/half as much/eternally in debt.'
- The Honeydogs, 'Test Tube Kid'

Well, first of all, in the next few days I'll be publishing what I've come to call 'The Cheese Post.' The Cheese Post has been percolating in my brain for the better part of two years. I've come close to writing it several times, but I've never quite pulled the trigger on it. The time just wasn't right. Now? I feel the time is right. So look for that soon. It's not going to change anyone's world, but it might come as close as I'll ever get to laying down some kind of personal philosophy. Or maybe it will help me understand what it is that drives me forward, which, to some extent, is money. Like it or not, all of us are on the clock. Not all of us want money, but all of us NEED money. We must have it!

Which brings me to my next subject: Money. I myself am quite conflicted when it comes to money. I mean, I like to think that I'm not entirely money-driven. That being said, I like money. One of my teachers in Graduate School (a lovely woman who's no longer with us, alas) noted that all of my short stories involved money. My characters either had too much money or, more often, not nearly enough of it. When she said that to me, I felt kind of busted. I thought to myself, 'Sure, all my stories are about money, but that's only because I'm completely obsessed with the stuff.' And that's not completely true, but I do feel like I should have more money than I do. I suppose all of us feel that way.

Anyway, my mad desire to have enough cash to fill a large bathtub several times over has gotten me into some fairly serious jams. Like that night several years ago when I was detained at the Canadian border with a fake moustache and a suitcase filled with bogus Canadian $5 bills. That was NOT my best get-rick-quick plan ever, though it's right up there near the top. What was I thinking? That moustache looked ridiculous over my goatee!

You know, you win some and you lose some. And sometimes you're lucky enough to get away with a hefty fine and be released on your own recognizance. I guess the main thing is not getting too hung up over money. And if you want to be rich, it's really not that hard to get that way. The first thing you do is start thinking like a rich person. The second thing you do is acquire a lot of money.

Could it be any simpler?

new invention

2008-11-26T05:41:00.000-08:00

I haven't much time to write about. However, when a person invents something that's going to change the world, well, that deserves at least a short blurb on one's blog. That's what I say.

So in that spirit, America -- World -- I would like to unveil a concept that's going to change life as we know it. It's name.....is..........The Trou Master 6000. I'm not going to go into too much detail. But I'm sure you know what I mean when I say after a hard day's work the last thing a person wants to do is waste time and energy removing their pants. It's like, enough's enough. And I'm sure we've all had this thought: "Isn't there some kind of machine that can do this for me?!"

Well, now there is. At least on the drawing board. The prototype for The Trou Master 6000, though promising, removed a fairly large chunk of skin off the top of my upper thigh ( i.e. there are some kinks that need to be worked out). Still, the day is coming, my friends. True relaxation will soon be at hand!

Speaking of large chunks of skin off the top of one's thighs, Thanksgiving is only one day away! Hurrah!

Doug Kenney was The Stork

2008-11-23T05:55:00.000-08:00

When it comes to comedy, I consider myself a big fan. I know of a lot of comics/humorists and I have a pretty fair idea of how modern American comedy has evolved. Basically, it went like this: First there was Laurel and Hardy (though with names like those they were probably British), then there was Abbott and Costello (The Who's on First guys), then Lenny Bruce came along. Eventually, he died.

From there, the baton was splintered into loving shivs and handed off to a number of different folks. One of those folks was Doug Kenney. Doug Kenney is/was this largely unknown comedic genius. He ran The National Lampoon for a time, he co-wrote 'Animal House' and co-wrote -- and, I believe, produced -- 'Caddyshack.' The National Lampoon, back in the day, was cutting edge stuff. It pushed the boundaries of American-o comedy way out there, along with troupes like Second City and Lemmings. When he was bought out of his share of the Lampoon, Kenney and his cohorts were paid millions of dollars. And Caddyshack and Animal House are as big as they come when it comes to classic comedies. If you're a male in this country between the ages of 18 and 75, you'd better be prepared to quote liberally from both of those movies - or risk being shunned!

So you would think he would have considered his life a success, right? NRRRRT!!! From what I've read, Doug Kenney considered his life a failure. Apparently, he'd always wanted to be a serious novelist. Or at least write a serious novel. And because he hadn't done that, and because he was getting older (he was 32 when he died), he considered his life a failure.

No one really knows whether his death was an accident or a suicide. He fell off a 30-foot cliff in Hawaii, and that was that. Fellow humorist (and friend of Kenney's) Harold Ramis joked that Kenney probably fell to his death while 'looking for a place to jump.' That's dark humor. But knowing Kenney like he did, I'm guessing he felt Kenney would have approved. Or if not approved, at least laughed. Michael O'Donoghue, who also worked on the Lampoon, said he wished Doug Kenney had been shaking Chevy Chase's hand when he fell. Kind of dark, too, yes? Well, sometimes comedy's no laughing matter.

Anyway, while watching Animal House recently (for the 527th time), I noticed in the credits that Doug Kenney was actually in that movie. He was The Stork! And he had only one line of dialogue. He's the guy who, when the chips are down for the boys from Delta, says to John Belushi, 'Well, what are we s'posed to do, you mo-ron?'

Yup, that was Doug Kenney, folks, telling it like it is. And the question he asked is a question that still resonates today.

melancholy baby

2008-11-15T08:07:00.001-08:00

'Well, a person can work up a mean, mean thirst/after a hard day/of nothing/much at all.'
The Replacements, 'Here Comes a Regular'

A Little Something to tuck in your hat
November is the
cruellest
month
of all -- and
the most
efficient!

Bonus Poem (for Cagney and Lacey)
Love's
the answer,
stuff's
the clues
and
we're
the mysteries.

the Lord giveth, and..

2008-11-10T14:43:00.001-08:00

http://www.any-occasion-free-christian-game.com/bible-monopoly-game.html

Sigh.

by George, I think I've..

2008-11-10T14:33:00.000-08:00

This is my last post having to do with religion for awhile. Frankly, I'm out of ideas. That particular brand of fuel is burned up - fumes. But I do have one more trick in my hat. An idea that may well catapult me to fame and for-tune (four-tune). Are you ready for it? Here it is: Biblical Monopoly. How about that?

We take the famous Parker Bros board game, and, do we modernize it? No. What we do is take it back in time. That's right; back in time. And then we sell it to the public and donate 10% of the prophets -- I mean, profits -- to charity.

If you're having trouble getting your head around this concept, maybe this will help you put it into perspective. Instead of the 'Get Out of Jail' free card, my game would have a 'Get Out of Whale' free card. You know, like Jonah.

Let your mind run with that for a bit. You know it wants to.

navigator

2008-11-09T06:38:00.000-08:00

"Jesus rides beside me."
- The Replacements, 'Can't Hardly Wait'

First of all, Can't Hardly Wait is a really good song. My favorite lyrics go like this; 'Jesus rides beside me/he never buys/any smokes..' Then right after that, there's this little snakebite guitar lick I wish like heck I could learn how to play. Perhaps in some other life.

Here in this life, things are pretty good. My post yesterday got me thinking a bit about religion. I'm not an overly religious person, but I do have my beliefs -- and my practices. For instance, I remember hearing once that when you're driving you should imagine Jesus is riding beside you. And what I took that to mean is that you should always drive as if Jesus is right there, watching you. That kind of creeped me out, though, so I put my own spin on it: my approach was, you (and by you I mean me) should drive as though Jesus's personal safety were resting on your (my) shoulders. So that's what I tried first. But then I noticed I was still driving a bit more aggressively than perhaps I should have been (this was four years ago, back when I was a lot younger). So THEN what I decided to do was this: I started pretending that Jesus was in the passenger seat holding an open can of paint. This approach has worked pretty well. It's definitely brought about results. I mean, I think part of it is I'm more mature as a person. But the thought of that paint splashing the interior of my car...well, it does give one pause. I have to say, it's made me a much better driver.

Don't get me wrong, though. There are still times when I'll look to my right and say, "Buckle up, Jesus. And watch that paint. We're about to attempt a fairly high-risk manuever here."

He's a passenger in my car, after all. I figure he has a right to know.

messages from on high

2008-11-08T07:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday while dinking around with my blog, I almost deleted it by accident -- twice. It was SO close. One click of the mouse and this blog would have been digital dust. The way it happened like that, two times in two minutes...I think God wants me to delete this blog.

Not only that, but last night while watching TV, I saw back to back KFC commercials.

I think God wants me to eat a whole bucket of chicken sometime soon. I almost feel like he's daring me.

Obviously, I've got a lot to think about today.

one more wow for the road

2008-11-05T14:34:00.000-08:00

I'm still shaking my head and this stupid grin is still plastered to my face. A Presidential candidate I voted for actually won. That hasn't happened in...12 years! That's a long time. That's a lot of water under the bridge, my friends, and, as Bob Dylan sings so ominously on the song 'Things Have Changed, 'a lot of other stuff, too..' Anyway, I'm very pleased. This is like West Wing. But for real!!

If you watched West Wing, did you know that the guy they modeled Bradley Whitford's character on was named Barack Obama's Chief of Staff today? Talk about life imitating art imitating life! My head is spinning..

Finally, some attitude.

So there
Books
give me
a headache.
-- Antelope don't read!

the vast right-knee conspiracy

2008-10-27T14:56:00.000-07:00

I've noticed recently that my really cool jeans are all wearing out rapidly. Bummer. The strange thing, however, is that they're wearing out in the same place -- the right knee. Not the left knee.

The right knee.

So what I've done is sent all of my pants down to the lab for further analysis. It looks like I won't be going to work this week. Or anywhere else that requires pants...for that matter.

