This morning I was pleased to see that someone had left the Pioneer Press sports page in the stall so I had something to read during my morning constitutional. I glanced over the twelve pages of bemoaning the vikings ass whipping and other football news and then found an article about Latrell Sprewell’s contract problems with the Wolves. Without going into the details of the disagreement (I can never keep this contact negotiation crap straight) I’ll just tell you that he’s making 14.6 million dollars this year and is looking for a long term contract. He’s a great player, but he’s thirty-four years old and injury prone. But never mind that, what really got to me was that he made some statement to the effect that he “had a family to feed.” Geez, Spree….out of touch with reality are we?

Did you see that they’ve published Patrick O’Brian’s unfinished twenty first Aubrey/Maturin novel? O’Brian died last year and I just finished the series a month or so ago, and now they’ve tossed this one into the mix. I thought I was done. Apparently it has his hand written manuscript and his typed draft and an edited version. I’m not sure that I want to read it, because the last volume really seemed to wrap things up with Jack finally becoming an Admiral of the Line, his goal throughout his career. But on the other hand it might provide some great insight into the mind of one of the greatest historical writers ever.

Male homecoming queen at St. Cloud State being threatened

Associated Press
October 29, 2004

ST. CLOUD, Minn. — Officials at St. Cloud State University are expressing support and concern for the male student who was named homecoming queen last week.

President Roy Saigo says Fue Khang has received threatening messages. In a letter to the university’s faculty and staff, Saigo asks them to offset any prejudice and intimidation the homecoming royalty may have faced.

Student organizations have been invited to a series of campus dialogues to discuss the media attention the coronation has drawn and to gauge how students feel about it.

The mother of one of the homecoming queen candidates has spoken out against a man being named queen and has organized a petition drive against it.

Worked out tonight. Stationary bike and wieghts. Endorphin city here, feels pretty good. I’m determined to get back to the tennis courts before the new year. I’m having a tough time without a competive sport to get my meaness out. It’s so satisfying to hit things.

Quinn played softball in gym a couple of days ago. She hasn’t played softball more than a couple of times in her life. And even though this was a gym class not very serious game, it was co-ed and I’m sure there was some competitveness stirred up. It sounds like she was the MVP. She pitched for her team and her tennis skills carried over at the plate. She also flattened a boy on a close play at second base. She could definitely be a power hitter. We’re talking about a powerfull young woman here. She’s strong and knows how to get all of her body into the point of contact. I’ve been trying to interest her in going out for track as a thrower, but she’s not interested. She said, “I like to hit things.”
It’s great to have such an entertaining child.

Playlist for a foggy rainy October night:

The tree is down and other than aching muscles and a huge blister on my thumb where I braced it against the manifold while trying to adjust the chain tension, I’m uninjured. It took two days, the first day ended when the chain came off and we couldn’t figure out how to get it back on. On Sunday I mustered up all of my limited mechanical ability and got it going again. We called Stephan, one of Quinn’s friends and hired him to help us pile up the brush. He came up with the idea of tossing most of it out in the cemetary. It’ll decompose, right? We threw it over the fence and he dragged it out to the little grove that you can almost see on the right side of the picture. That saved us a lot of work. I plan to take a tax deduction for my contribution to the bio-mass of the cemetary. Do you think it will fly?

This tree is coming down. It’s a flowering crab apple and is very pretty for about 4 days out of a year and looks like crap for the rest of the year. It also increases the shade in my garden, which is already too shady.

One of the YaYa’s husbands has a chainsaw and Beck emailed them to see if we could use it. He replied that was concerned about safety and how much chain saw experience I had. I replied, “An old UFSF woods rat like me? My only concern is that I might not be able to use it without a fire burning around me!”

