Cranial Flatulence

Anniversary Trip

2011-07-10T08:16:00.006-05:00

I may or may not have said this before, but Miss Tessmacher and I trade off surprising each other with an anniversary trip. On our first, we bought each other a bunch of (crap) presents, then kind of sat around the rest of the day and just did stuff. For the second, Tess said to me "Instead of getting each other a bunch of (crap) presents that we don't really need, let's take a trip somewhere." And so a great idea is born. I get the odd years, she the even, and what began as simple day-trips has morphed into an agreement that for the FIRST 10 years, we stay in the state; between 10 and 20, we stay in the country; after that, the sky's (and the budget's) the limit. It's fun, because we don't spring the surprise until we're actually on the way, and when it's your turn to plan, the planning is fun & sneaky; when it's your turn to be surprised, you just sit back and wait for it to unfold.

This was our 9th anniversary, the last I'll be required to plan in-state, and I wanted to try to get up into the north-eastern part of the mitten. We've been southeast and southwest, we've been way up to the tippy-top of the U.P., but never over by Mio/Alpena/Rogers City. So, I bid on and won a gift certificate from the WCMU spring auction. Said certificate good for a 2-night/3-day stay at Thunder Bay Golf & RV Resort. Which, ha, because neither of us golf, nor do we have an RV. But the real gift was this carriage ride out to see some elk, followed by a 5-course gourmet meal & wine tasting. Okay, that sounds good. Between seeing really big deer and a good meal, I figured we could snoop around Alpena & see what else there was to see in the general vicinity. Here's a quick run-down of our experience for those looking to get away…

1) Thunder Bay Resort: a wonderful place located just on the outskirts of Hillman on M-32. Hillman ain't much to blink at…in fact, don't, because you'll miss it. But the resort is really nice. I don't golf, but the course seemed like it was well-situated, and if you can stay right there at the resort and make a weekend of it, I guess that would be fun. The room we stayed in was actually a suite, consisting of bedroom, kitchenette, and living room. Taken together, you could easily sleep 4 couples between the two regular beds, the pullout and the Murphy bed. The appointments were nice, but nothing fancy; more like an extended version of a traditional Holiday Inn room. The elk viewing was cool, but about as contrived as I thought it would be: giant carriages meant to hold 20 people, sort of like the large tour carriages on Mackinac Island. Which, if you're not used to horse-drawn vehicles, I guess is kind of neat. Being Island folk ourselves, it was mostly just a slow trip through Mosquito Hell. The elk are fenced in, kind of like in a preserve, and they really are magnificent creatures. I see deer all the time, but these really are a different animal. Very cool. The meal was fabulous, prepared (as advertised) by the owner's wife, Jan, on a pair of 100-year-old wood-fire cookstoves. The food was great, but the wine…not so much. Mostly fruity stuff, meant for the person who doesn't drink much wine, and probably geared toward the (primarily) septuagenarian makeup of the rest of the group. The real bonus of Thunder Bay is the people: Jack, the owner, is friendly & helpful almost to a fault. His wife is gracious, a tremendous cook, and a knee-slappingly funny storyteller. The guides & drivers on the tour were humorous & kind, and all-in-all it really is a homey family affair. Which is too bad, because the place was almost deserted. We practically had our particular lodge building to ourselves, and even though the weather was sunny with temps in the 70s, I didn't see many people golfing. I definitely got the impression that taking the tour in the winter, on a sleigh instead of a carriage, is the preferred way to go. The hall where we ate was spiffed up like it was Christmastime anyway, and you wouldn't have to worry about the mosquitoes.

2) Cheboygan/Rogers City: we only drove through & wandered these two towns, but they're very nice, Cheboygan especially. Lots to see & do, especially as we wandered into a little farmer's market/arts-&-crafts fair. Nice places.

3) The drive down US-23. Listed in our county mapbook as "one of the most scenic lakeshore drives in Michigan." Total bullshit. Can't see the lake at all. I guess the copy for this mapbook was written in the '50s-'60s, because since then, the trees have grown up enough that it's like you're driving through a forest. A pretty forest, to be sure…but, there ain't no lakeshore to see. We did pass 2 (or 3?) State Park campgrounds between Cheboygan & Alpena, so if you're prone to camping there, you may want to check 'em out.

4) Alpena: a fucking ghost town. This surprised my F-i-L, who professed to thinking of Alpena as "the going thing" the last time he was there. Well, if it WAS the going thing, it went. And, from the looks of it, it ain't every comin' back. We found a few nice things: Art in the Loft was a pretty decent gallery; the National Marine Sanctuary was a fine museum about shipping on the Great Lakes; and the John A. Lau Saloon is THE place to eat, with great food and a pretty nice beer flight of Michigan microbrews. Otherwise? Alpena seemed like it was stuck in various points in its own past, bewildered that time had left it behind. I saw the '50s & '60s in many of the store signs…including many that looked like they had last been open in the '60s. I saw the '70s & '80s in many of the cars puttering around (and one mint-condition bright-yellow Schwinn Collegiate 3-speed that actually made me drool a little!). What struck both me and Tess was a depressing sense of abandonment in the town…namely, where were all the fucking PEOPLE?!? It was a beautiful Saturday, the first day of summer vacation for the kids…and there was no one. Out. On the streets! Maybe everyone took off because it was the first weekend of summer vacation…maybe the town gets hopping during some mid-summer festival. Or, maybe it's just exactly what it felt like: a town that time forgot, that got left behind when the manufacturing dried up. Too many closed stores, too many abandoned factories, and too much a sense of "when the last person dies, turn the lights out & lock the door."

Overall we did have a great time, met a cool couple on the carriage ride, and generally just enjoyed each other's company. Which, for us, is more or less what it's about. I just feel bad for that whole north-of-Tawas/east-of-Gaylord area of the state. There just ain't much goin' on, not even with tourism…which would be about the last thing you could count on, these days.

(Bonus section! If you're given to fun drives in 2-seater sportscars, M-32 between Gaylord & Alpena? One of the better drives you're likely to find. Lots of hills & curves, ample passing lanes, and, at least on the Sunday morning we drove it: ZERO police presence.)

Big rack!

After-dinner pose. That thing's heavy: 22 lbs!

Miss Tessmacher, chowing down at John Lau's.

Yours truly, soaking up some sun. And beer.

Atlas (And the Audience) Shrugged

2011-04-23T09:24:00.003-05:00

Went to see Atlas Shrugged last night with the venerable Miss Tessmacher. Lots of hype about the film lately, especially since its doom-and-gloom scenarios have been adopted in the last few years by invasive-government types of all strypes, from Tea Baggers to Libertarians to self-styled quasi-Anarchists. The brief review? It didn't suck, exactly, but it was filled with lots of droning scenes involving talking heads and weaselly politicians. It just…kinda sat there.

Like most folks who actually take the time to read Ayn Rand's 1957 novel of pure, beneficent capitalism, I first encountered Atlas Shrugged as a late-teenager, full of idealism but woefully short on political savvy and an incomplete understanding of the World. Her heroes are godlike in their purity, motivated by selfless selfishness and a sense that they are always - ALWAYS - right. Likewise, her villains are not only purely evil, but of such a disgusting type of evil that they are less satanic than just icky, like a banana slug that has crawled into your armpit. And thus are the battles in Atlas Shrugged overpoweringly unequal. You cannot help but admire Dagny Taggart, Hank Reardon, and all the rest: omnipotent creatures whose sole goal in life is to make money, but who accomplish it without raping the environment, squashing workers or shipping jobs overseas. The political villains who work against Taggart et. al. are hopelessly incompetent, leeches who squander the resources that the Shining Creators give us, unencumbered by any likability.

I think it's rather telling that the book, for all its 1000-page tome-iness, seems to appeal first and foremost to the 18-to-24-year old crowd. Because only people who have a limited brain capacity and wear political blinders could possibly be moved to see anything other than comic-book-style fiction to the work. And, yes, granted: it IS a work of fiction. One that attempts, however, to portray an end-result world specifically skewed by Rand's 1) place, and 2) time of birth. A child of the Russian Revolution, she witnessed firsthand the failing ideals of Soviet-style communism. But in its place, she seems to want to revive a world of benevolent Tsarist capitalism, a society in which the Haves are allowed to keep and do and be what they are, without any harm befalling the Have-Nots. I got news for ya, kiddies: that world don't exist.

Which is partly her point. Or, rather, partly her slanted point. Which is to say, she seems to present the reasons for the non-existence of that world as a by-product of foolish men who keep down the Benevolent Creators, robbing them of both their finances and, finally, their will. Selfishness is a virtue to her heroes, and a reprehensible vice to her villains. But only in fiction could such a black-and-white world exist. It's as if Atlas Shrugged is a comic book without the costumes: infallible heroes with no known faults (like a boring, '50s-era Superman) set against a world of corrupt Brainiacs…only minus the capes and secret identities. It's not that the world she desires doesn't exist because worthless scum disable its appearance: it's that that world can't exist because there are no benevolent dictators.

That's what Reardon, and Taggart, and all the rest of them are: benevolent dictators, completely possessed of all the power and ability, who then bestow upon us little people the fruits of their labor and creative prowess. But dictators are never benevolent, and absolute power still corrupts absolutely. Businesses are NOT "in business" to create jobs; they are in business to create the maximum profit for their shareholders. In Rand's world, the CEO of BP would be the hero, drilling an ocean of oil and natural gas to power the world. In reality, the CEO of BP presided over a company that polluted the ocean with oil because he tried to do it as cheaply as possible. That's what you never get to see from these Randian super-capitalists: the net result of their very capitalism. There are no underpaid workers, there is no environmental calamity…everyone lives in parasitic peace and harmony, knowing their place in the pecking order and accepting it unquestioningly.

Thanks, but no thanks. I would never stand up and advocate Communism, because of course that idea can't work either: eventually, someone decides that in a world of "everyone is equal," I'm actually a little MORE equal than you. But Rand would return us to a world of dictatorial nobility, where the noble class are the super-rich merchants and creators, and everyone else happily works for them. Political and social reality just isn't that black-or-white. The truth, as always, is much murkier.

I Will Kill The Economy

2011-03-17T17:47:00.004-05:00

Was reading yesterday that wholesale food prices rose 3.9% last month, the biggest jump since early 1974. 70% of that increase was in fresh vegetables (ironically, the best thing you can eat is also nearly the most expensive), but meat, eggs and dairy also took a hit…largely because of the rising prices of corn and soy that are used to (unnaturally) feed these animals. You can read the news article here, but what it comes down to is a pretty big jump in stuff we all pretty much need.

(Incidentally, why do we always talk about two levels of inflation, one that includes energy and food and one that does not? Those two - energy and food - are always referred to as "highly volatile" or something like that…as if their volatility and unpredictability somehow make them other than #1 and #2 on anyone's "This Is Where My Money Goes" list. It takes a certain amount of ballsy sleight-of-economic-hand to suggest that "Inflation is tame! Uh…except for gas and food. Ahem. Those went through the roof.")

I also heard - this, last month - that the price of clothing is going to skyrocket this year because of rising cotton prices and other associated costs. I gotta say, Chairman Bernanke suggesting that inflation isn't a problem is kind of like his claim that the recession ended 18 months ago. This may look good on paper, but to the average Joe on the ground, shit is still really fucked up, with no apparent end in sight.

And, I'm not gonna be any help, because I intend to kill the economy. Not single-handed, of course. But, as one guy, who is already probably joining a throng of other people, and who will probably be followed by others…I'm gonna do my part. I'm not going to have companies "pass on costs" to me anymore. I simply will not be a hapless consumer, blindly swiping my credit card without ever questioning that there might be another way. There is. Here's how it works:

1) Clothing prices going up? Not for me. I'm buying my garments from Goodwill, St. Vincent's, and eBay. We recently went shopping at Goodwill, and got 4 dresses for Roz (she's in her "princess dress" phase, and you may shoot me now) for a grand total of…$4. I bought 5 shirts, for $3.69 apiece. One was a go-camping denim shirt, one was a groovy go-clubbing shirt (which is hilarious, because I never ever go "clubbing," but still, it's a cool shirt), and three were dress shirts. All looking brand new, with no stains, missing buttons, etc. etc. etc. Why would I pay more for stuff - and contribute to more waste on the planet - when I can buy perfectly good used clothing? Doesn't offend me none! I got a great Territory Ahead shirt from eBay: $4.99, plus shipping. I love their stuff, but even the "on-sale" shit goes for, like, $50 a shirt. I repeat: $4.99, and all I had to do was wash out some other guy's panther-piss cologne smell. Not…a problem.

2) Food prices going up? Well, we do like to eat well here, but if veggies are going up, I'm planting my own. We already have a dedicated gardening spot, and I just lay claim to my mom's canning stuff. And, that's it. I'm gonna grow veggies, and freeze & can them. I'll go to the farmer's market when stuff is actually in-season, and I'll can it, and I'll have it fresh for the winter. No worries about corn prices going up for us, because we get our eggs locally for $2 a dozen, and that's dropped off at the front door. I asked our supplier about the bright orange hue of the yolks, and she said "Oh, yeah…that's 'cause the hens wander around the yard and eat lots of bugs & stuff." In other words: a natural hen's diet. Gee…organic, free-range eggs from hens that wander around the yard without needing their beaks snipped off. That's pretty good.

3) According to the article, "Sharper prices for basic necessities are limiting consumers' ability to spend on more discretionary goods." No shit, Sherlock. What the article distinctly does NOT mention is that for many of us, those same sharp prices are creating the dreaded New Normal. I'm going to have a hard time thinking about spending a bunch more for shirts, now that I've gotten used to $3 - $4 apiece. I can weather A LOT of inflation with that as a starting point. Once I get used to the flavor of my own fresh food, I'll probably wonder why I ever bought shitty greenhouse asparagus from Meijer in January. Sure, I'll still splurge for oranges - no scurvy for me, thanks! - but I'll get my apples from the local orchard, and make my own applesauce. And apple butter. You get the idea.

The Fed is practically shitting itself, worrying that the House of Cards that is the Gross Domestic Product - of which consumer spending is typically thrown around as being 70% of the total, although that's debatable - will once again come tumbling down if people don't get out there and SPEND, MOTHERFUCKERS! Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll save…and have more money to spend on the discretionary items of my own choosing: like, used records from the local vinyl shop.

Those Damn Public Employee Babysitters

2011-03-07T12:43:00.004-05:00

Okay, I'm sick and tired of hearing all this whining from so-called public "employees" who are little more than glorified babysitters. I mean, seriously: in what other business do workers have such gluttonous pensions, generous health-care plans, and inflated salaries? How much do these people WANT, anyway? They only work about half the year to begin with…maybe - MAYBE! - two thirds of the year. They get a whole season off, and they want to be treated like royalty!

I dunno. I'm just fed up with all this union blah-blah. I wanna take some of these people by the collar and shake 'em until they finally see the futility of their predicament. All they really do is provide a form of free babysitting service. No real learning goes on in their buildings, and if a day ends up being cancelled due to inclement weather, everyone at home goes into a shit-fit, trying to figure out how to alter their plans. It's ridiculous.

What these public "employee" pariahs out to do is just suck it up and get with the program. They need to take the pay cuts they have comin' to 'em, just like everyone else, and realize that the power & usefulness of their unions has been overstated for decades. Governors and other politicians need to double-down on their efforts to break the backs of these unions, and the workers themselves need to just tighten their belts and learn to make do with a little less.

Of course, I'm speaking here of professional athletes. Teachers, who are in charge of our childrens' education (and, by extension, the future of our society), ought to be paid a fucking fortune.

The Right To Remain Ignorant

2011-02-15T08:43:00.009-05:00

Call me an elitist snob. Call me a bleeding-heart fucking liberal. Call me an over-educated college professor who dwells in an ivory tower and casts aspersions on those dirt-encrusted plebes who inhabit the ground beneath me. What-fucking-ever. I just absolutely despise ignorance. ESPECIALLY self-inflicted ignorance, which in my mind borders on pure, unadulterated sociopathy.

Interesting word, sociopath. Literally, "a person…whose behavior is antisocial and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience." Seems to me that those qualities - having a sense of moral responsibility and social conscience, social behavior - are ones that we value, so that a person who is sociopathic is generally deemed "not good" for our society. There's another interesting word: society. "A highly structured system of human organization for large-scale community living that normally furnishes protection, community, security, and a national identity for its members." As in, "an American society." Again: good, desirable traits. Makes me wonder why "socialism" is deemed UNdesirable. Anyway…

I genuinely, strongly, and absolutely believe that self-inflicted ignorance is bad for our society. It's okay to not know something…shit, there's plenty about this world that I don't know. Plenty I don't, and plenty I really don't need to. I don't know the top speed of a healthy gazelle, and I don't know the names of the layers of the planet…or of my own skin. I understand in a vague fashion how my car works, but I don't know the details of it; I couldn't build a car from scratch, you see. But, my not knowing these things doesn't negatively affect my society. My neighbors don't care that I don't know how to build a car, and my state isn't the poorer for my not knowing how fast a gazelle can run. I will remain ignorant of these things precisely up until I need to know them, and then I'll go looking for answers. I won't just…remain ignorant.

Because, see, that willful ignorance? That can have a real effect on the rest of society. Take…oh, I dunno, let's stick with cars: take driving, for example. If you don't understand how the letters on your steering column correspond to the various gears, you could really have a negative effect on those around you. You're sitting in a car, ready to pull forward, put the gear into "R" and smash into the car behind you. Your ignorance of the way the gear shifter worked was costly. Magnify that: if you're ignorant as to the effects of alcohol on your judgement and motor skills, and you go out driving? Well, you can see that one through.

This all is centered around a certain "right" that our new Speaker, Rep. Boehner, claimed for us in the news yesterday. Rep. Boehner was speaking on "Meet the Press," and was asked about the persistent belief among some circles that Pres. Obama is either 1) not a U.S. citizen, and/or 2) a Muslim. Boehner replied: "The American people have a right to think what they want to think." Pressed about a responsibility to "stand up to that kind of ignorance," Boehner continued: "It's not my job to tell the American people what to think."

Oh. Oh, really. Because, it seems to me that politicians of EVERY stripe spend pretty much all their time telling American people EXACTLY what to think…precisely as long as it suits their agenda. To claim otherwise is preposterously disingenuous. And that claim that we have a right to think what we want to think? Funny, I don't see that in any of the Articles of the Constitution. Willfully wrong opinions…deliberately incorrect thoughts…these things have the power to be frighteningly dangerous to our society.

Sure, now you can get all Orwellian on my ass and claim that I'm advocating thought-control. No. I agree with the general precept that people should be allowed to have their opinions, and to think what they want. BUT - and that's a heavy "but" - sometimes people believe shit that's just…wrong. Take Obama's citizenship. Rep. Boehner told "MTP" that "the state of Hawaii has said that (Obama) was born there. That's good enough for me." Right?? I mean, how else do ANY of us know where we were born? Our birth certificate says so. How do you know who your daddy is? 'Cause your momma told you so. Same thing with Obama's religion: man say's he a Christian. Okay! Great! Can we not just…accept the man's word? Observe his practices, listen to how he speaks, and come to the conclusion "Okay, he says he's a Christian, and he acts like a Christian…must be a Christian!" When people remain willfully ignorant of these things - telling themselves "He's not an American! He's a Muslim!" - they're going out and voting on those thoughts. Which, hey, take it or leave it: a big part of me thinks that our federal government is so broken and polarized, don't much matter WHO sits in the driver's seat. But…the laws that govern us as a society affect us all. As a collective, we stand or fall together, and when you get a large (and larger) bloc of people voting their combined ignorance, how long will it take before something TRULY catastrophic happens?

People already tend to think in groups; like-meets-like, if you will. The internet has only exacerbated - worsened? - that tendency, because now, instead of getting an even-handed flow of information, you can cut off all the thoughts you don't want to face, all the information you've pre-determined to be "wrong," and settle down in some cozy little corner with the thousand others who think just like you. You build a frame around your world, and anything you don't like simply bounces off the frame. That's not helpful. That ignorance is having a direct effect on my life, because you're going out there and actually ACTING on your ignorance. Please. Don't do that. I deny your claim to a right to think what you want, when the thing you think isn't backed up by any credible source of information. Fuck you, because at some point you're going to end up fucking me, and then somewhere down the road, you could end up fucking all of us.

Surrounding The Moment

2011-01-14T15:05:00.004-05:00

There is before The Moment, after The Moment, and The Moment.

Before The Moment there is stress, anxiety, fear, guilt. Cruel hope pervades: maybe we can put off The Moment one more time. Heavy sighs permeate the soul. Disbelief occurs before The Moment: how did I get here so quickly? Wasn't it just yesterday that…? But of course it wasn't just yesterday. Or, it WAS, but it was also last year, and the years that preceded that one. Back into time, before your life became what it is, so far back that you can barely recognize that life and the one you live now as actually belonging to the same person. And the guilt, the crushing guilt, is almost unbearable. Beating yourself up for past mistakes, harsh words, flattened palms that did not stroke, but struck. Odd, how close those words are. You try to convince yourself that abandonments from long ago were necessary, that they were protectionist. But that's all bullshit, really. What you want to do is apologize, take it back. "If I could have it to do again!" you say…but of course, you don't have it to do again. There is only now. Before The Moment. And it is terrible.

After The Moment there is grief, loss, emptiness, release. Tears come unbidden, seemingly without any provocation. Everything seems too bright, hard-edged. The soft world you'd become accustomed to is thrown into disarray. Nothing is as it was, and you are adrift without sight of land. But there is deep-seated thanks, as well. Thanks for what has come before, all the years before. Thanks that you have been able to give this one last, final gift. Melancholy happiness creeps in, happiness that The Moment is behind you, and there is only forward now. Time will heal, tears will stop, grief becoming acceptance becoming rosy memory.

And then, there is The Moment. It exists like the event horizon around a black hole, allowing only one direction of motion. The Moment is both a known quantity and completely unpredictable, and you shudder at the impossibility of that dichotomy. You say: "I know what will happen in The Moment, from point X to point Y to point Z." But that knowing does nothing to prepare you for its arrival, when anything might happen, any emotional rollercoaster might zip you around hidden curves. You cannot see the track ahead, and that is what makes The Moment so unbearable.

What we survive for is after The Moment. What we dread with black anticipation happens before The Moment. And The Moment is the nexus of hope and dread, light and dark, fulfillment and emptiness. There is power in The Moment, power we not only cannot control, but ultimately cannot even understand. And we weep for our smallness when measured against it.

The Mystery of the Blue Monsters

2011-01-11T12:42:00.004-05:00

So, apparently, in utter defiance of our stated goals and actions, Miss Tessmacher and I have managed to fuck things up. Not with each OTHER, of course; no worries there! No, what we seem to be fucking up is parenthood. Here's the deal:

The Rozzle, for nigh 2-1/2 years, has been a fantastic sleeper. Titanic, 3-hour naps. In bed by 7:00(ish), sleep without waking until dawn. Which was only problematic during the high summer when Tess and I wished to sleep beyond, say, 5:30am. Always a little put off by schedule changes, Roz nevertheless rolled effortlessly through 6 weeks this past summer of sleeping alternately at Unnamed Northern Music Camp, Grandma's, G & Papa's, the Island, a tent, and, oh yeah, home. Not. A problem.

This winter break, the schedule went all to shit like it usually does: we're home for 4 solid weeks, school is out for HER for two weeks, there's no dance class, and all this Christmas shit all over the place. Well. Santa decided it was time for a big-girl bed for Roz, and he made a great present of it, replete with flannel Disney sheets and a brand-new quilt from G to top it off. Wonderful!

Or…not so much. I dismantled her toddler bed on the 26th and set up the twin. She napped in it that day & slept in it that night. On the 27th we went to Grandma's, and she napped in the car on the way. As usual. When bedtime came there, she went down, no problem whatsoever. In fact, she slept in SO late the next morning, there was no real reason to put her down for a nap; we'd only finished breakfast by 10:30, so she wasn't gonna want lunch so soon, and to go down for a nap at noon meant she'd only been awake for something like 3 hours! So, skipped nap that day. Unusual, but not unheard of. Next day (the 29th, for those of you who've lost count) was a trip home, and again, as usual, she napped almost the whole way.

And then…it begins. Fighting the nap. "I…don't…wanna…take…a nap!" Fighting bedtime. "Mom, don't leave." Worse and worse, seemingly out of nowhere, until we finally figured out that maybe the big-girl bed was just too much change, Santa had got it wrong, yadda yadda. We asked her if she wanted her old bed back, and she said yes. So, apart comes the twin, back goes the converted crib, and I'm thinking "Okay, glory, no worries now. Everything's back to normal, the Christmas shit is all put away, it's like the last few weeks never happened. WHEW!"

Right? WRONG! Still fighting the nap, wants to sleep in the spare bed or our bed. Won't let us leave at bedtime until she's fully asleep, and then without fail wakes at 2:00am calling "Mom? Mom?" Checking on her reveals that she's scared. "It's scary in here, Dad." I try to suss out why, reminding her that it's her room, where she's always slept, her bed, all her things, the safest place in the house…you get the drill. Nope. "I'm scared that the blue monsters will come and try to eat my blankie." I'd laugh, but that it's now 2:15 and I'm up at 6:00 to go back to work! I try logic: "Honey, there are no monsters." (You there! Bumble! Shut your toothless pie-hole, you ain't helpin'!) I try disarmament: "Sweetie, the only blue monsters you've ever seen are Grover and Cookie, and THEY'RE not scary, are they?" (Hey, Thog, who let you in here?! Get your 10' height right on back out the door. NOT. HELPING.) In order to get any sleep at all, I or Tess give in and bring her into the spare bed to sleep. Just so we can all get SOME sleep!

So…the fuck did the blue monster scare come from??? Is it a phase? Did we screw up her schedule so much that she's reverted and doesn't know how to stay asleep anymore? Please. He'p me.

Memo To 2010: "Fuck Off!"

2010-12-19T13:19:00.002-05:00

The illustrious Miss Tessmacher and I were conversing the other week, trying to figure out why we'd been so enormously stressed out of late. Aside from the coming end-of-semester craziness (which has thankfully now passed), we came up with the feels-right notion that 2010 has, more or less, sucked.

Oh, there were some good things and great times, don't get me wrong. New nephew? (Check.) CD release? (Check.) Fabulous camping trip with great friends? (Drunkity check.) But mostly, 2010 was a year of lows, a lost year, a close-out-the-decade-with-a-fat-sucking-sound year. One to flush, and good goddamn riddance.

In no particular order: grandparents are slowly (or, in the case of my grandmother, NOT so slowly) losing their minds. Sure, I'm spoiled, in that at 42 my grandparents are even still ALIVE. But, Alzheimer's is a real bitch for those who DON'T have it, and the things it explicitly states about aging (not to mention genetics) is a bummer. It also spells out very solidly the concept of parental mortality. Okay, I know that, in spite of all the scientific and medical advances, the death rate is still an astonishing 100%. But, gee, you get to that point where you realize "Holy cow, Mom's had, like, seventeen bronchial infections this year…that's a lotta Z-Pacs!" Tess' parents too, between toe and back surgeries, heart mis-firings, and general slowing-downness, are demonstrating with terrible clarity the notion that they won't live forever.

The move was great, and we love the (now not-so-) new house. But moving IN was a chore, and there was a months-long low-grade stress as we slowly started to morph it into not just a new house, but HOME. There was a lotta painting, a shitty garden that gave up only a few cherry tomatoes and some papery tomatillos, and the realization that the windows are horrible and could really stand replacing. Love the new house. It's home now. But, would love to have the dough-re-mi necessary to do all that we'd like to.

The economy continued to feel like an abysmal black hole, in spite of the fact that the Recession "officially" ended over a year ago. We're fine here, but tighter wallets mean fewer private lessons, and constant reminders at work about "shrinkage" and "academic prioritization" provide a dull background of stress-y static that all the HD in the world won't quite clear away.

Our good friend Cancer made an unwelcome return for E. (a good friend) and D. (close family), and no one is sure what the final outcome will be. A generous co-worker had her head sawed open for (shall we say) interior problems, and the partner of my wonderful friend and mentor E. (different E.) suffered a massive, fatal heart attack. All told, health issues seemed common and constant, just one more reminder that life is short, and sometimes a lot shorter than you thought it'd be.

*sigh* Again: to look at the minutae, 2010 had a lot going for it. But to step back and really see the broad strokes makes me realize that the year was painted not in vibrant oils, but rather dull shades of shit. So heading into Christmas I look forward to the last ten days of the year with a heart gladdened for a beautiful daughter and presents under the tree…but also with a hopeful eye that 2011 will be significantly more calm and problem-free.

Happy holidays.

Attention Holiday Shoppers!

