Panorama

What's on tap?
Southern Tier IPA & 422; Full Sail Session Lager

Conundrum of the Week
The salsa in the fridge tastes like kim chee and the fresh jar in the cupboard tastes like marinara sauce.

Who's driving this space-plane anyway?
Two weeks ago I left for a ten-day stint in Japan. I get back and we have two failed attempts at plugging the Gulf oil leak and another failing one in the works. What the fuck, people?

Oh sure, blame British Petroleum BUT let's pick another reason to hold Obama's feet over the coals; let's crucify the high levels of government and draw partisan lines over unilateral (dare I posit non-governmental?) issues. I grow tired of the victim scenario ... along the lines of: "Oh, I can't believe these shining beacons of corporate greed could have let this happen. I mean, there are RULES and REGULATIONS and such, right? It must be THE fault of whomever is in power."

Think about your own job. How much shit do you have to deal with that was created by people above you, below you -- people you may not even like? But they stirred the pot, made downright crappy decisions and now you're left with the white glove and the butterfly net, expected to make everything right.

Culpability. The stark reality of this -- the blood is on us all. Each and every one of us are holding smoking guns. After all, we are the nation that commands cheap energy at any and all costs. The kicker? Look around you -- do you see any tangible evidence that this latest oil disaster has changed anyone's habits? Have you overheard any talk at the office coffee machine (err, sorry ... on Facebook) about this other facet of oil-mania? Forget community detachment, obesity rates, psychological malaise, global warming -- this is an apocalyptic reminder of the true costs along the full cycle of oil consumption. Yet, beyond pointing fingers at blame it seems few care. What a privilege to assert. How very American.

What did you really log on to write about?
Jetlag. When you fly back from a place that is 14 hours ahead of your home time zone you learn a lot about yourself. You behave in ways that are most shocking. You think, "I really ought to be able to just convince myself I'm not feeling psychopathic in this moment." Fortunately, it soon passes.

There are the upsides, too: Lucid dreams that are so vivid and joyful within 30 seconds of closing one's eyes: Appreciation for the old and familiar: Clarity that can only be gained by experiencing another reality for an extended period of time. I revel in this. It is perhaps the greatest personal benefit of my current job.

Another benefit is that I am up uncharacteristically early. This morning I cleaned several months' worth of blackened burner residue from all six stations of our antique range's cooktop. I scrubbed and scrubbed with citrus cleaner then resorted to oven spray. I washed all the laundry from my trip. I changed light bulbs and swept a few lingering piles of dust. I cleaned out all the old contents of the fridge (but missed one container of salsa).

So what?
This evening I watched the kids. I was determined -- after being a sleepy, jetlagged crank yesterday at this time -- to power through the urge to nap and do something fun. I suggested a walk. Sylvia countered a bike ride. Despite the lethargia I hitched the Burley trailer and Sylvia grabbed her bike.



We pedaled away from the house -- Sylvia on her bike and me towing the trailer with Willa aboard. The pace was remarkably slow. Here and there an occasional trackstand was necessary. I steered us toward the bike path. I wanted Sylvia to learn some new skills about riding around other people. She powered up several hills and pulled her bike over the railroad tracks. She also pedaled a muddy, graveled detour without being phased. Eventually, I had to load her and the bike onto the trailer. It is worth noting she rode 2.2 miles on her own.

Where are you going with this?
That short trip on the bike trail was not exactly care-free. I was tensely looking over my shoulder and reminding Sylvia to keep to the right. The path warriors are never at bay and sure enough a half dozen or so buzzed by us panting, knock-kneed and piston-pedaling along. Some said nothing, others seemed to whisper and others gasped abruptly 'On your left." I'm a critic for certain, but not until tonight do I think I fully realized why the lycra-clad give cyclists a bad name in most circles. Much to their (and our) demise, they transform the bike trails, streets and byways into ribbons of narcissitic pursuit, forging the carbon-copy type of speed-defined dominance. Still, we crawled on greeting the smiles of some who slowed enough to notice the utter joy that is a child learning to ride a bike.

I don't know exactly why I was compelled to note the mileage when Sylvia gave in, but I did. As the minutes ticked onward, it occurred to me she had surpassed a national milestone. You know that one about the majority of Americans' automobile trips being two miles or less?

"Holy shit," I thought, "My five-year-old daughter has just ridden her 12-inch kids' bike farther than most adults think possible."

Both kids and the bike loaded, my 100 lb+ burden-in-tow seemed like a balloon full of helium. We made our detour to the beer store. On the way back we swung by the seedy beach on the east side of Cedar Lake.


