by the Night Writer
Is it just me, or does it seem as if Hillary is exiting the stage at about the same speed as the Russians leaving Georgia?
bookmark to:
Which will happen first?
1
Category Archives: Night Writer
This and that
by the Night Writer
It’s been a hectic week already and I’ve had little time to ponder blog-postings even if there’s a lot of material just laying around, what with the Mall Diva’s birthday, the arrival of two Chinese students who will be staying with us for a little while they find a place to live, and preparing my notes for the “Are You Marriageable?” class (only one more week to go). Here are a few odds and ends that have caught my attention…
This is a picture of the bike we bought the Mall Diva for her birthday.
It’s very similar to Hayden’s new bike, who didn’t find it so amusing that the Diva and I referred to this style as a “Grandma Bike.” I thought it was amusing, until I discovered that you don’t mess with grandma.
This is the time of year when Beloit college comes out with its annual “Mindset” list for faculty describing the things that happened before the incoming freshman class members were born. I had penciled in doing a post about this, but Mr. Dilettante beat me to it. I guess I can cut him some slack since he’s a Beloit alumnus and he did a great job of dissecting the Academic “mindset” that came up with this year’s list. Currently my mindset is “waste not, want not”, so here are a few things that Beloit left off the list that I added to Mr. D’s comment section:
For the class of 2012…
- …There has never been a Soviet Union (yet).
- …There has always been one Germany.
- …Nelson Mandela has never been in prison.
- …Salman Rushdie has always been under a death sentence.
- …”Imelda” has always been the nickname of someone with a lot of shoes.
- …Ronald Reagan has never been president.
- …Pete Rose has always been banned from baseball.
- …There has always been a Sega Genesis.
- …Bart Simpson has always been 10 years old.
- …Iran has always been pissed off.
Last year at the end of the season I announced on this blog and to my Fantasy Football league that I was stepping down as Commissioner and retiring from the game. Yesterday I learned that my old league is disbanding because no one else wants to step up and be the Commish. I guess that makes me the MVP…
Finally, I was blessed and surprised to get a link from Mitch at Shot in the Dark for the “Man in the Street” post the other day. In the three-plus years I’ve been blogging, two things have always amazed me. The first is that I’m still doing it (which set in at about the 6-month mark), and the second is how hard it is to predict when a post will get someone’s attention and suddenly drive a lot of traffic to your blog. Certainly there have been “masterpieces” I’ve written and then sat back waiting for a book offer and never even scored a comment, and then something I almost didn’t post doubles my average traffic in one day. It’s moments like that that help explain amazing item #1. Thanks, Mitch, and to everyone who commented!
bookmark to:
Filings: Man on the Street
by the Night Writer
One morning last week I was walking the five blocks from the train to my office, pretty much just thinking about the day ahead. As I waited at the first corner with a crowd of pedestrians for the light to change, an older black man standing in front of me turned around and looked at me, then said, “God bless you.”
“And God bless you, too,” I said, a little surprised but not really uncomfortable even though I could smell the strong scent of alcohol coming from him as he turned back around. I know from the times I’ve spent with the guys in the Teen Challenge program how much they hated, when they were on the street, how people wouldn’t look at them because of their color, or their raggedyness, or both. Since then I’ve tried to make it a habit to acknowledge people with my eyes when they cross my path.
The man was standing with two other rather scruffy looking guys. He turned to me again as the light changed and the crowd moved across the street, the two scruffy guys and my fellow pedestrians subtly leaving a bubble around me and my new friend as we got the inevitable request for money out of the way (which I declined). He then started a rambling description of his birthday being January 1, and how nobody believes that, and how Jesus walks with him, and nobody believes that either. “Do you you believe Jesus walks with me?” he asked.
“I believe Jesus lives inside us,” I replied.
“Does he live inside you?”
“Yes, he does.”
He went on talking about Jesus following him everywhere. By now Jesus was the only one who could have been in spitting distance of us. I was feeling very much at peace, though, interjecting a comment every so often to let him know I was listening. We got to the corner where my office is and my friend was asking me if Jesus walked beside me. I told him that I believe Jesus said he would never leave us or forsake us, that he would be with us everywhere we go. Then I got bold, though I still felt peaceful.
“I believe Jesus is walking beside you,” I said. “The problem is, you’ve been taking him into a lot of places he doesn’t want to go. I wonder,” I said, “what would happen if you started to follow him for a little while instead of having him follow you?” For the first time in our conversation he was still and quiet. I put out my hand. He took it.
“I believe you when you say you were born on January 1. I believe that is a symbol from God that you can make a new beginning, but you don’t have to wait for your birthday.”
