Back home in Ogema in the fall, there's no place better to see than Timm's Hill. And on a morning like the one I saw earlier today, I'm left wondering if there's a more beautiful place in the world. If you do destination travel, you can't do much better than staying with the Blombergs at High Point Village. My highest recommendation. And not just in terms of Wisconsin elevation.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Moving on. But not before seriously looking back.
I've been in a bit of a culture vacuum over the past week. Or maybe lazily pushing one around. I won't say that what I've been reading and listening to sucks. But another stretched vacuum analogy might apply (not much worth picking up has appeared before me). So instead of reaching too far, I'd like to digress and give an update on other things. Especially since this will be one of my last posts here. For real and forever.
If you've paid attention to what I've written here over the years (dating back to the beginning of 2005), you know a few themes dominate. The personal side has always featured Maya, from before birth to the now fully dynamic life of a proud kindergartener. The opinionated address of all things political has always been fair game. And cultural notes of particular interest to me get reviewed. Like countless blogs, I don't get paid except for a pittance of advertising. Some very limited (but appreciated) notice has come my way. But blogging is a largely one-handed juggling act. After a while, you sort of run out of tricks and have trouble keeping it fresh for those kind enough to stop by and watch.
I've had other concurrent blogging projects - most recently my running blog that has tracked my day-by-day kvetching about training for the Twin Cities Marathon. The energy that goes into each and every of these outlets doesn't spring eternal. So the waxing and waning is probably what has driven my traffic up and down over the years. With that as an awkward pivot, I've decided to shut it all down. Leave the archives up for posterity. And move on to the projects that really deserve my attention. I've got two novels to edit and sell. Ideas for two more, plus a grand non-fiction history that I've been researching for most of my life. Plans, I tell you. Glorious plans.
Before then, I have a slew of things to see and write about here. Tomorrow morning, I leave for a solo week-plus trip through Wisconsin and the Twin Cities. A trip down memory lane, plus a wide range of new trips along that path. I plan to take lots of pictures, ask lots of questions (or others and myself), and soak up as much of the autumn landscape as possible. I've always adored the fall in Wisconsin. So please check back for some fresh stuff. I think it will be worth your time. And thanks for doing so. Rock on.
If you've paid attention to what I've written here over the years (dating back to the beginning of 2005), you know a few themes dominate. The personal side has always featured Maya, from before birth to the now fully dynamic life of a proud kindergartener. The opinionated address of all things political has always been fair game. And cultural notes of particular interest to me get reviewed. Like countless blogs, I don't get paid except for a pittance of advertising. Some very limited (but appreciated) notice has come my way. But blogging is a largely one-handed juggling act. After a while, you sort of run out of tricks and have trouble keeping it fresh for those kind enough to stop by and watch.
I've had other concurrent blogging projects - most recently my running blog that has tracked my day-by-day kvetching about training for the Twin Cities Marathon. The energy that goes into each and every of these outlets doesn't spring eternal. So the waxing and waning is probably what has driven my traffic up and down over the years. With that as an awkward pivot, I've decided to shut it all down. Leave the archives up for posterity. And move on to the projects that really deserve my attention. I've got two novels to edit and sell. Ideas for two more, plus a grand non-fiction history that I've been researching for most of my life. Plans, I tell you. Glorious plans.
Before then, I have a slew of things to see and write about here. Tomorrow morning, I leave for a solo week-plus trip through Wisconsin and the Twin Cities. A trip down memory lane, plus a wide range of new trips along that path. I plan to take lots of pictures, ask lots of questions (or others and myself), and soak up as much of the autumn landscape as possible. I've always adored the fall in Wisconsin. So please check back for some fresh stuff. I think it will be worth your time. And thanks for doing so. Rock on.
Friday, September 17, 2010
From St. Paul to "Lisbon"
It's way too easy to join the eruption of literary praise surrounding Jonathan Franzen's new novel. Just as it's equal parts self-promoting laziness to piss all over what Franzen's accomplished. I'm still in the middle when it comes to this event, er, book. Mainly because I haven't finished "Freedom" and I've not exactly felt driven to devour it whole. And while I'm still a big big fan of Franzen's talents, I'd like to take a slighter different tack. One utterly without plot spoilers. Namely, I need to say something about what Franzen offered up for his authorial lecture in Seattle earlier this week. In short, it was a gawddamn travesty.
