...and nothing provides clarity like a little perspective

It had been a perfect Thanksgiving, with great food, wonderful people, a roaring (OK…it was gas) fire and a somewhat unexpected early-evening snowfall (after an unseasonably warm near-record 60 degree high that day) that deposited a picturesque one-inch coating of snow on Maple Grove and throughout the greater Minneapolis area.  The Friday that followed was also nice, and started with an invigorating three-mile,  three-degree wind-chill aided run around Rice Lake before a day of shopping, my yearly movie (Skyfall) and various other luxuries provided by my generous brother and sister-in-law. Departure day on Saturday was also good, and included a leisurely IHOP breakfast with my nephew  before heading to a surprisingly quiet MSP airport for what was shaping up to be a smooth trip back home to DC. Even my slick new Ford Escape rental car was better than usual, and after cruising around for 48 hours listening to Siriusly Sinatra on the premium sound system in the comfort of heated seats, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to work re-entry and the holiday weekend coming to an end.

Given that I spend two-thirds of each year wishing my life away  looking forward to football, changing leaves, Thanksgiving and the holidays, it’s still sad to me when I think about how quickly they all fly by. Just yesterday I was celebrating the first college football game of the season and promising to really take in the Fall season. Now, once again, after barely blinking…Labor Day, Halloween and Thanksgiving are all fading fast in the rearview mirror…and the weeks ahead will be the typical frenzied blur. Though I romanticize each holiday season about quiet nights by the fire in the glow of the lighted tree, history dictates it won’t be long before we’re mired in the charmless days of post-holiday winter. So...as I thought about these things and the realities of all the pre-Christmas work that waited at home while sitting in the United Red Carpet lounge waiting for the return DC flight, I wasn’t surprised to find the post-Thanksgiving blues starting to seep in.  

After all, after looking forward to it for months, the idyllic Thanksgiving weekend was now over and my mind shifted to the coming hassles of decorating, harrowing gift shopping, mounting chores,  and the unavoidable frayed nerves that result from the inevitable chaos of overbooked holiday schedules (why do I spend the whole year looking forward to this?). As I glanced around the imbecile convention (not sure what it means that it took me 5 minutes…including a google search, to find out how to spell “imbecile”) that is Gate E4 of the Minneapolis U.S. Airways waiting area, the conglomeration of de-evolving life forms preparing to board a commercial airliner adorned in their lint-covered jammies, camo pants and generally offensive leisure/trash wear had me feeling pretty low. Probably hard to believe, but by the time I plopped down in my upgraded first class seat for the 2 ½ hour flight to the nation’s capital…I already had a pretty bad attitude.

 As I sat there watching the people schlepping back to coach in their manpris and flip flops, my mind drifted to that old evolutionary chart from elementary school and I started to wonder if we were really improving as a species. Actually…in reality…you didn’t have to observe much to realize there wasn’t a need to waste much time contemplating that question. As they filed by…the answer seemed sadly obvious, and I started to connect the dots between my increasing back pain and man’s inevitable return to all fours.

Seated in front of me to my right against the bulkhead was a young couple. They couldn’t have been very old, and though the fresh-faced chap sported a fairly clean-cut look, their combined disdain of fashion indicated they were committed to validating my return to homos erectus theory. To compound matters, the dude’s holey jeans and graphic tee look were augmented by untied hi-top basketball shoes that must have been designed to give him kind of a pseudo hip-hop look.  He also exacerbated their obvious unwarranted intrusion into the refined First Class cabin by propping his left foot on a pillow which extended at least partially into the galley food-prep area and dangerously close to the public space that brave and desperate passengers navigate when they’ve thrown in the towel and decide to use the glove compartment sized lavatories.

After a bit I heard the flight attendant tell the couple that she’d put his crutches in the small coat closet. In the course of their exchange, she asked the young lad how he’d hurt his leg. “I got hit by a rocket” he replied… “in Afghanistan...I got to spend a couple of days at home but I’m headed back to Walter Reed.”

It was a good Thanksgiving. Somehow my problems seem a little smaller now…and my back hurts a little less too.

It’s Friday, so enjoy the magic of the season by having a truly wonderful and well-deserved weekend. If you can, do something fun and try to feel at least a little grateful for the fact you have the freedom to do so.

