Monthly Archives: January 2006

It’s winter time: Do you know what your daughters are doing?

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The Mall Diva and I did a little sports-watching bonding Saturday night. Nope, it wasn’t football, basketball, figure-skating or her new-found favorite, hockey. It wasn’t even lacrosse (sports with sticks that you can hit people with usually get her attention). We were watching the Women’s Snowboard SuperPipe competition at the Winter X-games.

Truth be told, she was already watching the event when I arrived in the basement hoping to check out what was on the movie channels. We have just one television in the house and really only one rule on what to watch – he (or she) who gets there first, rules. Since she was unmoved by my puppy eyes and salesmanship, the SuperPipe it was.

Actually, it was pretty interesting. I’ve not followed the so-called “X” sports that much since I’m of the generation that prefers coffee to cola as a morning eye-opener and gravity and I have long-since settled on the terms of my surrender. SuperPipe is a long, wide tube with the top cut off and the sides and bowl packed with snow. Contestants snowboard back and forth across the “pipe”, riding up and over the sides high into the air while doing twists, flips and other stunts, mixed in with the occasional face-plant. Hey – women in danger; now that’s good TV!

Besides appreciating the skills and “did you see that!” moments of this particular event I was amazed at how much my daughter knew about the sport and the contestants. While I can go three-deep on the NFL’s team by team skill position rosters, the snowboarding stars, jargon and arcania section of my memory capacity is as fresh and unmarked as a slope of new powder. According to my daughter, someone called – what was it, the Raging Tomato, Flaming Tomato, Flying Tomato? – had already won the men’s competition and the leader in the women’s event was Kelly Clark, the American girl favored to win gold at next month’s Olympics and someone who has the name “Jesus” painted in large pink script on the bottom of her board. A shredder for Our Savior? I can dig it.

This is definitely a different kind of event, and one that hasn’t caught the eye of network advertisers yet since we saw the same two commercials over and over (“what do you think your beard is doing all day, taking a nap?”) but it has more than just attitude to set it apart from more traditional women’s winter sports. The competitors wear baggy, kind of punk, “uniforms’ instead of the skintight suits of skiers or the foofaraw of figure-skating outfits, and when the ladies are interviewed at the end of their runs they inevitably have hat hair, creases on their face from goggles and flaming red noses. No, this definitely isn’t figure skating. The girls have, however, mastered the big-time trick of keeping their sponsors’ names (including Jesus) prominently displayed for the cameras.

I think I can get to like this.

Tiger Lilly’s challenging word

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Hi, sorry I’ve been away so long.

Dad said that I can do my own challenging words, so here’s one:

Picklewiener!

Ha! Just kidding. Here’s my real word:

Orts, n.
Fragments; pieces

Imagine using that word in everyday conversations. “Hey, Ted, would you hand me that little ort of glass right there, please?”

“Riiight. What’s an ort?”

“Well, an ort is a (see above). Now give me the ort, you picklewiener!!! O.K., O.K., hold on a minute! Someone needs anger management classes!”

Weird, huh? It even sounds weird. It’s one of those words where if you say it too many times, you forget what it means. Ort, ort, ort, ort, ort, ort, ort, ort, ort, ort. What does ort mean again? Oh, yeah (see above).

So that’s my challenging word. Well I guess it’s more weird than challenging. Maybe it’ll be challenging to remember.

Ciao for now!
Tiger Lilly

Grand Old Fatah

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Oh, here’s an interesting political story in the news:

It seems you have an established political party holding onto power for years, telling its supporters that someday soon it was going to deliver on all its promises to bring down the long-hated enemy. Meanwhile its leaders boasted of their power as players while collecting large sums of money and trading favors – all without the party making any progress in its stated goal and, in fact, losing battle after battle against its out-numbered opposition. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, the party gets run out of town overnight by a bunch of wild-eyed bomb-throwers.

So, are we talking about Fatah, or the GOP?

Down ‘n dirty

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I love to go mudding.

My cousin’s family has a cabin in the Crosby-Ironton area, and sometimes I go up there with them for the weekend. They have two ATV’s and access to lots of trails. Once when I was up there for the fourth of July weekend, the weather was really lame. It was around 55-60 degrees and gray and rainy.

It was gross.

So my uncle and I and another friend we brought along decided it was perfect conditions to go mudding. I put on my favorite mudding jeans(Calvins), a couple of t-shirts and a couple sweatshirts.

We were the only people on the trails that day. I rode with my uncle on the 500, and Adam rode the 250. There were the most awesome puddles(read: ponds, small lakes) and it didn’t take long for us to get soaked.

On the way back, I switched spots with Adam on the smaller four-wheeler, and the guys ended up getting way ahead of me. I came to this one puddle that was huge and kinda freaked me out, but I just gunned it.

Then, right in middle of the nastiest, muddiest quagmire we had been through all day, the ATV died on me. I had no choice but to step off up to my thighs in the puddle to start it back up and push it out. It was awesome!

When I finally caught up with the guys they had been wondering where I was, but I doubt that it was hard to figure out after looking at me.

The muddier you are, the more fun you have had. ‘Member that.

Challenging Word of the Week: foofaraw

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Foofaraw
(FOOH fuh raw) n.

This bit of informal American, as well as its variant fofarraw (FOH fuh raw), has two distinct meanings; a big fuss about very little, i.e., much ado about nothing; or flashy finery, too many frills. Literary policeman’s question: “What’s going on here? What’s all the foofaraw about?” Or, in the second sense, from a lady wearing a lorgnette (if you can find one): “She could certainly dispense with all the foofaraw!” A lovely-sounding word and, say the authorities, origin unknown; but in the first sense, could it be a corruption of free-for-all (in baby-talk)? The British appear not to use this word, but, in the to-do sense, have a nice equivalent: gefuffle, also spelt kerfuffle and cufuffle, all loosely used as synonyms for their word shemozzle, which is also spelt shemozzl, chimozzle, and at least half-a-dozen other ways — you takes your choice.

This selection is taken from the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House.

My example: The calls by Senators Kennedy and Kerry for a filibuster on Justice Alito’s confirmation seem certain to lead to a self-inflicted and embarrassing foofaraw.

I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it.

Update:

Jeff at Peace Like a River is a quick study, describing the foofaraw over the Colleen Rowley gaff. (And somewhere, Blois Olson is smiling).

If I Ain’t Hip, Ain’t Nobody Hip

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I know everyone’s been wondering if they are as hip as I am; well now you can find out! Here’s the Strib “hip” meme, by way of Margaret.

Where do you live?
The hippest burg in the Twin Cities: South St. Paul! The long-time (and I mean long time) residents of our neighborhood know our house as the “dreamhouse”, because it was built to promote a movie starring Cary Grant and Myrna Loy called “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dreamhouse”.

With whom?
The Reverend Mother, my daddy, the small red one, Felix, Piggy-wiggy and Birdy-wirdy.

What’s your coffeehouse/coffeeshop?
Any uber-funky establishment in the St. Paul/Minneapolis area.

What’s your Sunday breakfast spot?
On the “big, comfy chair” in my parents’ room.

What sites do you surf for news?
…”I get the news I need on the weather report”…

Actually, usually from these blogs, which may give you a clue as to how warped I might be.

What’s the first thing you read in the Strib?
The comics.

What’s on your morning drive dial?
Drive105, the Cities, or K102. Yes! I do listen to country, okay!

When not in town, where are you?
Far, far away.

Who’s your local band/musician?
Me!

Where do you have season tickets?
Oh, I don’t have any, I just mooch off get invited along by people who do.

What’s your apparel store(s)?
Forever 21, American Eagle, pretty much the whole mall.

Where’s your favorite “go to” place that always seems to have just the right thing?
That would be Forever 21.

Where do you get take-out?
Peking Cafe.

What’s your bakery?
My kitchen.

Where do you mall?
America’s mall.

What do you drive?
If this doesn’t make me hip, I don’t know what does:

I drive a 93 Mercury Grand Marquis, also known as my:
old-folks car,
boat,
land-yacht,
tank.

Where are you on a Friday night?
That depends…

Where’s your gallery(s)?
My room.

Who cuts your hair? Where?
A friend I went to school with, at EQ Life.

What are you really uptight about?
Me? Uptight? Never.

What’s your substance of choice?
Chocolate.

What subjects are you a total geek over?
Who are you calling a geek?

Where do you refuel? (recharge? feed your soul?)
While playing my piano.

What’s your date night?
What date night?

What’s the most you’ve paid for a concert ticket?
Me, pay? What is this “pay” you speak of?

When you’re at your naughtiest, you…
Uhhh… I don’t know, ask my mom (and don’t tell my dad).

What’s your beauty/grooming thing?
Everything!

What’s your workout? Where?
Dance-Dance Revolution, in my basement.

Who (or what’s) the service provider you can’t live without?
Hmmm…I guess right now that would be Virgin Mobile.

What’s your favorite night?
Thursday or Friday night.

What’s the next performance you’ll attend?
I’m thinkin’ it’s going to be a dance by Uncle Ben.
The Half-time show won’t even come close to that.

What’s an arts organization you support?
My own art, I don’t have an organization yet.

What’s your nightcap?
Anything I can get my hands on.

Where’s the afterparty?
In my mind.

What’s your favorite restaurant for:
• food?
How can…

• quality?
…I pick?

• late night?
Taco Bell.

• scene?
Cafe Latte.

• impress your date?
My mom says, White Castle.

• impress your client?
I don’t know, I’ll have to ask her.

Who’s your favorite Twin Citian?
Nick Coleman, because he brings so much joy (and material) to the rest of the MOB.

Hear me now – X will be Y in 6 months. . .
Boho will be ‘so last season’ in 6 months, thank God!

He’s no Steven Seagal, but…

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Here’s some Friday fun for anyone who enjoyed Jeff’s Steven Seagal game at Peace Like a River. (What? You didn’t play? Well get on over there!) Now Portia Rediscovered is offering a funny list of the Top Ten Chuck Norris Facts.

As a sample, here are the first three things you might not have known about the martial arts star and tough guy actor whose range of expression makes Keanu Reaves seem like Lon Chaney:

1. Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried. Ever.

2. Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

3. Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

Go, or risk defenestration!

Friday Fundamentals in Film: Spartacus

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The 1960 epic Spartacus is long and in it’s production and pacing doesn’t fare well when compared to modern films that tell similar stories such as Gladiator or Braveheart, so it might be difficult for younger viewers to appreciate. (Really, when was the last time you saw a movie that took itself so seriously as to have an overture and an intermission?). The movie does explore some key themes, however, that can make for interesting starting points for discussion on the nature of love, power, freedom, hate, sexuality, political intrigue, loyalty, and friendship.

The central theme, however, is man’s desire to live free and with dignity and the willingness to sacrifice all to achieve it. This is shown well in several scenes and with dialog that is powerful and not too preachy or long-winded. While the movie is based on a book by Howard Fast and the screen play was by Dalton Trumbo (both Communists), the movie is not as political as you might expect. While the story is about gladiators and slaves (the proletariat) trying to throw off their masters, I thought the presentation and scenes explaining what Spartacus hoped to achieve were more closely related to the Declaration of Independence than to The Communist Manifesto. Indeed, part of the irony is to consider how much of what Spartacus said and did would have resulted in the same treatment from a Communist government as what he received from the Romans.

In addition, the film’s illustration of the dehumanizing aspect of slavery without a racial element may be eye-opening for those who think of slavery as being a black and white issue only.

Of particular meaning for young men are the scenes that show that self-control is the foundation, and not the opposite, of freedom. First in his initial dealings with the woman Virinia when Spartacus refused to perform sexually for the entertainment of the guards, and in his control over the gladiator army to keep it from behaving like a drunken mob, showed that the power to do something is nowhere near as important as the power to choose not to do that thing.

Finally, the political intrigue is instructive as we watch Crassus and Gracchus manuever and manipulate others to serve their own ends, becoming the personification of two opposing political philosophies willing to mouth anything to gain power when in reality there was little difference between them. One illuminating quote was when Gracchus said, referencing the gods: “Privately I believe in none of them. Neither do you. Publicly I believe in them all.” Also, later in the movie, when Julius Ceasar (then commander of the garrison of Rome) questions Gracchus on the unseemliness of dealing with pirates and criminals and Gracchus replies, “Don’t be so stiff-necked. Politics is a practical profession.”

Points to ponder:
What is the nature of freedom; how do you get it and how do you maintain it.

Questions to answer:

  1. On two occasions Spartacus draws distinctions between being man and being an animal. What were these occasions, and how did they relate to each other?
  2. One difference between Crassus and Gracchus is that one saw the people as something to be exploited and the other saw them as something to be controlled. Which was which, and how did they go about trying to achieve their ends? What differences, if any, were there between their objectives?
  3. At the end of the rebellion, why did the gladiators all claim to be Spartacus, even though it meant death? Was their decision similar to, or different from, Gracchus’ action at the end of the movie? How and why?

Great quote:
Spartacus said, “When just one man says, ‘No, I won’t,’ Rome began to fall.”

Keep moving; nothing to see here, basketball fans

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Of all the sports I could comment on, pro basketball is probably the least likely to draw my attention. My upfront disclaimer: next to tennis I can’t think of a more boring sport. I actually have flipped over from a live Timberwolves telecast to watch a tape-delayed Minnesota Swarm (professional lacrosse) game. Nevertheless there must be some male gene that causes me to take a rooting interest in the local teams, even the Woofies.

That interest, however, can now be safely extinguished for the forseeable future. From an entertainment standpoint this team has become unwatchable. They’re too good to take an interest in them as plucky losers trying to be overachievers, and they’re too bad for me to have any hopes of seeing any sporting virtuousity unless it’s by the other team — and I don’t root for other teams. True, it has been good to watch Kevin Garnett — one of the best players of his time — play his heart out regardless of the stiffs around him, but I can’t even do that anymore because it’s just too painful to see such a marvelous player so totally wasted in the cause.

I don’t know how much of a chance the Wolves had to land Ron Artest before that headcase* ended up being traded to Sacramento, but it was their only chance to sell some tickets this year. He could have been the missing ingredient as a defensive presence and legitimate offensive option that put them into the playoffs. Yeah, his flakiness and volatility could have killed the team as well, but face it – this squad is already half-dead. Whether it dies by self-immolation or by ennui, it’s still dead. At least with him they had a chance to give their fans a little return for the big bucks they’ve shelled out to watch two-bit performances. The only appeal the team has left is the sick fascination of looking at a road accident, and we had our fill of that last year. Move along, people; there’s really nothing to see here.

* And really, Ron, you tried to veto the trade because you didn’t want to play in Sacramento? Have you forgotten that you live in Indianapolis? What, you were hoping for Milwaukee? Dude, seriously, get some help.