1,124 Miles

Buster, the Redneck Cat

2011-07-16T17:36:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: "All These Things That I've Done" -The Killers

That's Buster. His middle name is Earl.

Earlier today I took him to Animal Emergency Care Hospital down the road in Acton on the advice of his regular vet. He hadn't really been eating right all week (this cat is around 16 pounds; it's noticeable when he doesn't eat). Plus, he appeared to be stopped up - I'm trying to be delicate here - and had cried out a couple times this morning when trying to use the litterbox. I've been through this before with him, so I knew the signs and knew that he should get checked out. Buster has a health insurance plan for this very reason.

(I strongly recommend anyone who has a pet with recurring medical problems or has older animals to get pet insurance. The $25.00 a month premium is well worth the money when it's hard to make that choice between saving your pet versus paying over $2,000.00 for costs not covered by that insurance. The ASPCA has a pet insurance program.)

It's such an odd feeling in my home without him around.

See, I don't have children. I've had the pleasure of having wonderful cousins, nieces, nephews, children of friends who have been in my life, but no kids of my own, and it's been by choice. Firstly, I am much, much too selfish to have kids. I believe that when you have kids, they become your immediate and first priority; read again the selfish piece. This is why the cat has always been the perfect pet for me. The cat takes care of itself for the most part, is fiercely independent and selfish. Yeah, sounds about right.

My family grew up with pets; we had dogs until the unfortunate day my mother ran over the family daschund in the driveway when I was 8. From that point on it was cats, if anything to alleviate my mother's fear of accidentally killing another family pet in the driveway. At one time we owned three cats; one each for me, my brother and my mother. They also had names and what ended up being a fairly involved family tree with a somewhat tragic ending, so I won't go into that very long story. The next cat we got ended up being the family pet for around 12 years before my mother had to put her down when I was living in Iowa.

So when I finally outgrew roommates and got my first place by myself in St. Paul, one of my very first purchases was at the Animal Humane Society in Golden Valley, MN. I looked around, but was immediately drawn to a brown tabby that was in a room with 4-5 other cats. Each of the cats had a little info card, complete with the name given to them by the shelter staff. The thing about this cat? He had no name. The name line was blank. I knew then that he rightfully needed a home and that home was on Ashland Avenue in St. Paul. I saw someone else looking at him and playing with him, so I immediately went to the front desk and said "I've got my cat!" as to stake my claim before my cat went off with someone where he didn't belong.

So I paid for him, carried him out in the little cardboard carrier (and I do mean little; he was barely a year old then and actually fit in a "normal" sized cat carrier) and loaded him into the car in the passenger's seat. As I drove out of the lot, he kept looking at me like "really? You finally get me out of the shelter and you're gonna keep me in this box?" Out he came, and unlike most cats, he travelled quite well. He was well-behaved, and it was entertaining to no end to see passersby on Interstate 94 point and smile at the cat with his front paws on the dashboard looking out ahead on the road.

When I moved to California in 2003, Buster made the trip with me. Outside of the first six hours when I was afraid he'd not eat (again, not eating is a big deal with this creature), he made the 2,000+ mile trip easily. When I moved back to Minnesota, he howled at me from the backseat as I stupidly tried to out-run a snowstorm in Denver. On returning, he and I made ourselves at home in Minneapolis' Warehouse District where wandering the hallways after escaping through the front door became a favorite pastime (a child saw him in the hallway during one excursion and claimed "Oooh, Doggie." You're seeing a theme here). I moved out to Massachusetts; he tagged along faithfully. At my first tollbooth on the Mass Pike after entering Massachusetts, the toll booth operator asked if the cat is a Red Sox fan (he does have a Red Sox collar; a dog collar.)

Somewhere along the way after 11 years, this fiercely independent cat wormed his way into my fiercely independent life.

While signing his treatment plan today, the vet tech asked me to review the back page where it discussed permissions given regarding emergency life-saving treatment. I chuckled for a second at the concept of Cat CPR, but then I realized that, if I ever got that kind of call from the vet, I'd be absolutely and completely devastated.

I do know that Buster's older and that, someday, I will have to make that decision. It's probably not too far off; the average cat's lifespan is 12-14 years.

I'm just not ready to do it yet.

The Invigilator

2011-07-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You" -Stevie Nicks

(To preface, I have no godly understanding of the compulsive need to include an lolcat photo with this post. It's a serious post dealing with an emotional topic. Perhaps I can only tolerate so much serious content in my life that I have to insert inane silliness among the most somber topics to prevent myself from freaking out at the mad state of the world and not run screaming for a bunker to hide from everyone. I digress. I assume you're used to this.)

I was sitting at my desk at work a few months ago when one of my more boisterous clients paused at my door and said "Heidi, my invigilator!" before continuing down the hallway. I stopped typing and felt my brow furrow. I consider myself somewhat intelligent and well-read (I won the 3rd grade spelling bee and an impressive blue ribbon fit for a prized cow at the county fair, so I know words and stuff), but the term "invigilator" isn't one I'd heard before. On first thought, I wasn't sure I'd been complimented or insulted.

I discovered the client just got a word-of-the-day calendar, so that made sense. He gave me the slip of paper with "invigilator" on it.

1. to watch examination candidates, especially to prevent cheating.

Hmmm. Square peg, round hole.

2. to keep watch, from Latin invigilare, to watch over.

Ah. That makes more sense.

I have dedicated my whole career to helping people. It's not a glamorous profession and often one that gets blamed when things go wrong. God knows we also don't do it for the money. So why indeed? I decided as a sophomore in college I was headed to Law School, then realized I'd have to go to more school. Call me lazy at the time, call me a glutton for punishment now that Law School turned into Social Work.

The people I've advocated for run the gamut from a 10 year old neglected girl removed from her home in Los Angeles County, to a 65 year old man suffering from early-stage dementia trying to live independently but cannot remember his name in Suburban Minneapolis, to the 13 year old juvenile sex offender who offended his victim in the same manner in which he was abused by his mother's boyfriend in Iowa, to the 45 year old brain injury survivor who just wants to stop hearing voices at night living in Boston.

I've enjoyed their successes and agonized over their heartbreaks; hundreds, probably thousands of each. I take pride in knowing that I've helped, assisted, counselled, advised them to create happiness in their lives and be able to deal with the struggles and disappointments that are a part of life. It's the fire that keeps us going, the energy that keeps me doing this thankless but noble and rewarding career.

What I cannot wrap my mind around, no matter how many times it happens, is seeing a young child whose fire is smothered much, much too early before their potential is realized. There is no training offered anywhere, no life experience that prepares anyone for that tragedy.

In the last year, three children publicly lost their lives senselessly after being murdered.

Christina Taylor Green, the 9-year old Arizona girl, born on September 2011, who dreamt of getting into politics and was on the way to meet Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords when she was shot by a man who thinks he was sending a message.
Camden Hughes Pierce, the 6 year old from Texas who was found dead by the side of a Maine road, and for a week had no name until his mentally ill mother confessed to intentionally over medicating him.
Caylee Marie Anthony, who was just short of 3 years old when she disappeared from her Florida home, only to be found dead five months later...five months after her grandmother reported her missing. The mother who failed to report her daughter missing and spent 31 days partying after the disappearance was found innocent of her Caylee's murder, guilty only of misdemeanors for lying to authorities in a nationally-publicized trial. Still, no justice meted for the dead child.

These are just the public cases.

Defenseless children each day are abused, neglected and killed, often by the very people charged with the paramount duty of protecting them.

I don't get it.

It makes me feel so hopeless, not just for what was taken from family and loved ones, but what the rest of us could've been robbed of for not having these young children growing up and offering something wonderful to the world.

One of my favorite artists, Stevie Nicks, wrote a song "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You?" An intensely passionate artist, she describes the song as one of her most intense songs in the following excerpt from "Stevie Nicks; In Her Own Words;"

[After meeting Joe Walsh]....He seemed to be in a lot of pain, though hid it well. But finally, a few days later, (we were in Denver), he rented a jeep and drove me up into the snow covered hills of Colorado... for about two hours... He wouldn't tell me where we were going... but he did tell me a story of a little daughter that he had lost. To Joe, she was more than a child... she was three and a half... and she could relate to him....so he told me that he had taken his little girl to this magical park whenever he could, and the ONLY thing she ever complained about was that she was too little to reach up to the drinking fountain.

As we drove up to this beautiful park, (it was snowing a little bit), he came around to open my door and help me down, and when I looked up and saw the park... his baby's park, and I burst into tears saying, 'You built a drinking fountain here for her... didn't you?' I was right, under a huge beautiful hanging tree, was a tiny silver drinking fountain... I left Joe to get to it, and on it, it said, 'dedicated to HER and all others who were too small to get a drink.'

They really ask so little of us.

"The greatest waste in the world is the difference between what we are and what we could become." -Rev. Dr. Ben Herbster

Cafeteria Catholicism

2011-04-12T14:16:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Sympathy for the Devil" - The Rolling Stones

DISCLAIMER: I'm already in a bad mood because DIRECTV is one big whole scam.

I get home to catch the news and see a "catholics come home" um, video testimonial. (i.e. slickly-themed commercial shilling their product because the church coffers are empty after paying out endless victims of widespread and condoned sexual abuse at the hands of many members of it's esteemed community).

Here's some of the text of the testimonial:

"In life it seems like we're always enslaved to something. We are enslaved to power, to greed, or to wealth or to lust."

Are you kidding me?

THIS (bolded for emphasis to express my incredulity) is a statement the Catholic Church is gonna use to bring people back into the fold?

What the fuck?

Am I the only person that sees the sick and depraved irony in this?

(See, it's ok for me to use the word "fuck" in relation to the Catholic Church. I am A. not Catholic and B. not straight, so the Catholic Church has long forsaken me and condemned me to a life of hellfire and eternal damnation. I'm oddly comforted by this.)

I believe in a God, a higher power. I haven't been to church regularly in years, but I do go twice a year; Christmas and, similar to the same reason I shower every day, Good Friday. I'm Lutheran; they don't ask much of us. I probably fall into that "spiritual, not religious" category.

I realize that not ALL Catholic priests are pedophiles. I'm sure the numbers support that a very, very small amount of pedophile priests were involved in scarring forever the lives of the children and families that trusted them implicitly with their spiritual growth.

But the Catholic Church now wants you back because you're somehow incomplete without God in your life?

Bullshit.

The Catholic Church wants you back because they're broke. Broke, broke, broke. They need your money.

Why are they broke? Because a few priests abused children? No.

Because the there was a widespread cover-up at all levels of the Catholic Church when it found there was a freaking epidemic of Pedophilia in MANY archdiocese, spanning over a period of decades? Because the Church had to defend and/or settle several multi-million dollar lawsuits that any abuse survivor will tell you doesn't even begin to mend the damage caused?

Winner winner, chicken dinner.

It's not like it's old news either. Only last month, a Philadelphia grand jury named 21 priests as pedophiles in a scathing report. A high-ranking official was also accused of transferring problem priests to different parishes without notifying the parish there were sex abuse complaints.

Repent indeed. The Catholic Church can choke on it's hypocrisy.

Do It For Yaz!

2011-04-08T10:49:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "For Boston" - Dropkick Murphys

Fine. I was doing this a week ago. I'm owed a do-over.

GO RED SOX! HOME OPENER!

First pitch in just under 15 minutes as the 2011 Red Sox invite the hated New York Wankmees to the cozy confines of Fenway Park.

WBZ news was out in front of Fenway at 430am this morning. Yeah, I was up. So ? I went back to sleep!

Let's forget the 0-6 start of this year's local 9 (even though I clearly delineated my concerns a couple posts ago.). It's a beautiful, sunny, early spring day and nothing says home cooking like seeing A-Rod's purple lips pouting over calls and strikes in the Back Bay. Never mind that the 2011 Red Sox are dead last in the Major Leagues in team ERA (7.13 ) and second to last in team Batting Average (.181, only behind the also 6-0 Tampa Bay Rays).

