What passes for humor in my house

CHARLIE (AGE 8): A porcupine will eat any kind of poop in the world.
KATE (AGE 6): No it won't. Not any kind.
CHARLIE: Except for Hades' poop. But that's not in this world.
KATE: WHAT?
CHARLIE: A porcupine will eat the poop of any animal! It's true!
ME: You guys, we're having dinner so could--
CHARLIE: BUT A PORCUPINE WILL NOT EAT THE POOP OF SOULS WHO HAVE PASSED AWAY AND GONE TO THE NETHERWORLD KINGDOM OF HADES! HA HA HA HA HA!
KATE: Grrrr.

**

Disturbing Strokes

(Found on Boing Boing)

The opening montage to Diff'rent Strokes set to creepier music. The whole tone changes dramatically.



Here's what I don't get, having watched this. Did the original show purport that this was how the adoption kicked off? That Mr. Drummond, presumably having done the appropriate paperwork and all, picked Arnold and Willis up at the playground? Where they were happily playing basketball?

Although with this music, one infers that there was never any paperwork at all. There was just....something I don't even want to think about.


**

No more, no less, that's a magic number

Not 3. 20. As in the age of De La Soul's "Three Feet High and Rising" album.

Holy crap. No. Are you kidding? 20 years old that album? 20 years ago that awesome Steely Dan sample? Trugoy the Dove? Interminable skits? Take your acid wash jeans bellbottom designed by your mama off? Please?

That record was living very large indeed during my junior year of college and we played the hell out of it at every moment of every day. Musical rotation was:

Talking Heads - Stop Making Sense
R.E.M. - Green
De La Soul - Three Feet High and Rising
Repeat.

Here's a pretty great history of how that record and group came together.



**

Help Wanted

Wolfman. Current Wolfman retiring after 15 years.

During the daily steam train rides aboard the White Mountain Central Railroad, it's the Wolfman's job to scare the beejeebees out of the passengers, whom he believes are trying to jump his precious Unobtainium claim. He bursts out of the woods driving an ancient automobile, sets off firecrackers and yells at passengers to go home.

On the return journey, passengers have learned that to send the Wolfman back into the woods, they have to shout back "Scram you old goat!"

**

Poetry

I went to Kate's kindergarten poetry reading yesterday. I don't mind hitting a scene like that once in a while as long as Kate doesn't make a habit of it. I'm not dragging myself to something like that when she's 24 and complains about how I never paid attention to here. I'm sure I would find something more interesting to do than see THAT.

Most of the kids had written poems about dogs and cats. Kate wrote a short one about shopping for art (it rhymes with "cart"). But my favorite was her classmate who had his grandparents in the audience and who wrote a poem that I'll try to recall from memory:

My Grandpa Eats Nothing But Butter

My Grandpa eats nothing but butter
Ten sticks a day at least
He never plays with his children
He just sits there eating butter.

Said grandpa just smiled, kind of confused while everyone laughed because dang that was a funny poem.

**

Don't Make Me Hate You, Caribou Coffee

O, I am vexed. And I've written about this before.

Here's the deal: Caribou Coffee (the big local chain) has a deal going in the morning where if you buy a large 16oz coffee and a muffin, the muffin is only a buck. This means that a large coffee and a muffin ends up being cheaper than either a small 12oz coffee and a muffin or a medium 16oz and a muffin. Now, I don't want that much coffee. I don't want to be tempted to drink that much coffee because I would be a mess. But I want the savings.

So I ask to get 12 ounces of coffee but to be charged as if I had bought a large (namely, less money). After all, this nets the store 8 ounces of coffee that they can then sell to someone else. But aside from the occasional willing barista, most employees simply fail to grasp what I am asking or why I want it to happen. "But this way you get more!" they say.

Today, I asked if I could at least get the large coffee poured into a MEDIUM cup, so I could at least get tempted by 4 fewer ounces. "Well, how about I pour that much coffee into a LARGE cup?" the woman asked, blinking.

"I'm trying to help all of us here," I promised. Give me less coffee, charge me the lower rate, you get to keep more coffee and I get the amount I want.

Unless: "Are you just trying to get me more hooked on coffee? Is that what this is all about?" I asked. She said yeah, she thinks it is. Finally she consented to the medium cup and went and poured it and "made a mistake" and poured a large. So if I'm a mess all day, the blood of my nerves is on their hands.

"Why don't you just pay the extra money, accept it as screwy, and get on with your life?" asks my boss. But I guess I'm just not like that.

**

Mark Fidrych

The former Detroit Tigers pitcher died yesterday. He was a phenom in 1976, rookie of the year, started the All-Star Game, had a 2.34 ERA and 19 wins. All this while not starting a game until mid-May and then only because another pitcher had the flu. There's a lot of coverage of Fidrych, how we talked to the ball between pitches, fixed the dirt on the mound with his hands, requested various balls be removed from the game because "they had hits in them". But my favorite story I read was when he was asked in 1998 who he would want to have dinner with out of anyone in the world. He said former teammate Mickey Stanley. Why? "Because he's never been to my house."



**

Tidbits

Kind of slammed today but I do want you to enjoy the firefighters and show jumpers sketch from the British sketch comedy show Big Train:



And also, man, I always get accused of hating on my home town of Federal Way, Washington. And fairly, I might add. But sometimes certain stories come up and, well, you just don't even need to show me where they took place. I already know:

2 Federal Way students accused of sickening teacher


**

I'm Over You

We know who we're on to, we know who we have no quarrel with. But those both exist in the realm of absolutes: I never loved those which I was on to; I always loved those with whom I had no quarrel (imperfect grammar, sorry public radio listeners).

Lately, I've been thinking about a different category. I'm Over You. As in you've worn off. The power you once had over me as ebbed. There was love or fondness but it has gone away. The magic is gone. It used to be love but it's over now. I freely admit our infatuation but somehow things went aclunk. Happens.

So for me:

- I'm over you, The Strokes. We had good times but I got older and I don't understand you anymore.
- Not sure it will last, but I don't feel the same about you lately, Orange Juice. Uh...sorry?
- I still have tremendous respect for you, The Decemberists, but I think you wore off a little. Sing, sing, panoply, martinet, supplicant, consumptive, etc. I'll listen still but it's not like it was.
- My Name Is Earl? I'm afraid your name is Over You. Loved the show, caught it every week, but haven't in quite some time. Is it still on?
- Hats: I'm over you.
- General Interest Magazines? It's not you, it's me. We go way back and everything.
- And you, Crosby, Stills, & Nash. Sorry. I respect you but just, God, no more, don't sing anymore to me.
- I'm over you, Starbucks, and that really surprises me because we were once so close. I always defended your coffee but maybe the Schultz/Sonics thing finally got to me. And laying off my friends.

Where once was love and fondness, what/who are you now over? Do share.


**

Unusual pizza

This was the box the pizza came in Friday night. I am intrigued by two things here. One, the slogan. I'm assuming it's in quotes because it's meant to be the thoughts of the customer and that the printing on the box is meant to echo the feelings of said consumer upon receiving the pizza. "Do I really deserve this pizza?" the customer wonders, "Am I worthy of such a pie? Oh, yes I am. It says so on the box."

The second part that intrigues me is toward the bottom there: "Bake for several minutes until it's visually the way you like it." So this is an aesthetic thing? A visual thing? How was your pizza? It looked great. Hmm. Good pizza, though.

**

But WHY is Minnesota funny?

A few months ago, I said in this space that in the now 13 months I've lived in Minnesota I've been unable to get over how inherently comic the state is:

I still can't get past the idea of Minnesota being funny, somehow. Like the entire state seems inherently whimsical. It's just a funny state. That perception on my part has made it harder to feel like this is home.