He was apologetic about doubting my chainsaw machismo, but the fact of the matter is I haven’t used a chainsaw for about thirty years. And I never actually did use one in a fire. During that summer, all of us on the crew got a chance to use the saw and we were tutored by a contractor who was a real woods rat. An Idaho redneck woodsman of the highest order, he probably fed his family with elk and trout and knew the North Fork from mine dump to pristine mountain waterfall. I’ll never forget him telling us that if you used a chainsaw all day you’d have “muscles in your shit.”

Forest Service saws were used and abused and we waisted hours trying to find one that ran or was sharp enough or schlepping back to camp to trade an unstartable one for a functioning one. When you used the saw for Smokey, you had to wear heavy chaps, and the standard Smokey gear was steel toed boots, long pants, long sleeved shirt and a hardhat. That’s how I was dressed when it was my turn to run the saw. Of course, it was the hottest day of the summer and my task was to cut out a tangled deadfall at the bottom of small revinge were they were going to do a burn in the fall. It was probably the only humid place in Northern Idaho, unless you count the bottom of a mine shaft.

Everyone was a little apprehensive about the city kid (after all I grew up in a town of twenty thousand) college boy handling a dangerous tool. But I managed to come out of the experience unscathed, but hot and exhausted. I didn’t notice any muscles in my shit though.

So wish me luck. I’m going to call the Emergency Room and North Memorial so they can prepare for limb reattachment surgery. They’re famous for it.

It’s the wife’s night out tonight and the teenager is out hangin’ with her posse. It’s MEA the annual teachers convention that closes the schools from Tursday til Monday. Q is partying tonight having negotiated a reprieve from her month long grounding. Saturday she takes the SAT’s and then she and a friend are driving down to Ames to visit L at college. I’m a little worried about turning those two loose on the ISU campus. It may never be the same.

I’m curious to see how she does on the test. She hasn’t done any tutoring but shes a sharp kid and does well in tests. Like her I had moderately good grades in high school but did well enough on the tests to get in to Carleton. I don’t think the same credentials would get me in there today. They were trying to broaden there student body at that time and I think my artwork was what really got me in. That and the fact that one of the trustees was a golfing buddy of my Dad’s It’s not what you know, but who you know.

I kind of wasted the chance at a great education there. The art department had great teachers, but for that kind of money I could have gone to a high end art school. I probably would have just pissed my time away there as well. I wasn’t really achademic material and I didn’t have much drive. I avoided the science curriculum because I heard that it was very difficult. I was a Government and International Relations major until my dad died when I was twenty. Then, without him around to dissappoint, I switched to Art. I’m not sure I could have made it through any other way. I may have gotten through Carleton with the least number of papers written and science courses taken ever. I kind of blew the Biology Achievement test out of the water, so one of my Math/Science requirements was waved. But I chickened out on the Doctor track that so many went there for. At that time, the U of M was spotting Carleton Biology majors a half a grade point.

I’d love to say it was a great decision and that art has been a great career for me, but I was pretty lazy about that too and over the years I never really applied myself to that. I’ve pretty much devoted myself to the compulsion of the moment. First the guitar, then basketball, chess, computers, now I’m obsessing about building a website that makes money. I’m sure it will just be another lame attempt at e-commerse that brings in about 5 bucks a month, but I’m learning a lot and who knows.

I guess the thing that really gets me stoked is learning. I just love to dive into a discipline and absorb everything I can about it. Up to a point. I never really push things to the logical end. Once I become moderately proficient, I loose interest. I can’t say it hasn’t been fun though.

Wow, I didn’t realize that was what I was going to write!

And this.
dooce

101 Words.

This morning I entered the office elevator on the ground floor. I used my security card and pressed three to get up to my cube farm. As I pressed the button a dismbodied voice asked, “Are you going to the fourth floor sir?” I froze, my palms began to sweat, I was thinking hard…was this a trick question? I began to stutter, “Ummm….there is no f-f-f-fourth floor!?!”
The voice said, “I mean third.”
“uh….yes?”
“My toolbox is right outside the door, be careful.”
“Thanks.”
I got off, there was a toolbox there. I still don’t know where the voice was coming from.