I'm listening to a live recording of Müm with me feet up on my desk and my keyboard on my lap. I've finished the last of my coffee. Now it's time to write. Of course, I don't want to.
Outside of my window I can see the top part of a tree and the sunlight on a neighbor's roof.
All I really have to do is polish what I've already written. And pick away at an outline.
I'd like to see Müm live in concert. I didn't realize they had so many acoustic instruments. I thought they were purely electronic. They're from Iceland.
I'm a writer. I spend most of my time not doing what I do, and feeling guilty about not doing it.
We're going to pick blueberries on Friday afternoon, after I go for a 13-mile run and have lunch with an investigator.
I think I can write now.
Here's the concert:
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
mass murderer
We have ants.
They come up through the spots where the kitchen counter doesn't quite meet the wall. We intend to exterminate them as soon as we find the least toxic way to do so. Meantime, the best way to keep them under control is to kill them.
When the kitchen is spotless, which is often lately, there are few or no ants to be seen. But if Allie or I leave a dish out for a few hours, and that dish has food on it, then the ants emerge.
Today I had two peanut butter and honey sandwiches for breakfast. My plate had a few splotches of honey on it. I didn't rinse it and put it in the dishwasher. When I came downstairs for a late lunch there were hundreds of ants marching in a line from the wall to the plate.
Ants were lines up around the edges of the honey spots antenna to antenna. They looked like they were stoned, like Deadheads passed out around a hookah with the hoses still stuck in their mouths.
I cleared everything away from the counter, except for the plate and a glass the ants had infested. I did this so I could murder more quickly and efficiently.
First I picked up the glass, exposing a huge crowd of them. Some of them started stomping all around, sensing danger, looking for escape. Others were too jacked up on honey to move.
I took the plate to the sink and washed them all down. Some clung to the sides of the sink, writhing. I finished them off with the sprayer. Ants can't scream. At least not loud enough for me to hear.
Then I took a sponge and ran it along the ant highway. Two seconds, dozens gone.
Ants can be anthropomorphized. You can imagine them as little people and picture yourself among them, working away, trying to score a hit of honey, when all of a sudden you're washed into oblivion or smashed by a thumb. It's awful when you think of them like that.
But it's also easy to remember that they probably have little or no brain and that they're vile invaders in a sovereign land and that for this they run a very real risk of dying violently.
That's just the way things are.
They come up through the spots where the kitchen counter doesn't quite meet the wall. We intend to exterminate them as soon as we find the least toxic way to do so. Meantime, the best way to keep them under control is to kill them.
When the kitchen is spotless, which is often lately, there are few or no ants to be seen. But if Allie or I leave a dish out for a few hours, and that dish has food on it, then the ants emerge.
Today I had two peanut butter and honey sandwiches for breakfast. My plate had a few splotches of honey on it. I didn't rinse it and put it in the dishwasher. When I came downstairs for a late lunch there were hundreds of ants marching in a line from the wall to the plate.
Ants were lines up around the edges of the honey spots antenna to antenna. They looked like they were stoned, like Deadheads passed out around a hookah with the hoses still stuck in their mouths.
I cleared everything away from the counter, except for the plate and a glass the ants had infested. I did this so I could murder more quickly and efficiently.
First I picked up the glass, exposing a huge crowd of them. Some of them started stomping all around, sensing danger, looking for escape. Others were too jacked up on honey to move.
I took the plate to the sink and washed them all down. Some clung to the sides of the sink, writhing. I finished them off with the sprayer. Ants can't scream. At least not loud enough for me to hear.
Then I took a sponge and ran it along the ant highway. Two seconds, dozens gone.
Ants can be anthropomorphized. You can imagine them as little people and picture yourself among them, working away, trying to score a hit of honey, when all of a sudden you're washed into oblivion or smashed by a thumb. It's awful when you think of them like that.
But it's also easy to remember that they probably have little or no brain and that they're vile invaders in a sovereign land and that for this they run a very real risk of dying violently.
That's just the way things are.
rarity
I was 67 cents short on my bill at Aldi's yesterday. The nice lady at the cash register told me not to worry about it. I thanked her profusely.
When I got in my car I noticed spare change in the center console. I counted up 67 cents and went back in to pay her back, locking my car door as I left.
She was very happy when I gave her the money. We had both done one another good deeds. I felt good.
As I went back to my car, I felt in my pockets for my keys. They weren't there. I pulled the door handle. It was locked. I looked in my window. The keys were on the seat.
I went back in and told the woman about my keys. I asked the use the phone. Because of my good deed, the cashier was very accommodating. She said I could use the phone whenever I wanted to and for as long as I want.
I called Allie and she called AAA. She said it would take 45 minutes. But they were there in ten.
The man popped open my door in less than a minute.
He said, "We were surprised that it was a gentleman who had locked his keys in his car. We got a lot of ladies who do that. But not many gentleman."
When I got in my car I noticed spare change in the center console. I counted up 67 cents and went back in to pay her back, locking my car door as I left.
She was very happy when I gave her the money. We had both done one another good deeds. I felt good.
As I went back to my car, I felt in my pockets for my keys. They weren't there. I pulled the door handle. It was locked. I looked in my window. The keys were on the seat.
I went back in and told the woman about my keys. I asked the use the phone. Because of my good deed, the cashier was very accommodating. She said I could use the phone whenever I wanted to and for as long as I want.
I called Allie and she called AAA. She said it would take 45 minutes. But they were there in ten.
The man popped open my door in less than a minute.
He said, "We were surprised that it was a gentleman who had locked his keys in his car. We got a lot of ladies who do that. But not many gentleman."
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
going long
Today: A boring post about running.
I'm halfway to my goal of running for a year without injury. And I'm running more miles per week than I used to. A couple weeks ago, I ran 26 miles, including an 11.4-mile long run. This week I hope to run 29.
Reasons why I'm not hurt:
In fact, I'm even starting to think maybe I'm on a path toward an ultra.
I'm halfway to my goal of running for a year without injury. And I'm running more miles per week than I used to. A couple weeks ago, I ran 26 miles, including an 11.4-mile long run. This week I hope to run 29.
Reasons why I'm not hurt:
- Slowly building up the mileage.
- Sticking to the run/walk method.
- Running slowly.
- Running mostly on grass and trails.
In fact, I'm even starting to think maybe I'm on a path toward an ultra.
Monday, June 15, 2009
good new music
I've been listening to lots of music lately. Here are some of my recent favorites:
Dirty Projectors: Bitte Orca
Sonic Youth: The Eternal
Jim O'Rourke: Banana Hall, Osaka, Japan, July 8, 1999
Dirty Projectors: Bitte Orca
Sonic Youth: The Eternal
Jim O'Rourke: Banana Hall, Osaka, Japan, July 8, 1999
write on
I have written five book proposals since 2004. Now I'm about to embark on a sixth. I have a hunch this will be the one.
Book proposals are by far and away the most difficult things I have to write. I've gone through extreme pain on each of the previous five. I'm bound to go through more on this one.
I'd like to think I'm getting better at it. My last agent told me as much. My writing has really improved, she said. But still, none of them sold.
Now I have a new agent. She talks with me more than the last one did. During a phone call last week, she suggested a new angle on the story of my experience in the mayor's office. I've been thinking about it for a few days. I think she's right. This is the direction I'm going to pursue.
I've set a goal for myself of completing the proposal by mid-July. Today I started sketching ideas on a scatter graph. I'm not exactly sure why I do them. They never seem to have much bearing to the end product, except that they're where I start. Tomorrow I'll draw a picture of a narrative arc. Or at least a picture of narrative chunks, with arrows between them. This will turn into an outline.
A good thing: I seem to be able to write crappy lately. This is a good thing. It's hard to start writing when you won't let yourself write crappy.
Book proposals are by far and away the most difficult things I have to write. I've gone through extreme pain on each of the previous five. I'm bound to go through more on this one.