Big books, thankfully, still can garner big spotlights in the right places - no matter how much that list of places is dwindling. Nonetheless, that was the case in the way Seattle Arts & Lectures promoted Tuesday evening with Franzen at Benaroya Hall. It was my first visit to that symphonic wonder. Gorgeous, filled with warm wood and all the glitter of money donated from the largess of what's now a different economy. Franzen remarked himself after being bathed in a typically laudatory intro that "wow, this is a big room." And Seattle's book-thirsty population (real or imagined) really showed up in its best dress fleece and tweediness. You could practically feel the intellectual lust dripping off the seat backs and gumming up the floor throughout. Bookish horndogs are so adorable. So all Franzen needed to do was give a coy turn of the shoulder or bare a subtly original angle. In which case, he could have serviced every single sizable IQ in the place simultaneously. Instead, he read (from old, unedited notes) a "talk" he'd delivered in Germany last year. Some won't fault the dood - he admitted as much himself, making the obvious joke about how Seattle's so full of bibliophiles that he couldn't do a regular book tour event here. But I can't be so kind. As much as I admire Franzen's work and the exposure he brings to the general craft of novel writing, he couldn't have underwhelmed the room more if he'd cinched up the chastity belt wrapped 'round his wit and sprayed us all down with an ice water firehose. Well, maybe that's a bit stretched. Let's just say that a full price ticket general admission ticket ($30 frickin' bucks - still a chafe at half price) proved about as stimulating as a handjob in a glove factory. I'll come back to review the book next week. His work should merit this double billing. But that SAL event was a disgrace, dood.
On another level of satisfaction, the new album from The Walkmen ("Lisbon") has offered up one of those rare surprises that keeps me going back to my record store week after week. These guys know how to tunefully kvetch and lament. They also know better than most acts how to craf compelling songs and deliver them with full gut emotion. I'm intrigued by what they've done here. My rating for this album - an impressed and curious B-plus. Heading north, I expect.
Big books, thankfully, still can garner big spotlights in the right places - no matter how much that list of places is dwindling. Nonetheless, that was the case in the way Seattle Arts & Lectures promoted Tuesday evening with Franzen at Benaroya Hall. It was my first visit to that symphonic wonder. Gorgeous, filled with warm wood and all the glitter of money donated from the largess of what's now a different economy. Franzen remarked himself after being bathed in a typically laudatory intro that "wow, this is a big room." And Seattle's book-thirsty population (real or imagined) really showed up in its best dress fleece and tweediness. You could practically feel the intellectual lust dripping off the seat backs and gumming up the floor throughout. Bookish horndogs are so adorable. So all Franzen needed to do was give a coy turn of the shoulder or bare a subtly original angle. In which case, he could have serviced every single sizable IQ in the place simultaneously. Instead, he read (from old, unedited notes) a "talk" he'd delivered in Germany last year. Some won't fault the dood - he admitted as much himself, making the obvious joke about how Seattle's so full of bibliophiles that he couldn't do a regular book tour event here. But I can't be so kind. As much as I admire Franzen's work and the exposure he brings to the general craft of novel writing, he couldn't have underwhelmed the room more if he'd cinched up the chastity belt wrapped 'round his wit and sprayed us all down with an ice water firehose. Well, maybe that's a bit stretched. Let's just say that a full price ticket general admission ticket ($30 frickin' bucks - still a chafe at half price) proved about as stimulating as a handjob in a glove factory. I'll come back to review the book next week. His work should merit this double billing. But that SAL event was a disgrace, dood.
On another level of satisfaction, the new album from The Walkmen ("Lisbon") has offered up one of those rare surprises that keeps me going back to my record store week after week. These guys know how to tunefully kvetch and lament. They also know better than most acts how to craf compelling songs and deliver them with full gut emotion. I'm intrigued by what they've done here. My rating for this album - an impressed and curious B-plus. Heading north, I expect.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Everyone say "Moosepuke"
So it's over. Parenting done, dood. Maya started kindergarten. Sarah and I never looked back. She's the public schools' problem now. At least until this afternoon. A few pics follow. As you'll see, it was a fantastic first day.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
It's all so much clearer now
The past week featured a few '90s time warp trips for me. And I'm still trying to digest how it all makes me feel. So here's a few stabs at my reaction to both the end of a Kurt Cobain-inspired exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum and the Pavement reunion tour that traipsed through the Paramount Theatre.