2010-11-06T08:24:00.005-05:00

My apologies in advance: this is going to be one of those snarky, holier-than-thou posts wherein I pretend to have all the answers, as if my actions are the One True Way, and anything else is just plain stupid.

Okay. Now THAT'S outta the way!

Because this is the time of year when I like thinking about holiday shopping, and what I want to give as presents, and what I sincerely would like to avoid. Figuring out what to buy (or make) for the holidays can be really cumbersome sometimes, what with diminishing savings accounts holding weakly against a federal government that screams at us "Spend! Consume! Get the economy rolling again!" through every available venue. Here are some ways I like to spread my meagre dollars around, in the off-label hopes of keeping said dollars local, or at least national.

1) "Your kids will play with what you give them" Dept. This one strikes me as so basic that I'm always amazed at how little it sinks in. Simply put: kids play with what's at hand. What's at hand is typically provided by parents…with a large scoop of grandparents thrown in for good measure. This was driven home to me by watching Roslyn play with her mother's old Fisher Price barn & school. She took to the '70s-era Little People like ducks to water, using their smallish peg size to increase her coordination as she worked on mastering the task of simply getting the damn people into their cars/wagons/chairs. Now almost 3-1/2, she has the Sesame Street playset, the castle playset, the Jeep & camper, and a tub full of odds & ends. She loves 'em. Same thing with Hot Wheels: I loved little cars as a kid, so I took great delight in getting her a Batmobile, a police car & ambulance (to rescue Batman when he overturns), and a dozen or so other little diecast vehicles. Add to that some track and a recent eBay find of the "starting gate" (which, with new rubber bands, will propel the cars down the track at a decent speed) and she's got good entertainment for her cars. And her marbles, which zoom along nicely down the orange lengths. You don't need a bunch of fancy-ass crap for your kids to play with: they only know what you give 'em.

2) "Kids don't know from vintage" Dept. This comes quite naturally out of Item #1 above. Once we discovered how much Roz loved her secondhand Fisher Price toys, we (translation: I) started picking stuff up from flea markets, garage sales, Goodwill, and eBay. Some of this stuff comes at a not-inconsequential premium: the "new" starting gate I just got for her Hot Wheels cars was $45 including shipping. But when I take her to our local St. Vincent dePaul store, she makes a beeline for the toy room and immerses herself happily with whatever secondhand junk is there. Yes, she also takes to the über-expensive Thomas the Train stuff when she's at a Barnes & Noble store or Toys-R-Us. But she never kicks up a fuss to really have anything, which makes shelling out a few bucks for the vintage stuff much easier than spending upwards of $20 for a single Thomas engine. The name of the store isn't "Feel Shame For Shopping Here." It's just "Goodwill." Go check it out with your kid, let her play with some of the stuff to see what she takes a hankerin' to…and then go back later, alone, and see how far $20 will take you. I'm bettin' it's a long way.

3) "Reuse, Reduce, Recycle" Dept. Buying vintage means you're not contributing to newly-produced waste. Yeah, there's a lotta plastic in that Hot Wheels track. But it's already here, so buying it is kind of a garbage push (to borrow from blackjack): you're helping to keep stuff out of landfills by recycling toys, which can be your feel-good moment of the holiday shopping experience. And if you DO buy new, you can often have a feel-good moment in other ways, like making your purchase in a charitable way: Roz was looking through a World Wildlife Fund catalog that showed up this season, and immediately latched onto a stuffed killer whale (don't ask). The $50 price tag seemed steep, but keep in mind: that fifty bucks is actually a donation to the WWF, a 501(c)(3) charitable organization, who uses 82% of the money you spend for wildlife conservation. The well-made (in China) plush animal you get is just icing on the cake.

4) "Keep Money Local" Dept. Don't feel like sending your hard-earned dollars to China? Want to support your local businesses? Shop at home. Clicking the "complete purchase" button at gottahaveit.com makes your shopping really easy, but does that do anything for your local businesses? When I shop at the Mega Mall (a lovely flea market in DeWitt), I'm not only recycling toys, I'm putting money directly into the pockets of the booth renters. It's not going to giant mega-corps like Mattel, or Hasbro, or whatever. It's staying here, close to home. When I DO need new things, I go to K-Mart, which started in Troy, Michigan in 1899 as Kresge's. Even though it's no longer headquartered in Michigan (having moved to Illinois once they partnered with Sears), I still think it's a lot more local than that other discount store from Arkansas. I buy Crayola crayons and watercolors there (Crayola being a privately-held company headquartered in Pennsylvania, with manufacturing plants there and in Mexico and Brazil). If keeping dollars (and jobs!) here in America is important to you, check out this site http://www.toysmadeinamerica.com/ for tons of stuff that will accommodate you.

5) "Homemade is from the heart" Dept. Lastly, don't discount the importance of making your own stuff. This can run the gamut according to your talents, from toys (Grandma makes excellent wooden toys for Roz, including a huge whiteboard art easel desk) to clothes (all you knitters, take a bow!) to food (just say "Yes!" to home-canned preserves) to art (our wedding present from my new sis was a large oil painting of me and Miss Tessmacher). In 1999 I ruined Mother's Day for almost everyone I know by giving my mom a clarinet concerto that I'd written as my doctoral thesis (comments typically included a wail of "Aww, shit, now the card and flowers I got for MY mom seem really petty!). Chances are, you have some latent talent for making something that can be put to good use at gift-giving time. Remember: presents shouldn't be judged by the dollar amount that was spent on 'em, but instead the thoughtfulness and creativity that inspired them.

There. See? Told ya I'd be all "Lookit how cool I am!" I genuinely don't mean to be that way, but these things are important to me, and I thought I'd share them with you if you hadn't thought of them yet, and remind you about them if you'd forgotten. Be well, and shop wisely this holiday season.

Vote (Or Shut Up)

2010-11-01T15:12:00.002-05:00

That's the message on a button I wear this time of year. Pretty basic, I think. Vote…or shut up. You want a say? Get to the polls and pull a lever, complete an arrow, or (heaven help you), punch a chad. Whatever the manner, if you don't vote, you don't get a say. Complain, bitch and whine all you want…but, only your vote gets you the right to do any. Or, all three simultaneously.

Vote a party, if that suits you. Hopefully, your party-line vote allows you to best reflect your own personal convictions.

Pick and choose, if that's your bag. A little of this, a smattering of that…Libertarian here, Republican there, Green Party to spice things up.

Choice between two evils? *shrugs* Do your best, man. Sometimes, you gotta grit your teeth and allow that, hey, the dude runnin' for Governor on your preferred ticket is kind of a douchebag. What are the options? Vote a third party? I dunno…have your own conversations about electoral overhaul, voting systems, and siphoning votes from the two dominant parties. I myself did the Hokey Perot-key in '88. I remember that…and, of course, the Republican candidate. No memory at all of who the Democrats ran that year. Funny, isn't it? But, if you worry about vote-siphoning and all that jazz, then vote for the person you hate the least. That sucks, true. But, will the douchebag you DON'T like at least represent a platform that you more-or-less agree with? Consider the alternative: how would the OTHER douchebag handle things? You gotta consider that.

Vote your conscience. Vote your pocketbook. Vote your religion…even though those things are expressly separated by the First Amendment. (Something candidate O'Donnell seemed unaware of, even in the heat of debate. D'oh!) I'd love for you to vote for someone brilliant. (Reference the previous parenthetical remark.) I'd hate to think you're voting for someone you could "have a beer with." You got trouble finding someone to break brew with, that's a whole other kettle o'fish…your Senator/Governor/President shouldn't be included for consideration of a stool-mate.

Know what's going on with your Propositions and other ballot proposals. Understand that hyperbole runs high on all sides…it's up to you to understand the language, and to try to read between the lines. Some ballot proposal seem too impossible to vote against? That's exactly the one you need to re-read more carefully. Got a millage proposal tomorrow? Who benefits from that money? In the run-up to the proposal, did someone claim that money never received is a "loss"? That one really gets me: a local school board, who never had $500,000 to begin with, starts to describe that money as "lost" if constituents vote the millage down. *bzzzt!* Don't work that way! Thanks for playing, now get the fuck out.

Judges, especially "non-partisan" ones who don't run on a party platform: watch out for buzzwords and "code" language. Things like litmus test, or activist, or Constitutional interpretation. This is the way non-partisan candidates express their partisan credentials.

Don't like special interests or the gajillions of dollars they throw around like crazy? Join the club. Do I think that the person who spends the most money flat-out buys the election? Most of the time, you betcha. Who spends $100 million for a job that pays $175,000? Where could that money have gone to better use? Of course, it's not the salary…it's the power. It's the prestige. It's the "I'm CEO…bitch!" moment. But what's there to do? So far, I've not heard any serious candidate say "We need to eliminate all the lobbyists." Why not? 'Cause they all fuckin' use the lobbyist money! So, end of discussion, I guess.

The worst way to lodge your complaint is to not vote. Well…actually, I guess the ABSOLUTE worst way to lodge your complaint is to pick up a bunch a'fuckin' guns and go start shooting people in the name of a Second American Revolution. Setting that aside for all but the most seriously deranged, your biggest screw-up is to not vote. So…go vote. Or shut the fuck up.

2/41/200,000

2010-10-21T11:42:00.002-05:00

These are some numbers that are important to me lately…

The number of diapers we are now down to, per day. I had all these grandiose plans about having Roz potty-trained by the time she was two. I was potty trained early, and as the months went on I got more & more tired of washing diapers. But, it just wasn't happening that early with Roz, for whatever reason. We read lots about potty training, from the stoner ("it'll happen in its own time") to the feral ("let 'em run around naked and encourage them to pee outside"). One thing that really resonated with us was a concept that linked potty training with emotions. To wit: kids can't really control their waste until they learn about their own emotional state. And, lo & behold, as Roz sort of "came online" with her emotions (and her ability to label them), potty training took off. We had one accident on Tuesday, but that was the first in…oh, must be weeks & weeks. She's in underpants full-time now, even at school, except for naptime and nighttime. And even then, the nap diaper is usually dry, and even a few of the overnight ones have been as well recently. YESSS!!!!

The amount, in cents, that Mom & I found with the metal detector at our local park. This goes back to the treasure-hunting post of several weeks ago, but since that time I saw a guy in the park running HIS detector, and of course we treasure-hunters have a secret "code" that lets us recognize one another, so we chatted for awhile and then I wished him luck while Roz & I went to get dizzy on the tornado slide. He came over after awhile to show me a Buffalo nickel he'd scrounged out of the dirt. Dateless, to be sure, but still: that's not a bad find at a meager 2" under the dirt. So, Mom & I went around for a couple of hours last weekend. We found 37¢ worth of "new" change, 4 wheat cents, and a bullet. ("A bullet?!? *bam!* A bullet?!? *bam!* It's the part that gets me the hottest!" --thanks, Frank.) The wheaties were a mix of dates: '24 being the oldest, then a '37-D, and then a couple from the fifties. Still: fun.

200,000

The amount, in miles, registered on my car's odometer when I pulled into the garage on Tuesday. I drive a 2003 Vibe, and it's the shit. I get regular oil changes, tire rotations, and radiator flushes (this, after rotting out the radiator on my Tracker). I pay $500 every so often for the 30,000 mile service (but not every 30k, that's for sure!), and I fix what needs fixing. That means I've replaced the brakes several times, ditto tires, and also the front & rear bearings on the driver's side. That's it. It's been paid for since 2006, and while I probably won't go ANOTHER 200,000 miles…I'll go until the car falls apart.

How It All Begins

2010-10-12T09:57:00.003-05:00

As I've posted earlier on CF, stuff costs money. That's true whether you're an individual, a family, a city, state, or country. Shit…just costs money. I mean, sure, you could posit some Randian valley, a utopia where everyone lives and contributes and trades in kind: my composition for your canned vegetables. But, really, most of us don't/can't live that way. We work, and for our work we're paid, and with our pay we buy shit.

So. When money runs out? You stop buying stuff. And when so little money comes in that you not only can't buy stuff, but can't meet your regular financial obligations? Well then, my friend, you are. In a world. Of shit. Such is the case with a local township here where I live. Turns out, they're broke. According to a news article this week, in September the township board had to decide which bills to pay and "which ones would have to wait" (translation: which ones to default on), and there won't be any money coming in until winter taxes are paid. The township supervisor ACTUALLY SAID "We knew this was coming…we just didn't expect it so soon."

And I believe this is how it all begins: with little warnings, and smaller entities going broke, until the whole shebang snowballs and pretty soon EVERYONE is broke, and then? We're ALL. In a world. Of shit. I mean, that's how creepy movies always start, right? Shaun of the Dead, The Day After, The Birds…there's always some little thing happening in the background that our main characters aren't really paying attention to…and then *BAM!* they're right in the thick of it. This is how our current house of cards is going to crumble: one village, one city, one township at a time, first just being reported in the local news, then the occasional national story, and eventually it'll be Chicago. Or New York. Or America, defaulting on its bills.

Or, we need to up our income. When you're a person, if you find yourself falling behind on bills, you increase your income, right? You find something. You eBay some shit, or you sell plasma, or you get handyman work doing drywall or painting or something. You teach lessons, mow some lawns, try to find a part-time job. But, you get it done. Or at least bust your ass tryin'. What does a township do? Well, in this case, the township in question is putting a 2-mill ballot proposal on the upcoming election. The news is very, very careful not to call this a tax increase. Nowhere in the article are those words used together. But…that's what it is. Just 'cause you don't call a thing "a thing," doesn't mean that it ain't. A sparrow is a sparrow, whether you call it a "songbird" or whatever else.

The article goes on to state that a board member warned of this insolvency back in 2005, stressing the "dire situation" during her "remaining time on the board" (translation: when she was voted out of office for spreading those nasty Rome-buring rumors), but the situation "just kept getting worse." Yes, folks, that's what happens when you ignore problems: they generally just keep getting worse. Oh, I suppose you could ignore a cold and it'll fix itself, but I've never seen a flat tire spontaneously fill with air. Cancer, once detected, doesn't go away on its own. And peeling paint never manages to miraculously reattach itself to the house. You need to TAKE CARE of these problems, before the solution is so wretched that it's nearly as bad as the apathy.

I think we're there. I think we've ignored financial problems in this country for so long, we're at that point where the solution is undigestible, and there's a certain inevitability with our apathy. Do nothing: maybe it'll go away. Cut spending: until all that's left are the un-cuttable obligations, and then pretty soon you can't meet them either. This is the end result of the empty promise of infinite tax cuts: pretty soon, you don't have enough money for even the things that MUST be paid for. We're there. At least in this local township, we're. There. You can blame some bad decisions, but announcing that blame is Monday-morning quarterbacking at its worst. Can't be fixed now; move on. Try not to make the same mistake again; but MOVE. ON.

I wonder…what will the end look like? I'm actually quite fascinated. Like watching a horrible car crash happen…in slow motion. The thing that could most easily have been prevented…playing out with a gruesome inevitability. Me? I'll fiddle.

I Want This! Aaannd…THAT!

2010-10-11T11:51:00.004-05:00

Read a hilarious news article today about Social Security recipients not receiving their COLA again this year. This will make two years in a row now that SS recips do not receive a Cost Of Living Adjustment because - ta daaa! - there's no inflation. Which, by raw numbers, turns out to be true. Since the COLA was adopted in…what was it, '74? '75?…inflation, even a tiny bit, has been steadily rising, so for 35 years now SS recips have gotten used to an "annual raise." But, even though most of us are finding that our dollars are being stretched to see-through lengths, there isn't a "real" rise in inflation this year (compared to 2008, which is what it would have to beat); so, no COLA.

This is GREAT news, because of course that means we're finally getting a handle on that pesky deficit, as well as reining in that 64% of fuckin' freeloaders for whom their monthly SS check is a primary income source. I think we're well on the way to eliminating SS altogether, which is the fiscally responsible thing to do, as well as a great boon in shrinking a bloated government. Yes, by all means: let's get rid of SS, and get the damn gub'mint outta my wallet!

Of course, almost no one sees it this way. People who are so dimwitted they are outshone intellectually by Edison's first light bulb scream on the one hand that government is spending too much, we need to cut back, yadda yadda. Then, on the other hand, they scream about not getting "what's rightfully theirs." These lackluster dipshits like to blame Congress, the President, the IRS, everyone they can point a finger at for all their ills. "Impeach Obama, he's a socialist!" So, when there's no COLA for SS recips this year? Here are some actual comments from the news article:

"I'll now be sure to vote for Obama and the rest of the Dem's controlling our government. Yep! Anyone who votes for these socialists is either a minority or an idiot. Which are you?" (Uh…I'm the idiot that recognizes lowering or eliminating SS is ANTI-SOCIALIST, you nitwit!)

"stay mad america...vote freedom from this socialism in nov." (Again: isn't this exactly what you wanted? LESS social spending??)

"dear pres. obama, please advise me, how I can stay warm, when they shut off my electricity this winter, thank you, a soc. sec. receipient!" (That's easy: energy costs have dropped after a spike in 2008. If you could afford electricity then, you can afford it now.)

"More housing foreclosers on our seniors coming up - thanks to Obama! Granny's being tossed onto the street, eating dog and with no meds courtesy of the Messiah!!" (As to the whole "Messiah" thing…no comment, numbnuts. But, this is what you wanted, right? You wanted less gov't in your life? Then why don't YOU take care of your fuckin' granny?)

And so forth. Obviously I'm picking and choosing from the comments, but the whole thing is a laugh-riot because it seems that the selfsame folks who want a balanced budget and a turning-back of some "socialist tide" are now pissy because they're getting exactly that: no new spending on SS raises this year, and less socialist interference in their retirement. But nooooo…some people gotta have it both ways. *BZZZZZZT* Sorry, can't happen, thanks for playing, we have some lovely prizes including the home edition of "Which Fuckin' Way Do You Want It?".

Enough of a double-standard. One standard is enough, thanks. Pick a side: if you want your SS check, you believe in the social benefits offered in this country. If you claim you want the check, but only because you were forced to pay in, that's fine too: but, be happy that the administration isn't paying out unnecessary funds. If you don't want the check, and don't pay into the SS system, great: that's still a money savings. Just pick a side, and then stay put.

What Stuff Costs

2010-09-30T18:08:00.002-05:00

I have some strong feelings about taxes and tax cuts, ranging from the closing of our local pool to the shabby shape of roads in my hometown. Some of this stuff may come out in the blog at a later date…but, today, I just want to share a tip-of-the-iceberg fascination with what stuff costs, and a breakdown of overall percentage of income represented by those costs.

So, okay. Taxes. At a ridiculously simple level, an argument about taxes can be stated as one of opposition: Conservatives are identified with "smaller government/less taxes," while Liberals get painted with a "bloated bureaucracy/more taxes" brush. Whatev. For this argument, those over-simplified definitions don't really matter. What matters is what stuff actually costs, and how cheap you can get those things.

Why I care about this is that, let's face it, there are just some things that we all kind of "need," and there reaches a point beyond which you simply can't get those things any cheaper. For the purposes of this blog, I'm comparing a fictional schoolteacher who makes $50,000 a year with a CEO who makes $5,000,000 a year. We're only talking base numbers, here, again, for the purpose of comparing a percentage-of-income investigation. Okay? Here we go.

This is for a married family filing jointly, and figuring ZERO DEDUCTIONS. I'm just going on raw numbers here; other stuff complicates things to the level of…well, to the level of the federal tax code, I guess. A family making $50,000 a year falls into a 15% tax bracket, whose tax of $6,663 actually represents 13.33% of their earnings. Same family, CEO-style, making $5,000,000 a year would pay $1,720,308 in federal income tax, representing 34.41% of their earnings. All other things being equal, that leaves our teacher-family with $43,337 and the CEO richies with $3,279,672.

Onward. I didn't even TRY to figure out housing costs for these two opposites, but let's say they're both home-owners…or, snidely, mortgage-owners. That is to say, neither are renters. Let's outfit that house, shall we? Since both families have to mow their lawns, they'll need a lawn mower. Our teacher goes to Sears and buys a Craftsman walk-behind push mower for his small yard, paying $150. That represents .3% of his earnings. Our CEO, with a much bigger yard, needs a rider: still at Sears, he shells out $6,000 for a comparable Craftsman model…but, that only comes in at .12% of HIS earnings.

Both houses need some new appliances. Still at Sears, our teacher buys a 14.4 cubic foot white refrigerator and a standard 30" white stove (gas or electric). 'Fridge runs $460 (.92% of his income) and the stove is $268 (.54%). Mr. CEO can afford stainless for both, a 21 cubic foot 'fridge and a whopper 48" stove, dual ovens, the works. 'Fridge is $2,635 (.05% of income) and the stove is a formidable $10,639 (.21%). Oh, and wonder of wonders, the water heater in both homes conked out at the same time! For $259 (.52% of income), the teacher gets a 30-gal. unit, while the CEO spends $1,600 (.03%) for a 50-gal monstrosity. Of course, it should go without saying (but, I'll say it anyway) that the cheaper appliances aren't Energy Star rated, while the more expensive ones are…and, on a sliding scale, so that the more expensive the appliance is, the better its Energy Star rating. Which, of course, makes a big difference in your electric bill every month.

Multiply this out across everything that everyone needs. A new roof. A car to get to work. Gasoline and insurance for the car. Groceries: milk, eggs, ground beef, bread. Sure, maybe the CEO buys super-expensive Horizon organic milk and cage-free eggs…but, at the end of the day, the teacher needs those things too, and even the cheapest versions eventually reach a "rock-bottom" point. Beyond that, they just don't come any cheaper.

What I'm saying is this: you may think taxes suck. You may call them "unfair." But at the end of the day, there are things that we all need, and those things represent a bigger percentage of overall earnings for the "poorer" earner than they do the "richer" one. To wit (and with only a small dose of irony): it's CHEAP to be rich! The stuff that you need, from lawn mowers to milk to gasoline, represents a much smaller percentage of your income than it does for someone who is…hell, who isn't even really POOR, but maybe just lower-middle class. Now, how do those costs (and associated percentages) feel to someone who really IS poor? When we talk about a sliding scale for taxes, and the idea that wealthier people can afford to pay more…it's because they actually can.

Shameless Self-Promotion

2010-09-29T07:47:00.002-05:00

I generally prefer to use this space to pontificate about the hilarious/shocking/awful nature of humanity, but today I just need to do some shameless advertising. The debut CD by the chamber group I perform with, the Great Lakes Art Music Ensemble, was released last week. You can find it here on Amazon, and should discover it on iTunes and CDBaby within the week.

These are all original compositions and arrangements, done for our current instrumentation of flute, flute, guitar and percussion. We performed this repertoire during 2007/2008, culminating in an appearance at the National Flute Association conference in Kansas City, MO in August of 2008. One audience member likened our performance to a "religious experience." We recorded the disc over a 2-day period in the acoustically-fantastic Staples Family Concert Hall at CMU. We're pretty proud of it, and of course are planning to advertise the snot out of it.

If you're so inclined to leave a review, please be kind…but honest. If you like what you hear, you can indicate that on Facebook, as well as see some video of us performing. Spread the word!

Fortune And Glory

2010-09-06T15:15:00.002-05:00

Spent an enjoyable day with my mom yesterday, doing one of the things that we do best: treasure hunting. Our treasure hunting takes on many forms, but of course all of them center around one basic theme: finding The Big One.

I was brought up to be a treasure hunter. Ever since I was a kid, Mom and I have attended various flea markets, antique stores, and auctions. We're looking for things to add to various collections, of course: comix, records and Magic cards for me, Krome-Kraft and other bric-a-brac for Mom. But we also keep our eyes peeled for that One Big Find, the one that, if it won't let us retire in style, will at least bring a hefty profit on eBay. Mom had a good one once, a trumpet purchased at a local auction. She spent, I dunno, maybe a couple hundred for it, but followed its pedigree to discover that it was a super-nice example of a pretty rare horn. When she listed it on eBay she had bidders from all over the world peppering her with questions, including one guy from Europe who claimed that, by the photos at least, the horn she was selling was nicer than the one in his instrument museum. She ended up selling it for several thousand bucks, a-thank yew verrah much.

We got into metal detecting in the later '80s, and spent the better part of a year knocking on the doors of century-old houses in town, asking the owners if we could run the machine over their yard. Perhaps surprisingly we almost always got a "yes," but I think the owners were also hoping for The Big Find, maybe Uncle Henry's buried cigar box of 1933 double eagles. When they saw the (usually) pitiful collection of pull-tabs, rusty toy cars and wheat cents we'd pulled from under their lawn, they generally shrugged and told us to keep it. We got pretty good at finding stuff, but we were late to the party, so to speak. Metal detectors first came to cultish public use in the '70s, and THOSE guys (whom we referred to as "first wavers" with sullen jealousy) could show you coffee cans full of silver halves and class rings. We were happy enough to find Indian cents, an occasional silver dime or quarter, and the rare day-maker like a seated Liberty dime or walking Liberty half.

One time Mom took the detector to some mud piles that had been dredged from the local culvert running through town, and kept stumbling upon little green Coke bottles and the like. She eventually returned the detector to the car and started picking up the bottles. That spawned a NEW fascination with us: bottling. And that's what we spent yesterday doing.

Bottle hunters are a less common breed than metal detectorists, on the whole. There are the guys in super-old cities like New York, who plunge 10-foot long steel rods into the ground looking for (gulp!) old outhouse holes that were typically filled in with bottles. THEY find genuinely old and valuable stuff. Here in Michigan, though, it's mostly looking for old township dumps or trash heaps over riverbanks where folks used to toss their garbage. We started with our OWN trash pile, yes, over the riverbank, the idea being, apparently, that "nature will take care of it." We dug through mountains of rusty tin cans and what appeared to be an entire Model T, in pieces, but we pulled out plenty of bottles too. For a Baptist family that claimed alcohol was The Devil, my dad's parents and grandparents sure seemed to consume their fair share of Frankenmuth Beer!

We've specialized since those days, preferring to keep embossed bottles that once held beer, milk, soda or "medicine." Some of those - like yesterday's bottle that claimed it's contents could "cure consumption and ailments of the liver - are pretty scary. Ditto the Burnett's Cocaine bottle that I once pulled out. Hmmm…cocaine as medicine. Take THAT, Johnson & Johnson! We've never found The Big One, the one that would make the Antiques Roadshow folks do a double back-flip. On the other hand, Mom's kitchen cupboards are topped with lots of things that we found & liked: blob-top beer bottles from Saginaw, Bay City and Grand Rapids. Milk bottles from tons of little dairys all over the Thumb, all of which have long ceased to exist. And, we have a ready source of milk bottles from the old Michigan State College Creamery, in E. Lansing. We had a fair amount of success selling those in the past; a one-pint example got bid up between two "playahs" at Christmastime, and ended up selling somewhere north of $250. But basically it's just an exercise in having a good time, talking to each other, never knowing whether or not the next hint of glass will turn out to be The One that sets you for life. Good times.

Opposites

2010-08-12T14:55:00.004-05:00

The More Things Change Dept.:

Went to the scandalously-named Bottoms Up yesterday. Back when I lived in E. Lansing, I used to go there quasi-regularly, to buy lingerie. I'll admit it: I'm a lingerie kind of guy. Not for myself, natch. But, y'know…as presents at Valentine's Day go, buying lingerie kind of IS buying a present for yourself. "Here, honey, I got you something. Erm…that I really want to see you in. And, um, also out of. Yeah." Kind of like that.

Buying lingerie never bothered me. Oh, I'll admit that when I first walked into Bottoms Up and encountered just racks and racks stuffed to overflowing with bras and garters and all kinds of frou-frou underthings, there would be a moment of hesitation as the 60-something woman behind the counter would ask me amusedly: "Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" I'd always just browse, which was kind of scandalous in itself, as if I was rooting around in her own personal underwear drawer. But I never really felt uncomfortable doing it. Same thing with buying rubbers. For the life of me, I never understand why guys would sort of blush when buying rubbers. 'Cause, what you're really saying is "I'm going to be fucking soon! And, she'll be hotter than you! Or your girlfriend!" (Depending on the gender of the checkout person.) So, buying condoms and racy undergarments never really bothered me…it was more like public bragging, y'know?

By the same token, but for the opposite reason: I never worried about buying tampons, either. CLEARLY, these are not items for my own personal use. I don't bleed monthly from my pee-hole, and if I did…these suckers ain't gonna fit. Although, I would say that would be an odd shopping cart: a silk-and-lace chemise, a giant box of rubbers, and tampons. What message would THAT send? "I'll be fucking a hot chick soon! Or, at least in a few days, anyway."