I'd like to think I'm getting better at it. My last agent told me as much. My writing has really improved, she said. But still, none of them sold.
Now I have a new agent. She talks with me more than the last one did. During a phone call last week, she suggested a new angle on the story of my experience in the mayor's office. I've been thinking about it for a few days. I think she's right. This is the direction I'm going to pursue.
I've set a goal for myself of completing the proposal by mid-July. Today I started sketching ideas on a scatter graph. I'm not exactly sure why I do them. They never seem to have much bearing to the end product, except that they're where I start. Tomorrow I'll draw a picture of a narrative arc. Or at least a picture of narrative chunks, with arrows between them. This will turn into an outline.
A good thing: I seem to be able to write crappy lately. This is a good thing. It's hard to start writing when you won't let yourself write crappy.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
running of the squirrels
So we traveled to Marinville, Missouri, for the annual Running of the Squirrels. It was a lovely race, and they had the best race T-shirts I've ever seen:
And we actually got to see one of the little white creatures. It was too far away and squirrely to photograph.
People are very friendly in that part of the country. And they have lot of neat antiques.
All in all, a lovely weekend.
And we actually got to see one of the little white creatures. It was too far away and squirrely to photograph.
People are very friendly in that part of the country. And they have lot of neat antiques.
All in all, a lovely weekend.
Friday, June 12, 2009
This weekend, Allie and I are going to participate in the annual Running of the Squirrels.
Not these squirrels:
These squirrels:
More here and here.
As you can see, this is serious business.
Not these squirrels:
These squirrels:
More here and here.
As you can see, this is serious business.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
leaf eaters
There's a part in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle where Barbara Kingsolver says something like spring is the time when we stuff our faces with leaves. Sounds about right.
I laid down a law a couple of weeks ago. I said to Allie we need to eat two large salads everyday. And when I say large I mean gigantic. I've been eating mine out of a mixing bowl.
We've been obeying the law for the most part. But we've made barely a dent in the garden. And now some of it is starting to bolt.
Chard:
Lettuce:
Romaine:
The other night, as we were eating salads on the porch, I wondered aloud if we've evolved to store up the nutrients you get leafy greens each fall and then replenish them in the spring. Because those are the times when they grow like crazy. And there's no way to stock pile them. You've just got to eat and eat and compost the rest.
I think this is the way we've evolved. At least in growing zones four to six.
In other news, this not a head of pink lettuce but a rose I dug out of my grandma's yard and brought to KC on a plane five years ago:
As you can see, it's doing just fine.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
archives
These are my files from Cross-X. I've kept them around for three years. Last week I dumped all but the notebooks in the recycle bin. And I only kept those because I didn't have enough room to stuff those in too.
I kept them around for obvious reasons. Who wants to get rid of such impressive evidence of hard work?
On the other hand, it's kind of stupid to keep them. It's not like I'm Robert Caro.
So I'll do the next best thing. I'll print up one of these pictures and put it somewhere by my desk.
b-day
We treat each other pretty good on birthday's around here.
I woke up this morning and got exactly what I wanted -- a last little boost toward a 160g iPod.
Tonight I'm having steak from a well-treated cow and key lime pie.
A month from now it'll be my turn to make someone else's day.
And for your listening pleasure, one of the best Grateful Dead concerts ever, on this day 36 years ago at RFK Stadium in Washington D.C.
(It's almost 5 hours long, so save it for when you've got a bunch of computer work to do.)
I woke up this morning and got exactly what I wanted -- a last little boost toward a 160g iPod.
Tonight I'm having steak from a well-treated cow and key lime pie.
A month from now it'll be my turn to make someone else's day.
And for your listening pleasure, one of the best Grateful Dead concerts ever, on this day 36 years ago at RFK Stadium in Washington D.C.
(It's almost 5 hours long, so save it for when you've got a bunch of computer work to do.)
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
sonic
As part of my ongoing reclamation of days gone by, I've picked up my old Sonic Youth habit.
Sonic Youth was easily my favorite band through college and for the first couple of years after. I saw them in concert five times, the last being in 1999 in Santa Fe.
They have a new album and they're on tour. I'm going to see them in July. Right here in Kansas City. No traveling.
It's kind of funny, I guess. They're all in their 50s now. They've been asked if they will change their name, now that they're so much older and they've said no. They think it's more radical the older they get.
Best of all, I was pleased to discover that there are tons of Sonic Youth bootlegs free for the taking on the Internets. Over the last week or so I've downloaded several dozen and am enjoying them immensely.
I'm well aware that they're an acquired taste. Allie can't stand them.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
see through
The Obama Administration is doing a great job making information available to people. They're doing such a great job, in fact, it's hard to keep up with it. Honestly, I've given up trying.
I subscribe to the RSS feed of three White House blogs, all of which update several times a day. The press feed updates a couple dozen times a day, often with complete transcripts of press conferences.
Today they touted their new site, Data.gov, where they offer raw data on stuff like , , , , , , , , .
Absolutely amazing.
It's too bad reporters are a dying breed. Maybe bloggers will step up and dig into this stuff. More likely, it'll be folks at universities and think tanks.
I love the White House folks' enthusiasm about the project:
"Democratizing government data will help change how government operates—and give citizens the ability to participate in making government services more effective, accessible, and transparent."
Right on. Hope they're right.
I subscribe to the RSS feed of three White House blogs, all of which update several times a day. The press feed updates a couple dozen times a day, often with complete transcripts of press conferences.
Today they touted their new site, Data.gov, where they offer raw data on stuff like , , , , , , , , .
Absolutely amazing.
It's too bad reporters are a dying breed. Maybe bloggers will step up and dig into this stuff. More likely, it'll be folks at universities and think tanks.
I love the White House folks' enthusiasm about the project:
"Democratizing government data will help change how government operates—and give citizens the ability to participate in making government services more effective, accessible, and transparent."
Right on. Hope they're right.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
be1 kansas city report
I had the Be1KC event last night. It was cold and raining, so not many people showed up. In fact, none of the official-type people I invited made it.
But there were a couple of people who wanted to help kids, so I'm going to help them get in touch with folks who can help them do that.
The main result is that I'm going to step up my involvement. The president of our neighborhood association showed up, and he said some of the high school administrators have reached out to them. So I made a commitment to be the neighborhood's liaison with the school. I'm going to get in touch with folks there, and stay in touch with them, so I can keep abreast of stuff that's happening there. That way when there's an activity neighborhood folks can help out with, I can try to round people up.
It's a little bit. But every little bit helps.
But there were a couple of people who wanted to help kids, so I'm going to help them get in touch with folks who can help them do that.
The main result is that I'm going to step up my involvement. The president of our neighborhood association showed up, and he said some of the high school administrators have reached out to them. So I made a commitment to be the neighborhood's liaison with the school. I'm going to get in touch with folks there, and stay in touch with them, so I can keep abreast of stuff that's happening there. That way when there's an activity neighborhood folks can help out with, I can try to round people up.
It's a little bit. But every little bit helps.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
beard: week 7
I was going to let it go until August.
But it was starting to feel like moss.
And I'm a roooollling stoooonne!
Monday, April 20, 2009
friends and family in the media
There was a cool article in the Elkhart Truth about my uncle Evan and a forest he planted.
And one of Ebony Rose's speeches is included in an online project about race hosted by Stanford.
That's all for now.
And one of Ebony Rose's speeches is included in an online project about race hosted by Stanford.
That's all for now.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
who woulda thunk it?
Via my friend and fellow descendent of martyrs, Joel, comes this shocking news.
This gives me good cause for growing my beard.
This gives me good cause for growing my beard.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
nuni and nooni schoener
Mice sometimes seek refuge in our home. Allie and I have named every mouse we've ever seen in our house Nuni Schoener or Nooni Schoener, after one of our favorite couples from Saturday Night Live.