I got some strange looks down at the Post Office when I shipped my pants off this afternoon. You'd think no one had ever seen a man in his underwear before. This country really needs to loosen up -- and soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take..

Guttenberg Bible (in which I swear -- twice)

2008-10-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

I felt kind of bad about my post yesterday. Even as I typed it I was privately worried about coming off as somewhat elitist. Let me be the first to tell you, I am not an elitist prick. I don't have an elitist bone in my body! So to make up for that erroneous perception, I'm going to do this for you; I'm going to give you a very helpful tip.

Though you will never, never, never, never, NEVER find Club Lepidoptra, if you should somehow trip across it -- and clear all the many preliminary barriers and hurdles necessary to become a full-fledged member -- here's the last thing you have to do to become an official member in good standing.

When that day arrives and the barkeep approaches you and says, 'Excuse me, but have you seen the movie Cocoon?'

What you need to do is look him dead in the eye -- I mean, dead -- and say, 'Seen it? F-----, I've LIVED it!'

You did not hear that from me.

potpourri

2008-10-10T06:50:00.000-07:00

"...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself."
-- Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5057/

"Whatcha gonna do when everybody's insane?"
- Heart, 'Crazy on You'.

First, a warning: this post is going to be all over the place.

Let's start by sending out a little poem to the folks on Wall Street -- and Main Street. Apparently, it is a small world after all and we really are all in this together. For better and for worse.

Parachutes v. Umbrellas
You didn't complain
when the river
ran full,
so bear it
when it trickles
down low.
Over time,
recall if you will,
a river's habit
inevitably
is always
to
refill.

Now that I've soothed the markets, I'll go on to mention that the Wilson sisters (of Heart fame) kept me from getting into an accident yesterday. I was stopped at a red light and just about to turn onto the entrance ramp of 494. Generally, even though people making the left turn onto 494 were coming at me, I would have weaselled my way into the crowd and been on my way. But, just then I heard a funky little guitar intro. It kind of stopped me in my tracks. You see, I'm one of those shallow people who takes great pride in being the first one to identify a song when it comes on the radio. Anyway, this funky guitar intro sounded familiar, but I couldn't be sure. So I settled back in my seat for a listen. Sure enough, just as I had suspected (honest!) it was Heart's Crazy on You. And just as that jolt of sweet recognition -- and tasty pride -- hit my system, a car that I didn't see at all sliced right in front of me -- out of nowhere! 9 times out of 10 I would have been right there, just waiting to get blindsided. But not yesterday. So thank you, Wilson sisters. I'm sure your producer thought that funky guitar intro was gratuitious. Me, I'm glad you kept it in there. Plus what a great song! And right after that, they played In a Big Country. That's a real nice two-fer.

Lastly, another poem.

Code of Conduct
Do you know
what I hate?
I hate when your
psychologist
approaches you
at a fancy restaurant,
points at you,
then turns to the crowd
and shouts,
"HE'S completely insane!!"

That's not professional.
I don't care what
anyone says.

just another new kid in town

2008-10-06T19:05:00.000-07:00

Not many people know this, but I have ancestors who were major players in the Old West. Yup, real gunslingers. And that itchy trigger finger runs in my blood. How could it not? I mean, first there was my great-great grandpa. He was a true legend. Folks called him The Tonsillitis Kid (he got sick a lot).

Yeah, in that way he took after his old man (my great-great-great granddaddy) -- Kid Quarantine.

Kid Quarantine's grandson, though, (or The Tonsillitis Kid's kid) took the cake as far as being an Honest to God, living, breathing legend. He was really adaptable and kept up with both the times and changing technology. Nosiree, folks never knew what to make of Kid Paradigm Shift. He kept them guessing, right up until the very end.

There's lots more I could tell you about my ancestors, but the fire's burning low and this middle-aged cowpoke is heading off to the bunkhouse. Adios, pardners.

Gurkelbee in the fall

2008-10-05T05:48:00.000-07:00

'There ain't much to rake anyway in the fall.'
- The Replacements, 'Here Comes a Regular'.

As some of you know, Helen Gurkelbee lives down the street from us. She's a lovely woman -- widowed. A bit of a sad story. Anyway, I help her out with some odd jobs around her house from time to time. I am not, as Mr. Rutherford -- who lives even further down the street from us -- likes to say, 'banging her like an old screen door.' It's not like that at all. We're friends, Helen and I.

So yesterday we were doing some raking in her backyard (Mr. Rutherford, if you're reading this, please don't go there!). I was actually finishing up while she went inside to get the lemonade, which had been chilling since noon. I was kind of wrapped up in what I was doing, and I hadn't even noticed her return. When I turned around, our gazes locked. It was one of those awkward moments that crop up from time to time. Finally, she said, "I love you, Dan Hendrickson." I dropped my rake and then I said, "And I love you, Helen Gurkelbee."

In exaggerated fashion, she spun around and fell back into my arms. I was already a little off-balance, so we crashed to the ground, with me absorbing the brunt of the impact. For a second or two, I was pretty sure I had dislocated my shoulder.

Then Helen started to laugh, and that made me laugh. We laid like that, akimbo in the cool, lush green grass, for what seemed like a long time beneath the radiant autumn sun. When we finally collected our wits, we adjourned to her deck for some cold lemonade. Which, as I stated previously, had been chilling since noon.

The Anarchist Monthly

2008-09-28T08:01:00.000-07:00

As many of you now know, our society is being besieged by anarchists. They're everywhere! Why just three days ago my wife and I were driving around Minneapolis and I said, 'Look, sweetheart, there's an anarchist wielding an implement of doom!' At that point she informed me it was simply the guy down our street mowing his lawn.

Then last night we were at a social function and I noticed someone rolling something very heavy -- and suspicious-looking -- into the distance. "Everyone get down!" I screamed, hitting the floor. "Real menace is afoot!" Well, no one joined me on the floor. And it turned out what I saw was just a bowling ball rolling peaceably enough down a well-lacquered lane.

Still, after reading the local papers (particularly columnist Katherine Kersten, who isn't a writer -- or at all sane -- but still somehow gets paid to write) I know that the streets of our nation our thick with anarchists. T-H-I-C-K.

Why, just the other day I was at a traffic light waiting for the light to turn green. Soon enough it did just that. However, right then the anarchist in front of me flipped on his left-turn signal. Enraged, I waited until all the cars in the right lane had passed me. Then I swung around him, rolled down my window and shouted, 'Goddam anarchist!! I want you to know that you and yours have totally ruined the small percentage of this country George W. Bush and his Godless ilk somehow haven't managed to ruin yet!!'

Anarchists. They're all alike.

we had joy, we had fun..

2008-09-27T07:17:00.001-07:00

Paul Newman has passed away. It's a sad day. I recently read a great profile on him in Vanity Fair. If this guy wasn't a saint, then no saint has ever lived. He was kind, generous and, man, did he give back! And without much fuss and no fanfare. The world has lost a true gentleman and a great humanist, but it's a better place for his having been here. Safe travels, Mr. Newman.

Which brings me to my subject line. I was thinking yesterday of something I've always found funny. Some of you probably remember the song that starts, 'Goodbye, Michelle, it's hard to die/when all the birds are singing in the sky.' Now, granted, the song isn't a laugh riot in itself. But it's a song of affirmation. It's not all grim, as evidenced by this lyric: 'We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun, but the hills that we climbed were just seasons Out of time.' In effect saying, 'it wasn't all bad.'

Now when I was really young this song was still played on the radio a lot. And some of the kids I hung out with used to sing it a different way. They used to sing it like this: 'We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun, but the cops took their guns and they shot us in the buns.' The first time I ever heard that I about died laughing. It's stupid. Purely stupid. And yet on some level it works. I think what makes it work is that it's so true to life. It starts out fairly promising and then everyone ends up in the hospital. Anyway, though I've long since forgotten my point, this version of that song is something that will make ME laugh until my dying day.

Speaking of police, I was with a friend in St. Paul on Snelling Avenue during the Republican National Convention. We were just saying our goodbyes and I flashed him the 'peace sign (v).' Seconds after I did that five policemen in riot gear charged me, knocked me to the ground and worked me over thoroughly.

As they did, I thought, 'God Bless America! God Bless Jack Anderson!'

Ah, it's swell to be free..

ok, I'm back

2008-09-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

Well, enough of that political swill. At least for a day or two, I say. Time to get back to some good old-fashioned nonsense, the stuff I know best. Let's see...so much to cover, so little time...

First, a headline I think I love: Man hit by train in downtown Fargo escapes serious injury, ruins clothes.

"Well, I have some good news, mom, and then some news that's not so good.."

Can you imagine? That guy will be eating lunch off that headline for months -- weeks -- years!! Gosh, I bet his cereal tasted different this morning. That was probably the best bowl of Corn Flakes he ever had!

I remember the best bowl of Corn Flakes I ever had. It was December and snow was falling. Or it was August and I was suffering from a case of dandruff. I'm a little fuzzy on the details. But how about that?! Hit. By. A. Train. You can't make this stuff up.

Otherwise, I'm in a mostly empty room. About 10 minutes ago I crumpled up my sandwich wrapper into a ball. There was a trash can not eight feet away from me. However, between me and this trash can (a low rider, not one of those waist-high jobbers) was a computer desk with a computer monitor sitting on top of it. Frankly, there was no real direct shot I could take. The only thing I could do -- besides actually getting up and walking over to the trash can -- was attempt a miraculous bank shot, off the wall. So I did. I just let it be what it was going to be. I didn't force it. I let it happen. End result? Yeah, put it on the board. That puppy was lost and I gave it a home! The only sad thing was that no one was here to share in the delights of my victory. I can only hope Jesus was watching. I'm pretty sure even He would have been impressed.