And that's hampered my ability to settle in here somewhat. Not a lot but some. I feel like to some extent I'm living in, perhaps not a cartoon, but a romantic comedy with an absurdist streak. I'm living in So I Married an Axe Murderer (you know, from Mike Myers "funny" period). We all know that me trying to make sense of Minnesota is a big part of this blog. Things are just more comic here. I feel like I should work in a wacky ad agency and Matthew Perry should be there too along with, I don't know, Betty White.

A couple weeks ago I got an email asking to elaborate on that and I've found it difficult. But I'll try. Here's why Minnesota is a comic place to me:

1. The enthusiasm. Minnesotans get excited about things. Plays at the Guthrie, cold, heat, Juicy Lucys, hockey, it doesn't matter. Even music! Minnesotans don't take a cool, detached view of liking something. If they (we?) like it, then they LOVE it. Enthusiasm is funnier than detachment.

2. The cold. It gets so damn cold in the winter here that absurdity enters into it. There's no reason why we as a species should live here and go through that cold yet millions of us do anyway. We dress thickly, we plug in cars, we scamper into buildings, we live here all winter. That is hilarious.

3. The accents. I mean, geez, come on dere.

4. The phonetics of the name. Mi-nuh-SOE-tuh. It's funny. Much funnier than Maryland. Or Kansas. And when you provide a chance for that round Minnesota Oh sound right in the middle? It's like comic opera just giving your address.

5. Sports futility. Now, I grew up rooting for the Vikings until I was 8 years old because the Seahawks didn't yet exist. It was explained to me that we were Norwegians and this team is from a sort of "American Norway" and named after a sort of Norwegian pirate. So Chuck Foreman is Norwegian?



Yeah, let's go with that. Anyway, the Vikings, God love 'em, went to the Super Bowl often back then and lost every time. They haven't been back. Meanwhile the Twins, dear hearts though they are, are stuck with a low payroll and though they sometimes overachieve I can't see them going too far (at least until the new stadium opens). The Timberwolves have a funny name and, man, I don't know when things get turned around. Then there's a team called the Minnesota Wild, which is an inherently comic name too. All in all, scrappy and admirable teams that just aren't all that good. In Seattle, it was similar but often those teams were expected to do well and then they failed, which is not as funny.

6. People have a pretty great sense of humor here. They can make a joke, they can take a joke. They regularly fail to register sarcasm, which makes for some awkward social situations, but generally they don't take stuff too seriously and they have fun. So it's funny and fun too.

If you're Minnesotan, or geez even if you're not, why do you (or do you?) think Minnesota is funny?


**

Less gratitude please, thank you, sorry.

Me getting coffee, typically:

ME: Hi, can I get a 12 ounce dark roast, no room, please? Thanks.
BARISTA: Sure. For here or to go?
ME: For here, please.
BARISTA: Okay, there you go. $1.62
ME: Ah, man, sorry. No cash, I gotta use my card. Sorry.
BARISTA: No problem. You need a receipt?
ME: No thanks.
BARISTA: You're all set. Have a good day.
ME: Thank you!

So let's count: 2 pleases, 3 thanks, 2 sorrys.

There's politeness and then there's just abject self-debasement in the service of coffee poured in to a paper cup. I wonder if they sell dignity at the coffee shop because apparently I'm fresh out.

**

Marvin Webster

I remain interested in obituaries

Wouldn’t you like to be called The Human Eraser? That’s the kind of nickname you can really only get in a couple of places: comic books – could be a bad guy or a good guy, really – or in professional sports.

Marvin Webster was found dead in his hotel room in Tulsa, Oklahoma last Friday. He was 56. And throughout his career as a professional basketball player, he was known as The Human Eraser. Webster was seven foot one and while he could shoot the ball okay, he made his reputation and his nickname for the highly specialized art of blocking shots. Knowing where the ball was, knowing how the opponent was going to shoot it, and knowing where to be to whack it away. Whack. Erased. In basketball, players who can do everything well have a clear shot at success. If you can score, pass, defend, if you can be Michael Jordan or LeBron James, your path is clear and you might be a household name. But there’s another whole class of player, guys like Marvin Webster, who do well for themselves by honing one skill until they’re at an elite level doing it.

Webster was a star college player at Morgan State University in his hometown of Baltimore. He averaged 21 points a game, 22 rebounds a game but what really raised eyebrows was his average of 8 blocked shots per contest. It was his ticket to the big leagues. He played two seasons with the Denver Nuggets before being traded to the Seattle SuperSonics where in 1978 he came into his own. The Human Eraser shined against NBA stars like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar because he could do this one thing: he could block shots better than almost anyone else. Seattle made it all the way to the finals. "I remember the locker room after the final game,” he told Sports Illustrated, “how the champagne was on ice, guys with tears in their eyes. I loved being on that team. I had no idea I'd be gone so shortly.”

Unable to work out a new contract in Seattle, he signed with the New York Knicks. The pressure was on as the big new star in the country’s biggest media market, this was when Marvin Webster would go from being respected to being a superstar himself. He was on the cover of Sports Illustrated under the headline “Can Marvin Webster Turn the Knicks Around?” They wanted him to go from being this guy who could mostly do one thing great- block shots- in Seattle to being a guy who could save the New York Knicks.

He couldn’t. His knees got bad, the hepatitis he developed in college got worse, he missed a lot of games, he was booed. Already a somewhat shy and retiring figure, Webster faded into the background. He played out his contract in New York, leaving unceremoniously after the 1984 season. A stint in basketball’s minor leagues followed, a handful of games as a reserve on the Milwaukee Bucks, and he retired in 1987. Taught physical education at the Y, sold big and tall men’s suits, got into real estate, was always popular in pickup games.

Marvin Webster had one child, Marvin Jr., a promising player nicknamed – unimaginatively – Eraser Jr. A center like his dad. The son was getting ready to be the starting center for the Temple University basketball team when he died suddenly of a heart attack at age 19 in 1997. Webster had been out of the public eye since then and reports differ on where he was living and what he was doing. The Human Eraser had evidently been erased.

Marvin Webster had been living at the Ambassador, a 5 star hotel in Tulsa, for the past month. Cause of death was listed as pulmonary artery disease.

The accidental awesomeness of Tyra

Check it out. Here's Tyra Banks interviewing Alaskan/accidentally famous person Levi Johnston:



On the handful of occasions I've seen Tyra Banks interview someone, I've been struck by how good at it she is, better than many journalism school graduates I've seen. I think it's because she makes it much less complicated than it needs to be. She doesn't try to develop a theme, she doesn't necessarily seek out an arc to the interview, she just listens to what the person says and then persists with the most obvious question that occurs to her. I'm not saying she's dumb, I don't think that simply because you're a model you're dumb, but she approaches it with utter guilelessness. A bad interviewer, like when most celebrities get handed talk shows, often seems uncomfortable with the practice of genuine conversation, like they're looking for the door half the time. Tyra just sits and listens.

The interviews never become transcendent, a higher truth is never arrived at, but the thing you've been wondering about regarding the guest is almost always answered. In the clip above, she clamps on to this idea of the state of the Johnston family in relation to the Palin family and she nails all the proper follow-up questions.

I twittered yesterday how Tyra was so bad she was kind of awesome. I think I was wrong about that, maybe she's just good.


**

Look, why can't you just enjoy the baseball game?

I'll tell you why: because going to the second game of the Seattle Mariners season, when they were playing the Twins at the Metrodome here in Minnesota, provoked an existential crisis.

