Category Archives: Life

You know, life.

Puce Bras and Smelly Gophers.

Health, Life, Sport and Fitness

Yesterday R posted “puce” on facebook. I started noticing other posts simply naming a color. I didn’t make the connection until a couple of hours later but coolass tipped me off to this. R came downstairs rolling her eyes and admitting, “I am such a dork.” She thought that people were just randomly posting colors, so she jumped on the bandwagon. I was wondering, because I didn’t think she owned a puce bra. I’m glad I didn’t jump on the bandwagon.

Thursday night my friend Brad and I braved the elements to watch the Gophers WBB take on Northwestern. It was a great game, the Gophs came back from 16 down with a dominating second half performance. At one point Goldy, the mascot sat down in the seat in front of me. I can tell you that Goldy kind of stinks.

Shovel

Life
From the Image a Day Blog

Just finished shoveling, it’s pretty warm, nine degrees. That’s above. Wasn’t too bad after I went inside and put a hoody on between my jacket and my fleece shell. Not much snow, and it wasn’t mush snow, so it was pretty easy to dispatch. I used two shovels. One broad one with a long wooden hand and no grip on the end, kind of shaped like a snowplow, which I guess makes sense. I use this to push as much snow to the sides as fast as I can. Then I follow behind with something that looks like an old time coal shovel, only the bucket is plastic. I use that to lift and throw snow as far as I can to prevent giant walls growing up next to the driveway. You’d be amazed at how much can build up in a winter when you don’t have any thawing period for awhile.

I’m allergic to shovels, every time I touch one I get short of breath, my heart rate goes way up, I break into sweat and I have severe bone and muscle aches the next day.*

The kid next door was out shoveling in a t-shirt. He was just dusting off the front entry, but still, what was he thinking?

*Steve Everest’s schtick, don’t know where he stole it.

At the Museum

Art, Life

I have absolutely no idea what the point of this story is. It seems like there might be a point. Maybe by writing it down, I’ll figure that out.

Rebecca and I were at the Museum of Russian Art, standing in front of a very large painting,  probably seven by five, maybe bigger. The subject of the painting was a sewing factory, a poorly lit room with several women sewing by hand. The central figures, standing in a pool of light, were an older man dressed in a long ornately embroidered red tunic with matching pants, no doubt the factory owner and a young woman dressed similar to the other workers. She didn’t look happy, her gaze was on the floor, head turned away from the boss. He had his and on her arm. The other seamstresses were all looking in their direction and they all had anxious expressions.

As we moved through the museum, I had been trying to impress my wife, and in my exhibitionist fashion, any bystanders that happened to be eavesdropping, with my vast knowledge of art. This particular painting reminded for some reason of the Brothers Karamazov which started me thinking about what the story behind the painting might be. My first impression was that this was some kind of romantic characterization of peasant life. “What’s going on here,” I said to R, “is the boss showing the ropes to a new comer, who’s anxious about her new job, or is he reprimanding her for some kind of misbehavior?”

“It’s much more sinister than that.” I hadn’t noticed the well dressed young asian woman standing next to us. “Read the explanation.” She pointed at the sign next to the painting.

“Really? What’s that?”

“He’s the landowner and she’s his Serf.”

“Serb?” I’m looking like an idiot now, old man hearing fails me again.

“Serf. He owns her, she has to do anything he asks. He’s taking her away for…..” She did some verbal tap dancing, probably unsure that she wanted to shock this old man and his daughter (I always assume that people mistake R for my daughter) but finally she got to the point. “He’s taking her away for sexual purposes.”

I immediately started trying to form a snappy comeback. I had nothing, the tiny interval of snappiness had passed. I went for wisdom, got nothing. I stood there gazing at the painting feeling very much the dorky suburban old white man.

The pretty young Asian woman moved on, leaving me thinking about social commentary in art, oppression of women, and why one should always read the signs.

Recommendations: a couple of cool sites for you.

Couples: Photography served. from photographer reclarkgable, a series of portraits of the same couple posing as various segments of society. I identified junkies (left), nerds, rockabilly revivalists, I’m not sure which one would be the hipsters. I’m interested on what segment you would put each of them in. These are brilliant.

The Third and the Seventh a short CG film by Alex Roman. Thanks to Paul Schupanitz for recommending this beautiful piece. It’s a bit long, watch it when you have some time and are feeling contemplative. And be sure to watch in full screen mode.

Lot’s of architecture, the only building I could identify was the Milwaukee Museum of Art, one of my favorites. I never realized before that the wings flap!

Thanks for dropping by.

Problem Solving Test

Food, Getting Old, Life

By way of introduction, there’s a couple of things I want to mention about this next story.