Doesn't matter. It's a moo point.

As a favor (and reportedly because I am thought of as a jinx), I have worn NO Red Sox gear through the first six games. I haven't done the things like change my computer desktop wallpaper, haven't made any jinxy-like statements. Nothing. I've been the perfectly compliant Red Sox fan.

What did it get me?

Despair after the team fell to 0-6 after being swept at home by the worst team in the Majors....although some would say that title could belong to the Red Sox.

So fuck the rules.

I've got my Sox jersey and cap on for first pitch at 2:05. Sox great Carl Yazstremski is throwing out the first pitch.

Win.

My Scarlet Letter

2011-04-02T17:42:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Cannonball" - Damien Rice

In doing their part to protect the environment, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts requires all motor vehicles to get a yearly safety inspection. I went to go take my car in Friday afternoon for the inspection after I had some work done. I had to take it to a gas station up the street because my preferred mechanic (and we know those are hard to come by) doesn't do the state inspection. It's pretty painless however, takes about 15 minutes total.

The mechanic rolls out my car, and I see the Orange sticker (different colors for different years) and a big black "R"on it. Wha? I JUST had it in the shop.

Well, dur. That was the problem.

The computer that reads the emissions test couldn't read anything on my car, saying the system was reset. So the mechanic asks me if I'd had any diagnostics tests done, battery replaced, yada yada.

Sure enough, I had a dashboard fuse replaced. Perhaps took 5 minutes to fix and a total of 10 bucks. Yet they have to reset the electrical system and the car's computer to do it. No problem, says the inspection mechanic. I just have to drive around 100 miles for the car's computer to reset, then I can come back and they re-test it for free. You have 60 days to get it done.

No big deal.

However, I get to drive around with a big-assed "R" on my car. It's very shaming, actually. I'm going in as soon as possible as to avoid the judgmental looks of the other Commonwealth drivers.

Well, except the judgmental drivers of those Nissan Cube cars. What the hell is wrong with those people?

Wicked Expectations

2011-03-31T14:40:00.001-07:00

Now playing: "Centerfield" - John Fogerty

Whew. The starting pitching rotation for the Philadephia Phillies are Sports Illustrated's cover for the Baseball Preview.

The famous "SI Cover Jinx" is averted for Red Sox Nation......because it seems everyone else but the SI cover team is karmically gunning for the local 25 this year.

In that same preview issue, 45 out of 45 writers picked the Boston Red Sox to win the American League east.

43 of those 45 picked the Sox to win the American League Championship Series and represent the AL in the World Series.

33 of 45 picked the Sox to win the whole golden watermelon.

See, the Red Sox went out and spent like fashionable whores during the off-season, sending team payroll to an all-time high. They paid former Tampa Bay Rays CF Carl Crawford a wild 142 million dollars over 7 years, and will likely do the same for former San Diego Padres 1B Adrian Gonzalez once he and the team agree on an extension. General Manager Theo Epstein made several other moves during the off-season to address problems from last year. Those moves launched the Red Sox into never-before heard hype and expectations of a 100-year season. Mind you, the Red Sox haven't won 100 games since 1946. It ain't easy to do. Everyone, as noted by my sportswriter example above, sees the Red Sox as major contendahs.

It's the day before Opening Day for the Sox, the day before Sox pitcher Jon Lester (cancer survivor and pre-season AL Cy Young Winner) is to take the mound against the Texas Rangers with the weight and expectations of Red Sox Nation on his shoulders.

I am excited for baseball to start. I HATE that the Red Sox are favorites for anything.

I grew up in Minnesota but have followed the Red Sox ever since Sox Great Mike "The Gator" Greenwell walked into my father's bar one summer. I knew who he was vaguely. I grew up a tomboy my father often entertained his friends by having his 12-year old daughter spout out baseball trivia and statistics. That was the first time I'd ever seen a baseball player up close; well, besides the overweight dudes who played softball with my father. The next day, I demanded a Red Sox hat. I got one.

Although not well, I remember Bill Buckner's dexterity incident. With much more clarity, I remember 2003 and Aaron F#*&@g Boone. I'm not a lifelong Red Sox fan, and I've learned since moving here that the agony was passed down through generations. My girlfriend, a Sox diehard, mentioned one day that her two sons aged 14 and 11 now come to expect championships from their sports teams. Back in HER day though....you had to walk uphill to school in the snow....BOTH WAYS!

So I get the agony. I haven't internalized it as lifelong New England residents have, but I get it. I certainly get it enough to know that while I am excited for baseball season to start, I am downright petrified should the 2011 Red Sox start off slow via....

Lester, the aformentioned Cy Young favorite who historically starts slow.
Crawford, the big free agent signing who has never hit more than 20 HR's in a year.
Gonzalez, the big slugger fresh off of shoulder surgery.
John Lackey and Josh Beckett, starting pitchers who earned 17 & 14 million dollars last year (respectively) and pitched like complete crap.
Jonathon Papelbon, the quirky (re: certifiably crazy) closer who walked a career high last year and has had... erm...."mechanics problems" in Spring Training.
Jarrod Saltalamacchia, the new starting catcher who started his career off with promise but once struggled so badly with simple throws back to the mound after a pitch that he seemed destined to burn out in the minor leagues.

And so on. New England will spontaneously combust if this team struggles out of the gate.

Am I doing the whole "lipstick on a pig" thing to make myself feel better should this Red Sox team fail? Perhaps. Then again, it doesn't matter if I do it. The ownership at 4 Yawkey Way doesn't really ask for my opinion. Honestly, it's a good team, and they should play well.

*Should.*

I am making zero predictions, should I blame myself if it goes wrong.

I just wanna enjoy the season. That should be easy, yes?

Oh. I forgot. Jesus hates the Yankees and Derek Jeter drinks wine coolers.

Threat Level Hennen

2011-03-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Yellow Ledbetter" - Pearl Jam

I want to preface this by saying I have no experience or knowledge of anything having to do with the inner workings of the U.S. military. My father served in Vietnam and my grandfather served in Korea. Me? I cried when I watched Saving Private Ryan because my brother looks like Matt Damon in it and I never wanted him to die in a war.

In 8th grade, I went with a science/aeronautics class to the Air Force Base in Grand Forks, North Dakota. That is my total experience with the military world. What I do recall from that visit was how secure the base was. It was a little intimidating at the time, but I understood how safety inside those confines helps the military to keep control in an otherwise chaotic world.

I've long known that my occasional penchant for whimsy, my sarcastic nature and general resistance to authority would not make me an ideal military candidate. I know this.

An example of where that whimsical nature doesn't quite mesh with the organized military world.....

Today was the first day of spring, and while it was chilly, it was a beautiful, bright and sunny afternoon. After stopping at my bank in Bedford (why I chose a bank that doesn't have a branch in the town I live, I'll never know), I decided avoid I-95 to the east, route 62 to the west, and take the scenic road through Lexington and the Minuteman Historical Park. Sounds tranquil enough.

So I plug an address into Google Maps and go on my merry way.

It's not long before I realize I'm getting close to the Hanscom Air Force Base. I've driven by it many times on the south and never really thought too much of it. Before I know it, I see the entry gate up ahead. I think it odd that a main road out of Bedford would lead right up to a secure military base, and I didn't recall seeing another place to turn around but the GPS never lies, yanno.

By now I'm coming up on the gate, and it's armed with scary looking barbed wire and concrete partitions. I don't want to just turn around, because that might look *suspicious* and I'll have all manner of uniformed personnel surrounding my car. I had flashbacks to that Grand Forks AFB visit and started to feel a bit nervous.

As an aside, I watched the Angelina Jolie movie "Salt" this weekend. That, combined with my building anxiety about approaching an armed gate suddenly had me planning my breakaway, all the while screaming "MY NAME IS HEIDI HENNEN!" I don't think this helped.

Anyway.

All this internal diddling and I'm at the entry gate. Oh shit.

I roll down my window and am met by a nice-looking fellow in fatigues holding a really big machine gun. No, I do not know what kind it was. Yes, I'm almost certain it was loaded. I'm pretty sure I need to show some form of identification now or face deportation to Canada.

I pull my license out of my wallet and am certain my face is as red as the "NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY" sign on the sentry post. I tell the guard "I'm really sorry; my GPS led me here. I'm just trying to get to Route 2A."

Guy smiles and takes my license from me. He tells me that's fine and motions for me to turn around and wait on the other side of the gate for the MP, who takes my license and takes it inside the sentry point with him. I suspect they run into yokels like me more often than we think.

So I wait as the MP views my license inside the sentry post. I'm not really sure what he's doing with it but since I drove up all uninvited on his Air Force Base and he has a big gun, he can do whatever he needs with it. The MP comes out perhaps 30 seconds later and I again apologize. The MP hands me my license, points out a road and tells me to take the first right, which will take me Massachusetts Avenue and Route 2A. Within 30 seconds, I'm cruising south again and safely back in my civilian cocoon.

So...what did we learn today?

Well, two things.

First, the men and women who choose to make the commitment to our country's Armed Services deserve so much respect. Not only do they face peril most of us can only imagine, go through rigorous training and have the ultimate task of protecting us from those forces that want to harm us....they have to occasionally waste their time dealing with innocent idiots like me who crash their sanctuary.

Secondly....if you road trip with me, make sure you don't have any outstanding warrants or traffic tickets. I'm just thinking ahead.

My Little Town

2011-03-14T13:57:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "My Little Town" - Simon & Garfunkel

According to Michelle Bachmann, I overshot Massachusetts and live in New Hampshire.

Hmmm. Based on this, not only am I not required to have health insurance, I don't need to use my car seat belt.

I keed.

I live in Acton Massachusetts; well, technically North Acton, almost where Acton, Concord and Carlisle all meet.

Acton is maybe 15 miles from Boston, although considering Boston now owns the 8th worst commute in the country, that can be more like an hour on some days. I'm perhaps 20 minutes from the MA/NH border, so maybe Michelle was just confused. Or not. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on Minnesota's Sixth Congressional District. But enough about her.

About my little town.

There's perhaps 20,000 people in this town and there are no shortage of large homes with expansive lawns, so it technically qualifies as a suburb and part of the Metro Boston metropolitan statistical area. It doesn't take much driving North and West before you run into barns, a ski resort and a winery, so it's also fairly close to rural/suburban. I realized I was officially a suburbanite last year when I discovered there was no chinese delivery. Happiness, that has changed with the arrival of Harmony Cafe that just opened at the junction of Rtes 111 and 27. I highly recommend the crab rangoons but the beef teriyaki was just meh.

Outside of college in idyllic Mt. Vernon Iowa , I've spent all my life living in an urban setting; I lived downtown when I was in Minneapolis. It took some time to adjust to the fact that I can't simply run out at midnight and get a light bulb without spending at least 15 minutes in my car. There's also only one fast-food place in town, and it's a McDonald's that doesn't have a drive-thru. That's actually a good thing. One not good thing is that there are rarely sidewalks. No, people don't really walk here, as evidenced by the number of three-car garages I pass on my way home.

The biggest indicator that I'm now a suburbanite? Everyone's all friendly and shiz. At the grocery store, the CVS, the post office, even random neighbors at the Pier One Imports in town....they ALL say hi and *gasp* make eye contact! I spent years avoiding eye contact with random strangers - see, this is a sign of aggression - in the big city.

It's taken some time, but I can't say I don't like the relative quiet of suburban life and it hasn't been too difficult to transition. Plus, unlike many other suburban areas, it's still an area that overwhelmingly votes Democrat. It is still Massachusetts, after all.

Right, Michelle?

She's Your Lobster

2011-02-14T18:52:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Just the Way You Are" - Bruno Mars

"You can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, you know, holding claws." - Phoebe Buffay

One of the first things I said to my girlfriend;

"You remind me of my girlfriend."