Look, I hate baseball because I love baseball. I hate that I care about the games because I'm putting my happiness in the hands of strangers. Sometimes those are the strong confident hands of Ichiro Suzuki, other times they're the pudgy useless hands of Carlos Silva. I'm older now so I don't get too wrapped up in but still, a little. I guess it's better to feel angst than nothing but I'm not so sure. Where's Proust?

Also, with the Mariners this year, we have the return of Ken Griffey, Jr. For those who don't know, Griffey was the #1 overall draft pick in the 1987 baseball draft. He joined the big league club two years later and became the Mariners first real star. Young, exuberant, brilliant in center field, could hit the ball a mile, he emerged at the same time I really fell for the team (it was a college summer in Walla Walla with little else to do but get obsessed). As the nineties moved along, Griffey was the star of playoff teams, brooded a little with jealousy when Alex Rodriguez emerged, and emerged as one of the best players in the game. Then he had a sort of mid-career crisis and engineered a trade to Cincinnati where he grew up. Several years of injury and mediocrity followed and this off season he signed on for one more year with the Mariners. So he's back but he's fat and he's slow and he's old. But he's back! I took my kids to see the game so they could say they've seen Griffey play for the Mariners but there at the plate stood this guy who looked like he had eaten Ken Griffey, Jr. I thought it was a little gratuitous that every time he stepped up bat, the Jumbotron read "EVERYTHING DECAYS!" Okay, that didn't really happen but I imagined it really clearly.

Of course, seeing the opening of a season also means other players with whom you are now in an arranged marriage. I was never aware of the existence of Endy Chavez or Franklin Guttierez or Ronnie Cedeno before this week but now my family must cheer their efforts. And as we do, I wonder if 2029 will feature my kids cheering on the return of old fat depressing Endy Chavez whom they still completely love unconditionally.

Television

I have a sort of laptop Tivo at home. By that I mean I have Hulu. I tend to watch my fave shows a day or two late on the laptop. A few years back, I rented some DVDs of Entourage because I had heard good things. It was fun but I stopped watching after a while since it didn't seem to be going anywhere and I just didn't buy the idea of Vincent as a movie star. I was even surprised it was still on the air when I found out it won a freaking Peabody award. The, THEN, I learn today that President Obama is obsessed with the show and never misses an episode. PLANS HIS DAY around it.

But even more intriguing, I learn that Obama's favorite character on The Wire is the same as my favorite character: Omar. Not because Omar is a great guy, he's not, but he's one of the more fascinating characters ever to be on a television show. As tremendous as The Wire is, I always lean in a little closer when Omar is on the screen. Does the president eat Honey Nut Cheerios when he watches?



**

Now that's writing

I've become enamored of obituaries lately. A way of coping with my own mortality? Perhaps. Honestly, I don't know why people don't talk about death more. Like, why aren't we talking about it all the time? Specifically: angrily railing about how unfair it is that this THING this horrible THING is going to happen to all of us?! Why isn't it the lead story on every newscast: "UNFAIR INEVITABILITY PERSISTS". Yeah, I got issues.

Anyway, obituaries. I've grown especially fond of this really crazy PT Barnum obit from the New York Times in 1891. Here's some of it:

In arithmetic and every form of calculation he was particularly apt, and one of his earliest recollections, and one which he always mentioned with much pleasure, was that in his tenth year he was called out of bed by his teacher, who had wagered with an acquaintance that in less than five minutes he (the boy) could calculate the number of feet in a given load of wood. After obtaining the dimensions, half asleep as he was, Phineas, much to the delight of his teacher and the discomfiture of the doubting acquaintance, correctly figured out the result in less than two minutes.

Here's some more:

He was by turns a peddler and trader in a small way, a clerk in Brooklyn and New York, the keeper of a small porter house, the proprietor of a village store, and editor of a country newspaper, for writing alleged libels in which he was imprisoned only to be liberated with a grand flourish of trumpets and the congratulations of a crowd.

And more:

Later on he again undertook the management of the museum in New York, and upon its destruction by fire established "the new museum" further up Broadway. It was also burned, and he lost much money.

Anyway, it's long as anything but perhaps you'll enjoy reading it. Or the obit of Einstein.

**

Marketing!

We're big fans of Homestarrunner.com in our house. The Cheat, Strong Bad, The Poopsmith, the intriguing new 4 Gregs concept. We love them all. I was telling Charlie about how the Chapman brothers who run the site make a living off t-shirt and other merch sales.

HIM: So they sell shirts and stuff?
ME: Yeah, like you can buy a Strong Bad one or a Homestar one. 4 Gregs. You like that one.
HIM: Yeah.
ME: But you probably don't feel like you NEED to have one RIGHT AWAY, right?
HIM: Right. I could wait til Christmas or whatever.
ME: But then what they do sometimes is they offer a shirt for a limited time. Like the 4 Gregs shirt won't be available for long and they tell you that. So that makes people want to buy it right away since it won't be there forever.
HIM: We need to buy that 4 Gregs shirt!


**

Defense

Last week, I was sick as anything. Had this weird bacterial bronchial infection, still have it but I'm on the Antibiotic Express to Healthytown now. But last week as I lie on the couch groaning in fevered madness, things got even worse. Jill and the kids decided to break out the leftover Girl Scout cookies only to discover that someone had been sneaking them for a while and there were few left aside from boxes of Dulce de Leches, which I am known to scorn. The cookies had been kept in a high up cabinet above the stove where kids can't reach.

KATE: Dad! Did you eat the cookies?!
ME: ...yes...
CHARLIE: Dad! How could you do that?! How could you eat the cookies?!

At this point I am nailed and running at about 3% health wise. So I offered up this:

ME: I am tall and they are delicious.
CHARLIE: Oh. Okay.

And I was off the hook for good. Sometimes you don't need an excuse, you just need a solid explanation.

**

Margaret's (age 11 months) Journal

April 6th, 2009

The standing project continues on apace. The experimentation was the next logical step after "pulling up on edge of couch or coffee table" frankly grew a bit tiresome. So the new angle is, once I am pulled up, to let go. I then stick my arms out to both sides and adopt an open-mouthed expression of shock, delight, and horror. Then I topple forward. Today, mid-topple, I moved my left foot forward a bit to stave off the inevitable collapse. My body thus tugged forward, I pulled my right foot along too. This is apparently a big deal. "She took steps!" everyone yelled. But understand this: I was merely collapsing in a slower way. I crawl, man. That's just what I do.

The talking is moving along as well. An area that I'm particularly interested in lately is the "ball". Have you seen these? They're like any kind of other object but if you push on them - oh my God- they move across the floor. It. Is. Hilarious. When I see one of these magic traveling objects, I worry that not everyone knows about them and so I tell my family, "ball." "Ball. Ball. Ball. Ball. BALL!" I say.

On our kitchen table we have a whole bowl of orange ones. I've identified them as balls but then everyone comes back and they're all, "No that's an 'orange'!" And I'm all, naw, bullshit, THAT IS A BALL! And I say so!


**

All the leaves are brown

I'd always thought of "California Dreamin'" as kind of a happy song. I'm not sure why. It's not. The leaves are BROWN. The sky is GRAY. He gets down on his knees and begins to pray. He's not living in California. He's dreaming about it.



But I think I know why it seems happy now. Bud Shank. He was this influential jazz flutist and saxophonist who sat in on the recording of "California Dreamin'" and provided the little flute solo. It comes exactly halfway through the song. Starts out kind of melancholy and then builds and touches on the West Coast jazz vibe that Shank helped pioneer. But it never quite gets to the free and easy Hermosa Beach feeling, just hints at it, alludes to it, and then returns to earth.

Bud Shank died last week. He was 82.


**

My Weekend

If I were to describe my life the last couple of days, it would sound like precisely what you would expect from the average Minnesota dad of three on the weekend: take Charlie and Kate to see Monsters vs. Aliens, drop Kate off at a birthday party, find a new bike for Charlie, build a snowman because yes we had enough snow to do so. I'm living the dream and the cliché. The one really unique thing I did this weekend, though, was take a walk down along the Mississippi near downtown St Paul for reasons that had nothing to do and everything to do with those other dad activities.

Two years ago Saturday, April 4th 2007, my big brother Rick died by suicide. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know I wrote about it then. If not, you can read about it here. I've wrote about the issue of depression, mental health, and suicide periodically since. But I've thought about Rick's loss every day, so many times during the course of every day. There's no getting over it, of course, there's just getting different.

Rick was six years older than me and was my hero when I was young. In adulthood, our relationship was much rockier and there were long periods without contact. We had reconnected and were rebuilding ourselves as family when he died.

Last year, on the anniversary of Rick's death, I wrote him a long letter about his life and my life and our life. I looked for answers and made theories and tried to establish a plan for going forward knowing there would be no contact or answers. I told him that my daughter was going to be born on May 1, 2008. I crumpled up the pages of the letter and threw them into the Mississippi. Maybe they'd eventually make it out to the ocean- and all oceans are connected - where his ashes were scattered.

That's the thing about death: the crushing truth that this person will never be in your life again, ever, is too much to comprehend so you keep talking. You write letters that you toss into the Mississippi, you go to their gravestone, you mumble at them, asking questions that they won't answer.

This year, I wrote no letter. I just meant to walk across the same bridge, maybe think a bit. But when I reached in my pocket on a chilly April St Paul night, I found three ticket stubs from when I took Charlie and Kate to see Monsters Vs. Aliens the night before. It was a movie they said they HAD to see. We had driven up to Roseville, a suburb just north of us, and were the first ones in the theater. Obviously, this meant a ten minute discussion of where to sit. Then it was out to the lobby to sit on motorcycle video games without putting money in. Some popcorn and we went back to catch the movie. As happens every time we go to the movies, Kate wanted to cuddle up with me throughout and Charlie talked too much and laughed very loudly. Afterward it was home for pajamas and bedtime. A routine and lovely evening. I don't take them for granted.

Rick never got them. He died in April and his daughter was born in July. She'll be two years old this summer.

I walked across that bridge Saturday night and at one point I stopped. I had my letter after all. I crumpled up each of those three tiny blue ticket stubs. I tossed in the first for Rick and a life that ended too soon. I tossed in the second for his daughter who will never know him. And I tossed in the third for all that might have been. Then I went home to my family.

I'll close here with the first words of what I wrote about all this on the blog in April 2007:

If you are fighting the disease of depression, or even if you think you might be and you aren't sure, go get some help. Talk to a doctor. Take it very seriously. Don't just assume it will go away. And if you know someone who is fighting this, encourage them to get help also. Do it today.


**

I went to the doctor and guess what he told me

No nothing about having fun. But plenty about Boston Legal.

We had wrapped up the medical end of our appointment and he brought up an episode of the popular dramacomesomething that he enjoyed where Denny and Alan are fishing in Alaska and meet some other lawyers. Then they go to see this court case and they decide to wear wigs because it's Canada. "Oh that's right, it was in Canada, I guess, not Alaska," said the doctor. And the doctor goes on and on, maybe for ten minutes, about this episode as I wait for how this relates to the whole "me being here" thing. But after a while, I realized I was just caught in a room with a, perhaps, somewhat lonely doctor who reeeeeally loves that Boston Legal show. Just a man who sincerely enjoys Spader and Shatner. Good actors those guys. Funny show.

**

What just happened?

A co-worker walked by me and said, "Hi Todd!" I said hi in return but I didn't call her by name because I didn't know her name.

WHO WON AND WHO LOST?


**

Frank Black

Here's the lead singer of The Pixies in a 1989 Dutch television interview talking about his song writing process. Pay special attention to (or skip to) the part about 2:50 in when he describes how the lyrics are the last thing to come to a song, it's only after the sound and structure are well established. And it's true! He's describing his process for Doolittle, an album I love more than I can adequately relate for its crushing beauty.



Also, pay attention to the later parts of the interview - and I do hope you watch the whole thing - because he has such honest, intelligent humility. He just wants to make good enough records that people years later will slap him on the back and say hey, you made a good record. You made more than that, Black Francis.

(found via kottke)

**

Hello, Yeah, It's Been a While

Not much, how about you?

No seriously, England Dan and John Ford Coley aside, I haven't updated here in a while. Been sick as a dog that's really really sick. Busy with the three kids and blah blah blah. Whatever. Anyway, that's going to change.

See, I've been updating the Twitter with regularity. I've become comfortable in the 140 character format and the ease of posting compared to the comparatively laborious effort blog posting requires. But lately I've wondered what would happen if I leaned back on the more unrestricted form for a little while. So for today and the next two weeks of weekdays, I'll post every day, hopefully several times, and go easy on the Twitter. Perhaps material on the weekends as well, but certainly on the weekdays. So you can check the site at a regular weekday time and there will be fresh material. Great material? Well, come on.

Now about that headline up there. I found out this week that England Dan died last week. Wanting to know more about him, specifically the "England" part, I read up on him.

THINGS I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ENGLAND DAN THAT MAYBE YOU DIDN'T EITHER:
1. Dan Seals grew up in rural West Texas but was a huge fan of The Beatles in high school, to the point where he would adopt a fake English accent. So this rural Texas teenager navigating through school with a Liverpool accent.
2. His father was an amateur country singer so hopefully he cut Dan some slack on the whole music thing.
3. His older brother gave him the name England. And Dan kept it. Turn that tease around, England Dan.
4. That older brother's name was/is Jim. He went on to start the folk duo Seals & Crofts. THIS FAMILY WAS A FOLK DUO POWERHOUSE!
5. It doesn't end there! Seals & Crofts were also members of The Champs, the band that recorded the song "Tequila". They joined after "Tequila" had become a hit. Also joining the band later? Glen Campbell. WHAT THE HELL KIND OF BAND WAS THIS WITH SEALS & CROFTS AND GLEN CAMPBELL AND THAT CRAZY SAXOPHONE?
6. England Dan finally dropped the nickname when he went solo and became a country singer. Dan Seals did well, scoring 11 #1 songs on the country chart, including one with Marie Osmond that I listened to and man it was horrible.
7. At the time of his death, Dan had teamed up with his brother Jim to record some music as a duo.

England Dan!

**

Unrelated:

When are we going to get a screenplay written by Stan Ridgway? I'd go see that movie.

The Office has been outstanding lately. There's this common wisdom that once the sexual tension in a show has been resolved, the show will die. But Jenna Fischer pointed out in a recent interview that the relationship had to evolve or it would be contrived. And now they've moved on. And Stringer Bell is on the show.

**

The Ballad of Poops-a-Dollar Elephant

If you've been to Minnesota's own Mall of America, and I pray to God you haven't, you may have seen the first floor kiosk of My Pillow Pets. These are pillows with little heads and feet and tails of animals. They also feature a velcro strap that you can fasten to make them look more like stuffed animals. Anyway, Charlie has the lion and for Christmas he gave Kate the elephant.


Because it's soft but mostly because her brother gave it to her, Kate adores this pillow, must have it every night.

So last week, Kate loses one of her front teeth and so it's Tooth Fairy time, right? Except last time this happened, ol' TF was a day late, which was my fault. THIS time, my lovely wife who is more careful than me, decides to be proactive. She slips a dollar between the elephant's legs (elephant being in "stuffed animal" mode) and proceeds to read Kate her goodnight books. But then for some reason, Kate decides to reach up there. She finds the dollar, naturally.