As far as being relevant to this blog, It serves as a baseline for my cognitive skills. Over time I expect that they’ll deteriorate, and this way my kind readers can let me know when it’s time for institutionalization. I fear when you read this you might find that ship has already sailed.

Here’s the situation as it I saw it this morning at 8:00 am.

  1. I was desperate for caffeine.
  2. I had the ability to make coffee.
  3. I had no cream and no milk.
  4. I don’t drink coffee without cream or milk.
  5. The temperature was -8.

So I had to make some decisions. There was no way that I’m going to drink coffee without cream. Coke, that’s out. On a morning like this I need the reassuring companionship of a hot beverage. So what should I do? I could go to the store and get cream and milk and come back and make coffee. I could go to Caribou and get  coffee and cream hot and ready to go.

Neither of these alternatives seemed very good to me, given the temperature, but as every addict knows, your Jones can get you to thinking in peculiar ways. Necessity however, is the mother of invention (not, as many people think, Frank Zappa) and she gave birth to a stroke or genius. I can make espresso! That’s right, I chose, out of the array of RHD retirement gifts, a combination drip coffee and espresso maker. I can slam down a shot of expresso without any dairy products in it. And that I did. In fact, since you can’t make just one shot on this machine, I slammed down two. The second one with sugar and caramel flavoring. Problem solved!

Not quite. I still felt the need for a soothing hot liquid to sip while I’m working. It hit me like a flash, Tea! Green tea to be precise, Jasmine green tea to be more precise. Next question is how to make tea? The one thing you need to know about that question is:

I am not a tea bagger,

I am a tea infuser.

ccccccccoooooolllllldddd!!!!

Life, Rants, , ,

Baby, it’s cold  outside. It was -17 when I woke up this morning. It hovered there for a long time and now it’s up to -11. That’s Fahrenheit baby. 43 long degrees below freezing. And that’s not wind chill, thats the actual temp, although I don’t see any movement in the trees outside this morning. Of course cold is a relative thing. Those wimps over at BlueNC think are bitching about it being 25, that’s a positive number. I can guarantee you that the next time it hits 25 around here, people will be out walking around shirtless and in shorts. In our old neighborhood there was a guy who used to wash his car shirtless when it was in the 20s. Actually, somewhere, probably on a college campus, there probably is someone out walking around in shorts. I just hope that they have more sober friends that pull them inside before they lose body parts.

There are all kinds of ways of dealing with this kind of cold. One of the best is a trip to Mexico. Another is staying inside. I personally haven’t been outside for almost 36 hours. If those methods fail and you must venture outside, dress in layers, wear a hat that covers your ears, and a scarf or turtle neck to keep all that body heat from escaping out of your collar. Thinsulate, down, fleece, and wool are excellent at protecting you from the frosty elements, but you must lose any vanity you might have. It’s hard to look sexy in a down parka.

It’s also important to deal with the cold psychologically. Bone crushing, dick shriveling cold can have deleterious effects on you mind. You can spiral into a vortex of self doubt, characterized by thoughts like, “Why the hell did I choose to live in this God forsaken state?” Agoraphobia, as previously mentioned,  you might find yourself housebound for days simply because you can’t think of any reason worth that icy smack in the face you know awaits. This of course leads to Minnesota’s second most common psychological malady, right behind pathological self deprecation, cabin fever. Sleep disorders, all you want to do is sleep in front of the fireplace under four or five down comforters. Yes, extreme cold over long periods of time (it sometime stays below zero for weeks here) can cause all kinds of profound nastiness in one’s mindset.

But there is hope! I have found the trick to fending off  the “it’s too f**king cold syndrome.” And the trick my friends is so simple you won’t believe it. And for a small fee I will reveal my secret… Never mind I’m feeling generous so I’m going to let  you in on it for free. All you have to do is remember this one thing, DON’T FLINCH! You know what I mean, you step out into the deep freeze and right away you tense up, your shoulders hunch, you try to pull your head in like a turtle, every muscle contracts, you convulse with shivers. Relax people! It’s only cold. Stand up straight, throw your shoulders back, shake off the tension, be brave. You will immediately find yourself thinking, “This isn’t so bad.” If you can just adopt this simple technique, it will go a long way towards banishing your cold weather blues.

I wonder how long I can manage to stay inside this weekend?

Not a Football Post

Art, Life, Music

2010 is starting here with blue sky, crisp blue shadows on the deep, crusty layer of snow. It’s above zero, one degree, but still above and from the backyard trees there’s no wind. A great day for strenuous outdoor activity if you’re properly protected from the cold. For someone other than me that is. It also might be a great day to read a book, by the fireplace, with hot chocolate. Or watch football. What is the average time per American male spent watching football on New Year’s Day? The volume of chips consumed? Gallons of beer? Gallons of beer spilled in celebration or anger? Level of profanity spewed at coaches, refs, players and opponents? I won’t be contributing to those numbers, I may have to turn in my guy card. So be it.