Usually, the Schoeners are not a big deal. They show up a few times during winter months and then the disappear. But this year there seems to be a lot of Nunis so we had to take action.
We don't want to kill them, because they're so cute. And our cats don't seem to want to either. So we took a cue from Allie's sister and rigged a humane trap.
We put some peanut butter and ketchup in the end of a carboard tube from a paper towel roll. Then we balance it on the edge of a shelf, above a tall garbage can. When the mice get to the end of the tube where the food is, they tip it over and into the can, where they're trapped.
It works!
We've caught four today and we've driven each to a wooded spot about two miles from our house.
I would like to know if mice can find one another and rebuild their communities in new locations. I hope so.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
be1 kansas city
There's an article in my neighborhood newspaper about an event I'm hosting on April 27.
It's part of the Be1 campaign that school board member has spearheaded. The goal is to encourage folks to get become mentors for kids at Kansas City schools.
The event will be at 6:30 p.m. at the Northeast Branch of the Kansas City Library.
It'll be pretty mellow. I'll talk a little about my experience helping the debaters at Central. Hopefully, one of the debaters will be there, and they'll talk about what it's like to have an old freak like me hanging around, trying to help out. I've also invited a teacher from Northeast High and some local social-worker-type people.
I'll post more about it in the coming days. Hope some of you can attend!
It's part of the Be1 campaign that school board member has spearheaded. The goal is to encourage folks to get become mentors for kids at Kansas City schools.
The event will be at 6:30 p.m. at the Northeast Branch of the Kansas City Library.
It'll be pretty mellow. I'll talk a little about my experience helping the debaters at Central. Hopefully, one of the debaters will be there, and they'll talk about what it's like to have an old freak like me hanging around, trying to help out. I've also invited a teacher from Northeast High and some local social-worker-type people.
I'll post more about it in the coming days. Hope some of you can attend!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
rock chalk
I can't believe I'm writing a post called "rock chalk!" And I really can't believe I'm about to write these words:
"I'm proud to be a Jayhawk!"
When I was an undergrad at Colorado, I despised Kansas.
I was a basketball fan. Cu never had very good teams. KU always did. And not only would the Jayhawks crush the Buffs every year, but they'd bring with them throngs of loud fans all dressed in red and blue. They out numbered us.
Years later, when I found myself working in Lawrence, the KU fans were in a state of anxiety. Their beloved Roy Williams was leaving for North Carolina, and they feared the program might suffer.
I openly hoped it would. I told my fellow staffers at the local paper that i hoped they'd hire a string of awful coaches who would collectively destroy the once mighty program.
Well, now I'm a student at KU. I'm still not a fan of their cagers. In fact, when I took a night class last semester I cursed them for drawing spectators who took up all the parking spaces for those of us who were there to learn.
But today, I'm proud to be a Jayhawk.
Last night Kansas won the national championship in debate!
KU has one of the best debate programs in the country. Much better than their basketball program. Over the last 50 years, the Jayhawks have won four national championships ('54, '70, '76, 83), have been to the final four 13 times, and have qualified for the tourney every year since 1968.
What makes them especially cool is that they don't offer scholarships. All their debaters are Kansas kids who weren't particularly competitive in high school. They've got an incredible tradition of making champions.
So, there you go.
Rock chalk!
Or whatever the hell it is that they say.
"I'm proud to be a Jayhawk!"
When I was an undergrad at Colorado, I despised Kansas.
I was a basketball fan. Cu never had very good teams. KU always did. And not only would the Jayhawks crush the Buffs every year, but they'd bring with them throngs of loud fans all dressed in red and blue. They out numbered us.
Years later, when I found myself working in Lawrence, the KU fans were in a state of anxiety. Their beloved Roy Williams was leaving for North Carolina, and they feared the program might suffer.
I openly hoped it would. I told my fellow staffers at the local paper that i hoped they'd hire a string of awful coaches who would collectively destroy the once mighty program.
Well, now I'm a student at KU. I'm still not a fan of their cagers. In fact, when I took a night class last semester I cursed them for drawing spectators who took up all the parking spaces for those of us who were there to learn.
But today, I'm proud to be a Jayhawk.
Last night Kansas won the national championship in debate!
KU has one of the best debate programs in the country. Much better than their basketball program. Over the last 50 years, the Jayhawks have won four national championships ('54, '70, '76, 83), have been to the final four 13 times, and have qualified for the tourney every year since 1968.
What makes them especially cool is that they don't offer scholarships. All their debaters are Kansas kids who weren't particularly competitive in high school. They've got an incredible tradition of making champions.
So, there you go.
Rock chalk!
Or whatever the hell it is that they say.
Monday, March 30, 2009
ship of fools
"Ship of Fools" has been one of my favorite songs lately. Allie's too. Today she asked me about the lyrics today, so I looked them up.
They're quite beautiful. And they really hit home for me.
Went to see the captain
strangest I could find
Layed my proposition down
Layed it on the line;
I won't slave for beggar's pay
likewise gold and jewels
but I would slave to learn the way
to sink your ship of fools
Ship of fools
on a cruel sea
Ship of fools
sail away from me
It was later than I thought
when I first believed you
now I cannot share your laughter
Ship of Fools
Saw your first ship sink and drown
from rocking of the boat
and all that could not sink or swim
was just left there to float
I won't leave you drifting down
but woah it makes me wild
with thirty years upon my head
to have you call me child
Ship of fools
on a cruel sea
Ship of fools
sail away from me
It was later than I thought
when I first believed you
now I cannot share your laughter
Ship of Fools
The bottles stand as empty
as they were filled before
Time there was and plenty
but from that cup no more
Though I could not caution all I yet may warn a few:
Don't lend your hand to raise no flag
atop no ship of fools
Ship of fools
on a cruel sea
Ship of fools
sail away from me
It was later than I thought
when I first believed you
now I cannot share your laughter
Ship of Fools
No I cannot share your laughter
Ship of Fools
Saturday, March 28, 2009
first bite
We had our first harvest of asparagus. Just seven stalks. Allie cooked it in a skillet with some garlic and salt.
She said it's the best asparagus she's ever had.
I have to agree.
It is the best she's ever had.
Friday, March 27, 2009
life begins in my basement
Every year when I plant seeds I do so thinking there is no way in hell they're going to grow. It just doesn't make any sense. Seeds are just these little things, and dirt is dirt, water's water. Doesn't add up in my head to peppers and tomatoes.
But, every year, I'm proven wrong. This thing to the left is a little sprout of pepper proof.
Monday, March 23, 2009
neighborhood puppy mill
On Saturday, a man built a crude enclosure out of boards and chicken wire in the front yard of a rental house down the street. Then he put four dogs in the enclosure. One was female. She had great big teets full of milk dangling down from her belly.
The house is on a busy corner and the dogs were nervous about all the commotion. They kept barking and barking. Our dogs, in turn, were made nervous by the barking, and they started barking too. Allie and I were unnerved.
We decided to go up the street and ask what was up.
The man who built the fence said he would be keeping the dogs there permanently, 24/7. But, he said, he planned to build a privacy fence as soon as he could, probably in two or three weeks.
The dogs spent the night out in the elements. They only woke us a couple of times with their barking.
The next day the man was back with a pickup full of particle board. He spent the afternoon nailing it up on the kennel. It looked just as crappy as it sounds.
Then, at about quarter to two this morning, Allie woke up and looked out the window. "Oh my god," she said, "you've got to see this."
I got up and looked. There was a man on the sidewalk talking on a cell phone. All around him ran about ten chubby little puppies.
In our sleepy state we thought it was a stranger out for a midnight stroll with a pack of leashless puppies. But we soon realized it was our neighbor, Roberto. He was out there with his partner, Curtis, trying to figure out what to do with all of these puppies that had escaped from the kennel. When we came outside, he said he had almost run over one of them when he got home from work.