The kids played in the water as I pointed out the gregarious activity of Red-Wing Blackbirds flittering all about.



We rolled on to the abandoned rail dock that is now a gravel road west of Linden Yard. It's one of my favorite detours on the morning commute and a frequent stop on the way home. From there a few short, steep paths climb up to Kenwood. (Secretly, I always hope this egress for vagrants keeps the rich folks on their toes.)

I sipped a beer while we explored the paths. Sylvia and Willa practiced pied a canarde as well as a variation of glissading on the way back down. Willa settled on the most instinctual method of descent -- the ass slide. I was delighted as they both asked to go up one more time and test their new skills. Right there, in real-time, I could see their confidence growing.

Perhaps what we need is more opportunities for people to learn and more openness to these opportunities. Even amidst settled routine there is spontaneity awaiting the receptive mind.

Drop your baggage and follow your kid for 5 minutes. S/he will show you something you'd forgotten long ago.

Bike Bells Demystified (For the Non-Cyclist)

Hi
I'd like to say that
but you see
I am 30ft away
and closing this gap
quickly.

Ding, ding.

A quick sharp ring
a pure brass tone
penetrates the drone
friendly conversation
dogs panting
shoes slapping
cell phone gabbing
or so, that's the plan.

Ding, ding.

"Good [insert time of day]
On your left."
I'd like to say
Hi
but you see
I am 30ft away
and closing this gap
quickly.

How shocking
The jumps and starts
The mutterings of profanity
The occasional outright insults
The deafness
dumbness
blindness
unawareness
That's why I have the bell
but you ain't hearing it.

If you'd rather
really
I don't need to ring it.

It's not meant to frighten
but if it offends
the bell is easily replaced.

Ding, ding
becomes a nudge or a push
or
a GETtheFUCKouttaMYway!
It doesn't really matter though
because what I'd
truly like to say is

Hi
Excuse me
Thank you
Have a good day.

Absolutes

Everything I ever thought was a constant I've desolved.

God.
Family.
Marriage.
Friendship.

I have found all transient, if non-existent.

I do not stand before anyone seeking solace.

I do not seek evidence to prove or disprove.

What is, is.

Bumper Stickers

I like bumper stickers. I've been known to fly a few over the years. My zeal for presenting a message to the world at large from the surface of my car has waned in the past few years, considering I sold my car and get around mostly by bike.

However, I must admit the impact of bumper stickers is not lost on me. In fact, the more I cycle the more I realize the mindless beings trapped behind the wheel are fodder for AHA! moments when a lucid message can make some real impact for better or worse. In my observation, most people are not paying much attention to their driving, so why not suggest some social change amidst their profound dis-engagement?

There are categories of stickers for me. I admit I am a bit polarized. I believe there are worthwhile and useless bumper stickers. I'm not partial to the conservative or christian ones in part because they tend to show little creativity or intellectual depth. Then there are the obvious contradictions -- some of my least favorite are pro-environmental stickers plastered on cars. And I must admit pro-bicyclist stickers affixed to cars ('My Other Car is a Bike!' or 'I SHARE the road') that pass me too close, cut me off or treat me like a mere bug on the street get on my nerves. We're all human though and prone to forget what's hanging out of our garments, let alone stuck to our bumpers.

But I am not here to split those already frazzled hairs or dissect previously mutilated science projects. I wish to address a new sticker I saw this morning while driving the kids to the baby sitter. (Yes, driving ... it's a long story.)

Crossing a quiet neighborhood street in S Mpls, there was a smallish car parked with a brightly contrasting sticker stuck top and center of the trunk hatch. I particularly take notice when an automobile owner has chosen to adhere a sticker to the paint of their car, not just the plastic or metal bumper. This one was stuck smack on the paint of a newish car, high and proud. It read: Cats NOT Kids. The caps are not added for emphasis, that's how it read.

I am not the world's poster-child for Buddhism, but I am a Buddhist. I don't hate animals, but rather recognize everything from cows to cockroaches as sentient beings. I also happen to believe pet culture in our country is over the top. We've divided our country over socialized medicine while millions of Americans spend billions on their dogs and cats for everything from organic food to shrink sessions. We smash and poison insects, neglect destitute people on the street (they ought to know better, right?) but we extol the merits and rights of our domesticated pets. How bizarre.

As a Buddhist I believe in reincarnation. If you don't understand reincarnation, it is based on karma (merit of deeds) and presents a certain hierarchical order to why you end up as the being you are today. To be reborn a human is an extra special outcome -- a treat of merit. You've done a lot of good things in the past. Not only do you have sentience, you have reason, choice and the ability to further advance your presence (and help others) in this go-around. You have a choice to overcome instinct with reason and intellect.