Great party last night, at one of those houses designed by an architect for themselves. Classic Mid-Century Modern, a really nice pad with a big open living room that perfectly served the purpose of musical venue for the evening. Another great feature, obscured now of course, is no lawn mowing. The small front yard is all planted in garden and the back is full of massive hardwoods, so it’s natural forest floor.

We were treated to really excellent music in the form of a jam, lead by the host and some great local musicians. I’m always amazed by the way these folks, without rehearsal, will briefly talk over the structure of a song, “Three chords in A, it starts on the five and the there’s a bridge in D,” and everyone will have it after one verse. Great songs, great singers and great players. I was sweating bullets that I would be asked to sit in, it would be like me trying to step in at point guard for the Wolves. It worked out well though, after almost everyone left, Clay our host and Dan, the guitarist and bass player for Yodel a Go Go, and I did a few basic three chord songs and I was able to pretty much follow along by watching Clay’s hands. Lot’s of fun.

At one point during a break they were playing a CD by some local artist, I missed the name, and Clay said, “When I listen to this and realize how good it is and know that it’s not a big hit, what chance do I have.” This prompted a discussion about how many great musicians there are that are working day jobs, or barely eking out a living playing. It amazes me how hard these folks work for their art, with such little compensation. And these folks seem to be working a labor of love, preserving a style of music that they love, rootsy country and rockabilly. Which is good for me because I love that music too.

Someone once said to me that if I thought art was a tough gig, think about music. True that.

Rush Resolutions Randomness

Life, Sport and Fitness

Since Rush Limbaugh is “resting comfortably” after being rushed to the hospital suffering from chest pains late yesterday, is it OK to make fun of him now? I was tipped off by Rachel Maddow, who tweeted her wishes for a speedy recovery. And then came the inevitable rush of tasteless remarks from those who wish him ill. And then came responses from conservatives who pinned the sentiments of those idiots on all liberals. The circle is unbroken.

But I must say that I had to chuckle over some of the tweets. Like someone suggesting that if surgery were necessary they wouldn’t be able to find a heart, and another who was celebrating the fact that their Rush voodoo doll was working.

And now for the obligatory New Years Resolutions. In the new year I resolve to:

  1. Keep this blog going by posting at least four times a week.
  2. Cut down on the use of the word “I” in this blog by 75%.
  3. Continue to work out regularly and get rid of the sagging pecs.
  4. Get my graphics business going to the point where it makes up the gap between my retirement income and what I used to make.
  5. Expand my cooking repertoire.
  6. Expand my guitar repertoire.
  7. Learn how to spell repertoire.
  8. Do more fun stuff with my wife.
  9. Get out in the woods more.
  10. Get out of the USA at least once.

Caveat: I break resolutions like I break wind, with frequency and fervor, so I refuse to be held to any of these foolish promises.

Finally, on a sports note, the Minnesota Gophers and Iowa State Cyclones are playing in the Insight Bowl today. This is a rivalry that goes back to when the Clone’s Jack Trice, one of college football’s first African American players and the who ISU’s beautiful stadium is named for, died from injuries suffered in a game against the Gophers. Today’s game is a meaningless matchup between two mediocre teams, but I have a minor interest because one daughter is an ISU grad and one is a U of M grad. I owe a small fortune to both. I haven’t been to a Gopher game since OJ Simpson played at Memorial Stadium, but I’ve been to a couple of games at Jack Trice, one where Oklahoma scored something like 70 and I very much admired how the fans seemed to be having a great time even though they were being mauled on the field. And besides, you’ve got to love a team named the Cyclones that have a Cardinal for a mascot. So today I’m going to be a Cyclone fan.

Have a fun and safe New Years Eve everyone!

Process of Elimination

Life, Writing

First of all I a sad story. A classmate of my wife returned home to be with his dying father. On his first night in town the son died in his sleep. The father died later in the day. I wonder how people handle things like that, but I guess we just handle it. The feeling of grief and disorientation in a situation like that is unfathomable. The clock is ticking, we just don’t know what time the alarm is set to.

And now as promised, and I know you have been waiting breathlessly for this next self indulgent spew, I’m going to publicly work through my thinking process as I try to decide just what the hell I’m writing this blog for. I think the first thing I need to establish is what I’m NOT going to write about.

I’m not going to write about family drama. Not that there isn’t plenty to write about. Although I’m only part Scando-German, I grew up in Minnesota, and we don’t even talk about that stuff to each other, let alone broadcast it. Remember the Norwegian farmer who loved his wife so much he almost told her? That’s not a joke, it’s a statement of fact. Same goes with friends, I have enough trouble with relationships, I seem to have a talent for pissing people off. I don’t need to hang those shorts out in public. I might make an exception in the name of self deprecating humor, my social ineptitude makes for some pretty amusing situations.