"MOM! The elephant pooped a dollar for my lost tooth!"

Thus, a legend was born. Soon, the creature was named "Poops-a-Dollar Elephant" and a mythology began to grow. Like many parents, I kind of wonder about- mmm I'm going to be careful with my phrasing even here- the perpetuation of charming stories versus the desire to be honest with one's children. But here was a situation where we knew it was a pillow that somehow contained a dollar and STILL Kate wanted to talk about who Poops-a-Dollar Elephant really was. I think adults get hung up on this idea of real v. make-believe but to 6-year-olds that just doesn't much matter.

I talked to 6-year-old Kate about Poops-a-Dollar's back story:

ME: So who is Poops-a-Dollar? Does he compete with the Tooth Fairy?
HER: No, he's her helper.
ME: Well, how does that work?
HER: The Tooth Fairy flies into your room and then Poops-a-Dollar comes in too and she might leave you money or he might just poop it out and leave it under your pillow.
ME: But it's not elephant poop, it's cash money.
HER: Right.
ME: I think that's important to note.
HER: Right.
ME: Does he crash into things? Because I'm thinking she's all pretty and delicate with the wand and the tiara but he's this big old elephant that poops money all over the place.
HER: Not all over the place! Under your pillow!
ME: Okay, right, but still: elephant. I wouldn't be surprised to see some broken lamps here and there.
HER: Yeah!
ME: How is Poops-a-Dollar able to make that money come out? What do they feed him?
HER: Other money.
ME: So they just give him money and he just poops it out the other side?
HER: Yeah!
ME: It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through. You take this money and run it through an elephant who, somehow, doesn't digest it and then he poops it out the other side. I mean, why not just skip the whole elephant thing entirely and just hand out the dollars in some way that doesn't involve an elephant's colon?
HER: BECAUSE IT'S FUN!

And it is. And you get to say the phrase Poops-a-Dollar Elephant.




**

Original version of Space Oddity, 1969

Would that NASA would employ the same clothing designer.

(found via the inescapably awesome Kung Fu Grippe blog of Mr. Merlin Mann)


**

Went to Chuck E. Cheese and wrote some Twitter stuff about it last night

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. The heads of Showbiz Pizza characters displayed on pikes outside, a warning to other pizza/terror restaurateurs.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. Enormous leering animatronic vaudevillian vermin was MOST serene and comforting element in the place.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese in wealthy suburb, reasoning it would less skanky and soul killing. Nobel Prize for Shrewdness not forthcoming.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. Tried to keep my mind occupied with joke making in order to stave off madness.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chunky Cheeses. That's the street name for the state of Wisconsin.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese's In Love, the new chain of Rickie Lee Jones family restaurants. I must say, the Tom Waits Tiltawhirl was awesome.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese's. Or tried to. Accidentally ended up at Chuck E. Jesus. Totally different place. (insert alienating joke here).about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. Was pleased to find that it was all earth tones and Dan Zanes music. Or so went my emergency comfort hallucination.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. I'd like to say I then came back but you never really come back from something like that.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. It was horrifying, sure, but I was comforted by the belief that the UN will eventually shut it down.about 15 hours ago from web

# Went to Chuck E. Cheese. Why didn't you stop me? Not cool, dude.about 15 hours ago from web

**

Twittersultation

There's got to be a better word than that for consulting with people via Twitter. Regardless, I kicked an idea for a show out to my 1100 or so Twitter followers. I wanted to know what they would think of a show that was guided by a commitment AWAY FROM journalism, a show that was anything but the news. I figure the news is pretty well covered anyway and people might like to seek refuge from it. So what would that be?

Here are some responses:

A story on all those people I see in the coffee shops who look like writers and deep thinkers-What are they REALLY doing?

how about some travel pieces, ala Savvy Traveler. Could take many forms. Listeners/readers could contribute from worldwide locals.

Maybe it's because it's the kind of story I like to do, but I just want to hear stories about real people's lives, such as...
...how you met your spouse, how you got your kids to sleep, how you hated your dad, how you got fired, how you started a new life.
not to mention, what it's like to work your job, what it's like to be in your school, what it's like to live in your house...
Some of my favorite moments on WA were the listener responses to queries about anecdotes or scary movies, etc. More of that.

For someone who's ostensibly a journalist, I have minimal regard for both news & truth. But, Ledes/segues will b tough on NO NEWS.

Also, NO NEWS + NO THEMES

Trying to come up with something not news, not cars, not Radio Lab, not finance and politics, but still palatable to Minnesotans...

I'd like a show where people call in and complain about things & the recorded calls are played back w/o comment:The Bitching Hour.

Like Atlantic Monthly, NYT Mag topics minus headlines stuff. Books, film, culture. Skies the limit. Get ppl thinking critically!

i wanna tell the story of a dog i rescued from traffic. it was the most annoying dog ever and i regretted it... stories like that!

The problem with any non-news radio idea i have is it turns into This American Life.

all free range chicken songs, all the time.

(And then there's all this that came in one email from this guy Stewart) (!)

*Getting drunk and thinking it is a good idea to clean the chain on your bike. Then, when you try to put it back on, your chain turns into a Rubik's Cube and you spend 30 minutes putting it back on.

*Air. The band or the gas.

*Have goatees secretly become incredibly fashionable? Look around!

*People on Twitter who follow way less people than follow them. What is up with those people? Is that is good strategy?

*Interviews with authors of books who said that the stock market was going to keep going up! Up! UP!!! 2 or 3 years ago.

*What did you think about Bush when he stood on that rubble at the World Trade Center? What do you think about Obama? Does anything worry you when you compare the two thoughts?

*Are there less cardinals(birds) now?

*A primer on song bird songs that might be in your back yard and the mnemonic associated with them. EG: "Peter Peter Peter" for the tufted titmouse or "Miss Towhee" for the towhee. erm, I do not know how to spell towhee and it is not coming up in spell check and I am too lazy to check Google.

*What is the best way to use Pandora?

*How do you make radio really good for 10 seconds?

*With netbooks, are we moving back to the mainframe-client model?

*What is the story with Xeni?

*You know those word games where you get a word, change one letter at a time, and after you have changed all the words, you have a new word? Get a musician, David Byrne comes to mind, to do the same thing. Have him start with a chord, change one note at a time and come to a different chord.

*Is it okay if I think Ray Charles is just lame?

*Dictionary stands, who has them?

*The French Whispering Woman Singer genre.

*Self Promotion Time! http://www.photocatrace.com/ What is that all about?

*Reusing an idea but making it look brand new.

*Are functional alcoholics just incredibly fucking smart?

*Talk about your DUI

*How do you approach taboo words vs the way your parents approached taboo words.

*Don't you just love that woman on NPR that reports on the Supreme Court?

*I bought IKEA and they did me wrong

*I think my last boyfriend / girlfriend ruined me for life.

*I have a radio in my TV

*Seriously Boomers, you might not be listening to this show, but our music is much better than yours.

*The French and the letter Z

*What is up with dudes and strip clubs?

*Do oldsters go gay when they get Alzheimer's?

*Do you think your earliest memory is a real memory?

*Examples of people declaring "X words!" and then saying a different amount of words. EG: "Three words: John Moe's Radio Show!"

*When to use a colon.

*When to use v or vs.

*Ask the dude from Goldfrapp, "What is up with the chick from Goldfrapp?" Don't get crass.

*Did you know that Daylight Savings Time is stupid?

*What is up with Chicks and Cosmo? Is that like the dudes strip club?

