Is Anyone...Thirsty?

Space shuttle Endeavour touched down on Sunday at Edwards Air Force Base in California after a 16-day mission to the International Space Station.

While this may seem as if it's getting to be old hat...this was the 100th daytime landing of a space shuttle, and Endeavour's 22nd flight...and while I don't follow the shuttle missions as closely as I'd like to, it still never ceases to amaze me what we're able to do so many miles above Earth...not to mention the simple fact that we're even able to get there!

One of the shuttle crew's missions for this trip was to help in a renovation of sorts of the ISS, as they expanded it from three bedrooms and one bath, to five bedrooms and two baths. (I wonder how much that'll increase the property's resale value...and who the lucky realtor is who'll get to list it.)

Aside from other tasks such as completing spacewalks to clean and lubricate the ISS's solar alpha rotary joints, which keep the station's solar panels pointed at the sun for maximum production of electricity (talk about an argument in favor of solar power!), there was another experiment that caught my eye in the news stories I've read, and made me appreciate the gallon of water in my fridge.

Several crew members worked on a water recovery system to recycle urine and perspiration into drinking water. I'd tell you to go back and read that sentence again, but I'm betting that you already have.

I'll never look at a liter of Dasani, or a gallon of cheap Sam's Choice water, or even my not-so-delicious tap water in the same way again.

I wouldn't want to be on the team that has to troubleshoot the system and iron out its kinks before declaring it to be a working and fully functional system. Although one small sip should tell you if it's time to go back to the drawing board, or if the effort is a success.

The story in the link says that samples of the processed water were brought back on the shuttle for analysis before the station's crew can begin to use it. Thorough analysis, I hope.

It's amazing where we can fly...and what we can drink. Isn't it?

And oh, back to the "old hat"...

...during Endeavour's mission, it traveled about 6.6 million miles, and made 250 orbits around this big ball we call home.

Ridiculous numbers to fathom.

"Nothing puzzles me more than
the time and space; and yet
nothing troubles me less."
—Charles Lamb

So thanks.

A buddy of mine gave me a nudge a few days before Thanksgiving to write a post of the things I'm thankful for. Sounds easy enough, right? Many many bloggers published posts like that right around Thanksgiving. But as I rolled it around in my head, I got stuck.

Surely there are things for which I'm thankful. As I continued to ponder this subject over the last few days, my list grew, and I figured a "What I'm Thankful For" list is better late than never. So on that note...

I'm thankful for my outrageously generous parents, who continue to be an enormous reason why Thanksgiving is my favorite day of the year. My two sisters and their families and I all converge upon my parents' house for a day of family bonding, good conversation, a few good beers (and one not-so-good beer...pointing directly at the New Glarus Berliner Weiss on this one, which was my selection, so I should be pointing at me), and a bountiful feast that would feed 20-plus, but instead allows the 11 of us plenty of leftovers to take home in care packages and have a Thanksgiving The Second on the following Friday.

I'm thankful...or at least I was on this day...that the Lions looked like turkeys on Turkey Day, rather than choosing that one day this season to do their best King of the Jungle imitation and play like a professional football team. (I picked them in a loser pool. I guess I was pretty safe.)

I'm thankful as well for the rest of the people around our full table on Thanksgiving Day: two sisters, two brothers-in-law, two nephews, two nieces. A pretty stellar bunch to hang with during the holidays and plenty of other times throughout the year.

I'm thankful for cheese. Because if you're from Wisconsin, and you're not thankful for cheese, I think maybe they kick you out and make you go live in Idaho, or somewhere.

I'm thankful for a Muse who stops by on occasion to visit (a bit more often lately) and tells me things that aren't too difficult to hear, and makes me want to be a better writer.

I'm thankful for a group of good friends who are smarter and funnier and hipper and cooler than I could ever learn to be.

I'm thankful for the outcome on November The Fourth, and the optimism I feel heading into the next four, or eight, years. And I'm thankful for the freedom to express my opinions here on this page, and among all of the people with whom I have discussions that go deeper than our favorite colors.

I'm thankful...very thankful, actually...for the ellipsis.

I'm thankful to have a job that I know will be there tomorrow...and the next day...during these tough economic times.

I'm thankful for general good health.

I'm thankful...for the power...of words. And music. And laughter.

I'm thankful for eggnog. While I wouldn't be thankful for it all year 'round, 'tis the season for a sip of good quality nog. (I'm also thankful that no one ever thought to try making an asparagusnog.)

(And I'm as thankful for the parenthetical aside as I am for the ellipsis.)

I'm also thankful for the visitors to this blog...whether you're a first-time, one-time, or all-the-time reader. Thank you.

I'm thankful this is an incomplete list that can be added to at any time...because I've got a lot to be thankful for. (Including the option to end a sentence with a preposition if I so choose.)

"I am thankful for laughter,
except when milk comes
out of my nose."
—Woody Allen

Happy Turkey Day, Tofurkeys!

Wishing you all

a Happy Thanksgiving,

no matter what may be included in your feast.

[And I'm not too proud...or embarrassed...to recycle this post from last year.]

"Thanksgiving, man.
Not a good day
to be my pants."
—Kevin James

Live At The Majestic.

Live. Acoustic. Bent.

Three words that I hoped for...and got.

As my marathon run of a concert calendar year winds down, with one or two more options still possible during December, I went to see Matt Nathanson on Wednesday night in a little 350-capacity theatre in Madison called the Majestic, and he didn't disappoint. (I'm not sure it's even possible that he could. Ever.)

"Bent" is a song on Nathanson's live disc, At The Point, (the studio version is also on Beneath These Fireworks, but I like the live version better) and when we saw him at the same venue in October 2007, it wasn't on his set list. The show was still incredible, but I would've liked to have heard "Bent."

Wednesday, I got to. He played with his full band, but about halfway through the show, he sent them off stage to give them a bit of a break and play a few acoustic songs...and brought out his 12-string guitar.

He went into a bit of a monologue about electing a new president and how awesome that was (and since there are maybe four conservatives in all of Madison, that went over pretty well with the crowd), and he stood on the stage alone, and slowly and quietly let the words slide out from "In A Big Country," by Big Country:

"...but I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime.
In a big country dreams stay with you
like a lover's voice fires the mountainside.
Stay alive...
...stay alive."

After everybody applauded, I turned to my buddy and said something like, "He should really play 'Bent.'" And um...guess what came next? So..so..good.

Nathanson can be so sarcastic and sharp and funny and self-deprecating during his between-song banter, and then pour everything he's got into his songs, slow or fast. You come away from one of his shows feeling like you just spent a couple hours with an old friend.

Well...most of the crowd does, anyway. One of the audience members, who happened to be directly to my right and talking loudly among his group for the entire show, kept yelling out a song he wanted to hear every time there was a near-silent moment, and finally Nathanson said, without even looking up from his mic, "After a certain number of times of yelling the same song, it's time to give it up. You've lost this round, sir, I'm not going to play your song. Let's move on." And that shut him up for a little while, until the guy hurled back an insult by telling Nathanson he looked like he was from Dawson's Creek because he was wearing a sweater vest. I think only half of it made it up to the stage, though, because Nathanson just said, "ohhh, Dawson's Creek." And that was the end of that.

A bit later in the show, he gave other audience members a chance to suggest some songs for his set, by saying, "OK, what do you wanna hear? Yell some songs out." And after five seconds of everybody naming their songs at once, he replied, "Yeah, we're not gonna play any of those, but..."

As the last song of their set approached, Nathanson described the encore process to us, telling us that after the song was over, he was going to say something like, "That's it for us. Thanks, Madison, we're done! Take care of yourselves," and walk off stage like they're really done. But then he shared a secret, telling us that really...they were going to come back, because they had a couple more songs to play. "So it'd be best," he said, "that when I say, 'We're done,' you should all say, 'Noooo! Noooo!' and act like you really don't know we're coming back. And then cheer and clap like crazy because you want us to come back. But...we're really coming back. We're coming back whether you're here or not. So, like...if you all leave, we're still gonna come out and play two more songs."

