I’m getting back in practice

by the Night Writer

My grandson is scheduled to arrive in July and will join his parents in residence at the Night Chateu, no doubt soaking up most of the attention in the household that is currently being devoted to Sly, the Family Rat. Or perhaps receiving even more attention than Sly. After all, I haven’t yet waltzed through the house with Sly, singing, the way I did with my children when they were little…or the way I’ll do with the beh-beh.

And of course, I will sing the same song I sang to his mother and auntie.

Who was that masked girl?

by the Night Writer

We made our annual expedition to the American Arts Council Craft Show in St. Paul. Saw a LOT of beautiful things, but they cost more than we cared to pay. This is also true of the item in the photos below, but then sometimes you’ve just got to do it when you see those big, sad blue eyes … and the pointy dagger.

Tiger Lilly Mask 1

TIger Lilly Mask 2

Happier Opening Day

by the Night Writer

It was Opening Day for the new Twins ballpark today, and it sounds as if it was a great experience for everyone. I couldn’t be at the game, but I work a few blocks from the new stadium and got to watch the fly-over by the F-16s. I can recall a few fly-overs in the Dome days, but I think that was just because the Dome occasionally was on the flight path to the airport. We could hear the rumbles, though. Going home tonight I caught the light-rail and even though it was only about the 8th inning the train was packed with fans christening the new stadium by keeping up the Minnesota tradition of leaving early. The train smelled like a brewery, but it was nice to see all the sun-burned necks and faces (this outdoor baseball is going to take some getting used to, but I predict it will catch on.)

It was great to see that the Twins started the day off by unveiling the Kirby Puckett statue outside Gate 34 (the Twins numbered their gates after great Twins of the past). While I don’t think the statue looks much like Puck, he was the Face of the franchise. I hope — and maybe it has already happened — that the Twins do something appropriate for the man who was the Voice of the franchise: Herb Carneal.

Today I was remembering the Opening Days from 2005, 2006 and 2007. Out of some depressing coincidence, these openers came hard on the heels of the deaths of Puck (’06), Herb (’07) and long-time stadium announcer Bob Casey (’05). It also got me thinking about Ronnie Newman, the team organist who played “Take Me Out the Ballgame” for 1,775 straight home games and who died at the end of the ’03 season. Casey (I never heard him called “Bob”) and Ronnie had both been at Met Center and the Dome and I got to know them during my days as a Dome scoreboard operator.

Often when I was working I’d be on the same headset link with Casey. In between his announcements he usually kept up a profane, vitriolic and often apoplectic rant about anything and everthing that was annoying him that day. I thought for sure one day he’d slip and leave his microphone on during one of these but he never did. Nor did he ever have an aneurysm in mid-call, which I thought was sure to be his fate. Instead a double whammy of liver cancer and pneumonia (the latter he contracted in his lasts visit to Spring Training) did him in. One of his favorite foils was Ronnie, the ever-optimistic organist. They were friends, but Casey was always cracking jokes at Ronnie’s expense. Somehow the abuse just rolled off his back, though, and nothing ever seemed to change his smile or his demeanor. Ronnie was an unusual looking guy, short and about as wide as he was tall, and with a gravelly voice. He was as nice a guy as you’d ever want to meet, though I am ashamed to admit that I myself had a little fun at his expense one time. One night he came into the press box before the game wearing a bright blue and yellow plaid sportcoat that outshone the little yellow bulbs on the scoreboard.

“Hey, Ronnie,” I said, “nice coat.”

“Thanks!” he said, his perpetual smile getting even larger.

“Who’s couch died?”

“Aww…” and then that gravelly laugh.

Anyway, I’ve got tickets for an upcoming game, and will try to take in an afternoon game or two as the season goes on. I’m excited to see the new place and get a look at the new players in person, but there’ll always be something of the old place and the old guys sitting with me.

Btw, here are the pieces I wrote for Kirby and Herb when they passed.

Walking the walk

by the Night Writer

Sunday was a beautiful spring day and the Reverend Mother and I walked a few blocks to visit Open Houses for a couple of places we’re considering as investment properties. The six-months pregnant Mall Diva joined us, bubbling along in her jeans, belly-band and flip-flops. After the tour at one of the houses MD had chatted a bit with the realtor about her pregnancy and then she and I sat down on comfy furniture in the living room while RM went over some details with the realtor in the kitchen, just out of our sight. When it was time to leave I stood up, but MD was finding it hard to find her center of gravity on the spongy ottoman where she was ensconced.