Finally, some poems.

Simple Physics
Have you ever
had a literary
giant
step on your toes?
Just one word
for that:
Ouch!!

The Rest of the Story
It's funny how fast
things can go
from good
to bad.
For instance,
at this writer's conference
a few years ago,
I was standing
by a chum and I said
to him,
'Hey, look! Here comes
Norman Mailer!!'
Naturally,
I was pretty excited.
Then,
not 27 seconds later,
I let out a wincing yelp.
"He just stepped on my toes!"
I screamed, as Mr. Norman Mailer
casually
continued on his way.
I was about to start
ragging on Mailer
big-time,
when my friend said,
'Hey, look -- here comes
Judy Blume!'

I assumed a karate stance.

more poems about trees

2008-08-31T05:49:00.000-07:00

Neighboring pine
There's this
pine tree
down the road
from us,
and it's the
skinniest pine tree
in the whole world.
Or at least it's
in the running
for that title.
If this tree
had an
Italian mother,
she'd be saying to it,
'Eat, eat.'
But this
pine tree
doesn't have
an Italian mother.

On the contrary,
I'm pretty sure
it's mom
is Norwegian.

my Onion headline

2008-08-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

Shooting Stars Declare Cease-Fire

my lunch with Helen

2008-08-19T18:40:00.000-07:00

I had lunch with Helen Gurkelbee yesterday. Helen's a neighbor of ours. She lives right down the street. Anyway, we were halfway through a lovely meal and all the while Helen had been telling me all about her latest conquests -- all of them men much younger than her. I finally dropped my fork and said, 'Do you know what you are, Helen Gurkelbee? You're a cougar, that's what you are!'

She smiled playfully, then made a claw out her right hand and pawed the air in front of her. 'Rowr!' she said. 'Rowr!'

I smiled right back at her, made a claw out of my hand and I started pawing the air too. 'Rowr!!' I said. 'Rowr!' We sat in the middle of the restaurant and took turns going back and forth like that for almost a minute before we broke down and started giggling like schoolkids.

I tell you, you haven't had lunch until you've had lunch with Helen Gurkelbee..

an interesting fact

2008-08-17T07:06:00.001-07:00

Did you know that if you jump out of an airplane anywhere over the state of Florida, there's a 61% you'll land on a Waffle House? Now, like you probably are, I was skeptical about the validity of that statistic.

But, the numbers don't lie. Numbers never do. They're like boy scouts who've been dosed with sodium pentathol.

the problem with people

2008-08-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

Do you know what the problem with people is? We know everything. Yup, there's nothing we don't know. And what I mean by that is that we're masters of the obvious. Like when I had my suitcase shaped like a guitar -- boom! Everyone automatically assumed I was a musician. Or like when I walk up to someone I know, bleeding badly from cuts on my face, the first thing they always say is, 'Oh, so you mouthed off to the wrong person again and got your ass totally kicked in a street fight.' Or when I walk up to a table of friends with a metal bucket on my head, they immediately jump to the conclusion that I've had too much to drink and decided to put a metal bucket on my head because I thought it would be funny.

Now, just because people are usually right when it comes to me, that doesn't make it any less annoying. Truth be told, I would actually like to be a musician. That's right: I would love to play the guitar. But I wouldn't want it to be a big deal. And how would I transport my guitar from Point A to Point B without everyone assuming/knowing I was a musician? What this world really needs is for someone to invent a guitar shaped like a suitcase. That would level the playing field a bit and keep people on their toes. If there were such a guitar -- and such a case for such a guitar -- I could be a first-rate musician in peace.

Then, if someone saw me carrying my suitcase-shaped guitar in a suitcase, and they said, 'Hey, you're a musician!' I could say, 'Nah. I'm just going to the train station. Yup, I'm heading out to Seattle tonight to visit my Aunt Rosary.'

That's the kind of world I dream about at night.

p.s. That was just a hypothetical I threw out there, Aunt Rosary. I won't be seeing you this year. Maybe next year!

But He is The Batman

2008-07-27T05:05:00.000-07:00

We saw the new Batman movie last night. It's......you know, it's good. Visually stunning, the story is pretty good and they draw some interesting parallels between the Batman/Joker conflict and the War on Terror TM.

It's worth seeing. As with most movies, I think had they cut the last twenty or so minutes it would have made for a superior film. As it was, I'd give it 3.5 stars out of 4. A very good movie.
And Ledger? He makes it interesting. It's a shame about him. It would have been fun to see what he might have done. I'm thinking the sky was the limit.

Then there's Batman. He was good too. Still the lone wolf, still the gadget freak, still pretty good on his feet.

Growing up, I was a Marvel kid, meaning I read Marvel comics. I only read DC comics when I was hard up, when I couldn't get a Marvel fix. Then eventually all the buzz about the rebranding of Batman -- changing him from the overstuffed boy scout he was into The Dark Knight -- sucked me in and I quickly became addicted to Batman, too.

The opening of one Batman comic really stayed with me over the years. Clearly, it's still with me. It was right after the 2nd Robin was killed by the Joker (relax, this is in the comic books). Batman was pretty much ruined afterwards, thinking he had caused a young man's death. So to make up for that, he started to take crazy risks; diving headlong into situations without doing his usual homework. He was punishing himself, more or less. Possibly trying to kill himself.

So this one comic opened with him slugging it out with some 2nd-tier, Joker-wannabe on top of a dam. The opening was all action and narration and it went something like this: His breathing is labored. His body aches. He's already been stabbed twice. Any other man would succumb to his wounds and tumble headlong into the raging abyss below. But he is The Batman, and this only makes him more determined.

I guess I just love the concept of Batman. How f'd up do you have to be to decide, 'I think I'm going to dress up like a bat from now on, and fight crime.' Pretty darn f'd up, I'm thinkin'.

what they say about assume

2008-07-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

So I was hanging out in the Intimates section at Kohl's last night, doing a little browsing -- if you will -- and a salesperson came up behind me and said, 'Doing a little shopping for your wife, huh?'
I spun around angrily and replied, 'Why should she get all the nice stuff?!'

Alright, I didn't say that, but people shouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions. That's my whole point here.

8 years is a long time (to go without justice)

2008-07-13T05:09:00.000-07:00

'Fixing a hole in the ocean..'
- The Beatles, 'Glass Onion'

A few days ago, super-genius Republican strategist Karly Rove refused to testify before congress after being subpoenaed (and not for the first time, I'm guessing). However, ever generous, Mr. Rove did offer to testify privately, as long as he wasn't under oath and no transcript of his fictional testimony was kept. In other words, he was willing to lie, just so long as there was no one there to record his lies and use those lies against him someday in a court of law.

I've been thinking about this a lot and Congress should just agree to Mr. Rove's terms. He is A Genius, after all, and...I know! Congress and Mr. Rove could make a little game out of it. Everyone could wear paper hats and imaginary tea could be served -- oh, and they could invite the Queen! I remember from childhood how the Queen likes to come to these things.

That would be keen.

Song for the day: Glass Onion, the Beatles song in which John Lennon tweaked the Beatles fans and Beatles mythology, and crafted some new mythology while he was at it. I also like how the drums on this song sound crisp and muffled at once. There's something kind of cool about that.

NOTE: We've reached song #250 on my list of 500 songs that don't suck. Can you say milestone?

Tommy Stinson's gots chops

2008-07-10T16:18:00.000-07:00

Ho-kay, I've mailed it in for so long I'm running low on postage. I'd better dig in a little bit. So, yes, today I tried to eat blueberries in traffic -- briefly. What happened was that I had a big container of blueberries and cream (with a lovely glaze of sugar on top) with me in the car. I also had a spoon. And it was lunchtime. You can about imagine what happened next. Yup, I was at a red light -- you know the kind. The spoon glinted in the sun and next thing you know, it was blueberry madness! Of course this red light lasted only 3.5 seconds (as opposed to all the other red lights on the planet that glow eternally), so all at once I had to shift my car into gear with one hand while holding a spoon in another hand while gripping the steering wheel with my other hand.

As you've probably surmised, that math doesn't hold up. Nor would my argument have held up in court, had I piled it in. "But Your Honor, the blueberries were SOOOOOOOOOOO tasty. They were de-lish!"

Yeah. Probably wouldn't fly. Luckily, I was able to make an adjustment and become once again a fairly responsible citizen.

And, since I was on my lunch break, I shot over to a Half-Price bookstore in the area. It's not such a bad place to kill a lunch hour. I wasn't really sure what I was looking for, but I found it: a CD by Bash & Pop. Bash & Pop was Tommy Stinson's band after The Replacements broke up and before he joined up with Guns N' Roses. How about that for a sterling rock resume'? In the business world, that would be like being the CFO of Norelco and then the COO of Panasonic. It's damn impressive! What's more, I've always heard pretty good things about Bash & Pop. And the name of the CD I found is cool too -- 'Friday Night Is Killing Me.' Who hasn't been there before? I spent eight years of my life walking that cold beat. Nowadays? No, thanks! When Friday night rolls around I go home and rest, thank you very much.

So, yeah, blueberries in traffic. Bash & Pop. Not a half-bad day, all in all.

while my lemonade gently cools

2008-06-28T08:39:00.000-07:00

'When the sun's coming up/I got cakes on the griddle. Life ain't nothing but a funny, funny riddle.'
-John Denver, 'Thank God I'm a Country Boy'

Faluffle
At the breakfast table
I sometimes like to
name my pancakes
before I eat them.
The last pancake
I ate was Squishtopher.
The pancake before that
was Flat Tony.
I'm going to call my
next pancake
Level Knievel.
And I'm going to
wear a blindfold
while I'm
devouring it
as a salute
to his bravery.