There at the corner of Washington and Marquette I put my other hand on his shoulder and began to pray out loud, thanking God for the man’s life and for bringing us together and for the plans that God had for him. I prayed that God would open doors for him that no man could close and that he would close doors that no man could open. I said “Amen” and dropped my left hand. He stood there with a surprised look on his face.
“Thank you,” he said, softly. Then louder, “Thank you very much! God bless you!” Then he turned and walked away.
Now I harbor no illusions that that interlude will turn that man’s life around, but I know God has done greater things. Neither do I have any doubt that I was supposed to meet that man that day. As for myself, I got quite a lift from the unexpected meeting, and I wondered at the peace and confidence I had felt. I hadn’t been self-conscious at all about anyone else around us, or put off by the man’s appearance or condition. Believe me, that is not my usual demeanor! I felt at first as if I had just done something the way my pastor would’ve done it, and then I realized that perhaps I had done it the way Jesus would have — without a thought or care but for the man he had just met.
That may all be very nice but I also realized that, while I likely won’t know the impact I made on the other guy, that God wanted to show me something. I, too, am guilty — in both thought and actions — of taking Jesus into places sometimes that perhaps he doesn’t want to go. In fact, I can go hours without even being aware of him beside me. As the morning went on I was simultaneously buoyed by the experience and humbled that I was able to experience it. I didn’t really grasp the biggest lesson, however, until yesterday when it finally dawned on me.
The experience felt great and was stimulating because it was different, out of the ordinary. It finally hit me, yesterday, that in fact it shouldn’t be that out of the ordinary at all. Jesus didn’t spend a lot of time in church, but was usually out walking, going from one place to another, meeting the people he was supposed to meet, touching their lives with his presence. The same Jesus walks with me, wanting to do the same thing if I will let him; not by preaching sermons or trying to get people to say a prayer so they can be “saved”, but simply touching their lives with a word or a touch that communicates his love for them, showing — as Romans 2:4 says — “the goodness of God that leads people to repentance.”
I want to feel that lift that I felt that day much more often.
bookmark to:
Happy “Vente”, Mall Diva!
by the Night Writer
Hat’s off to the Mall Diva, who turns 20 today. Would it be too cliché for me to complain of how quickly the time goes? Yes. Will I do it anyway? Of course.
Not that it would do any good. Holding back time and holding back the Mall Diva are equally impossible, both physically and metaphysically. Even now she’s getting away from me. Plans are proceeding for the wedding next May where I’ll officially “give her away”. The trick will be to “walk” her up the aisle when she’d rather sprint. We’re thinking the reception will be in our back yard, which means that Ben will have to hold off on delivering the 40-cow bride price until after the wedding so there’ll be room. Don’t worry, I think he’s good for it.
“The kids” went up to Alexandria for the weekend so Ben could formally introduce his fiancée to his parents. They’ve spent some time with her already over the past couple of years, but this is their first “engaged” visit. Some details from the trip are posted here.
Speaking of time flying by, it was three years ago that I posted my first blogging birthday wishes to the Diva, along with some of the story about her birth and childhood. You can read the account and see the photos here.
bookmark to:
A way that seems right unto a Manival
by the Night Writer
After a brief vacation (every man needs one from time to time), the Manival returned this week with edition #15, hosted by Discovering Dad. I didn’t notice it was up right away, but once I did I read through the week’s selections. Here are some of my faves:
A couple of decades ago I wrote some advertising and catalog copy for a mail-order steak business. I learned the ins and outs of great cuts of meat and what each cut was best suited for. After a morning of that exposure I was ready to throw down a couple of bacon-wrapped filet mignon, even though my budget could barely handle a quarter-pounder with cheese. Reading Know Thine Bovine at Primer Magazine brought back happy memories of those days, though.
The Reader Challenge: David post at I Am Husband was already familiar to me as I had read it (and commented) during a regular visit to that blog. It deals with the common issue of wives disliking their bodies and the effect this has on the relationship.
More happy memories were stirred by Dad of Divas’ Teaching Your Child Entrepreneurship as I recalled the early development of Tiger Lilly’s head for business. And if you’re going to teach your children how to succeed at business then you should also help them learn the important lessons about debt offered by The Common Man in his post, In Your Debt.
Finally, you know I’m going to be partial to posts by Tom at Being Michael’s Daddy — Levels of Understanding — and by Kevin at Return to Manliness — Never Use Eight Words When Four Will Do — because they are in a similar vein as my Fundamentals in Film series and my Manival #1 post on three-word sentences that will endear you to your wife.