“Dad, I need help,” she said, putting her hands out in front of her so I could pull her up.

“Wha….” said the realtor from the kitchen, no doubt picturing a maternity issue in the middle of her open house. No worries, though, and we started to head for home. Going back involved walking up a pretty good hill and MD soon found herself several strides behind. “Hey, guys…” she said, and her mother and I paused and reached back, each taking one of her hands and walking up the hill with her between us, much as we once did at the State Fair, or walking along the sidewalk beside the canal in Duluth, though we weren’t able to swing her between us like we used to.

I laughed a little and said, “Well, I guess we know who the bears are going to get when they come.”

“Yeah,” said the RM.

“That’s okay,” said the Diva, brightly. “I’d just make friends with them!”

And she would, too.

The band plays on

by the Night Writer

Earlier this week I wrote a post about our outing to the blues bar where the Mall Diva and her friend were able to sing in an open jam session with other local musicians. They were great, of course, but part of the fun was in seeing the joy that the musicians had in coming together and using their God-given skills in a public forum. Thinking about this later it reminded me of something I wrote back in the early months of this blog. I was new to the blogging community (and I use that word deliberately) then but I think it still is the best description of why I blog. In fact, it may even be more true today than it was then, and I think it’s appropriate to re-run this piece. And with that….

A one, two, a one, two, three, four…

Thank You, and Don’t Forget to Tip Your Waitress

I’ve always wanted to say that! Here’s why:

Today I’m up to the fifth month of the six-month trial blogging period I set for myself when I started this blog. During this time I’ve had people ask me why I blog and I think this is a great question – a question I was asking myself before I even started and for which I still don’t have a firm answer.

There is one analogy, however, that I think fits: this blog is my garage band. You see, ever since I was a kid I’ve wanted to be a singer in a hot band. The problem is, I can’t sing a lick (or play one for that matter) and my sense of rhythm is such that no band would ever let me shake a tambourine (more cowbell!). For that matter, my dancing is even worse than my singing, and I have little artistic ability. But, oh, to be in a band! It wouldn’t even have to be a great band, or even a band with a recording contract. Just to be good enough to be in a garage band would be so cool.

Why do people play in garage bands? Obviously, I can’t say. Some perhaps hope to be “discovered” but I’d hazard to say that few see it as a way to fame and fortune. Some musicians may just like collaborating with others to create something. Others see it as a fun way to make some money doing something they enjoy, and perhaps for others it is just because they love to make music – whether anyone else likes it or not. Perhaps if you asked them, they’d have as hard a time finding a single answer as I have in answering people who ask me why I blog.

The only skill I have is in observation and stringing words together. I don’t think I’m a bad public speaker when the opportunity arises, but my “stage” is likely to always be obscure. Blogging gives me the opportunity to use the gift, such as it is, that has been given to me, to stretch out the boundaries of my comfort zone and appreciate whatever satisfaction I get from doing so.

Perhaps musicians of every ability also yearn for those moments when they get that perfect mix of time and place where the music transcends the mere notes themselves and touch a soul. Me too! Somewhere out there is the perfect line waiting to be written; the perfect note of irony in response to the day’s events; the sparest description that illuminates completely; the spark of inspiration that starts a brushfire in someone’s mind – the shock of recognition that causes someone to say, “Yes, yes! That is exactly what it is like to be me, and now I see myself in a slightly different light!”

Umm..okay, getting a little carried away there. I think, however, that this is at the heart of why I blog. I don’t do it to become rich and famous (though that would be nice). I don’t do it to change the world (though that would be nice, too). I certainly hope people enjoy the experience, but, essentially, it’s about my enjoyment first.

Earlier this week Joe Carter at the Evangelical Outpost wrote about the addiction he sometimes feels toward his Site Meter count and Technorati and TTLB rankings. To which I have to say, “Preach it, brother.” I check my own counts at least a couple of times a day, and I’m fascinated by the “referrals” page that shows from where people are coming to my blog. Some of the Google references have been very interesting. I suppose this is displays a weakness of character on my part, but as Joe himself has said, “If you don’t care if anyone reads you then you don’t have a blog, you have a diary.”

Like others who have gazed at their own blogging navel recently, the things I appreciate about the last few months are the many new friends I’ve met (some in person, some only electronically), the comments and trackbacks I get that show I’ve made at least a small ripple somewhere. Here’s to you, Leo, Kelley G, Emily, Muzzy, Sandy and the rest of the Squad, Bruce, Derek, the NARN, Kevin, the Saint and Roller Pauls, Doug and all the other MOBsters. Without this contact this blog wouldn’t have lasted a month.

One month – or six months – from now, who knows? I still haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer to the first question I posed to myself when I considered starting this blog: How will I tell if this is successful or not? One thing I am learning – and that I wouldn’t have expected when I started – is that success may be measured, but not defined, by Site Meter or NZ Bear. I think a large part of it has to do with the people I mentioned above, and the ones I’ve yet to “meet.”

Thank you, and good night! Rock on!

One thing I couldn’t know back then was the people I was still going to meet, and were going to come into my life, as a result of blogging. I may be no closer to breaking out of the garage now than I was back then, but I have to say my career has been blessed.

But soft, what light through yonder YouTube breaks…

by the Night Writer

A little Friday video fun for the, maybe, ten people who haven’t seen this already. Here’s the latest version of Romeo and Juliet, updated for the newest generation, albeit through the story as it was done for the last generation:

Produced by collegehumor.com, “their first Broadway muscial since (LOL)Cats.”

The blue of blues is mostly gray

by the Night Writer

Last night we mounted an expedition into Nordeast, with Son@Night, the Mall Diva (and the half-baked cupcake, of course) and her friend, Princess Flicker Feather. The girls were wanting to sing some blues at the open jam night at Shaw’s and Son@ and I were along for the ride. Driving up University Ave NE I mused outloud that the last time I’d been in a bar in Nordeast after dark someone had set my car on fire.

Reaallly?” came the response from the back seat.

Yes, indeedy, and I recounted the story. I was playing darts in a league and The Sun Saloon was one of our stops. I’d won three matches when someone shouted “There’s a car on fire outside!” I thought, “Cool – let’s go look!” Then they described my car and I thought “I can’t look.” Sure enough, someone had poured an accelerant on the hatchback and touched it off. I never did find out who did it, or why. As I told the tale I did the math and realized — with almost as much surprise and consternation as that long-ago night — that it had been 30 years since that incident. While I can refer to my college, or even high school, days without a jolt I am shocked when I hear myself saying, “Thirty years ago…”

We were still talking about the incident as we pulled up in front of Shaw’s and — dunh, dunh, DUNH! — it was the same building as that long-ago pyro. Whoa, deja vu all over again! We even parked at the curb not far from where I had left my erstwhile steed. Back when the place at been the Sun Saloon it was kind of a biker place; it’s much cleaner and more attractive now though it still has a comfortable “dive” feel and few heavy-set guys in leather vests and caps and gray ponytails. I refrained from asking any of them what they might have been doing on an October night in 1980.

The place has been Shaw’s for 10 years now and has a rep for live music, especially the blues. It appears that the open jam is a Monday night fixture with a house band and a lot of regulars getting on stage. A DJ from KFAI acts as emcee and impressario, signing up people who want to get on stage and then mixing and matching performers according to her own sense of how she wants the evening to go. The performers all appeared to be on a first-name or nickname basis and most of the men appeared to be about my age or older. It was interesting to watch and listen to the by-play between everyone, on and off stage. For some time now I’ve been more aware of not just the notion, but the reality, of community and I like to hang back and watch groups that are new to me but familiar with each other interact, whether it’s a group of old men on a centuries-old piazza in Tuscany, a MOB party…or a group of blues musicians and fans. The bunch last night was mostly a blue-jeans and tee-shirt or flannel shirt crowd with a few flashier touches. You had extroverts (mostly harmonica players) and introverts (mostly drummers) and the musicians were all very good and the vocalists were all very enthusiastic.

Most groups have their own initiations, some subtle and some not, but these generally require you to prove yourself in some way. The Mall Diva and Princess FF were the newbies here, unknown and much younger than everyone else. As such, even though they were among the first names on the sign-up sheet, they had to do some time listening attentively and applauding appropriately as others were called to the stage and mixed and remixed. It was good experience, though, as their young lives and musical background haven’t included a lot of blues music (I know, I’m a horrible parent) so they had a great chance to absorb some of the musical jargon, so to speak, of different rhythms and riffs, as well as getting a chance to observe jam etiquette for leaving room for everyone to take the lead.