American loons

2008-06-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

You know, America has produced more than its fair share of first-rate nutcases, but in my mind no one was crazier than that first group of astronauts that packed up and set sail for the moon. Where does anyone find the courage to do something like that? They must have been frickin' insane! That's the only logical explanation. What did we know about the moon then? Nothing! Nothing!!

What if it would have been made out of glue? Sticky Elmer's-like glue? Can you imagine what Neil Armstrong's radio transmission back to earth would have been like in that case?

"That's one small step for--"
"That's one sm--"
.....
"Houston, we have a problem."

I get queasy just thinking about it.

Take that, Bazooka Joe!

2008-06-22T07:02:00.000-07:00

So awhile back at this job I used to have, one of my co-workers came in to work really late. I was standing there talking to the boss when he walked in. My co-worker then explained to both of us that someone had stolen the wheels off his car, and that was why he was late. He was really angry about it, naturally.

Not missing a beat, I said, "Well, I've always said you were a tireless worker!"

He proceeded to kick me in the balls.

I couldn't say I blamed him.

it's me again

2008-06-19T15:43:00.000-07:00

I simply had to share this: I was zipping down Interstate 494 after work today and as I was toodling along, I noticed a car about to merge into traffic off to my immediate right. As it happened, we synced up perfectly. And I could tell the guy in this other car wanted to get into my lane and he could tell that I wanted to get over to his lane -- so I could exit. For just the briefest of moments, at roughly 35 MPH, we locked eyes, studying each other keenly with an open, shared and bitter contempt. It was fleeting, as I said, but for that one second I felt like we had a real connection. That doesn't happen between strangers very often in our society these days. And when it does happen, it's special.

I don't care what anyone says.

(Thus this supplemental post).

the perfect song

2008-06-14T06:09:00.000-07:00

For me, the perfect song has yet to be written. Many, many songs are near-perfect, but not one has been written yet -- that I'm aware of -- which meets my benchmarks that would qualify it as the perfect song. My benchmarks are thus; the song would have to mention these three things: coffee, California and the moon.

A few bands have come close. The Counting Crows' nailed two of my benchmarks on their song 'Daylight Fading'. There are some lovely lyrics in this song and there was a time where it would have made my list. I just don't think it's held up quite well enough, though. Still, this lyric never fails to fire my blood: It's getting cold in California, I guess I'll be leaving soon..

Why does that do it for me? Well, as I've told you before, California intrigues me to no end. Each time I've been there, I've detected a funky energy I've felt nowhere else on this planet. This energy is not entirely positive. There's something dangerous about it too. Dare I say mystical? I think I do. Anyway, it has a very slight hold on me. Getting back to the song, why is it getting cold in California? That's something I want to know. Plus the guy is getting ready to do something. Action is imminent. All of the elements of a really good story -- except for some sex and a coffee reference -- are right here. So let's give that song Honorable Mention. And move on.
I get a kick out of Adam Duritz. I remember reading a very short interview with him in Rolling Stone back when and the interviewer lobbed out about 8 questions. The only one that Duritz really reacted to was the mention of Mr. Burns (from The Simpsons). At this he raised his eyebrows and smiled. That made me laugh.

There's a lot to be said for keeping your mouth shut.

in which I interview myself

2008-06-04T20:02:00.000-07:00

Q. This is even more stupid than your usual ideas.

A. I agree.

the man in the mirror

2008-06-01T16:06:00.000-07:00

"People are crazy and times are strange, I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range/I used to care, but..'
-Bob Dylan 'Things Have Changed' *Another song for the list.

My posts about having guests over kind of struck a chord with me. Over the years, I've noticed that a fair number of people seem to like me. I'd say about 71% like me just fine upon meeting me. Another 25% are fairly indifferent (these numbers level out over time, believe me) and the remaining 4% tend to despise me. They don't just dislike me, they seem to actively loathe me. I've always been fascinated by these people the most. We have so much in common! Can't we all just get along? :-)

Okay, I'm kidding there, but I've always found those people very interesting. Anyway, and I've been thinking about this, I think the reason the people who do like me mainly like me because I'm safe. They know when they're over visiting and I walk into the bathroom, there's a 99.43% chance I won't come out of the bathroom wearing a leather hood. That's important in today's modern world. You'd be surprised how many times that will happen in your day to day life.

Still.

You have no idea how many times I've stared at myself in the bathoom mirror, wearing my leather hood, and thought, 'No. The time just isn't right.'

It's that eternal struggle we all face, eh? And I know you know what I'm talking about.

Okay, that's about it for today. Yeah, that'll do.

floor pretzels

2008-05-31T07:17:00.000-07:00

My snack at work yesterday was a plastic container full of floor pretzels. They were okay. They started out in life as pretzels, but when I dropped them on the floor Thursday night they became floor pretzels. Now some people would have said 'Enough!' when those pretzels hit the floor. Not me. I buy pretzels maybe four times a year. And those four times a year, pretzels are the best things in the world. So after enjoying some pretzels from a freshly-opened bag Thursday night, I was both shocked and dismayed when the bag itself betrayed me and a goodly portion of pretzels hit the floor.

After getting over the initial shock, I grabbed a tupperware container and dropped to my knees and began to scoop them up, deciding then and there they would be my Friday work snack. "If you think I'm going to let these good pretzels go to waste," I said to no one in particular, "you're crazy."

So that's what I did. And as I said, they were quite good. I'm thinking maybe keeping some floor pretzels around might not be a bad idea. We could break them out if guests we weren't fond of happened to stop by some night.

"Care for some floor pretzels?"

"What?"

"MORE pretzels. Would you like more pretzels?"

"But we haven't had any pretzels."

"Exactly. Then these would be more, wouldn't they?"

It's worth considering.

Song for the day -- 'She's Electric' by Oasis. It's something of a throwaway tune, but you have to have a few of those around too, don't you?

I know I do.

regrets

2008-05-29T15:49:00.000-07:00

You know, everyone has at least one big regret in life, that boulder that weighs us down and weighs us down until we ultimately sink to the bottom of the sea. For me, that regret is that I wasn't born Kensington Farnsworth. I think my life would have been much different had I been born with that name. I almost certainly would be driving a Jaguar right now. And that's just the beginning. I'll go into it more in a future post, but for now let me just add a quick song to the list. That song is, perhaps appropriately, 'You're So Vain' by Carly Simon. Legend has it that she wrote this song about Mickey Rooney.

Did you know that Carly Simon hooked up with Cat Stevens, Kris Kristofferson, Mick Jagger, Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson in about an 18 month period back in 1972 or possibly 1973? Great goshamole, that's pretty good company she was keeping there! Good for you, Carly Simon. What more can you say about that?

For more about today's song, check out this link to an old classic post posted by yours truly.
http://citizen-of-flinn.blogspot.com/2006/07/hollywood-stories_22.html

Yours truly,

Dan

breakdown of a song

2008-05-04T06:52:00.001-07:00

For my post today, I was going to write a po-em titled 'They Mean to Bleed Us.' I've already written it, I guess. I was simply going to post it, you could say. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow. But I doubt it.

What I thought I would do instead is breakdown a song I've long admired. It's a song by The Replacements, and it's called 'Can't Hardly Wait'.

The great thing about interpreting someone else's lyrics is that there are no rules; you can make them say what you want them to say. But in this case I'll take my best shot at getting into Paul Westerberg's multi-layered psyche and leave my own twisted dynamics out of it altogether. So what I'll be doing is throwing down the lyrics in italics and then giving you my take on them in parenthesis. Deep breath, let's go!

I'll write you a letter to-morrow
(this time I promise)
tonight/I can't hold a pen
(I've had a few drinkypoos)
someone's got a stamp/that I can borrow
(I am a freeloader)
I promise not to blow the address again
(this time I REALLY promise)
Lights that flash/in the evening
(lightning)
through a crack in the drapes
(on this shitty bus/van I'm stuck in)

Jesus rides beside me
(I'm covered)
he never buys an-y smokes
(He is a freeloader too)
hurry up! hurry up!
(schnell! schnell!)
Ain't you had enough of this stuff?!
(I sure have)
ashtray floors, dirty clothes and filthy jokes
(Being on tour is not as glamorous as you might think).
See you're high and lonesome
(this is how it is)
Try and try and try
(I do)

Lights that flash/in the evening
(lightning)
through a hole in the drapes
(damn van/bus)
I'll be home when I'm sleeping
(we're driving all night long)
I can't hardly wait.
*this is the only lyric that trips me. What do you think? Is he happy to be home? Or is he, in typical Westerbergian fashion, saying one thing and meaning something entirely different? From the lyrics and the way he delivers them, it seems as though he's excited to be coming home (at the time the song was written -- back in the mid-80's, I believe). But the phrasing...normally you'd say, I can hardly wait, not I CAN'T hardly wait. Then again, he did (and, I'm sure, does) like wordplay and this might just be a slightly offbeat way of saying, 'Thank God this tour/recording outing is almost over.'

With Westerberg, you can never really tell. I'm pretty sure he enjoyed being murky and unclear, which is a big part of the reason I like him -- and them (Replacements) -- so much. And, frankly, for a guy who named one of their first compilation discs 'All For Nothing/Nothing For All', well, doesn't that really just kind of say it all?

ajar

2008-04-27T07:12:00.000-07:00

A jar is heaven for pickles.