I'm telling you, I brought mad game.

She still mocks me for that, almost four and a half years later, and she rightfully should.

It took me more than 30 years to understand what it really means to love someone. Frankly, I wouldn't have understood before that point because I was still figuring out who I was. Some of that I can lay at the feet of "struggling with sexual identity." Most of it, and I can say it now, is that I was too immature to understand what really goes into loving someone. I'm still figuring that out as I build on what I've learned with her, what we've learned together, but isn't that part of being with someone? Each day, you realize different things you love about your mate, or you see a new perspective on something you always knew.

Then there are the days where nothing existentially groundbreaking happens, but she says something, she doesn't think it's all that funny, but you laugh inexplicably for ten minutes. She calls you a dork, you agree, then you both entertain conversation about who was the sexiest Muppet. (The correct answer is Janis.)

Wow. I'm doing that whole stereotypical lesbian processing thing. I hate that.

My girlfriend and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. I have a hard time understanding the designation of one day out of 365-ish days to tell that someone that you love them. I understand it's more complex than that....but isn't that the problem?

It's really simple. You love being with her on that day and everyday after that because you're excited to see what it brings. You know you're a better person when you're with her.

She's your lobster.

P.S. Cut the playlist and enjoy.

Dog-Eat-Dog World

2011-02-13T16:27:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Everything You Want" - Vertical Horizon

In a recent Yahoo Sports article, dog lover and Chicago White Sox pitcher Mark Buehrle has some, shall we say, opinions about 2010 NFL Comeback Player of the Year Michael Vick.

"He had a great year and a great comeback, but there were times when we watched the game and I know it's bad to say, but there were times where we hope he gets hurt. Everything you've done to these dogs, something bad needs to happen to these guys."

The NFL Comeback Player of the Year is voted on by the Pro Football Writers of America and is given to a player who "shows perseverance in overcoming adversity, after not participating in the NFL the previous year, in the form of a severe injury or simply poor on-field performance." Past winners included Tom Brady in 2009 (recovering from knee surgery), Chad Pennington in 2008 (shoulder surgery) and Tedy Bruschi in 2005 (recovering from a stroke).

Now we add Vick's name to the list of winners.

(insert an uncomfortable pause).

There's the debate within the NFL community that Vick winning Comeback Player of the Year doesn't jell, as his lack of participation (due to prison) was of his own doing. The other players who won the award overcame significant (sometimes career-ending) injuries, or performed remarkably better than in the previous year that their perseverance needed to be recognized. Vick, as most know, spent his time off in a Federal Prison while serving time for his part in a Dogfighting enterprise known as the Bad Newz Kennels.

Vick had an incredible season, finishing second in the Most Valuable Player voting behind the Patriots' Brady. There's no mistaking he had his best year yet where on-field performance is concerned. I just cringe at the "adversity" he had to "overcome" to to succeed this year.

We all remember the pictures of the wounded dogs, heard stories of how some of these dogs were treated before they died. We've also heard what's happened to the "Vick Dogs." I'm an animal lover, first evidence being the fat, lazy cat stretched out next to me as I write this. Putting that aside as well as the emotion that comes with it and can cloud rational thought around this issue, there's a clinical reason why Mike Vick's crimes are deeply troublesome.

Animal abuse is identified as part of the McDonald Triad, one of three behavioral characteristics (other two being frequent enuresis and fire-setting) associated with sociopathic behavior as identified by Anti-Social Personality disorder. 80-85% of currently incarcerated criminals are diagnosed with an anti-social personality. That's not to say that everyone who hurts animals, sets fires or pees the bed will become a criminal, but there's more than a casual link. Some of the criteria for diagnosing anti-social personality disorder (as defined by the Diagnostic & Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders):

Deceitfulness or conning other for personal profit or pleasure.
Reckless disregard for safety of self or others
Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors
Lack of remorse as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt or mistreated another.

I am not saying Mike Vick has an anti-social personality disorder.

I am saying Mark Beuhrle's opinion resonates with me and I'm just fine with that.

Kings and Queens of Blame

2011-01-12T15:59:00.001-08:00

Now playing: "King of Anything" - Sara Bareilles

I'm really not a down-the-line Democrat. Truth be told, I am officially registered as "unaffiliated" in Massachusetts.

I very seriously pondered voting for Arizona Senator John McCain (R) in the 2008 Presidential Election. He was a moderate Republican who was known for his ability to reach across the aisle and get things done (the McCain/Feingold Campaign Finance Bill, for one very important example). I was a big Hillary Clinton fan - still am, in case she reads this and is pondering another Presidential run down the road - and I wasn't yet sold on Barack Obama. I really didn't believe the Hope/Change agenda. Call me a pragmatic realist.

If McCain picks former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney (R) as his running mate, or even (and I can't believe I'm writing this) former Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty (R), my ruminating continues well into October.

The day we were introduced to then Alaska Governor Sarah Palin (R) at the Republican National Convention, I stopped pondering and my decision was made.

I blame McCain for delivering the "Screech Owl" (Thank you, E), affectionately known among her admirers as Mama Grizzly.

Sigh.

There's a lot of blame being thrown around after the assassination attempt of Arizona Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords (D), an attempt which wounded 20 people and killed six, including Federal Judge John Roll and nine-year old budding politician Christina Taylor-Green. "Blame" is a bad, bad word to use. It did take me a couple days to understand this as I was astonished something this could happen in this country that I love. I guess I'm of the ilk that would never dream of hunting someone down like because I don't agree with them.

The best part of being a citizen of this country is that I can stand up and speak about the beliefs I hold and values I espouse without fear of retribution, but I must also respect that someone who believes the opposite of me can do the exact same thing.

"without fear of retribution"

Then again.....

This is where the liberal in me take a hiatus.

I blame the shooter. Kill him. Kill him dead. Don't waste money on a trial. I've got four bucks, I'll go get some rope. That's where blame begins and ends. That's all I care to dignify the shooter.

Now...as for responsibility.

"Blame" and "responsibility" are two different things.

The responsibility for any act spreads out across the environment, with various and numerous people and entities sharing responsibility to varying degrees. No action occurs in a vacuum. In a sense, we who care about our country and have a part in the humanity of it, we have allowed conditions to reach this point where actions are no longer connected to their consequences. The concept of responsibility is misunderstood; it's a matter of accountability.

I think we - the existential "we"- like to do that. We love to blame and point fingers at everyone for everything. We also looooove to be accountable for nothing.

I blame one person and one person only for the Tucson tragedy.

I hold many, many people accountable, including myself.

The hope is that our elected officials can do the same. Friends of Judge Roll insist that while he was a Republican, "his politics never played a role in his decisions once he was on the bench."

I truly believe these folks can run the nation without resorting to gun sights and name-calling.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Sarah. You're not the victim here. Take responsibility for yourself.

Kicking Ass and Taking Names; the 2010 UConn Lady Huskies Basketball Team

2010-12-21T16:54:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves" - Eurythmics

"Woman must not accept; she must challenge." ~ Margaret Sanger

When was the last time you did something correctly 89 consecutive times?

Well, besides showering without falling over. That might be something one takes for granted.

I'm talking something that takes speed, strength, dexterity, determination, drive to win.....89 times in a row and succeeding every single time?

The University of Connecticut Women's Basketball team goes for their 89th straight victory tonight, breaking the previous record set by the UCLA Men's Basketball team from 1971-1973.

Some facts about the 88 wins in Lady Huskies' streak:

They last lost in April 2008.
They beat their opponents by an average of 33 points.
This is their second winning streak of longer than 70 games.
In only two of those games, did their opponents get to within 10 points or less.
They beat the #2 ranked team five times.

Folks, that's not even in the same category as domination.

Playing high school and college sports, I grew up a daughter of Title IX, the landmark law enacted in 1972. It states "No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, or be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance." There are still people in this country who have a problem with Title IX, that it takes attention from the more "important" things, like revenue streams of college football. Sadly, this doesn't surprise me. Plus, it gives me a little satisfaction to be able to say "Tough. Eff You."

Longtime UConn Women's Basketball Head Coach Geno Auriemma told reporters on Sunday that attention would be non-existent if the Lady Huskies were breaking a record held by women. "Because we're breaking a men's record, we've got a lot of people paying attention," Auriemma said. "If we were breaking a women's record, everybody would go 'Aren't those girls nice, let's give them two paragraphs in USA Today, you know, give them one line of the bottom of ESPN and then let's send them back to where they belong, in the kitchen.'"

Geno is abrasive and never afraid to speak his mind. He's also 100% right.

UConn is up 25 points at half over 20th ranked Florida State.

You go Lady Huskies; kick some ass, and kick those "women belong in the kitchen" notions back to 1972.

Well, We All Shine On

2010-12-08T13:55:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Instant Karma" - John Lennon

"Life is What Happens When You're Busy Making Other Plans."

I was talking to my boss this morning and casually made that statement in regard to schedules being tossed by the wayside after unforeseen events.

My boss paused for a second and a pensive look came across her face. I briefly felt horror and I searched for a reason why that seemingly harmless statement would've offended her.

She asked me "you know what day it is today?"

Me, blankly, "no." It was 8:30am and frankly, while I'm awake, "alert" doesn't often happen until after 11am or so.

My boss, a British Ex-Pat, replied quietly "Lennon was shot 30 years ago today."

Click.

I was six when John Lennon was assassinated outside his home in New York City. I wish I could share a profound story of how moved I was when I heard. I don't remember it being discussed at home. Honestly, I don't have the best memory and many things during that time of my life escape me.

The older I grew and the more I began to appreciate music, the more I absolutely understood the impact of John Lennon and the Beatles not just on music, but on pop culture, politics, even society at large. His message was so simple I even hear people mock it; "Give Peace a Chance." Have we all become so jaded in our conflict-ridden world that the concept of sitting down to discuss our differences is passe? We seem to live in a world where escalation is second nature and the preferred response to not even just war, but to conflict in general.

I'm far from a peace-loving hippy, but it just seems to me that Lennon had it right all along.

His message resonated across our entire landscape once upon a time. In a moment that transcended sports, legendary Monday Night Football Announcer Howard Cosell briefly broke into coverage of the New England Patriots/Miami Dolphins game with one of the most famous calls in sportscasting history.

Before the break, Cosell talked with booth partner Frank Gifford and discussed whether or not a sports event was the place to report this kind of monumental news.

Gifford responded "If we know it, we've got to do it....it's a tragic moment. This is going to shake up the whole world."

And so it did.

In his last interview with Rolling Stone magazine, Lennon stated "I have no interest in being a dead fucking hero."

We all had other plans for John Lennon. Life got in the way.

Looks Like I'll Never Get My Amazon Kindle

2010-11-10T22:54:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Wake Up Call" - Maroon 5

I believe in censorship. I made a fortune out of it. ~Mae West

So it seems Amazon.com has found itself immersed in a bit of a kerfluffle.

The online retailer is currently under fire for selling a self-published electronic book titled "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure."

Eeek.

Adding angry fuel to the blaze is the apparent surge in sales of the online book, increasing it's sales 101,000% in one day. Granted, the author said he'd sold one book prior to the story breaking, but let's not get caught up in details. The online book ranked as high as 146 on the Kindle sales ranking.

I once worked counseling juvenile sex offenders, so I understand both offender and victim dynamics. I've seen the damage that sexual abuse against children creates, and I've looked into the eyes of the budding pedophile. Many times those dual images were contained in the same client. Everything in my social work education and background tells me that there is nothing....NOTHING good that comes from pedophilia. Rather, the consequences are so far-reaching that therapy, honestly, really doesn't work...for either the offender or the survivor.

Add to that the cut-and-dried moral outrage concerning the abuse and exploitation of children, and my first instinct is to head to Amazon.com's headquarters and join the mob threatening to torch the place (over-reaction notwithstanding).

Cue one of those "internal struggle" moments.