But, in a return to Bottoms Up: a decade or so ago, that place was tits-to-rafters stuffed with fuck-me wear, plus a few dance leotards. Now? It's almost completely reversed. See, I went there with the venerable Miss Tessmacher to buy tap shoes, tights and a leotard for The Rozzle's upcoming introduction to dance. And, there was nary a saucy boyshort in sight. Nope, the whole place was crammed with dancewear. I wonder if that's a sign of a changing economy? No money anymore for fancy undies…we save it all for kids' dance lessons. At the last, I had the ironic thought that life does evolve in a logical fashion: start out buying fuck-me-wear for your hot girlfriend, end up buying toddler tights for your daughter.

The More They Stay The Same Dept.:

All of this shopping was done as an errand on our way to hang out with lifelong friends The Garetys, with whom we would spend a rousing evening dancing and shouting along with Styx at the Jackson County Fair. Mostly because of my Kiss-obsessed childhood, Styx was one of those bands I was peripherally aware of, but never really delved into during their heyday. Upon hearing that they'd been "reduced" to playing county fairs, I felt sort of bad for Tommy Shaw et. al., because really, what must that be like? Packing stadiums (stadia?) between 1978 and 1981, and now playing the county fair for redneck riff-raff in mid-Michigan. What a career low-point. Except…I was just so totally wrong, dude! They took the stage at 8:00pm sharp, and for nearly two hours just rocked the ever-lovin' beejeezus outta the 3,000 or so fans. Tommy looked great, and at 56 still has better hair than I have (Tess' joke: "You know, they can do pretty amazing things with wigs these days!"). He and James Young instantly made me forget Dennis-what's-'is-name with the addition of sound-alike Lawrence Gowan…who, having been with the band for a decade, is hardly a "new hire." The only song Styx performed that was written after 1981 was the Damn Yankees-era power-ballad "Higher," which, frankly, I could have done without. Otherwise, it was balls-to-the-wall of songs that were 30+ years old, and you know what? They stand up. They last. They're still great songs. And that's what Styx was doing: being professional musicians in front of thousands of people, singing great songs, and inspiring a whole new generation of fans…to wit, one of the teens that came with us was at his THIRD Styx concert, and knew more of their lyrics than I did. Rock on, guys.

Checking In

2010-08-07T10:39:00.003-05:00

Whew! Lots of time has passed, with lots of action here and around the state. These are some of the highlights:

• Painting progresses, but it's damn slow. 'Course, that's what happens when you want it done really well. As of now, the spare bathroom, the master bath, the hallway, and The Rozzleum are all FINISHED. Painting the doors takes forever, and I hate doing it because eventually we'll replace them with solid-wood doors…but, that's down the road, and in the meantime, they look tons better with a fresh couple of coats. Doors are done in the master bedroom, but that's it. Still LOTS more to come!

• Class went well, and with The Rozzle gone up north with Miss Tessmacher and/or The Grandparents, I was able to not only keep up with refurbished lesson plans and grading, but also the bulk of the painting got done after work. Tiring weeks, but satisfying!

• Spent an enjoyable week as a family unit (minus Ramona, but she'd never do well in a cabin anyway) at Unnamed Northern Music Camp. Roz & I played on the beach, at the park, and in the rain while the Distinguished Dr. Tessmacher plied her trade. After 6 weeks, she's ready to be home!

• Roz & I spent a week camping with my maladjusted marching band brethren. Roz was hesitant at first, but eventually opened up to the other kids and had a great time. She loved taking her daily naps outside (the tent got too hot), and the best was the last day: she was puddled on the picnic blanket with a pillow, books, and a blankie. Lisa and I watched as she put her hands under her head, closed her eyes, and fell asleep in the fresh air and shade. A wonderful Dad moment, right there.

• If it's nearly time to go back to work, then it must be concert season too! 8/11 is Tess and me going to see Styx with some old high school buddies of mine. 8/27 is bro-in-law Joel and me taking in the co-headlining Cheap Trick and Blondie. And, wonder of wonders…I HAVE KISS TICKETS! 9/11, at Pine Knob. Of the three, I think Trick and Blondie are a possible mismatch: a CT fan, I'm still excited to see Blondie for the first time, but I wonder about the pairing of CBGB proto-New Wave with Rockford rock-&-roll. We'll see. I'm excited to hear a 75-minute set from Trick, and hoping they'll play more of their new album than I got to hear last summer. I still maintain that Cheap Trick is hands-down the best band you're not listening to, and if you haven't yet heard last summer's The Latest, do yourself a favor and at least sample it on iTunes. You'll want it. Trust me.

• Speaking of new music: there's been a TIDAL WAVE of new releases from '80s-era hard rockers that has me shakin' in my boots and rockin' like it's 1984. This summer I've bought obligatory new records from Ozzy and Meat Loaf (the first a little heavier than I'd like, the second good but still missing the killer songs of Jim Steinman), but I've also picked up new discs from Krokus (Hoodoo), Helix (Vagabond Bones), Y & T (Facemelter) and Ratt (Infestation). It's all fist-thumping, don't-bore-us-get-to-the-chorus metal action, but of them all Ratt really stands out. The band has admitted that they strove for a sound that would fit nicely between Out Of The Cellar and Invasion Of Your Privacy, and I think they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. I'm sure I won't inspire anyone to pick up Infestation when I say that it sounds just like those LPs of 25 years ago, but what the hell: if you do something well, do it again. Nobody ever suggested to Chuck Berry that he drop-D tune his guitar and start sludging away on power chords…why should Stephen Pearcy et. al. move away from the sound that made them famous? If these grizzled rockers can still deliver the goods to their equally-grizzled audience, then I'm all for it. RATT & ROLL!

• I've been in a blissful news-free bubble for so long now, I don't even know WHAT the hell is going on. And I'm calmer for it. I don't want to live like a hermit, disconnected from the world I live in…but, when so much of the news is the same day in and day out, it really wears me down. Instead of getting immune to it, I just get more and more pissed off, and really, who needs it? I'm sure I'll fall back into things as the election season heats up, but right now I'm just really tired of it all. Fuck it, man…have a beer, put on my new Ratt record (and yes, I do mean RECORD), and chill. Life is good. Summer's almost over. Kiss is coming. And I feel fine.

Painting & Pondering

2010-07-08T14:50:00.003-05:00

Some random thoughts while painting & listening to old tapes…

Metallica: "And Justice For All"

Man, why are these guys so angry? This is, like, their 4th album…they're majorly rich rock stars by this point! All that shouting & those dark lyrics…sheesh. Get with the times, dudes…sing about partying & getting laid, already!

W.A.S.P.: "Live in the Raw"

Aw, man, this is that song Gino & I used to sing along to on our way to marching band! Shit, that was always so great…shove my quads & his snare into the hatch of my Omni, then drive over to the field. Gino, if there's a heaven, I hope you're sittin' in it. Smokin' a big ol' fat doobie with St. Peter himself. Here's the chorus, turn it up and sing along…THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, GINO! "Lick it hard, lap it up, do it now baby, touch it, touch it! Lick your lips and flex your claws, shuck me, suck me, eat me raw! Ooohh, harder, faster! Yeah, that's what I need, 'cause, now that's a-what I'm after! Come do that wicked deed…!"

MSG: "Perfect Timing"

Man, I love this color! Goosebill. Hell, it looks like warm orange to me, but it is bitchin'! And it goes on SO much better than that shit-ass Bullfinch in Roz's room…fuck, I can't believe that shit's gonna need a third coat…at LEAST! Hmmm, this tape sounds warped, guess it's time to throw it away. *toss*

Vixen: s/t

Cripes, who the hell painted this room before? I never noticed until I got right down next to it, but there's little splatters of white all OVER the damn place! Some NOT so little ones, too! Fucking loser-ass can't-paint-worth-a-shit motherfuckers. *exasperated sigh*

Skid Row: s/t

Man, this shit makes me think of A. Remember when we went to see Skid Row? Yeah, and Pantera opened. Heh. I bet THAT shit's reversed now…although, come to think of 'er, I haven't heard boo from Pantera lately, either. I guess that's because I don't read Hit Parader or Metal Edge anymore. *sigh* Sure was a fun night, though! Whole crowd on it's damn feet, singin' along: "You call us problem child, we spend our lives on trial, we walk an endless mile, we are the YOUTH GONE WILD!" Awesome.

Alice Cooper: Constrictor

Man, I love this paint! This so totally makes up for the mess in Roz's room. It don't smell bad, either. Heh. Remember painting at Mom's house, all those years ago? We were still using oil paint then, and the fumes were getting pretty bad back in the corner behind the door. Mom said at one point near the end: "I think I'll go out and get some fresh air for a bit." Took me about 45 minutes to finish up what I was doing, by which time I finally wondered what the hell had happened to her! I went outside and she was lying more-or-less spread eagle in the grass. Face up, but still. I think she sorta…not passed out, per se, but definitely went elsewhere for awhile. Yeah, and those fumes always made your cigarette taste funny afterward, too. Man, I'd like a smoke right now. Hmmm, I still have some from visiting Eric a couple weeks ago…

(Non)-Guilty Pleasures

2010-06-12T11:29:00.004-05:00

A list! Stolen from Madtown Mama, stolen from Jenn-Jenn, and so forth…

Five little addictions: not like chemical dependencies, but more like guilty pleasures. Problem is, there's very little about my addictions that I'm guilty about, so I don't know if that makes me clueless or geeky…or, clueless about the LEVEL of my geekiness. Whichever…here ya go.

1) Kiss. If you don't already know that I obsess about Kiss, you're either a new reader or you're just…not…paying…attention. I discovered Kiss in 1976 with the help of my 5-years-older aunt, and I never looked back. For me it really is mostly about the music (and you can keep your snarky comments about their level of musicianship to yourselves, thank you!), but I certainly have WAY too many boxes of Kiss-themed junk. Also a pinball machine. *sigh* For now, I'm content with the newish album Sonic Boom, which so totally ROCKS, dude! And, my 12th-row tix to see them on 9/11. With my best friend. What could be sweeter??

2) Vinyl. Don't get all kinky with that one, eh? I mean LPs, you dorks! Sure, I grew up in the '70s, the heyday of vinyl, but I adopted cassettes ("You want me to get new tapes, Tony? I'll get new tapes!") and CDs and mp3s and…well, pretty much everything but 8-track and reel-to-reel. I'd lost a connection to my vinyl collection until bro-in-law Joel came on the scene, and he completely reignited my passion for what is, pardon me, really the best listening format around. I now buy all my new music on vinyl, if I can, and that includes releases in the past 2 years from Kiss, Springsteen, the 52s, the Donnas, Chickenfoot, Metallica, AC/DC, Ace Frehley, and a 25th anniversary pink vinyl edition of Twisted Sister's monster Stay Hungry. I actually want a portable turntable, and have made my birthday wishes known in this regard. Seriously. Go get a turntable and some fuckin' records, man. You'll thank me in the morning.

3) Sex and the City. Y'know why? 'Cause it's a show for MEN, you asshats! Look…4 hot chicks who prance around naked, fucking everything in sight. *Ptooo!* Show for men and lesbians, end of fuckin' story.

4) Stephen King. He's been around what seems like for-fuckin'-ever, and he's consistently over-productive. I just eat his books up, from The Stand to Shawshank Redemption to current 10-lb. dictionary The Dome. Seven volumes of Gunslinger? Fuhgeddaboutit! I never want him to die, and when he does, I want him to have followed Prince's footsteps, with like a gajillion unpublished works that'll last until 2068. I'll read the last one on my 100th birthday, a-thank yew verrah much.

5) Magic: The Gathering. In the world of gamer dorks, you're usually divided into one of two camps: dicechuckers and cardfloppers. Dicechuckers play D&D, cardfloppers play M:TG or some godforsaken spinoff that I don't even want to consider. Magic is great, 'cause it has everything: it's collectable, which feeds THAT beast in me, it's creative, it's fun, it's a good excuse to get together with friends, it's playable for untold hours in a row, and even with thousands upon thousands of cards, it really doesn't take up that much room. Go buy an introductory set and see what I mean…plus, you'll make my cards worth more!

Fuckin' Dogs

2010-06-09T15:27:00.004-05:00

Okay, I have a question: where did all these fuckin' dogs come from?? Yeah, yeah, I get it: Man's best friend, and all that jazz. Whatev. I'm just sayin'…there's a lotta damn mutts in my neighborhood, and they just seem to mill about aimlessly, with tapioca where they oughta have brains.

See, we're cat people here. Oh, I had dogs as a kid: Pepper, whom I can be seen holding in one of my favorite childhood photos, but whom I do not remember at all; and Frisky, who was sold to my grandmother as a Cockapoo (great name, that), but turned into a shaggy…something. Not D.A., but a great black smelly beast of a dog that was a lot of fun, and was a great pet, and seemed to be more Old English Sheepdog than anything remotely resembling a poodle. Since my teens, then, I've been a cat person. Neat, orderly, leave-me-the-fuck-alone pets that require next to zero maintenance and shit where they're told.

I took my cat Ramona outside recently (on a leash, as she's an indoor pet…which pretty much oughta be redundant, yes?), and this…thing from the neighbor's, like, seriously four houses down, apparently thought she was some sort of furry candy, 'cause I turned my back for a minute and this shit-colored blur came streaking across our lawn, paws in apparent defiance of gravity as I never once saw them touch the ground, and he/it tried grabbing her in his/its slobbery excuse for a food-hole. I screamed at it, I mean really screamed, the kind you can't hold in from shock, and it took off back for home. (Poor Ramona, meanwhile, spent the next several hours trying to lick her fur back into some semblance of order after she puffed up to the size of smallish yew bush.) I can't even begin to guess what kind of an animal this might be: poo brown and white, all blotchy, with short military fur, long legs, a big chest, and that thin, waspish waist of a whippet or greyhound. Ugh. Eyes all lolling every which way, like some miscolored Cookie Monster. Too dumb to even know about gravity!

Then there's another neighbor, possessor of 4 hounds of ill-repute, animals that are so barbaric in nature and of such mixed heritage, I'm pretty sure one of 'em is part Dodge Dart. These things - Bumpus Hounds, we call 'em - bark as if each other is constantly on fire, and once were witnessed milling about their returning owner's car in the driveway to the point that it took her almost 3 minutes to go from curb to garage.

Lots of people around our new neighborhood have these little dogs. Y'know, these…little dogs, the kind that if you could catch one, you could incise a nice clean hole in their stomach with a melon baller, stick in a long handle, and use 'em to mop the floor. Always fulla nervous energy, these dogs, which they expel by peeing on everything in sight and yapping until they're hoarse. Except they never fucking GET hoarse, do they? No, they just bark on & on & on, until pretty soon the Bumpus Hounds are braying away like the misbehaving donkey-boys on Pleasure Island.

There are a few dogs that I like. Our friends K. and S. have a big ol' black labradoodle thing who, despite hogging drool from at least three other perfectly usable dogs, is a pretty good egg. Likewise E. and S., whose now-deceased lab was a good cuddler and absolutely a saint with kids. Mostly, though, I'm deluged by canines of a more annoying nature, which prompted this exchange with our local hardware store cashier:

R.: "Need anything else today, Scott?"

Me: "Yeah…where do you keep your dog poison?"

R.: "…"

Me: "Or traps. How about a nice medium-sized dog trap?"

R.: holds head in hands

Turns out you can't buy dog poison. I Googled "dog poison" and only came up with pages that help you try to get poison out of dogs. Hmph. Seems backward, y'ask me.

Settlin' Into Summer

2010-05-30T13:07:00.002-05:00

Ahhhh.

That's the sigh of the severely contented, breathed forth from a corner of the (cool) darkened basement, a nearly empty Detroit Dwarf at my right hand, and the quiet hissing of the baby monitor letting me know that The Rozzle is away in la-la land. Guess that means summer's here!

Seriously: I know summer doesn't start officially - calendrically! - for nearly another month. But, I've been on a school schedule for as long as…well, let's just say "forever" and have done with it, yes? So, for me, summer is a 16-week season that lasts from roughly the second week of May until the last week of August. And, after a bout of some typical coolish, rainy weather, we here in the middle of the L.P. have been blasted with a (frankly quite welcome) heat wave. It finally feels like summer, with the high humidity and ominously-droning Junebugs, and I can pretty much have a beer any ol' damn time I feel like it. Beer! Breakfast of champions. Beer! It's what's for dinner.

(Just heard a TAL podcast about the #1 party school, and all the kids who flock to Natural Light for it's cheapness…all the while admitting that it tastes horrible. Shit, I'm glad I'm past that age! I want to pay ten or twelve bucks for a single six-pack…and have each beer be akin to nectar of the gods!)

Other good things of this early summer:

1) Had a wonderful, LONG fucking overdue visit from Stephanie (formerly of Sweet Water Journal, and where tha' fuck ARE you with that, what?) who blew into town for good wine and good conversation and…oh yeah! A surprise shower for a mutual friend who became surprise preggers. Whoops. God DAMN those percentages printed on the box! Lull ya into a false sense of security every damn time… Anyway, loved having her here, wish to holy hell she and hubby would just move BACK to Michigan and have done with the fuckin' prairie, already!

2) Roz has been just phenomenally sweet and (more or less) agreeable lately. I think she likes having us both home, to serve at her beck and call. She has shown a newfound fearlessness that apparently comes from being (almost) 3, which I like a lot, the most obvious manifestation of which was a recent camel ride she undertook with Papa at the zoo a few weeks back.

3) Miss Tessmacher recently accepted a 6-week (!!) summer teaching position at Unnamed But Totally Obvious Northern Music Camp, and we're working out the deets as to how that'll affect Rozzle care, what with MY 3-week summer class overlapping her absence. We'll work it out…which is, I guess, what working parents do all the time, right?

4) I've been in a blissful news-free zone since school got out, which means I've been avoiding politics as well. That's good, because I can really get my underwear in a bunch about that stuff. Better to not give a shit, right? RIGHT?!? (Oil spill? WHAT oil spill???)

I had more I thought I'd write, but my beer is empty and I stink from my recent walk, so it's nigh into the shower with me. Be well, y'all, and go to Kiss Online to check for summer tour dates near you! Rock on.

Gettin' Down To House Biz-ness

2010-05-10T15:31:00.003-05:00

So, the semester is officially over. Big, BIG "Yay!" I didn't find it particularly onerous, but still…nice to be done. Now, some work on the house can begin in earnest!

The thing is…even though our new house is 94 years younger than the old house…the previous owners didn't really do squat while they lived here. The place was grossly dirty when we moved in…GROSSLY. Dirty. No exaggeration for comedic effect, there. Just…yucky. Heavy draperies with so much dust on them, it had actually become a kind of cloying, greasy substance. Ick. Especially considering it's mostly human skin. Double ick.

My mom was lamenting the scratches on the cupboard doors…only to find out, while cleaning them, that they WEREN'T scratches. What looked like scratches in the wood itself was actually light scratches in…the scum and scale that was coating the wood. Ewww! Once she got the scum cleaned off, the wood itself was perfect.

The yard is the same way. Now, I'm no Chem-Lawn enthusiast. Truth is, I'd be fine to do NOTHING to the yard, and mow what grows. However, it's choked with so many dandelions and other weeds, the grass is having a hard time growing. Grass grows more slowly than weeds, so by eliminating the weeds and encouraging thick, healthy grass, I'll be mowing less often. A tradeoff, perhaps? A couple of applications of Scott's per year, vs. the carbon footprint of mowing tall weeds every 4th day.

Luckily the house doesn't need any of the behind-the-scenes work that the old place did. No worries about the foundation, no need to rewire…it's all surfacey stuff. So, I'm trying to get a handle on the lawn, and the place is now pretty clean, and we're UNPACKED! I mean, really, completely unpacked. I need to mount some shelves in a small room in the basement for tools & such, but at least those 4 tubs are IN the room where they belong. Very cool. Now it's all about picking paint colors, and getting ready to eliminate the sloppily-applied, dull-as-shit neutral white that offends me from every wall, and get some vibrancy into the place. Photos to come.

Defining The Hatriots

2010-05-05T12:35:00.010-05:00

I'm guessing it's a pretty common phenomenon to reach middle age and start to think about The Good Ole Days. Even if they weren't really all that good when you first lived 'em, there comes a day when a person wakes up, looks around, and thinks: "Holy fuck, how in the world did we get HERE?!?" Or, y'know, something like that. The thing about this happening during middle age, of course, is that (once again, I'm just now noticing) it's precisely at this point in your life when you have enough years "ago" to make comparisons between then and now, and the wisdom to make some sense of the comparisons. So, even though the '70s were really pretty sucky, I can look around at all my students with little cell phones metastasizing out of their crania and think "Wow, remember when 'talking on the phone' was the only thing you could do? You couldn't drive and talk, couldn't walk and talk; you could only…talk. That was really a lot better than now, man I miss the '70s!" That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. I go through this with TV a lot too: 3 channels (well, 4, but who the fuck watched PBS except kids O.D.ing on Sesame Street?), snow in between, had to get the fuck UP to change the channel, and they all went off the air at 2:00am to the sounds of the Banner. MUCH better than 4,000 channels of nothing to watch on digital television!

Speaking of TV: the news is something that I really miss. Oh, I know, there are lots of things right now pretending to be the news, but it really isn't. I mean The News, delivered authoritatively by Walter Cronkite or Huntley/Brinkley. Severe-looking men in comb-overs and eyeglasses mail-ordered from Bud's House of Soviet Eyewear. They delivered the news each night, and you listened and you believed them. Nowadays, the "news" is a 24-hour marathon, delivered by overcaffeinated dudes with spiky hair and slutty women who (apparently) need a reminder that their blouse has at least two more buttons they should be using. It's talking heads, opinion-based blathering that merely poses as news. And it seems like most of us either don't care or are too dumb to notice the difference.

The other thing about current "news" is that it's drifting farther and farther into the territory of divisiveness. Because, I guess, arguing sells. And so we're treated to Fox and MSNBC, Anne Coulter and Chris Matthews, neither one of 'em any kind of newsperson, but they sure do stir up a lotta shit. And we likes us some shit stew here in these United States…which, lately, are anything but. We like to sling shit at each other, and we like to watch other people sling shit, and sometimes it seems like we're just generally pretty crabby and insular and ego-driven. We're divided by great philosophical issues, and any attempt at reasonable mediation is seen not as a strength, or a desirable attitude, but rather as cowardice and indecision. And no one seems to believe this more strongly than The Hatriots.

Who are The Hatriots, you ask? They're a particular group of people who really seem to hate our country, but they shield themselves with a faux super-patriotism. Instead of admitting that they can't seem to work with the system we have, they try to trump the system with a patriotism that isn't real…only, they're too insular a group to recognize this. In this way, they are borderline schizophrenics: they have trouble accepting reality, which is manifested in their use of incoherent word salads and persecutory language. There's no "real" definition of a Hatriot, but I've cobbled together a list of their most common characteristics:

1) The Hatriots have a misplaced sense of longing for "Ago." That's what made me think of this in the first place, and why I started the post with a paean for The Good Ole Days. Hatriots, unable (or unwilling) to accept the modern country in which they live, yearn for a time when the country was "better," or "simpler," which really means they long for the past. Even when the past wasn't necessarily better, or even simple. It's an easy argument to make, though, when you don't wish to deal with the present.

2) Considering arguments, Hatriots use weasel-words and slippery-slope logic to obtain the results they want. Specifically, they paint with broad strokes to follow these paths. A poll that finds 51% of people are against something becomes "most Americans" becomes "Americans." "Recent polls show that Americans do not want this health care bill!" That's bunk. So is the idea of claiming "home turf" on ideas and concepts that are really pretty universal. Andrew Breitbart says of his father: "He expressed his conservatism by working 16-hour days at the restaurant and never complaining." That's not conservative, dude…that's just a good work ethic, and you don't get to claim it with that sort of slippery-slope reasoning.

3) They wrap themselves in the flag to promote their ideas as "American." This is one of the most prominent characteristics of The Hatriots, and it follows the idea of unassailable logic. If you claim something is American, and promote that idea with fierce flag-waving…well, who can argue with it? The whole POINT of Hatriotism is to pull a black-is-white switcheroo to mask the true nature of the beast. This is similar to trying to argue what does or does not constitute "Christianity." Every third person has a slightly different definition, and of course everyone else's definition is wrong.

4) Using that idea of faith-based logic as a springboard, The Hatriots don't recognize that there IS no such thing. "Faith" and "logic" are mutually exclusive, such that there reaches an eventual end point beyond which The Hatriots cannot be refuted. Bob MacGuffie, a Connecticut organizer for tea party group Right Principles, said it best when he claimed "They can't debate our message and that's their problem."

5) Most Hatriots can't understand the difference between faith and logic because, frankly, they ain't that smart. And that's the thing with Hatriotism: a claim of being patriotic is intended to trump intelligence. In the world of The Hatriot, being "smart" is seen as a handicap; they revel in anti-elitism.

6) Because of this widespread lack of real intelligence, many Hatriotic desires are mutually exclusive or oxymoronic. A Hatriot who decried the Federal Government's salvation of General Motors might conveniently forget that his father was a GM lifer and relies on his pension to live. Or, a Hatriot might slam government intervention in business, but gladly take his farm subsidy payment.

7) Hatriots, as a general rule, are more certain of what they are AGAINST than what they are FOR. I think this is because they recognize subconsciously that the things they ARE for, aren't really possible. So, they take the easy, lazy way out, and kvetch about this or that, complain complain complain, yadda yadda yadda…using tons of words and week-kneed "logic" to overwhelm you into not noticing that they haven't said a single thing that they WANT. Only the vaguest terms will do: "Well, I want government out of my back pocket." Yes, but that again is something you are AGAINST: government. What do you want INSTEAD? Do you WANT to abolish Social Security? What happens when YOU want to retire? How's YOUR nest egg? No, it's much easier to rail against "problems" than to try to "solve" them.

8) All this talk of arguing - with or without logic - reminds me that Hatriots seem to prefer arguing and insulting to discussion. In any tactical circumstance, that's a sure sign of a weak position; hence Roosevelt's slogan "Speak softly and carry a big stick." People who speak loudly (and insultingly) often don't HAVE a stick, figuratively speaking. Thus, it SHOULD be appallingly easy to beat the shit out of Hatriots with the truth…but, then again, they generally don't acknowledge the truth.

9) Speaking of truths: Hatriots tend to disavow them. While "truth" can mean different things at different times, something that shows up as "true" that goes against what a Hatriot wants/needs to believe is wholly disregarded. It's a "trick," or "lamestream media lies." Even better: Hatriots game-saver is to change the whole direction of the discussion, get you trying to refute other points, and soon you've lost the original nugget of discussion altogether.

10) In combating undesirable truths, Hatriots will denigrate legitimate things with catchy (but empty) pejoratives: "lamestream media," "Communist News Network," "Retardicans," "libtards." Former Gov. Palin is a master at this, which only serves to demonstrate the mutually exclusive desires of Hatriots: she decries unflattering news as coming from the lamestream media, but she desperately needs them in order to further her career. If I was in charge of a mainstream media conglomerate, my first editorial memo would read "Sarah Palin does not exist." This tactic of puerile insult seeks to make something out of nothing, like the evangelicals who tried so hard to make Kiss an acronym for "Knights In Satan's Service." Didn't work then…won't work now.

So, there ya go. NOT patriots. NOT in support of their country. Looking instead to the past, in search of a country that probably never existed in the first place. They are country HATERS. Hence: Hatriots.

Bullying

2010-04-26T11:10:00.010-05:00

I've been reading with sadness the recent news stories of teens bullied into suicide. One tale in particular hit close to home, as it happened a couple hours north of where I live. A quirky, bright kid comes home from 8th grade one day, announcing to his dad "Well, today I learned that being smart isn't cool." A few years later the kid, showing no outward signs of depression, shoots himself with a shotgun. The officer responding to the scene recalled that he could hear the mother's screams from half a mile away, and came into the clearing to see her holding her son's corpse in her arms. Turns out the kid had never talked about it with his parents, but the psychological bullying and peer pressure built up and up inside, until he saw only one way out.

I normally don't even finish stories in which kids end up dead, because my fertile imagination always conveniently supplies Roslyn as the understudy. I imagine myself, coming into a clearing after hearing a shotgun blast, and seeing my beautiful daughter, a gaping hole where her face used to be. Or, she becomes the object of a kidnapping, held for ransom and then never given back, instead raped & tortured to death. I see these things unbidden, and knowing that I do, I generally flash back to the news Main Page, and try to turn my mind off.