I got to thinking yesterday about the two singles released by Duran Duran in the early 90's. I believe one was called 'Ordinary World' and the other was called 'Undone,' perhaps? Anyway, I liked those songs then, but have only now started to put them into perspective. They're very different than the songs DD released in their heyday. There are no signs of hedonism or songs about reckless good times. These songs dealt with a bit more than that. 'Ordinary' seems to be a song about someone who has lived the high life, but now has to figure out a way to survive in a world where they are not all-powerful. The glow has worn off and they seem to be somewhat adrift. They want something, and what they want is a way into the world we ordinary folks inhabit. For a rock band built on the celebration of carousing and good times, to express a wish like this is almost unheard of. It's practically revolutionary.

Then we come to 'Undone'. Undone takes it a little further. Undone is written from the perspective of someone who has fallen to earth: Lost/in a snow-filled sky.. Who do you need? Who do you love? When you come undone?

Again, no glamor here. Just a bare-bones account of a fall from grace. Still, being Duran Duran, the song sounds terrific. It's kind of like sand -- both gritty and smooth.

Sometime I'd like to get the album these songs came off of and compare it to some of their classic stuff. I think the latter tunes hold up pretty well, and show evolution. And that's a thing I always like to see.

the one after 400

2008-04-12T06:53:00.000-07:00

I was in a meeting yesterday. I was in a lot of meetings yesterday. I stayed present for as much of each meeting as I could, but as it will, my mind got to wandering throughout the day. A central question it grappled with was this: If we are all silverware, which am I -- a knife, a spoon or a fork? This is a question we all ask ourselves at various points in our life, and at different points in our life we've probably all been all three of those dining implements. However, taking the long view, I have to say that I am probably...a spoon. Yep. A spoon. Generally harmless, handy in very certain situations, and never one to cut into more than I can chew.

Now I know a lot of people would say I'm a fork. Indeed, a lot of people have said I'm a real fork over the years. Only they didn't quite say it that way.

Forkers.

Blues Traveler

2008-03-26T05:09:00.000-07:00

"I like coffee and I like tea."
- Blues Traveler, 'Run-Around.'

Yet another lyric about coffee. You know, I looked up the lyrics to Memphis (see last post) and it says I had it wrong. It SAYS the lyric goes like this: "Good coffee, well, it's just hard to find.' But I'm fairly sure on the live version he sings it like this: 'Good coffee, hell, it's just hard to find.' Anyway, I guess it doesn't matter. I forgot to look up who it was that wrote that song. I should have done that. That would have been good..

Well, I guess that doesn't really matter, either. What does matter is how messed up my little list has gotten. I'm on song #236 right now and I'm going to roll a few more off and then take a break from the list for a time. I'm completely lost, folks. I'm not sure which songs I've listed and which songs I only think I've listed. So to get us up to #240, let's do this: #237 - 'Memphis,' sung by Lyle Lovett. #238 --'Step Inside This House,' also sung by Lyle Lovett. #239 -- 'She Runs Away' by Duncan Sheik (Duncan Sheik That's a groovy name. Have I ever mentioned that?) and #240 -- 'Save it For Later' by some group called 'English Beat.' Don't ask me, I don't know. All I know is it's a catchy song and it's been used in every movie since 1946.

So there. The list is on hiatus until I can write it all out and see a) where I am and b) where I have to go from here.

Lastly, a poem:

Two dreams per day come true
Some folks
store
their dreams
in empty coffee cans.
Who am I
to say they're wrong?
I drink mine
by the cup.

back to business

2008-03-06T15:08:00.000-08:00

"I don't know where the sunbeams end/and the starlights begin/it's all a mystery..
- The Flaming Lips, 'Fight Test.'

So the other day I was out walking our dog. I walk our dog each morning at roughly 5:15 a.m.; I don't usually wake up until sometime around 6:20 a.m. Actually, most days it's more like he's walking me. But that's all beside the point. Two days ago we were walking and it was still dark out. Suddenly, I looked up and there was an unidentified object in the sky and coming toward us. It could have been an airplane, but I knew it wasn't. The speed wasn't right. Frankly, I didn't know what it was, so we both just stood there, looking up. I remember thinking, 'Yes! Something to blog about!'

But then, as happens so often, reality stepped in. It turned out it WAS an airplane. The angle must have been funky or something. Actually, I think it was the flight path that confused me. Planes flying over our neighborhood are usually on a southeast heading. This was flying more...west to slightly northeast. Anyway, the point -- if there is one here -- is that I realized then that a lot of my waking hours are spent trying to find something to blog about. You could say I'm a beachcomber, of sorts. And on that note, that serves so well as a natural segue, let's add that song to the list -- 'Beachcombing' (#228) by Mark Knopfler and EmmyLou Harris. Then let's roll with 'Fight Test' (#229) for the song after that.

You know, all this talk of planes and UFO's calls to mind a poem I'm about to write that's based on a real experience in my life. This one is really true, believe me!

Most dreams are roundtrip
I was lying in bed
one morning
when I heard the drone
of a plane
overhead.
I let my head
scroll across the pillow
so I could see the alarm clock.
It read: 7:47.
I thought about that
for a little bit,
then glanced away
and thought about it
a little more.
When I looked
back at the clock
again,
it was 7:48
and I noticed then
that the plane was gone.

I wonder to this very day,
was it all a dream?

Life on Flinn

2008-03-02T17:14:00.000-08:00

People stop me all the time and ask me what it was like to live on the planet Flinn. Usually, I have my corncob pipe at the ready and I pull that out and regale them with bittersweet reminisces of my time on that stately sphere.

The temperature on Flinn is always 82 degrees -- always. Except when it dips down to 62 degrees, which it will do from time to time. We call that our winter. It lasts, on average, fourteen minutes per year. We Citizens of Flinn bear it, though, as we do all of our trials, with a firm jaw and a stiff upper lip.

The sun shines all the time on Flinn. And though we have no photographic evidence of a moon overhead, we suspect that one is there all the same. Something is making our sixteen seas awfully jumpy. And if it's not a moon, we don't want to know about it!

Upon birth, all Citizens of Flinn are awarded a black belt in karate. No one ever fights anybody on Flinn. It just doesn't happen. Who would want to mess with anyone who has a black belt in karate? You'd have to be crazy!

For the time being, I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. I'd like to tell you more, but I had to fill out a whole bunch of forms just to tell you the things I just told you. And I'm on probation already.

sweet, innocent youth

2008-02-20T10:13:00.000-08:00

This morning I got to thinking about my childhood. I have a brother who's four years older than me, and when I was really young I'd hang around with him and his pals. Generally, they were nice enough to tolerate me. We were all sports-crazed, and when springtime rolled around, baseball was our game. Now I was about 6 back then and these guys were all bigger, stronger and faster than me (that holds true to this day, regrettably). Anyway, when my turn to bat would come around I would usually strike out -- swinging -- in four pitches or less. Usually after the last strike I would howl, 'That was a bad pitch!!'

Then one of the wiseacres out in the field would inevitably crack, 'Then why did you swing at it?' Here it is 31 years later and I still don't have a snappy comeback to that question.

Ah, yes, youth; so sweet, so innocent.

But I didn't come here today to talk about the past. I came here today to talk about the future of radio and the recording industry itself. Guess who got a letter from Arbitron Ratings Service yesterday begging me for their help? Yup: me! And do you know what they included in the letter to impart their complete trust in my good taste and musical instincts? A single American dollar.
How about that? You know, I'm glad it was just a dollar and not a million dollars. I'm not doing this for the money. I'm doing this a) because they asked and b) because now more than ever I am needed.

I do find it interesting that when the music industry hit the skids they didn't go to Bono, they didn't go to Eno and they didn't go to Steve Albini. No, they came crawling on their hands and knees to ME. This is a lot of responsibility, and I intend to take this obligation quite seriously.

Your sonic future is in my hands and all I can promise you is that your worlds are going to change, and change for the better. It may not happen overnight, but happen it will.

And to all you radio and record label executives out there, let me just say this: I'll pick up the broken, tangled pieces of your respective industries and I'll make them fly again, but it isn't going to be pretty. The road is going to be long and hard, and when we get to the end of it there isn't going to be even one of you no-good s.o.b.'s who won't regret having met me, even for tea. That being said, I encourage you all to buckle your seatbelts.

It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Song for the day: #222 -- 'Big Me' by the Foo Fighters.

first anniversary

2008-02-10T05:42:00.000-08:00

Today is the one week annniversary of the New England Patriots' historic loss to the New York Giants. I'm still so stoked I almost don't know what to do with myself! And how about that? That's the first time I've used the word stoke-- ever! Oh, this is exciting!

I don't have much more to say other than that. If you want to see the ultimate takedown of those insufferable Patriots, check out The Onion Sports section. I'd provide a link, but that would mean I'd have to do a web search. And it's way too early for that kind of thing.

Trust me, it's worth the trip. Especially if you loathe the New England Patriots the way I do. They lost the big game last week, in case you missed it. Man, that had to hurt. For the Patriots and their fans, that had to be a lot like taking a flaming arrow to the soul. Even if you somehow manage to pull it out, it still burns.

God Bless America.

something true

2008-02-07T10:36:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite songs of all time is Don McLean's 'American Pie.' I don't really understand it any better than I did when I was a kid, back when the song was popular, but I think it's very Dylan-like. The individual pieces may not make a whole lot of sense (perhaps on some level they do; there are some references I am able make out), but as a collage it kind of makes more sense. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Anyway, the lyric that always stuck out to me -- and still does -- is where McLean sings, '..and I knew if I had my chance/that I could make those people dance/and maybe they'd be happy/for awhile.

When I was a kid, I'd always replace the word 'dance' with 'laugh.' I can't sing a lick, but I've always been alright at making people laugh. And I think that's also why I generally try to do that: to inject just a bit of levity into these otherwise mostly grim proceedings.