I'll start with the latter. Pavement is a favorite touchstone of mine. I fall in general agreement with the shorthand claim that their fuzzy sound and ironic slouch only masks bushels of worthy wit. And hearing Stephen Malkmus talk earnestly about this tour as a one off deal was refreshing (don't expect to see them keep trying to cash that check in the future). You have to go back more than 15 years to really find their hopeful peak. So the easy money is on them being less than vigorous in concert. I went on my own, watched on my own, and decided on my own that...it's time for even the most ardent fan to move on. They still bring a good show. Two hours, including a 4-song encore that a more cynical band wouldn't have done at all given the bland, obligatory ovation they got as encouragement from a crowd that I saw as seriously underpacked. It was the sort of crowd you could see doing the same thing I did beforehand - fixing a nice dinner for the family AND doing the dishes before hitting the town. I saw a few pregnant women. The line-up at the merch table afterward was way deeper than that to the bar, at least while the opener was playing (Quasi, a Portland band everyone respects who packed a few decades worth of experience into a tight 40-minute set). Everything Pavement did was fine. That's the problem. The extended moment when these songs mattered has passed. When I got home, I saw the handful of CDs I'd put in our stereo's changer. When I look at my iPod, I've only bothered to upload this year's newly released (and wonderful) "Quarantine the Past" compilation. That's a wounded metaphor, but it works for me. I love Pavement. I won't say "loved". But now I can move on.
The Kurt Cobain exhibit at the SAM was pulled yesterday after a handful of months. Far more local ink was spilled on it than I ever thought worthy. It always just seemed like a tourist crowd draw, especially considering how close the SAM is to the Pike Place Market. But it was First Thursday Gallery Walk night last week. What better time to see what for. And the verdict? Of course it was forced nostalgia. Creepy and almost entirely devoid of wit. Yet the point that I saw was actually pretty brilliant, albeit unintended. I'm speaking of the people watching, most of which seemed to be infinitely entertained by its own internal divisions. The partiers jostled by the gallery types, the tourists mingled with those in effect demanding acknowledgment as true locals, the stripes mixed with the solids. Where I fit in doesn't matter a hoot. But like anyone that lived in Seattle when Kurt killed himself, I've got my own stories to tell and images to share. Spending that Friday at Two Bells in Belltown with friends after hearing the news. Seeing a pile of afternoon Seattle Times issues brought in and passed around. Hearing how a friend who's office was in the same building as The Rocket had to get out of there as the media frenzy heated up. Those images are what I'd hang on the walls of the SAM. And they'd probably look just as stupid. The personal decontextualized and writ large is doomed to fail. Time and time again.
Where I sit now is altogether in a different time and mental space. Maya starts kindergarten tomorrow. We're going to head out now to do some last school shopping. That's the show I can't wait to see. Call me past prime or whatever suits your taste for snark these days. But know that I'm still looking backward as I focus on what's to come. It's just that those things in the rearview mirror are no longer closer than they appear. Thankfully.
I'll start with the latter. Pavement is a favorite touchstone of mine. I fall in general agreement with the shorthand claim that their fuzzy sound and ironic slouch only masks bushels of worthy wit. And hearing Stephen Malkmus talk earnestly about this tour as a one off deal was refreshing (don't expect to see them keep trying to cash that check in the future). You have to go back more than 15 years to really find their hopeful peak. So the easy money is on them being less than vigorous in concert. I went on my own, watched on my own, and decided on my own that...it's time for even the most ardent fan to move on. They still bring a good show. Two hours, including a 4-song encore that a more cynical band wouldn't have done at all given the bland, obligatory ovation they got as encouragement from a crowd that I saw as seriously underpacked. It was the sort of crowd you could see doing the same thing I did beforehand - fixing a nice dinner for the family AND doing the dishes before hitting the town. I saw a few pregnant women. The line-up at the merch table afterward was way deeper than that to the bar, at least while the opener was playing (Quasi, a Portland band everyone respects who packed a few decades worth of experience into a tight 40-minute set). Everything Pavement did was fine. That's the problem. The extended moment when these songs mattered has passed. When I got home, I saw the handful of CDs I'd put in our stereo's changer. When I look at my iPod, I've only bothered to upload this year's newly released (and wonderful) "Quarantine the Past" compilation. That's a wounded metaphor, but it works for me. I love Pavement. I won't say "loved". But now I can move on.
The Kurt Cobain exhibit at the SAM was pulled yesterday after a handful of months. Far more local ink was spilled on it than I ever thought worthy. It always just seemed like a tourist crowd draw, especially considering how close the SAM is to the Pike Place Market. But it was First Thursday Gallery Walk night last week. What better time to see what for. And the verdict? Of course it was forced nostalgia. Creepy and almost entirely devoid of wit. Yet the point that I saw was actually pretty brilliant, albeit unintended. I'm speaking of the people watching, most of which seemed to be infinitely entertained by its own internal divisions. The partiers jostled by the gallery types, the tourists mingled with those in effect demanding acknowledgment as true locals, the stripes mixed with the solids. Where I fit in doesn't matter a hoot. But like anyone that lived in Seattle when Kurt killed himself, I've got my own stories to tell and images to share. Spending that Friday at Two Bells in Belltown with friends after hearing the news. Seeing a pile of afternoon Seattle Times issues brought in and passed around. Hearing how a friend who's office was in the same building as The Rocket had to get out of there as the media frenzy heated up. Those images are what I'd hang on the walls of the SAM. And they'd probably look just as stupid. The personal decontextualized and writ large is doomed to fail. Time and time again.
Where I sit now is altogether in a different time and mental space. Maya starts kindergarten tomorrow. We're going to head out now to do some last school shopping. That's the show I can't wait to see. Call me past prime or whatever suits your taste for snark these days. But know that I'm still looking backward as I focus on what's to come. It's just that those things in the rearview mirror are no longer closer than they appear. Thankfully.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Let the debate begin. Seven and a half years late might be better than never.
Like much of the World, I'm trying to calibrate my reaction to President Obama's prime timer last night on the end of combat operations in Iraq. And since what is blogging if not therapy writ wide open and unedited for everyone to go rooting around in, here's a few thoughts.
Most importantly, it's about time we started debating what our 7+ years and $1Trillion+ in Iraq truly boils down to. Or whether we're truly at long last on our way "home" from that War. Every available metric paints a lousy current picture - the best rundown I've heard was on Harry Shearer's "Le Show" this weekend. Save the only one that everyone in support of going to War still mentions straight up - no more Saddam Hussein. Instead of getting stuck there, I'd suggest that we all should think back to the actual "debate" that came prior. Take the ol' chestnut defined as the "Pottery Barn" rule attributed to then Secretary of State Colin Powell. Supposedly, "if you break it, you own it." Set aside the fact that no such rule exists at Pottery Barn and you're still left with us shattering that "rule" even beyond it's false meaning. So here we are as combat troops are redeploying. And over there? We did, indeed, break it. And now we do not actually own it. Much worse, we had to pay for the cost of doing so. Those that do now own it, I think, could be defined as exactly the sort of people we would have preferred not have possession after said breakage. I believe that Nuri al Malaki, Ahmed Chalabi and the others still wrangling over the results of an election from six months ago don't care about democracy. For them it's the spoils of victory that are still worth fighting over. And thanks to the grand wisdom of Richard Perle (ooh, I just got a chill), Paul Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld (to touch on just a few obvious raw nerves), that's who we've now got to work with in place of Saddam in Iraq. So yes, now let's at long last have that enduring historical debate. Oh, and we will. For decades.
In terms of Obama's speech, I think he struck the tone that we should expect from him. Elegiac. Frustrating in its willingness to give up too much to the presumed opposition. Painted deep deep into a policy corner. For all his obvious intellect, I'd bet Barack plays crappy poker. In the past I've claimed he's a chess man. But it's more obvious - he's a baller. Put up your best defense and he'll shoot right over the top of you. He uses deception only insofar as a fake pass or the political equivalent. No cheating and if he's bluffing about how strong he feels or where he's going, a smart opposing player will see it telegraphed. Right now, Obama's legs are still strong. And the opposition should be seen as a joke. That, however, might be exactly the wrong lesson to take into halftime of this term. These midterms are going to be almost as brutal as the prevailing momentum's forecasting, I think. Calling this play right now is a baller move. Because no one's on the lookout for a finesse game right now. But it could show that the game Obama's playing isn't nearly as dominant as people thought just last season. Enough with the basketball analogy. It does, though, still constitute my assessment of where this speech and this policy choice fits into the larger picture for the Obama Administration. They may truly be a one-term Presidency.