I've never had anyone walk me through the steps of a successful band exit/encore re-entrance, complete with audience participation. But he did a fine job.

And you know what? They came back! And as he strapped his guitar on, Nathanson said, "We've never successfully performed this song live, so...um...we're gonna try it and see how it goes."

And they belted out AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long," from start to finish. And the crowd of three hundred fifty felt and sounded more like thirty-five hundred! Let's just say it was a success, and even Nathanson looked surprised as he surveyed the small crowd after it was over.

Never expected to hear that from him. Although during the October 2007 show he ventured into snippets of The Cure, and Hanson (yes, "Mmm Bop.").

If I don't see another show this year, it was a phenomenal end cap to 2008.

"If I bent like you said was best,
would that change a thing?
If I spent myself...or what's left
Would you still leave me here?

You're so sorry about it all
Now that it's over...
Should I thank you for that dear?
You're so sorry about it all...
And I hope you'll always be."
—Matt Nathanson, Bent

Look! Up In The Sky...I Mean, Down On The Road!

I've got a story that's going to severely test my writing skills (shut up...I do too have writing skills. maybe skillz, even!), because what I witnessed in person was so much more shocking and so much funnier than anything I'll be able to describe with words. And I don't have any visual aids to help it along, either.

But I've got to give it a shot.

Last weekend I was driving to a buddy's house, and a few miles of that drive runs through a marshy/wildlife-type area near where I live. I was at a stop sign, turning onto a two-lane county trunk road, with your normal standard-size ditches on either side.

Before I had a chance to get up to any kind of traveling speed, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that looked like it was falling from a height of maybe twenty feet, near the ditch farthest from the lane I was in.

When I looked over to give it my full attention, I saw a big mass of something and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was a bird...a big bird (not that one)...with its wings splayed out and its body not at all in any sort of upright or flying position.

As I watched, I realized that this bird wasn't flying, but...tumbling. It had hit the ground in the ditch, and must have done so at such an angle that instead of stopping right there on the ground, it...it...bounced! That's the only word I can use. It bounced! And it bounced a good several feet up into the air, because its momentum carried it onto the road and it did, from what I saw, two complete flips in the air before coming to rest...in my lane, about ten yards in front of my car, which was now completely stopped as I watched this unfortunate display of aerobatics gone awry.

The bird came to rest facing the ditch from which it bounced, and was seated on its...I dunno, whatever you call a Canada goose's ass. Not on its feet, but just planted right there on the road, unmoving for at least ten seconds while it tried to get its bearings.

While it was doing that, I was staring right at it, trying to figure out what I'd just seen. Did a hunter just shoot it out of the sky? It was sitting so completely still, I wondered if it was even real, or if someone was off on the side of the road throwing decoys into traffic.

Those thoughts didn't float around in my head for very long, as the goose began to noticeably move its head and neck. One of its wings was still a little out of whack, and as it got to its feet, I could tell it was trying to tuck it into its folded position.

The goose took a few very slow steps and as I started to creep my car up toward it, it turned and began to walk away, opening its wings and flapping them a few times, but never leaving the ground. Instead, it waddled straight ahead for a bit and then off into the ditch next to my lane, and into some tall weeds to recover from the stunt it had just involuntarily performed.

The only explanation I have for what I saw is that it was a misjudged landing. And not by a little!

We've all seen smaller birds fly into windows and get a little dazed...or worse, as you sometimes find them lying on the ground below. But this has to be the first time I've ever seen a bird bounce off the ground with such force that it flipped in the air without its own consent.

I think it took me as long to process what I witnessed as it did for the goose to recover from the accident. Maybe he had a couple too many gin-and-tonics the night before, or was a victim of those terrorists from Die Hard II, who took over the airport's computer equipment and reset sea level at minus-200 feet.

This guy clearly needs practice on his landings. And while I didn't have time to get my camera off the back seat and out of the bag before all of this was over, I'm assuming if I would've gotten a good closeup, the goose may have looked... and felt...something like this.

You kinda had to be there to see it.

"A goose flies by a chart which
the Royal Geographic Society
could not mend."
—Oliver Wendell Holmes

My Badge Number Gets Smaller.

So.

Guess who's going to fail NaBloPoMo this month? I mean...not that I haven't already failed, but I think I've got a couple of days coming up where it's going to be tough to hit my post-a-day goal.

I've got some good stories to tell, but the one I want to tell tonight can't be told in the nine minutes I've got left before Monday becomes Tuesday. So instead I sit here writing these words, thinking they'll magically fill the void and somehow not sound quite like the B.S. they really are.

One thing I don't want to do is let this blog sit for weeks on end...but you've already heard that before, and then seen it happen.

I'll be back. I don't know when...hopefully tomorrow night, but I can't be certain with my schedule this week.

It'll be before the holidays pass us by, that's a guarantee I can give.

Claustrophobia in the '80s

I think I've had my fill of '80s hair metal/hard rock for a good long time.

A few buddies and I went to Schaumburg, a Chicago suburb, on Saturday to see a Y&T show.

"Who??" you ask.

If not for one particular song in the mid- to late-'80s, my reaction would be the same. But lo there was a song (and video) that stuck in the mind of an impressionable boy during that decade, and one of my favorite one-hit wonders has always been Y&T's "Summertime Girls."

My buddy's a fan of the group, and another buddy lives in the Chicago area, so the decision to road-trip was a logical one. Nothing like a three-hour drive to see one song live. But I can be quirky that way when it comes to concerts...and I'm almost always up for a road trip.

The venue turned out to be a decent-sized sports bar that held about three or four hundred people to see a show, with a stage on one end, and a sign that caught my eye that said, "Every Thursday Is Kareokee." (maybe they spell it differently in Illinois.)

I should back up a bit and say that on the drive down we found a new station on my XM called "Hair Nation," which of course provided an excellent primer for what we were about to experience. I'm not a big hair band aficionado, but I knew my share of the groups, and don't mind some of the songs that got radio play from that era.

The opening group, Cutlass, played for about an hour, and TheKid (if you read the comments, you know who I'm talking about) and I noticed they had many of the requirements of a wannabe hair/metal band...a bass player with long hair that he liked to throw around a little bit (although he needed more practice because he'd basically lean over and pause for a second to let his hair fall down, and then stand back up really quickly so it'd flip back up over his head. not the smooth hair-flipping transition that more seasoned long-haired rockers possess) and The Lean, where he'd stand next to other members of the group, lean back into them and pluck a few bass notes, and then go back to his assigned position...a lead guitarist who made strangely unnatural faces during his guitar solos because he thought that's what a guitar player had to look like while he was "feeling" the music (again, more veteran musicians can pull that off without it looking so forced...I think this guy just wanted to impress the crowd. he, um...didn't.)...and a drummer wearing a skull cap, who was clearly the most talented member of the group.

They surprised with a couple covers, though..."Barracuda," by Heart, in which the lead singer (a guy) sounded eerily similar to whichever one of the Wilson sisters has the lead vocal on that song (too trivial to do the research), and a rocked out version of "Fire & Rain," by James Taylor, a song which should best be left out of the hair band genre. But it was entertaining.

During the half hour break between bands, the adrenaline level got amped up a little bit, and the crowd became more and more tightly packed...one of those crowds where it was an effort to lift your drink because the person in front of you was standing so close. Didn't help that it was about a hundred and nine degrees in the joint, either.