I’m not going to write about politics. Mostly because I’m just not qualified. I’m kind of a knee-jerk liberal, a liberal by faith and instinct. I’m really not very good at defending my principles. I’m not even sure I have principles. I’ll leave that to others, like these guys. Unless I just get so pissed off at the Republicans or the Tea Baggers or Sarah Palin or Michelle Bachman that I just can’t keep my mouth shut.

And finally I’m NOT going to write about the inner workings of my bowels. In an earlier post I mentioned how dooce has made a fortune writing about her constipation. I have the opposite problem, Crohn’s disease. There is a big difference between writing about constipation and writing about having a bad case of the runs. The latter is about the lack of shit, the other is all about shit. And all though I’ve tried to deal with this shitty situation with humor, and it has provided lots of material for humor, I don’t want to run the risk of over sharing.

So what the hell should I write about?

Humble Pie

Art, Books, Life, Work

Yesterday I started reading Tim O’Brien’s Going After Cacciato (spoiler alert) and also watched Julia and Julie. Let me just say I’ve been humbled. You may be surprised that I haven’t yet read Cacciato, because it really should be required reading for anyone of my generation, at least anyone who professes affinity to Literature with a capital “L.” And you might be amazed that I would be humbled by a Hollywood movie, because those of us who fancy themselves literary, cool, creative and hip, really need to distain Hollywood movies or be exposed as not being any of the former.

I’m not quite sure why I haven’t read much of O’Brien until recently. Quinn, my youngest daughter, who was blessed with an excellent English teacher, read The Things We Carried in High School and she loved it, and recommended it to me. She’s the one that gave me Cacciato for Christmas this year. The book sucked me  in immediately.

Paul Berlin, whose only goal was to live long enough to establish goals worth living for still longer, stood high in the tower by the sea, the night soft all around him, and wondered not for the first time, about the immense powers of his own imagination.

See, humbling. I’ve wondered about my immense powers of imagination. I was virtually an only child, my brother and sister were teenagers when I was born, and I kept myself company with elaborate fantasies. I learned to draw by illustrating the stories in my head. My sister, home from college, suggested that my parents take me to a shrink, because I spent so much time in conversation with my menagerie of imaginary friends, way past the age when imaginary friends are appropriate. I would go to sleep at night telling myself elaborate, juvenile adventure stories. I was an odd duck.

But I never did anything with it. I think I started my first novel at about nine. It was a historical novel, Minnesota was celebrating it’s centennial, the novel was about Henry Sibley. Of course I only got about three pages written when my attention went elsewhere, but not before I enlisted my teacher in the production of some sort of elaborate historical production. She put me in charge. It fizzled instantly when I became bored with it. To this day I have a hard time finishing projects. So I’m humbled not only by O’Brien’s beautifully woven story within a story and his superb writing, but also by the mere fact that he got it done!

Same with Julie Powell and her blog. She got it done. She set this crazy project for herself and got it done, even though she was working full time, doing the cooking and writing about it. Here I am, not employed with way too much time on my hands, trying to get this blog going and half the time I can’t think of anything to write about and when I do come up with something, it seems so stiff and forced to me. I read what I’ve written and ask myself, didn’t I used to be witty and clever? People told me I was. What happened?

Stay tuned. Tomorrow I’m going to try to analyze the situation and see if I can figure out what’s going on and what to do about it.

Confusing Communication

Art, Family, Life

Last night we had a small party to celebrate Quinn’s graduation from the U of M. At the risk of being a parental braggart, one semester early with a double major. I’m very proud of her. She majored in Art and Art History, her concentration in Art was ceramics. Naturally she has compiled quite a collection of pottery over the last few years and she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do with it. So she put out some of her pieces and we told the guests to help themselves before they left. Part of the collection was made up of simple thrown cylinders that she had done as a technical exercise in one of her early classes. Even though they are more practice pieces than anything else, some are very attractive. She told me that almost everyone that selected a cylinder asked her if they could drink coffee out of them. We decided that they meant that in a chemical sense, not an aesthetic sense. “They’re not mugs, they’re cylinders. When you make a mug you think about the handle and the lip and how the liquid will flow out of it and all those form follows function kind of decisions. So, yes, you can safely drink coffee out of them, just so I don’t have to see you do it.”

Another communication pitfall occurred this morning. I asked my wife if she worked next week. “You mean this week?”

It’s Sunday, right? This is the weekEND, right. So it’s the end of this week. Tomorrow is Monday and the beginning of next week right. Am I wrong on this??