*Can you put the the word "actually" anywhere in a sentence?

*Are (American) knickers coming back?

*Can we just call knickers clam diggers?

*Does Alzheimer's have an apostrophe?

*Is Frank Zappa dead?

*Is there a worse album than 'Thing Fish'?

**

Cover of MGMT's "Kids" played on iPhones.

**

Oh I forgot to tell you, I did some radio

I filled in hosting Midmorning, a 9am to 11am weekday show on Minnesota Public Radio. Two one-hour topics per day, guests, calls, liveness, the whole bit. Had a blast thanks to some really top notch producers and the support of colleagues.
On Monday, I talked about the decline of religious affiliation in the 9am hour. At 10, we did a show about Twitter, that hopefully illuminated more than it confused. The lovely John Hodgman was part of that one. Tuesday's 9am hour featured a discussion about the online future of newspapers, just as the last ever tangible Seattle P-I hit the streets. Monica Guzman of the P-I was on that one and she sounded weary but candid, which was perfect. She's one of my faves. At 10, yeesh, all about gang warfare in Mexico and whether you'll get beheaded if you go to Cancun (you won't but don't buy any drugs whatever you do).
So you can listen to all those online if you like. Felt great to do radio again. Like a stack of flapjacks on a hungry morning.

**

Ichiro - Lasorda

(from the New York Times)
Tommy Lasorda, the tournament’s official mascot, held court during batting practice with several Japanese players. Ichiro Suzuki stopped by and spoke passable English with Lasorda, who in turn spoke passable English with Suzuki. Ichiro kept pointing to Lasorda’s circumferentially-challenged midsection and saying, “How many months?” Clearly unfamiliar with certain idioms, Lasorda answered, “I’m 82 years old.”

**

I know what you're saying

you're saying "I like 'The Boys Are Back In Town' and I like 'Ignition' by R. Kelly, but where can I hear them in a pensive acoustic cover TOGETHER by The Mountain Goats?
Here is where.

The Boys Are Back In Town - the Mountain Goats

My favorite band for the next few minutes...

is Punks Not Dad. Listen to their song "In Me Shed".




There’s a place where I wanna go
be on my own when I’m feeling low
Only place that I wanna be – ONLY PLACE WHERE A DAD CAN BE FREE!
If you want me - you know where to find me If you need me - you’ll know where to look – I’ll be…
In me shed - reading the paper
In me shed - stirring up some paint
In me shed - sorting out me jam jars
In me shed in me shed
In me shed - fixing a puncture
In me shed - oiling the lawnmower
In me shed - having a quiet fag
In me shed in me shed in me shed

Theres a place where I wanna be -
get away from the family
Where a bloke can be a bloke
put me feet up have a smoke
If you want me - you know where to find me If you need me - you’ll know where to look…
In me shed - varnishing a picture frame
In me shed - mending a toaster
In me shed - doing the sudoku
In me shed in me shed
In me shed - listening to the cricket
In me shed - sampling me homebrew
In me shed - cleaning a sparkplug In me shed in me shed I’LL BE IN ME SHED!
In me shed – looking for the Duraglit
In me shed – repotting me tomatoes
In me shed – having a quiet nap In me shed in me shed
In me shed – got a paraffin heater
In me shed – got an old leather sofa
In me shed – got a nice bit of carpet In me shed in me shed
In me shed – got a Razzle and a Mayfair In me shed – got a handy little workbench
In me shed – got a transistor radio In me shed in me shed
In me shed – I’ll be readin’ the paper In me shed – and stirrin’ up some paint
In me shed – sortin’ out me jam jars In me shed In me shed
In me shed In me shed In me shed In me shed IN ME SHED!

(found on BoingBoing)

**

At the coffee place this morning

ME: Medium coffee and a muffin please.
BARISTO (male form of Barista): We have a special going where if you get a large coffee the muffin is only a dollar.
ME: Would a large coffee and a muffin be cheaper than a medium coffee and a muffin?
BARISTO: Yeah, it would.
ME: But I don't want that much coffee because then I would want to drink it and I would be all twitchy and panicky. I only want a medium.
BARISTO: I'm just saying.
ME: Could you give me a large coffee but just put it in a medium cup so there's only a medium amount of coffee in my large coffee?
BARISTO: Sure, I could do that. Great idea!

INGENUITY!

**

I AM ON TO YOU

We're living in confusing times, thus it becomes necessary to identify truth and deception. We need to call out those people and institutions that we're on to.

You know the rules. It's not a condemnation exactly, more just a statement that while these folks/things/ideas might have other people fooled, they DON'T HAVE YOU FOOLED. You are on to them.

For further research, see:
First edition

Second edition
Third edition
Fourth edition
Fifth edition
Sixth edition

Okay, I admit this was all prompted today by hearing a Lily Allen song.

I am on to you, Lily Allen.
I'm on to you, Raisin Bran Extra. Yogurty clusters? Come on. Go check in with Raisin Bran Crunch on how to be a proper RB progeny.
I'm on to you He's Just Not That Into You. And I'm a little exhausted from that sentence.
I'm on to you, Apple, with your new proprietary headphones. Not. Fooled.
I'm on to you, Triscuits.
And you, Morning Glory Muffins.
Took me a while, The Strokes, but you have been found out. I'm on to you.
Icy sidewalks? I'm on to you too. Not that you care.
Everyone's on to you, minus 6 degrees in mid-March. Not that you care.
I wish I could say I'm on to you, Michael Steele, but I've totally lost the trail. I have no idea where you're going.

So. Your turn. Go!


**

Where Are We?

I'm writing this at Blogger.com. It's the website where I write the content that will appear on my blog, Monkey Disaster, which appears at monkeydisaster.blogspot.com. I started the blog way back in, jeez, 2003? Or something? Six years ago, just about. It was to be an outlet for my writing, my training facility for other writing, a way to stay in shape. Friends started reading it, then strangers, I've never made a dime on it and never will but I believe it's read by people.

Now, in October of 2007 I joined Facebook and soon after that enabled a feature there that imported all the posts from the blog over to Facebook. So sometimes when I make a post that gets a lot of comments, an I'm On To You post for instance, they show up both on the blog and on Facebook.

And, forgive me Facebook readers, but I've sometimes thought that you're getting it wrong. That comments belong not on the Facebook servers but the ones connected to the blog. That felt like the REAL place to me.

But I'm not sure about that anymore. Because, jeez, what does internet real estate really mean anymore (What did it ever mean, John?) (Shut up.)

I recently heard a speech by the new president of NPR, Vivian Schiller, who said that she sees a day in the near future where the NPR.org website just wouldn't matter anymore since people would receive that content on their Facebook and iPhone and a million other places. It should be noted that Schiller used to be at the New York Times and she claims credit for being the one to take down their dumb Times Select pay feature. Meanwhile, one of the brainy web people at my own company says he wants to move away from the idea of a radio show web page being a "Walden" experience, this pristine disconnected from all other realities. "More Emerson, less Thoreau," another colleague noted.

Meanwhile, I must admit I'm rather hooked on the press-the-lever-get-the-pellet nature of Twitter and do lots of writing there. We're at a curious time in our communications and technology history. It was a short while ago that I marveled at the idea that anyone could create a blog and have instant distribution to anyone who had access to a computer. It was the most dispersing and democratic thing I could think of. Now, this whole blog - which I have no plans to abandon - feels almost like a relic.

**

Today I read the Wikipedia entry on Kim Wilde

I have an excuse: I was trying to shoot some video in my office but I have western exposure and blinds so in the late afternoon I was getting a sort of Kids In America video feel to it. So that's why I was reading about it.

Check that. I have no excuse.