So Y&T comes on stage, this band formed in the mid-'70s, and now featuring rockers in their mid- (to late-??)50s, and they played a couple songs that immediately took you back to the decade of the hair bands, complete with plenty of guitar...and then more guitar.

After hearing two songs, and assuming it would be well into their set list that I'd hear the song I came to hear, I squeezed my way back through the crowd to the sports bar part of the bar where there was room to breathe and it was about fifty degrees cooler, and I could actually stand and people watch and drink my beer.......and still see the band on stage from my new and improved, less crowded position.

And that's where I spent the rest of their set...watching them rock, thinking that maybe the song I was hearing sounded much the same as the last song...or two or three or four...that they played. And talking to a drunk dude from Milwaukee who changed his opinion of the group about half a dozen times during our conversation, from "they're not bad, huh?" to "they really know how to rock!" to "I've got all their CDs" and back to "after about an hour, they get kinda old, don't they?"

I responded with, "I'm really just here to hear 'Summertime Girls.'"

Which was pretty good, by the way. There was a cool, slow lead-in guitar solo to the song, and they gave the song a pretty good effort. They played it about an hour and a half into a two hour and fifteen minute set. (that's a LOT of hair band...especially when you add Cutlass onto the front end of that.)

On the drive home Sunday morning, my XM Radio was tuned to ESPN Radio the entire way, and I didn't even give Hair Nation a second thought. I think I've had my fill.

But it was all about the road trip.
And a bit of a walk down one-hit wonder memory lane.

"Pop music, disco music, and heavy metal music
is about shutting out the tensions of life,
putting it away."
—Peter Tork

The Only Icing I Know About Goes On A Cake.

I don't follow hockey much. [read: at all.]

If I hear the words "Stanley" and "Cup" on SportsCenter, I know that it's somewhere close to the playoffs in the NHL, but I rarely know which teams made it there (don't like half of them make it?), or who the favorite is, or how close anyone is to hoisting the Cup and drinking from it. (milk, right? wait...that's Indy.)

When I was younger, if someone asked me who my favorite hockey team was, my answer was the New York Islanders. I didn't have a reason for it...except that they were the Islanders. (don't look for the logic. there's none there.) Luckily for me, and my logic, there were very few occasions in my circle of friends when the topic of favorite hockey teams came up.

If someone gave me an Islanders jersey today, I'd wear it proudly, and proclaim them as my favorite hockey team. But I'm pretty sure they suck, and have sucked for a really long time. (don't quote me on that, though. cuz I don't know anything about hockey, remember?)

Read this list, and tell me which of these teams are NHL teams, and which are not: Atlanta Thrashers, Florida Panthers, Nashville Predators, Minnesota Wild, Columbus Blue Jackets.

Got your answer? WRONG!! They all are! (either that, or someone's been hacking into the NHL's website and making stuff up.) Apparently, expansion runs rampant in the NHL.

(and oh, by the way. the Islanders do suck. they've got the worst record in hockey. I'll still wear the jersey, though. I'm used to that with my sports teams.)

The point of this post, however, is that I saw a hockey headline yesterday and couldn't help but click over to read the story.

Barry Melrose, whose name I recognize because he was a hockey analyst on ESPN for several years and when I'm waiting for other sports highlights to come on, sometimes there he is, talking to me about hockey, eh?

He left ESPN earlier this year to return to coaching in the NHL after being away for 13 years. And he took a job with the Tampa Bay Lightning (also a genuine NHL team, just like the other five), the team with the worst record in hockey last season.

Melrose was head honcho in Tampa Bay for a total of sixteen games, and with a record of 5-7-4 this season, he was fired on Friday. Management instead gave the job on an interim basis to assistant coach Rick Tocchet, whose name it took me three attempts to spell correctly when copying it from the article in which I read it, and who had once been suspended from the league for gambling charges.

When the hell did Al Davis buy a hockey team, and what did Barry Melrose ever do to him??

That's the only way I can explain it, because moves like these are only made in one professional sports organization, and that's Raider Nation. What...the...fuck?

I don't know Barry Melrose from Adam, and it won't affect my life in the least if he's a coach in Tampa Bay or an analyst on ESPN. But I feel sorry for him. He got royally screwed.

"Here are the reins to this last-place hockey team, and you better turn it around in 16 games or fewer, or you'll be out on your ass! Good luck! Have fun! Happy skating!"

"A good hockey player
plays where the puck is.
A great hockey player
plays where the puck
is going to be."
—Wayne Gretzky

Who's To Blame?...No One, That's Who(m)

Many, many years ago...perhaps dating back to the late '80s...I was all geeked out about Howard Jones.

All. Geeked. Out.

As in...as geeked out about Howard Jones then as I am about Adam Duritz now. (frame of reference for you.)

His Dream Into Action disc got miles and miles of play from me when I "discovered" Howard and bought it a couple years after its release. And then I went back and purchased his first CD, Human's Lib, which had a very bouncy track called, "New Song," and made it OK to sing along very loudly with a "lyric" like, "Whoo hoo hoooo."

Howard had a bit of soundtrack success as well. In the scene in Better Off Dead, when John Cusack's French future girlfriend is secretly fixing up his Camaro, Jones' song, "Like To Get To Know You Well," is playing.

And back when I was more of a dork than I am now, I had a lyric push-pinned to my bulletin board in my bedroom that said, "Pretend the water is champagne and fill my glass again and again," from his song, "Life In One Day." (It spoke to me at the time, or something. And I don't even really like champagne.)

His later releases went away from the synthesizer sound and became more jazzy and instrumental. And while I've been away from the Howard Jones geekdom for some time now, I like to return to it every once in a while. He always seemed like the prototypical musician to me. Sure, there are plenty of rock stars out there. Howard Jones is a musician.

I never got to see him in concert, although I faintly remember him being at the Wisconsin State Fair one year, and I didn't push too hard to go. I think now...I'd push. And I might seek out an opportunity to see him, if he's even still crossing the Atlantic to play gigs over here.

The song he's probably best known for is "No One Is To Blame," which featured Phil Collins on drums and backing vocals on the single that was released to radio stations. But there are a zillion different versions of the song, and as I searched on YouTube for a good one, I found this one instead...which might not be the best, but as I found out, it's a performance from Shank Hall in Milwaukee, a tiny venue at which I've seen about a half dozen shows. And it was recorded in January 2007. (maybe that answers my question as to whether he's still touring in the U.S.)

I must not have had Shank Hall's website feed in my Reader at that time, because if I would have known about this show, I would have been the one shooting the video!!

Next time.
If there is one.
And I hope there is.
I'm starting to get all retro-geeked out about Howard Jones again!

"And maybe love is letting people be
just what they want to be."
—Howard Jones, What Is Love?

Stand Up...Sit Down.

I often wonder if I could have been a stand-up comedian.
[answer: no.]

Aside from the fact that I abhor speaking in front of people...and that I'm probably not very funny (trivial points, yes?)...I might have been a great success. [please refer to above answer for the truth.]

For some reason, the following story popped into my head this morning. And I thought, "Blog post!" So here you go:

About 17-ish years ago, the night before my sister's wedding, we were at the rehearsal dinner and my soon-to-be brother-in-law announced that before we started eating, he'd like us to all go around the room and stand up and introduce ourselves, say a few words and explain our ties to the group.

I was none too thrilled about this idea, and thought about sneaking out to the bar to play a few games of pinball, and coming back to my seat in time for dessert.

But I stayed. And people went around the room: "Hi, my name is so-and-so, and I'm married to so-and-so, and I've known the bride and/or groom for such-and-such number of years." As one person sat down, another stood up, and this went from table to table around the room. It was a fun idea, and went over pretty well.

I didn't exactly know what I was going to say, and as I watched the order, I thought to myself, "Three more people and it's my turn. Two more people and it's my turn. Oh shit, it's almost my turn!!"