He'd called the cops, of course. But they said they couldn't do anything. Only animal control could deal with it, and they're strictly nine-to-five.
We debated a bunch of solutions. We cursed the guy who'd left the animals out like this. No one was home at the rental. There was no dog house for the dogs, no food, no water, and it was starting to rain.
Finally we decided to put them back in the enclosure and seel off the escape holes with cinder blocks.
This morning we woke up and called the city's action center. While on the phone, Allie asked my to go out and write down the exact address. In the process, I discovered that all the dogs were gone. Someone had come in the middle of the night and taken them all away.
All that remains is the crude enclosure made of boards, chicken wire and particle board.
The house is on a busy corner and the dogs were nervous about all the commotion. They kept barking and barking. Our dogs, in turn, were made nervous by the barking, and they started barking too. Allie and I were unnerved.
We decided to go up the street and ask what was up.
The man who built the fence said he would be keeping the dogs there permanently, 24/7. But, he said, he planned to build a privacy fence as soon as he could, probably in two or three weeks.
The dogs spent the night out in the elements. They only woke us a couple of times with their barking.
The next day the man was back with a pickup full of particle board. He spent the afternoon nailing it up on the kennel. It looked just as crappy as it sounds.
Then, at about quarter to two this morning, Allie woke up and looked out the window. "Oh my god," she said, "you've got to see this."
I got up and looked. There was a man on the sidewalk talking on a cell phone. All around him ran about ten chubby little puppies.
In our sleepy state we thought it was a stranger out for a midnight stroll with a pack of leashless puppies. But we soon realized it was our neighbor, Roberto. He was out there with his partner, Curtis, trying to figure out what to do with all of these puppies that had escaped from the kennel. When we came outside, he said he had almost run over one of them when he got home from work.
He'd called the cops, of course. But they said they couldn't do anything. Only animal control could deal with it, and they're strictly nine-to-five.
We debated a bunch of solutions. We cursed the guy who'd left the animals out like this. No one was home at the rental. There was no dog house for the dogs, no food, no water, and it was starting to rain.
Finally we decided to put them back in the enclosure and seel off the escape holes with cinder blocks.
This morning we woke up and called the city's action center. While on the phone, Allie asked my to go out and write down the exact address. In the process, I discovered that all the dogs were gone. Someone had come in the middle of the night and taken them all away.
All that remains is the crude enclosure made of boards, chicken wire and particle board.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
staying power
Shoulda put these in the ground three years ago. Oh well, better late than never. We're going to be eating good next week.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
international trade?
Yael's blog says my former boss supported "keeping the International Trade Office open" in his budget recommendation. I was very surprised to read this, because when I was still there we were not big fans of the program.
From our perspective, the expense was hard to justify in hard times. Hell, it was hard to justify in good times.
We wondered, Just what does the program do?
Kendrick Blackwood, the mayor's chief of staff, went on one of the trade office's junkets to Mexico back when he was still assistant director of communications. He came back utterly baffled as to why the city spends money on it. He said he made it his mission on the trip to find out what the city gets out of its involvement.
The best explanation he could come up with was that it's a way to meet people.
He said, with utter incredulity, that the director of the program, Jodi Edgerton, measures her success by how many business cards she gives away.
Not dollars and cents for the city. Business cards.
It seemed to us a classic example of City Hall bureaucratic bloating. What started several years ago as a volunteer gig for one woman became an $800,000 per year department with a full staff. (Oh, and another thing about that one woman. Gloria believed that Jodi was trying to sabotage the mayor because she was supposedly good friends with the previous mayor, Kay Barnes. So we were particularly indifferent to the expense.)
At any rate, the International Trade Office was a point of contention between our office and the City Manager. Last year's budget stipulated a major cut to the program. But it was our understanding that the manager was refusing to make those cuts, as he did with other mandates in the budget, and we were highly annoyed by that. I even wrote a terse memo to the manager, which Mark signed, that demanded an explanation as to why the program was still being fully funded.
So why would Funk support it now?
I suddenly remembered: George Blackwood -- Kendrick's dad and key kitchen cabinet member for the mayor -- is big on this international trade thing. He goes to Mexico every once in a while to promote it. On the city's dime, if I'm not mistaken.
I'm trying to keep my mouth shut about this stuff, and not turn my blog into a bash-the-mayor thing. But when I read this in Yael's column, I just had to say something about it.
Supporting a wasteful, unnecessary program just because an ally benefits from it?
That is definitely not the kind of governing folks like me thought we were getting when we put our lives on hold to get Mark elected.
From our perspective, the expense was hard to justify in hard times. Hell, it was hard to justify in good times.
We wondered, Just what does the program do?
Kendrick Blackwood, the mayor's chief of staff, went on one of the trade office's junkets to Mexico back when he was still assistant director of communications. He came back utterly baffled as to why the city spends money on it. He said he made it his mission on the trip to find out what the city gets out of its involvement.
The best explanation he could come up with was that it's a way to meet people.
He said, with utter incredulity, that the director of the program, Jodi Edgerton, measures her success by how many business cards she gives away.
Not dollars and cents for the city. Business cards.
It seemed to us a classic example of City Hall bureaucratic bloating. What started several years ago as a volunteer gig for one woman became an $800,000 per year department with a full staff. (Oh, and another thing about that one woman. Gloria believed that Jodi was trying to sabotage the mayor because she was supposedly good friends with the previous mayor, Kay Barnes. So we were particularly indifferent to the expense.)
At any rate, the International Trade Office was a point of contention between our office and the City Manager. Last year's budget stipulated a major cut to the program. But it was our understanding that the manager was refusing to make those cuts, as he did with other mandates in the budget, and we were highly annoyed by that. I even wrote a terse memo to the manager, which Mark signed, that demanded an explanation as to why the program was still being fully funded.
So why would Funk support it now?
I suddenly remembered: George Blackwood -- Kendrick's dad and key kitchen cabinet member for the mayor -- is big on this international trade thing. He goes to Mexico every once in a while to promote it. On the city's dime, if I'm not mistaken.
I'm trying to keep my mouth shut about this stuff, and not turn my blog into a bash-the-mayor thing. But when I read this in Yael's column, I just had to say something about it.
Supporting a wasteful, unnecessary program just because an ally benefits from it?
That is definitely not the kind of governing folks like me thought we were getting when we put our lives on hold to get Mark elected.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
hobbies
When does a hobby become an obsessive compulsive disorder?
I believe there is a clear line between the two, and that I have found it.
Earlier this year, I rediscovered the Grateful Dead. To my sober ears, they sound better than ever. And I was thrilled to discover that there are thousands of high-quality live recordings free for the taking on the Internet. All you need is a little patience, some online hunting skills and a lot of hard drive space.
At first, I was pretty picky. I'd only keep the parts of the shows that were really unique, the long jams and such. But I found that it was kind of nice to listen to entire shows as I did chores or read in my favorite chair in the living room. So I started downloading and saving entire shows.
Then I noticed the subtle difference between the shows on successive nights. It was kind of neat to imagine that I had tickets to entire runs of shows at, say, the Fillmore East in New York, and to compare the setlists from night to night. So I started collecting runs of shows.
Then I saw that each tour had its own unique vibe and story line, so now I'm starting to piece together entire tours. Last week, for instance, I completed an entire collection of the band's concerts in 1974. It was an especially good year -- and one with a lot fewer concerts than other years.
Now I'm trying to complete the Dead's tour of Europe in 1972, which a lot of fans say is the best they ever had. And it's here where I might the crossroads between hobbyist and obsessive. I've found and down loaded all but one of the concerts. And all but one are high quality recordings straight from the sound board. The last one was recorded by some bloke in the audience. And while some audience recordings can be quite good. This one... well, give it a listen yourself.