Helping others means all other sentient beings -- animals, humans. That's cool. I don't kill bugs and I teach my children the same. Yes, we eat meat sometimes; I realize that is not ideal. I don't agree with war. Aspects of socialism appeal to me because they present a more level access to basic services that preserve a healthier state of human existence.

I was married previously. My partner and I both agreed having children was out of the question. That's lucky since we split up and I happen to think that kids caught in divorce have a really tough time. I endured it myself. At the time of my previous marriage though, I was even more convinced not to procreate from a philosophical viewpoint of zero population growth.

However, my viewpoint softened somewhat as I found myself partnered with someone who was confident and resilient beyond the call of social convention. I listened to friends who told me what a good father I would be. I pondered the possibility of raising offspring who are taught more than the empty urge to breed others to join the status quo (whatever the parent/society defines that to be).

What if the ultimate act of parenting is to raise kids who will question and cry bullshit at the norm?

That is my goal as a parent. I can imagine, but not actualize, the pain I'll feel the first time one of our daughters tells me, "Fuck you, dad." But I will revel in the realization that I have helped guide a free-thinking being who can discern shit from shinola.

To espouse a doctrine (Cats NOT Kids) of breeding animals over humans, however, is ludicrous to me. Sure, it echoes a statement against human overpopulation but it reflects an inability to relate to the dynamic human element that is necessary to make our world a better place. I'm not saying cats and dogs don't matter. We host a cat now. I have partnered many cats and dogs (not to mention hamsters, mice and rats) over the years and I've been seriously attached to them. They were good souls. I carry their presences with me now; I remember them fondly. But the bumper sticker "Cats NOT Kids" irks me.

I took some time off from work recently. As I am wont to do, I spent a lot of that time in the garage where my shop is. One afternoon I heard through the window a surreal hissing sound below the open window. I popped outside to discover our cat in a face off with a neighborhood stray. This critter was lean and mangy. I positioned myself between them, charged at him shouted, "Get out of here!" He not only didn't budge he stared up at me with a piercing gaze that said, "I'll just as happily fuck your shit up, too." I've stared down plenty of wild animals from skunks to bears and boars. But I have never felt as chilled as I did when challenging this cat. It took a foot and a grill cover, twice, to get him out of our yard.

Cats (nor dogs) are not going to change our world, our society, our government for the better. Not in the sense that they can begin delivering speeches, running for office or affecting policy. Perhaps I'm missing the point -- the person who bought the bumper sticker thinks otherwise and believes cats can bridge this gap of communication and reason (i.e. they can talk to certain people). In that case I should stop typing now.

If you believe you relate better in cat or dog language, you're probably not reading my blog anyhow.

Pet people, love your pets. But don't neglect, dismiss or hate your human co-inhabitants.

Spylab

The old stuff.

Corners

I’m going to jinx us all when I open up this topic, but I just have to brag about how incredibly awesome our run of early spring weather has been. A month ago when I boarded a plane bound for Taiwan it was sunny and topping out at a sweat-breaking 60 degrees. I cursed the fact I had to leave Mpls because I was certain I’d return to some cold snap or a late snow. Every year we yearn for the warmth as winter winds down, but you do well not to get too comfortable during late winter/early spring in MN. Things are known to change quickly.

When I returned from Taiwan a week and a half later it was warm, sunny and dry. This made me happy but I couldn’t let myself get too smug. It was only late March after all. Now as we slide toward the tail end of April it’s looking more and more like we are truly fortunate to bask in the glory of the earliest spring on record during my eight year sojourn here.


Sylvia sports a piece of fresh tulip jewelry.

The latest snow that I recall fell during the final week of April about 5 years ago. Those few slushy inches quickly melted and we were back on course for May flowers. I don’t want to knock them -- spring snow storms are fun in their own special way. But my main point here is this – no matter how you slice it, spring in MN is one of the most incredible seasonal experiences anywhere on Earth. All of our seasons are defined with well-marked transitions. I love that as do most of the others I know who choose to call this place home.


Last Saturday night Willa looked up into the western sky and spied the sliver of a moon. She pointed it out to me stating, “Daddy, there’s the moon … the moon.” She followed up by dispelling a popular myth: “There’s no cheese in it.”

Just in case you were wondering.

Things to be Happy About (Unless You're a Republican)

US Transportation Secretary, Ray LaHood, stating bicycling and walking should be given the same consideration as motorized transport in state and local transit projects. Yay.

Backbone. I wish more politicians, or appointed officials had one.

Bicycling voted Mpls the #1 city for cycling. Double yay.

Go ride yer bike.