Well into the evening an entire band showed up. These were much younger guys, with their jeans very snug and their “I don’t care” hair just a little too carefully done and a bit more attitude than the rest of the people in the bar. The lead singer and lead guitarist looked like younger versions of a slumming Keith Richards and Ron Wood and the emcee worked them onto the stage bit by bit but fairly quickly. The singer then became more like Mick Jagger with his vocal style and his prancing and posing but everyone on stage and in the audience was enjoying themselves as there was quite a bit of skill on display. After a couple of songs the emcee decided it was time for the Princess to make her debut, singing with the young guys. PFF wanted to do her version of Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Leave My Girl (Man) Alone.” She and the band conferred briefly on the tune and then the guitars started to wail into the introduction. I believe I detected a bit of boredom on their faces and the bare minimum of graciousness as this young woman, looking like a lily in a bed of ragweed, leaned into the microphone. Perhaps they expected she would be nervous, that her voice would be tight and that she’d rush through the lyrics.

And then she opened her mouth. “You better leave, you better leave, my man alooone…” and their eyes and faces opened as if they’d been tased. Within six bars, “Mick” was bowing and doing little salaams next to PFF as she belted out the tune with power and timbre that hadn’t been heard yet that evening. Like a seasoned pro, PFF left them wanting more, floating off the stage to enthusiastic applause after just one song, followed by the guitar player who asked her for her card so they could get in touch with her. A little later in the evening the Mall Diva received her summons and did a soulful version of Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” followed by “He Called Me Baby” (most recently covered by Candi Staton) … appropriately enough since, as the emcee pointed out, she was singing for two! MD was also well received by the band and the audience but since it had gone past midnight it was time to head for our pumpkin.

Fortunately, this time it wasn’t on fire and the only thing smokin’ was the Diva and PFF!

She who…

by the Night Writer

I saw the following poem on The Writer’s Almanac the other day and thought it was pretty good.

Naming My Daughter
(In the Uruba tribe of Africa, children are
named not only at birth but throughout their
lives by their characteristics and the events
that befall them.)



The one who took hold in the cold night
The one who kicked loudly
The one who slid down quickly in the ice storm
She who came while the doctor was eating dessert
New one held up by heels in the glare
The river between two brothers
Second pot on the stove
Princess of a hundred dolls
Hair like water falling beneath moonlight
Strides into the day
She who runs away with motorcycle club president
Daughter kicked with a boot
Daughter blizzard in the sky
Daughter night-pocket
She who sells sports club memberships
One who loves over and over
She who wants child but lost one.
She who wants marriage but has none
She who never gives up
Diana (Goddess of the Chase)
Doris (for the carrot-top grandmother
she never knew)
Fargnoli (for the father
who drank and left and died)
Peter Pan, Iron Pumper
Tumbleweed who goes months without calling
Daughter who is a pillar of light
Daughter mirror, Daughter stands alone
Daughter boomerang who always comes back
Daughter who flies forward into the day
where I will be nameless.


“Naming My Daughter” by Patricia Fargnoli, from Necessary Light. © Utah State University Press.

Of course it got me to thinking about how my own daughters might have been named if I were Uruban. Actually, some of these have stuck…

Unexpected Blessing
Miracle-holder, Doctor-confounder
The One Who Shouldn’t Be Here,
Sweet-cheeked Eskimo
Jelly Baby
Bane of Yams
Little Potato
Waltzer with Bears
Namer of Things in the Road
Barefoot bleeder
Arm That Wouldn’t Stay Broken
Room Designer, Cloud By Day
Blue-haired Missionary
The Littlest Bassist
Imelda of the 40 shoes
Bunny Whisperer
Mall Diva
Singer of Songs, Maker of Beauty
Courtship Buddy
Aisle Walker
Mrs. Worley
Mommy.

Late Arriver, Early Walker
Flaming Promise, Morning Giggler
She Who Breaks Boards With Her Feet
Devourer of All Things Chocolate
Ninja Cow Nemesis, Doomsteak Provider
Slayer of Paper Targets
Writer Without Appendix, World Traveler,
Girl On a Mission, Opportoonist
Fire By Night
Peach Louise
Tiger Lilly
Story Teller
One With the Laptop
Smite Queen of the Dual-Daggers
NaNoWriMo Winner
Author, Author.

Try it with your own kids! In fact, I hereby proclaim a Meme! I tag Mr. D, Mitch, KingDavid, Gino, Bubba and anyone else who wants to play. Leave your poem in a comment here or on your blog with a link!