So now you see my dilemma. Do I download this godawful piece of crap, and complete the tour? I want to say I've got a full set. But I want to maintain my dignity as well.
I believe there is a clear line between the two, and that I have found it.
Earlier this year, I rediscovered the Grateful Dead. To my sober ears, they sound better than ever. And I was thrilled to discover that there are thousands of high-quality live recordings free for the taking on the Internet. All you need is a little patience, some online hunting skills and a lot of hard drive space.
At first, I was pretty picky. I'd only keep the parts of the shows that were really unique, the long jams and such. But I found that it was kind of nice to listen to entire shows as I did chores or read in my favorite chair in the living room. So I started downloading and saving entire shows.
Then I noticed the subtle difference between the shows on successive nights. It was kind of neat to imagine that I had tickets to entire runs of shows at, say, the Fillmore East in New York, and to compare the setlists from night to night. So I started collecting runs of shows.
Then I saw that each tour had its own unique vibe and story line, so now I'm starting to piece together entire tours. Last week, for instance, I completed an entire collection of the band's concerts in 1974. It was an especially good year -- and one with a lot fewer concerts than other years.
Now I'm trying to complete the Dead's tour of Europe in 1972, which a lot of fans say is the best they ever had. And it's here where I might the crossroads between hobbyist and obsessive. I've found and down loaded all but one of the concerts. And all but one are high quality recordings straight from the sound board. The last one was recorded by some bloke in the audience. And while some audience recordings can be quite good. This one... well, give it a listen yourself.
So now you see my dilemma. Do I download this godawful piece of crap, and complete the tour? I want to say I've got a full set. But I want to maintain my dignity as well.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
funkytown
For those of you who are eagerly awaiting my tell-all book about city hall, quit holding your breath. I talked with Agent Lydia on Thursday, and she said my latest proposal was heading in the wrong direction. She said that right now all the publishers are looking for BIG BOOKS. And the Funkhouser story is too small.
More significantly, she could tell my heart wasn't in it. Though it was well written, it betrayed ambivalence. "You have no poker face," she said.
It's true. I was throwing it out there in hopes of a payday. Much the way I'd send a resume around.
Didn't get me too down, though. It helped that on that very evening I gave a reading at Brown v. Board of Education National Historic Site. What an honor! There was a good crowd there, and we had a lively conversation about education, race and power.
And Agent Lydia doesn't want to dump me. She told me to "keep noodling." For now, that means turning the two Funkytown proposals into an essay for my class. Maybe I can get a magazine article out of it. She wasn't worried. I'll find a book. And she'll sell it.
But for those of you in KC, I guess you'll have to wait for Gloria's book to come out. Before I left, Funk was telling everyone it'll be called C'Mon Funk! Move Yer Ass! - Gloria Squitiro and the New Politics.
I guess it's good thing I won't be writing a book about this whole weird experience. How could I compete with that?
More significantly, she could tell my heart wasn't in it. Though it was well written, it betrayed ambivalence. "You have no poker face," she said.
It's true. I was throwing it out there in hopes of a payday. Much the way I'd send a resume around.
Didn't get me too down, though. It helped that on that very evening I gave a reading at Brown v. Board of Education National Historic Site. What an honor! There was a good crowd there, and we had a lively conversation about education, race and power.
And Agent Lydia doesn't want to dump me. She told me to "keep noodling." For now, that means turning the two Funkytown proposals into an essay for my class. Maybe I can get a magazine article out of it. She wasn't worried. I'll find a book. And she'll sell it.
But for those of you in KC, I guess you'll have to wait for Gloria's book to come out. Before I left, Funk was telling everyone it'll be called C'Mon Funk! Move Yer Ass! - Gloria Squitiro and the New Politics.
I guess it's good thing I won't be writing a book about this whole weird experience. How could I compete with that?
Monday, March 09, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
do i have to report it to unemployment?
I got a call today from Arbitron. I told them I don't listen to the radio. But they still want me to participate in their sweep of the KC market.
So I decided to do it. After all, there's compensation involved. The lady on the phone told me I'd get a small cash stipend.
"It's not a lot," she said. "But it's enough to go out and have a cup of coffee or a donut."
Not and. Or.
So I decided to do it. After all, there's compensation involved. The lady on the phone told me I'd get a small cash stipend.
"It's not a lot," she said. "But it's enough to go out and have a cup of coffee or a donut."
Not and. Or.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
howard hughes
I've grown a beard. I'd been trimming it, but I decided this week to let it grow for a while, just to see what it's like.
This morning I stood in the kitchen negotiating with Allie a time limit for my experiment. We hadn't had coffee yet and I looked like shit. I was in my Crocs slippers and a pair of sweats with paint stains on them. My hair was going every which way.
Allie burst out laughing. She imagined me with a big bushy beard going to City Hall dressed just exactly the same and asking to look through my old desk for a piece of paper or something. Or better yet, telling them I have a brilliant idea to save the city.
Sounds like a plan to me.
This morning I stood in the kitchen negotiating with Allie a time limit for my experiment. We hadn't had coffee yet and I looked like shit. I was in my Crocs slippers and a pair of sweats with paint stains on them. My hair was going every which way.
Allie burst out laughing. She imagined me with a big bushy beard going to City Hall dressed just exactly the same and asking to look through my old desk for a piece of paper or something. Or better yet, telling them I have a brilliant idea to save the city.
Sounds like a plan to me.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
neko's new one
I think I'm partial to live music. I'm not as crazy about Neko Case's new album, Middle Cyclone, as I am about her live recordings.
That's not a knock on the new release. It's good. It just doesn't fill me with waves of ecstasy the way the concert discs do.
I picked it up yesterday at an independent shop in downtown Lawrence, after I got out of class. I felt all college kid, buying a record on the first day of release. Listened to it on the drive home and had to force myself not to push the forward button on some of the songs.
But then, I put it on the home player while we ate dinner and I loved every note of it. It was perfect -- even the 30 minutes of nighttime country sounds that close it out.
Neko is one of the best artists going these days, and I think a lot of you dear readers would like her. She even draws the cool pictures on her album cover. Hope she plays KC this summer.
That's not a knock on the new release. It's good. It just doesn't fill me with waves of ecstasy the way the concert discs do.
I picked it up yesterday at an independent shop in downtown Lawrence, after I got out of class. I felt all college kid, buying a record on the first day of release. Listened to it on the drive home and had to force myself not to push the forward button on some of the songs.
But then, I put it on the home player while we ate dinner and I loved every note of it. It was perfect -- even the 30 minutes of nighttime country sounds that close it out.
Neko is one of the best artists going these days, and I think a lot of you dear readers would like her. She even draws the cool pictures on her album cover. Hope she plays KC this summer.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
holy blog
Got a note from a friend today saying she'd mistyped the url to this blog and wound up here. What's up with that?
Gives me an excuse to post. Sorry I've been remiss. Been working on my proposal, and I finally finished what seems a decent draft. Also going to school and trying to figure out how to earn money.
I understand the President was in my hometown the other day. Too bad my grandpa isn't still editing the paper. He woulda liked that, I think.
Gives me an excuse to post. Sorry I've been remiss. Been working on my proposal, and I finally finished what seems a decent draft. Also going to school and trying to figure out how to earn money.
I understand the President was in my hometown the other day. Too bad my grandpa isn't still editing the paper. He woulda liked that, I think.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
a mammoth proposal
There is no worse writing assignment than a book proposal. They're not only tough to write, what with having to cram 300 pages worth of story and concept into a breezy 20-page essay, but they carry huge consequences. As in, if I nail this thing, I don't really have to worry about money for three years.
The only way into it, for me, is to trick myself into it. Lately that means setting aside 20 or thirty minutes, roughly the time it takes to stream a 1973 version of "Dark Star" on the Internet, to write a single sentence. Of course, the sentence comes out about 10 minutes in, and by then I'm into the song, so I keep going, just to have an excuse to listen. By the end, I usually have one paragraph and a first sentence for another.