Amazon.com hasn't made an "official statement" but one angry consumer claimed this came in response to an email she sent the company regarding the publication:

"Amazon.com believes it is censorship not to sell certain titles because we believe their message is objectionable."

Dammit Amazon.com.

They're right. I hate it, but they are.

Amazon.com does have guidelines for it's Digital Text Platform offerings, which says that publishers are expected to conduct proper research and make sure that retail titles are in compliance with local, state and national laws. That's a huge gray area, and if there's any method that could be used to remove the offering from Amazon.com's site, it would be through this venue.

But it could be reasonably argued that the moron of this book has the right to write and publish it, and as a private for-profit business, Amazon.com has the right to sell it.

I also have the right to not spend one cent on Amazon.com as long as that book is listed.

As a consumer, I can make my biggest statement not with an email, a blustery blog post or incensed telephone call....but by taking my hard-earned dollars to another online retailer.

If you want to really make Amazon.com reconsider their stance on publishing this awful excuse for "literature," you will do the same. They have the right to claim "censorship," but I guarantee that they'll change their tune once they see their profit margins slide down.

It's the American Way.

Renaming the "Scott Brown Effect"

2010-11-09T20:39:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Not Fade Away" - Sheryl Crow

"Turd in the punchbowl."

Gotcha now, don't I?

Bear with me. Let me set the stage with some political mumbo-jumbo before I get into the true meat of this discussion.

Shortly after I moved to New England last fall, the voters of Massachusetts were faced with a special election to fill the seat left by the late Senator Edward Kennedy. This was "The Kennedy Seat;" save two years, a Kennedy served in that seat since 1953 when John F. (Jack) Kennedy defeated Republican incumbent Henry Cabot Lodge. Ted Kennedy himself sat as the State's Senator for almost 50 years.

So naturally, the reliably blue voters of Massachusetts elected a Republican.

All eyes of the country were on Massachusetts during the special election. As soon as Scott Brown, a Republican State Senator from Norfolk County was elected, mass chaos ensued (allegedly). If you believed what you saw in the news, it spelled the beginning of the end for President Obama and the revival of a Republican party that was taken to task in the 2008 election.

It was the "Scott Brown Effect."

The GOP aimed to "return the power to the people" and the Scott Brown election was the starting line. Imagine angry crowds, fire and brimstone, "we're mad as hell as we're not gonna take it anymore from that socialist, elitist Obamer!" as people in white robes charge onto Capitol Hill (oops, I didn't *really* mean that.) In retrospect, we now know this to mean "two more years of purposefully creating gridlock with the express goal of sticking our tongues out and going 'nyah nyah' to the White House."

But I digress.

Here in Massachusetts, Republicans were ready to make big gains in a state which had previously been under lock and key to them. In Massachusetts' 10th Congressional district incumbent Democrat Bill Delahunt was retiring. Senator Brown carried this district with a whopping 60% of the vote. It was an open, toss-up seat in a fairly conservative, upper-class district and was ripe for the picking.

Naturally, the voters of the 10th district voted for the Democrat, Norfolk County's District Attorney Bill Keating. He beat State Representative Jeff Perry, the Republican candidate, 47%-42%.

Hmmm. The Commonwealth donned it's blue cloak again.

In fact, all 10 of Massachusetts' US House seats were back in blue, and back in the governor's seat was previously-vulnerable incumbent Democratic Governor, Deval Patrick. Score one for the Asses.

Now, we all know that nationwide the Republicans scored large gains and are well on their way to creating planned obstrucification in Washington as well as sweeping wins in Statehouses. I suppose what people forget is that the President's party almost ALWAYS gets shellacked in midterm elections. Since 1862, the President's party only twice has gained seats in midterm elections (1934 & 2002).

But it's so much more fun to scream and pound our fists "we're taking our country back, blah blah blah."

So....the point of all this is what?

The Scott Brown effect is inappropriately titled.

Here's why.

A month before that 2010 Massachusetts special election, Senator Brown was down almost 20 points to Suffolk County District Attorney Martha Coakley. The Democrats sat back, secure in the safety that their death grip on the seat was safe. Then candidate Coakley took a MONTH OFF and disappeared. To no one's shock (except the Massachusetts' Democratic leadership), Brown took advantage and made up that ground and then some.

To use a phrase from Mike Felger, a favorite sports radio personality of mine (which he uses to describe another area favorite Randy Moss)....

.....Martha Coakley was a turd in the punchbowl.

The aforementioned 10th US House race was the Republicans' best chance to gain a seat in the Massachusetts Congressional Delegation. The "Scott Brown Effect" was ready to do it's damage. Instead, much like the Democrats before them, they threw Jeff Perry into the race....the same Jeff Perry who presided over an illegal strip-search of teenage girls while he was a police sergeant.

The seat was gift-wrapped for the Republicans. Yup, say it with me.....

.....Jeff Perry was a turd in the punchbowl.

Maybe, just maybe, politicans LOSE a seat versus another WINNING a seat. Don't chalk it up to some mystifying "effect."

Let's face it. Harry Reid really should've lost in Nevada. Never mind that the man's story is quite honorable and details that of a life-long fighter despite the odds.

Sharron Angle was a turd in the punchbowl.

I rest my case.

Thank god I moved to Massachusetts, as Minnesota still gives us Michelle Bachmann. Those poor folks can't seem to get through an election without needing a recount.

Another day, friends.

The State of Shaqachusetts

2010-10-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "The State of Massachusetts" - Dropkick Murphys

LeBron and the Heat are in town.

I'm an avid sports fan, but have never been a big fan of the NBA. I can't even be bothered to pay attention to it until the "real" games (re: playoffs) start in May. Chalk it up to years of watching the hapless Minnesota Timberwovles, and the door to my NBA fandom slammed shut as soon as the T-Pups traded Kevin Garnett to the Celtics.

There's something different in the air tonight.

While taking the long way home from work the other day, winding through the northwestern suburbs of Boston, I came across the those two seemingly innocent pumpkins pictured above at the intersection of MA-117 and Powder Mill Road in Sudbury. That's when it hit me.

This is Shaqachusetts now.

When All-World Personality Shaquille O'Neal signed with the Celtics in the Spring, he hit the town like a big, green, towering tornado. He bought books at the Harvard University Bookstore. He posed motionless for an hour on a parkbench in Harvard Square in Cambridge as hundreds of people came up to him for pictures. He made the rounds on the radio shows as he toyed with a new, Boston-Oriented nickname to add to his long litany of nicknames.

He's our Big Shamrock.

It's one of the biggest opening nights for the NBA that I can remember, and I've been excited already for a few days.

Beat the Heat, and show them how a TEAM plays basketball.

Time for tip.

Sweet Baby James

2010-10-09T17:40:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Fire and Rain" - James Taylor

I was driving home from Watertown today; being that it was Saturday, the roads were free-flowing and I could count on being home within 20 minutes.

I decided to take route 117, cutting through the Walden Pond State Reservation. See, it was a crisp, sunny, brilliant afternoon, one that deserved to be appreciated and experienced. One simply cannot do this at 65 miles an hour.

I had the windows down despite the 55 degrees and the serene quality of the fresh air filled my car, occasionally punctuated with the sweet smell of a firepit. Contrary to my usual, the radio was almost silent; I preferred to listen to the wind whistle past my car, the distant sounds of hawks cawing. Fall has arrived in Massachusetts; the sumacs were preparing their brilliant red glow as the foliage was gearing up for it's annual breathtaking display.

Over the radio came "Fire and Rain," the classic James Taylor song...those unmistakable first guitar notes gave me goosebumps. Here, I chose to turn the radio up. When I was 15 years old, James Taylor was my first concert at the Old Met Center in Bloomington (indeed, the Met Center no longer exists...you'll instead find the behemoth Mall of America where it once stood). At that concert, my friend Jenny and I got to experience secondhand marijuana smoke, my first attempt at driving someone other than my mother in my car, and the sweet, intoxicating harmonies of JT.

It was perfection in a moment; the brilliant fall colors along the banks of Nashoba Brook accompanied by the strains of Massachusetts' most famous balladeer. I sat down on a stone bench along the water bank and just absorbed.

It's those times when I slow down to engage all my senses when I realize.....how much I love it here, how happy I am to be here and how I cannot imagine being anywhere else.

It's a Britney Spears Sex Riot!

2010-09-29T21:38:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Toxic" - Britney Spears

Once upon a time I was closed-minded, ignorant and passed judgment with entirely too much haste.

I mocked show tunes as a circus sideshow full of players who where not talented enough to do real work in the movies.

I discredited Britney as a no-talent ass-clown who relied only on her dancing and bare midriff to sell records and determined she was a distant second in star power to Christina.

In it's infancy, I sneered with derision at "Glee," ridiculing their rendition of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and foreseeing a quick, painless death at the hands of the minimally-interested TV-watching public.

Have I ever learned my lesson ten-fold.

Listen. Do not judge. Just appreciate. Whimsy.

2010 AL Central Champs....Put It On The Board!

2010-09-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Secrets" - One Republic

Last night, the Minnesota Twins clinched their 6th American League Central Division title in the last 9 years with a 6-4 win over the Cleveland Indians. Helping the Twins along the way was an 8-game losing streak from the rival Chicago White Sox.

Might I say the day that spelled the end for the White Sox, and the day that all of Minnesota should have known their ball team would be playing baseball in October, was August 17th, 2010? The Twins went into the bottom of the 10th inning down 5-4 after the White Sox got the go-ahead run at the top of the inning. With a runner on first base, Twins' Designated Hitter Jim Thome walked from the on-deck circle to home plate at Minneapolis' Target Field.

White Sox fans waited all year for the moment when karma would knock them down as a result of the South Siders' failing to re-sign the future Hall-of-Famer for the 2010 season. Essentially, White Sox General Manager Kenny Williams and Manager Ozzie Guillen told Thome and his 587 Home Runs, good for #8 on the all-time list, that there was no place for him on their team.

Sweep the leg, Big Jim.

P.S. You can even full-screen the video. I highly recommend it.

.....and the silence you hear is WGN broadcaster and known White Sox Homer Hawk Harrelson, undeniably the most annoying play-by-play broadcaster in the league. Hawk oh-so-expertly breaks down Thome's walk-off blast using terms that can only be translated using a karmic dictionary.

It was the first walk-off homerun at the new Target Field. Just over a month later, the Twins got to christen their new home with a Division Championship Pennant.

As it is written, so let it be done.

Good luck Twins.....I'll be your loudest fan in Massachusetts.

My Name is Earl

2010-09-03T15:30:00.001-07:00

Now playing: "The Rain, the Park and Other Things" - the Cowsills

So yeah, I've always been a fan of the water, lakes, oceans, rivers, and I love that I live a mere 20 miles from the shores of the Atlantic.

Maybe not so much this weekend though.

I was driving on I-93 heading into Downtown Boston when I passed under one of those freeway notification signs. All it said, simply; "Hurricane Warning; plan ahead."

I've experienced blizzards, earthquakes, tornadoes and floods. Now it looks like I can add tropical storm to the list.

I feel bad for those rich people who thought they could enjoy a nice, long, three-day holiday weekend at their beachside homes on Cape Cod. Looks like they'll have to get comfy at the Emergency Management Shelter at Barnstable High School.

I Like the Fast Types

2010-08-23T15:54:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "All I Ever Wanted" - Kelly Clarkson

All this time, I thought I was around the 30-40 words per minute (WPM) range. I am selling myself short on my resume.

That said, I find it much more impressive that I typed 77 words in a minute without making a mistake (now I'm self-conscious and have made 6 mistakes in this sentence alone). My high school keyboarding teacher was the coach of the women's golf team, and he routinely sent me to the indoor practice room to hit a bucket of balls during scheduled class time.

Want to check your WPM? Be my guest and give it a little click here.