I kept reading this particular story, though, because the kid in it was bullied, mostly because he was smart from the sound of it, and that resonated with me. I was bullied in school, not so much because I was a super-smart nerd, but more because I was small and innocent-looking and didn't care about being "macho." I was a good target for bullies, because it was obvious just by looking at me that I wouldn't fight back, and even if I tried, I didn't have the goods to back it up. That's classic bully-victimhood, right there: the inability to fight back. 'Cause, that's where most bullies come from, right? I mean, except for the exceedingly rare ones who are genuinely batshit crazy (and I knew that guy, too, in 8th grade), bullies by definition are the guys who pick on the guys who can't fight back.

I remember several from grade school, but mostly R. This guy R. had a last name that was pronounced one way, but looked another, and the way it looked was not too complimentary, and by my memory I called him that one day in retaliation for whatever slight brutality he'd visited on me. That was it, boy. From that day on, through the rest of the school year, he was gunnin' for me. When we finally ended up in the principal's office (a common destination for him, but one that scared the shit out of me), I was forced to admit what I'd called him. It was like coughing up your stomach, man: you probably could do it, but geez, it'd hurt!

I moved right at the beginning of junior high…a horrible time in almost everyone's life, made more difficult for me by our move to the redneck-y depths of the Thumb. There, it seemed like everyone who wasn't already a super-geek was some sort of athlete or else a rough-&-tumble thug. The bullying intensified for a few years between 7th and 10th grades, never coming to full-fledged fisticuffs (except for that time that A. stapled my upper lip to my braces…a different story altogether), but there was that genuinely crazy dude. His name was J., and he looked like a prototypical Stone Age throwback: tall, shaggy, with just enough brain mass to cause trouble. Serious trouble. The last I saw of J. was when he lit his locker on fire and the cops took him away in handcuffs.

Like most kids who get bullied, I was embarrassed that I couldn't handle it myself, and spoke little of it to my parents. I did have some coping mechanisms that really helped, though. The first thing I did was recognize that I got picked on because I was weak; my logic led me to 1) ask for a weight set, and 2) take some karate classes. The weights helped me put on some muscle, and while I certainly never became anybody's answer to Mac at the beach (you know, the comic book back-cover ad of the geek who gets sand kicked in his face), the toning helped my inner attitude immensely. So did the karate: I got through three promotions, and though I never once used what I'd learned in an actual "situation," like the weightlifting I felt more in control, as if I could use the karate to fight back. Sometimes, that's just enough: the confidence itself counterbalances the need to get physical.

I also had a keen mind for revenge fantasies. I was talking to Miss Tessmacher about this the other day, and she was pretty sure that such a mindset wasn't all that beneficial, but I'll tell ya: for me, it really did help. A lot fantasizing came from movies: underdog-gets-his-day things like Valley Girl, or out-&-out shooters like Death Wish…things where the premise required the protagonist to go so far beyond reality that I just ate it up. And I got to thinking: "Hey, B. has really been bothering me lately. Well…I know where he lives, maybe I'll just go and pour sugar in his gas tank some night. Or, fuck that: maybe I'll soak a rope in gasoline, put that in his tank, and light the bitch up. That'd show him who not to fuck with!" In a pre-Columbine era, this kind of thinking was tremendously empowering, because I realized: I still had control. Or, some modicum of control. And that's all I really needed: the awareness that I was not completely helpless, that if things got totally out of hand, I could just…fuck somebody's shit up.

As I went through high school, the bullying lessened. It helped that I was a metalhead, as were most of the tough guys, so they couldn't pick on me for that. And I was smart enough to basically get along with all the Brains, of which the girls at least were pretty popular. My guy friends were basically the class-clown lot, which is a safety net all on its own: nobody really beats the shit out of the funny guys. At a basic level, though, I was friends with a few key people I could really look up to. M. was a few years older than me, but because we were in band together we became friends. He was tough in that country-redneck way, but also a good guy, and he took some steam off of me from the older bullies. C., the first friend I made when I moved to town, took some shit from people but never relinquished his own sense of pride, continuously browbeating the bullies back with intelligence (to this day, he refers to these kinds of people as "oxygen thieves"). But really, my savior was J., who was just a little bit psycho. Also a band buddy, J. was the kind of guy who regularly dressed in brown boat shoes, camo pants, and a pink oxford shirt. He wasn't built, but he was totally unafraid of the bullies. I remember a time behind the drugstore, some guys started calling shit to us, and J. calmly walked up, grabbed one of the guys around the neck, brought him to his knees, and smashed his head 4 or 5 times into the guy's car door. He did that whole macho thing while the dude was laying on the ground groaning, beating his chest and bellowing "Anybody else want some?!?" I got pretty much left alone after that. And while the adult me would never condone that kind of violence…the teenage bully-victim me thrilled inside to see such an awesome display of power and fearlessness. Alas, J.'s psychosis ran a little bit deeper than I realized at the time, as he had some legitimate mental troubles just a few years later…

I don't know how much schools need to try curtailing bullies. Schools, parents…they can only do so much, can only see so much. That's why teenagerhood is such a suck-fest: people are at their chest-thumping cruelest, and too often kids are left to sink or swim on their own. I only hope that I have enough parenting skill to teach Roslyn to swim before she gets thrown into the deep end.

The Problem With Polling

2010-04-19T11:21:00.003-05:00

Okay, here's the thing about polls: they might be good tools to gauge socio-political trends…or, they might not. I was reminded of this by reading this sentence in a recent Rasmussen Reports poll claiming to show a majority favor repeal of the recently-enacted health care law. The article stated: "The latest Rasmussen Reports national telephone survey finds that 56% of likely voters nationwide favor repeal…"

Except, that's not really 56% of likely voters. That's 56% of likely voters…who answered the phone and took the survey. Not the same thing at all.

Because, I never take the fucking things. I don't listen to someone cold-call me and ask for money. I always hang up on robo-calls. ALWAYS. So, the numbers are there, yes. But those numbers alone don't tell the whole story. It's not 56% of voters…it's 56% of phone-answerers.

I'm not required to answer the phone, or the door, for that matter. I'm certainly not required to take part in a survey. So, the better question is: who is taking the time to do these things?

Pulling A "Carlin"

2010-04-08T12:00:00.007-05:00

I came of age during a certain Silver Age of comedy. This would be roughly the '80s, with some catch-up work being done with comedians whose work started before I really got into it, but I went back and picked it up. I loved Steve Martin, Bill Cosby, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Bob & Doug McKenzie, Jeff Altman, Robin Williams, Sam Kinison…the list could go on, but why should it? What I have to say doesn't entail having a complete list, but rather focuses in on 3 of them whose comedy was also philosophy: Martin, Kinison, and Carlin. Martin himself was actually a philosophy major in college, so the goofy existential nature of his stand-up routines followed what might be termed a natural course. Kinison was picking up on the rant-&-rage aspect of Carlin, pointing out things we all know and then taking them to ridiculous conclusions…but of course he died right at the height of his fame. Which leaves me with Carlin.

George Carlin. Y'know, I never knew what George himself found funny. Even after watching & re-watching his 13 HBO specials, after reading his books, and seeing him twice in concert…I never really saw him laugh. Robin Williams cracked himself up mid-routine, but George…he was a rock. Sometimes he seemed too angry to laugh (or to laugh AT), but some of his kookier dick-&-fart jokes were such side-splitters…but never once did he laugh at his own shit.

Not having Carlin in my life kind of leaves a hole, because I really treasured the man and what he had to say. He was so profoundly influential on my own sense of humor, and I grew up laughing too hard to realize how insidious he actually was. George was teaching me to think, in very specific ways, without ever giving the appearance of doing so. It's only now, with an adult's understanding of the world, that I realize how much of my thinking works the way it does because of Carlin's stand-up routines.

I think the best thing I ever saw George do was to take a normal set of circumstances, one we could all see and agree "Yup, that's the way things are!", and then exaggerate the hell out of it, following a particular course of action to its own (usually uncomfortable) logical conclusion. It was only after you were laughing yourself silly that you'd realize "Hey, he's serious about this!" And then you'd realize that George's comedy was often centered around rubbing people's noses in their own shit. Kind of like listening to Strange Fruit. Uncomfortable truths, brought to the light.

My best example of this was George's attitude about taking care of crime. Basically, he advocated fencing off one of those big square states that nobody really uses ("like Utah") and putting all the criminals inside. Put as many confiscated drugs and guns as you could in there with them. Then, to make things really interesting, put a gate in the fence every 50 miles or so, and have it programmed to randomly open once a week, for 45 seconds. The killer was that he saw all the commercial possibilities of this course of action. Certainly, you'd want video cameras all over the place, especially at the gates. Then, put the unedited video on Pay-Per-View! And use the money to pay for our schools.

See what I mean? He took a basic truth we all know about, something we all say "We really need to do something about that!", and then he followed it to a certain logical conclusion, to see if what we said we wanted turned out to be what we really wanted…or if it just turned our stomachs. "Hmmm…well, that would certainly relieve our over-crowded prisons and find a way to fund our schools, which are good things…"

I call this Pulling A Carlin. Take some idea, some set of circumstances that we all seem to agree on, then exaggerate the shit out it and follow it to its logical conclusion. Basically, play up the uncomfortable nature of who we are and what we say & think.

I'm certainly no comedian, but I'd like to Pull A Carlin on health care. Ready?

We say we value human life. It is our stated goal to preserve life, which means we don't throw Down's babies into burlap sacks and drown 'em in the river, and we don't take granny with Stage 5 lung cancer out behind the barn and put 'er down. Good. Now: how do we achieve the goal of showing how much we value human life? Does there need to be an equality to the way we consider our value of human life?

Take Person A ("Steve"). Steve is middle-aged, college-educated, works hard and makes a decent wage. Steve's employer provides health care, so that when Steve (or his family) gets sick, there's a co-pay to deal with, but basically the insurance company picks up the tab. They really don't, of course: the employer pays premiums for Steve, and Steve himself pays for some of his premium, and all the people together in that insurance pool pay for premiums, and out of that collection of money, the bill gets paid. Notwithstanding any large-scale catastrophic claims, everyone in that pool gets their health care taken care of.

Take Person B ("Sarah"). Sarah is middle-aged too, but she's lightly learning disabled. In another era, we'd have said she was "mildly retarded." Part of her disability is illiteracy, so she never went to college, and has difficulty in modern times keeping a steady job. The jobs she does land certainly don't come with health benefits, and she lives below the poverty line so she doesn't have the discretionary income to buy insurance on the open market. She's the legal guardian of her two young grandchildren, because her fuck-up of a daughter is addicted to drugs and lives in a car outside Tucson. One of the grandkids gets sick, Sarah tries to take care of it as best she can with OTC medicines she can barely afford, especially after she loses her job because she took too many days off caring for the sick grandkid. Finally the grandkid is so sick the only recourse is to take her to the emergency room, where doctors treat her for pneumonia and keep her for 6 days. Sarah naturally has no way to pay for this, so the hospital "absorbs" the cost by charging Steve's kid $50 for a fuckin' aspirin.

I don't have any way to make this funny, there are no hidden cameras to put it all on TV…but I still want to know what the logical next step ought to be. Is this system broken? If it's not, if this system works for everybody, then let's let sleeping dogs lie, and we can all use more and more of our income to prop up our existing health care system. That's fine. End of discussion.

If it is broken, though…what do we do? Do we honestly say "Fuck 'em, Sarah's kids shouldn't get sick!" as if it's actually a choice? Doing that would invalidate our claim to value all human life…which, again, if you wanna stand up and jump in that line, great: end of discussion. Unfortunately, you'll always be marginalized by society, so you've just sealed the deal on your life as a curmudgeonly hermit. Now, for the rest of us at the table…

Where is the solution? What do we DO for people who, for whatever reason that you or I don't know about, don't have the financial means to pay for health care? Do we let them die, thinking "Well, killing off those sick people will certainly clear up the gene pool!" Maybe we wouldn't be in this position in the first place if we'd let SARAH die back when SHE was a baby! "Sure, one less 'tard in the world who shouldn't have procreated in the first place, now there are FOUR people who won't suck dry the resources of honest, hardworking Americans!"

It's a thought problem. If things genuinely don't work right now, then there has to be a fix. What is it?

In Need Of An Antonym

2010-04-07T18:45:00.003-05:00

I heard an interesting This American Life episode (is there any other kind?) several months ago, the point of which was NOT necessarily words, but had this fascinating segment that had to do with missing words. That is, words that we seem to need, but don't actually have.

I remember Heather talking about this once: as she was translating a letter from a Finnish friend, she paused and said "Sorry, but this word actually has no translation." I was perplexed: what? Just…translate it! In my mind, anything you can say in one language, you can say in another. She explained that there are some words that simply do not pass that language test. Her example: there's a single word in Finnish that means "bigger than a hill, but smaller than a mountain." Turns out that we don't have a single word that means that same thing. We can "translate" it as I have done, but that single word…doesn't exist in English.

The woman on TAL explained that this is called a Lexical Gap: words that we ought to have, that seem logical to have…but we don't. Her example - the one that is used most often to illustrate the point - is that we have a single word for a child whose parents have died: "orphan." But…we don't have a single word for parents whose child has died. A lexical gap.

So. Someone who can do no wrong might be referred to as "perfect," or "flawless." Lots of synonyms for those words. What I need…is an antonym. And not just "imperfect," or "flawed"…those things suggest a state where perfection is lacking, but not necessarily the utter absence of it altogether. I need a single word that means "someone who can do no right." Any takers on this one?

"I Disagree" vs. "You're Wrong"

2010-04-05T18:10:00.003-05:00

I'm all about the philosophical process, here. In some cases, it might be fair to say that I'd rather think about a particular problem than actually do something about it. It's not that I'm not a doer, but rather that I find endless fascination in the conceptualizing of a thing. What if this happened? What if we tried this? Has anyone ever tried this? I'm also a dyed-in-the-wool Devil's Advocate, such that I'll pretty much take any opposition side to whatever is presented to me. Again: it's not that I'm without beliefs and opinions…it's just sometimes much more fun to make hay and take the opposite tack.

Which puts me in mind of the decidedly argumentative nature of American society today. Blame it on the 24-hour news cyclone, blame it on increasingly distanced forms of communication…hell, even blame it on the "I ain't here to make friends!" mentality of (un)reality TV; whatever cause you care to give it, we've become a really surly, bitchy, "Fuck you!" lot. And that makes me kinda sad, because while I think there's always room for discourse, always room for another opinion at the table…I don't wish to make room for "Talk to the hand!" arguments. And god, even as I type that, I really see where that bitchiness comes from: "Talk to the hand, 'cause I ain't listenin'!"

So, yadda yadda blah-blah-blah, "American civility down the crapper!" and all that stuff. Whatevs. I simply wish we could get to a place where saying "I disagree with you" does NOT equal "You are full of shit." Politics, the blogosphere, even driving…we all seem so consumed with satiating our own egos that we don't bother to even listen to what the other person is saying. So, we end up going for the throat: "You're wrong!" Instead, can't we listen to each other, and when we disagree, simply say so? We can say so vehemently, but with respect: "Man, I could not disagree with you more, it's like we're from different planets or somethin'…but, okay, if that's what you think, you're welcome to it." That's still not very nice, nor subtle, but it's volumes different from "You fucking moron, I can't believe you even pretend to have a brain, the best part of you slid down yo' mama's ass-cheek!"

Gah. What started out as a well-intentioned post has devolved into something I've worked on in too small of snippets, over too many days. I feel like I've lost my own point, so naturally any eloquent arguments I might have had are gone as well. Just…look. Here it is: disagree with each other. Fine. American way and all that. But at the end of the day, remember that whatever hash-brained thing YOU think is absolutely the right thing, the ONLY thing, there's someone else out there just as convinced that the polar opposite is true. And he probably has "facts" and "quotes" to back up that position. Can we avoid the "He said/She said" arguments and try listening to each other for a change?

Knowing What You Know

2010-03-23T11:53:00.006-05:00

How do you know who yo' daddy is?

'Cause yo' mamma told you so.

-old axiom

How do you know who yo' mamma is?

…??…

-logical next question

I've had two insights recently into the concept of what we know. Specifically, what each one of us knows, as individuals. I'm fascinated by the concept of "knowing" things, especially since oftentimes - most of the time? - this "knowing" is central to our identity. To wit:

A book I'm reading by Roger MacBride Allen details the confounding experience of Admiral Koffield. Adm. Koffield is charged with (bear with me, here) protecting causality and preventing paradoxes as "time drop" ships use wormholes to travel across the universe. Through a disastrous series of events, he is forced to blow up a wormhole "station," and is subsequently blamed for the slow death of the planet Glister. Much later, a native Glisterian is provided with evidence - hard, irrefutable evidence - that not only was Koffield not the monster he'd been taught since childhood ("Horrible Anthon made Glister die…"), but in fact it was someone else entirely who blew the wormhole. Get it? Everything - everything! - the Glisterian was told about his world…turned out to be wrong. Factually, provably incorrect.

Second example. I was listening to a recent This American Life podcast of an older show, wherein the "storyteller" was relating the classification of homosexuality by the American Psychiatric Association. Before the 20th Century, being a homo was, quite literally, considered to be an unnatural aberration, its "practitioners" labelled as outcasts and freaks. Beginning in the 1900's, the APA officially classified homosexuality as a definable pathology. In other words, being a homo literally meant you were "sick," and could be "cured." The psychiatrists who worked under this definition of homosexuality published papers, treated patients, and based entire careers' worth of study on the "disease" of homosexuality. Only to find that, by the late 20th Century, commonly accepted views of homosexuality had changed such that the earlier work of these psychiatrists was now quote-unquote wrong. Worse than wrong, even: now, these hard-working men and women found themselves looked upon as pariahs, cast out by the very people they had spent their lives trying to "help." They received death threats. They were castigated, censured by their younger colleagues. Can you imagine? To spend your entire life building a career and a body of work that you were told was scientific, only to have the rules changed at the end of the game? Naturally lots of these psychiatrists pushed back, insisting until their end of days that their work was legitimate, one doctor still claiming that he had "treated" and "cured" 45 homos throughout his career.

Turns out that, almost all of the time, we know what we know because of what we're told. And when what we're told turns out to be wrong, we're told something different. "The world, she's-a flat!" Nope. "Earth is the center of the universe, and everything revolves around it." Nope, again. Makes me wonder what will happen in the next few centuries, as things we KNOW today are slowly (inevitably?) proved wrong, and then we'll KNOW something else. Sort of makes everything seem ephemeral, no?

I remember once, years ago, my then-girlfriend and I were staying with my uncle & aunt around Christmastime. My young cousin - maybe 4 at the time - was just learning the Jesus story, and she proudly told my girlfriend that "The baby Jesus was wrapped in swaddling clothes!" My girlfriend, herself a PK, slyly asked "What are swaddling clothes?" My poor cousin was taken aback, but only for a moment; she got a big smile, and said "They are what the baby Jesus was wrapped in!" 'Round and 'round we go, only knowing what we know.

This only serves to amplify the awesome responsibility I owe Roslyn. Namely: what do I make sure she "knows"? Ten years from now, will she "know" that health care became a fair and just system in this country, over the objections of Conservative obstructionists? Will she "know" that a bankrupt national government tried to socialize health care by way of a few extreme Left nutjobs, and The People rose up in protest? The things she "knows" tomorrow will undoubtedly be the things I tell her today. Whoa. THAT'S power!

"Knowing" things. "Facts." "Truth." Such firm beliefs, yet such slippery surfaces. I wonder…is there a bedrock layer of "knowing," beyond which the "Why?" question cannot drill?

The Wet Dog Smell

2010-03-17T18:31:00.003-05:00

First off: I do not own a dog. The "wet dog smell" I'm referring to here is emanating from our (purported) air purifier.

This seems to be an ongoing problem with any air cleaner I've ever owned. I replace the carbon pre-filter, and replace the HEPA filter, but eventually the air that comes out of these devices ends up smelling, not purified at all, but rather like either wet dog or wet wool.

What the hell is up with these things?!?

I tried looking online, but apparently my Google-fu is weak. I find other people who have the same problem, but there is never any solution. One guy answered a question similar to mine with some discourse about how the smell is actually pure, clean air. Uh…no. It smells distinctly like a wet dog, and it's unpleasant.

So. Anyone else out there have this issue? Is there a cure? My newest model - a Honeywell, which by past experience is a good brand - is less than 6 months old. At a hundred bucks a pop, I'm not looking to replace it yet, but I've already cleaned and changed the relevant filters, and STILL I get this smell. Any takers?

Government Waste

2010-03-10T11:03:00.003-05:00

I remember watching the movie Dave, when the "fake president" was trying to get money back into the budget in front of the entire press corps. He questioned some multi-million dollar expenditure for an ad campaign to make people feel better about cars they'd already bought, which to HIM was a monumental waste of money. I liked that scene, because it showed how an Average Joe might approach spending at the federal level. To wit: if you save a little money enough times, eventually you've saved a lot of money.

I think of those things when it comes to waste by our REAL federal government, schools, universities, et. al. At the household level, I'm pretty sure all us Average Joes and Janes budget this way: we save a little money a lot of times, and over the course of the week and month and year, we save a lot of money. Organic diced tomatoes at Kroger run $1.59 per 14.5 oz. can; the non-organic cans are 79¢. I likes me some organic, both for what it represents in terms of what I put in my body and the environment. BUT, at a very real level, if I save 80¢ often enough, pretty soon I've saved a bundle of money.

Yesterday we got an envelope in the mail from the Census Bureau. I thought it was the actual Census form, but no: it was a single-page letter informing me that the actual Census form would be coming in the next week.

What…the…fuck…?!?

So, I figure I can safely assume that this letter was sent out to all 129 million households in the U.S. That's 129 million sheets of paper, 129 million envelopes, and the associated costs of actually delivering the fucking things. A quick check shows yer basic ream of 500 sheets of all-purpose paper from Staples is 7 bucks…do the math, and that's $1.8 million for the paper alone. Gummed window envelopes of the kind this letter was mailed in run $23 per 500, for another $5.9 million. That's 7.7 MILLION DOLLARS just in the cost of the physical objects. I have no way to figure the ink cost, nor the mailing fees…although, at 44¢ for a 1st-class letter, it would cost the Average Joe $57.8 million to mail 'em all. Presumably it costs the government less, but how MUCH less is a figure I can't come up with.

Suffice it to say, mailing out this letter - to tell me to expect another mailing next week - is at least an 8-figure outlay. And for what? A friggin' reminder??

An 8-figure outlay might represent the tiniest drop in the overall federal budget bucket, but it's REAL MONEY. And that, my friends, is the problem with federal spending. The CBO gets its undies in a bunch with underfunded Social Security projections, and with two foreign wars running us in the high-9-figures every year…but if we'd save money on stupid shit like this reminder letter, the way our Average Joe would do, we could be looking at some real savings.

Reverse Magnitude

2010-03-09T08:14:00.004-05:00

After nearly 2 months of not tending to the blog, and all I got for ya is a philosophical exercise in reverse magnitude? Yup. Apparently.

To sum up: the move went well, and we're now 5 weeks and change into the new house. We are 99.9% unpacked, with only a few minor items that need rearranging. That, and a nice day or two to get the garage in order. The place is fabulous, and we've all settled into a great routine. Love it.

Spring Break is upon us, and sonuvagun if it don't actually FEEL springy! I spent the end of February at a conference in Texas, with full sun and temps in the low 60s. Came home to snow, but since returning we've had the SAME full-on sun, with temps in the…well, not 60s, but we DID take a walk to the park yesterday. Rozzle swung for nearly half an hour, despite the fact that there was still snow all over the ground. Good fun.

So, the concept of "reverse magnitude." This comes out of a conversation Miss Tessmacher and I were having about the difficulty she has encountered with a colleague. It's too complicated - and personal - to go into, but suffice it to say, the colleague seems to think he's really something special because of his past association with an Unnamed University. That got me to thinking about earthquakes, and ANOTHER conversation that Tess & I recently had.

Seems that the magnitude scale of earthquakes is so-called because in fact the higher you go on the scale, the greater the increase in destructive force…by an ever-expanding level. So, an earthquake that measures a 1.0 has the destructive force of a construction-site blast, and is basically not even felt. You might think that an earthquake of 4.0 would have the destructive power of only FOUR construction-site blasts…but, it's actually comparable to a small atomic bomb. See? The destructive power is multiplicative, the higher you go. So that a 5.0 magnitude quake is equal to 31.6 kilotons of TNT, but a 7.0 quake (which hit Haiti in January) is equal to 31.6 MEGAtons of TNT. HUGE difference. And the higher you go, the more the 10ths matter. So, a 7.5 quake is equal to 178 megatons of TNT, and an 8.0 equals 1 GIGAton of TNT. That's what rocked 'Frisco in '06. The Chilean quake a few weeks ago was an 8.8, for 15.8 gigatons of TNT. Humans have actually never measured a perfect 10, but that would theoretically be equal to 1 teraton of TNT. We figure the Yucatan Peninsula meteor (about 6 miles in diameter) strike of 65 million years ago would be about a 13.0 magnitude…a potential planetwide life-killer 2,000,000 times more powerful than the biggest bomb we've ever built and tested.

Okay. Enough with the Wiki-facts. The reverse correlation I thought of was this: in music (or, probably ANY career), just the opposite holds true: the closer to the top you get, the LESS difference there is. So, a musician who only registers 5.0 on a "scale" would be terrible…but WAY better than a 4.0. Go higher on the scale, and you find that ability levels get closer and closer. There would be very little difference between a 7.0 (say, a freshman music major) and a 7.5 (same person, now a senior). Above an 8.0, and you probably have most adjunct faculty and master's students. Above a 9.0? Probably most full-time and tenured faculty. So, maybe I went to School A, which has no real national pedigree or anything like that…but my PhD makes me a 9.2, maybe a 9.3. I excel in my field…right along with anyone else who holds a similar position. To wit, we're not really "rare" at that level. Pretty much, if you GET the job, it means you have the necessary ability to DO the job. Sort of like a doctor: you wouldn't want surgery from a doctor who measured a 5.0 would you? But, the difference between a 9.2 and a 9.3 is negligible. Now, take another musician who went to School B, maybe a real humdinger like Juilliard or Eastman. This guy has a pedigree that's nationally and world-renowned…but, that still probably only makes him a 9.8 or 9.9. This isn't about making ME feel better, understand, or really about trying to tear down someone who went to Juilliard. I'm just saying: the distinction between a performer - let's say a trumpet player - who plays at the "top" of his field (over the 90th percentile) and one who is world-class (above the 98th percentile) are…well, they're almost equal. Maybe that 98th percentile guy can play a few notes faster, or higher, or with "better" phrasing…but, that's not exponentially better than the 92nd percentile guy. They're BOTH experts in their field.

There's no point to this post, other than my interest in discovering what I'll call Animal's Theory of Reverse Magnitude. In nature, the higher you go, the more bang you get. In all else…it's just tiny bits of difference. So that Miss Tessmacher's difficult colleague is just blowing smoke out his ass…he THINKS he's better because of his perception of being, say, a 9.4. But, that only BARELY differentiates him from a 9.3…and in the end, both guys can get the job done expertly.

Got a pain-in-the-ass colleague that thinks he's "all that" because of his pedigree? Let me hear about it in the Comments section. Happy (almost) spring!

Out With The Old…In With The New

2010-01-17T14:56:00.007-05:00

So, I've Facebooked a few hints about the new house we bought, but I didn't necessarily want the "official" news there; too many students I'm "friends" with, and I thought this was info that should only be shared with those who are truly friends…or, outright random strangers who might read the blog. Either way: hi! And thanks for coming over.

And, yes, it's totally true: we are now renters in our beloved house. We got an offer in early December…what I felt was a fairly lowball offer, truth to tell. Those of you who have been here (or read the blog over the years) know the kind of work we did to our 110-year old house, and while many of those upgrades were indeed labors of love, nevertheless I had hoped that we'd put SOME equity into the place! Still, the same market conditions that were making it possible for us to buy a home that we would otherwise never be able to afford were also making it tough to justify getting a sales price on our place that I thought it deserved. After hemming and hawing and going back & forth with counter-offers, I finally asked our real estate agent what she thought. She paused for a moment, then said "I think…you should treat this offer like it's gold." (Her emphasis.) And, she was totally right, of course: the market, Christmastime, etc. etc. We accepted after a tearful night of inner wrangling, and the next day put in an offer on the very first house our agent had shown us. At first we thought it was rather characterless and plain, but of course we soon discovered what every home-buyer finds: the ones we really liked were just out of our price range, and those that were comfortably in our price range were not a step up from what we already had. So, we made our move, and two days later had our offer accepted.

After all of the legal wrangling, what with inspections and assessments and financing and all the rest, we came to closing week. Last Thursday we met our buyer and sold him our house. Feels like such an anonymous process, really…the fact that you're basically agreeing to sell the house containing all of your blood and sweat and good family chi to someone who might be, for all we knew, a total douchebag. But he turned out to be very cool, somewhere between my age and Miss Tessmacher's, a teacher of high-school English right here in town. While we were chatting with him, he said the magic words: "After looking at tons of houses in town, I walked through the front door of your place, and it felt like coming home." Ahhh. That's what we wanted to hear! Because, of course, we totally felt the same way when we first walked in.