 

Sorry for all the typos and mistakes.

 

Boy was he cool...

and it's time to go hunting

Growing up in the urban mecca of Los Angeles, I never really got the whole hunting thing. Sure, it seemed to make some sense if you were dressed as a Pilgrim or slogging through a nineteenth century South Dakota winter on the prairie before the advent of electricity and supermarkets, but why anyone in the modern era would look at a beautiful brown-eyed deer and want to blow it’s brains out just never made sense to me. I’d heard all the reasons why it was necessary or even humane…but somehow my limited citified mind was just never able to connect the dots.

I’d been told about the need to manage animal populations, prevent starvation or the value in thinning out herds to promote longevity, but somehow I just wasn’t buying it. I could never speak much deer, but somehow I always sensed if given the opportunity to pose the question to an eight-point Buck on the option between going without some quality grazing or a having a .308 long-grain ripping through their ribcage…the deer would respond with something like “let me take my chances finding some food before you thin me out.”

I guess the urge to look at an animal and think “God that’s beautiful…I’d really like to blow it off the face of the earth” makes some sense to me…but I always thought it was something we as humans should try to suppress. It’s kind of like the urge take naked pictures of yourself and text them…or to hold up banks or watch NASCAR. In my own life, I routinely feel the desire to actually knock out real people quite frequently…but somehow I reason the world is somehow a better place if I don’t follow through on that temptation. I also fear they might succeed in clobbering me instead…which would actually seem more sporting than any option the defenseless deer typically have.

I remember driving back from supper one evening in Minnesota with my then 90-year old grandpa. We came across the Red River through the heart of Fort Abercrombie, North Dakota just inside the Minnesota boarder. As we crossed the state line and curved across the river on the picturesque ribbon of highway that winds right through the middle of the old fort, there was a herd of deers (if you speak Minnesotan you know they sometimes say deers instead of deer) standing by the northeastern blockhouse down by the river. My grandpa suggested we pull over…and we sat there in the car for a few minutes just watching them feed against the setting sun. At some point my grandpa, a lifelong Depression era farmer, Roosevelt Democrat) and no virgin to barely scrapping by, said in a thick Swedish accent something like “aren’t they beautiful…I just never understood why anybody would want to shoot one if they didn’t have to.” For some reason, perhaps because I’m just a sissy city boy…that always just resonated with me. I acknowledge if I’d grown up in the country it would be different, but as a product of urban life I really just never really understood it all. That feeling pretty much stayed with me…until I moved to the District of Columbia. Now…I think it should be open season year round. Not on deer though…but on unruly and inconsiderate environmental rush-hour bicyclists.

When I think about the people that make up this selfish group of peddle-happy wasted flesh, all the rationale used to justify killing defenseless animals suddenly becomes crystal clear. Those of us forced to slog up 16^th street while some self-centered jackass peddles two miles an hour up the hill blocking an entire lane of commuters should be able to line them up with the hood ornament and step on the accelerator. Over time, people could develop some genuine cyclist hunting prowess…and would be able to knock self-centered riders up on the parkway or sidewalk completely out of the traffic with little or no disruption to traffic. Car commuters (now well-rested after arriving home on time the previous evening) could stand around the water cooler the next morning boasting of their successful hunts. Hey Bob, I bagged a nice red-helmeted 3-speed list night” or “Bubba, I nailed a blue-helmeted 10 –speed from 30 yards at 40mph. I was home in 20 minutes.”

Much like the hunting of animals…there could be a really, really humane component to this too. If at some point, people started noticing the consequence of this practice was somehow endangering the total number of selfish morons that take pleasure in screwing up the nightly commute for the rest of the city by peddling in the middle of a lane of a major artery at 2mph shouting “I’m superior to everyone behind me,” we could manage the hunts by rationing out tags to commuters that would only entitle them to taking out a limited number of bike riders per month. If, cyclists chose to use a bike lane or ride on the right side by the curb so cars could pass on their left (as I was taught to do when I was about 4 years old), they could be off limits. Hunting cyclists would be a good family and memory building exercise too as frustrated drivers could pass on the skill to children riding along in the car after a long day at school or daycare.