Proceeding in this fashion, I've managed to amass five pages over the last two weeks. And today, after cobbling together a graph, I glimpsed a link to some stuff I'd written in an earlier draft -- several good, well-polished paragraphs. So I hunted them down and I cut and pasted them in. Now, I think, I am just days away from having a complete introduction. And once that's done, if past experience is any indication, the rest should just sort of fall together.
Until the close. That will be a fresh variety of hell.
The only way into it, for me, is to trick myself into it. Lately that means setting aside 20 or thirty minutes, roughly the time it takes to stream a 1973 version of "Dark Star" on the Internet, to write a single sentence. Of course, the sentence comes out about 10 minutes in, and by then I'm into the song, so I keep going, just to have an excuse to listen. By the end, I usually have one paragraph and a first sentence for another.
Proceeding in this fashion, I've managed to amass five pages over the last two weeks. And today, after cobbling together a graph, I glimpsed a link to some stuff I'd written in an earlier draft -- several good, well-polished paragraphs. So I hunted them down and I cut and pasted them in. Now, I think, I am just days away from having a complete introduction. And once that's done, if past experience is any indication, the rest should just sort of fall together.
Until the close. That will be a fresh variety of hell.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
reading missouri
I was surprised and happy to learn last night that my book was selected as one of the recommended books for the Kansas City Public Library's adult winter reading program, Reading Missouri.
Looks like a neat program. Read five books off the list and you get a prize package and invitation to a part in March.
Looks like a neat program. Read five books off the list and you get a prize package and invitation to a part in March.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
praise for the day
This morning Allie said she hadn't heard any pundits say that it was the blackest presidential inauguration in history.
"They had a token white guy," she said, "instead of a token black guy."
It's true, though.
Aretha Franklin with her spectacular, COGIC-style hat.
Elizabeth Alexander's tight "Praise for the Day" that plainly said, "Say it plain, that many have died for this day."
And Rev. Joseph Lowery going a little street at the end, old-man street, when he asked God to bring the day when "black will not be asked to get in back. When brown can stick around. When yellow will be mellow. When the red man can get ahead, man. And when white will embrace what is right."
And, of course, the call and response, to end it all:
"That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen."
"They had a token white guy," she said, "instead of a token black guy."
It's true, though.
Aretha Franklin with her spectacular, COGIC-style hat.
Elizabeth Alexander's tight "Praise for the Day" that plainly said, "Say it plain, that many have died for this day."
And Rev. Joseph Lowery going a little street at the end, old-man street, when he asked God to bring the day when "black will not be asked to get in back. When brown can stick around. When yellow will be mellow. When the red man can get ahead, man. And when white will embrace what is right."
And, of course, the call and response, to end it all:
"That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen."
Amen.
"Say Amen."
Amen.
"And Amen."
Amen.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
19
The weirdest thing about finding all these Grateful Dead shows online is how I can feel the same obsession I felt when I was 19. A touch of it. Like when I scroll through the list of shows in 1988, the venues and the towns seem like exotic places, and the notion that the dead would be playing there makes them seem more exotic still.
When I look through the set lists, though, it seems so silly. They're all basically the same. Yet I just had to get to as many shows as I could.
Yesterday I went through and bookmarked all the shows I've been to. And over the next couple of weeks I plan to listen to them. When I look at them all lined up in order in my favorites folder, the Irvine Meadows shows stand out for some reason. Just the name. Irvine Meadows. Even now it seems enchanting.
Irvine Meadows is in Orange County. I drove past it a couple of years ago when I was on my book tour. It's a cookie-cutter amphitheater, exactly like Fiddlers Green in Denver or Sandstone here in KC. But in '88, it was my destiny.
To get there, for the three shows the Dead had scheduled there in late April of that year, and to two more a week later in Palo Alto, I took my exams early and persuaded the head cook in the dorm cafeteria to give me a box of food -- apples, bread, peanut butter, stuff like that. I needed the food because I only had $50 in my pocket, for a 10-day trip.
As soon as I hit Shakedown Street, I spent almost all my money on some dry goods that are typically not eaten. Seven days later, I was stranded in Palo Alto with no money, no ride home and a new pair of glasses. The latter I picked up (along with a weak prescription courtesy of $20-bucks-a-no-appointment-visit Dr. Huang) in San Bernadino after I'd lost mine in Joshua Tree. Grandma had saved me by calling in her credit card number. And mom saved me from having to sell myself on the streets of San Fran by wiring me some cash.
She sent enough for a bus ticket, and a little extra for food. Except, right before I bought the ticket, I spotted some other Dead Heads and we ducked into an ally and got stoned. And I was so stoned I left my wallet on the counter after I purchased the ticket. By the time I came down enough to realize where my wallet was -- ten paces across the room, laying there in plain site -- it had been liberated of all my remaining cash.
So there I was with a wicked case of the munchies, facing the prospect of a 26-hour bus trip with the one or two oranges I still had left from my box of food, and not a dime for a bite more.
I had an overnight layover in Salt Lake City. The bus stop was right across from the Mormon Tabernacle, so I decided to go over there and check it out. My hair was all mussed up and my clothes were filthy. I don't think I even had a backpack. I recall carrying in my arms my tent and mangy sleeping bag and whatever bag I was carrying my clothes in. I'm not sure exactly, but I certainly stood in contrast to the clean polo-shirted Mormons who were milling around. It was a sunny day and there were tulips bursting from every corner of the compound.
I noticed this guy eying me. After a while he comes up and says, "You look mighty forlorn." I gave him my sad story and he gave me 20 bucks. I raced across the street to an all-you-can-eat place and stuffed myself for at least two hours.
Properly nourished, I found a corner of the bus station to spread out my sleeping bag and managed to drift into sleep. Suddenly, I awoke to the scene of a couple of cops arresting somebody -- right on top of me. They had chased him to my corner, where they slapped cuffs on him, right after confiscating his gun.
All that for what?
Nothing in the set lists appears to have been worth that ordeal. The last shows in Palo Alto had some surprising twists, I suppose, but nothing monumental. The only vivid memory I have of any of the shows was the last one, where they played "Stuck Inside a Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again," in which Bob Weir screamed, mockingly, it seemed: "Oh! Mama! Can this reeeeeeeeally be the end?!?!"
But then, we did drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. I haven't done that since. And I visited Joshua Tree, too. That's a lovely place. What I saw of it before I lost my glasses.
When I look through the set lists, though, it seems so silly. They're all basically the same. Yet I just had to get to as many shows as I could.
Yesterday I went through and bookmarked all the shows I've been to. And over the next couple of weeks I plan to listen to them. When I look at them all lined up in order in my favorites folder, the Irvine Meadows shows stand out for some reason. Just the name. Irvine Meadows. Even now it seems enchanting.
Irvine Meadows is in Orange County. I drove past it a couple of years ago when I was on my book tour. It's a cookie-cutter amphitheater, exactly like Fiddlers Green in Denver or Sandstone here in KC. But in '88, it was my destiny.
To get there, for the three shows the Dead had scheduled there in late April of that year, and to two more a week later in Palo Alto, I took my exams early and persuaded the head cook in the dorm cafeteria to give me a box of food -- apples, bread, peanut butter, stuff like that. I needed the food because I only had $50 in my pocket, for a 10-day trip.
As soon as I hit Shakedown Street, I spent almost all my money on some dry goods that are typically not eaten. Seven days later, I was stranded in Palo Alto with no money, no ride home and a new pair of glasses. The latter I picked up (along with a weak prescription courtesy of $20-bucks-a-no-appointment-visit Dr. Huang) in San Bernadino after I'd lost mine in Joshua Tree. Grandma had saved me by calling in her credit card number. And mom saved me from having to sell myself on the streets of San Fran by wiring me some cash.