For a few scary hours we were solely renters, praying that the people we were buying from wouldn't suddenly have a change of heart. But, the very next day, we met them and discovered that they felt much the same way we did: they were selling a house they loved in order to get the money to build the place of their dreams, and they were thrilled that we felt like their place was perfect for us. He's a doctor (a doctor-doctor, not like me and Tess) here in town, with two pre-teen girls. And, that's it!

Now we're living among hundreds of plastic tubs (cheaper, in the long run, than buying cardboard boxes from the moving company), because of course you still have to pack all your shit, whether you're moving two miles or two thousand. We get possession of the new place on the 22nd, and we'll spend a furious weekend moving over everything that I'm willing to lift (couch pillows: yes, 75-lb. tubs of books: no) in order to shave some bucks off of the estimate from the movers. The official move is the next week, the 29th, and after that…a new place is home.

The details: the house we've been living in has two bedrooms, one bathroom, a Michigan basement, and is about 1500sf. The new house has more or less the same square footage on the main floor, but ALSO has 1500sf. of fully. Finished. Basement. WA-HOOO! So, room for drumsets, and (dry) comic book storage, and all kinds of good things. Three bedrooms, three full baths, a great open design from the living room to dining room, and a studio in the basement where Tess can teach. In the photo, it looks like a 2-storey, but the dormers are merely architectural niceties.

To the people who have been here: thank you. We've loved the potluck nights. The help with drywalling the dining room ceiling. The rewiring. The wallpaper stripping. The smokes on that wide front porch. The overnight stays. If you've never been here: my apologies. I'm really not as bad a friend as my rare contact might make you believe. Please trust that life, in all its busy-ness, is my sole shitty excuse for not having you over. Meantime: know that we're planning a series of housewarming parties, where the only gift you need to bring is yourselves. Either way, I hope to see you all in the coming months as we get unpacked and settled in. And with that giant basement, those legendary Halloween parties of our Ville Montee past may yet live again. Party on, Wayne! Party on, Garth!

The "old" place…

…and the new one.

A GARAGE!!!

The back yard and deck…future site of many happy lazy hours.

Dining room, looking into living room. (Not our stuff.)

Basement, looking one way. (Again…not our stuff.)

Basement, looking the other way.

I Now Pronounce You…Domestically Partnered

2010-01-12T12:26:00.004-05:00

Reading the news today, and of course HAD to click on the link describing the newest gay-marriage fiasco in California. In case you haven't been following, there is a challenge to last fall's reprehensible limitation of civil rights known as Proposition 8; the challenge is in federal court, which means we'll probably ultimately see the U.S. Supreme Court decide the issue for ALL states. (Decide on your own how much you like states' rights being trampled like that…)

The attorney for the Prop 8 ~~dipshits~~ supporters had this to say in his opening statement:

"It is the purpose of marriage — the central purpose of marriage — to ensure, or at least encourage and to promote that when life is brought into being, it is by parents who are married and who take the responsibility of raising that child together."

Well, once you get around the terrible way that was phrased (don't these lawyers have to go to college for at least a little while?), he seems to be saying two things: 1) that the central purpose of marriage is to have kids, and 2) that those kids should be borne by married parents who'll share child-rearing responsibilities.

So. My aunt and her husband, who have been married for 18 years, are somehow "less" of a couple because they are childless? Should we enact a statute of limitations on marriage, so that couples who don't have a child within 7 years automatically have their marriages annulled?

And, what does that make my mother? A whore, some less-than-perfect parent because she (for all intents and purposes) raised me alone? 'Cause, yeah, I turned out oh-so terribly. Menace to society that I am, with my long hair and radical views and rock-&-roll music…

Then, what about Gene Simmons and Shannon Tweed? No one besides the two of them will ever know why he won't commit to it, or how badly she wants it, but by law, they ain't married. So, what about their two kids? Right, Nick and Sophie, couple'a drug-addled young adults, right there…total wastes, always trying to overcome their broken household, which is clearly a den of total iniquity…

Get it? Do ya fuckin' GET IT?!? There's no "ideal" marriage, there's no standard that everyone who takes on that mammoth commitment should have to uphold…there's just life, and family. Good families and bad ones, happy homes and shitty ones…and you don't have to be married or not in order to be one or the other. Let's face it, those Prop 8 dweebs are only interested in one thing: creating a club of exclusivity for themselves, based on some misbegotten notion of their own religious brainwashing, and too afraid they might one day have to define themselves when they claim the mantle of marriage. "Oh, you're married? To a man, or a woman?" Pussy-ass dudes afraid of their own sexual curiosity are ramming an abhorrent affront to civil liberty and stable families down all of our throats. Which, you know, is not an accidental metaphor.

Personally, I liked what the judge had to say: "If California would simply get out of the marriage business and classify everyone as a domestic partnership, would that solve the problem?"

You know, I bet it might.

Matching Drumsets

2010-01-04T13:30:00.005-05:00

The holidays were indeed merry at our house, with lots of gatherings, sharing of good company and wine, and overall a general sense of good spirit. For the record: the present below was purchased by MY MOTHER…what, you think I'm crazy?!?

Anyway, it should be a good match for Dad's when we get to the new house. More on that soon, but meanwhile, here's a comparison photo…

Remember That $50 Bill?

2009-12-25T20:42:00.001-05:00

Here's what it bought for this year's Toys for Tots campaign:

Merry Christmas.

Lifestyles and Taxpayer Dollars

2009-12-14T08:52:00.004-05:00

So, I was "lucky" enough this morning to hear a Senator opine that "no taxpayer dollars" (re: the health care debate/debacle) should be used to fund abortions, and it was that simple. Hmmm. Really? Is it really that simple? Because that seems to be a judgement against morality and lifestyle choices. By the same token, then, I want "no taxpayer dollars" going toward the following:

1) bypass surgery for some dumbass who "didn't know" that eating bacon for breakfast 7 days a week was "bad" for him;

2) chemotherapy and radiation for the lung cancer of a smoker…or, oxygen tanks for someone with emphysema who lives in/near Los Angeles;

3) insulin needles and injections for some fat bitch who wouldn't control her appetite or get off the couch to get some regular exercise;

4) a cast for a dipshit kid who shoulda oughta known better than to climb that tree;

5) dental care for any vain bastard who wants his teeth whitened;

See what I mean? You start down that slippery slope, and there's all kinds a'stuff that shouldn't be covered by taxpayer dollars in a health-insurance program. That's the problem with trying to legislate morality: you always run up against someone's competing morals.

Animal's Weight-loss Tips

2009-12-09T11:23:00.003-05:00

Here's a surefire way to ditch some weight really fast. I tried this on Sunday, and it worked like a fuckin' dream. You just eat:

1) One (1) yogurt 4 days past it's "sell-by" date, plus

2) One (1) great big helping of free sample "seafood" salad from supermarket, full of cloying mayonnaise

Then:

1) Reserve one (1) bathroom for several hours

2) Buy one (1) disposable sponge to clean shit squirts off of toilet

3) Buy one (1) disposable brush to scrub vomit flakes out of beard

That's it! Be sure to let me know how it works for you, okay?

The (in)Conspicuous Consumer

2009-12-06T15:55:00.003-05:00

As I really settle into the holiday shopping season, I'm reminded of how I've been trying to make this year a little less about blowing dough thoughtlessly, and a little more about keeping dough close to home, and thinking very carefully about how I spend it. Whether that ends up helping a double-dip recession or not is really beyond my care; the fact that stores really rely on people running up their charge cards this time of year kind of sickens me, anyway. So, here are some of the ways I've been a more INconspicuous consumer.

• I've been buying used items. Roz is getting a perfectly lovely Mickey-as-sorcerer's-apprentice that I found at the Mega Mall, for one. Ooohh, I loves me some Mega Mall! It's a local dive, probably 25k square feet, loaded with everything from new-oldstock to genuine antiques. I could - and often do - spend several hours in there, and when Miss Tessmacher brought up the idea of a "Mega Mall Christmas" back in the summer, I gleefully took it as my own. So, many folks on my giving list are getting things from the Mega Mall. Keeps money close to home, and doesn't contribute extra waste to the planet.

• Keeping with the local idea, I've been simply buying some things right here at home, or at least within Michigan. I used to get my snotty-ass gourmet popcorn from Crown Jewel, but I found a place outside Detroit that grows two delicious varieties, and sells them in impressively large 4-lb. bags. Yum. Likewise, I've been eschewing internet shopping in favor of buying some stuff close by, like at Target or K-Mart. Still giant corporations, but at least the workers at those stores in my area are getting their paychecks.

• I'm trying to buy less, as well. Again, if everyone does this it may well tank the economy for a second time, at least until we settle into a "new normal," but I think that actually might be healthy. When everything I pick up has a "Made in China" sticker on it, I just get a little depressed about how our great industrial machine has waned in the past few decades. This isn't as much an "anti-consumer" attitude, but more a way to tame that urge to gratify my desires immediately. I could buy the new Lita Ford CD…or, I could save the dough and ask for it as a gift. I don't really need to buy any new clothes, the ones I have are perfectly fine. Sometimes I WANT new clothes, but - like quitting smoking - if I can just keep my mind off of that want for a few minutes, it eventually fades. Then, I can go into my closet in the morning and put together a shirt, pants, tie, etc. and walk out the door. Besides, Tess' folks always load me up on sweet outfits at the holidays, anyway. NOT buying a new vest for myself from Territory Ahead means that I can focus on buying gifts for OTHER people.

I dunno. In retrospect, these things may come across more as "look how cool and savvy I am" than as genuine ideas about being a better consumer, but I mean them honestly and without irony. I've really been giving some thought to the "shop 'til you drop" mentality and, like Charlie Brown, am left wondering if that's the true spirit of the season. I like giving gifts…hell, I like getting gifts! But that shouldn't be what it's all about, economic recovery be damned. So, happy holidays, or bah-humbug…whichever you prefer.

Swinging At Piñatas In The Dark

2009-11-23T12:03:00.004-05:00

Okay, so it wasn't my plan to get all wrapped up in political blogging right now, but this headline caught my eye:

"Democrats ready to go-it-alone on health care"

And so, what the hell happened to President Obama's promise of bipartisanship? Out the window, I guess…or, at least that's the way his party is acting. Claiming that "the system is broken," Senator Charles Schumer said "We prefer to go at it with Republicans if we can reach compromises in some areas, but we're not going to not pass a bill."

Great. That's friggin' WONDERFUL. Do something, anything, rather than do nothing. Even if the fix might be worse. Now, I'm not saying the fix WILL be worse, 'cause no one knows that for sure, and we WON'T know it until something is put into play, and it's too late to take it back. I just loathe the idea that Democratic lawmakers are willing to cram something through for the sake of claiming victory. That's bullshit.

The AP reporter behind the story writes:

"The Democratic measures would leave 12 million or more eligible Americans uninsured. Many middle-class families who'd now be required to buy coverage would still find the premiums a stretch, even with government aid. A new federal fund to provide temporary coverage for people with health problems would quickly run out of cash."

This isn't some left-field made-up whacko reporting from cuckoo bloggers; this is non-partisan reporting of material taken right from estimates by the Congressional Budget Office. However, the article continues with: "For now, these bread-and-butter concerns take a back seat to more pressing issues for Democratic lawmakers trying to deliver on President Barack Obama's signature issue."

Great. That's just fucking de-LIGHT-ful. Let's do the sniveling, cheap-ass thing…let's "claim a victory" and say "Gee, at least WE did something!" That always helps. Er…not.

Having Your Shit Together

2009-11-18T10:48:00.005-05:00

This post is coming off of a recent viewing of An Officer And A Gentleman. I don't often think to include it on a list of favorite movies, but it really does belong there. I generally like let's-go-to-boot-camp films, and anyone who knows me at all knows I'm a sucker for chick-flicks. OH yeah. Any movie with Hugh Grant or Robert Downey Jr., Drew Barrymore or Julia Roberts…I'm all over that shit! In fact, here's the perfect film: Hugh & Robert are married to Drew and Julia, and somehow their lives intersect in a way that is both hysterical and sentimental, and they spend the rest of the film figuring out that they're each married to the wrong partner. Whooo! (*swoons*) I'm in heaven.

Ahem. Anyway.

I hadn't seen Officer in a long, long time…never occurred to me to buy on DVD, but I caught a copy on VHS at a flea market this summer. I finally got around to watching it a week or so ago, and I was overjoyed to find that it stands the test of time…MY test, anyway. I came away from it this time feeling a little different, though; namely, I was astonished at how "together" Zack and Paula seem to have their shit.

'Cause, like, in the movie, they're supposed to be…what? 21? 22? Not that old. Zack has finally realized that his dad's lifestyle of getting shitfaced on a nightly basis and fucking whatever he can stick his dick into really isn't the way to go, and Paula already has what seems like a lifetime job at a paper plant. (Back when 22-year olds could GET factory jobs like that!) Zack even asks her at one point: "What…what do you do? Do you…go to school?" Paula says "No, no, I got a job. Yeah…it's a real good job!" The movie is both a romantic…not comedy per se, although there are humorous moments. Well, it's romantic, anyway, but what it really is is a coming-of-age story…primarily for Zack, but also for Paula. They spend the 13 weeks of Zack's time at Navy Flight School figuring out their entire lives, and we're left with the inescapable feeling (as Zack, sportin' his dress whites, carries Paula off the factory floor to the applause of the workers…yoikes!) that they're off to get married and spend the rest of their lives together.

And I'm thinkin': what the hell?!? Since when do 22-year olds have their shit together that well? I think back to being 22…and yeah, okay, I though I was a pret-ty. Cool. Customer. Definitely had my shit together. And I realize now (at 41) that ho-ley smokes! I was just wanderin' in the wilderness, my friends, a savage barely able to get his pants on straight, let alone use a fork and knife. Whooo. I drank too much, smoked too much, didn't work nearly hard enough, and shagged anything that expressed even the slightest interest. I had no idea what sort of career path I might choose, and ate fried hot dogs and mac-&-cheese for dinner. With Coke™.

I feel like I began - barely! - to get my shit together in my 30s. My 30s. And even then, when I look back at that decade now…I realize that I was still barely on the having-my-shit-together path. I had just begun to walk that fucker, settled in as I was with my early-20-something girlfriend and an apartment that was at least one step up from being a cave with pelts on the floor.

Which begs the question: how is it that some people really seem to have it together at a phenomenally young age (yes, okay, I understand that Zack and Paula are characters; just…work with me, here), and other people have no clue how clueless they are until 10 or 15 years later. Which led to an even more jolting thought: what if…what if I get to be 50 or 55, and I look back at my 41-year old self…and I realize that HE didn't have his shit together, even then?!? Oy, the agony!

*shrugs* Maybe that's just how it is, for most people. We think we're pretty with-it no matter what age we are, and we don't find out the truth until it's way too late to really do anything about it but hang your head and go about your day. Maybe that's the only way to survive…and maybe that points to all of life (or, living) being about "coming of age."

Memories of The Wall

2009-11-10T12:29:00.002-05:00

The recent 20th anniversary celebrating the destruction of the Berlin Wall got me to thinking about my own time spent in West Berlin. Yeah, that's right: WEST Berlin. See, I went to Europe with Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp during the summer before my senior year in high school…1985, to be exact. Wow. A lifetime ago, when I really look at it. I went as part of the now-defunct Bavarian Tour, which focused on Germany, Denmark and Switzerland. The other option was the International Tour, which went to a lot more countries, but the band consisted only of U.S. kids, whereas the Bavarian group was about half-&-half U.S. AND European kids…a makeup I found much more culturally appealing. We flew to Germany from Detroit and spent 10 days in the smallish town of Rottenbuch. BLFAC kept a large quasi-hotel there where we stayed & rehearsed before heading out by bus to our various concert sites.

Our very first concert was in West Berlin, meaning of course we had to go through EAST Berlin to get there. Getting INTO East Germany was never the problem; getting back OUT could occasionally be tricky. We were told by the folks running the show that we were to say nothing to the guards who would board the bus and take our passports: no laughing, no conversation, no eye contact. Put your passport in the basket, keep your eyes on the floor in front of you, and we should be fine. Naturally, this kind of forewarning makes not laughing nearly impossible…just like in church or at a funeral, the idea of, say, blasting a fart is almost too good to pass up. But I'll tell ya what: when those guards got on the bus, in their drab green-grey trenchcoats and helmets, fully-loaded submachine guns held at the ready…I never felt less like laughing in my life! (Machine guns stink; in my memory, it's an odd combination of oil and steel, with perhaps a little smoke thrown in.)

A guy named Dave and I stayed with a delightful host family in West Berlin: rich, the guy was a doctor, and I remember he drove like a fucking madman on the autobahn from the bus drop-off to their house. He served us room-temperature beer (which was new to me at the time) and we never wanted for anything. They made us promise to send Christmas cards and the like, which of course I did precisely once. (Sorry, folks! You really were tremendous people!) We had, I think, two concerts over three days in W. Berlin, which left lots of time for sightseeing. As a group we were taken to the Berlin Wall, whose political significance meant little to me at the time…but I'm now glad I had the opportunity to see in person what feels like a very important piece of history.

We actually had a picnic lunch at Checkpoint Charlie, arguably the most famous gate between East and West Berlin. "Our" side of the wall was covered with graffiti, and we could walk right up to the wall, touch it, even pretend to boost a friend over it. There was a platform at Checkpoint Charlie you could climb to see over to the other side, and from that vantage point I saw how utterly clean - and malignant - that cement wall really was. Cold, grey, sturdy and seeming immovable, the Eastern side of the wall was fronted by 25 or 50 feet of "no man's land." A long curlicue of razor wire separated this no-man's land and the Eastern part of the city, and if you were stupid enough to try to navigate that you were shot on sight before you ever had a chance to get close to the wall. THAT'S how serious the communist regime of East Berlin was. The city on the other side of that wall looked lifeless, bloodless…not a person could be seen, just a grim tableau that reminds me of many areas in modern Detroit.

Our scary part of East Germany occurred when we left the city to head to Denmark. We got out of W. Berlin fine, but were stopped once again for passport inspection at the East German border. One of the Dutch kids on the trip had a discrepancy in his paperwork: on the list showing who was on the bus he was "Frank," but on his passport he was "Francis." That's all. And we were kept at the border for six hours. I was a politically-ignorant 17-year old…but that was a scary time, let me tell you. I really got the sense that, "Shit, they could just…refuse to let us pass!"

When I think of the Berlin Wall now, I think of a different time: Cold War politics and James Bond and Spy vs. Spy…and I'm reminded that fences won't keep humanity apart. Not real ones, and certainly not ideological ones. We figure out a way to get through to each other in the end…but sometimes there's bloodshed first.

Attack of the Consumerist Zombies!

2009-11-03T08:43:00.007-05:00

As is usual on our shared ride to work on Tuesdays, Miss Tessmacher and I got into a lovely discussion this morning. With appropriate tangents and other meanderings, this conversation centered around the idea of capitalism, consumerism, and a benign, nonspecific spirituality. Pretty heady stuff for a 30-minute ride, no?

We started off by bitching about capitalism, relating to a news article one or the other of us had recently read. Capitalism, in its basic (pure?) form isn't inherently bad, or evil, or whatever. It's just an economic system which suggests that people with stuff to sell - products, services, ideas, etc. - can sell that stuff openly, in a "free market," and that people who desire those products or services or ideas pay for them…again, of free choice and in an open market. Not a bad idea. I like it better than the concept of "from those according to ability, to those according to need." Where I balk at capitalism is that concept of "desire." Basically, the "I wants." You know the "I wants," dontcha? "Oooh, look at that (fill in the blank bauble)! I want it!" And so we set about fulfilling that immediate desire, maybe by trade (the bastion of childhood: "I'll trade you a copy of What If? #1 for 12 of your Kiss cards!"), but usually by purchase. Which turns the whole experiment kind of on its head, as the desire for immediate gratification becomes a soulless exercise in the accumulation of money that's used to buy shit.

Decide on your own how to feel about pursuing money in order to gratify commercial urges. Gene Simmons always claims (never jokingly, never) that if you have money lying around you don't need, please, send it to him. That's all well and fine as a cutesy soundbite, but I find the underlying principle to be a little crass. No, more than a little crass, actually. For me, it comes down to this: do I need more money? Nope. I live a great life, one that is rich by almost every conceivable standard. Would I take more money, if it was offered to me? Sure! I'll tell ya, if you're gonna walk right in and say, "Hey, you know that job you used to do for X amount of dollars? Well, we're going to DOUBLE it, with no extra requirements on your part!" then you bet I'll take it. No questions. But, I don't really need it. I'd find ways to spend it, and I'd certainly sock more of it away for retirement, but the blind pursuit of moneymoneymoney! isn't really all that interesting to me.

But SPENDING money IS of pronounced interest to the government! Since citizen spending accounts for two-thirds of our GDP, shit really hits the fan when we stop spending our dough. That's part of what has made this recession so tough: things were generally bad anyway, and then we all kinda just stayed home with our money, at exactly the time we should have been out spending it. And the worse the reports of the recession, the more we stayed home and didn't spend. Vicious circle. But, if our financial train runs on the dollars we pour into it, then we really have become a society of glassy-eyed consumers. "Must go out…spend money…keep economy going!" That's kind of the whole plot of the terrible, terrible John Carpenter movie They Live!: zonko aliens have us asleep and enslaved, only allowing us to survive for what we can do to make their lives better. Only, in real life, zonko aliens have been replaced by actual government people, who tell us basically the same thing. Following 9/11, tons of local and federal leaders urged us to "go about the business" of being Americans, knowing that if we all stayed home for fear of terrorist attacks, the economy would flush down the toilet. That's the most patriotic thing you can do as an American, apparently: go shopping.

What I'm getting at here is that a (perhaps) unintended consequence of capitalism - our American experiment in capitalism - is that we've turned our society into (largely) a mindless pool of consumerist zombies who go and buy things because government and fat-cat profit-driven businesspeople TELL us that that's the only way to fill the empty hole in our soul. And when that hole remains unfilled - and our true needs unfulfilled - then we just…what? Go to the mall. Or, in recent years, shop online. 'Cause, y'know, you don't even need to put on pants to do that. Rather than actually engaging in some sort of spiritual activity (which might run the gamut from meaningful conversation with friends all the way over to daily Mass attendance), we shamble along and shop. Driven to it because government and business tells us that if we don't, the economy will collapse. Sheesh. I think what I'll try to do is go ahead and shop for those things I "need," and avoid the temptation to just go hog-wild and stimulate the economy all on my lonesome. 'Nuff said!

Memories of Halloween

2009-11-01T14:39:00.003-05:00

The Rozzle got to experience her first real Halloween last night. Oh, sure, we got her up in a pumpkin costume last year, but she wasn't even WALKING at the time, so the idea of going trick-or-treating was pretty pointless. Especially since I detest parents who push their obvious 9-month olds up to the house…what, your toothless kid is gonna gum to death a mini-Snickers bar?? Get the fuck outta here, you free-candy mooches!

This year, though, Roz was rarin' to go. She was dressed in her Mickey Mouse costume, and plainly told Tess "I wanna go find some skeletons!" as they headed out the door. I held down the fort, doling out candy to the other kids, but since Tess was only taking Roz around the neighboring blocks I espied them often. Roz was tromping determinedly along, telling Tess (as she relayed to me later) "I want some more candy!" And, in true Halloween fashion, when she finally got tired and cold, she spread her loot out on the floor and proceeded to eat whatever she could actually open herself. Which turned out to be a lot.

*sigh* At my age, though, I still really miss the Halloween of the '70s. I told Tess last night that I used to be able to pretty much fill a pillowcase while trick-or-treating, but of course there were lots of things I brought home that you "can't" hand out anymore. Homemade popcorn balls, wrapped in tinfoil…5 or 6 of those take up a LOT more room than the ubiquitous Hershey and Mars mini-candybars. Homemade brownies and cookies were common, too. I remember a couple of houses offered kids a choice: candy from a bowl, OR a caramel apple. No fool me, I always took the apple. And there was never a razor blade in it…never any poison…just good, homemade food offered up by old widows and middle-aged housewives, who had both the time and the inclination to make it.

That fucker with they Tylenol. He's the cause of the loss of all that, right? Him and his stupid arsenic. I hope that asswipe is takin' it up the tailpipe by 6 or 7 of the biggest bull queers that prison has to offer. Nightly. Guys with dicks the size of billy clubs, only thicker. I hope he's so filled up with cum when they've finished that it oozes out his ears. Ruin it for everybody, you jackoff! Hmph.

Well. That's my happy Halloween post, I guess. *grins awkwardly* Roz had a great time, and I got to remember a time that was greater. By me, anyway. She'll never know the difference, and that's the way it should be. I'll just be one more old geezer, tellin' her how awesome things were "back in the old days." And she'll roll her eyes and complain "Daaaa-aaad!" And that's the way it should be too. Happy November, everyone.

Remember When $50 Was A Lot Of Money?

2009-10-30T11:53:00.002-05:00

Oh, wait: $50 still IS a lot of money! At least, around here it is. It's not, y'know, make-or-break money by any means…but, it's an amount that would really drive me crazy to lose.

And, that's the thing: someone DID lose it. A single bill. Neatly folded, lying under some leaves on our western sidewalk. I actually mowed over it: I realized it was money just as I pushed the mower forward. Expecting to find mulched tatters of a one or a five, I was happy to see that the bill had simply been spit out whole…then astonished to see a "zero" after the expected "five." Shit! Who carries a $50 bill around any more, and then on top of it…LOSES IT?!? Wow. And the way it was folded was just like I'd fold a $1, you know? In half, then in half again, and then drop it in my pants pocket while I looked around for something I could actually buy with it. Probably in vain, right? But, here's this fifty, looking like someone just "Whoops!" dropped it out of his front jeans pocket.

I looked around for Alan Funt…then lamely realized that Alan Funt probably hasn't done Candid Camera for three decades. But still, I looked around for someone scouring the sidewalk for his lost bill, but there was no one. Now I had to decide: what do I do with this thing? It's not the hugest amount of money I've ever found: I once saw bills floofing around in a breeze by the side of the road. I stopped, got out of the car, and collected everything I could find: over $200! On my way back from the errand I was on, I saw a dad & teenager by the side of the road, clearly looking for the money. I pulled over and asked what was up, and the dad said the kid had left his wallet on the roof of his car, and it blew away with several hundred dollars' worth of graduation money in it. Oof. Naturally I handed over everything I'd found, to the astonished thanks of the two of them. 'Cause, that's what you do, right? You give BACK found money in large quantities.

But this fifty, this was a bigger problem. First: only one bill. Second: no one obviously looking around for it. Third: a troubling amount. Hey, I'm the first guy in line to find a ten or a twenty and pocket that bitch. Hell, I'll do it if I see it fall from the grubby hand of the 10-year old in front of me! Well, yeah, probably not, but you get the drift, right? But fifty bucks…sheesh. I kept envisioning various scenarios that could have led to the bill being dropped on the sidewalk: a kid with football fundraising money? A band student with the downpayment for a winter-break trip? Hell, even if it's someone's pot money, it's still a lot of dough, right? I mean…I have no idea how much good pot $50 will buy, but I'm guessing it's a whole Ziploc bag of "St. Johns Windowbox!" So, I wanted to get the bill back to its rightful owner…only, HOW!? Do you put up signs? "Found, item of some value, call to identify?" Sheesh.

Tess & I talked about it, and lacking any better ideas, we'll use it to buy on-sale toys for donation to our local Toys for Tots collection this holiday season. Or, now that I have a worthless, dead iPod on my hands, maybe it'll be a downpayment on a new one. But probably the toys. Ho-ho-ho.

Scatological Thursday Maker

2009-10-22T07:44:00.001-05:00

Last night at the dinner table, this conversation ensued:

Roz: "I'm gonna fart!"

(leans way over on right cheek):

tooooooooot!

Roz: "I farted!"

Me: (*giggling helplessly*)

Putting Summer Away

2009-10-20T13:39:00.003-05:00

Well, the work over the last few days has centered around getting things ready for winter. It's always agreeable work for me, an opportunity to spend some time outside in the waning (hopefully) nice days of autumn. It's bending and stretching and carrying and storing, the kind of thing that doesn't seem so bad when you're doing it, but later in the day you're going "Shit, I'm sore!"

Like Cheryl Wheeler, I'm always a little sad to see summer go; 'course, it's been gone for long & long anyway, what with cooler weather (including frosts) and the hecticness that goes with kick-starting the school year. But increasingly sad reminders of the faded summer lurked: the grill still squatted in its corner of the deck, and the picnic table & benches still waited on the porch, maybe hoping for one last good cookout before being squirreled away for the winter. Alas, not so; I think the last barbeque day was way back in August, certainly before school started, and even IF we get a nice day in the next week or so, I'm low on Liquid Smoke and the thrill is gone for this year.

So the benches are stacked, the grill is rolled up next to the house. I cut down the shabby stalks of our volunteer sunflowers by the porch steps, whose brilliant late-blooming yellows filled sunny days with giddy happiness, drawing tumbly bumblebees by the dozen to buzz lazily and harmlessly among the giant blooms. Rozzle's crab-shaped sandbox, site of many happy summer outings (and more than a few scoldings, as Roz's favorite thing to do with the sand seems to be to throw it over her head) is staked & tied down, anticipating harsh winds that threaten to blow its protective cover across town. I harvested & froze the last of the rhubarb, now waiting in the inky blackness of the freezer for a Yule festival baking extravaganza. The withered greens of the frost-bitten pumpkin and tomato vines have been hacked away, with me stealing a last taste of reddish goodness as I spied a few remaining fruits cowering under protective mint leaves. (The mint, ever in competition with the tomatoes, grew ferociously this year, and now stands proudly alone in their shared plot, still green, still begging for a julep that will never come.)

I can look out the window and see the almost neon glow of the maples down the block, and I anticipate the coming of winter with a newfound sense of subtle desire. Come, snows! Come, cold! I am put away and ready for ye! Post-dinner walks to Cindy's for ice cream are replaced with Swiss Miss by the television, as I indoctrinate Roslyn with one tired old seasonal special after another: Peanuts and Garfield, Sesame Street and the Muppets and Emmett Otter, Opus and Bill and more marijuana-induced claymation than Rankin & Bass can shake a stick at. I've lighted my Yankee candles (Fall Festival, Spiced Pumpkin, and the ever-nostalgic Home Sweet Home), I've grown my ever-whitening beard in…I'm ready. Bring it.

SCI and the Upward Spiral

2009-10-13T08:15:00.003-05:00

Whew! I just got back from a whirlwind weekend in Dubuque, attending my regional conference for Society of Composers, Int'l. Good drive, good time. I flew the last time I went, leaving Grand Rapids to puddle-jump over to Chi-town, then another short up-&-down to the cornfield that serves as the Dubuque airport. I spent as much time going through security, waiting on the plane, and transferring at airports as I would have on the road, so I decided to simply drive this time. I didn't have to rent a car, and I could take all the shit that I wanted. Anyway! I presented a paper while there ("Metaphor and Allegory in Song Lyric Construction"), and I heard TONS of great new music. It's so enervating to be in a crowd of people like that: all there for the same purpose, to share their newly-created works. There's no hassling, no infighting, to real sense of competition…something I rather like about composers, by the way. That lack of competitiveness. That's not to suggest that we DON'T compete (in composition contests, primarily), but overall I sense that composers lack the gene that makes performers so uptight about auditions & such. There just isn't a lot of cattiness amongst us. We're all very supportive of each other, with positive things to say about our collective creations, and at the end of the day we (speaking for all of us, I guess) all walk away with a sense of accomplishment. I know that I personally spoke with half-a-dozen or so composers whose music I really enjoyed, exchanging business cards and asking if I might acquire their works for additional performances. It's a real feel-good environment.

Which brings me to the upward spiral portion of our program. 'Cause, y'know, I'm sick to death of negativity. I read the news yesterday (oh, boy) about how we're all getting more & more divided, with more lashing out at others whose ideas don't mesh perfectly with our own. The author of the article suggested that, upon a time not so long ago, most of us wanted objectivity in our news reporting. These days, with 24-hour news the "norm," objectivity is out the window and what "sells" is that thing that panders to what we already believe. The Conservatism of FoxNews, the Liberalism of MSNBC, and Rush Limbaugh and Arianna Huffington and Glenn Beck and Chris Matthews…we've become a society of enraged talking heads (shouting heads?) with no chance for any sort of meeting-of-the-minds. Most of the time, we seem to be mindLESS, soldiering on, rank-&-file, adhering to whatever belief system is fed to us by those we already agree with.

*sighs* I'm just real tired of it. Trolling anonymously around various blogs, I happened upon a commenter who suggested that the middle of the road was a hell of a good place to "get run over." That really sums up what I view as the current social mindset, maybe not what we as individuals believe always, but the collective mob mentality that serves as our Culture right now: keep Left or keep Right, and anyone in the middle is like a possum in the headlights of traffic speeding recklessly from BOTH directions. But…isn't the middle where MOST of us live, MOST of the time? I'm no Ted Kennedy…but I'm no Ann Coulter either. I'm not Anne Murray…but I'm also not Opeth. See? Middle of the road. Doesn't mean I'm a fence-sitter…I have definite ideas, opinions, you know how it goes. But I'm fairly moderate, and really, aren't most of us? I can't give hard numbers - probably no one can, it's impossible to study - but I just get this sense that almost all of us are live-&-let-live middle-of-the-roaders. Heck, that's who gets the most attention in big elections, ain't it? "Middle America." Nobody goes up and preaches to the hard-core Libertarians in New Hampshire…what's the point? Same goes for easy-livin' potheads in sunny California. They're the extreme, and preachin' to the extreme only gets you so far.

Gah. *scratches head irritatedly* What I'm getting at is this: I'm tired of feeling like there's nothing but negativity and aggression in the world…in MY world. I don't need to be "Mr. Happy All The Time," and I also don't want to deny my own emotions…that way lies madness, no? What I want, instead, is to believe that I can drive out the demons of negativity and hostility…exorcise them, if you will. ("The power of Christ compels you!!!") I'm done trolling hate-fueled blogs, and I'm done cursing the slow motherfucker in the passing lane…these things are unimportant to my life. I'll focus on what IS important - family, friends, the sunny damn day out my window right now - and maybe that glow of positivity will radiate outward, a sort of goofy, New-Agey pay-it-forward of good will. A virtuous circle, instead of the vicious one that threatens to surround us all.

Health Care "Reform"

2009-09-16T11:07:00.003-05:00

So, Sen. Max Baucus and his "Gang of Six" have finally delivered a bill proclaiming itself to be health care reform. Uh…this may be the most emaciated, worthless piece of junk that has come down the pike in quite awhile. It looks like it'll help almost no one, hospitals and drug companies are happy with it (sure to be a bad sign, when big-biz is happy with a piece of legislation!), and it does nothing to reform tort laws and malpractice suits. It looks like empty posturing by people who want credit for "doing something," even when that something borders on Orwellian doublespeak.

And I just had this thought today: why is this Gang of Six coming up with this legislation in the first place? Who appointed them to put this together? Iowa, New Mexico, Maine, Montana, North Dakota, and Wyoming. Those are the states these Senators are from. Notice anything about that list? I did, the first time I ever saw it put together in that fashion. That's RIGHT! These are states with ALMOST NO PEOPLE IN THEM!!! Iowa is the most-populated, at 3 million people, and is 30th in a ranking of most-to-least populated states. Wyoming is dead last, with just under 533,000 people. All together, the six states represented by this Gang have 8,441,000 people living in them. That total - TOTAL! - is less than each individual state in the top 11 on the list. It's roughly equal to the population of New York City alone. Why are these Senators, who represent almost no one (sorry to the inhabitants of those six states, but it's true by ranking), making up legislation that'll affect everyone?!? Just sayin'.

Positive Reinforcement

2009-09-15T18:33:00.002-05:00

Miss Tessmacher and I were having a good discussion on the way home today about positive reinforcement. (Yes, we're commuting together two days a week again. Ahhh, my travel partner is back!!) The basics of our discussion revolved around the idea that there are people out there in the world who seem intent on doing their jobs to the effect that they end up discouraging people from pursuing their…oh, their dreams, for want of a better concept.

In my time, I've certainly come across people who don't really have the necessary skills and/or talent to be what they dream of being. And, you know, it's tough. Somebody really wants to be a killer lead guitarist, but lacks the necessary coordination to play the instrument at that level. Even given that situation, however, I find it very difficult to just shoot the person right out of the saddle. I've DONE it - by virtue of assigning students the failing grades they earned at the end of a semester. And, of course, I usually bear the blunt of the "blame": "That supreme cocksucker Dr. Animal failed me!" Not so, of course; the student himself failed, for whatever reason, and it fell to me to put that grade into the system. Sadly, they rarely see things from that perspective…

But I still don't come out and tell that person "Look, you don't have what it takes to be a good (fill in the blank)." I'll probably do the sidestep wherein I ask the student to contemplate a career in a thing that he shows no aptitude for; does this seem like a happy life? That sort of thing. So, it saddens me that there are people out there, in my basic profession, who routinely tell their students exactly that. "You don't have what it takes, give up!" So harsh. As if, to be a performer, we all need to try to be Yo-Yo Ma. Tess said it this way: "Pretend there's a continuum, with amateur musicians on one end, and Yo-Yo Ma on the other. Should we ALL try to be Yo-Yo Ma?" And, ultimately, the answer is no. I think, anyway; I'm sure there are high-octane folks out there who gogogo! all the time and feel super-competitive and driven to be the best, dammit! But, in reality, the continuum dictates that, while there WILL be some folks at that high end, there'll also be people all the way at the other end…and filling all the space in between.

And that's kind of where positive reinforcement comes in. Sometimes, you just gotta look at a student and say "Hey, you may not be Yo-Yo Ma (or James Galway, or Leonard Bernstein), but there's a place for you. Go out there, do your best, and your best will fit somewhere on the continuum." I played in a community concert band for 12 years. It was filled with a variety of people: regular giggers, retired band directors, and, yes, people who took their horns out of the closet, blew the dust of the cases, and saddled up for a 10-week season. The ones at the high-achieving end did it mostly for the money…musical prostitution at its finest. The ones as the low end just had a good time. But they all fit; there was a place for everyone. So, when a person comes to you looking for a little positive impact…give it to him. A person's best might not fit YOUR worldview of what constitutes "excellence," but chances are he'll rise to his own level, and that level will be good enough somewhere. And sometimes…being good enough is good enough.

I Need Three Lives

2009-09-09T17:29:00.004-05:00

I do. I know that sounds selfish, but what with work starting up again for the semester, I'm feeling particularly swamped. Yeah, yeah, I know: whiny bitch, right? Ptooey on you, my friends! I just have enough interests that I feel like I could live three lives and make the most out of each one.

1) The Composer. I love to compose. I really do. When I was a percussion performance major in the mid-/late-80s, I was not happy. My entrance to college went something like this: "Well, I need to major in music, but I don't want to be a band director like my parents were, and I discovered I can major in playing this instrument that I love. SWEET!" Then, the rigors of REAL practicing set in, and I was no longer the big fish in a tiny pond. In fact, I was pretty much a cup full o' suck. Oh, I was a fine percussionist, when I put my mind to it…trouble was, I had a hard time keeping my mind ON it. I liked playing "Axis & Allies," and hanging out, and partying…things that percussion performance majors at my school rarely did. Social ingrates, the lot of 'em, they mostly had keys to the music building so that they could practice a few hours before their 8:00am theory class. Ugh. No, THANKS! I loved marching band, and basketball band, but unfortunately those performance outlets offered very little in the way of career advancement. When I found out I could major in composition, I leapt at the chance. And, I finally found my home. So, I'd love to pull a David Maslanka, shun my job at the major university and move to B.F.E. (or, in his case, B.F.M.) and just write. Sadly, my music doesn't really pay all those pesky bills and eBay dues that keep coming in every month, so being a full-time composer is out of the question.

2) Which is somewhat okay, because I also love songwriting. Yeah…The Songwriter. I've been writing songs since I'm 15 or so, and while early efforts were mostly vapid "When can we fuck?" anthems, I've matured a lot since, say, 1-800-HOT-LOVE. Seriously. I'm presenting a paper on metaphor and allegory in lyric construction in a few weeks, and I'm totally psyched about it. I've been poring over lyrics from everyone from Hart and Porter to Diamond and Steinman, and I realize that I just really, really love a good song. My current crop of tunes are mostly autobiographical, sort of like diary entries. I have a song about how much I loved the summer of 1978. A song called The Journey which describes how we all move from childhood to having children of our own. I'm even writing a Thanksgiving song…since there's such a dearth of those, right? But, I'd love to be a lyricist for someone really big, a Holly Knight to Steven Tyler, or a Desmond Child to…well, to pretty much everyone. *sigh* Same problem, though: doesn't pay the bills.

3) The Stay-At-Home, Puttering Dad. I've been working on painting the porch this summer. It's a cement floor, but ringing the space are about 1,000 spindles. I like the painting. It's agreeable work, and it just sort of rolls along. I'm also noticing that I miss having hours & hours to spend with The Rozzle since school has started. So I'd love for Miss Dr. Tessmacher to land a full-time job and I could, say, stay home with Roz and paint. And finish a basement. And write songs during her naps, without worrying whether or not they make any dough.

Yeah. I need three lives. Whoops! I forgot about nascent treasure-hunter! Let's see, where did I leave that metal detector…?

The Amazing Spider-Mouse!

2009-08-31T11:02:00.009-05:00

So, I read yesterday that Disney, in its apparent bid to control the world (or, at least the lion's share of the entertainment world) bought Marvel, Inc. Yup. That's Marvel Comics, and their stable of about 5,000 characters. Hmmm. My immediate reaction is to be suspicious, even IF Marvel stock jumped about 26% on the news.

It's not that Disney doesn't know anything about comics: they've been putting out character-related books since the Golden Age. And, as edge-of-your-seat action flix like Pirates of the Caribbean and National Treasure proved, they aren't necessarily all happy-go-lucky and G-rated anymore in the movie department. Still…still…

Marvel has a pretty big line of "adult" comix, and I'd be surprised if Disney let them keep, say, a Garth Ennis on board. And that's kind of the problem I'm seeing with a Marvel/Disney unification: Marvel was always about facing the realities of a harsh world, even when written and drawn in a comic-book style. That's what separated Marvel from DC back in the early-60s: DC's heroes were perfect, infallible…and you never much saw them OUT of costume. Nobody cared what Bruce Wayne's troubles were - if, as a billionaire, he had any at all! - and the only time you really saw Clark Kent was when he was dashing into a phone booth. Marvel put out brooding, troubled characters whom you cared for both IN and OUT of their tights. Spider-Man was cool, but lots of teens could relate to the troubles of bookish Peter Parker. The Hulk is Hyde to milksop Bruce Banner's über-geek Jekyll, a personality that was every bit as savage and unrestrained as Banner's was scientific. Sometimes, you couldn't even tell who the heroes were! With all the destruction he caused, you got the sense that Hulk left kind of a lotta dead bodies in his wake; Spidey was constantly vilified by his newspaper nemesis J. Jonah Jameson.

I don't see that kind of thing being possible under a Disney umbrella, where everything is kittens and rainbows. And I worry that Marvel will be poorer for it.

The Cost of Education

2009-08-26T09:58:00.006-05:00

I'm always tickled when I hear politicians jockeying for sound-bite position on the evening news by hammering on the importance of higher education. Our own Gov. Granholm claims to be committed to bringing the opportunity of college "to the masses," as it were:

In her weekly radio address, Governor Jennifer M. Granholm today said the promise of a higher education must become a reality for every child in Michigan if the state is to succeed in a global economy. Granholm said she is committed to making education beyond high school more affordable and more accessible for every student. (8/12/06)

"Thank you for your commitment to higher education," Granholm said, pointing to the need for a college-educated workforce to fill jobs in the alternative-energy sector in which she wants Michigan to become a leader. (3/11/08)

Granholm will ask higher education officials to halt tuition increases and ask state legislators to approve additional state funding to colleges and universities that comply, said Liz Boyd, Granholm’s spokeswoman. “We are hoping and expecting that universities will realize, as we do, that in these very tough economic times, we need to protect our citizens and their pocketbooks,” Boyd said. (2/1/09)

I think most of this is a load of shit, personally. I was an early Granholm supporter, but time after time she has wrapped herself in a blanket of righteousness while secretly whittling away at the cause she claims to champion. In this case, Gov. Granholm is making what SOUND like good claims for the future of Michigan: Yes! Let's have ALL our kids go to college, and we'll be, like, totally the greatest state EVAH! On top of that rah-rah kind of let's-ramp-up-the-crowd cheerleading, she also plays populist with parents by "forcing" universities to halt tuition increases. Hey, parents, I'm on YOUR side, and those miserable fuckers at State U. are really just heavin' it up your tailpipe, aren't they?

Like I said: a load of shit. The only thing Gov. Granholm has done for higher ed in this state is to pull the rug out from under it. Which, duh, because we're in the toilet economically. For once, Michigan is EL NUMERO UNO! Yay. Let me grab a whole case o'whiskey to celebrate the new unemployment numbers. It's not that I even necessarily BLAME Granholm for needing to cut state expenditures somwhere…this mess ain't hers, after all! It belongs to three terms of the incalculably shitty governorship of John Engler, who managed to saddle Michigan with looming deficits and future fiscal crises even during the high boom-times of the 1990s. But, her hypocrisy is blatant and unforgivable. She wants every kid in Michigan to have the chance to go to college - this, despite the fact that she'd have to shell out billions of dollars to build new classroom buildings and dorms, and hire thousands of new faculty across the state - but she has gutted the very thing that previously kept college…well, if not CHEAP, then certainly a potential dream. No more. My college president recently had this to say about rising tuition costs:

"What we do know is that Michigan’s investment in higher education will significantly decline in the coming years. Two decades ago, state appropriations comprised 60 percent of CMU’s funding. Today, it comprises just 22 percent. "

There ya go. A 38% drop in state funding since the beginning of the Engler administration. Oh, and he's to blame too, the miserable fuckin' dick, but at least he had the excuse of BEING a miserable fuckin' dick to begin with. He never made any bones about working to fuck the poor any chance he got…a good, honest politician was ole' Johnny E. But Granholm comes along and plays a shell game with parents - Look here, it's the University's fault! No, look here, it's the greedy faculty's fault! - and while you're hypnotized by the speed of her right-hand machinations, secretly her left hand was stripping away another 3%.

You wanna keep college a dream for the less-fortunate? Give 'em a chance to break the fuck out and escape? Tell your friggin' Congressman and Senator to stop sending bills to the Governor wiping out college appropriations. Otherwise, face the facts: college is expensive, and that's that. The day I'd support a tuition freeze is the same day I'd support a freeze on ALL costs and salaries. Oh, wait, Tricky Dick already TRIED that, didn't he? How'd THAT work out?

Kiss Tickets!

2009-08-20T20:10:00.009-05:00

(Overzealous single mom to sincere but potheaded son):

"You take my hard earned money…and you and your idiot friends spend it on Kiss tickets?? KISS TICKETS?!?" (- Mrs. Bruce, from Detroit Rock City)

Yes, that's right friends and neighbors, thanks to the magic of the internet and advance ticket sales, I now have two (count 'em, 2!) slices of concert gold that will admit me and bro-in-law Joel to the following:

Ahhh…the fabled Cobo Hall, where the make-or-break Kiss Alive! was partially recorded in early 1975. The album from which I learned to drum, perched on my tower of shiny vinyl cushions teetering precariously on my bed. Wait, I can supply a photo of those, too, I just realized…

Nice, eh? Bicentennial specials, those…prob'ly ran my mom all of $14.95 for the set. Anyway, imagine those three stacked on my bed, me flailing around and two of my friends with tennis rackets (or brooms, who really cared?) and the curtains closed and a colored lightbulb in my 7-Up can light…

and all's basically right with the world as we rocked out to 4 sides of LP heaven. *sigh*

Of course, I spent a lot of time a year or so ago frantically decrying everything about the "new" Kiss lineup. I swore that, having sat in the 2nd row and met them backstage, I'd never go back to the nosebleeds. I didn't have any interest in Tommy Thayer as a stand-in for Ace Frehley, singing Ace's songs and playing Ace's solos note for note like some sort of goddamn machine.

Then, Kiss went and did the unthinkable.

They recorded a new album…

And I said "WHAT?!?" And I answered, "Well, apparently so, according to the information!" (I often have these little conversations with myself. I do SO love good conversation!) And the details coming out of the Kiss camp were designed to hype and intensify anticipation: "It's our best album in 30 years." "It's Rock and Roll Over meets Love Gun" (two classic back-to-back Kiss LPs from 1976/77). "It'll be out this fall." And then suddenly BLAMMO! I log onto KissOnline.com on Monday and there's a clip of new music, and the album title, the artwork, and best of all, an announcement that Kiss would play Cobo one last time before it closes. And I said "Oh, I gotta be there!" And now I will be. I got tickets in section A-5, row 1, seats 1 and 2. Which, if you look at this handy-dandy li'l chart here…

puts us in the front row of the lower bowl about halfway out. Far enough to not have to be staring at the stage from the side, but close enough to see shit. UP. CLOSE.

For those of you who care (and if you've read THIS far you must, right?), the album is called Sonic Boom, and the artwork was done by beloved RaRO artist Michael Doret. First time he's worked with Kiss since 1976, and frankly I think he hit it outta the park once again…

Sewer Repair

2009-08-12T13:35:00.015-05:00

If a photo's worth a thousand words…here's a several-thousand word essay:

Tearing away the (rotten) planter railings.

Let's dig, boys!

Cutting the street open.

The culprit: smashed orangeburg pipe!

Bye-bye, driveway slab!

ker-SPLAT! You know the operator got wet when THAT baby flopped over!

A new poop-pipe!

Tying into the city main line.

Quite an operation.

Almost 6 hours later, and almost done. Amazing.

Gratuitous eye-candy. :-)

Water, Water Everywhere

2009-08-08T09:35:00.004-05:00

When we moved in on Easter Sunday in 2003, I eyed with suspicion and unease the 4-inch hole in my basement floor. It just kind of sat there, unblinking, looking ominous, but not quite malevolent. I looked down it and could see water somewhere down there, my reflection wavering back at me from the dank depths beneath my basement floor. Two pipes ran into this hole: the condensation runoff from our furnace, and a black plastic tube from the work-sink right next to the hole. I never used the sink down there, and I figured the furnace wouldn't give off enough water to be a concern. And so, for the next 6+ years, I pretty much forgot about it.

Fast-forward to Wednesday night. Mom is here helping me paint the porch, and we took consecutive showers, tired and achy after a long day of painter's contortions. I happened to go down to the basement to empty the dehumidifier (I've saved gallon jugs over the years, and I dump that water into the jugs to use on the flowers and tomatoes in the summer.), and was horrified to witness water coming up out of my ominous floor-hole. SHIT! But, as I watched, it receded back down the hole. Hmmm. Maybe the City cleared a fire hydrant somewhere up the line? I ran the dishwasher later that night with no ill results, and so I put it…not OUT of my mind, but at least off the front burner.

Thursday night I did the same thing: dumped the dehumidifier water after two showers. Whoops! There's the water out of that hole again…seeming to prove that, yes indeed, it was connected to our city sewer line, and the volume of water was what contributed to the overflow. I thought uneasily about all the toilet paper and turds we've been putting down there over the years, and I called the Roto-Rooter people first thing on Friday.

"Chad" came over Friday morning with his…Rooter-y thing, and a camera on a cable. He snaked the drain first, looking for roots I guess, even though there are no trees on that side of our house. He called me back down to look through his camera viewer, and was aghast discover that we have a type of outflow pipe called "orangeburg." Orangeburg pipe is basically a tar-coated wood-pulp-and-cardboard kind of thing, which while root-resistant and fairly dense, does NOT hold up well to external pressures. Like rocks, and tons of dirt on top of it. Chad told me that lots of St. Johns houses have this shit as their sewer outflow pipe, and once it's crushed - as was painfully obvious by all the bumps and obstructions we could see on his cable-cam - it's useless. He actually fed his camera far enough (about 40 feet, well out under Lansing Street) for us to behold a horrifying sight: a complete blockage of dirt, with a smallish hole drilled through it…that, the result of his Rooter claw. Oh. SHIT! And speaking of which: WHERE HAS ALL OUR SHIT GONE FOR THE LAST 7 YEARS?!? I don't even want to contemplate. He basically said that the entire length had to be replaced, from under our crawlspace to the middle on Lansing St., where it hooks into the city main line. Cost? Seven grand.

I guess that's okay: we'll get new PVC outflow, impervious to roots and unchrushable, as well as a new copper water IN line to replace the flaky galvanized that's probably been poisoning us since we moved in. And, they'll be done in a day, so it's not like we'll have to be without plumbing for a week or whatever. We also have the dough: Miss Tessmacher is a hardliner when it comes to keeping money in the bank for just this kind of unforseen event. So all in all, it'll be a good fix. But still…where has the shit been going?

Now with that problem solved, or about to be solved, I'm sitting here blogging while I try to ignore all the water that's seeping into our basement from around the foundation. We've been rain-less for I don't know HOW long, and the skies opened up last night, pounding us with an incredible deluge for hours. Our house drainage system is pretty good - eave troughs and downspouts abound - but the volume of water coming down has thwarted simply everything, and the overflowing eaves are creating waterfalls right down next to the house…where, naturally, all that water can't saturate the packed-dry earth quickly enough, so now I'm gonna have to go get the fuckin' shop vac (which, incidentally, is full of DRY materiel right now) and spend the day trying to keep on top of the water. I finally have everything of importance down there in plastic bins or up off the floor, but still…I fuckin' HATE water where it doesn't belong, man! I also, being an anal-retentive kind of guy, hate things I can't control, and rain pretty much tops that list. Shit.

Ah well. At least we had three days of low-humidity and pleasant sunshine. They were good paintin' days, and I do love watching all that rain water bead up on the top rails of our porch.

Band/Song Meme

2009-08-04T16:40:00.004-05:00

Stolen from Stinkbumps, although I've seen it on many a Facebook page as well…

The rules:

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions.
Consider yourself tagged, but post a comment to let me know you've done it.
You can't use the band I used.
Try not to repeat a song title.

Pick your Artist
Kiss

Are you a male or female?
All-American Man

Describe yourself.
Just A Boy

How do you feel?
Almost Human

Describe where you currently live.
A World Without Heroes

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Somewhere Between Heaven And Hell

Your favorite form of transportation?
Rocket Ride

Your best friend is…
Mr. Blackwell

You and your friends are…
Flaming Youth

What's the weather like?
Rain

Favorite time of day?
Turn On The Night

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
Psycho Circus

What is life to you?
Not For The Innocent

Your last relationship?
Sweet Pain

Your fear?
Creatures Of The Night

What is the best advice you have to give?
Rock And Roll All Nite

Thought for the day?
What Makes The World Go 'Round

How I would like to die:
Uh! All Night

Middle-Aged Metal Mayhem

2009-08-01T12:35:00.008-05:00

A week late, but what they hey--who's countin', right? Anyway…as promised, a review of my lovely night spent with Mr. Joel and three bands I love.

First up: the seats. Ever since I saw Kiss from the 2nd row, I've really felt unable to go back to the nosebleed seats. And, at Pine Knob, that means NO LAWN! The lawn is fine for good-timey music with a big crowd - think Ringo Starr, or Huey Lewis - but for anything I actually care about, I need to be up close. So, when tix went on sale back in May, I grudgingly ponied up the dough to join the Def Leppard fan club, just to get access to the pre-sale. If you haven't bought concert tix in awhile, that's basically how it works. If you wait until the "general public" onsale date, you're screwed. (In this case, "general public" meaning either "those who don't care where they sit," or "ignorant sheep.") I ended up with 12th-row tix, which is a LOT closer than I imagined it might be. Probably about 30 feet from the stage, on the right-hand side. Close enough to know that I could make eye contact with important band members, and know that I personally was being seen. Which, if you're a fanboy, is really what it's all about. Remind me to tell you sometime about Gene Simmons laughing at me. Good fanboy moment, that.

Anywho. Three bands, all of whom I love dearly: Cheap Trick, Poison, and Def Leppard. That was the performance order, with CT getting about 35 minutes of stage time, Poison about and hour, and Def Lep about an hour & a half. But, for the review, I'll go in reverse order of preference.

Bobby Dall, Brett Michaels, C.C. DeVille, Rikki Rockett

I love Poison. I really do. Unapologetically, unguiltily, and without remorse. I first discovered Poison in the heyday of hair metal, opening up for Ratt. That's right. The Ratt-Poison tour. (*groan*) They are they ultimate expression of style over substance, a feel-good cacaphony of two-fingered power chords and hooky choruses. I've seen them live 4 times: in 1987 as Ratt's opener, in 1988 as the headliner, in 2006 as the headliner, and last Friday. And…I basically never need to see them again. They just felt…well, Joel described it best. When they were done and had left the stage, Joel turned to me and said "That was really cheesy." And you know what? He was totally right. The songs are still the songs I love: Look What the Cat Dragged In, Talk Dirty to Me, Nothin' but a Good Time…but sandwiched between the classy Cheap Trick and the awesomely rock-&-roll Def Leppard, they were just…cheesy. With an extra helping of cheese. And cheese for dessert. Maybe it's that unwatchably shitty series that lead singer Brett Michaels "stars" in, or maybe it's just that classy and awesome trump cheesy every time. Whatever the case, I now know I don't need to get excited when I hear that Poison's coming around.

Rick Nielson, Tom Petersson, Bun E. Carlos, Robin Zander

Cheap Trick is, ostensibly, my second-favorite band in the world. And that's really not a disservice to them…it only really speaks to the all-consuming power of my obsession with Kiss. But I love Trick. Seriously: if you're not listening to Cheap Trick, and you have ANY kind of rock-&-roll in ya at all, you're missing out. I consistently tell my classes that Cheap Trick is the greatest band in the world that they're not listening to, and I mean it. And far from being a has-been "legacy" band that tours on the strength of their heyday hits (Hello? Poison? Phone call for ya!), Trick has been pretty consistent about putting out new releases every few years. To wit: Trick was the ONLY band Friday night touring on the strength of a new album, The Latest, which literally came out three weeks ago. So, having only seen CT once before, I was kinda there to see them most of all. And they SO did not disappoint! They looked great, they sounded great, and they proved that glistening power-pop and quirky lyrics really DO have a place in the universe. I'll stop slobbering all over them now, but maybe my next post will be a "must-have" list of Trick songs to hear, for the uninitiated.

Phil Collen, Rick Allen, Joe Elliott, Vivian Campbell, Rick Savage

I'd never seen Def Leppard before, without quite knowing why. Lep has loomed large on my listening radar ever since Pyromania came out in 1983. Def Lep really led the pack of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal in the '80s, and I've been a pretty faithful follower…just, never seen 'em live before. The best thing I can say is this: from the moment they hit the stage, they proved why they were the headliners that night. Before the show I was regretting that Cheap Trick wasn't going to do a 2-hour set, but Lep immediately showed me that I didn't need to be sorry. The only complaint I had about their show was that bassist Rick Savage's sound was too heavy in the mix…otherwise, they were a sheer pleasure to behold. Joe Elliott was in fine voice, and the dual-guitar assault of Viv Campbell and Phil Collen was a sonic masterpiece. I was especially interested to see what one-armed drummer Rick Allen looked like live, and he didn't disappoint. After losing his left arm in a car accident way back in the mid-'80s, he's used a melange of live drums and triggered pads, using his right foot for the bass drum, his left foot for the snare, and his right arm for most of the stuff in between. My friend Eric once commented snarkily that Allen lost his arm, but you'd never know it from the way he drums. He meant it to be an insult, but I thought Allen was a monster behind his set. If you've loved Leppard from the start, but have never seen them live, please: treat yourself. They WON'T disappoint!

The audience was, naturally, a weird mixture of middle-aged people of varying weights and stages of hair-loss, their kids, and slutty late-teen/early-20-something girls. And in spite of that odd makeup, we all had a grand time. So go. Relive the music of your youth. And be sure to make a two-fingered devil-horn salute while you crank it up to 11.

Ready to Rock & Roll

2009-07-22T20:40:00.003-05:00

At first, Miss Tessmacher and I (and the Rozzle, natch!) were set to visit Aunt 'Da and Unca Joel in Ann Arbor. But, Tess only just returned from her summer teaching gig Up North, and she's a little tired of traveling. SO. We're gonna do it THIS way: Aunt 'Da will come up HERE to visit with her sis, and I will head south to A2 to hang with Unca Joel. Y'know what that means? Plenty of record shopping, beer drinking, perhaps a smoke of the hooka, and then Friday night, bay-bah…

Cheap Trick.

Poison.

Def Leppard.

Rock and fuckin'-a ROLL!

(Did I…mention we have 12th-row seats???)

It'll be pure, unadulterated, middle-aged metal mayhem. I am…SO looking forward to this. A review when I return.

My Support Can Be Bought

2009-07-17T14:26:00.002-05:00

I would like to go on record as being a proud, patriotic sponsor of the effort to eliminate the Frilly-Ringed Avian Underbrush Doohickey. For years I've proselytized about the need to do away with FRAUD, as it simply is a nuisance everywhere it pops up. It is an exceedingly dangerous and invasive species, not natural to North America, and I believe we should work to eradicate FRAUD with extreme prejudice. Toward that end, I am offering my substantial clout to You, dear reader. If you would like my help in doing away with FRAUD, I would proudly give You and/or Your Organization my endorsement. I will put together ads targeted directly at FRAUD, and send out multiple emails to help educate a wide audience about the abuse of FRAUD to our natural landscape. I have at my disposal 25,000 email addresses, and would gladly contact these people on your behalf at a cost of $1.39 per name, or $34,750 to implement the program.

OH! Oh, shit, wait…you don't want to pay the money? Oh. Well then. Ahem.

Dear Friends of FRAUD,

Having just discovered that my get-rich-quick scheme was flushed down the shitter by my intended dupes, I realize that I am willing to forego any scruples or even the slightest modicum of good moral standing and offer my services to you instead. I'll go on record as admitting that I was taken in by untruthful claims by those seeking to eliminate FRAUD, in exchange for which you promise not to use the press as a tool to fuck my ass, okay? I realize that I'm being a total two-faced money-whore here, but what the fuck: it happens all the time, right? I mean, if *I* didn't do it, someone else would! Er…yeah.

(Sound ridiculous? Then head on over to the American Conservative Union and see the kind of ham-fisted duplicity those total whack-knobs are engaged in. That drooping flag sigil? That's a pretty fair summation of their scruples.)

2

2009-07-16T15:34:00.008-05:00

Two years?? Two fuckin' YEARS?!? Whoa. I don't even WANNA know how THAT happens!

Seems more like two weeks ago that Tess woke me up in the middle of the night, claiming to have felt a *pop!* and wondered if it was her water breaking. The subsequent trip to the hospital…the confirmation that, yes indeed, that is amniotic fluid…the crashing realization: HOLY SHIT. We are having a baby. Like, today. The long wait for worthwhile contractions to show up…the pitocin to help 'em along…the labor and delivery that Tess, miracle woman that she is, accomplished with ZERO pain-management medication…and, finally, that beautiful face squalling into the world. Surely, that was only two weeks ago, right?

I remember so well being terrified of changing a diaper, for fear that I'd somehow fuck it up. Now, I wonder when her diapers, so fluffy and white and pure on arrival, came to look sort of mottled and scrungy, even when newly-laundered.

I remember so well the feel of her in the crook of my arm, falling asleep in the throes of a milk-coma. Now, I wonder when she got so big that she just…WALKS everywhere, and when she does want me to carry her, I can only go a block or so before my arms give out.

I remember so well her tiny cries, thinking about what her voice would sound like when she finally talked. Now, she just up and TELLS me shit: "I want a breakfast bar!", or, "Want to go outside play in sandbox!"

The Rozzle. No longer a baby. ALWAYS my baby. Feast yer eyes…

An Independence Day dress, complete with festive coronet.

Swimming with G at Interlochen.

Mesmerized by the opera singers.

"Hey, I'm big enough for this thing now!"

Coaxing her to blow out her candles.

ETA: I forgot to mention that, for those of you who either have way too much time on your hand, OR cannot get enough of The Rozzle…Papa has loaded lots of video onto YouTube. Search "brucepmiller" and you'll get almost more than you bargained for!

Scott's Workout Tips: Mowing

2009-07-13T14:43:00.003-05:00

If you're even a casual reader of this blog, you know that I hate exercising. Oh, I'll do it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Running, strength training…*yawn*. I know my body appreciates it, but my spirit is always a little dampened when I actually face the doing of it. On the other hand, I really enjoy being physically active. I'd rather do something physical, that has a point, as opposed to just mindless repetitions. Walking (to get somewhere), bike-riding (to get somewhere), chopping wood (to get…well, to get chopped wood)…this is all exercise of a sort, and I'd far prefer to do any of these things as my "physical activity" and leave the running to marathoners.

Given that, here are some tips for mowing:

1) If possible, avoid gas-powered mowers altogether. Get a reel mower. Cost ya - at most - a couple'a hundred bucks, but after that, yer done. No gas to buy, no oil to buy…just the seasonal treatment with WD-40 or some other rust inhibitor. Plus the occasional blade sharpening. GREAT workout. Plus, good for the environment.

2) If you must have a gas mower - as do I - maximize your workout by NOT gripping the handle tightly. This comes courtesy of a book titled The Workout by Gunnar Peterson. He advises, when doing any dumbbell work, to only grip the 'bells as tightly as you need to in order to control them. Too tight a grip moves the exercise potential to your hands and wrists, and not to your biceps or triceps. Same deal with the mower handle: only grip it as tightly as you need to to control where you're going. By doing that, you move the area being "worked" to your bi- and triceps, and to your pectorals. Good strength training.

3) Don't have a riding mower. You should be able to hand-mow your lawn in, I guess at most, a couple of hours. If you have so much grass that you "need" a riding mower…plant some trees. What, are you a feudal English lord, that you need acres and acres of grass? Get real. Give yourself enough space for a badminton net, maybe some horseshoe pits…but otherwise, let 'er grow. Nothin' bugs me like seeing some faux-brick-front McMansion fronted by 300' of grass, ain't no one ever uses. Ugh. Life's too short to mow that much. Plant a garden, sow some wildflower seeds…ANYTHING other than just an endless plain of July-burnt, cut-too-short grass.

4) If you have the "power-assist" option…don't use it. I'll admit, when I first started mowing our yard after we moved in, I was happy to have the power-assist. After that first summer, though, I'd built up the strength not to need it. Which is good, 'cause it broke. Anyway…push with your legs, push with your arms, don't grip the handle too tight…make it a WORKOUT, dammit!

5) An iPod whose battery-charge window reads "empty" still has enough juice for at least an hour of raucous classic rock. Journey, Thin Lizzy, Boston…these will all play. Loudly. Try bustin' out some, I dunno, Ani DiFranco…chances are it ain't just a dead battery, it's yer iPod goin' on strike. (This last for the sly poke at KAT, if she ain't to busy moving to actually sit her ass down and read some blogs.)

'Kay. Go mow. Get sweaty. And for heaven's sake…TAKE A SHOWER!

We The People

2009-07-04T19:32:00.004-05:00

"We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by the authority of the good people of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as free and independent states, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor."

Finally Found What I'm Looking For

2009-06-28T12:47:00.002-05:00

One of my big hangups with politics is that I really want a civil engagement with someone who thinks differently than I do. This, in an era of talking heads yammering away on the Sunday-morning talk-show circuit, is incredibly difficult to achieve. But, I think I've finally done it.

What happened is this: one evening a few weeks ago I was wasting time while Miss Tessmacher was on the phone, and I got to entering names into Google. You do that, right? The narcissearch? Try it sometime…see what your web presence is really like. Anywho, I ended up entering my dad's name, and lo and behold I coughed it up in some guy's blog. Turns out he's a former band student of my dad's from the late-'60s/early-'70s! He brought my dad up as part of a larger political post, and he had nice things to say. Probably nicer things than I'd have to say about Dad, that's for sure! While the man wasn't any kind of abuser to me, he was…distant. I was the "Whoops!" pregnancy, sired on a woman not his wife, and even when we all lived together as a family…he and I just never got along. Part - most? - of that can be blamed perhaps on generational distance. Older than my grandfather, Dad probably couldn't wrap his mind around a son who liked neither hunting nor sports, but instead chose to decorate his room with cut-out pictures of hairy madmen snarling into microphones and doing really loud, unpleasant things with guitars. (Kiss and Twisted Sister, I mean.)

Anyway, I read a few of this guy's blog posts, and I realized I'd found it: someone who was educated, erudite, and fairly well balanced me on the political spectrum. I'm not as far left as a true-blue, quasi-socialist, bleeding-heart ecophile; he's not as far right (or at least doesn't seem to be) as a red-in-the-face, quasi-anarchist, come-to-Jesus Bible-thumper. He blogs nearly every day, and his blog is generally about whatever current political event gets a bee in his bonnet. I did an original comment on his blog about how I found him, said that I agreed with much of what he wrote (in that particular post, anyway), and asked if he'd mind if I kept reading.

Because, you know, alliances at the Capitol aren't really what interest me, nor do I see that kind of very public political back-&-forth as much of a problem-solver. What interests me is frank, respectful discussion among people who basically try to live their lives as best they can, but go about doing so thinking (occasionally, or even usually) very different things.

If you're interested, go read his blog. It's called The Violence Worker, and I've linked to it. I would ask, though, before you read a particular post, you read his Manifesto. I agree with about 85% of what he writes there…which, in my mind, is the more humorous and odd because, just as I was counting down the days, hours and minutes until Bush left office, he's got a counter on his blog for Obama! See what I mean? We're just two dudes, livin' life…lots of the same core beliefs…and yet, still so different.

I believe that those differences define us (meaning ALL of us), but not in a bad way. Understanding where those differences are, and talking about them in a meaningful way, is part of what should define a great society. So go there. I've been treated well. If you post a comment, please: be respectful. THINK.

Farrah Fawcett vs. The Fox

2009-06-25T19:36:00.008-05:00

November 24th, 1991. A death. A death that was mourned by millions, the world over. The death of a hero, to many of us. Someone who was iconic, who came from virtually nothing to conquer the world. Someone who was truly of the era.

And no, I'm NOT talking about the death of Freddie fucking Mercury!

Not that that wasn't bad…a man taken too young, who had so much more to give, and to live. But…that wasn't the death that had me in tears that day. Nope. I mourned for Eric Carr.

Obvious pun notwithstanding, Eric had some VERY big shoes to fill when he took the place of original Kiss drummer Peter Criss. Rather than recycle Peter's makeup (as Kiss has done in recent years), they opted during the early 1980s to create new "characters" to be in the band. Hence: The Fox.

Eric was a tremendous drummer. While I credit Peter with "teaching" me how to play, I listen to '80s-era Kiss and realize that much of my drumming style is also right in line with how Eric played. Heavy. Thunderous, even. It was such a shock to even hear him: while Peter was a one-bass-drum kind of man, Eric pulled Kiss into the '80s with a double-bass setup and enough toms to make even Nick Andopolis green with envy. While the era of Kiss that he played in was at times their worst, it wasn't any fault of his; they (meaning, Gene and Paul) were searching for a post-makeup identity, a look and sound that still said "Kiss," but also fit the era. They succeeded, if only by washing out their originality and joining a faceless parade of hairy headbangers.

I never met Eric, but according to most anecdotal accounts I read he was a gentle, giving soul. Who, oddly, always worried about going bald! As if. Anyway, his role in the band was more akin to "hired gun," and while he never publicly complained of his treatment, I assume it must have rankled to join what was, at the time, still one of the biggest bands in the world, and then basically be told "Sit there, drum, and shut your fuckin' mouth." If only Gene-&-Paul had put Eric's writing and singing talents to good use, the 7 albums that featured him might have a little more oomph. Alas. R.I.P., Eric. I remember you fondly.

June 25, 2009. A death. A death that was mourned by millions, the world over. The death of a hero, to many of us. Someone who was iconic, who came from virtually nothing to conquer the world. Someone who was truly of the era.

And no, I'm NOT talking about the death of Michael fucking Jackson!

Not that that wasn't bad…a man taken too young, who had so much more to give, and to live. But…that isn't the death that has me in tears today. Nope. I mourn for Farrah Fawcett.

Ahhh, that hair, right? The mid-'70s, right there. Just wash with a little Lemon Up, pull that swirly comb outta your back pocket, and feather away. Shaun Cassidy, eat yer heart out.

Farrah was perhaps too much "of" her time. The hair that defined an era, the smile that melted many a dude's heart, the All-American wholesomeness of a fantasy girl-next-door. Even if that girl came into your home every week, courtesy of ABC.

I was stunned to read on IMDb that Farrah was only an Angel for the first full season. No disrespect to Kate or Jaclyn, but man, Jill Munroe was IT for me on the show. Seems like she was in every episode…but, not so.

Despite nearly constant TV work (with some minor films splashed here and there) since that time, Farrah was for all intents done in by her '70s heyday. Even the NPR dude talked about that today: that, despite 3 Emmy nominations, Farrah the actress - perhaps even Farrah the person - always had to compete with Farrah the icon. Alas. R.I.P., Farrah. I remember you fondly.

The Collector In Me

2009-06-21T07:45:00.006-05:00

Cleaning the basement is, for me, a sort of never-ending exercise. Not one of futility, but one that seems to always need completing; I'll go at 'er for awhile, then things will get hectic and pretty soon any previous work is buried under boxes that need breaking down, outsized baby clothes that need putting away, and a host of tools that need organizing. It's work that I enjoy, even though in my heart of hearts I wish that just once I could go down there and see NOTHING that needs organizing. *sigh*

Part of the problem - maybe the biggest part of the problem - is that I am, in the kindest possible description, a collector. Always have been, and to some extent probably always will be. I feel that at least some of this collector-hood must be genetic: my dad didn't really collect stuff, but my mom sure does. She gets into one kick after another, pursues it with almost maniacal purpose, then abandons it at or near completion and moves on to something else. Farber Bros. Krome-Kraft, lead soldiers playing band instruments, bottles, Mego action figures…the list goes on. Some of my collector tendencies also come from stories I've heard my grampa tell all my life: about how, when he was a paperboy in the late '30s, he'd be on his route down by Farmington and see all this "great stuff" that people had put out to the curb to go to the trash. We're talking full, working floor lamps; toasters and radios and all manner of early electronic gadgetry; furniture in varying stages of decay (including none at all); and just really all manner of "treasure." He'd lug some of this home, maybe fix a frayed wire here or clean out a motor there, and pretty soon he'd have a perfectly usable piece of…whatever when he was done. Of course, his mother would scream blue murder at all of this stuff appearing in their house: "Bob! Get that out of here!" And he'd complain that it - whatever "it" was - was perfectly good and shouldn't be thrown away.

That ends up being one of my biggest problems: sometimes I'm less a "collector" and more just a "saver." Because of those stories Gramps would tell, I somehow have it in my subconscious that everything has value. And so I save shit. eBay has been like a godsend for me: once that craze hit, stuff that I normally would have tortured myself about throwing away could easily be disposed of - for money, yet! - by selling at online auction. And those of you who were there know that the early days of eBay were like the wild west: anything went, and I mean anything. Whatever sort of crap you could possibly list and describe, somebody out there wanted it.

Times change though, as does the availability of time itself…to clean items, photograph them, list & sell & pack them. What was once a heyday of "Gotta have that!" has settled down into more rational acquiring, and stuff that used to bring at least a few bucks has once again been relegated to the 50¢ table at your spring yard sale. (Where, no doubt, it's snatched up by someone who thinks "Aha! I'll sell this on eBay!") And, whereas once I lived in an apartment and had tons of free time to sell stuff, now homeownership forces me to mow the lawn and shovel snow and all manner of upkeep, and I rarely have time to list anything of true value, let alone crap that has been gathering dust in the basement for several years.

Which brings me back 'round to collectorhood. I was talking with my best friend the other day, and we each (independently) agreed that, for us, the fun of collecting had started to dim. For him it's a simple decision: he's now facing his 4th move in 3 years, and really, what's the point in packing up literally dozens of 30-gallon totes full of '80s-era G.I. Joe figures? Fuck it. Sell 'em on eBay. (Where he's been making an absolute killing, by the way!) For me it's a little more…I dunno, existential, maybe? I just…have sort of lost the drive. Chalk it up to age, fatherhood, or the aforementioned homeownership; whatever the case, I just don't really get off on having these gargantuan collections anymore. Look at it this way: at one time or another I collected, with varying degrees of fervor:

1) football cards

2) coins

3) comics

4) pewter-&-crystal fantasy figurines

5) records (and CDs, and cassettes…)

6) Avon figural cologne bottles (cars, pipes, you name it)

7) model Corvettes

8) Fawcett Peanuts paperbacks

9) Magic: The Gathering cards

10) action figures

The list could probably go on, but who has the time, eh? Anyway…I'm sure at one time or another there was a logic behind all of those things (well, except the football cards, because I don't even LIKE football!), but changing attitudes about storage and display have forced me to admit that most of this shit is exactly that. The complicating thing about all of these one-time collections is that I am what's referred (kindly or unkindly) to as a "completist," meaning, if I have three of something, I've gotta have 'em all. Bought a record by the band Axe in the early-'80s? Ooohh, gotta have the rest of 'em! Found an interest in toned (i.e., interestingly colored) Lincoln cents? Now they ALL have to be that way! And so on, filling boxes and bookshelves and dresser tops. No more. Miss Tessmacher is a much simpler, more minimalist person, and so I've finally begun to see the light. And to disperse collections to the wind.

Some things are still there, and (I assume) always will be. But the logic behind these things has changed, and so the collections, if not necessarily getting smaller, are at least growing at a MUCH slower pace. For instance:

1) Comics. I've quit buying new issues - after nearly 600 issues and 50 years, how many new Fantastic Four stories are there? - and have focused on going back and reading complete series that I already own. Series that are close to completion - like Tomb of Dracula - get finished off, and when I'm done…who knows? Maybe keep, maybe sell, maybe give to Eric or Joel to read. And store. So now, I don't buy zealously, and I read what comes into the house. What gets read, often gets gone.

2) Records. Like comics, they still serve a general purpose: in this case, listening. But I've abandoned completist tendencies, and now focus on stuff that I simply like. I don't need ALL the Bee Gees albums, because I don't like the flower-power Australio-pop of their first '60s heyday. I basically want Main Course through Bee Gees Live, plus the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.

3) Coins. I haven't actively collected coins in some time. I don't buy "old" coins, I don't go to shows, and I don't search rolls. I pretty much buy the proof set, mint set, and any commemoratives that the Mint puts out each year. Hopefully, these (largely) silver coins will retain some value over the years, and either I or some future inheritor will see a return on the investment.

4) Magic cards. Used to be, I'd need at least one of every card in a set. Well, at 3 sets a year, that's a lotta cards! Now, when Eric & I play, we get a few packs of whatever's new, and then I look through the guidebook to see if there's something I really want to play with. If so, I get on (where else?) eBay and buy just that card.

Ultimately, I still have thousands of comics, coins, and cards in the basement, and hundreds of LPs on the shelves. But by abandoning lots of other dippy collections, and tightening the focus of what I've kept collecting, I've toned down the background noise in our lives, and at least minimized the amount of shit coming through our front door. Besides, who needs to be (almost) 41 and still have his dresser top crowded with glass tchotchke full of stanky cologne??

Summer Music

2009-06-17T12:51:00.003-05:00

NPR did a little bit last evening about summer-specific music. I liked the idea of the article, because I generally listen to music by season. And yes, I really am that anal. Ahem. Anyway, the author of the article focused mostly on what seemed to be slow, steamy classics by Billie Holiday and the like, stuff for when the humidity is high and all you want to do is drink white wine on the front porch. Which, for me, not so much.

I have a regular CD playlist for the summer, which is not only comprised of (surprise!) a lot of heavy rock, but is also geared toward music that I already associate with summer. These are usually releases that happened just toward the end of the school year and then throughout the summer months. Chances are, if you're not already listening to this music, you won't rush right over to iTunes and buy any of this…but, if you're sitting there reading blogs, maybe you've got the kind of free time to go and have a listen. Here, forthwith, are my main summer CDs. Enjoy.

1) Kiss - Love Gun (release date: June 30, 1977) For me, this one is an all-time classic. I was the perfect age to just have all the time in the world to devote to listening to new music, and of course Kiss was IT for me. From the first jangling chords of I Stole Your Love to the last (bizarre) fading riffs of their cover of Then She Kissed Me, this really sums up the hot summer months.

2) Kiss - Dynasty (release date: May 23, 1979) Pretty much the same idea as #1 above. Tons of free time, plenty of adulation of Kiss, and not yet old enough to be concerned that they'd really changed their sound in the ensuing 2 years. They played the Pontiac Silverdome on my birthday that summer, but my mom thought I was too young to go with the big group of my friends who came back with tales of the concert. *sigh* I'm over it now. Really.

3) Cheap Trick - At Budokan (U.S. release date: February, 1979) This album was intended for Japan-only release, but quickly became one of the biggest-selling imports in the U.S. Although it came out in the dead of winter, a slow burn insured that it really hit its peak by summer '79. The song I Want You To Want Me, which Trick had had high hopes for several years earlier, and had basically abandoned for dead, was released in April and spent 19 weeks on the charts, peaking at #7.

4) AC/DC - Back In Black (release date: July 25, 1980) My first big foray into non-Kiss/Cheap Trick music, AC/DC wasn't even a blip on my radar until You Shook Me All Night Long captured the charts. This is quintessential early-teens music to me, and it really sums up that summer. Funny: I heard Have A Drink On Me blasting from the car stereo of some teenagers at the basketball court just the other day…I wonder if the kids really understood that they were proclaiming coolness by listening to music that was just shy of 30 years old.

5) The Beach Boys No specific album comes to mind, but the bulk of BB tunes really signifies summer, right? I started listening in high school, and haven't stopped.

6) Jimmy Buffett - Songs You Know By Heart (release date: January, 1985) Again, a mid-winter release, but for me Buffett is only eclipsed by the Beach Boys as signifyin' the sound of summer. I could really listen to ANYTHING by Buffett, but in spite of other greatest-hits packages that have come out since, this is the one I come back to.

7) Van Halen - VH II (release date: March 23, 1979) Are you seeing a theme here? Lots of stuff from the late-'70s, lots of good solid hard rock. The first VH album was great, but I actually like this one better. Perfect music to cruise the strip…preferably with your T-top open!

8) Mötley Crüe - Saints of Los Angeles (release date: June 24, 2008) Ahh, finally something new! Or…maybe not, once you listen to it. Crüe was all together again, and whatever infighting might have been going on between individual members, I thought they hadn't sounded this good since Dr. Feelgood. Tough, ballsy rock, delivered with that certain touch of "Fuck you!" swagger. Love it.

9) Kiss - Revenge (release date: May 19, 1992) One of the last albums I bought that I really listened to, you know, really learned all the words and just couldn't take out of my cassette player. The best non-makeup version of Kiss - Gene, Paul, Eric Singer and Bruce Kulick - had finally settled on a look and sound that was intense and in-your-face, but still melodic and accessible. Favorite tune? Take It Off. Nice.

10) The B-52's - s/t (release date: July 6, 1979) I wouldn't even begin to listen to stuff like this until the early/mid-'80s, but since then, like the Beach Boys, the 52's have come to epitomize summer. And it's the early stuff like this, as opposed to the "more accessible" sound of Love Shack, that really does it for me.

Son of The Cold That Wouldn't Die

2009-06-16T19:22:00.003-05:00

I was going to blog a week or so ago about THE COLD THAT WOULDN'T DIE (insert your own '50s-era theremin sci-fi music here), but things got hectic and now I'm already on to the sequel.

Because, goddammit, we've been sick in this house for about 4 fucking weeks, and I'm pretty tired of it all.

First, it was The Rozzle who brought croup home from daycare…you know, that place you take your child, and she catches stuff from kids who ought to damn well be kept home, but their parents *apparently* don't have any other options, so they send 'em sick as hell? Yeah. THAT place. Croup is just a virus, and in adults it usually results in nothing more annoying than a cold…which we both promptly got, with accompanying fevers and general malaise. Roz got better, but Tess & I kept up this whole coughing…THING, you know, that for me resulted in bringing up loads of thick green goo from my lungs and upper breathing apparatus. (Mmmm…I could go for some GUACAMOLE right about now!) We were really shaking it in the clean crisp air of Copper Harbor, but now a week later we're both back at it, only this time it's a less productive cough, accompanied by a dry tickle in the back of the throat that no amount of Hall's will satiate. *sigh* Plus, now Roz has been seeping a whitish goo from the corners of her eyes (Guacamole! With a side of hollandaise sauce!), and even though she's not picking or rubbing at them, I decided it was damn well time to go to the doctor.

He immediately confirmed conjuncivitis in her, then took one listen to the two of us hacking and (bless him!) said "I know exactly what's wrong with you, too, and I can prescribe Z-pacs for you both as long as you're here." Bring it. You bring that shit, Doc! He said it was "grixozyprenmumbojumbo pneumonia," which sounds alarming because of that last word, but is really just a bacterial infection. Whatevs. I got me my drugs, and I take a hefty mixture of warmed honey, lemon juice, and Southern Comfort right before bed, and within a day or two I should be ready to roll.

Which is good, because summer colds SUCK anyway, and I'm goin' on the middle of June with nary a really good day since school got out. And, you know, fuck that.

The only other worthwhile news is that some total fucking dimshit, you know, the kind of guy that you just KNOW was standing too close when a big ol' dumb-bomb went off, he torched the big fantasy forest playground where Roz goes every day. And while the damage was relegated to only one of the towers, it still burnt that bitch to a crisp, and you know, WHAT THE FUCK?!? Who burns the goddamn playground? RRRRRGGGGHHH! Makes me itch, is what it does. Pfagh.

Then & Now…34 Years Apart

2009-06-10T13:41:00.006-05:00

Miss Tessmacher and I recently returned from our anniversary trip. After our 1st anniversary, we decided to forego giving each other a bunch of shit (i.e., "gifts") and take the opportunity to actually go someplace, which we rarely do otherwise. It's not that we're stoic homebodies…but, I suspect in large part because of me, we do tend to hang around the house a lot. I didn't grow up really being a "goer" and am typically happiest just farting around the house. (Blogging, apparently!) But our anniversary provided a nice excuse to shake things up, and push me out of my rut…trips that I now really look forward to.

We also chose to switch off every year in terms of planning; to wit, she decides what we do on the even years, and I get the off years. The 5th, which should have been more of a big deal, was kind of downplayed because of our pregnancy; I was massively restoring our stairway and upstairs hall that summer, and to lessen any risk of lead paint exposure, Tess moved to her parents for a few weeks. That anniversary I picked her up at her parents' house, endured many good-natured jibes to "have her home early!", and we went to a simple dinner…after which, yes, I dropped her off just as if it was a date and headed home by myself. *sigh!*

So, I wanted to do something pretty special this year. I tend to follow the goofy gift themes for anniversaries; you know, the first is the "Paper Anniversary," 2nd is "Cotton," etc. This year happened to be the "Copper" anniversary, so I planned a trip - where else? - up to the tip of Michigan: Copper Harbor.

I'd been camping there in the summer of 1975, but hadn't been there since. We had a grand time, staying at the Keweenaw Mountain Lodge, which was built in the late-'30s under the Civil Works Administration. I chose that spot as it sits at the trailhead of an extensive system of hiking & biking trails all over the area. We got up in the mornings, ate a simple breakfast, then headed out for hikes of anywhere from 5 to 8 miles…usually accompanied by vertical drops of 400 or 500 feet. It was cool but exhilarating, and I loved it. We ate all the fresh Lake Superior fish we could order, and spent cozy evenings drinking good wine in front of a fire…watching all the "bad" satellite TV we could stand. (I include in that statement the Biography Channel feature on Abba.)

One part of our visit took us to Fort Wilkins, built in the mid-1840's to facilitate "neighborly relations" between copper-rush Whites and the Chippewas from whom the U.S. government had stolen - er, purchased the land. When the copper boom busted the fort was closed, reopening briefly after the Civil War. Below are two pictures of me taken at the fort: the first, from 1975, shows me at age 7, with a healthy young boy's fascination with large weaponry. The second was taken last week, 34 years later, not quite coincidentally at the same spot, and from the same angle.

Nice, eh? Funny, how time flies…

Family, Conservatives, and Email Ettiquette

2009-05-26T19:20:00.008-05:00

So. I've been getting a couple of email forwards from a quasi-distant family member over the last week. I say "quasi-distant" in part because he's my blood-aunt's husband, and I went to their wedding in 1992, so it's not like I have any sort of lifelong attachment going on here. He's a nice guy, and he's married to my aunt, and he's family. "Quasi-distant" also refers to the fact that I see him, at the most, 2 or 3 times a year. Always on Independence Day, and usually a time or two again before the next one rolls around. Get it? We're close, but I don't consider him "inner circle" of family.

He's also ridiculously right-wing. I don't mean that he's ridiculous, because in my experience he carries on a good conversation and, to his everlasting credit, actually LISTENS when I shoot holes through the nutjob theories he gets from 1) his church, and 2) Rush Limbaugh. But, he's that kind of ridiculously right-wing…the kind of person who thinks that Limbaugh is actually delivering the news, and not whack-a-mole weirdness that is one step removed from National Enquirer status. And so, these are the emails I've been getting: über-conservative conspiracy theories, Gingrichian sour-grapes rants, and rah-rah "patriotic" pro-American diatribes. Of course, they're not really emails per se…they're sent to everyone in his email directory, probably something that HE got sent, and so on, back and back, to some untraceable "family values" conservative think-tank. (Question: do they call it a "think-tank" because they want to do the thinking, and just want you to shut the fuck up and blindly follow?)

I should leave these alone, but fuck it: you gonna send that shit down the pipeline, into my email inbox, well then you gotta pay the fiddler, buddy. So I basically took these two things, tore 'em apart line by line, and appended a little truth. But of course, I didn't just reply to my uncle. Ohhh, NOOOOO! Did I hit "reply to all"? You bet I did. 'Cause, fuck it. Why should I be on the receiving end of all that wicked bullshit, and just quietly delete it? Read or unread, that shit's gotta stop. I figured, "I'll stop replying to all this crap the moment I stop getting it!" Which only makes sense, right? Can't reply to what you don't get.

Anywho…I started getting a couple of replies to MY reply, someone else on Unc's email list, asking how the hell this "crazy lib" got his email address, telling me to get a job and leave him alone, yadda yadda. So of course I replied to THOSE as well, stirring the hornet's nest in a much more respectable way than he did. (Haven't you noticed that about crazy libs? We actually have respect for ALL people! Imagine.) His second email was even more hilarious: since he couldn't argue the truth I'd presented (not worth going into here, but trust me, the original emails were easily-disproven lies), he started going on about God and country, telling me about all his family who died in W.W.II, on and on and on.

This is my new motto with stuff like this: never back down, never shut up, and never go away. I'm tired of people putting crappy lies and all sorts of weird stuff out into the air, especially in the pseudo-anonymous way that email and the web encourages. I will be unrelenting, and I will make sure that people who spread this garbage know that at least ONE person out there will have a different opinion, and will shout it loudly from the rooftops via wireless transmitters everywhere.

The New Computer

2009-05-25T12:48:00.008-05:00

So, one of the things Miss Tessmacher and I decided we needed was a new computer. We'd been dealing with a nearly-8-year-old Mac desktop of what I always called the "half-basketball" variety since early 2003…

and it had really hit its last legs, oh, probably about a year ago. It had a 75 gig hard drive, which seemed so comically monumental in 2003 that I uttered the cursed phrase of computer users everywhere: "God, why is it so BIG, I'll NEVER fill it!" Since about 2006, of course, I've been moving lots of little-used song files, photos, and other big memory-eaters onto the Lacie hard drive, but by early this winter it had become depressingly apparent that even with all of that - and a Spring Cleaning thrown in to boot! - the computer just wasn't makin' it anymore. I was going to wait until the END of the summer to take the plunge with a new machine, but it turned out we had the dough in the bank so we just decided to go for it. Here's our new machine:

Notice how nice & clean the desk is? (I actually had to take it apart and rebuild it, as it had swayed & the back fell out.) Needless to say, it doesn't look like that anymore.

Now, when I'm working in Finale, instead of trying to enter a note, getting the little color spinny wheel, then the note appears, then click to enter another note, color spinny wheel, etc., I click and enter notes as fast as I want. It has a ridiculous amount of memory again: almost 600 gigs, which I'll NEVER use in a million years! Uh…remind me of that in 6 or 7 years, okay? It runs at 2.93 GHz, making it almost twice as fast as the old machine. The screen, at 24", rivals the size of our television. And, the keyboard is this tiny little thing…I actually ordered a new one, 'cause I really use the numeric keypad when I'm entering grades.

All in all, it's a great machine, and we're loving it. And now, with the Time Machine function, I'll never have to shift stuff over by hand in order to transfer to the NEXT new machine! So, we're good to go. Yay us!

The Phone Bitch

2009-05-22T12:40:00.003-05:00

In my last post, I wrote that I really hate talking on the telephone. I'm not sure when this came to be, exactly. Part of it might simply be chalked up to generational divide: to wit, I was born only a few years after "long distance" was still considered exotic. My mom can relate funny stories about calling home from college (Mt. Pleasant to Bay City, or about 60 miles all told…so, not exactly the continental divide, right?) and hearing my grandma in an absolute flurry on the other end: "Bob? BOB! Quick, come in the house, it's Sandy, calling long distance!" And he'd run in, and they'd each try to cram an ear to the receiver - something more easily done on those hefty wall-mount phones of the early-'60s - and talk for maybe 4 or 5 minutes, then rush off to get second jobs because, presumably, that one call cost like a billion gajillion dollars. Or something.

So, when I came along in the late-'60s, I inherited THAT kind of attitude about the phone. Each house had one; you used it, like an ironing board, for a specific purpose, and then you put it away. Cartoon silliness aside, no one really ever surfed on an ironing board, right? You used it for what it was for, and in the case of the phone, you called every once in awhile to check in, or to quickly make an appointment, and that was it. Here are some phun phone phacts that relate to the way I grew up with telephony:

1) You didn't own your phone: Ma Bell did. There were no "phone stores," and you couldn't walk into Sears and buy, say, a Mickey Mouse phone. You moved in, you used a NEIGHBOR'S phone to call Ma Bell (or you went to the local office in person), and they asked you if you wanted a wall-mount or a "standard," and what color (pretty much limited to black, olive, brown, and black).

2) When my mom bought and refinished an antique wall-phone (the kind with a separate earpiece and mouthpiece), she ran an extra line and installed it herself. When we moved from that house, Ma Bell tried to get the phone from her: since she "couldn't" own it, it must by default have been theirs. (She kept the phone. It still works, and hangs in her dining room.)

3) When making a local call, you only had to input the last digit of the prefix, then the 4-digit number. Thus, I learned most numbers of friends by only 5 digits: to call Eric, I dialed 26264. This, believe it or not, still worked well into my '80s heyday with the phone: my friend Susan had the unbelievably easy-to-remember number 22446.

4) When I was in high school - HIGH SCHOOL! - and made a long distance call, the operator would actually break in after you'd dialed the number and ask you for your number…so they knew who to bill it to. A not-quite-friend taught me to give a different number to the operator, that way you could talk on the phone as long as you wanted…for free! Yayyy, free! Naturally, the person whose number I was actually giving called the phone company about these ridiculous charges; the phone company called the person I'D been calling and asked "Do you know anyone in (name of town)?"; and thus, it all came back to me. In a corporate gesture that wouldn't even be contemplated today, let alone put into action, the woman who talked to my parents about all this asked if she could basically scare the shit out of me with threats of juvvie, etc. Then, having reduced me to tears, she forgave the entire bill. WOW.

As a grade-schooler the phone was simply a kind of walkie-talkie: I'd ring Eric, ask to come over, and hang up. Why waste time? By high school, though, that waste of time was exactly what I craved, and Susan and I would spend hours - I kid you not, hours! - on the phone in the evenings, delving into the kind of meticulously detailed drama that would make a Desperate Housewife shed tears of boredom. When I was chasing Y., I discovered that calling from home was long-distance…but calling from the phone BOOTH was a 10¢ local call. Boom! Drive down to the public phone - literally a booth, by the way - insert one thin dime, and talk for as long as we wanted. Crazy. I was, in the term we used at the time, a Phone Bitch.

And I think that's what happened: I had my entire life's phone conversations in one go, a 5-year period from 8th grade through senior year. In college the phone reverted back to a hook-up device: whose house are we drinking at tonight? And then hang up, buy beer, and go. Since then things have only gotten worse, especially with email being so easy to use. Look at me: I'd rather waste time by sitting here typing for 30 minutes, than I would by calling a friend I haven't spoken to in years. (Sorry, Brent. Miss you! I was just listening to Hagar the other day, and I thought of you…call me! Leave a message!) I'm incredibly lucky to have tolerant friends who know I mean no disrespect to either them or the friendship by not returning calls. (Mike! Sorry I missed the "guy night" last Saturday…I was alone with Roz for the weekend. Oh, and happy anniversary from a few weeks ago! Call me! Leave a message!) I even tell my students not to call me, although with their obsessive yammering on cordless phones, that's actually a life-saver. But, I literally say those words in class on syllabus day: "I hate the phone, and if you call my office I probably won't answer it, and if you leave a message I probably won't return the call. Just…email me."

Sometimes it's the interruption: calls seem to come in right when I'm working on perfecting my hydrogen fuel-cell, and before I can get off the line that last equation slips out of my head and there I am, back at square one. Or, they come at the end of the day, when I'm pooped and just want to guzzle wine and watch movies. My mom always apologizes for catching me in these moments, and she's actually someone I enjoy talking to! It's my voice that gives it away: I'm wooden and unanimated on the phone, and I don't know why. In person I'm quite lively and energetic, but the phone just puts a damper on that for some reason.

Maybe that's why blogging appeals to me?

Creaking Back to Life

2009-05-21T15:32:00.008-05:00

…with a meme! So much going on, most of it good, but there'll be time for catchup later. I stole this meme from Jenn-Jenn, several posts ago. It's short, it's sweet, and best of all, it's easy fodder. Read on, and worship me…worship me…worship me…

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yep. My first name is my dad's middle, and my middle name is my grandpa's first. I was "illegitimate," so when my dad found out what my mom named me, he was really pissed! And, actually, my LAST name is my mother's maiden name…which in turn is HER biological father's name (not the grandpa I grew up with), going back to my great-grandmother's first marriage in the '20s to Guy Harding. So, I cover a lotta ground!

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Oh, last night, watching Dominique Bretodeau feed chicken oysters to the grandson he was just getting to know. If you have to ask…don't bother.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? All-caps printing, that's for me. Although I hold my pen funny, so I don't care much for writing; I try to type, and if I can't, I use a shorthand that I began developing in Jr. High. Convenient: kept people from borrowing my notes! Although, I once turned in a handwritten exam in grad school like that…the prof, bless his heart, called me in and asked me to read it out loud. I did, and he gave me the "A." *whew!*

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Hard salami.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? One, Roslyn.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Oh, yeah! I'm the life of the PARTY, bay-bah!

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Re-read the answer to #6, and figure it out for yourself.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Nope. I'm Gen-X, man…first sign of a throat infection, SHOOMP! Out they go, to be replaced by all the ice cream and sherbet I could gulp.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? 10 years ago? Probably not. Now? Yes, if accompanied by either 1) Mike, 2) Mac, or 3) Eric.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Lately I've been eating a lot of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch!, mostly because it's tasty and easy. Honesty forces me to admit, though, that my TRUE fave would have to be Lucky Charms.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? If they have laces, yes.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I'll take this at face (physical) value and say no, not particularly. I'm pretty good for endurance, though.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? All of it, but I tend to go back to either Chunky-Monkey or Cookie Dough.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Well, again, honesty: I'm a guy, so it's usually tits. Although this tends to backfire when I'm walking toward a really fat dude.

15. RED OR PINK? I actually look good in BOTH, but for some reason Dr. Tessmacher isn't crazy about me wearing pink.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? A tendency toward passive/aggressive behavior.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? George Carlin. (I'm lucky: the vast majority of the people I've really known and loved are alive.)

18. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Nada…although, when I WAS wearing shoes today, they were brown & orange Teva sandals.

19. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A Miller "Easter cookie." (Ground dates in a deliciously chewy dough "crust.")

20. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The sound of the air cleaner in The Rozoleum.

21. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Red.

22. FAVORITE SMELLS? The fudge pumped out onto the sidewalk on Mackinac Island; fresh baked bread; Play-Doh; newly-mown grass; pencil shavings; fresh snow on a cold winter day; tequila; really killer weed; a new record when you first take the shrink-wrap off; Roz's hair in the sunshine; Eric's basement…oh, screw it, and PUSSY, okay?!?

23. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Gawd, I *loathe* talking on the phone! Uh…I guess it was Tess' mom, so I could quickly hand the receiver over and be done with it!

24. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Well, I assume I'd like the person I stole it from.

25. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Paul Stanley doing his schtick in old Kiss bootlegs. (I like sports about as much as I like talking on the phone…in fact, I think my own Personal Hell would be an eternity spent talking to someone I don't really care for, with nothing but ESPN on the tube. *shudders*)

26. Hair Color? White.

27. EYE COLOR? Steely blue.

28. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Nope. My vision HAS deteriorated, though…I'm down to 20/20. :-)

29. FAVORITE FOOD? Pizza. With meat. LOTS of meat.

30. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Both, in equal portions.

31. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Just started watching "Unbreakable" with Tess this eve.

32. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Cantaloupe orange.

33. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer!

34. HUGS OR KISSES? Depends on the reciprocator…

35. FAVORITE DESSERT? Mississippi Mud Cake…my great-grandmother's recipe, and one that I don't myself make NEARLY often enough!

36. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? "Blonde Roots" by Bernardine Evaristo.

39. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A cheap ad for my college.

40. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Mickey Mouse cartoons, then finished "Amelie."

41. FAVORITE SOUND? "You wanted the best, you got the best, the hottest band in the world…Kiss!" At about 130 dB.

42. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles primarily, since Tess is to the Beatles as I am to Kiss. But, I "grew up" with the Stones more, as they were still putting out music when I was a kid.

43. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? West Berlin.

44. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? Really, really killer air guitarist.

45. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Bay City, MI

My Obsolete Car

2009-04-27T11:56:00.003-05:00

So I read the saddish news today that GM, in its desperate gambit to stay afloat, is cutting loose the anchor that Pontiac has become.

I guess that means I now drive an obsolete car.

So does my wife.

And, so do at least 4 other people in the immediate viewing vicinity of my house.

While I certainly can't make any claim to speak for the entire nation - or the world, for that matter! - I can say that GM really hit one outta the park with the 2002 Toyota teamup that created the Vibe. I bought one that year, and now 168k miles (and change) into it, I haven't once thought about trading it in. Now, some guy on NPR opines that Pontiac "isn't really an identifiable brand," and apparently hasn't been since the Bandit ushered a semitruck full of Coors across the Mississippi in a '78 Trans Am. Which, really? 'Cause all those Vibes in my neighborhood - and the dozens more that pass me on the way to & from work every day - really belie that.

*sigh* I dunno. If GM says they need to abandon the Pontiac brand, I'll have to admit they probably know more about it than I do. On the other hand, they've just assured themselves of at least one less car sold in the years to come, 'cause if I can't buy a '10 or an '11 Vibe…I'll either buy a Toyota Matrix or a Subaru Outback. Sorry, GM: you spoiled me on the "sporty" wagon, and now that's what I want. Your loss.

Artistic Legitimacy

2009-04-20T12:37:00.005-05:00

I always have a good time teaching the advanced 20th-Century compositional techniques class at work. This year especially seems really deep and enriching: I have a fairly full class (at 7 students, it's about as full as it ever gets) who actively follow the theoretical/philosophical/metaphysical strands of conversation that we all weave together, offering up their own opinions and respectfully disagreeing with others as appropriate. Like I said: nice.

All of this brings me around to ideas about artistic (in this case, mostly musical, but fill in your own art as needed) legitimacy. In other words: why are some things considered "legitimate," but other things of a seemingly equal nature (or talent level) are not?

I think some of it has to do with fame, and an "arrival" at legitimacy within your field. John Cage was known to use indeterminacy in his compositional process, and one of the ways he achieved this was by taking different formulations from the I-Ching and setting them to music. On its own, this is not a deep process. I see Miss Tessmacher doing the I-Ching on a regular basis, and it amounts to throwing 3 coins 8 times and recording the heads/tails outcomes; then, the outcomes correspond to "lines" that make up a "pattern," and you go into the book and read about your life via the "pattern" at the moment. It's kind of like a middle ground between existentialist philosophy and basing your life around your horoscope. Anyway. Not complicated. Now, Cage front-loaded his compositional process before setting about the piece proper, and there is certainly talent and craft involved in making those decisions; but, the process itself is as random as it sounds…which was his point. But, all the theory texts use this example as a "Gee, whiz!" moment, when in fact it's more like a "Well, duh!" process. Like, I could assign various musical attributes to Kiss lyrics and then, say, choose the first word of every Kiss song, and write my piece like that. Y'know what? It'd be a piece of shit, and no one would pay any attention. Why? 'Cause I haven't reached a Cage-ian level of musical legitimacy (roughly equavalent to "fame"). I'm nobody, so who cares? Cage is a famous composer, and so what he does matters, it has weight and gravitas and is, above all, inherently artistic.

Or, maybe not.

Getting beyond the creation of work to the philosophizing of work: we watched a PBS special on Philip Glass a couple of weeks ago, and it was extremely well done. Glass was portrayed by insiders and outsiders alike as kind of goofy, without a huge personal ego or any indefensible personality traits, other than a (not-uncommon) propensity for women half his age. What managed to irk me was that Glass' comments about music seemed so…so pithy and wise and considered and meaningful. And then I thought: "Who gives a shit what Phil Glass thinks?" Or rather, "Why should what Phil Glass thinks mean any more than what Phil Lewis thinks, or Phil O. Dendron?" In other words: Glass thinks what he thinks, but because of fame and/or notoriety, we make documentaries about him, in which his opinions come dangerously close to being regurgitated as facts. Gene Simmons says it pretty clearly when he refuses to answer reporters' questions about politics: to paraphrase, "Who cares what I think? I'm just a pop star!" Right. Exactly.

Milton Babbitt cared deeply about what people thought…maybe more so about how they thought. Especially about modern music. In a misrepresented article that's seen by many as arrogant and stand-offish, Babbitt once claimed that he didn't want folks coming to his concerts if they didn't know beans about the music in the first place. He likens the layperson's attitude of boredom and resentment of hyper-modern music to dense mathematics. To wit: no one would sit through an hour-long presentation on super-string theory and quantum mechanics without first understanding something about the math behind it all. To say "Shit, that was the most boring speech I've ever heard in my life! It didn't resonate with me at all!" would be ridiculous, because you didn't even understand the basic materials of the speech in the first place. Babbitt felt the same way about music; his approach is backed up by avant-garde pianist Cecil Taylor, who felt that audiences had to "prepare" for his concerts the same way HE prepared for them. Brandon Marsalis called that attitude "self-indulgent bullshit," claiming that a person doesn't have to field 100 grounders in order to enjoy a baseball game. Maybe not…but I haven't fielded a grounder since I'm 10. Maybe if I did field 100 grounders, I'd have a greater appreciation for the skill of the player on the field…

Sometimes the legitimacy of an artistic undertaking isn't even readily apparent, or doesn't seem to "fit" the medium at all. Yoko Ono was a frequent host of quasi-musical "events" in the '70s, "concerts" that played up the weirdness of extreme experimental composers like Takehisa Kosugi. One unperformed work by Kosugi, titled Music for a Revolution, is a text score, which reads: "Scoop out one of your eyes five years from now, and do the same to the other eye five years after that." Aside from a nearly-imperceptible wet squelching sound…how is this music? Or, maybe the point isn't that it's music in and of itself; maybe the point is a philosophical undertaking, meant to have the audience THINK about what is and what is not music. Thus, legitimacy is tied (apparently) not only to fame and notoriety, but to time as well. I could write a text-score like this every day and no one cares, not only because I'm not a famously weird eccentric experimentalist, but also because, ho-hum, been there, done that. The notoriety of Ono allowed her to host and participate in these events, and the drug-addled experimentation of the '60s and '70s made it groovy, man, like, far out.

There was a Python sketch once that ended with "the Pope" claiming "I may not know art…but I know what I like!" The legitimacy of Everyman to claim the equal authority of his opinions is seeminly woven into the fabric of our society. Sometimes, it seems like the less-informed the opinion, the greater the strength to which it is clung. "You can have my opinion when you pry it from my cold, dead hands."

Random Bursts

2009-04-15T12:21:00.003-05:00

In true "brain fart" fashion, here are some things to consider…

1) A news headline: "Somali pirates vow to hunt down, kill Americans." Um…when did the law-breaker gain the right of victimhood?!? After the U.S. Navy shot & killed three pirates last week, these douchebags went absolutely ballistic, claiming in today's article "We will seek out the Americans and if we capture them we will slaughter them…we will target their ships because we know their flags." I dunno, I just don't understand that degree of moral outrage and desire for revenge when, goddammit, you're the fuckin' "bad guys" in the first place! Sort of like a schoolyard bully vowing revenge because he gets his ass kicked; gee, YOU started it, now YOU can't have it dished back to you? Nice. Fucking. Double. Standard. What I did like was Ron Paul's proposed answer to the pirate problem: bounty hunters. Seriously, it turns out that a Constitutional right exists for Congress to issue "letters of marque," essentially hiring private citizens to act as bounty hunters. I absolutely LOVE this idea! Let some sea-legged Rambo get out there off of east Africa and do some huntin'! It's not as if the U.S. gov't doesn't already use bounty hunters: there's still a $25m bounty for bin Laden, so moral/ethical conservatives can't get TOO much in an uproar. This is, like, the George Carlin solution, and I think it's great. Maybe I voted for the wrong guy, after all…

2) Another headline (this is why I must be stopped from reading the news): "Anti-Obama 'tea party' protests mark US tax day." So, these freedom movement nutjobs are planning country-wide protests to rail against…I'm sorry, what? Taxation? Oh, brother…seriously? Okay, so, the best thing I can ask you is this: if you abolish taxes, who's going to pay for all our shit?!? I know y'all think that "big government" is a problem, but you're not really thinking clearly about what "government" gives you that you just frickin' take for granted. If you want a "freedom movement" that gets rid of taxes, then I'll "freely" watch your house burn to the damn ground because there's no fire department anymore. I'll likewise watch some heathen-murdering-rapist-dickwad savage your teenage daughter, because you "freely" did away with a police force. Don't be dipshits. Taxes pay for ALL of us to enjoy lots of stuff that we'd be pretty fucked without. Should there be a rearranging of the tax code? Most assuredly. "Freedom movement?" Well, you're free to go fuck yourself!

3) As an aside to that: of course, in a police-free state, everyone would be a gun-totin' hero and would save his own daugher from said heathen-murdering-rapist-dickwad. But…howcum I never read a story about "Local hero shoots, kills armed assailants in coffee shop"? That's really the arguement that pro-gun folks use, right? "I want the opportunity to protect myself." Or some such thing. But I never read that story! No, I just read about a guy who comes into an office building with a Glock-9 and 30 fuckin' clips of ammo, ready to shoot 13 times in a row, as fast as he can pull the damn trigger. THAT'S what I read about. No. Outlaw the fuckin' pistols, and if you want "protection," buy a shotgun. Just…point in the general direction and shoot, you'll hit SOMETHIN', and when it's empty it's a damn good club.

4) One…more…headline: "NYC's next archbishop will challenge gay marriage." *sigh* This battle is over, folks. Face it, and move on. It's really all about the legal fees now, that's all you're in it for is the money. There's now legal gay marriage in 4 states, 4 states that didn't immediately fall off of Earth into the pits of hell, 4 states that the sun rose on the next morning…in other words, it DON'T FUCKIN' MATTER. Gays aren't out to "get you," they're not trying to "turn people gay," and they certainly are no threat to your own marriage. The new archbishop will also "…try to persuade alienated Catholics to return to the church." Sure, just as soon as you allow contraceptives and homosexuality, you'll probably see folks FLOCKING back to Catholicism. Until then…don't hold your breath. It's like this t-shirt I saw advertised:

As if, if JC were here now, he'd be a Republican. Oh, ayuh!

5) Lastly, a little eye candy from Easter: this is us taking a walk in the uncommonly good weather. Rozzle has opted for walking most everywhere now, including the 2/3-mile trip to & from the river by Tess' folks. She loves to throw stones & pinecones into the water. I love how she's tromping along in her dress, looking up at me with all the love & admiration that folks tell me will completely disappear by the time she's 12. So, I'd better soak it up now. Mmmmm…

Checking In

2009-04-07T07:55:00.003-05:00

Strangeite confirmed what I'd already suspected: it's been long and long since I posted. Fear not, Faithful Readers (all both of you). I'm here, and I'm actually doin' fine. Spring is being a bitchy tease (we got pasted with a snowstorm Sunday night, bleah), but everyone is healthy. The adults in the house are working like big. dogs. and that's why I've been absent. I've actually been composing like a fiend, nearly completing a choir piece in the month since spring break. I used portions of Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet for the text, and I plan on shipping it out to a contest by the end of the month. The Illustrious Dr. Miss Tessmacher has been all over the place with her three jobs (four, if you count the symphony gig), so I've been pulling double- and triple-duty with parenting. So, we're all good, and we're all here. More meaty posts once I wrap up that choir piece.

Out.

Hello? Is anyone home?