And then it was my turn.

I stood up, and said, "Hi, my name is Gregg. I'm Karen's brother...
...and I'm hungry, so that's all I'm gonna say." And I sat back down.

Big laughs.
I don't know if it was really that funny, or...if it was my delivery. Or what. But it worked.

Pure. Comedy.

(clearly I missed my calling.)

"I started to do a study on how not to do
stand-up comedy. Yeah, it's lonely work.
You die, you die alone. It's you, the light
and the audience. If you win, you win big.
If you lose, you lose big time."
—Jim Varney

Simple...But Painful.

I've heard many times that, in certain company, one should never talk about politics, religion, or money.

(maybe it was just the first two. but I added the third one to the list because it fits well with this post.)

Clearly...after the election we've all just slogged through...talking about politics was a necessity for some of us. If we didn't vent and support and complain and take some jabs over the last few months, we might have just exploded from all the pressure.

And religion is a bit of a muddy, confusing topic for me, but I'm all for discussion whenever anyone wants to dig a little deeper than sports scores and sitcoms.

I also believe that no topic is off limits on a blog. Or in a newspaper column, for that matter. You know...free speech and all. If readers click over, and don't care for the topic of the day, they can keep right on clickin'. Or...they can stay, read, and voice their opinions in the comments section.

I lead in with all of that because over the life of my blog, I've taken digs at certain politicians or political candidates, while praising others...I've written posts about seeing the Dalai Lama and reading books by Eckhart Tolle, but haven't spent much time covering Christianity.

So I guess what I'm saying is that you, my readers (all both of you), do not fall in the category of "certain company." Because here I discuss whatever's on my mind. My blog...my opinions.

Tonight...it's money. Briefly.

I have a Simple IRA through work, and for the last couple months, when I open the statement, it's getting simpler and simpler. A few more months like those and it'll be the simplest IRA to figure out. Zeros across the board.........can't take anything more away from nothing, can you?

Maybe I was paying too much attention to the election, and not enough to other current events, but...is there some kind of economic crisis going on that I'm not aware of? And if so, could someone please snap their fingers turn it around before I have to make plans to work 40-hour weeks until I'm 84 years old?

Sure is a good thing we have a Socialist coming into power in January. You know, so that whenever I need a handout, I can just turn to my rich neighbor and say, "Pleeeease."

[note to any potentially new readers stumbling across this blog for the first time: please check my November 4 blog entry, and your dictionary for the definition of "sarcasm," and that should sufficiently explain the last paragraph. thank you.]

"The trouble with retirement
is that you never get a day off."
—Abe Lemons

The First Ton.

I read my share of blogs, and see many bloggers who have recurring features, such as the Thursday Thirteen, or Wordless Wednesday, or the Friday Five.

I think I've got one of my own (well...aside from the Sunday Squib, which seems to have gone into hibernation, maybe for the best), and I hope it spreads like wildfire among dart-shooting bloggers everywhere. It's the next big thing, I can feel it!

Welcome to the first installment of...the Tuesday Ton. Where I bitch about my dart night and wonder how I ever thought I was any good to begin with.



Truth be told, this is probably the first, last and only Tuesday Ton. Let's just say I don't plan to spend the time creating a graphic for it. Should I start devoting one day a week to dartspeak, I fear my readership will dwindle to nothing. And I can't afford to lose either of you.

How is it that one night, everything during league flies to the board with barely any effort at all, and another night, you're practically tripping over the line because you feel so uncoordinated?

Maybe that's like asking how it is that the Miami Dolphins can beat the New England Patriots in Week Three.

Last week, it took me fifteen darts before I hit my first bullseye. Which was about a game and a half. I can justify that by saying that I was more than a bit distracted watching CNN as our country made history. But tonight...sure I had a couple hat tricks, and found a couple triples. The rest of my night...um, not so much. Struggle struggle struggle.

A buddy of mine sent me an e-mail a couple weeks back, asking for advice about darts, as he was getting into a social league and wanted to improve a bit. He asked for any mechanical/mental advice I could offer.

The mental part of it...that's the stumper, you know. I've made the physical dart-throwing motion thousands upon thousands of times since I started shooting in, um...the late '80s, I guess, is when I remember caring about shooting good darts.

But the mental part is so touchy. A bad day at work, or a mind filled with clutter...or a cute bartender (don't judge)...can all affect the outcome of a night of darts. Some nights on my drive to the bar, I'm amped up and focused to shoot great darts, and the entire night is a horror. And other nights, I drive in exhausted and not at all up for it, and...that's when I win five of my six games and shoot three hat tricks and seven tons.

Tonight, perhaps I'll blame it on NaBloPoMo...because I knew I had to come home and write a blog post. If I would have shot good darts, this blog post might have been about purple elephants, because I would have thought to myself on the drive home, "Well, I'm supposed to shoot good darts. That's not worthy of a blog entry."

(and...maybe this isn't, either. if not, thanks for stopping by, and hopefully you'll come back tomorrow. for a post...about purple elephants.)

All I'm saying is...and I have to try and relearn this on a daily basis, it seems...focus, focus, focus.

"Visualize this thing you want,
see it, feel it, believe in it.
Make your mental blueprint,
and begin to build."
—Robert Collier

Other Time Suc...I Mean, Great Internet Resources

Yesterday I revealed how I spent my Sunday...pretty much with ass in chair, right in front of this screen. It was, to say the least, a highly motivated day. Of doing nothing.

I figured I'd continue that theme tonight, and introduce a couple other sites that are equally as good as the NaBloPoMo site for wasting a good hour or nine. (tell me...where do the interweb hours go? and how are they three times as fast as normal hours?)

The first is a digital photography blog and forum that I found recently, and have been poking around on a little bit, finding more information there than I can process in a thousand photo shoots.

I bought one of these a few months ago, and while it's true you can take it right out of the box, press the button and take some good photos...the whole idea behind spending the money for one is to learn what other buttons to push and dials to turn and settings to set to make it take phenomenal photos!

Well, I'm still learning. Slowly. But if I can absorb even one-eighth of the information on those two sites, I might be well on my way.

Another site that a friend introduced me to in the past few months is Goodreads, a community of readers who talk about reading and what books they've read and what books they want to read and how much they liked certain books and why other books totally blew, and...well, you get the idea. It's about reading.

I set up an account over there, but haven't been too active in loading my profile with books. Still...there are plenty of avenues to explore and spend (waste) a good deal of time. Someday this winter, during a good blizzard, I'll add some books to my profile.

Or maybe go outside and take some winter scene photos.

Or perhaps...blog about the winter blahs.

So let's see if I have this straight: I spend hours on a site for bloggers, but I can't keep up with the blog-a-day pace; I can lose myself in a photography forum for the better part of a day, but can't find time to get out and actually shoot a few hundred photos (which is the only way to learn); and I'm a big fan of a web community for readers, yet my reading list is so long, if I took a photo of it, the end would be so far out of focus, it would be unreadable.

Can somebody tell me what I'm doing wrong? Or point me in the direction of a time-management workshop?

(What corners of the interwebs do you spend way too much time in? Not that I've got time for any more, but I'm curious.)

"Describing the Internet as the

Network of Networks is like
calling the Space Shuttle
a thing that flies."
—John Lester

NaBloPoMo...NoMo.

So, it's rather easy to while away a day in front of the computer, clicking around on the Interwebs.

I know it's a football Sunday, and I've had football on TV the whole day. But I can't say that I've seen much of it. I listened...and saw a few highlights here and there...but for the most part, I spent an ungodly amount of time poking around the NaBloPoMo site, perusing various groups and discussion forums, seeing what...and who...is new this year. The site's got more than 10,600 members this year. Amazing. (and no, I didn't visit each one.)