She sent enough for a bus ticket, and a little extra for food. Except, right before I bought the ticket, I spotted some other Dead Heads and we ducked into an ally and got stoned. And I was so stoned I left my wallet on the counter after I purchased the ticket. By the time I came down enough to realize where my wallet was -- ten paces across the room, laying there in plain site -- it had been liberated of all my remaining cash.
So there I was with a wicked case of the munchies, facing the prospect of a 26-hour bus trip with the one or two oranges I still had left from my box of food, and not a dime for a bite more.
I had an overnight layover in Salt Lake City. The bus stop was right across from the Mormon Tabernacle, so I decided to go over there and check it out. My hair was all mussed up and my clothes were filthy. I don't think I even had a backpack. I recall carrying in my arms my tent and mangy sleeping bag and whatever bag I was carrying my clothes in. I'm not sure exactly, but I certainly stood in contrast to the clean polo-shirted Mormons who were milling around. It was a sunny day and there were tulips bursting from every corner of the compound.
I noticed this guy eying me. After a while he comes up and says, "You look mighty forlorn." I gave him my sad story and he gave me 20 bucks. I raced across the street to an all-you-can-eat place and stuffed myself for at least two hours.
Properly nourished, I found a corner of the bus station to spread out my sleeping bag and managed to drift into sleep. Suddenly, I awoke to the scene of a couple of cops arresting somebody -- right on top of me. They had chased him to my corner, where they slapped cuffs on him, right after confiscating his gun.
All that for what?
Nothing in the set lists appears to have been worth that ordeal. The last shows in Palo Alto had some surprising twists, I suppose, but nothing monumental. The only vivid memory I have of any of the shows was the last one, where they played "Stuck Inside a Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again," in which Bob Weir screamed, mockingly, it seemed: "Oh! Mama! Can this reeeeeeeeally be the end?!?!"
But then, we did drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. I haven't done that since. And I visited Joshua Tree, too. That's a lovely place. What I saw of it before I lost my glasses.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
first show
I'm years and years behind the times on this one. This week I discovered The Internet Archive, where you can listen to a CD quality recording of just about every concert the Grateful Dead ever gave. So of course I go right to the ones I attended, all of which are right there for the listening.
If you click play on the doohicky above you can listen to the first show I attended, at the Henry J. Kaiser Convention Center, Oakland, California, December 27, 1986. It's actually a pretty good show. And, as you can imagine, it's got a doozy of a story to go along with it, some of which might well be fiction. Science fiction. But I'm reluctant to share it here, what with grandmas, moms and in-laws reading it and all. But hey, I was 18.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
year of the dog
Allie and I watched Year of the Dog on Saturday. The DVD box said it would be funny and uplifting. But at a couple of points we wondered if maybe the person who wrote the box copy was on crack.
The plot offers some big bummers as it unfolds. But they're crucial to the story, and we were feeling good by the time it ended.
It wasn't your typical Hollywood fair. It was structured more like a really good short story. And Molly Shannon's acting was top of the line.
The plot offers some big bummers as it unfolds. But they're crucial to the story, and we were feeling good by the time it ended.
It wasn't your typical Hollywood fair. It was structured more like a really good short story. And Molly Shannon's acting was top of the line.
Friday, January 09, 2009
power broker
I've been reading The Power Broker since before Christmas, and I'll probably still be reading it when it's time to pick tomatoes. It's massive.
The part I read last night astonished me.
With a single sentence in an amendment to a state law, Robert Moses created a little kingdom within United States territory and made it so he could be its king for his entire life.
He was head of an authority that oversaw the construction of the Triborough Bridge. By law, that authority could only remain in existence until the bonds that paid for its construction were retired. But the bridge was enormously successful, pulling in far more in toll receipts than was expected, and those bonds were due to be paid off in a hurry. Once that happened, Moses would lose his power.
At the time, there were plenty of people who would like to see him lose that power, including the mayor, governor, a slew of state reps and no less than President Roosevelt. Moses knew he had no chance of striking the part of the law that forced the authority to be shut down. So he made that part meaningless with this sentence:
And with bonds, it could, because of other vague language in the law, raise hundreds of millions of dollars to build stuff all over the place -- roads all over the New York metro area, parks, even housing. And it had power of eminent domain. And it didn't have to have public hearings. Nor any deference to the democratic process.
It was nothing short of an invasion and take over of part of this country.
With one cryptic sentence buried in the middle of a bill.
Amazing.
The part I read last night astonished me.
With a single sentence in an amendment to a state law, Robert Moses created a little kingdom within United States territory and made it so he could be its king for his entire life.
He was head of an authority that oversaw the construction of the Triborough Bridge. By law, that authority could only remain in existence until the bonds that paid for its construction were retired. But the bridge was enormously successful, pulling in far more in toll receipts than was expected, and those bonds were due to be paid off in a hurry. Once that happened, Moses would lose his power.
At the time, there were plenty of people who would like to see him lose that power, including the mayor, governor, a slew of state reps and no less than President Roosevelt. Moses knew he had no chance of striking the part of the law that forced the authority to be shut down. So he made that part meaningless with this sentence:
The authority shall have the power from time to time to refund any bonds by the issuance of new bonds, whether the bonds to be refunded have or have not matured, and may issue bonds partly to refund bonds then outstanding and partly for any other corporate purpose.I had to read it twice. It means that although the authority must cease to exist once its bonds are paid off, it can issue bonds as often as it wants.
And with bonds, it could, because of other vague language in the law, raise hundreds of millions of dollars to build stuff all over the place -- roads all over the New York metro area, parks, even housing. And it had power of eminent domain. And it didn't have to have public hearings. Nor any deference to the democratic process.
It was nothing short of an invasion and take over of part of this country.
With one cryptic sentence buried in the middle of a bill.
Amazing.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
bass ackward
I've been trying to understand the point of twitter. I'm not alone in this.
I really want to love it. For it to make me happy.
But now it seems that happiness is the key to twitter.
I really want to love it. For it to make me happy.
But now it seems that happiness is the key to twitter.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
mayoral freaks
Another good one from 100-Year-Old Weblog.
I wonder if Jerry and Mark, the guards on the 29th floor of City Hall, read this blog.
"Phil" Murphy is the police officer who has been detailed to the offices of the mayor in the city hall to deal with cranks and obstreperous callers. He has been connected with the police department for several years, and has served at the depot and other public places in handling crowds.
"How do you propose to deal with the cranks when they annoy the mayor?" Murphy was asked yesterday.
"Jolly 'em, jolly 'em," replied Murphy. "There's only one way to handle a crank. Fawn him, play on his vanity and get him to believe that his bug is all right. Get his confidence, humor him and feed him taffy and mentally blindfold him. When you have him in this condition there is not trouble in taking care of him."
Monday, January 05, 2009
character
This book I'm reading has me doing character studies. So I headed off for the library yesterday, to watch people and take notes.
I focused on one of the librarians. I liked the way her shoulders seemed to fold inward just a bit and her bangs dropped down over her face when she worked on the computer. Her skin was very white. I thought maybe she spends too much time reading to get any sun.
I already had a story in mind. I've been thinking of a man about 20 or 21 who meets a woman in a mid-sized Midwestern town and persuades her to take off for Oregon with him. It's 1970. If one of the patrons were to hit on this librarian, I imagined, she wouldn't believe it at first. Even as she packed her things to go she'd be trying to figure out what book the guy was trying to find. It would be such an adventure.
I listened carefully as she helped customers. Her voice was sharp, with a pinch of south in it, and it carried across the library. I squinted as I stared at her, trying to discern the angle of her nose. Yes, it pointed upward. She caught me looking. Twice, maybe three times during the hour I spent studying her. Definitely three, at least three.