There. I've told you a secret about myself and it's all true. I doublechecked.

I've invented nothing -- nothing!!

2008-01-31T15:40:00.000-08:00

Scratch that last post. Whatever that word was, someone else already invented it. This is just like the time I invented the hang glider, only to find out that someone had already invented it.

And I don't even want to talk about the time I invented the diesel engine, though the irony of me learning that I was driving a diesel-powered truck while I was 'inventing' the diesel engine was not lost on me. Not lost on me...that reminds me of a song, so let's add that song to the list. The song is 'Waiting For The Sun' by the almighty Jayhawks. That will be song #211. For song #212, let's go with Lyle Lovett's 'That's Right (you're not from Texas), off his Live From Texas album. And off that same record, let's go with 'If I Had a Boat' for song #213. For song #214, let's go with Todd Rundgren's 'Hello, it's me.' I'll have to write a post about Todd Rundgren sometime. But it won't be today. Oh, and for song #215, how about 'In a Big Country' by Big Country? That's a damn fine song. 'I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert, but I can live and breathe and see the sun in winterti-me.'

That lyric seems kind of timely to me.

And now, finally, the tale of The Moriarty Whisker. As I mentioned a couple of days ago, The Moriarty Whisker is my nemesis. He is, to me, what Dr. Moriarty was to Sherlock Holmes. Only The Moriarty Whisker is not a practicing M.D., nor is he a criminal mastermind. No, The Moriarty Whisker is just that: a whisker. It is a colorless whisker for the most part, though it is capable of turning quite dark in the right light. It can also turn completely invisible, and that's true for a fact. I've seen it go from invisible to visible many, many times.

The Moriarty Whisker is located approximately 3 cm north of the mustache in my goatee. It occupies a lonely territory on my face where no other whisker has dared follow. Since noticing this whisker back in the early part of this century, I've taken steps to make sure it gets shaved each time I shave. However, The Moriarty Whisker is resourceful. Many time when you think you've nicked him, he will appear to ruin your day. For instance, I'll step into the bathroom at a fancy party, glance into the mirror and exclaim, 'Moriarty? It can't be!! I killed you!' I tend to get a lot of strange looks when I leave the bathroom at parties. People always look at me and then look behind me to see who I was talking to. There's no one there, of course. The culprit is always right there, though, hiding in plain sight.

So that's the sad story of The Moriarty Whisker. Though I have not seen him recently, you can bet he will re-emerge. And when he does, I'll be waiting for him, cold razor in hand.

I think I really need to see Sweeney Todd. There are some valuable lessons I might learn from that film.

The Case of the Silver Whisker

2008-01-29T15:24:00.001-08:00

First, some old business. The song for today, #209, is 'Naive Melody' by Talking Heads. I'm not sure, but this might have been the song where all the members of the bands switched instruments. I always like stuff like that. Anyway, I'm choosing it because I love the band and that song is among the most haunting I've ever heard. There was one year in my life where I played that song about six times daily. It's almost perfect, I think. Meditative, strange, singular. There's only one song I can think of that's more haunting, and that's 'A Day in the Life' by the Beatles. So let's make that song #210 while we're at it. Yeah, let's do that.

Alright, that brings us up to the present. I've observed recently a silver whisker in the mustache part of my goatee. I've had and have many gray whiskers in the lower half of my goatee, but this is the enemy's first foray into the northern quadrant of my goatee. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't mind getting older. In fact, I'm down with that. But the physical manifestations...this I'm a little uneasy about. I keep hoping the darker whiskers will take this straggler out back and teach him some manners. But I have my doubts that will happen. If anything, this foreign agent will likely turn my darker whiskers into double agents, and before too long I'll look in the mirror and see Wilford Brimley looking back at me. I'm down with that, too, I'd just like it to be a few years from now, not an overnight process. Just in case, though, I've been looking at myself in the mirror recently and practicing Mr. Brimley's most famous line:

'We won't get old, and we won't ever die.'

That's from the movie Cocoon, of course. It was about some old people who didn't want to die so they hitched a ride on a spaceship and left this little shooting match of ours behind. It also starred Steve Guttenberg. The 80's, man. It was one wild time.

Anyway, that's what's going on with me today. All this talk about whiskers makes me think of my old nemesis, The Moriarty Whisker. But if I write about that today, what will I write about tomorrow?

I don't think you want to know.

Until then, compadres, keep it at least partially real.

gossip girl

2008-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

I shouldn't tell you this, but I was talking to Helen Gurkelbee today. She lives down the street from me. Anyway, she was saying that the Wilson boy, who lives up the road from us, is raising holy hell with his parents. Apparently, he's breaking curfew regularly and he's listening to that rock music. Helen also said his grades are suffering, too, though she has no tangible proof of that. But I know Helen Gurkelbee quite well indeed and she wouldn't say anything like that if there weren't some basis in fact. Frankly, it wouldn't shock me a bit. Breaking curfew, listening to rock music...how could his grades not suffer?

Well, I've probably said too much already.

You didn't hear this from me.

the stone barracudas

2008-01-27T06:54:00.000-08:00

We're moving closer to Groundhog's Day, and I regret to announce that this year, unlike the last 10 years, I will not be donning a groundhog's suit to celebrate. Nor will I be digging, by hand, a four-foot deep trench in the tundra from which to pop out of at the anointed time. And I definitely will not be doing 'The Humpty Dance' should I happen to look down and fail to see my shadow upon popping out of said trench.

I think I've grown up, folks. Though all of the above sounds like great fun to me, I do believe that part of my life is over. How it get started in the first place, I don't know. You'd think I would have learned to avoid nonsense such as this after high school and the 'stone barracuda incident.'

It happened during my sophomore year. Being a huge booster of high school sports in general, I decided I would make the best costume ever to celebrate my school's teams. I chose the boys basketball team's season-opener to unveil my design. I worked on this costume for months, starting on it the last day of ninth-grade. I worked on it all summer and into the fall.

Finally, the big day came. I donned my outfit and trotted off to my high school gymnasium at a brisk pace. I was greeted by a good friend at the door and he gave me this look like I was crazy.

"What the hell kind of outfit is that?" he asked.

I looked down at myself proudly, stretched out my arms and the gray papier-mache dorsal fins covering them and said, "My friend, are we or are we not 'The Stone Barracudas?' "

"We're not," he said.

"Oh," I said.

From there, let's just say it was a long night, which went on to turn into an extremely long year.

I still say we should have called ourselves The Stone Barracudas.

Some Might Say

2008-01-26T06:28:00.001-08:00

'Some might say sunshine follows thunder/go and tell it to the man who cannot shine.'
-Oasis, 'Some Might Say.'

That's the song for the day -- 'Some Might Say.' #200-something, if my figures are accurate. It's not a classic, but I've always liked it.

I don't have a lot of time today, but I do have a grievance to air. Here's that grievance: Darryl Hall and John Oates are NOT in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Is that fair? Is this wise? My answers to those questions are 'no' and 'of course not,' respectively. Darryl Hall and John Oates were very big back in the 80's. They were a precursor to bands like Bon Jovi and Nickelback (wait a minute, maybe Darryl Hall and John Oates SHOULDN'T be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame)...

No, no, scratch that. They totally should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They were huge back in the day -- bigger than Miami Vice! They had a lot of Top Ten Singles, a handful of #1 hits and they were very influential. Their music might not hold up as spectacularly as some music does, but they were a bridge from where we were to where we are. A necessary connection.

A few years ago I was watching a show on rappers and quite a few of them marvelled at the opening hook of 'I Can't Go For That (No Can Do).' So they're getting some love from rappers. If they were complete and total wankers would that be happening? Of course not.

No, I'll tell you the reason Darryl Hall and John Oates are not in the Hall of Fame. It's not pretty and I don't feel good about being the first one to say this, but the reason Darryl Hall and John Oates are not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is none other than...John Oates's mustache.

That's it, plain and simple. If they were just two fresh-faced, clean-cheeked rockers, they'd be living large in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame right this very minute. Instead, only one of them is clean-shaven and that's why they have to buy tickets to get into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame just like everyone else.

Is that fair, I ask you? No. It's not fair. They're going to keep out a well-established band with a pretty solid track record just because half of this dynamic duo has a thing for cheesy mustaches? So it would seem. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't go for that.

No can do.

couldn't quite identify it

2008-01-21T05:21:00.000-08:00

'I'm in the sky tonight.'
- Foo Fighters, 'Next Year.'

When we left off, I mentioned that I have seen a UFO in my lifetime. That's true, although perhaps it would be more accurate to say I have a memory of seeing a UFO. And by that, I mean I recall once seeing an object in the sky which I could not identify. That's all it means and nothing more.

I'm not haunted by this. In fact, I'm largely indifferent to the whole UFO phenomenon. I'm not convinced UFO's exist and I'm not convinced they don't. If you were to ask me if I believe in UFO's, I would say yes, absolutely. But that's it. I don't wear a tin foil hat (except out to dinner), I don't go to Area 51 on my vacations and I think The X-Files was a good show to begin with and then fairly quickly became overrated. In other words, I'm not crazy.

Here's my story (or the story as I remember it). It was a fall night -- dark -- and my brother and a friend were in our backyard playing football. I was probably about 8 years old. We were waiting for my dad so he could drive us to the high school football game, or somewhere. We were going somewhere. Anyway, I think we had stopped playing football and perhaps my brother and our friend had gone inside -- though they were possibly still with me in the backyard. At any rate, I (we) looked up and there was something large in the sky and it looked a lot like an air hockey paddle. It was stationary and loomed just a bit off in the distance. There were electronic lights all around the round bottom edge of it and it hovered just the tiniest bit off-kilter.