I’m sure you’ll find your own favorites when you browse the rest of the submissions for yourself.
bookmark to:
Stay classy, Green Bay
by the Night Writer
Some bad reps are hard to shake. For example, Cleveland will always be remembered as the city who’s river caught on fire, Philadelphia fans will always be remembered for booing Santa Claus and Green Bay will always be remembered as the town where someone killed the coach’s (Dan Devine) dog during a bad year. Like Brett Favre, however, Packer fans are apparently interested in an encore, as Aaron Rodgers is (unpleasantly) learning.
Favre fans have not just been supporting Favre with their words; they’ve been going after Rodgers. And many haven’t minced words.
After the morning practice Friday, Rodgers talked about some of the abuse directed at him.
“I understand it to some point if I put myself into a Favre fanatic’s shoes,” Rodgers said of getting booed. “The things I can’t understand, the things I really take personally, is when I’m driving up to the (parking lot) gate and punching in my punch code and somebody says (expletive) to me. That kind of bothers me.
“Or when a little kid is yelling swear words at me. That kind of gets to me. They expect a high level of play and they miss Brett Favre. I understand that. But the (expletive) and the little kids saying swear words to me, I don’t understand that.”
Actually, Rodgers should have been able to understand the kid, who was likely using small words. Of course, being Green Bay, the kid was probably drunk and that may have made it harder.
bookmark to:
Foam, foam on the range
by the Night Writer
Our favorite coffee shop is The Black Sheep in South St. Paul where owner (and my official 50th birthday barista) Peter first wowed my wife with an awesome and unexpected leaf design worked into the foam of her latte. It was an impressive demonstration well beyond my own bag of tricks for catering to my wife, but I didn’t feel threatened.
After all, Peter may draw pictures in her coffee at his shop, but I’m still the guy who can bring it to her in bed. That division works well for me and having a local artiste nearby makes going out for a coffee a little more special. The pressure on me may be growing, however.
An article in today’s Wall Street Journal (subscription required) suggests that time and money are no obstacle for those who want to create such foamy, temporary masterpieces in their own home.
Once an obscure skill practiced by a handful of baristas, latte art is invading the home. Amateur artists have posted thousands of photos and videos of leaves, flowers and swans made in foam, on Web sites like YouTube, Rate My Rosetta and CoffeeGeek.
Coffee shops offer classes in creating designs, and latte artists organize winner-take-all cash contests, or “throw downs,” in which amateurs challenge each other, as well as local professionals. Espresso-machine vendors are doing a brisk business in special pitchers and custom steam tips that are affixed to machines to aid milk frothing. One online retailer says sales of its $79 “Latte Art Beginner’s Pack,” with instructional DVD, frothing pitcher and milk thermometer, are up 65% this year.
The pastime is not for those with weak wills — or shallow pockets. High-end home espresso machines sell for as much as $7,000. Beginners can go through multiple gallons of milk a week as they practice.
Oh, great, so I need time, talent, money … and, apparently, a lot of milk.
Some aspiring artists concentrate on the pour. First-timers mistakenly think they can paint the design on top of the coffee, says Nicholas Lundgaard, a 23-year-old software engineer in Houston, who took up latte art three years ago after seeing photos on the CoffeeGeek Web site. Actually, it’s “a fluid canvas, where shapes fan out from the place you’re pouring,” he says.
Mr. Lundgaard spent evenings hunched over his espresso machine, studying exemplars on YouTube and rehearsing his “wiggle,” the back and forth motion of the hand pouring milk. To avoid wasting costly milk, Mr. Lundgaard practiced with water, switching to milk every now and then to gauge his progress.
Another foam artist, Milwaukee pathologist Robert Hall, says he had to pour five or six drinks a day for a year before he could get a rosetta right every time. One big obstacle was his wife’s preference for skim milk, which produces stiffer, less yielding foam than milk with lots of fat, he says.
Check that … I need time, talent, money, a lot of milk … and I have to work on my “wiggle.” Isn’t there an easier way? Well, it turns out that there is.
Not everyone wants to suffer for their art. After seeing a latte-art video, Oleksiy Pikalo, a 31-year-old electrical engineer from Somerville, Mass., decided there had to be an “engineering approach.” Using a kit and spare parts found on eBay, he built a programmable computer printer that stamps designs — such as words or corporate logos — on foamed drinks in edible brown ink. One design shows a kingly figure saying, “Can your latte do this?”
Mr. Pikalo presented his invention at a national computer-graphics conference this week and has started a company, OnLatte, to sell his machine, at a tentative price of $1,500. His YouTube video has drawn more than 818,000 views and 2,500 comments.
A latte printer? Really, the things you can do with spare parts found on eBay! It kind of sounds like the coffee-blogging answer to Twitter. Click here to watch a neat video of the craft and a demonstration of the latte printer.
bookmark to:
Good night, sweet prince…
by the Night Writer
…and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Actor Joe Kudla, co-founder and “Snot” half of the Puke & Snot Renaissance Festival comedy team, has passed away in St. Paul at the age of 58.