Anyway, there was this:

Her second career as a gardener has been equally successful, having received many accolades within only five years as a serious gardener, including a Gold at the 2005 Chelsea Flower Show. She also held an entry in the book of Guinness World Records for successfully moving and replanting the world's largest tree with fellow horticulturist Dave Fountain. Unfortunately the tree was blown away by a storm in January 2007.


Ah, hell, fine, here:



**

Well here's some music for you.

My colleagues at The Current cool people radio station that is hip but not alienatingly so have launched a little widget thingie. You can listen to The Current now from right here. I might put it over on the side bar later on. Let me know what you think.

Superuseless Superpowers

This is the funniest thing I've ever seen. Superuseless Superpowers. Like "Healing Punch":


Float like a butterfly and sting like the bedside manner of Mother Teresa. As a superhero, sometimes you have to resort to violence. Too bad your ferocious fists instantly heal the damage you inflict. Whereas most punches would deliver a crushing Ivan Drago-like knockout. Yours leave your opponent feeling amazingly refreshed and rejuvenated. At least until he counters with an uppercut to your esophagus.



Then there's:

SUPERUSELESS SUPERPOWER: NO-GOliath
Superhuman size. Totally human feet. Upon engaging the No-Go-liath power, the upper 95% of our superhero swells to impressive size. Shortly thereafter, he topples like Nick Nolte at an open-bar charity ball. Does anyone have a XXXXXL Hoveround?




Oh just go.

**

Walk to Work with Me

When we first moved to St Paul, we lived about 3 miles from where I work and, since it was Spring and then Summer, I would walk to and from each day. Now we live 4 miles away and Winter was here so I haven't walked as much. But today I did and, now that I have the handy iPhone these days, I took pictures of a few of my favorite landmarks on my usual route.

**

Do you have a broken hockey? Or even just a hockey that isn't running like it should? Take it here.

**

This statue is very interesting and located across the street from the broken hockeys. It honors the St Paul legend of a little girl who was born with the back part of a head of a bear and the front part of a head of an old man. She was cared for by a very tall man with a crack in his face who kept her in line using a shoe on a stick.

**

Around the corner is La Cucaracha Mexican Restaurant.
PERSON 1: Well, we're all set to open that Mexican restaurant. All we need now is a name. Maybe La Fiesta? Something like that? Delicioso?
PERSON 2: Let's go with La Cucaracha!
PERSON 1: The cockroach? You want to name our restaurant after a cockroach? You really think that's the best choice? Out of the entire universe of names, out of the infinite possibility of human language, you choose the cockroach?
PERSON 2: Yes, because I want customers to get grossed out and never come here FOR I AM CRAZY!

**

Oh by the way

I'm on to you, Belle & Sebastian.
You too Sean Penn but congrats all the same.


**

Success

It's something I was never sure I had achieved. Until I saw this dude reading from my book on YouTube.



Thank you, Russ.


**

Jokes by Charlie Moe (age 8)

What kind of mythical beast do you put on spaghetti?
Pega-sauce!

Where do lumberjacks go after pre-K?
Timergarten!

Where do cows shop for books?
Barns and No Bull!


Talent show audition is on Monday. Wish him luck.


**

The challenge of photographing a baby

Sometimes there will be a stray crumb...



other times, a stray tear...



Still and all, it's a fun thing to do.

*

Not in the Brochure

We've been in St Paul for nearly a year now. It's been a busy year: arriving in new city, God trying to ice murder me, Margaret born, promoted to host the show, buying a house, show getting canceled, God resuming ice murder efforts.

What's really struck me (besides ice shards) has been the delightful surprises of living here. Things that I didn't expect but have come to love:

1. Kemp's milk. I don't know why but it is better than any other milk I've ever had. And I didn't even know some milk could taste better than other milk. I would drink gallons of this stuff at a sitting if I could get away with it and I just might try one of these days.

2. The bunnies. I've talked about this before but there are bunnies all over. They destroy your garden (solution: don't garden) and are delightful. My love has lessened somewhat with all the tiny bunny poops in my yard.

3. Less wealth. Seattle is a rich town. You go to a coffee shop there and even the people loafing around have top of the line computers. Houses are (were?) expensive but people buy them anyway. Here, there is simply less money and it is an incredible relief. I have become less acquisitive. In Seattle, I used to think about what kind of new car I wanted, here I barely even drive a car and I just don't worry about the whole wealth/status thing. It's nice.

4. Warm hats. Never needed them before but they're a delight! Now I know why all the sullen hipsters wearing them incongruously in warm climates love them so much. Doesn't thwart God but slows His progress.

Look, I'm not down on Seattle. I still love it and miss it in many ways but I think it is of value to look at what is secretly great about where you live.

What's secretly great about where YOU live?


*

Happy President's Day

ME: So if that's TEDDY Roosevelt, who is that there?
CHARLIE (age 8): I don't know. Is it Woodrow Wilson?
ME: No. He's related to Teddy Roosevelt. His last name is also Roosevelt. His first name starts with "F".
CHARLIE: Is it...the bad F word?
ME: No. No, they wouldn't name a president F*ck Roosevelt.
CHARLIE: BUT WOULDN'T IT BE GREAT IF THEY DID?!

**

ME: Kate, would you want to be president one day?
KATE (age 6): I don't know...it's a pretty big job...but I wonder if there's room service.
ME: You wonder if there's room service when you're president?
KATE: Is there?
ME: I'm pretty sure there is.
KATE: OKAY! I'll DO IT! And is there a hundred rooms in the White House?
ME: Maybe. There's a lot of rooms.
KATE: And does each room HAVE A TV?!
ME: Not every room. Some just have paintings.
KATE: Well, that's okay. I'll still do it.


**

A DARE!

Watch this and then try to be sad. YOU CANNOT DO IT!



My favorite? "I'm her mom!" "No, she's not."

Found at BoingBoing.

**

What, I ask you, is more delightful?

This beautiful Beck cover?

Or the fact that I learned about it from Rainn Wilson's Twitter feed?




**

Now we are Minnesotans

It was a parent-child ice fishing day at Fort Snelling in Minneapolis. So we go. It starts with an 80-minute presentation on ice fishing at the visitor center:
- Long safety video of people plunging into an icy lake in their cars and then struggling like hell to not die.
- Item by item presentation on ice fishing equipment. The ranger would talk about each item, tell how much it costs, and then tell you why you probably didn't need it.
- Every kid in the place was like, "uh...WHEN DO WE FISH?!"

Then we got to build our own fishing pole out a dowel and some line and a hook. Then out to the frozen lake! Where the ranger used a power auger to drill holes in the 10-inch thick ice.

And it was only then that I realized: wait a minute. Ice fishing takes forever to catch anything. That's why you sit there in special houses for hours, days on end. Also: no one in our family really even likes fish all that much.

So: "Tell you what, Charlie. Let me at least get a picture of you and then we can get out of here, knowing we are proper Minnesotans. Except without the patience."

Fine, he said.

And try to smile, I said.

Fine, he said.




**

My Pal Pull

Pull is an actor in New York. He's been on Law & Order a million times (always as different characters), he was on Ed, he was a bartender on a soap opera. When he was on the soap, he was always bartending in the same bar and wearing the same clothes. But they called his character by a different name each time so they wouldn't have to pay him as a recurring character. Nice.

Anyway, Pull is the customer in this video. THERE ARE SWEARS.


Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work


**

Career Advice

from a guy who's show got canceled. So take it or don't.

What you want do is this:

Find something that a) you love doing, b) that you have real ability at doing, and c) that the least number of other people as possible are doing well.

That is the formula. I'm convinced of it.

