Here I am

In case no one’s noticed, posting has been kind of light of late as I’ve been in the final days of a huge project. Light posting is likely to continue for the next week or so as I’m traveling (though road trips have been known to generate some posts).

This weekend I’m with my sweetheart at our church’s annual Sweetheart Weekend. We’re having a very good time, thanks for asking.


Then on Sunday we’re off for Arizona for a week as the Big Corporate Event I’ve been working on since last June has finally arrived. For me it means long hours of double- and triple-checking menus, AV set-ups, tracking the whereabouts of our big-name guest speakers — and about 54 holes of golf. Meanwhile, the Reverend Mother (not one to sit around the spa eating bon-bons served by cabana boys) is renting a BMW motorcycle for a ride through the Sonoran Desert, and is going to spend another day with one of her best friends who moved to Arizona a couple of years ago. Finally, once I’ve got all the executives fed and sent off to the airport we’ll be driving over to Las Cruces, New Mexico to visit one of my wife’s favorite cousins.

With all that going on next week we were thinking we’d skip the Sweetheart Weekend, but the Mall Diva insisted that we go so we can learn even more about how to have a good marriage and so she can pick up the tips from us second-hand. And when I say she insisted, I mean that she actually paid for us to go. Aww, isn’t that sweet? Did we raise her right, or what?

Then again, perhaps she just wanted to get us out of the house over the weekend. Hmmm.

Kevin, you know where we live. Feel free to make an unannounced visit. Don’t bother knocking.

Ouch, that’s not going to leave a mark

UK shaken by ‘significant’ earthquake
PA
Wednesday, 27 February 2008

A “significant” earthquake shook the UK in the early hours of this morning, causing damage to buildings and leaving at least one person injured.

The tremor hit at around 1am and was measured at 5.2 on the Richter scale.

Its epicentre was near Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, but the effects of the quake were felt throughout the country.

HT: b3ta.com (and Uncle Raven)

If wishes were fishes

I wish…that every time I see someone with a Hispanic name in a crime report that I didn’t automatically wonder if they were an illegal alien.

I wish…that every time I see a dominating performance by an athlete that I didn’t wonder if he or she was on steroids.

I wish…that if I have to read a story about an athlete being arrested that it didn’t always mention a strip club.

I wish…that when overpaid athletes complain about their contracts that they didn’t claim they just want what’s fair.

I wish…that every time Bill Clinton wags his finger that it didn’t make me laugh.

I wish…that every time the Minnesota legislature is in session that I didn’t think about moving to South Dakota.

So There!


You Are a Super Diva


Some may complain about your diva ways, but you brush them off.

You simply demand the best – and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Don’t stomp on the little people too much though!

You still need them to get to the top.

Note: Questions may or may not have been answered in order to fit characterization.

George!

Awesome tribute to George Washington on his birthday from Sheila. She’s excerpted several fine descriptions of Washington as a man and a leader from those close to him, and from his own words, that are both humbling and inspiring.

Could there ever be another like him?

Thomas Jefferson on George Washington:

The moderation and virtue of a single character probably prevented this Revolution from being closed, as most others have been, by a subversion of that liberty it was intended to establish.

Martha Washington wrote a letter to a relative on the eve of her husband’s departure to the Convention in 1774:

I foresee consequences; dark days and darker nights; domestic happiness suspended; social enjoyments abandoned; property of every kind put in jeopardy by war, perhaps; neighbors and friends at variance, and eternal separations on earth possible. But what are all these evils when compared with the fate of which the Port Bill may be only a threat? My mind is made up; my heart is in the cause. George is right; he is always right. God has promised to protect the righteous, and I will trust him.

Does this sound like anyone we know?

Nancy at Fritinancy (formerly Away With Words) touches on the Divine:

But enough about Patty. Let’s talk about the dog. Specifically, the dog’s name. On paper she’s “Shann’s Legally Blonde.” But she picks up her ears and smiles a doggy smile when you call her “Diva.”

Then again, who doesn’t? Once upon a time, the term (which means “goddess” in Italian) was applied highly selectively, and with all due respect, to opera megastars such as Maria Callas. These days, everyone with a pair of X chromosomes is a diva. We’re so democratic! Divacratic, even.

Nancy, who makes a living by naming and helping to brand new products, goes on to list a series of Diva-centric product names (not all that I’d care to reprint here). A sampling:

Zappos, the online shoe store, features four pages of shoes code-named Diva, including the Gel-Dirt Diva 2 running shoe and the Diaper Dude Divas Diaper Bag. (Divas do diapers?)