I know what you’re thinking…and yes…it’s true…I come up with some very good ideas. As a matter of fact, I’m going to head into the office now and see if I can’t bag a fit lycra-suited 15-speeder on Mass avenue. Seems to me it would make a great mount for the wall in the family room.

The election is over so have a wonderful weekend and try to take some time to chill and have some fun. You may even want to go for a bike ride, hunt some deer, or even cheer Brad Keleslowski's #2 Miller Lite car onto victory in the final NASCAR cup race at Homestead, Fl (or so I've heard).  Whatever your pleasure, try to relax and do something just for you. You can start it off just right with some nice music. Sorry for all the typos, poor grammar, lousy writing and misspellings.

 

I'd rather have a dollar than a dime...

...and it's nice to have a little wind at your back

After pretty much dodging a bullet with hurricane Sandy, the DC area also fully avoided the nor'easter that followed on the super storm's heels just about a week later. Though the second storm slammed areas of the northeast with as much as a foot of snow, all we seemed to get here in the District were some clouds, some late night flurries and a bit of wind.

I was hoping to see least a dusting of the white stuff when I headed out the front door at 3:58am for my Thursday morning run, but the only remnants of the nor'easter in Cleveland Park were some water beads on a few cars (the four in the neighborhood that were waxed) and about a 15mph stiff wind coming out of the north west. The breeze didn't seem like much of a factor when I started running east toward Connecticut avenue, but when I hit the major artery on the corner of Yuma and turned headfirst into the wind north on Connecticut, I realized the gusts were pretty formidable and cold enough (at least for early November) to immediately blow away any lingering effects of Wednesday night's red wine.

Exercising used to be fun for me...but now that I'm on the backside of fifty, it pretty much just hurts. In light of the rapid physical deterioration, I'm usually pretty content to use any weather-related obstacle like wind as an excuse to ease up...especially when I'm running. It just feels better when I don't have to push so hard. But something was different about Thursday.

I'm guessing it could have been the fact that I was still riding high from the election outcome, but for some reason I resisted the usual temptation to just cruise and pretty much pushed myself against the wind uphill on Connecticut toward Chevy Chase. When I turned left on Nebraska Ave the breeze became less of factor, and by the time I turned left again on Wisconsin, the northwest wind was squarely at my back. After fighting the headwind for more than half the run, it felt good to have the push at my back. I just kind of took long strides moving southeast on Wisconsin...and though I was clearly moving at a good pace...it didn't seem to be too taxing.

When I turned back into the wind heading north on 37th street toward the house for the last quarter mile, it would have been easy to let up. However after having the wind at my back for a while, the gusts in my face now felt more invigorating than anything...and I pushed harder before kicking it into high gear for the last few blocks.

If you believe in the power of a strong middle class, the virtues of equity, fairness and justice for all Americans and if you think diversity is a strength and not a weakness, this past Tuesday was a good day. It wasn't a landslide, or even close to the mandate that many of the spinsters are trying to imply, but it was a clear repudiation of extremism and a good night for people that work for a living. For progressives, there's been a fair amount of headwind for way too long. But now...thanks to a few million folks that pulled the right lever...the wind is at our back for a while. It won't likely last forever, or even for more than maybe a couple of strides. However it would be good to enjoy the fruits of victory, and to reap the replenishing benefits that can only come from a wind-aided run.  We're going to need to be rested for the next test, so let's enjoy this outcome and replenish our resources in hopes we can keep this going for a while.

 

You can start by having a good extended weekend. If you can, spend at least a minute to think about the men and women that served this country so we all have the right to cast a vote.

Have a good Veteran's Day weekend.

Close your eyes and relax...

...and I wish I could just go fishing.

The ominous  charred ruins of the short-lived Pacific Ocean Park Amusement park and pier that served as the border between Santa Monica and Venice beaches when I was a kid looked like a movie set, and as I later came to find out, it actually was. POP (Pee-oh-pee as it was affectionately called by the locals) opened in 1958, and was envisioned at the time that it would compete with Disneyland. The nautical theme park in the Ocean Park section of Santa Monica, California drew 20,000 visitors the day it opened, and though it saw early success, a host of factors contributed to plummeting attendance and it eventually closed down in October of 1967.