My only other comment right now is to say that no family that's had to endure a deployment wants to be told that we owe Dubya some credit now. Or ever. Hearing that revisionist crap tumble from the Bushies, John McCain, John Boehner and all the lesser chickenhawks is just salt in the wounds that aren't going away. And there are lots of wounds out there. A million and half military personnel have been deployed in Iraq. The ballpark number I heard reported this weekend of post-action mental issues is 30% of those people. So over 400,000 people would have something to say about the wisdom of giving Dubya credit for what he did to them. 'Nuff said about that.
Well, like I said - this debate is just starting. I hope we all get a chance to let some of it out, while actually taking the time to listen across the divide. Be well.
Most importantly, it's about time we started debating what our 7+ years and $1Trillion+ in Iraq truly boils down to. Or whether we're truly at long last on our way "home" from that War. Every available metric paints a lousy current picture - the best rundown I've heard was on Harry Shearer's "Le Show" this weekend. Save the only one that everyone in support of going to War still mentions straight up - no more Saddam Hussein. Instead of getting stuck there, I'd suggest that we all should think back to the actual "debate" that came prior. Take the ol' chestnut defined as the "Pottery Barn" rule attributed to then Secretary of State Colin Powell. Supposedly, "if you break it, you own it." Set aside the fact that no such rule exists at Pottery Barn and you're still left with us shattering that "rule" even beyond it's false meaning. So here we are as combat troops are redeploying. And over there? We did, indeed, break it. And now we do not actually own it. Much worse, we had to pay for the cost of doing so. Those that do now own it, I think, could be defined as exactly the sort of people we would have preferred not have possession after said breakage. I believe that Nuri al Malaki, Ahmed Chalabi and the others still wrangling over the results of an election from six months ago don't care about democracy. For them it's the spoils of victory that are still worth fighting over. And thanks to the grand wisdom of Richard Perle (ooh, I just got a chill), Paul Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld (to touch on just a few obvious raw nerves), that's who we've now got to work with in place of Saddam in Iraq. So yes, now let's at long last have that enduring historical debate. Oh, and we will. For decades.
In terms of Obama's speech, I think he struck the tone that we should expect from him. Elegiac. Frustrating in its willingness to give up too much to the presumed opposition. Painted deep deep into a policy corner. For all his obvious intellect, I'd bet Barack plays crappy poker. In the past I've claimed he's a chess man. But it's more obvious - he's a baller. Put up your best defense and he'll shoot right over the top of you. He uses deception only insofar as a fake pass or the political equivalent. No cheating and if he's bluffing about how strong he feels or where he's going, a smart opposing player will see it telegraphed. Right now, Obama's legs are still strong. And the opposition should be seen as a joke. That, however, might be exactly the wrong lesson to take into halftime of this term. These midterms are going to be almost as brutal as the prevailing momentum's forecasting, I think. Calling this play right now is a baller move. Because no one's on the lookout for a finesse game right now. But it could show that the game Obama's playing isn't nearly as dominant as people thought just last season. Enough with the basketball analogy. It does, though, still constitute my assessment of where this speech and this policy choice fits into the larger picture for the Obama Administration. They may truly be a one-term Presidency.
My only other comment right now is to say that no family that's had to endure a deployment wants to be told that we owe Dubya some credit now. Or ever. Hearing that revisionist crap tumble from the Bushies, John McCain, John Boehner and all the lesser chickenhawks is just salt in the wounds that aren't going away. And there are lots of wounds out there. A million and half military personnel have been deployed in Iraq. The ballpark number I heard reported this weekend of post-action mental issues is 30% of those people. So over 400,000 people would have something to say about the wisdom of giving Dubya credit for what he did to them. 'Nuff said about that.
Well, like I said - this debate is just starting. I hope we all get a chance to let some of it out, while actually taking the time to listen across the divide. Be well.
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