“The Diva” is Old Navy’s name for its lowest-rise jeans.

Diva Furniture sells furniture in Los Angeles and Seattle.

Viva Diva, a clothing boutique not far from where I live, gets points for rhyming.

Diva Espresso, which has four Seattle locations, gets points for referring to itself as “she” (“Diva paid her growing-pains dues…”).

Surf Diva offers surfing lessons in San Diego.

Then there’s the sisterhood of blogging divas: Cooking Diva, Techie Diva (pink! pink! pink!), Retail Design Diva (which had a nice post a few months ago on why store mannequins no longer smile).

What, no Mall Diva? Perhaps she’s lost her Diva cred? Maybe she needs to take the Are You a Diva? quiz or the What Decade Diva Are You? test.

Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance

This evening was another late getaway away from the office in the dark, this time so late that all my favorite radio programs were already off the air for my “drive-time.” Bummer. Plus it was cold. Damn cold. As I drove along an almost deserted street in the direction of St. Paul, I was surprised to see a train making it’s way in the cold, dark night across the battered concrete bridge over Hennepin at 18th Avenue. Though it was a diesel engine, not steam, the frosty air nevertheless produced white clouds and in that moment I was suddenly transported — or “trains-ported” — into a black and white photo that could have been done by O. Winston Link himself. Not only that, I was transported back to another time in my life, and another time in our country’s history. What I saw tonight looked very nearly like this, minus the swimmers:

My grandfather was kind of a nut about steam locomotives. He even worked for awhile as a fireman on a steam train during World War II, though that challenging experience apparently didn’t sour him on the big engines. Some 25 years ago I happened to read an article about O. Winston Link, a photographer who had set out in the 1950s to capture in the disappearing trains of the Norfolk & Western line, the last steam-powered railroad in the U.S. Photographing trains presented more than a few technical problems, such as lighting. As Link said, “You can’t move the sun, and you can’t move the tracks, so you have to do something else to better light the engines.” As a result he created a sequenced flash lighting system that he would painstakingly set out along the tracks hours in advance to get a shot with his 4 x 5 Graphic camera. Naturally, most of his shots were at night, creating some of the most evocative records of a bygone era. The article I read mentioned that a book of Link’s N&W train photos, entitled “Ghost Trains”, had been produced, and I knew instantly that I had to track down a copy for my grandfather.

This was way-back in the days before Amazon.com, or even much public awareness of the Internet. I followed some clues in the article, made some calls, wired some money and in a couple weeks’ time I owned a handsome, half-tabloid sized paperback of Link’s best photos. Plus — bonus! — a thin recording on vinyl of the sound of two steam trains plying their trade across the valley. Link was a gifted technician who had also been able to make several high-quality sound recordings of the locomotives that fascinated him so. My grandfather would insist on playing the floppy record for me, and I can see him sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, his head slightly cocked with that crooked grin of his as the trains chugged and hooted from his stereo. Something about the sound just suggested a cold, snowy night, and how good it felt to be warm and snug inside while our machines soldiered on.

Trains have always been about getting from one place to another. Sometimes it’s a raw display of intimidating force, and other times a surprisingly delicate balance of momentum, mass and friction. As my grandfather learned over the course of many hard lessons, there was as much art as there was science to getting a steam locomotive to operate at its best and to come to your hand. And like grandfathers, you can easily take them for granted and then one day they’re gone. Yes, trains are about taking you from one place to another, and sometimes you don’t even need to get on board.

When my grandfather died, the only thing I asked for was the book.

Here are a couple of O. Winston Link’s better known photos, but by all means visit the link above to view a slide show from this great American artist, or here to see even more images. Here’s another interesting resource for where you can buy images and recordings.

Punked

I felt better this morning so I went to work. A mistake, I think. I was still getting alternate waves of chills and heat, and back-breaking coughing and sneezing despite my cold drugs. Some things still had to be done, however, so I isolated myself as much as I could from others and cranked on emails and conference calls till I could go home. I may have overdone it, though — I’m very, very tired and feeling kind of punk. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

An off day on my day off

My fingers feel like they’re the size of bananas, my tongue feels like leather, my throat like I’ve been gargling razor blades and I think I’ve separated three of my ribs with my violent coughing. I had some plans for what to do with my President’s Day holiday, but I’ve mostly moved from one couch to another with a blanket and a box of tissues while drifting in and out of some weird dreams.

Yuck.