My mom took me to POP several times when I was a little chap, but my most vivid memories of the old amusement park are tied to the period between its 1967 closure and its eventual demolition in 1974.  Though I’m not sure when the practice actually started, I went to the beach every single summer day from the time I was in about 5^th grade until the beloved wave-riding ritual was rudely interrupted in the summer of 1977 by the need to begin my planned path to the National Football League (likely with the Los Angeles Rams…via an underwhelming career at Hamilton high school and an even more disastrous stint at UCLA).

 

Every day, regardless of weather, a couple of buddies and I schlepped down to the beach via the No. 28 Blue Ocean Park Santa Monica bus and spent the day frolicking in the Pacific where Ocean Park Boulevard met the sand at lifeguard station 26.  As we bobbed in the salty water waiting for the next set of rideable waves, the burned out skeletal remnants of the abandon amusement park’s pier framed the view to the south...and seemed to beckon us to visit the seemingly haunted ruins which served as the setting for the final scene of the famed TV series “The Fugitive.”  

 Some mornings, probably about twice a month, my friends Michael Cooper, Keith Sylber and I would get up early and head down to the shore before 6am to spend a couple hours fishing before starting the more taxing surfing routine. On those days we’d often have to catch the Blue Pico No.7 bus (which ran earlier…it was a 3-mile trip), and walk the mile on the boardwalk in the dark down to Ocean Park. The jagged pilings of the abandon pier were menacing, and we had to ignore some threatening “danger” and “no trespassing” signs before negotiating a couple of formidable chain-linked fences (with barbed wire on top) to gain entry to the abandoned amusement park area. Once in there, there was a rickety ladder (made from burned out 2x4 wood) you had to climb to get up to what was left of the pier, and it was always a challenge to get all of our gear up to that level. Once up to the pier, it seemed like a war zone. Everything was battered and broken and seemed to be covered with soot. What was left of the decaying buildings and former thrill rides were covered with graffiti and danger signs.

There were two sections where the pier was completely washed out or burned away, and someone had constructed two planks to bridge the two 15’ or so spans (it seemed like the Grand Canyon) over the 30’ drop to the rolling ocean and broken pilings below. It always took a few minutes to get the nerve to cross, and we usually had to flip a coin to see who ventured across first to test sturdiness. The plank, which was no more than 12 inches wide, looked like a toothpick above the churning sea…and it always bowed a bit as you made your way to the other side. Thankfully nobody ever fell, or even really stumbled as I recall, but once we made it out to the end of what was left of the pier to where an old roller coaster once stood, we were usually rewarded by a morning’s catch of some pretty nice butter-mouthed perch.

One time, as we were heading back to shore, there were a couple of older kids just on the other side of the last span and as we approached they picked up their end of the plank and acted as though they were going to toss the “bridge” into the sea. I remember the smile on the guy’s face as he motioned as though he was going to throw our only safe way of passage into the water. I looked into the guy’s eyes and essentially pleaded with him not to do it. My buddy Michael’s older brother Scott was with us that day, and as I tried to negotiate with the cat on the other side Michael’s brother Scott said something like the following…

“Listen motherfu#ker$, go ahead and throw it in. When you do, I’m going to jump into the water and swim to shore. I’m going get there before you do, and I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of that ladder and when you climb down, I’m going to beat the living shit out of you with a two-by-four.” Not sure if he could of pulled it off, but at least to me, he didn’t appear to be bluffing. The kid on the other side who was unmoved by my more diplomatic passive approach seemed to do some math in his head and decided to buy it too. Not long after Scott’s promise, the kid gingerly replaced the plank so we too could cross. As we started, they ran…and though we gave chase for a while…we ultimately decided to let it go.  I think Scott’s plan was to beat them to a pulp anyway…we just needed to get across the span first.

What’s the point? I’m lost too. Just trying to fill some space on a Friday morning…and maybe take your mind off the east coast storm damage and looming election for just five minutes. Hope it helped.

It’s Friday, and whether you’re relaxing or working to elect folks committed to freedom, justice, fairness and equality, start the day with a little music. If you do, you will have a better day, and a better weekend.

BTW...sorry for all the mistakes...I know this is a disaster

Another sunny honeymoon