That's it. I don't remember what happened next. I don't remember if it flew away (though it must have) and I don't remember if any of us even said anything about it other than 'What the heck was that?' It was more puzzling than disturbing, but still kind of disturbing. We were kids, after all, and kids want to know -- and understand -- everything. That was something we (I) couldn't understand.

Two things: 1) I really can't guarantee my brother and that friend of ours were there when whatever was in the sky was in the sky. They were there to start with, but I can't say they were there to see whatever there might have been to see. 2) Though I believe this happened, I can't say for a fact that it did. I'd swear that the crux of the memory is accurate, but so many details are lost or fuzzy it's very possible I just imagined or made the whole thing up.

So I guess that's my UFO story. As UFO stories go, it's not much to write home about. Like I said, I'm not haunted by this at all and I don't think about it that much. If there are UFO's and spacepeople inside of them careening wildly over our heads, it's clear they don't want to play bridge or canasta with us and I can't say I blame them. In fact, I'd say they have the right idea. Ours is a dangerous world.

(Even so, would one lousy game of bridge kill them?!)

Song #206 -- 'Next Year' by the Foo Fighters.

well, I'm back

2008-01-20T07:04:00.000-08:00

'There's a UFO over New York, and I ain't too surprised.'
-John Lennon, 'Nobody Told Me.'

Well, I'm back and semi-refreshed from my mini-vacation. My thanks again to the very capable Blackcrag for filling in for me and raising the bar up from the floor, where it had come to rest -- and for directing me back to my quest to come up with 500 songs that don't suck, songs I myself would be proud to play if I were to own my own radio station.

So with that in mind, I pick up the baton again and give you the songs for today. Song #203 -- John Lennon's 'Nobody Told Me.' I've always liked this song, and I've always thought it was a pretty good response to song #204 -- Van Morrison's 'Days Like This.' (My Mama Told Me). They make kind of a nice point/counterpoint. Stuff like that always interests me. Like how in The Beatles' 'It's Getting Better,'as Paul McCartney is singing, 'I have to admit it's getting better, it's getting better all the time,' John Lennon pipes in, 'It couldn't get no worse.' I like it when all the bases get covered.

For good measure, song #205 is the Pretenders' 'Don't Get Me Wrong,' which contains one of my favorite lyrics of all-time: 'I might be great tomorrow/but hopeless yesterday.' No, you cannot go too wrong with Ms. Hynde and The Pretenders.

Back to the more far more serious subject of UFO's. Apparently, John Lennon SAW a UFO over NYC (in retrospect, I think capitalizing 'saw' in this sentence MAY have been overkill) back in the 70's. That's very interesting to me and also where I think I need to go with my next post. I'd be curious to know how many of you have seen UFO's in your life. I'd also be curious to know how many people think I've seen a UFO in my life.

Here's a hint: I have.

Rock is dead! Long live Rock!

2008-01-18T15:51:00.000-08:00

Editor's note: Alright, everyone, pay attention. The post below was penned (typed? tapped out?) by a guest poster. A fellow blogger who goes by the name Blackcrag. If you'd like to read more of his writings, by all means, hit that little link to the right of my blogpage, the one that says 'Blackcrag.' You will be transported instantly northwards to Canada. That's right! The flag he flies under bears a Maple Leaf!! (that's right, isn't it Crag?).

At any rate, I really enjoy his writing and point of view. And Lord knows, you all could use a break from me, so I asked him to write about anything he liked and I would re-print it verbatim (including the subject line). Which I have now done.

Enjoy your vacation, everybody. I promise it won't last near long enough. Take it away, Blackcrag!

Dan wanted to douse his blog in a little maple syrup, having got his pancakes and his blog confused. So he offered a little space to me. It is quite an honour and a responsibility to write for someone else’s blog… you know keeping up their exacting standards and all. Some might question whether Dan actually has standards, but I am sure he does… somewhere.

Dan and I share an interest in music. He’s making a list of 500 songs he either loves, can’t live without, really, really likes, or well, can kind of tolerate (see? There’s those standards at work again).

Me, I am just looking for some new music to listen to, because I seriously think rock is dead. Given that I was a teen during the Eighties, my most cherished music has its roots there; Dave Matthews Band, Blue Rodeo, Blues Traveller, Bob Seger, Heart… I could go on. I tend to go on usually, but I will show a guest’s manners and forbear.

I know, Dave Matthews hardly strikes anyone as a hard rockin’, wailin’ guitarin’, big hairy Eighties rock band. What can I say? I have a strong pop streak running through my musical taste—blame it on the three years I spent in England as a preteen.

But the state of rock these days? Who’s carrying the banner and waving their bic in the darkened arena? (a bic is a lighter brand up north of the border, if you wanted to know). Collective Soul? Like ‘em, but they have drifted from their rock roots. Counting Crows? They can rock, when they’re not being all introspective and angsty. Nickelback? If you think unshaven posers are 'rock', sure. Matchbox Twenty? They are consistent, at least. Solid band, certainly. But are they ‘rock’? As close as anybody these days, I guess. Red Hot Chili Peppers? Certainly, but again, they’ve been around since the Eighties/Nineties so don’t qualify as ‘new’.

I turn to the radio for inspiration, for new sounds, a little new music to titillate the taste buds, or whatever the ear’s equivalent to the taste buds are. But what is on the airwaves? Electronica? Doesn’t charge me up. Gangsta rap? Umm…yeah but no. Dance? Despite my handle, I’m white. White men don’t dance. Not this one, and definitely not like that.

But wait! If I want to discover new music, all I have to do is turn on the TV! There have been a slew of shows over the last ten years all about ‘discovering talent’. American Idol and its Canadian equivalent are a six month long extravaganza of new talent! Actually no; it’s an extended, over-wrought, glitzed-up, over-hyped marketing ploy.

Ever since the Nineties’ boy bands and pop princesses, there has been a lot of hype and no true talent to back it up. Dancing monkeys primed with calculated ploys and written-in emotional lyrics. Backstreet Boys, n’Sync and any of the other woulda-beens from back then—they are all plug and play. Take ‘em out, shuffle ‘em round, you couldn’t tell the difference. As for the pop princesses… honestly I can’t tell the difference between any of them in the last fifteen years.

And if someone points out Justin Timberlake as an exemplar of talent out of this particular wasteland… I’d say you’re making my point for me.

No, if I want something new to listen to these days, I reach back. Reach way back, to the back of the shelf. Reach back to when I was born and beyond. Dust off the Van Morrison, turn up the Lynyrd Skynyrd, reach higher with John Hiatt, feel a little Phish-y, get “Superstitious” with Stevie (R.I.P.), get Led-ed with Zeppelin and keep rockin’ with the Steve Miller Band.

And if Dan will let me add a song to his list, I’ll add Song #202, “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Turn it up, and tune out.

I feel I must relate this tale

2008-01-17T17:02:00.000-08:00

In addition to my regular job I also help out at a school a couple days a week. It's a business school and it's kind of fun. I haven't explored the building much, but this evening, since I'm still fighting this gosh darn cold, I went off in search of warm beverages. My explorations proved fruitful; I discovered one of those 'you put your money in and then either coffee or hot chocolate comes out, depending upon your choice' machines. For me, it was a no-brainer. I chose 'whipped hot chocolate.' But first I had to try to feed the machine a dollar bill. Approximately 4 out of 5 times with machines like these that's a dealbreaker. Not tonight. And -- bonus! -- after I put my dollar in, the 'exact change' light came on. I was psyched! This never happens to me! I'm always the guy who comes up to the machine right after that light gets lit. I'm NEVER the guy who gets the privilege of being the last person to be able to use folding money to purchase their beverage. No, as I said, I'm always the guy who gleefully approaches the vending machine, snapping a crisp Americano dollar bill, only to find out I need exact change.

So I was truly overjoyed. While my hot chocolate was dispensed, I pictured the next guy coming to the machine and having his hopes completely dashed. 'Take that, f-----!' I thought gleefully. Then I felt kind of bad about that. Then the exact change light went off and I was left with an empty feeling inside and a cup of MOLTEN hot chocolate in my right hand. Yowza! And of course, as it will, karma stepped in and filled the cup to the brim, causing me to dribble way hot chocolate on my fingers with each step I took on the return voyage. It's tough. You try to be a good guy and look where it gets you.

Anyway, as hot chocolate goes, it's only okay. I can almost taste the powder it was made with. It reminded me, though, of a temp job I had here in the Twin Cities back in 1994. I was some kind of data entry guy working for some company. The job itself was just alright. Something less than alright, actually, but it paid the bills. What the job did offer, though, was access to the best 'you put your money in and then either coffee or hot chocolate comes out, depending upon your choice' machine in the world. Man, that was some sa-weet hot chocolate! I'd plan my whole day around that liquid magic.

6:00-10:00 Work
Hot chocolate break
10:15-11:45 Work
Noon: Lunch/hot chocolate break
12:30-2:30 Work
Hot chocolate break
2:45-4:00 Work
4:02: Get hot chocolate to go

I about wore that machine out. And the hot chocolate came in those cups where you get a poker hand (and the hole card is on the bottom of the cup). Talk about win/win! Sometimes it was win/win/win!

Yeah, that was a weird job. And I was working at that job during the bone-dead of winter, so I think that's why I drank all that hot chocolate. Normally, I have boundaries, but that winter, my self-control was out the window. It was ridiculous good stuff. I'd wake up in the morning thinking of hot chocolate.

How sweet is that?