One of the discussions in the forum caught my eye...a debate over whether backdating a post or scheduling a post to be published on a certain day in the future should be considered cheating during this month of post-a-day posts.

I always took the NaBloPoMo challenge to mean that you wrote a post in a calendar day, and published it that same day. Granted, some people write long, laborious posts that they save as drafts and tinker with for days before they find them ready for the world to see. So that adds a whole other wrinkle to the discussion.

Many people in this particular discussion felt that backposting was cheating, but writing a few posts in advance and scheduling them to be published ahead of time was not. I haven't played around with Blogger's scheduler feature yet, so I don't know if it works flawlessly or not.

I voiced my opinion in the discussion, saying that I think both methods of filling up your days are cheating. But the bottom line for me in the discussion is that every blogger has to decide for themselves what they want to get out of this month, and what they personally consider cheating.

Whether I'm participating in NaBlahBlah or not, I've gotten into the habit of changing the timestamp on my post to the time when I publish it...not the time that I bring up the screen to start writing it. Because sometimes I have the post-editing screen open for a few hours before I'm ready to publish.

However...my regular readers have already found that on November 7, I snuck in about a dozen and a half words, hit Publish and didn't pay much more attention to my blog on that Friday.

Well...I crashed on my couch after work that day, and woke up minutes before midnight, with nothing in my brain to jot down, and knowing it would be futile to write a "real" post in two minutes anyway. I pulled up the screen at 11:58pm, and wrote those lines of deep, meaningful prose. But by the time I'd published them, it was already Saturday at about...12:08am maybe?

I left the original timestamp on that post of when I started writing it, and hinted in my words that I may not have quite met the midnight deadline. I even got a text message from an eagle-eyed buddy who, a few minutes after 12:00am, said, "According to my watch it's Saturday. Where's Friday's post?" (clearly I need to help him find a social life.)

I could argue technicalities...that I actually was sitting at my computer and writing the post on Friday, so mayyybe it could count for a Friday entry. But the fact is...it wasn't published on Friday. Which is why I was quite engaged in the opinions on the backposting/scheduling discussion today.

Technically...I've failed NaBloPoMo. Already. Whether I vow to write three posts a day for the rest of the month to make up for my mistake, it doesn't change the fact that I didn't post anything on Friday, November 7. And...what I did post there, after the fact........whew, it's pretty thin stuff.

Sure, one of my readers was able to see through the words and get to the hidden meaning, the emotion, the depth...the Zen. And he should be commended for his insightfulness.

Or...his sarcasm.

I'm going to keep blogging through the month...or at least try...because I've been reminded of the sense of community I felt when I took on this project for the first time last November. And I'd like that to continue.

But no matter what I do from here on out, I'll only be a 29 out of 30. Not only because I was a few minutes short of a deadline, but also...more so, maybe...because of the total lack of substance in the words I put down on the screen.

I consider my post from November 4, which had only a couple graphics and a quote from Kennedy, to have far more meaning than what I scribbled down on November 7 to try and make a deadline.

And now I think I owe it to myself to complete a month of posts sometime between now and next November. Who knows which month that might be? (perhaps February. twenty-eight days, you know.)

"The difference between
failure and success
is doing a thing nearly right
and doing it exactly right."
—Edward Simmons

Let It.......Snow.

Snow.

That's what I saw when I woke up this morning. (not the view in the photo. but I'm assuming that's a sign of things to come.)

Snow on my car, snow on the grass, snow on the rooftops. It wasn't sticking to the streets, but...snow. Yuck.

As I was brushing off my car, I would have made and thrown a few snowballs if I had time, because it was the wet, packy snow that makes you want to have a snowball fight. Or at least see if your aim is still as good as when you were a kid.

But I was running a few minutes late for an oil change/tire rotation, so I didn't have any time to play. Speaking of tire rotation, that's about the only reason I'm looking forward to a little bit of winter. I got rid of the Kumhos this spring that came with my car and required no less than 19 minutes of time to spin through each intersection while driving on snowy streets. And that was even with tread still on the tires! Happy to dump 'em, and replace them with some Goodyears.

I was so excited about testing my new grippers, in fact, that I drove across all of my neighbors' yards and rutted up their lawns, just to get the "feel" of my new tires in some snow. (nooo...I didn't. thought about it, though.)

I knew it was coming. I've lived in Wisconsin all my life, so of course it was coming. But just a few short days ago, it was sunny and nearly 70. And now I need a jacket. And a snowbrush. And good tires. (check. check. check.)

Between my oil change this morning and the time that I sit here writing this, I've had a snowball fight, built a snowfort and a snowman three times the size of me, borrowed my brother-in-law's snowmobiles and put on a hundred miles, broke my leg downhill skiing, trained heavily for the Iditarod, shoveled my neighbor's walk as a kind gesture, and bought a snowblower because I hate shoveling. (especially with a broken leg.)

It's been a full and busy nine hours of winter, and after a few hundred thousand flakes, I'm ready for it to be over. Spring can get here any time now. And if I don't get to test my Triple-Treads until next winter...I won't exactly go road-tripping in search of snowdrifts, ya know?

When's the first day of spring??

"Nature has no mercy at all.
Nature says, 'I'm going to snow.
If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes,
that's tough. I am going to snow anyway.'"
—Maya Angelou

Not Really A Post (Post).

Sneaking in just under the wire...

...or perhaps a tiny bit over it...

here's my not-really-a-post post for Friday, Nov. 7.



Oops.

Two Out Of Three...So Far.

I'm two-thirds of the way through a unique trifecta that's timing itself out well on my calendar.

In late August, I got to see Counting Crows down in Milwaukee. In late September at a little dive bar in Cudahy, I saw Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers among a crowd of no more than three hundred. And a couple weeks from now I'm going to a Matt Nathanson show in Madison, again in a tiny venue where I'll be twenty feet from the stage...or closer, if I choose to be.

So in three short months, I get live shows from Adam Duritz, Roger Clyne and Matt Nathanson...three singer/songwriters who are firmly planted in my top...three. Not a bad 90-day span. Take into consideration that I saw Matchbox Twenty back in February, and all I'd need is a Will Hoge show sprinkled in there somewhere to round out my top five, all in the same year.

Unfortunately, Will Hoge was recently involved in a pretty serious car accident, so his recovery and rehab are his highest priorities right now.

I've thought about this on occasion...who's in my top five, or my top three, or if I even need to bother with a ranking, when instead I should just keep my eyes peeled for shows and go to everything that interests me. (which I do, anyway.) But I can't think of anyone else who might wedge themselves into my top five, and force one of the names I mentioned into a lower slot.

These concert announcements seemed to crop up one after the other, and I grinned bigger with each one I'd come across, staring at my screen and almost saying out loud, "You mean I get to see them this year, too??" It's been a very musical year.

It'd been a few years since I'd seen Roger Clyne, so I was stoked when I saw they were coming through the cheesehead state. I drove the hour and a half to the bar on a Wednesday night, and there were about zero people in the place when I met my buddy. By the time the opening act had completely lowered the bar for any future opening acts I might see in my concert-going career, the smallish bar was mostly full and ready to rock out to Roger Clyne.

I've talked about Clyne's former band, The Refreshments, in past blog entries, and my near obsession with the music on the two CDs they made before disbanding...and early in the night I told Adam I wasn't expecting to hear too many Refreshments songs, because The Peacemakers have a pretty good discography of their own already. I said, "Two Refreshments songs, max. They'll play Mekong, cuz they always play Mekong. And one other." (Mekong is as high on my list of favorite songs, by the way, as those five artists above are on my list of favorite artists.)

Well...before the night was over, they'd run through six Refreshments songs. I don't know if I've ever been giddy before, but that just might be what giddy feels like. Cuz I was it.