When I went to the counter to check out some books, I stole another peek, glancing sideways. I hadn't been able to really see her eyelashes before. They seemed to make a difference somehow, I'm still not sure why. And she caught me again, and she didn't seem the least bit shy. Her brow bunched up as she locked in on my eyes, and she was not smiling. No, this character would definitely know if she were being hit on. I didn't dare look again.
I focused on one of the librarians. I liked the way her shoulders seemed to fold inward just a bit and her bangs dropped down over her face when she worked on the computer. Her skin was very white. I thought maybe she spends too much time reading to get any sun.
I already had a story in mind. I've been thinking of a man about 20 or 21 who meets a woman in a mid-sized Midwestern town and persuades her to take off for Oregon with him. It's 1970. If one of the patrons were to hit on this librarian, I imagined, she wouldn't believe it at first. Even as she packed her things to go she'd be trying to figure out what book the guy was trying to find. It would be such an adventure.
I listened carefully as she helped customers. Her voice was sharp, with a pinch of south in it, and it carried across the library. I squinted as I stared at her, trying to discern the angle of her nose. Yes, it pointed upward. She caught me looking. Twice, maybe three times during the hour I spent studying her. Definitely three, at least three.
When I went to the counter to check out some books, I stole another peek, glancing sideways. I hadn't been able to really see her eyelashes before. They seemed to make a difference somehow, I'm still not sure why. And she caught me again, and she didn't seem the least bit shy. Her brow bunched up as she locked in on my eyes, and she was not smiling. No, this character would definitely know if she were being hit on. I didn't dare look again.
public service
This, from a fun local blog, reminds me of my most recent job:
"Every day in the week," continued the mayor, "I have from fifty to 100 callers and I have to listen to them. Eighty per cent of my visitors have to be directed to the heads of other departments, and the other 20 per cent are politicians with an ax to grind, job hunters and cranks.We had a few, too.
"Then you do have visits from cranks?"
"Yes, a great many and they are extremely annoying. It was not so very long ago that a fellow called upon me, and insisted that I, and only I, could remove a hypnotic spell that was upon him. I jollied him until I could summon an officer from headquarters, and I never passed a more unpleasant ten minutes waiting for the officer to report. The fellow was put under restraint, and to pacify him I underwent a sham performance as if removing the hypnotic spell. I don't know as I succeeded, but I have since learned that the fellow is now a raving maniac.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
KC SOIL EXCLUSIVE!!! ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS EAT YUPPY BREAD!!!!!!
Times are really tough right now... As a white liberal, I NEED my overpriced European bread. But being unemployed and dangling by the mere threads of my trust-fund safety net, I'm forced to settle for just one loaf of Pain de Campagne and forgo the cranberry-almond. DEAR GOD WHEN WILL THIS RECESSION END?!?!?!
Anyhoo... I'm over on the Westside, feeling good to be back near the birthplace of the Orange Revolution, and I crowd into the little bakery with all the other yuppy hipster D-bags when a couple of tall, dark men come in behind me (no homo!). I spy them from out of the corner of my eye and I'm thinking they look kind of brown. And just as I check to see if my wallet is still there...
THEY START SPEAKING SPANISH!!!
That's right! ILLEGAL ALIENS ON THE WESTSIDE! And they're shelling out the big bucks for elitist bread!! Next thing you know, they'll be buying SUSHI!!!
I didn't know whether to call La Migra (got 'em on speed dial, natch!) or shout Si se puede!
I thought the only "diversity" left on the Westside is basement-dwellers and washed-up Brown Berets. Why didn't my realtor tell me about this before I decided on the Northeast?!?! Maybe I could've afforded it after all.
Very important super-secret tipsters who know everything tell me that this is a result of Mayor Funky's catastrophic failure! And a biproduct of the co-mayor's naked toes!! (Eww!) I can't confirm it yet, but people who are a lot smarter than me (and that's pretty much everyone) believe that the shear force of Funky's downward spiral is sucking (no homo!) Kansas City into a time warp and simple-minded stereotypes are being turned inside out!! Next thing you know, white liberals like me will be listening to the Gap Band and shopping at Apple Market.
Developing...
*Note to Grandma and other readers who are no doubt puzzled: This is a spoof of Kansas City's most popular blog.
Friday, January 02, 2009
bolt
I got really, really sick of Michael Phelps during the Olympics. He seems to me like the kind of guy I would've hated in the 1980s. Frankly, I was hoping he'd lose at least one race.
Now he's on Entourage and stuff like that. But he's not the biggest Olympian star in the world. That honor goes to Usain Bolt, the Jamaican who pulled back and jogged the last few yards of his races and still obliterated world records.
Now he's on Entourage and stuff like that. But he's not the biggest Olympian star in the world. That honor goes to Usain Bolt, the Jamaican who pulled back and jogged the last few yards of his races and still obliterated world records.
dead again
For about three years in my late teens, I was a Dead Head. I even traveled to California on several occasions to see them in concert -- including one that my mother will never forget, in which I tried to do California for ten days on $50. That one ended with me stranded in Palo Alto calling mom collect and thanking God for Western Union.
I quit drugs pretty soon after that and traded the Dead in for Nirvana. But the other day I got a wild hair and went looking for them online. The band's official site offers live tapes from their vault. I've been listening to them for the last day or so. I'm surprised how much I love them.
It's weird, but as I listen and get lost in the music, especially the long jam sessions on Dark Star and The Other One, I feel like I'm 19 again, stupidly happy with a brain full of wake-and-bake, or mellow and pensive in the wee-morning hours of an acid trip.
Except I'm not. Like, I can actually think and do stuff.
I quit drugs pretty soon after that and traded the Dead in for Nirvana. But the other day I got a wild hair and went looking for them online. The band's official site offers live tapes from their vault. I've been listening to them for the last day or so. I'm surprised how much I love them.
It's weird, but as I listen and get lost in the music, especially the long jam sessions on Dark Star and The Other One, I feel like I'm 19 again, stupidly happy with a brain full of wake-and-bake, or mellow and pensive in the wee-morning hours of an acid trip.
Except I'm not. Like, I can actually think and do stuff.
good things in the northeast
My neighborhood newspaper has been running some terrific cartoons by a local artist.
Also, they've been adding some nifty stuff to their website: a newsy blog, written by a dog; and a page where folks can post pictures of the neighborhood.
Also, they've been adding some nifty stuff to their website: a newsy blog, written by a dog; and a page where folks can post pictures of the neighborhood.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
resolutions
- Sell a book.
- Run injury free.
- Do The Weekend Novelist.
- Make this blog worthy of a top ten list.
2009 will be fine
Right around this time last year, I said to one of my co-workers, "Two thousand eight. It's gonna be great!" And I meant it.
Obviously, in the context of the office in which it was said, I was dead wrong.
Now I'm unemployed, going broke and best suited for a job in a field where there are none.
Yet I feel really happy this morning. I went grocery shopping first thing, and I tallied each item on my cell phone calculator as I set it in the cart, the way I have for a couple of months now. I didn't make a single impulse buy. I don't have it bad. Not even close.
In the Great Depression, people sifted through garbage piles for food. Ivy League lawyers stood in soup lines.
Even that, I think I could handle.
But I have a hunch it won't come to that. This guy doesn't either.
Either way -- new job, or trash-can meals -- 2009 will be just fine.
Obviously, in the context of the office in which it was said, I was dead wrong.
Now I'm unemployed, going broke and best suited for a job in a field where there are none.
Yet I feel really happy this morning. I went grocery shopping first thing, and I tallied each item on my cell phone calculator as I set it in the cart, the way I have for a couple of months now. I didn't make a single impulse buy. I don't have it bad. Not even close.
In the Great Depression, people sifted through garbage piles for food. Ivy League lawyers stood in soup lines.
Even that, I think I could handle.
But I have a hunch it won't come to that. This guy doesn't either.
Either way -- new job, or trash-can meals -- 2009 will be just fine.
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