Chain of Fools

2010-08-21T16:44:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Misery" - Maroon 5

No, I didn't make that yummers-looking dish, sorry. I kinda wanted to lie and say I did, but those who know me well would call shenanigans faster than I could turn a breadstick into a light saber.

Who doesn't enjoy a lunch out on a weekend? Granted, with the economy still iffy, people are tightening their belts and not enjoying those Saturday lunches out at their favorite restaurants as much as they used to.

My grandparents and then eventually my father owned a restaurant, and I've always had interest in the workings of the restaurant business, if not the desire to actually run one. To that end, I've always been a bit of a restaurant snob, eschewing the chain restaurants in favor of the hidden gems among the family-owned restaurants and cafes where the food also comes with a sense of a back story and charm you don't find in your local Applebees. I live in a city that is well-known for incredible seafood as well as authentic Italian food in Boston's North End and have enjoyed the samplings they have to offer.

The last past couple weekends there's apparently been some sort of schizophrenic evolution of my senses and sure enough, I've visited two chain restaurants. The first one, two weekends ago, was the TGIFridays in Braintree. My girlfriend and I reached epic proportions of indecisiveness (we'd expended our emotional dollars cooing over a dog at a South Shore Mall Pet Store), saw the Fridays and just decided to settle. Eh. Fridays. Wait staff wearing Flair. It'll do in a pinch and it's almost impossible to screw up a hamburger, right?

Surprisingly, to both of us, it was really good. I had the Jack Daniels' Ribs. Who knew?

Emboldened, I was oddly craving Olive Garden this weekend and we made the Olive Garden at South Bay Center in Dorchester our culinary destination today. Again....very tasty food, much better than I had expected (or seemed to remember from previous visits to the O.G.) Our server, who thought we were as awesome as we think we are, explained that they make all of their sauces that day as opposed to many chains that freeze some of their items overnight in order to mass produce them. Each night they throw sauces out and start anew with a new batch in the morning.

Perhaps the chain restaurant isn't my enemy. As I said earlier, with the American dollar stretching farther than it has in recent memory, those chains know they have to compete with the other specialty places for that scarce dollar. For the record, I ordered the Pork Milianese pictured above and true to form, it was the light and savory garlic cream sauce that won me over.

Top it all off, our wait staff at The Olive Garden was a big fan of the Maury Povich Show. We were among good people.

How to Not Get Killed in a Traffic Rotary

2010-08-19T21:24:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Street Life" - Randy Crawford

The blog is titled 1,124 miles. Anyone, anyone?

A one-way flight on Northwest Airlines from the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport to Boston's Logan International Airport earns 1,124 frequent flyer miles. Over the span of two years, I accumulated several multiples of those 1,124 miles.

On August 23rd, I opted for the old-school method of travel, rented a U-Haul, accepted the generous offer of help from my brother and actually drove those 1,124 miles with Minneapolis in my rearview. Fine, if you want to be a stickler, we drove more than 1,124 miles. What I know is that it took two days to drive from Minneapolis to Boston. As we arrived at the Marriott Towne Place Suites in Peabody Massachusetts, the next chapter of this blog officially began.

It's been near a year since I moved from Minnesota and more than a year since I wrote here. I could say that I had nothing to write about, but that would clearly be a big honkin' fib. It's also going to be virtually impossible to detail this past year, so I'm not going to bother.

Let's just start with this; I've learned how to not get killed in the infamous New England traffic rotary. There's some concept of right of way.....but who are we kidding? People can't concept right-of-way at a 4-way intersection in the middle of the desert, much less tackle incoming traffic coming at you from all sides as you get pulled to the middle of a circle by centrifugal force.

I've adapted and become the aggressor. This truly is the only way to survive these deathtraps. Kill or be killed. Do not be afraid to honk your horn, flip the bird, and get out of that rotary in a hurry because those scally-capped South Boston old-timers driving their Buick boats will demolish your miserable little compact car on their way to the VFW in Dorchester as you battle for position in the Columbia Road traffic circle.

Toto, we ain't in Minny anymore.

What Matters is What Hasn't Been

2009-07-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Futures" - Jimmy Eat World

"Hey now, The past is told by those who win....
My darling, what matters is what hasn't been....
Hey now, we're wide-awake and we're thinking...
My darling, believe your voice can mean something."

I won't be buying anything else from Chris Brown....or Rihanna for that matter. Unfortunate; I think they're both very talented. That whole scenario left a bad taste in my mouth. I know it has for a lot of people, and we heard from women's advocates everywhere how bad a message this sent. The plea deal Brown reached this week only reinforces how much we, as a society, still have so work to do when it comes to equality for women. (peek at a New York Daily Times piece for some opinions)

Blergh. Ok, we all know that stuff. Let me tell you a story. Not to be dramatic, but names and a few details have been altered. It's a story I want to tell, but it's not mine to own. It's hers.

A few years ago, I got a phone call from an old friend, Lizzie, from my high school years. We met each other when I was 15 and in Kansas City with my church group working on a Habitat for Humanity project. She was with her church group from Florida and working on the same project. We clicked immediately; liked a lot of the same music, loved playing and watching sports. She was a supremely talented fast-pitch softball pitcher and would eventually get a scholarship offer from the University of Central Florida. She turned that down and instead followed her high school boyfriend, an equally talented football player, to Florida State. We kept in touch through high school before college took us our separate ways.

Several years later and a few years ago I got a phone call from Lizzie; more than 13 years had passed. I was happy to hear from her and completely perplexed as to how she'd gotten a hold of me. She'd found my name on a networking website of social work providers who specialized in Traumatic Brain Injury. See, my 31 year old friend was just diagnosed with Dementia. I was floored. I asked a simple "what happened?" It's not at all normal for a perfectly healthy (as I remembered) 31 year old to encounter a Dementia diagnosis.

Turns out there was a reason college took us our separate ways. She proceeded to fill me in on 13 years of her life.

As I said, she followed the football player to Florida State. She was an English major and was rather enjoying her studies, pondering perhaps entering the teaching profession. During her boyfriend's freshman year, he was practicing and sustained a knee injury that ended up being the end of any college or pro football career he'd hoped for. This sent her boyfriend, understandably, into an awful tailspin. He began drinking, missing class...and taking his anger out on his girlfriend. That's when the beatings began. She told me he'd come back from physical therapy and rehab, be in such pain and be so angry with his progress that he'd throw her against a wall or shove her into a bookshelf. One time he pushed her so hard her head hit the edge of the dining room table. She blacked out and woke up on the floor and he was nowhere to be found. Yes, the clinic an in me said "typical partner abuse." Big man...and a football player about 6-4, 250 pounds....trying to regain some control in his broken life by controlling what was weak and accessible....his 5-2, 130 pound high school sweetheart. The flash of the reasonable clinician in me was brief and I just was overcome with anger.

For Lizzie, things changed for her. The bright, sharp, articulate girl was having problems in school. She couldn't concentrate and her memory began to suffer. She tried talking to someone at FSU about it and encountered difficulties; see, in Florida, football is a religion and any sort of black mark on the program is going to cause great embarrassment. Her grades began to slip. Now completely frustrated and wondering what was happening to her, she stopped going to class, began abusing alcohol and engaging in some pretty serious at-risk behaviors. She didn't tell me what those behaviors were, but it really didn't matter at that point. I could sense the shame in her voice and knew it was something she still struggled with.

The bright, smart, energetic girl was a shell of her former self. She was often lethargic as she couldn't sleep. She started to have difficulty spelling words that once came so easily to her. School was impossible at that point, and she dropped out after two years. At this time she finally left the abuse and the boyfriend but was having great difficulty finding a job...simply because her memory was so bad. She moved into an efficiency in Fort Lauderdale, worked part-time at Walmart, but that wasn't even remotely enough to pay her bills. She talked to a friend who got her a job at a place called The Booby Trap, a strip club, in Ft. Lauderdale. She was careful to tell me that she didn't dance, but rather waited tables. I so badly wanted to tell her that she shouldn't feel ashamed; ultimately, we all must do what we need to survive given the hand in life we are dealt. But I knew no matter what I said, she had great, great difficulty talking about that time in her life and nothing I would say would help her rectify her own self-worth.

Lizzie was already an alcoholic when a girl at the club introduced her to drugs. She never told me what she began to abuse, but as I've said before, the details really didn't matter. Each and every day was just a blur, and she went through the motions of trying to survive...to barely survive. She began having terrible headaches, seizures, and while taking her own life was never an option for a girl raised in a catholic household, she knew she would die sooner rather than later.

For extra money, she would help her mother who cleaned houses in the Miami/Fort Lauderdale area. One particular customer took an interest in the mother and daughter combination, and this man ultimately helped Lizzie get into drug rehab. That was 6 years previous to the day of our phone call, and she hasn't used illicit drugs since. She was 25 years old. Additionally, the man's son took a personal interest in Lizzie. They began dating and eventually married. He was a stable family man; the family owned and operated their own business in the Miami/Fort Lauderdale area and they were certainly comfortable, so to speak. Lizzie found, what she told me, was her savior. He'd spent their life together ensuring she was taken care of and had everything she needed. Turns out, as the years passed, her needs grew.

Even though she was clean from drugs, the seizures, headaches and blackouts continued. Doctor after doctor couldn't tell her what was going on. She began to get the sense that her husband was trying to blunt the news. While it came with the best of intentions, Lizzie was still independently-minded and knew when someone was feeding her bullshit. She and her husband eventually were sent to the Baylor Clinic of Neurology, one of the best Neurology clinics in the nation. It was at that visit that someone finally leveled with her. Her doctor told her that the best thing to do would be to enjoy each day that she has. The doctor didn't finish the sentence. She really didn't need to.

Mind you, people rarely die from the actual disease of Dementia. However, we all have heard stories of grandparents who cannot remember the names of their children...their own names. They lose the ability to perform daily functions and eventually, the brain de-compensates to where essentially, the human becomes a vegetable. There is no cure for Dementia. There are medications that can slow the process, but it doesn't stop, nor does it reverse any course of de-compensation.

We all hear stories of how that happens....to the elderly. This was a 31-year old woman. She told me that she would never let anyone 'change her diaper.' A true southern girl, she owned a gun and would use it on herself so she would never be a burden to anyone she loves and who loves her.

That's where her story ended. I sat there quietly trying to organize my thoughts, only to ask "what do you need from me?"

Her answer was simple: "be honest with me." She knew I was a brain injury professional and wanted me to talk with her about what I knew. She was tired of people treating her like she was a delicate flower. She was realistic about what was in store for her. She knew she wouldn't live to see the age of 40, more than likely at her own hand. All she wanted was for someone to understand that she could handle the news. She accepted what her fate was, but, as the doctor at Baylor said, she was going to enjoy her life like she knew best.

So for the past few years, we exchange emails, talk on the phone occasionally. She'll ask me if I notice that her spelling is worsening, if she is exchanging words and using them in the wrong context. She'll ask me about things her doctor says during her visits that she doesn't understand and wants me to translate. She expresses her frustration with taking so many medications and wonders if it's really worth it. She had a TIA (minor stroke) a few months ago, now has to take a blood pressure medication and wants to know what I know about strokes. She'll tell me about seizure she had, describe what she can remember, and take notes on her seizure calendar. She tells me she's not giving up because she's still strong and wants to go to London, on an Alaskan Cruise, to Yankee Stadium (she's a big Yankee fan; go figure). She knows she will die someday, but damn if it's going to be today.

Nothing that I say will alter the end destination of Lizzie's life. As a friend and professional, I know this. I know she's going to die much, much younger than what is right. I am under no delusions that I have the power to do change any of that.. If I could....I'd bottle and sell that and kick Oprah out of her own studio. But if something that I say somehow improves her day then it might change the course of that day. She might feel a bit stronger for having some control over a life that was irreparably damaged almost 15 years ago. She's not giving up. Neither am I.

If I can use the education I've gained, the knowledge I've learned as a Social Work professional, the compassion I have as a human being to somehow improve someone's life for just a few minutes in one day, then I think I gave them something which cannot be quantified. Many people give money to a cause in which they feel great passion. Nay, as a social worker I have no money. So I give myself. For every Lizzie that finds her savior and has a second chance at a life, no matter how long it might be, there are hundreds, thousands of people who suffer at the hands of an abuser who don't find that lifesaver. They are the men you see begging at street corners for money. They are the women you find at the county financial office trying to get food stamps to sustain their families. They are the 20-year old you bury because she OR he never said anything about the beatings until it was too late.

I give of myself. It's the most valuable, precious, and genuine asset I own.

"I shall pass through this world but once. Any good therefore that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."
--Mahatma Ghandi

Right Back What is Wrong

2009-05-21T15:52:00.000-07:00

Now playing: "Move Along" The All-American Rejects

Have you ever listened to this song? Yeah, it's by one of the limitless teeny-bopper emo boy groups that populate the top-40 radio waves, I know. Some of you don't listen to music like this based on principle. Whatever. That's fine.

I swear though, in a nation of utter crybabies where we love to blame everyone and eschew any idea of personal responsibility, folks would be well-served to just listen to it.

Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking
When you fall everyone sins
Another day and you've had your fill of sinking
With the life held in your
Hands are shaking cold, these hands are meant to hold

Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through

I mean, seriously? The long and short of this is "Yeah, life kinda sucks sometimes. Now pick yourself up and go do something about it."

You leave it up to someone else to fix your lot in life...you're gonna be disappointed more often than not.

Now, don't get me wrong. I work in the helper profession. There are people in this world who absolutely, definitely need a helping hand. The folks I work with honestly don't remember their own phone numbers at times due to significant memory loss resulting from brain injury. But you know what? They try. They fail a lot....a LOT. But they show up day after day and try their best to accomplish even the most mundane task that I take for granted 100 times out of 100.

Then there's the people that have their faculties about them....perfectly healthy....working gainfully....and just wanna complain about their lot in life. Somewhere along the way our society became a nation of victims....probably around the time the woman who had a hot cup of coffee in her lap while driving burned herself and sued McDonalds. I blame her. Stop driving with a hot beverage in your frickin' lap. But no, it's McD's fault because they didn't warn her the coffee was hot.

Really? REALLY?

You have a problem. Don't stand and stomp your feet like a 6-year old. Go fucking do something about it!

As stressful as my job gets, it occurs to me my life could be more difficult. I could be one of the people that I work with that truly forget why one needs to separate white clothing from darks when doing laundry. But guess what...they don't whine. They do.

Time and time again, I will have more respect for that person than I will the whiner on the street who complains about the Minnesota Twins sucking it up and demanding that fans revolt....as he's wearing a Twins hat and is on his way to a game.

**In my best Amy Poehler imitation** Really? REALLY?

I truly don't know where this rant came from. It also occurs to me I was whining about whiners. Oh well. I should also inform that I just got a papercut. Perhaps that was karmic.

We Are the Champions....My Friends....

2009-01-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

Now Playing: "Use Me" -Bill Withers

My friends and loved ones now have me back on Sundays. While the NFL playoffs are in full swing, fantasy football season is over.

The lowdown....

Played in 3 leagues....won in 3 leagues.
In my money league (screenshot above), finished 13-2 and won my division by 5 games.
Scored 211 more points than the next highest-scoring team, ended the season on a six-game win streak and had the highest weekly score in 6 weeks.

And again....most importantly......

Hold the "Hennen Bowl" traveling trophy after beating my brother in BOTH our match ups during the season.

Sigh.

Gonna be a good off-season in the front offices of the Minneapolis Shorty Tigers.

Now how many weeks until Spring Training?

Oh, So Sinfully Guilty

2008-11-18T16:57:00.001-08:00

Now Playing: "Covergirl" - New Kids on the Block

In case you didn't hear, the 80's ultra-awesome boy band New Kids on the Block have reunited, are touring, and have a big-selling album.

Soccer moms all over the country have been in constant swoon for the last six months.

The 90's came and went and we ALL tried to forget the Swatches, leg warmers, Guess Jeans and Aqua Net hair spray that defined us as Children of the 80's. Some of those nostalgic items are forever buried in the past, but there's one stalwart of that magical decade that will live on forever in the form of those beautiful boys...erm, men...from Boston.

....the guilty pleasure 80's song.

Don't be embarassed because we all have them. Walking down the street, you see the ultra-chic business woman in a sharp pin-striped suit and you first think "she's so classy, listening to her opera music." Don't fret; she totally has "Electric Youth" on her Ipod. The cool dude in the Italian sunglasses holding the Wall Street Journal on the train? He's still got his vinyl copy of Bon Jovi's "Slippery When Wet" album and dogs "Livin' on a Prayer" at Karaoke Night.

So I'm airing my dirty laundry. Cleansing is good for the soul and if anything you'll realize you're not alone in your love for Def Leppard. Not all of them are from the 80's, but the decade is well repped, trust me. They're all songs that you sing loud and proud, usually when you're by yourself and no one's around you for miles. I'll even link 'em...that way you can listen to them as you read. Don't hold back; you know you wanna! You might have to turn off the music player on the side to get the full effect of this post.

In no particular order......

1. "Covergirl"-New Kids on the Block. Might as well start here because you know I'm listening to it. I SO loved Joey McIntyre and he was SO singing this to me. Also, one my first girl crushes loved this song and I SO sang it to her like she was my covergirl. I could've totally been an awesome stalker. Awesome Lyric Alert: "Still your pretty face is the prettiest I've seen." Redundant much?

2. "Senorita"-Justin Timberlake. I was at a dance club in LA and when this song came on, everyone on the floor left in some sort of JT protest. My ass stayed right out there with about 3 other people....out of at least 100. Awesome Lyric Alert: "Gentlemen, good night; Ladies, good morning." So presumptuous, JT.

3. "Just Like Jesse James"-Cher She's SO badassed in this video. I fancied myself a badass much like Cher when I was 13, you know. I'm still this badassed. Awesome Lyric Alert: "You break the laws of love in the name of desire." Love 'em and leave 'em, Cher. She's earned a ride off into the sunset.

4. "Islands in the Stream"-Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. This has to be the #1 most played karaoke duet, no doubt in my mind. How cute were Kenny and Dolly? I wanted them to be my parents, if for any reason that I could hear them sing this all the time....because I'm sure Kenny and Dolly do sing it all the time. Awesome Lyric Alert: "I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb." Someone comes after me with a comb, I'm going to be offended, not flattered.

5. "Modern Girl"-Sheena Easton. It's "Girl Power" before any of the Spice Girls were Spice Fetuses. I was actually bopping to this when I was cooking dinner. Awesome Lyric Alert: "He asks her to dinner, she says 'I'm not free, tonight I'm gonna stay at home and watch TV.'" HAH! SEE? At one time women did have power over the remote control. It's time to take it back!

6. "Escape"-Enrique Iglesias. I love Enrique and I have no reasonable explanation as to why. It's just a song so full of whimsy. Whimsy! Right? Like, running through the fields of freshly-cut grass kinda whimsy. Whatever. Don't hate me. Awesome Lyric Alert: "You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love." Ok, maybe I wouldn't make a good stalker. Enrique has me beat.

7. "Afternoon Delight"-Starland Vocal Band. Maybe after Ron Burgundy and Brick Tamland gave this loving ode new life, it's perhaps not as guilty as it used to be. But the outfits alone in the original video just scream "Guilty Pleasure Song." Awesome Lyric Alert: "Skyrockets in flight **BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**Aaaaaaaaaaaaafternooooooon Delight." WORD.

8. "Please Mr. Please"-Olivia Newton John. In the film "Primary Colors," Kathy Bates' character sings the chorus to this song, and it's one of the best moments of a very good film. I wish I could find the scene and you'd know what I mean. I sang it right after I did "Modern Girl" and I swore the cat was crying. Awesome Lyric Alert: "Til some button-pushing cowboy plays that love song, and here I am just missing you again." I'll always wonder what B17 was.

9. "Shadow Dancing"-Andy Gibb. Andy got so much in his day, I bet. He was so cute. It was all that chest hair and crazy kool medallions. Every time I hear this, I think of South Park. Doesn't everyone? Awesome Lyric Alert: You are the question and the answer am I." Huh? I know the toilets flush the other way in Australia, but are their grammar rules backwards too?

10. "Genie in a Bottle"-Christina Aguilera. Let me preface by saying that of all these teeny bopper girls, I think Xtina is far and away the most talented. Every time I watch this video, I feel so dirrrrrrrrty...and I still don't know if that's a good dirrrrrrrty or bad. Awesome Lyric Alert: " I'm a genie in a bottle, you gotta rub me the right way." Ok, I answered my own question about which kind of dirrrrrrrty I feel.

11. "Love is a Battlefield"-Pat Benetar. No truer words ever spoken. It's like the bible of my youth. You know that at some point in your life, you were doing that group dance they do in this video. Awesome Lyric Alert: "But I'm trapped by your love and I'm chained to your side." Ah yes, and thus was born a bunch of children of the 80's with some dirty, kinky, spoken-in-the-boudoir-only tendencies.

12. "She Wants to Dance with Me"-Rick Astley. RICK ROLL! I had a poster of that Red-Haired Stud from across the pond. OMGHEWASGORGEOUS. Just watching this video and I love him all over again. Is that Debbie Gibson singing with him? I think I just died and went to 80's heaven. Awesome Lyric Alert: "And I really get the feeling that she likes me cos she said so, but not in so many words." OMGWHOWOULDN'T??????

And finally...don't threaten me with a good time....

13. "Unskinny Bop"-Poison. It was hard to actually pick one Poison song. That's a sad indictment all on it's own. It's a little hard to get the image of the Bret Michaels-Pam Anderson porn tape out of my head when I see this, but it's all good. Bret's Michaels is the gift that keeps on giving. Awesome Lyric Alert: "Like gasoline you wanna pump me and leave me when you get your fill." This guy needs a VH1 reality show to get chicks? Say it ain't so!

This list could seriously go on and on. Now count how many times I used words like "totally" "seriously" and "omg."

My One Bullet

2008-11-04T16:28:00.000-08:00

Now playing: "Sublime" -Santeria

I cast ballot number 1366 in the 7th Precinct, 7th Ward of Minneapolis, Minnesota this afternoon. It was one of the ballots that will elect Illinois Senator Barack Hussein Obama the 44th President of the United States of America.

I initially planned to go vote early, be at the polls early and go to work so that my employees could vote and not have to worry about rushing to work. At 6:30am, 30 minutes before the polls opened in Minnesota, I drove past my polling place and saw the line already wrapped around the block. Apparently all my neighbors had the same idea. Now, I could afford to wait in line after work, but not before. I continued on my way to work planning to vote on my way home.

All day I felt oddly like a kid on Christmas Eve. I checked CNN and saw long, long lines in other states. One by one, employees and co-workers arrived at work, telling stories of equally long waits. But there was zero exasperation. They were happy to do it; excited even. I took a deep breath and recognized the scent; change was in the air.

Clients would come in and look for my red "I voted" sticker. I explained that I hadn't had the chance yet but would do so after work. They'd ask me who I planned to vote for. It's not the best idea to share that information with clients for fear I'd be swaying people classified as vulnerable adults. So rather than tell them, my big mantra for the day was "I don't care who you vote for, I just want you to vote." We'd planned two outings to the local precinct so people could vote. Each trip we sent ten clients who were surprisingly knowledgeable and above all, brimming with excitement and motivation to participate. Included in that was a first-time voter who was giving that same "you just have to vote" discussion to her friends. A new generation of citizen is being born as we live and breathe and it's breathtaking to witness.

I work in an African immigrant neighborhood of Minneapolis. If you want to see democracy in action, you should have been in the lobby of my building around 2pm today. See, I'm lucky. All I had to do was be born in the US and POOF - I get to vote 18 years later. These folks often came from a country that didn't allow it's citizens to vote, and even if they could there's no telling how fair those elections were. To top that off, they come to our country, have to study for a citizenship test and pass it before they can exercise a most powerful right that was just bestowed on me via birth. Have you seen those freaking US citizenship tests? No lie, those things are tough! For a high school civics student it's manageable but for us adults who are years out of high school? Forget it. Epic fail. It's scary how little US born citizens know about our government. These folks worked damn hard for their vote, and they are so proud to be able to cast their vote. They animatedly discuss the issues with fervor, hope and knowledge far above those of the average voter. Some of the most informed conversations I've had in this election term were with people who just joined the ranks of US citizenry; truly inspiring.

I left work and arrived at my polling place and there was a line (lines - LINES! I felt like Cartman I swear) but at least it was contained inside the building. I stood in line and the man next to me struck up a conversation. I got my ballot, sat down and filled in those little holes just like I was taking the SAT's, being careful not to color outside the lines. I finished, proudly stuck my ballot in the machine, took my "I voted" sticker and waltzed on home. I laughed out loud at one point and recalled an ironic point, one that would make fear-mongering conservatives shudder; I actually did vote for a Muslim tonight. Keith Ellison, the 5th district congressman who represents Minneapolis, is a converted Muslim. I've had the chance to work with him on Public Housing issues when he was both in the Minnesota Legislature and in his time in Washington. He's a good man and the 5th district will easily re-elect him. Suck it Karl Rove!

Change will happen today, regardless of who wins; the first Black President, the oldest President, the first female Vice President. Joe Biden doesn't really have a designation, but he seems like cool people. Minnesota always has high turnout, but today I could just sense that change in the wind. People nation-wide are ready for something new. The guy I conversed with in line said something profound to me. Turns out he's a cab driver. Nice feller. His take on Election Day; "It's my one bullet, so to speak. My one chance to make my mark on the world." A morbid metaphor perhaps, but it made perfect sense to me.

If we use our voices wisely, so much can be achieved. Today marks the day when a simple girl like me can make a difference.

But the most important thing to take from today is this: it's not over tonight. People are so passionate about this election, but don't let it end here. Be active in following what your elected officials do. Write them letters, send them emails, let them know how you feel about the job they're doing. Find something you're passionate about and donate your time. It doesn't have to be much, because 10 minutes is better than none at all.

Obama just took Pennsylvania.

Exhale.

We are on the cusp of a fresh, new, exciting world. If you participated in the great American exercise today, you can say that you were a part of history.

Take a deep breath, feel the crisp air fill your lungs and take a huge step forward.

"We've been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." Barack Obama

Damn You, Katy Perry

2008-11-03T21:05:00.000-08:00

Now Playing: "I Kissed a Girl"-Katy Perry

"I kissed a girl and I liked it...the taste of her cherry chapstick...."

Ugh. It's freaking stuck in my head, and you know it's stuck in yours too.

But whatever. It was bubblegum chapstick; bubblegum Lip Chap, actually. Oh, and I more than liked it. Yet that's not what this post is about. I just had to mention how this song sticks in my head.

I apologize in advance as this is going to be a very tangential post. It's a political post which I don't try to do too often, but it's November 3rd, 2008. It had to come up sometime. Tomorrow approximately 76% of Americans will go to their local polling place to cast their vote for the President of the United States. The 76% is an estimate pulled purely from my ass and it doesn't include those voters that will get impatient with long lines or the votes that will get tossed out or disqualified for whatever reason is popular in the news now.

So I'm jaded. Deal with it.

It's pretty exciting to be a left-leaner about now. I recall a conversation I had with an employee in January. He's a well-spoken, college-educated 20-something black male who likes politics, fantasy football and studying psychology. Oddly, it sounds like me. I hired an office full of people just like me. Word. Anyhow, he said at the time "I don't think this country's ready for a black President." I agreed with him, adding "or a female President." *Sigh* Aw Hilldog. Maybe we didn't give the American voting public enough credit. OR we gave Dubya and the Repubs too much credit. I'm guessing it's a combination of both. Regardless, barring a last-minute seismic bombshell, Barack Obama will be the next President of the United States.

That's cool. Right? Right.

I had concerns about his lack of experience, his ability to speak to middle America and work across the aisle in Washington. If you surround yourself with good, smart people, you can get experience. What is "Middle America" anyway? Joe the Plumber? I don't even know a Joe who is a plumber and I'm pretty "Middle America." I do know a Joe the Maintenance guy though. Can Obama reach across the aisle and work with Dems and Repubs alike? That's the question I had to ask myself. I knew GOP nominee John McCain could. Until he went racing to the far right to solidify the GOP base and get his party's nomination, he had a good record for working on issues in a bi-partisan fashion. With Democratic Senator Russ Feingold, McCain sponsored the most significant Campaign Finance Reform Bill to date. McCain has a proven record of being able to cross party lines and get things done. It's why his own party wasn't sold on him as their nominee. He's mavericky (tip your beers)!

Then McCain chose Alaska Governor Sarah Palin as his running mate. I very quickly got over Hillary Clinton losing the nomination and threw my support behind Obama.

I read somewhere that 70% of Americans espouse the ideas that are the core of the Democratic Party platform; Education and Health Care. Yet why have Republicans ended up in office? Because Republicans run better campaigns. They've been able to scare us into voting for the party who is strongest on defense...never mind it's that same party that has led us head-long into an impending recession. Now, however, voters are finally paying attention. People are being laid off, the cost of living is so high and wages and jobs don't keep up.

I'm not worried that Al-Qaeda is going to bomb the Warehouse District. I'm worried that I could lose my job in what is presumably a secure field and I won't be able to pay my mortgage because my local banker is nervous enough to jump ship and leave my mortgage high and dry. Long and short of it, the last 8 years have done nothing to make me feel more secure, and I'm at the point in my life where I should be more secure than I was 8 years ago. I have bought into the mantra of change, because it can't be much worse than where we are now. *knock on wood*

It's the everyday reality, people. It's not defense spending, global warming, abortion, the death penalty or ANY of the other issues that single issue voters like to tout.

Ahem.

Maybe this is a little bit about kissing girls.

I'm not a single-issue voter and it's about #10 on the list of issues I consider when choosing a politician to vote for. I just want to know why people think it's not okay for me to marry my girlfriend. It's a given that Repubs don't support Gay Marriage, but during the VP debate, Democrat Joe Biden said he didn't support it either. Someone please explain it to me. I don't give a shit about being married in the eyes of God. That's window dressing. It's not the real issue.

I want to know that she can visit me in the hospital and help make a medical decision for me in case I can't.

I want to know that we would be able to benefit from an economic union between the two of us that provides us long-term financial security.

I want to know that I could still be deeply involved in raising her two sons into grown men if, God forbid, something were to ever happen to her.

That's all. I promise I won't go out of my way to ruin the sanctity of marriage.

You know though....much like thinking that "this country isn't ready for a black President," the times, they are-a changin'. I can marry her in California and Connecticut and ensure all those worries above are taken care of. I can marry her on the pitchers mound at Fenway Park, and it'll be the real deal.

Tomorrow, I vote for change. To those who resist change that can better the lives and morale of those around you, I say good riddance. It's so easy to look back and cling to the safe past, even if that past is so freakin' dysfunctional you can't tell your head from your ass.

To those who want to deny ME the right to share a life with some degree of financial security with a woman I love more than anything else, I simply say fuck you very much. You're gonna be so sorely disappointed when the inevitable hits you smack in the face and knocks your teeth out, and it's gonna happen as sure as Barack Obama's gonna be President by this time tomorrow night.

I'm ready. Are you?

"Change is the law of life and those who only look to the past or present are certain to miss the future." --John F. Kennedy

Shorty Tigers Represent!

2008-10-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: Alive-Pearl Jam

It might be hard to see in the screenshot, but if you click on it, it will enlarge. Regardless, I'll give you the details NFL Countdown-Style.

The Mighty Shorty Tigers are

The only 4-0 team in the Gridiron Gorilla Fantasy Football League.
3-0 in the AFC division.
The highest scoring team by more than 100 points over the next team.
Highest scoring team in each of the first four weeks of the season.

AND...

4 games up on her brother's team.

WURD!

Bridge 9340

2008-09-17T22:55:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: Angel From Montgomery-Susan Tedeschi

In Minneapolis tomorrow at 5am the I-35W bridge that collapsed into the Mississippi River on August 1st of last year reopens. The new bridge will resume it's predecessor's job of carrying over 140,000 cars each day from the northern suburbs, Northeast Minneapolis and the University of Minnesota into downtown Minneapolis. Much was disrupted in the span of 13 months. The obvious signs; the traffic snarls in downtown reminiscent of Los Angeles freeway system as well as never-ending construction and detours were small but visible earmarks. In some form, there was an overall loss of production and business in the downtown business core. Grandma's, a landmark restaurant and long-time inhabitant of the Seven Corners neighborhood at Washington and Cedar Avenues closed due to seeing less traffic since the bridge collapse. Other establishments, the Corner Bar and Bullwinkles, have seen significant loss in revenue but have managed to survive the decrease in traffic through the area.

The largest loss which needs no price tag was the death of 13 people who were on the bridge at 6:05pm. Rest in peace.

I used the bridge formerly known as Bridge 9340 every day, either driving on it or going under it on the Mississippi River Parkway as a shortcut to avoid downtown from home on my way to and from work in the West Bank. On August 1st 2007, I was on the bridge about 30 minutes previous to the collapse. I went to Target in the Quarry Shopping Center after work and came across the bridge into downtown to go home. When I got home, I put my purchases away and went to call my girlfriend to find that my cell phone told me "all circuits were busy." I tried again to no avail. I tried a different number and still couldn't get through. Thinking perhaps there was a cell network problem, I figured I'd try her later and sat down to watch the 6pm news. There I found out why my phone didn't work. My first thought was the safety of my brother who also lives downtown. I sent off a text message and was relieved to see him return it. I sent a text message my aunt Brenda, who lived out in the suburbs and whose phone network wouldn't be as tied up, and asked her to pass on the message to anyone concerned that my brother and I were fine. I thought specifically of my mother in Dallas and hoped word would get to her quickly. I got through to my girlfriend and without explaining anything asked her to turn on the news. I sat down and sent a quick email to the important people in my email address book and notified them of the same. During the next hour I'd get the occasional email from cousins that they too were okay and safely at home. I got an email from the State Department of Health. It's an email sent to all providers registered as first responders that their services may be requested in times of disasters and to check in over the next couple days with the three major trauma centers in the city. As requested, I stayed off my phone for most of the night. I made plans to go give blood the next day. I quietly watched the news by myself. I watched the disabled bus of school children creeping toward the water below, the car fires on the bridge and rescuers navigating the dark, deep waters of the river not knowing if they'd find survivors or victims.

Just over a year later, Bridge 9340 is to be replaced with the Saint Anthony Falls Bridge.

I found out today that another bridge several miles south of Minneapolis collapsed earlier this summer. It got nowhere near the publicity of the I-35W Bridge, but once I heard that the Historic Sutliff Bridge fell into the Cedar River, it affected me just the same. The Sutliff Bridge was on the National List of Historic Places and was a victim of the Iowa floods this summer, collapsing on June 13th. It's located in the "blink and you miss it" town of Sutliff Iowa, a few rolling country road miles from where I went to college in Mt. Vernon.

The rackety old bridge flooring which was suitable for foot traffic only consisted of wooden planks extending across the entire length of the bridge. At some point during my college years I'd carved my name into one of those planks. I'm quite certain I was involved in a hush-hush greek initiation ritual there, but I'll never know for certain as I was blindfolded the entire time. There's a small tavern right next to the river, the Sutliff Store and Tavern, which was famous for the ceiling covered with dollar bills. First-time visitors to the Tavern would feast on the cholesterol-laden bar foodstuffs and leave their mark by personalizing a dollar bill and getting it tacked on the ceiling for posterity's sake. At some point during my four years of college, I sacrificed a hard earned and scarce dollar to Sutliff's ceiling. I guess it's fair to mention that I sacrificed a lot more than a dollar on the bar foodstuffs and beverages.

The Tavern closed and the owners carefully watched the rising waters that threatened to close their livelihood. The waters thankfully recessed and the Tavern reopened for business less than a week later on June 19th Residents of the town searched the river to recover the pieces of the bridge that fell into the river. One of the picnic tables that was on the bridge was found two miles downriver. Discussion is underway as to how to repair the Sutliff Bridge, but Sutliff Tavern owner Randy Howell has no doubt that it will get done.

Rebuilding is a time for growth and hope.

"There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with." -- Harry Crews, novelist

I Thought I Was Your Fantasy?

2008-09-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: Still I-sleeperspaceborn

No, it's not what you think. It's not quite that exciting.

Then again, the level of excitement depends on who you ask.

The NFL season began Thursday evening but it begins in earnest at 12 Noon Central Time today. That's 67 minutes from now, if anyone's counting. I certainly am. I am a rabid Minnesota Viking fan which is not unheard of in my neck of the woods. We love The Purple in this state. They always disappoint but like a puppy that's been kicked too many times, we keep coming back with an empty bowl every fall.

What's worse is that I supplement the irrational football fandom by participating in the other national pastime known as Fantasy Football. I don't mean as a casual participant who might read the Monday sports page with heightened interest. I'm talking PC open, seven web pages open to follow five different games, remote control in hand to flip back and forth to whatever games I can get on standard cable and clad in the jersey of my starting quarterback for the week (Drew Brees of the New Orleans Saints because I know you were gonna ask the question). I have so far resisted the urge to get NFL Sunday Ticket on Direct TV. I know going down that road would represent an end to many things; my relationship, my pledge to live healthier, leaving the couch on the weekends, just to point out a few.

I see you looking at me with utter scorn. But guess what? You're so totally outnumbered. You're in the minority thinking you're above it all. Nearly 20 million people play Fantasy sports. Real live breathing pro athletes play fantasy football, for Pete's sake! Matt Holliday, All-Star outfielder for the Colorado Rockies and I will both be frantically checking our stats to see how Dallas Cowboys running back Marion Barber does this week against pourous Cleveland Browns run defense.

Fantasy Football's become a living, breathing, thriving industry on it's own. I have a friend who runs his own event planning business. Two years ago he sent out a mass email advertising services to anyone who wanted a professional planner to organize Fantasy Football draft parties. He was booked solid for three weeks up to the start of the season. Mobile phone companies rake in as well. Away from a PC? No worries; you can check how many catches Cincinatti Bengals Wide Reciever Chad Ocho Cinco has by halftime on your phone, for a small and very manageable fee, of course.

Then again, whatever income Fantasy Football pumps into the economy, it stands to lose in workplace productivity. Millions of US workers will spend their first 15 minutes at work tomorrow furiously digging through stats on ESPN.com. Those millions of workers hunched over their computer screens will amount to 9.2 billion dollars of lost work time before the season's over. You can buy nine NFL teams with that money. That's more than the Gross National Product of Jamaica. Yeah, Mon! Ironically a University of Mississippi study found that almost half of Fantasy players don't drink while watching games because they want to have a more "business-like approach" when watching games. Somewhere, the owners of Coors are hyperventilating.

The biggest losers for the next five months are the fantasy widows. You know at least one of them, driven from their own home on Sundays for the sake of their own sanity. Yes, the majority of them are women, but don't discount the women that play Fantasy Football whose men don't know who Chris Mortensen is. For those souls who wander around purposelessly on Sundays, I know you feel alone and isolated. Fear not! These folks can be your Sunday family! The Women Against Fantasy Sports will welcome you with open arms, and they've got some pretty cool t-shirts.

Look at it this way; the NFL season is reasonably short, and it'll all be over in five months.

Unless you play fantasy baseball.

23 minutes until noon kickoff, and I've got work to do!

Death to Clear Channel

2008-09-01T13:17:00.001-07:00

Now Playing: There She Goes-Babyshambles

My Theory: Clear Channel Communications is partially responsible for the gradual but certain demise of the creative American Social Psyche.

Music, for me and for many that I know, has woven its way into the fabric of our society. We have listened to music purely for entertainment. We have heard songs with inherent messages to be individually interpreted. We have heard songs that were the face of a societal movement. For many, music----generating, performing, listening, reacting-----is a pure form of expression. We hear a song and for many, it allows us to recall a memory, pleasant or not, but nonetheless a memory which helped to create the person we are.

I landed a dream job just out of college working at an FM classic rock radio station in Iowa City. It was part time weekends and my fantasy come true. I was surrounded by the music I grew up listening to: The Rolling Stones, the Eagles, Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac to name a few. Even better, I could share my love for music with a hundred thousand people in the listening area. Yes, there was a playlist to follow, but it did allow for some personal additions and requests. In addition to the music, I read weather, news, sports, and other irreverent bits that I think flowed right along with the music I'd chosen, as long as I followed FCC guidelines. It paid for utter crap and I would've done it for free.

A year after I'd been there, Clear Channel bought the station. I was naive then and didn't see this as a concern; in fact, I thought it was great. The Clear Channel affiliation meant high profile names came to our station when they were in town on tour. I got to split hors d'ourves with Stevie Nicks and watch an Eric Clapton in-studio performance live. But a mere two weeks after Clear Channel bought the station, the 'automated playlist program' was in place. This is a computer program which already has the music tracks downloaded and pre-determined on MP3 files and where you pre-record your "live" breaks onto MP3 files and plug them into assigned places. The stacks of CD's; gone. There was no deviating from the computer-generated playlist. You could record six hours worth of "live" voice-overs in 30 minutes, then spend the next 5 hours and 30 minutes of a six-hour radio show watching "Friends" on the TV in the conference room. If the weather changed during that six hour show, you went back in to the pre-recorded playlist and inserted an updated forecast. One weekend evening when I was alone at the station, I went out to get some food. I listened to my radio show...with MY voice...coming over the airways...as I was driving along Interstate 80 to get Chinese food. Eventually, I left the job. I could watch "Friends" in the comfort of my own home, and without the ability to be flexible and creative, the wage wasn't worth the 70 minute round-trip drive from my house to the station.

In the Minneapolis-St. Paul listening area, Clear Channel owns the license to seven radio stations broadcasting from transmitters of greater than 25,000 watts; 16 stations total broadcast at that strength in this listening area, giving Clear Channel control over 43 percent of the dominating radio power. This doesn't include Clear Channel's ownership over 11 smaller-wattage stations throughout Minnesota, as well as their 85 % ownership of local billboards and controls over concert venues and artist bookings. Leaving a story for another day is the cozy relationship of the Bush Administration with Clear Channel top executives. I'm not going to get political today, rather bemoaning the loss of a creative slice of our society.

Music's allure is it's variety, it's ability to have a different impact on every different personality that listens to it. My interpretation of "I Am the Walrus" is different than my neighbor's. The mind is a muscle that needs worked, or, like any other, it will atrophy and weaken. Gone is the dominant radio figure who made you sit up and take notice and still recall later in the day thinking "wow...that really made me think." Now we have posed mouthpieces who spit out pre-recorded soundbites who dither mindlessly while we numbingly inch our way to work on the freeway, hearing a song you know you heard at the same time just an hour before.

No wonder Apple can put out a new IPod product every six months. We are pleading to get back a semblance of creative control. It's about time.

No More Two Pesos

2008-08-31T09:00:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: Cool Change-Little River Band

Yesterday I was on a Metro Transit bus from downtown toward Southdale Mall. I decided a year ago I was going to take public transit more. Rather than be one of those people who whine about how crappy our world is, I wanted to actually do something to make it better. My contribution to that cause is to drive less, use transit more; less dependence on foreign oil, better for the environment, supporting urban systems, yaddah yaddah…..

My IPod’s on and I’m tuned into a playlist called “80’s goodness.” Most of the 80’s were rather forgettable, but one must admit, the music was totally tubular. Right? Right. The route of the 6 bus runs from downtown Minneapolis, through the Lowry Hill, Uptown and Linden Hills neighborhoods. These are also places I spent my formative years. I don’t come this way often; I’m a downtown snob and work on the West Bank of Minneapolis. As the bus rumbles down Hennepin Avenue and the soundtrack of my youth fills my head, it’s so easy to go right back to Two Pesos on the Corner of Lake Street and Holmes Avenue. Sadly, Uptown looks like Suburbs East now. Gone is that uniquely urban flavor, and Two Pesos isn’t there anymore either.

I rumbled past Lake Calhoun, the Convention Grill, and the Edina Cleaners, all of which recalled memories of friends, enemies, tears and laughter past. Several blocks further we went past the home I grew up in. It looks just about the same except the window trim was a lighter green than I remember. What I do remember clearly is stripping the paint off those bloody windows and repainting them a forest green. They were pea green when my mother bought the home. But the deck we built was still there, the basketball hoop we mounted still stood, and my window on the second floor facing France Avenue was wide open, exactly as if I’d just left that morning.

Next was the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd just a block further. Not that I’m a churchy kind of gal but church meant church groups, which meant friends who I shared some pretty surreal experiences with. I’ll just say “near death experience at the hands of a rattlesnake and bitten by a dog named Playful” for now.

Nearing the 50^th & France shopping district, I looked for the gas station that was my first job, and until recently, the job I held for the longest period of time. However, it wasn’t there; in its place was a parking ramp. Capitalism at it’s finest. Meh. That’s okay. I don’t have the inflatable Car Wax turtle anymore anyway.

It’s about 20 square city blocks, but it represents an area that offered me so many lessons in life that I remember with striking clarity to this day. Many of those lessons I passed, but make no mistake, some I failed miserably. Worse, some I failed miserably more than once. It took me a long time to forgive myself for those and understand that indeed, life is a learning curve. It’s been hard for me to “go back home” because I left it with high expectations and I don’t feel I’d achieved them; at least not until recently.

This was the first time I’d gone through Southwest Minneapolis since I’ve gained my own clarity. Between the sights, the sounds and what’s been on my mind constantly for the last year, it allowed me to think just a little bit about where I’ve been, where I am now and where I want to be. Not all of those got equal attention. I knew where I’d been. I could see it and relive it for the brief seconds it took the bus to go from block to block. Where I am now, well…that changes daily. To keep looking there is to miss what’s ahead. That’s where I am focused. I’ve settled the scores with all the bull from my past, gotten right with myself and am now walking ahead, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

It’s so complex, but really very simple. I have wanted for many things in life, some I’ve achieved, some I haven’t, and I always wanted more. My next destination is so clear, so heartbreakingly real, life-altering and fulfilling. I haven’t wanted any one thing so badly in my short life. It comes with risk to me, but with what I have to gain, I can’t even call it risky. I will not ever truly be alive if I don’t make this journey.

Wish me luck.

Ab Initio

2008-08-31T08:22:00.000-07:00

Now Playing: Roam-B52's

To preface this space, I’ve been waiting a while to resume blogging. I kept a diary as a child and teen and it always seemed to ground me. The more “required” writing I did, the more I got away from writing for myself. I resumed blogging at website, the name of which I will take to my grave, which renewed my desire to express myself through written word.

Since ending my blogging at that hush-hush site, I’ve started three blogs…but was never able to put post one down. That unnerved me some, as I’ve always been expressive. Why couldn’t I put pen to paper? (you know what I mean)

I spent a long time being lost; not necessarily in the physical world; I could act with the best of them. But I was directionless and not really functioning with a purpose. I had lots of grand ideas, but wasn’t pointed in the right direction.

Now I am. What comes next is my path.