The topper was the first encore they played, a Refreshments song called "Una Soda." Never thought I'd hear that live, so when the first couple words came out, I knew the trip was worth it.

How can you not like a song that asks, "¿Dondé el baño, señor? Please point me to the door. And if you'd be so kind I swear that I won't puke on your floor." (I never said he was Shakespeare...but the Arizona boy's got style to burn.)

A Nathanson review will be sure to follow the show in a couple weeks, because it'll still be NaBlahBlah, and I'll be digging for topics.

But for now, I'll leave you with quite possibly the worst YouTube video of "Una Soda" ever posted...because it is, in fact, the only video of the song I can find. I thought about not sharing it, should it tarnish the song's image. But I promise you, it's much much better live. Wanna go see 'em?

"Flip a coin, what shall we talk about?
Heads I tell the truth, and tails I lie."
—The Refreshments, Mekong

It's (Not) Over.

It's over, right?
It's over.

After how many months of campaigning, the night has come and gone. And it's over.

I know it's over, because 349 is greater than 270.
Much...much...greater.

I know it's over, because while I had to spend last night in a bar, shooting bad darts and staring at CNN whenever it wasn't my turn, I stood in front of the TV on the wall and applauded when I saw the yellow check mark show up next to Barack Obama's photo.

I know it's over because when I came home and saw a replay of Obama's speech in Chicago's Grant Park, he has now been given the title of President-Elect. And his voice and his message and his presence, energized the crowd of nearly a quarter million strong.



November 4 is over.
Eight..long..years......are over.

But the hope...the change...the new day...
...have only just begun.

"Change will not come if we wait
for some other person or some other time.
We are the ones we've been waiting for.
We are the change that we seek."
—President-Elect Barack Obama

Vote!

"You can milk a cow the wrong way once
and still be a farmer, but vote the wrong way
on a water tower and you can be in trouble."
—John F. Kennedy

Tunnel Vision

The Pittsburgh Steelers play the Washington Redskins in D.C. in less than an hour. (and no, I'm not going to take to previewing football games during November to fill my NaBlahBlah quota.)

There was a funny blurb in the sports page on Saturday, quoting Ben Roethlisberger as not being too fond of playing Washington at home. But you probably can't guess all of his reasons.

"I'm not a big fan of playing there because it is loud, they're really good at home, and they try to make their cheerleaders stretch in our tunnel before we come out of the locker room. That's just not good," Roethlisberger said.

Couldn't stop laughing. Here's a guy who has a hundred-million-dollar contract in the most popular league on the planet, has one Super Bowl ring and a team with enough talent to contend for another...and he's getting sound bytes and quotes about the cheerleaders in the tunnel during pre-game.

When asked if it was a distraction, he said, "It can be, let's be truthful. They've done it before. I've heard a rumor that they're not allowed to do it anymore."

The report states that the practice by the Redskins—intentional or otherwise—was so talked about around the league that when Commissioner Roger Goodell issued a memo last year barring cheerleaders from such tunnels, some called it the "Redskins Rule."

Anything for an advantage, right?

Looks like the Redskins tried to take a page from the playbook of Shane Falco's team in the movie, The Replacements.

Can't stand Keanu Reeves, but (oh boy, here it comes) I've seen The Replacements more times than I care to admit. And I don't know whyyyy. Once might actually be once too many, but when it's on cable, and I'm on the couch, I'll watch it.

Brooke Langton might have something to do with it, I suppose. But as far as totally predictable, brainless movies go...it's not bad.

(I better go rent a classic now and watch it immediately, for what I just admitted here.)

"Pain heals.
Chicks dig scars.
Glory...lasts forever."
—Shane Falco, in the huddle

A Hilarious Tendency

Some of you I'm sure know about McSweeney's Internet Tendency, a site with some of the best...and funniest...writing around. I don't visit often enough, but I think I better change that practice.

Not sure if it's exactly the Web equivalent of getting published in The New Yorker, but I think it'd be awfully swell to get a piece posted over at McSweeney's. (to sleep, perchance to dream.)

I was at a Half-Price Books store recently, and as I'm often wont to do, I wandered over to the Writing/Publishing section. One can never have too many books on the writing craft, and being the owner of approximately 94 tons of them, I know of what I speak.

One of the books that caught my eye was a title called, Fondling Your Muse: Infallible Advice From A Published Author To The Writerly Aspirant. I'd seen the title before, and thought it was clever and a book I'd like to add to my collection. Anything to get my muse to come and visit on a more regular basis.

This time I looked a bit closer, and saw that it was written by John Warner, the editor of McSweeney's. And being on a Half-Price Books shelf, it was marked $5.95. (which, by the way, is substantially less than half of the $19.99 cover price. score!!)

I paged through it quickly, already knowing I was going to buy it. When I got home, though, I wondered how much real writing advice I might extract from the book. Reading his Acknowledgements page, titled, "The Blame Belongs Here," he thanked his wife, Kathy, at the end, "who took a chance on marrying me before I was a world renowned author of fake writing advice."

There are nuggets here and there that may help in your journey as a writer, but what the book mostly is is one of the funniest collections of pages ever bound together and sold at any bookstore anywhere. Perhaps if you're not a writer...or a writerly aspirant...it won't have the same effect. But if you are—whether you find it for half price or less, or have to pay the entire twenty bucks—you will enjoy this book. Tremendously.

"This book is dedicated to you,
by which I mean me, myself.
I say you because when I read it,
I know that I'm talking about myself.
I don't want you to think it's dedicated
to you, the reader, when I mean me,
the writer. It would be silly to dedicate
a book to someone like you, who had
nothing to do with writing it—don't you think?"
—John Warner's dedication in Fondling Your Muse

Thirty? Maybe.

Uh-oh.
It's November, isn't it?

Uh-oh.
Last November I recall paying particularly close attention to this Web page for a good number of consecutive days...like, in a row and everything!

And here we are again. It's the NaBloPoMo month that made NaBloPoMo famous. (among bloggers, anyway.) The response last November was so overwhelming that it was expanded to include other months of the year as well, so bloggers could take the post-a-day challenge in any month they chose. Or every month, if they were a little bit crazy. And addicted to their blogs.

I attempted it in March, but was met with a stubborn internet connection between 11pm and midnight in the early going, so my effort came up short. And I considered attempting it a few other times leading up to this month, also. But...um...I didn't.

November is kinda special, though. During the last challenge, I happened upon a handful of killer blogs of which I'm now a regular reader. And I also wrote something. Every day. For a month. Those two reasons alone made the month a ridiculous success.

So while it's been practically flatline dead around here for the most part lately, I couldn't help but give it another go this month. Yes, it's about 2:30am as I write this, as I just got home from a poker game. And yes, it's time for bed. But it's also officially November...and I can cross today's post off the calendar and wonder how I'm ever going to work back into an every day routine. Yikes.

Truth be told, I think this month will be more difficult to complete than last November. It was new and unique last time, and I had more determination to finish. I already see a couple roadblock weekends coming up where I'll have to do some creative time management to make my goal. But I plan to use the "official" calendar day to my advantage whenever possible. I can post an entry at 9pm one day, and 12:45am the next day, and it'll all still be kosher, but give me a couple breaks here and there.

I considered just showing up here on November 1, writing a post about whatever, and then continuing on, day by day, without actually making an announcement. Sorta like Stealth NaBloPoMo, if you will. But this will make me more accountable. You know...until I fail, at which point I'll stop caring.

I even put a new badge in my sidebar, and will possibly create my own when the month is over to more accurately reflect my progress. ("24 post in 30 days. Almost really good.")

I have yet to conjure up what I may write about every day for 30 days, but if the McCain/Palin ticket wins the White House on Tuesday, you can expect a month filled with bitter rants. Won't that be fun!

The chances of McCain getting into office, though, are probably about as good as the Lions winning their last nine games to finish the season 9-7. Or maybe as good as a certain blogger making it through November.

I remember reading about one blogger participating in NaBloPoMo last year who woke up a couple minutes before midnight and, still blurry-eyed and half asleep, raced to his computer to write only three words—"I can't see!!"—on his blog to fill his quota for the day.

You might want to expect two or three or fourteen posts like that from me during the month. I think they lay ahead.

(some of that guy's family members read his blog, and when they saw the message they called him to find out if everything was OK.)

It's November, isn't it?
Uh-oh.

See you tomorrow.

"NOVEMBER, n. The eleventh twelfth
of a weariness."
—Ambrose Bierce

The African Spirit

Better brush up on your Zulu and Sotho languages.

And then when the Soweto Gospel Choir comes to a city near you...go.

Trust me. Go.

I went to see them at the Fox Cities Performing Arts Center in Appleton on Thursday, not fully knowing what to expect. All I knew is they were kinda famous, had won a couple Grammys, and were from South Africa. And when I saw the the list of upcoming events a couple months ago, I knew it was time for another gospel fix.

(unsolicited plug: if you haven't seen a show at the PAC yet, you really should. if you're not from Wisconsin, you should fly in. what a fantastic, intimate way for a couple thousand people to see a performance. been there twice, and can't wait for another reason to go back.)

This night of gospel was a bit different from what I've seen in the past. All of the 26 performers on stage were dressed in bright, colorful costumes, the African rhythms and beats were unmistakable, and the voices...ohhh, the voices! One of the most energetic shows I've seen. Period. They deserve high praise for putting forth an effort like that night after night.

The choir has only been in existence for six years, coming out of the South Western Townships (hence, the acronym) near Johannesburg. They've won Grammys the past two years for Best Traditional World Music.

The list of musical artists with whom they've performed includes Diana Ross, Celine Dion, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bono, Peter Gabriel, Annie Lennox and Queen. They've sung for Oprah, Bill Clinton, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and former South African President Nelson Mandela. And they've also recorded with Robert Plant and Peter Gabriel.

The two-hour concert included about 25 songs, many sung in the native Zulu and Sotho languages, accompanied by drums and dancing. Several traditional American songs were mixed in, like "This Little Light of Mine," "Swing Down," and a rendition of "Amazing Grace" that got a standing ovation. One of the highlights for me was a version of Bob Dylan's "I'll Remember You," that was so powerful.

One of the members introduced the choir's unique African spirit and the evening's spiritual journey of songs, "whether expressed through the love of God, the love of our fellow man, the love of coming together as a people, or simply the love of life, and all the beauty it has to offer us."

The group entered the theater from the back, filling the room with their voices as they walked down the two aisles to the stage. And as the night went on, the applause grew louder, some people not content with polite clapping close to their chests, but instead reaching up over their heads to express their appreciation.

About halfway into the show, one lady stood up in her seat and started moving to the beats, and I half expected that after intermission, there might be people getting up and dancing in the aisles. Didn't happen, though. (perhaps if I would have been the instigator, hmm?)

The group's second of two encores was "Oh Happy Day," which brought the crowd back to its feet, and had many audience members waving to the performers as they left the stage.

One reviewer on the PAC's website said it better than I can, so I'm going to borrow from him and hope he doesn't mind. He said, "One doesn't have to be particularly religious or musical to appreciate this wonderful example of gospel. One simply has to have a soul. And frankly, if you hear Soweto Gospel Choir and are not moved, you very possibly have no soul."

Amen.

"I'm associated with gospel music
in the minds of millions of people."
—Pat Boone

Freeeeze, Gopher!!

I'm currently involved in a bit of a project for the Ice Age Park & Trail Foundation, having volunteered to hike a segment of the trail and then write a feature article about the segment for an upcoming issue of the organization's newsletter.

The segment I was assigned to hike was right in my back yard, basically, in the city where I grew up, and I spent some time two weekends ago hiking the nine-plus-mile stretch in a couple sections, with family members.

I decided to hike it again last weekend, this time all at once, to take a few more notes and get some more accurate readings on distances and landmarks and checkpoints along the way. I'd start at the north end, and nine or ten miles later, hopefully, find my car waiting for me.

I'm kinda getting into this assignment. Had my boots laced, backpack flung upon my back, camera at the ready. Nature...me. Communing. I was good to go.

As I entered the woods, I found a bit of a rhythm in my step and had the right mindset to complete my journey. The day was maybe 20 degrees cooler than the weekend before, but it was a gorgeous, partly sunny day for another hike.

A little more than a mile in, I spotted some fellow hikers ahead of me on the trail. But these hikers were a bit different than me. They were wearing blaze orange jackets, blaze orange knit caps, and had doe tags pinned to their backs.

And while I was carrying a camera...they were carrying shotguns.

I thought about shooting them as I approached from behind, but I figured my memory card and megapixels were no match for their slugs, so I kept my Nikon in its holster.

It was at this time I began to realize that I was in a place I might not want to be. I was, after all, wearing a forest green sweatshirt, ironically enough. And I may not have a big white tail, but even if I do, I'm pretty sure it was adequately covered.

As I walked past the hunters on the trail, I said a quick and quiet, "Hello," and the guy in back responded, but the guy in front stared me down as if I was committing a crime. (and not wearing any blaze orange, I just may have been!)

It's not as if I approached them and shouted, "HEY!! ARE YOU GUYS HUNTING DEER??" (think Flounder in "Animal House.") I don't think I rattled the entire woods and ruined their afternoon.

But as I reached my first checkpoint on the trail...a parking lot connected to Point Beach State Forest...I saw this red metal sign screwed to a post, that wasn't there the weekend before.

I was walking through an early hunting weekend, and wasn't aware of it.

I'm not a hunter, so I don't keep up on the various hunting seasons across the state, but I have respect for hunters and don't want to get in their way. Especially, you know, because they have guns and stuff.

So less than two miles into my hike, it was over for the weekend, and I'll have to give it another try when my life isn't in danger for being mistaken for a big ol' antlerless deer. (I don't have antlers, either.)

After being dropped off at my car, I drove around the trail route, and found those same red signs at nearly every entrance to the trail...except, of course, the entrance on the north end, where I chose to begin my day. Unfortunate.

I may go again this weekend, even if I learn that it's squirrel season, or something.

Because I know I'm bigger than a squirrel.

(Maybe I'll buy a blaze orange zoom lens to attach to my camera to fit in.)

"I'm a deer hunter. I go all the time
with my dad. One thing about deer,
they have very good vision. One thing
about me, I am better at hiding than
they are...at vision."
—Rainn Wilson

The Name...(And The Game)...Remains The Same

[Warning: I am ridiculously full of myself right now, and have been for the past couple days. I've performed at an unbelievably high level, and I've rubbed elbows with a celebrity...all in the same night. (Granted, it was a D- or E- or F-List celebrity, but a celebrity nonetheless.) So if you don't think I'm totally swell, or don't care to read about me telling you how totally swell I think I am, I suggest you skip this blog post and come back when I've got something more self-deprecating with which to distract you from your day.]

You've heard me lament in previous posts that if I didn't get my dart act together soon, I might have to consider changing the title of my blog from the very Zen, "Ton-Fifty-ONE," to something which more accurately describes my recent performances, such as: "Gregg Sucks Eggs At Darts" (doesn't have the same ring. and I really don't want to be responsible for coming up with a graphic for that title.)

We started dart league on Tuesday night, and after having taken first place in our league for each of the past, oh, ten years or so (that's not an exaggeration), a new team showed up last year and knocked us down a peg. (ouch!) So some of us on my team were eager to get this season rolling and remedy that situation. During our organizational meeting a couple weeks ago, we found that one other team has defected from a competitor's league, and will be shooting against us as well. And they're a good team. So I have no illusions that we're going to coast back into our first-place spot this season, but it's going to be a helluva lot of fun working in that direction.