Ambassador McConaughey

2008-01-15T15:10:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today that Matthew McConaughey might be a good friend to have. Most people have those days where they aren't really inspired and things seem kind of blah. Matthew McConaughey never seems to have those kinds of days. Here's kind of how I think a day with Matthew McConaughey might go, if you were his friend and had just told him you were feeling a little down.

McConaughey: You're feeling down? Aw, come on, man! Are you serious? Listen, relax. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to drink a few beers, alright? Then we're going to the ocean to surf for a little while. Everything's going to be cool. Then we're going to take it back to my Gulfstream, we're going to call up a bunch of girls and we're just going to kick it for awhile, see where it goes. And if it doesn't go anywhere, that's alright, too. That's what it all about, man. Just seeing where things lead and going with it. But first we're going to go into this Starbucks and we're going to get us some macchiatos -- on me.

Me (distressed): But Matthew, you're not wearing a shirt. They won't serve you if you're not wearing a shirt!

McConaughey: Listen, relax. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to go inside and we're going to talk to the manager. If he's got a problem, we'll take him surfing with us. And if he wants to come back to the Gulfstream and have a few beers with us and the ladies, that's cool. We'll get the macchiatos, okay? Don't worry. Everything's going to be alright. Now tell me you agree with me and say it like you mean it.

Me: Everything's going to be alright.

McConaughey: Alright.

(Smiling, we enter the Starbucks).

I think it would go a lot like that. And that's why I think Matthew McConaughey should be named Ambassador to whatever country we're having the most problems with at any given moment. The leaders of these countries wouldn't know what hit them. One minute they'd be planning nefarious doings, the next they'd be on a surfboard in the Pacific Ocean next to Matthew McConaughey -- on his surfboard -- saying, 'What did I tell you, brother? Is this alright or is this alright? It could be like this every day, my man. Bombs, weapons, guns, who needs 'em? Now let's catch this last wave and then take it back to my Gulfstream. You with me? You're with me. Alright.'

You know, as strange as this is for me to say, I think I may have a point here.

a brief foray into politics

2008-01-13T18:03:00.000-08:00

I saw this on MSN the other day. It has to do with George W. Bush's trip to the Middle East.

Stephen Hadley, Bush's national security adviser, sounded pessimistic about Hamas joining the peace process.

"Nobody, unfortunately, is very optimistic that they will make that choice," Hadley said. "Hamas came to power in election; [they] will have to submit [themselves] at some point to the people of Gaza in terms of their approval of the job they have done. And at this point, it's a pretty depressing situation in Hamas - for all those people who live there."

First of all, Stephen Hadley, like all Bush loyalists, is a torrential douchebag. Now play this game with me: The first time you see 'Hamas' in the italicized paragraph above, substitute the word 'Republicans.' Then when you see the word 'Gaza,' insert 'America' and do the same thing the second time you see 'Hamas.'

It still holds true, doesn't it?

Am I comparing Hamas to the Republicans? Not at all. I'm just pointing out how funny it is that sometimes you can start out describing one thing and wind up describing something else at the same time. I believe they call that subtext.

We're in the home stretch, folks. One more year of incompetence and corruption to go.

my day to write a horoscope

2008-01-12T05:06:00.001-08:00

Not much time today. So I thought I'd write about something that occurred to me yesterday. Back a long time ago in what I call my Days of Booze, a period marked by infrequent -- but probably still too frequent to be healthy -- bouts of fairly heavy drinking, I was out of town with some like-minded friends. Luckily, one of these friends had a brother in this town, so we all got greased up good and then crashed at the home of my friend's brother. His brother was out of town, so we had the place all to ourselves. And we didn't have to spring for a hotel room (score!). Well, by about 1:30 or so, we were all pretty shook down, so the scramble for shelter began. My friend, the one whose brother's place we were staying at, got the bed. No argument there, of course. Someone else got the couch and whatever blanket-type device was draped across the back of that. The rest of us got to 'go fish,' basically. It was spring, I think, so it shouldn't have been such a big deal.

But the place really cooled down at night. And there was literally nothing to use as a blanket. So I don't know, three or four of us just sprawled out on the floor at various points across the living room and assumed fetal positions. I wasn't quite drunk enough to just fall asleep peacefully. No, I was just sober enough to be the only one left to think about just how cold I actually was. I was shivering! It was horrible! That night will always rank among the most miserable nights of my life.

Anyway, I must have nodded off for at least a short while. Then as dawn began to break, I decided to venture over to the hall closet. Inside, were any numbers of thick blankets and comforters. Seriously, it was a closet of warmth! So I grabbed a nice comforter and hit the floor again. Then, no more than five minutes later, my friend who had enjoyed a pleasant night of warmth and sleep in a real, live bed stepped out of the bedroom and announced it was time to 'get a move on.'

True story.

Now the horoscope part of this post. I think for all of us, there are things we want or don't have and we get to thinking these things are far away, or out of our reach. Today, as you go out into the universe, keep this story in mind. That bag of Doritos or piece of key lime pie you crave so much is probably a lot closer than you would ever imagine it to be. But you have to actively look for it, my friends. That's the deal.

Watch out for Tauruses today, Pisces.

a confession

2008-01-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

Alright, this rigorous debate about which movie -- Footloose or Flashdance -- would win in a fair fight is wearing me down. I'm not eating, I'm not sleeping. Actually, that's not quite true. I had a nice dinner last night and then slept soundly. Regardless, this matter has to be settled. I feel like there's disharmony loose in the universe and I feel like I'm the cause of all this unrest. So what is wrong must be set right.

A confession: I've never seen 'Flashdance.' Now before you start burning me in effigy, I FEEL as though I've seen it. I've watched bits and pieces on cable over the years and I've seen the famous bucket scene so many times I feel like it was me that got doused. It wasn't, however. It was Jennifer Beals.

Now my friend Blackcrag has been on me for giving Kevin Bacon the edge over Jennifer Beals. I'm not arguing that Ms. Beals isn't/wasn't the more attractive of the two. As a gent who appreciates beauty, she'll get the nod every time. But Kevin Bacon is an American Institution. Without Bacon, this country is hopelessly adrift at sea. We might as well just burn the Constitution and kick the Statue of Liberty in the shins. I don't know what it is, there's just something about Kevin Bacon that makes him the quinessential Americano. And for that reason, and that reason alone, he has an edge over Jennifer Beals.

Where was I? Oh, that's right; I had just confessed to never having seen 'Flashdance.' Being that's so, I probably don't have the right to say one movie is better than another. And as to who would win in a fight between Flashdance and Footloose, that doesn't even really make sense, if you think about it. It's a rather bizarre notion.

Who thinks about things like this?

Another confession: I've also never seen 'The Goonies.' Oh, and I killed Professor Plum in the Study. With the candlestick, if you must know.

just a Steel Town girl on a Saturday night..

2008-01-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

Well, it's clear I have opened up a serious can of worms here. Thus far, we have one vote for Footloose and one vote for Flashdance (see yesterday's post. It is VITALLY important to this discussion). Let me just say, as far as my own thoughts go, there are a lot ways to dice this pickle. I think first we have to break it down thusly:

Kevin Bacon vs. Jennifer Beals. Advantage: Bacon.

Bacon's character vs. Beals's character: This is not so easy. Kevin Bacon's character is a gymnast and he has a job at the grain mill. Tossing sacks of flour is a great way to stay in shape. Plus he has the whole grain mill to himself so he can practice his gymnastics and really go to work on himself. Now, Jennifer Beals's character is a steelworker. Everyone knows just how tough steelworkers are. It's too close to call; this is a draw.

Supporting cast: The Footloose supporting cast is comprised of fine actors such as Sarah Jessica Parker and Christopher Penn. The Flashdance supporting cast is a bucket (containing water). Advantage: bucket.

Theme song singer: Kenny Loggins vs. Irene Cara. Kenny Loggins sang the themes to such movies as Top Gun, Caddyshack, Revenge of the Nerds 2 and Over the Top. Irene Cara had **[edited after new facts came to light] Flashdance, Fame, and maybe D.C. Cab. Slight advantage: Loggins.

Intangibles: Kevin Bacon's hair vs. Jennifer Beals's pluck. Advantage: Kevin Bacon's hair. Face it, folks, it's a national treasure, and there isn't a single one of us who wouldn't kill or die for it.

The end result? I'm afraid...Footloose would win in a split decision over Flashdance, if the two movies were to ever come to blows. I want to be clear, though, that both movies are classics that will endure through the centuries, long after the colonies on the moon have been abandoned.

A footnote: A few years back I was bitten by a radioactive brown Footloose spider. Though I didn't die, I now have the power to cut loose.

Footloose.

I'm not changing the world here

2008-01-09T15:38:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I wonder who would win in a fight between Flashdance and Footloose.

January 1, 2008

2008-01-01T05:44:00.000-08:00

A brand New Year has arrived on our doorstep. I'm okay with that. I'm a fairly big believer in fresh starts.

It's cold out there today, and while that doesn't make me happy, we've got the whole day to do with what we will; that's a beautiful thing.

I think I'll start the year off with a short post. I'm going to try to pace myself this year, not get too worn out early on. All I really have to say (Besides Happy New Year! and what not) today is that apparently I've been blogging for over a year and a half now. Believe me when I say it feels a lot longer than that. I swear, sometimes it feels like I've been blogging since the Civil War. That's not too much of an exaggeration. Time does weird things, you know. It curves and bends and twists and weaves, and just when you think you've got a line on it, it blows right past you.

Anyway, I went into the archives and pulled up one of my few 'classic' posts. Enjoy.

December 20, 1860 -- Charleston, South Carolina

I do declare, I woke up with a very strange sense of foreboding today. These Rebs are up to something. I can just feel it!