If you have one of the three, you are foolish to pursue this.

If you have two of the three, you are in for some frustration and possibly some rewards, depending on where luck goes.

If you have all three, you will be a success.

This is not to say that the something will be easy to find, it probably won't be, but that is your map.

*

This Week

So last Saturday was the final ever Weekend America, an occasion on which I have expended so many words and emotions that I'm frankly wrung out. I mourn the loss, I stride into the future. There.

Saturday included a party at one of our producers' house. Then there was a Super Bowl party over at our friends' Steve and Sarah's house. They're Wisconsinites so there was Leinenkugels and weenies. And on Sunday night I was thinking, "I'm not ready to go back to work." After escorting Weekend America through the death process, it felt plum goofy to plunge back in on Monday and begin the long and complex process of developing new national programming. So at the urging of my wife, who is wise, and my boss, who is doing this same thing and is also wise, I elected to take a week off. Use vacation. Clear my head.

Part of Jill's plan was for me to do Bikram yoga, which is this crazy thing where you go into a room that's set at like 110 degrees and then you fail for 90 minutes while you attempt to do things that everyone else's bodies can do. Today was day four.

In the afternoons, I've been seeing movies. Milk, Slumdog Millionaire, and The Wrestler.

The neat part is that I now can't wait to get back to work. I have more enthusiasm, ideas, inspirations than I ever would have had going back to work this week.

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Advice

This is the advice of Thelonious Monk as recorded by his saxophonist.



Found here.

I Got No Quarrel With You

So obviously this blog is famous the world over for introducing the concept of I'm On To You. All the kids love it, Obama used it to get elected, it explains the Jonas Brothers. But I fear it may be too negative at times. We need positivitiness in America today (foreigners, don't sweat it, stay dour) so we got a new one this time:

I Got No Quarrel With You. For people, things, institutions that have been on the receiving end of backlash or criticism. But for you? They're fine. Come on. They're good. Or at least okay. You don't see the fuss. Why the hate? You got no quarrel.

- I got no quarrel with you, Kevin Costner.
- I got no quarrel with you, Beyonce.
- Pizza Hut? I'm sorry there are haters. But we're straight. No quarrel here.
- Hey Bigfoot documentaries? Look, the science isn't the best but I do not have a problem with you. No quarrel.
- You too, ghost documentaries.
- Aaaaaand you, alien documentaries.
- I got no quarrel with you, more airport food than you would expect.
- Matter of fact, I got no quarrel with you, Esquire magazine that I purchase at airports.
- Oh, and later seasons of The Simpsons? Yeah, we're good. No quarrel. I think you're funny. I know what all those people say about you but I'm not saying those things. No quarrel.

Who/what/huh do YOU not have a quarrel with?

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Friday Thoughts

1. Queen. Every time I hear Freddie Mercury sing, I understand religion. I also mourn. Damn, what a beautiful miracle is that man's voice. Here's what I wonder, though: if we can stipulate that Freddie's voice is what made Queen a transcendent band and not merely a great one, if we can stipulate that a Freddie solo record would lack something, what is the SECOND element that makes Queen so fantastic? Lyrics? Backing vocals? Brian May's innovation? Brian May's slightly harder edge serving as counterpoint? John Deacon on the bass?

2. Closing up the penultimate show of Weekend America. Having done both in the past year, I observe that ending a show is similar to moving out of town. There is sorrow, there is a deathy feeling, but there is also hope for the next thing. I'm looking forward to saying hello instead of all these goodbyes.

3. Microsoft laying people off? Microsoft?! For college educated types from Seattle, Microsoft is like the post office. As the saying goes, if all else fails, there's always work at the post office. In my case, that's been the big Redmond company. Unnerving. Odd. Also, probably not as big a deal as people make it out to be.

4, Thought I had this morning: you know what we need around here? More snow. And now it's snowing. So I'm...adjusting?

5. It did warm up, though, and we heard birds singing and saw the bunnies out in the yard again. Spring will happen, pitchers and catchers report in less than a month.

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Previously on Lost...

people were confused.



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A Conversation with Jill (age undisclosed) From the Past, About the Future

October 2006, I'm on book tour and call home one night at about 10:30 local time.

ME: So did the kids go down okay?
HER: Kate did but Charlie's still up.
ME: What's he doing up so late?
HER: Well, I was watching Oprah and he came downstairs. And Barack Obama was on. Then Charlie wanted to know who this guy was and I said he's a politician and he might run for president one day.
ME: So Oprah is on now?
HER: No, Oprah was on a few hours ago but Charlie's so excited about the idea of Barack Obama being president instead of Bush that now he just can't go to sleep. He keeps dancing around the room singing this Barack Obama song he just made up.

Still singing that dang song, too.

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One of us one of us one of us

They're on to you, John Moe.

In a recent post, I talked about how Minnesotans are obsessed with weather and talk about it constantly.

It was swiftly pointed out that in the midst of observing this, I was obviously obsessed with weather and talked about it constantly.

Fair play. I will now accept this and revel in it.

1. Minus 20 this morning.
2. Minus 22 yesterday morning.
3. A tip in one of those parenting newsletters: blow soap bubbles with your kids and watch them freeze in mid-air. The bubbles, not the kids.
4. Nose hairs freeze and crystallize.
5. A couple at the Walgreen's was discussing which contact lens products would mitigate the risk of the lenses fusing to one's eyeballs.
6. Around here they call that "Minnesota Lasik".
7. It's terrifying, that cold.
8. It's also kind of funny. It's just so ridiculously cold, coldest around here in over five years by the way, that you just get amused.
9. You also wonder what would happen if the furnace stopped working and then the car wouldn't start and then the wolves came for you.
10. It's supposed to get into the pluses today. Possibly even breaking the freezing barrier early next week.
11. St Paul restaurants often have patios. I thought this was a bit silly for a while as the patios are often just some crappy tables out on the sidewalk where you eat your food as cars drive right by. I will not mock these patios again. I will fling myself upon the first table as soon as it is rolled out.
12. They have to replace Tavaris.

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A Conversation with Kate (age 6) About Animals

(note: it was minus 22 at our house this morning)

ME: Boy, Kate. It's so cold I haven't even seen the critters outside lately. No bunnies, no squirrels. I hope the bunnies have dug some nice deep holes to stay warm in.
HER: Yeah. But what if they knock on the door?
ME: The bunnies?
HER: Yeah. If they knock on the door, what will we do?
ME: Well, of course we'd let them in.
HER: Yeah. And they can sleep in my bed. And hop around. Until summer, then we'd let them out.

Tickets to Kate's World will be available through a lottery system.

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Speaking of poetry...

Here's a bunch of animated pictures of dead poets reading their poems. Is it creepy or is it beautiful?

One of them is Keats:


The answer: IT IS CREEPY.

(found via kottke)

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Strange and Sweet

Brent Barry is one of the more interesting guys playing in the NBA. He used to play for the Sonics and developed a real attachment to the city, living a very public life there. Here he writes, uh, a poem. About a team he no longer plays for and that doesn't exist.

I can't help but sit here and think of what this means,
For the fans in the city of Seattle and what seemed to be routine.
Like a ferry ride to Bremerton or fresh salmon from old Pike Place,
A cup of joe while on the go, crossing bridges at a snails pace.
But this season there is silence, a reason not to cheer,
The balls have all stopped bouncing and the Sonics are not here.
Now life has more to offer us than just a doctor's game,
But for most of you, and it includes me too, Let me remind you of some names...

Read the whole thing.

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Eustace Tilley contest entries posted

The New Yorker has posted some submissions for their annual cover featuring the guy in the top hat looking all froofy.





You can even submit your own and perhaps you should.

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