We've also moved to a new home bar this year, as my buddy's brother and brother-in-law opened a new place. So...new season, new digs. Time to get down to it, right?

You all know where this is going. I saved my blog on Tuesday night!! In the second game of the first night of dart league, I shot my first perfect game of 301 in about three years. And it was a sweeeet sweet feeling watching that last dart fly straight and hard into the triple-17.

My buddy and I have had a 10-dollar bet for the first person to shoot a six-dart out, and unfortunately it's gone way too long without being paid. I had three chances last year, but couldn't convert on the last dart of any of them. Once...I was distracted by a cute bartender. The second...I was tired, I think. And the third...um..I dunno, there was an earthquake. Or something. Needless to say, I didn't convert.

So when I hit it on Tuesday night and went to collect my long-awaited prize, he immediately changed the rule as he paid me, saying, "Let's play 10 bucks for every sixer all season long." (he wants his 10 bucks back. and I...want to take more.)

There's something quite satisfying about watching that sixth dart puncture the smallish triple segment, and the screen flash zero. The couple-minute wait between your first round and your second round can be a bit nerve-wracking, and when you get back up to the line and punch the first two darts into the bullseye, you realize that opportunities like this don't come along as often as they used to, and you better concentrate and try to make it count.

I wish I was totally lying when I tell you that as I held the sixth dart in my hand and aimed it at the trip-17, I wasn't thinking one bit about the title of this blog, because it makes me sound like a bigger dork than I already am. But I was. I was thinking about 10 bucks from my buddy...and I was thinking about coming home and telling this great story about how I've validated my blog title for at least the next little while...until I once again begin to suck eggs.

I know the way you're supposed to handle an A-plus performance like that is to act like you've been there before. Like Barry Sanders who used to just flip the ball to the ref after leaving defenders in his wake and scampering to the end zone.

And, well...I've been there before.

But I couldn't help but give a little fist pump and an overzealous, "YESSS!" as I walked to the board to pull out my darts. Not a Tiger-at-the-U.S.-Open fist pump. That would be over the top. More of a Phil Mickelson OK-so-I'm-not-the-greatest-but-I'm-pretty-damn-good fist pump.

I finished the night with four hat tricks in 301, and another one for good measure in cricket. So it didn't take me too long to get warmed up and adjust to my new surroundings. But I've been through this before. Next week is...next week. I could very well come home lamenting again.

Look...I know this isn't life-changing stuff. It's plastic-tipped darts thrown in the right holes on a red and yellow circular board. Big deal, right? It won't cure world hunger, it won't stop the polar ice cap from melting, and it won't make Sarah Palin a viable candidate for national public office.

But it sure did feel good. So good that I bought my buddies a round of drinks with my 10 bucks. (Don't worry...I'll make more.)

— • — • —

Not long after our league games were finished, a couple guys walked into the bar, and one of them went to the bar while the other walked past me, headed toward the bathrooms. I'm about 6'4", and this guy was a good two inches taller than me. Not that I often feel like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput or anything, but...this guy was big enough to get noticed, is what I'm saying. And one of the guys at the end of the bar who'd had enough to drink, asked, "Is that Tim Harris? I think that's Tim Harris. That's Tim Harris!"

So the guy comes out of the bathroom, and the happy drunk goes up to him and talks for a few seconds, and then turns and says, "See, I told you it was Tim Harris!"

Guess what? It was Tim Harris. (linebacker/defensive end for the Green Bay Packers from 1986-90.) And he hung out and chatted with everyone in the bar for the next couple hours, drinking free shots and shooting pool and accepting the advances of a girl who was...(how shall I put this)...unwaveringly and unashamedly vying for his attention. *ahem* (I think that passes the censors.)

The guy with Harris was a Vikings fan (even had a Viking tattoed on his calf) and my buddy is also a Vikings fan. I, of course, am a (shh!) Lions fan. So Harris had a field day ripping on other members of the NFC North.

Not exactly on my list of Top 10 Celebs I'd Like To Party With, but hey...it was the second most exciting thing that happened on Tuesday night.

(how lame is it that I can't find a good Google Image pic of a former Pro-Bowler to add to this post?)

"It took me about 10 years to get rid of.
I'm all right now, though, lovely, I'm throwing
some nice darts at the moment, but every
now and then I get a bit of a jump. I wish
I could find a cure, I'd make a bloody fortune."
—Eric Bristow

A Tidal Wave Of...Jubilation.

The east coast of Wisconsin became awash in a tidal wave on Wednesday morning, when the waters of Lake Michigan were stirred up by a mysterious force, rushing from east to west.

After calm was restored, and the local news wires were checked, the source of the great disturbance was revealed.

Plate tectonics beneath the Great Lakes? The Loch Ness Monster taking to fresh water? No. Something much bigger.

The firing of Detroit Lions President and CEO Matt Millen was officially announced on Wednesday, and one can only assume that everybody (even those who don't know or care jack squat about professional football) in Michigan was jumping up and down with pure, unadulterated glee.

I tried to counter the effects by doing some stomping and hooting and hollering of my own, but the efforts of the few (I think there are four of us Lions fans in Wisconsin; we get together often during the season, as a sort of support group) cannot defeat the efforts of the many.

Yes, after seven-plus years of futility, botched draft picks, multi-million-dollar contract extensions and the unfailing support of a clueless Ford family, Millen was sent packing...finally. It's been a long, hard road. And I have no illusions that the Lions will suddenly begin a straight and steadfast march to the Super Bowl with their game against the Bears after the bye week.

But it's a change that had to be made. That so many were waiting for, for so long.

Millen had a 31-84 record during his tenure with the team...the lowliest record of any franchise in the league, by at least 10 games. His resignation had been called for by masses of fans in previous years, but he was always quoted as saying, "I'll never quit. When things are going bad, that just means it's time to hunker down and work harder."

(I don't really know if he used the word "hunker." But he seems like the type of buffoon who would. So I used a little creative license there.)

Millen's wife broke the story to ESPN's Chris Mortensen, saying that in the world's view, this may look like a failure, but that they've got a lot of eternal blessings, yadda yadda yadda. And then she added, "I told him, 'You're out of football prison now,' and we have a greater purpose." (I bet she earned a lot of new friends with that line.)

Out of football prison? Is she for real?? He was the fucking warden...all he had to do was turn in his keys and go...the fuck...home!

Guess he was too busy hunkering to realize that simple point.

The rumors were flying for a few days before it became official, and Lions Vice Chairman Bill Ford Jr. spurred on the decision by stating publicly that if he was in charge, he'd fire Millen. Two days later...he was out.

I found out through a Twitter update on my phone, and I think I read those couple dozen words a couple dozen times. Yes, I know I still cheer for a spectacularly suck-tastic football team, but my season improved so dramatically this week that even if they go 0-16 (which...would anyone bet against that?), there will still be one gigantic Millen-less silver lining at the end.

I got home on Wednesday afternoon and checked my e-mail, and I had one with a subject line of, "Congrats." Another read, "Finally." And still one more said, "I'm sure you know already." So even though my buddies are smart enough to cheer for better football teams, some of them felt my pain over the years (and certainly listened to me cry in my beer more than a few times) and were kind enough to send words of encouragement and links to stories in my direction.

So where do we go from here? (I use the word "we" because we tortured souls have to stick together.) Who knows? Whoever replaces Millen will be under almost the same scrutiny as Aaron Rodgers is for replacing Brett Favre. (but...in a bassackwards kind of way.)

Good riddance...

"You can tell people the truth
and everyone thinks you're lying,
and you can lie and everyone
thinks you're telling the truth."
—Matt Millen