Puke (Mark Sieve) and Snot (Joe Kudla)
I moved to Minnesota in 1980 and went to my first Renaissance Festival that summer. I didn’t know much about it but thought it might be fun; I thought I’d stay for a couple of hours. It turned out to be a blast and I stayed all day, and the highlight was the performances of the sword-fighting, Shakespeare-mangling, carrot-spraying “Pun”-dits, Puke & Snot. I went to the Ren Fest for years, always making it a priority to catch their never-ending quarrel and ripostes — both verbal and of steel.
I haven’t gone to a Ren Fest for awhile, however, as I found the event to have become too grungy and not as family-friendly. The grunge may be more “authentic” for the era, but it seems as if the overall commitment to authenticity has devolved. I was actually thinking of the Ren Fest the other day and wondered if Puke & Snot were still plying their craft, and if they had updated their jokes, and if they still fit into their tights.
Thanks for the memories and the laughs, Good Snot!
Update:
Additional details in the Strib article.
Puke has a blog! Check out his tribute to his partner.
bookmark to:
Last week
by the Night Writer
Last week a friend of mine died of cancer, the second friend I’ve lost this summer and both too young.
Last week was also my great aunt Essie’s funeral. She was the last of my grandfather’s siblings and our last living connection to the early years of the last century. Alva, Elza, Bransford, Mamie, John and Essie, the beloved children of William and Fannie.
Last week I also weeded the garden and felt the puffy, aching arthritic pain in my left middle finger, which reminded me of my father and his twisted knuckles. His stone has now been set and I’ll be able to see it next month when I go down there. He’s in the row at Oak Hill in front of Essie and her husband, Raymond.
Last week I also went to lunch with the Reverend Mother, the Mall Diva, my young cousin DeShae, and Miss B., the young woman who works for me. The young ladies are all in their early to mid-20s and Miss B. and the Diva are both recently engaged. You can probably guess what the women were all talking about at lunch. In fact, I nearly had to guess because I could barely make it out in all the background clatter and noise of the busy restaurant. I followed along by watching the light and animation in all of their beautiful faces.
Last week I had the chance to feel old, and grouchy, and tired of the random inevitability of life, yet in the gleaming of an eye, the softness of a cheek, the lightness of laughter and the tossing of hair I found the renewing power of hope and dreams and even second-hand it will last me this week, and maybe longer.
It’s a wonderful world.
bookmark to:
Taking their best shot
by the Night Writer
LZ Granderson has a great article on ESPN.com today about the members of the U.S. Army Marksmanship Unit (USAMU) that is competing in shooting in the Olympics.
Glenn Eller is a lanky, baby-faced 20-something from Katy, Texas, a cushy suburb outside of Houston.
He is friendly, quick to laugh and has an odd affinity for Oreos topped with Cheez Whiz.
He’s single.
He’s looking.
And when he leaves Beijing after competing in the Olympics, he’s going back to Georgia and his day job: teaching other baby-faced 20-somethings how to shoot and, if necessary, kill people.
Walton “Glenn” Eller III — that is, Army Spc. Eller — is a marksman trainer in Fort Benning, Ga. And he’s one of six members of the U.S. Army Marksmanship Unit (USAMU) that is competing in shooting in the Olympics.
It’s not among the sexiest events to watch, so you probably won’t catch him on the tube. But just because shooting doesn’t make for good TV doesn’t mean it’s lacking in drama.
Not when you consider that our nation is at war.
And members of our military are competing against military personnel from countries we have strained relationships with.
And we’re competing in a country with the kind of human rights record that forced the Olympic torch to be hidden from protesters.
So while the latest incarnation of the Dream Team has garnered the most attention, the 14 Olympic athletes in the U.S. military — six of whom are in the USAMU — likely feel the most tension.
Then there’s this uncomfortable truth: During times of war, a lot of people die. It’s up to military trainers, like Eller and fellow Olympians Maj. Michael Anti and Staff Sgt. Libby Callahan, to help make sure the American casualty numbers stay low.
Not to take anything away from Michael Phelps — whose surgeon-like focus has received a lot of ink recently — but the word “focus” takes on a whole new meaning when you’re not only representing your country but also juggling life and death to protect that country.
I suppose some might question whether shooting is an appropriate sport in games that are supposed to support peace and brotherhood, forgetting that events such as the javelin, pentathalon and decathalon are rooted in demonstrating military prowess. The article is an interesting take on a sport that probably won’t receive a lot of attention. It’s worth a read.
Update:
Glenn Eller sets Olympic shooting record in winning gold medal.
bookmark to: