Well, two reviews are in, anyway.  They saw me on C-SPAN this morning.  So far so good.

Replay, apparently, at 9PM Central tonight. 

I may tune in, but I’ll probably keep my eyes and ears jammed shut.

A good night at Keegans last night, as I extended my trivia winning streak to five (I only played the 6:30 round last night, due to familly commitments.

Crazy day in the office today; posting will be light.

And this time, when I say “light” – unlike those days in the past when I said “light” and I went on to crank out eight posts during the day – I mean it!

The sun rose in the east this morning.

An off-the-cuff remark I wrote years ago has been popping up out there.

Watch – that will be what I’m remembered for in 100 years…

Last week, I figured that C-SPAN would broadcast Laura Ingraham’s appearance at St. Kate’s last week – the one I MC’ed whilst utterly soaked to the bone…

…at 4AM some Sunday morning, between the GAO report on office supply waste and the scores for the Justice Department softball league.

A little bird tells me it will actually run this Sunday morning at 8AM Central.

If there’s anything I hate (like all radio people) more than listening to myself, it’s watching myself. But I have a hunch it’s going to look humblingly hilarious.

So I went to the Laura Ingraham event last night, at the O’Shaughnessy Auditorium at the College of St. Catherine, down in Highland Park.

I guess I was a bit remiss in my blogging before last night – I was actually the Master of Ceremonies.  Which meant I had to dig my suit out of mothballs. 

The Good News:  It was a great time.  Laura was doing her book tour for her new book, “Power To The People”; we had a really great turnout, weather or no.  She’s an excellent, passionate speaker with a raft of great stories to tell, and a mission to tell ’em.  And I had a great time MC-ing things; I got to welcome the crowd, introduce Laura, and then – the fun part – moderate a Q and A session afterward.  I had a blast.

The Great News:  I had no idea this was going to happen, but the event will apparently be my national TV debut.  A local stringer for C-SPAN was there, covering the event.  I’m sure it’ll be on at 4AM some Sunday morning, between the GAO report on office supply waste and the scores for the Justice Department softball league, but hey, national TV is national TV.  My parents will be so proud.

The Not-So-Great News:  When I parked my car to get to O’Shaughnessey, the storm was at its peak, and I was already late, and no, I didn’t have an umbrella; I was already late for my call, so I had to get moving.  I arrived soaking wet, and I only dried off so much before I had to go onstage, where at least the blazing stage lighting evaporated some of the surface accumulations (very likely in a cloud of steam visible from the audience).  So I’ll make my national TV debut looking like a half-drowned rat who got to spend two minutes under a heat lamp.

However – all in all, it was a great time!

It was Saturday, September 19, 1987.  It was time to get sitting.

Tickets to see U2 at the old Saint Paul Civic Center, for the Joshua Tree tour, were going on sale at 9AM. 

And I was going to be there, come hell or high water.

In those days before Ticketbastard Ticketmaster choked the life out of the concert business, you actually had to be at the box offices to get the tickets.  U2’s fans, of course, were dedicated – almost like Springsteen fans, even in the Twin Cities.   I’d actually seen people camping out on Wednesday afternoon on the old plaza on Kellogg Boulevard. 

I couldn’t do that – I had work to do.

But Saturday?  That was me time. 

I woke up at 1:30 in the morning, and jumped in the car.  I parked in front of the James J. Hill mansion (to this day, my favorite free parking in town), and walked past Triangle Park down Kellogg to the Civic.  I made it there just after 2AM.

I was probably number 1,000 in line.  And it was cooold.

And so we waited. 

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Of course, I didn’t have all that much going on in my life at the time, so spending seven hours waiting in line for tickets for the line to start moving wasn’t a real hit on my lifestyle.  My little tech writing contract had ended; leaving me not especially interested in doing more of it.  Voice-over work and freelance print reporting was going well; I’d landed a bunch of jobs in the previous month (hence, I could afford to go to a concert). 

So I stood in line.  And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, after seven hours, at 9AM sharp, the doors opened, and the line started to crawl ever so slowly forward.  Word came back; they were letting people into the box office in groups of 20 or so. 

So we waited.

And waited.

And periodically stepped forward in increments of ten or fifteen feet or so, every couple of minutes.

The chill of the day baked away by about 10AM.  I started wishing for water.  Or a bathroom.  Or both.  But no, I was going to stay in line.

So I waited.

And shuffled.

And waited some more.

And shuffled some more.

And so on.

And so forth.

Finally – at close to 1PM, I made it to the big wooden sawhorse barricade that served as the “ropeline” for the queue.  A big, jovial-looking Saint Paul cop was minding it, counting people off in groups of twenty.  After 11 hours in line, I was standing with my hands on the barricade, when the cop came out of the door.  There were probably a solid 1,000 people in line behind me, still. 

“Folks”, he announced loudly, “the show has sold out”.

I stood, jaw sagging slowly from the weight of my teeth.  My dry, dry teeth.

I think I swayed a bit, out of pure discouragement.

“So…” the cop continued, “I’m happy to announce a second show!”

And I was the third person into the box office to get the tickets. 

Stage left, first row of bleacher seats.  Under Adam Clayton’s elbow.

I staggered up the hill, with stiff legs and stiffer fingers from clutching the pair of tickets.

Now, the hard part; finding a date to take.

From Red:

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
I actually had to check.  They’re right about even.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
I very rarely write with pens.  I’m a mechanical pencil guy.  But I love Pilot Fine-Liners; very fine, smooth rollerball, never snags the paper.  Also gel-pens, although I never actually buy them.  I have almost illegible handwriting no matter what I write with; people think I’m writing in Hebrew.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?
My daughter has an appointment, and there’s a standing team meeting that day.

I’m not kidding.

4. What color are your toenails usually?
Umm…toenail colored.  Usually.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
The Minnesota DFL’s logical vacuity?

Oh, OK.  Seriously, now.

I’m not a fundamentally organized person. I have to work at it. 

So one of my monday morning rituals at work is that I print off all of my meeting placeholders from Outlook, and highlight the subject, time and location.  I then paperclip the sheet to the file folder that holds the info related to the meeting, and put the folders on the marker-tray of my whiteboard, in order from left to right.  That way I can just grab them, and read where I’m supposed to be as I walk to the meeting.

No, I’m far from OCD; indeed, I’m probably neurotically disorganized.  Hence the highlighting.

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
Sort of off-white.  I think.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
Sort of off-white.  I’m more sure about them.  They’re leather, and thank heavens they’re light-colored in the summer.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
Two.  One that died three years ago, and one we got last year.  Unrelated, and yet almost identical.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
An amended tax return to the IRS.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
Yes.  Who doesn’t?

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
Kids’ allowances!

12. Whose is the last baby that you held?
Good question – probably one of my own.  Or, possibly, one of his kids, when they were really little. 

“Holding babies” is a long story for me; I used to be terrified of it, when I was in my teens and early twenties.  They hated me; I never held a baby that didn’t immediately start squalling like I was jabbing it with a knitting needle.  Then I had my own, and got very comfortable with it. 

13. Unlucky #?
None!  But eight is my favorite.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
I’ve never seen or tried it.  But I think I would.  The hotter the better.

But then I’d dig garlic toothpaste, too. 

Mmmm.  Garlic.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
The same one I have now.  A Ford Taurus.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators?
The Bears.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
Never been to a Six Flags.  We have Valleyfair here, and the last time was probably two years ago.  I’m due.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
Bathroom – some fairly atrocious stuff that’s peeling faster than I can keep track of it.  I need to remove it.

And some stuff in my kitchen that everyone hates – yellowish off-tan with zillions of tiny stylized flowers.  When my daughter was little – like, two – I asked her what they were.  She said “suckers”.  I’ve been sentimentally attached to the stuff since then.  It DOES have to go, but I’ll probably keep a square of it in a little frame, for my own purely sentimental reasons.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?
My collection of legal pads, mostly full-up with notes.

20. Last person to give you a business card?
Some GOP operative at Keegans one night.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
Rainbow Foods, when I lost my check card a few months back.

22. Closest framed picture to you?
Me and my kids, from about ten years ago.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
Outside of a restaurant?  Good question.  Probably the last time I was dating someone halfways seriously.  Getting toward a year now.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
No.  I’ve been on unemployment three times (once for just one check), but never welfare.

25. How many emails do you have?
Counting everything, including a few I never use?  Probably seven or eight.

26. Last time you received flowers?
Opening night of Lion in Winter, my sophomore year in college.  I played Henry II, and if I say so myself, I was mighty good.   

27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man & woman?
I don’t fundamentally see marriage as a civil contract; it’s a religious thing.  I’m not opposed to civil unions (a contract).  I used to actually try to find a reason to support gay marriage – but I can see no reason congruent with my religious beliefs that it makes sense. 

28. Do you play air guitar?
Air guitar, air keyboards (Hammond B-3, usually), air drums (and finger-drumming), and, lately, a HELL of a lot of air bass.

29. Has anyone ever proposed to you?
Yes.  But not marriage!

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?
Two Splenda and a dash of half and half.  Always.

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
Is this a message to terrorists?

32. What is/was your high school’s rival mascot?
The Magicians.  Not sure what their actual mascot was, but every time Minot came to town to play hockey, some of the locals would toss dead rabbits on the ice.  Magician…rabbit…

Oh, ask Kouba.

33. Last person you spoke to from high school?
Well, I have a gratifying number of high school friends who read this blog.  Does that count as “speaking?”

Mark showed up at the demonstration on Saturday.  We go back to about ninth grade:

 He’s on the far right.

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
The company I work for manufactures the stuff.  I get it for about 70% off at the company store. So while I almost never used it (outside of Satellites) before, I have it in the bathroom today.

35. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
I play the drums.  Not well, and it’s been a while, but with a little practice, I’d be serviceable.  My only “professional” experience was playing in a summer-stock production of Cabaret one year.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?
White.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
I flipped through the Pioneer Press the other day; I forget what I read.

39. What was the last pageant you attended?
My entire life is a rich pageant of wonder.

Otherwise, I’ve never been.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
“Checkerboard Pizza” in the Midway.  Not bad.

41. Have you ever worn a crown?
In ninth grade, German Club threw a “Karnaval” party.  I wore the “prinz” crown for a bit.

42. What is the last thing you stapled?
User research forms for a meeting I have to run tomorrow.

43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?
One time.  Yick.

44. Are you ticklish?
At times.  It’s mostly psychological.

45. Last time you saw fireworks?
As the State Fair wrapped up.

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
Months ago – maybe last May?  Bought it at a gas station.  I don’t think I’ve had any since I started biking to work.

I think all the KK stores in the Twin Cities are closed now.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned it?
I usually return messages.  The last one was probably on my cell phone, from my son.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?
Never have!

49. Do you have a black dog?
Orange.  And before that, white with brown globs.

50 . Have you had your mid life crisis yet?
How do you define this?   I mean, I’ve been divorced for seven years, now, so it’s not like I’ve had forbidden longings I’ve had to sublimate to save my marriage.  I can’t afford to dash out and buy a Mitsubishi Eclipse. 

Not sure how you’d tell. 

51. Are you an aunt or uncle?
Yes, three four times over.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
My daugher’s.

53. What kind of soap or body wash do you use?
Soap:  Whatever’s on special.

Body Wash:  Whatever comes out of the faucet. 

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
Gawd, yes.  I was at KDWB at the time, during their heyday (1991 or so).  Loved loved loved them.

55. Do you have a little black dress?
Where “dress” equals “handgun?”

Sure.

So if you counterprotest a “peace” rally, that must naturally mean you’re “pro-war” or “anti-peace”, right?

Nobody could be that juvenile or stupid.  Right?

Bear in mind, I’m an inherently civil guy.  While I don’t mind mixing it up with people (hence, I blog and host a talk show), I don’t especially relish conflict. 

But Ken Avidor is not a very bright person.  He may be the one person on earth who makes Eric Zaetsch look coherent.    The only person who seems actually too dumb to post on the Dump Bachmann site (note to Eva Young:  You got me.  When a site that draws 2,500 visitors a day mentions a site that draws maybe 100, it’s a sign that I’m desperate for traffic.  Good call).

It’s a shame, really, that Chuck Olson – who is an unapologetic lefty, but seems to be a relatively reasonable guy, and who interviewed me for the “Uptake” site, the  left-leaning videoblogger site that carries Avidor’s little peal of self indulgence, before the demonstration yesterday – has to be associated with such a hamster.

On the other hand – if the other side has to dig THAT far down to respond, it’s probably a sign of intellectual bankruptcy.  Redundant as the phrase is when Avidor is involved.

Note to lefty videobloggers:  If you want to get footage of me, just ask.  It’s not like I’m camera-shy.  You have only your argument to lose.  He says with a half-smile.

UPDATE: Mike McIntee and Chuck Olson note that Uptake has changed Avidor’s original headline.  I thank them for this. 

As to what to call us?  Good question.  Anti-pullout?  I gotta think about that.

And for those among you (Flash?  I’m talkin’ to you!) who will point out my occasional lapses into ire, referring to “peace” protesters as “pro-genocide”; enh.  Half of it’s a fair cop.  I’m human.  But the fact is, when the Vietnam protesters got their way, millions died.  Had the anti-Cold War protesters gotten theirs, hundreds of millions would still be beholden to Communism, languishing in the Gulag (and that the Russians seem to be headed back toward that state doesn’t take away from the magnificence of the freedoms that Poles, Latvians, Lithuanians, Estonians, Hungarians, Czechs, Slovaks, Bulgarians, Slovenians and former East Germans now enjoy).  How are today’s protesters any different?

You answer that – and for my part, I’ll try to do as well as Mike and Chuck did, rhetoric-wise.

I figure – if Chad can have a “younger brother” who gets to say all the outrageous stuff over on Fraters, why shouldn’t I?

Anyway, I got this email today from my evil twin, Jed. 

I, like Mitch, am the foremost proponent of Free Speech you will ever meet (which makes sense, since – unlike all the lefties who’ve been caterwauling about “civil liberties” for the past seven years – mine, like Mitch’s as a talk show host, are legitimately under attack). 

Government should exert no restraint on reasonable free speech. 

But I have to ask; if Rodney King got whacked a hundred-odd times with billy clubs and batons for driving while black and high and lippy, couldn’t one capitol cop have spared one lousy whack upside the head of those shrieking, narcissistic crones who profaned Congress by shrieking their gibberish, yesterday?

Just one little smack across the face? 

Cuz I’d send the guy’s defense fund a couple of hundred bucks just to see it.

Again – that is my Evil Twin Jed speaking.  Jed and I don’t see eye to eye on everything.  But, evil though he may be, he’s my twin brother.

MITCH ADDS: While I’ve never been an Ike Skelton fan, I have to give him points for this:

The protesters “really p—- me off,” Skelton said, further characterizing them as “ass——s.” Rep. Duncan Hunter, the ranking Republican on the committee, then leaned over and drew Skelton into quieter conversation farther from the microphone, leaving Skelton’s further phraseology to the arena only of informed speculation.

Bonus:  you won’t hear the Republicans getting stricken with theatrical vapours for the next four years over Skelton’s remarks, as the Dems still are over Cheney’s equally-justifiable quip re Patrick Leahy (to whom Cheney’s advice still largely applies)

I guess I wasn’t the only one who had a problem with Direct Buy…

 (Via Elder)

One of the things I love about 21st century capitalism is that I can shop when, where, how, and if I want to.  I can go to the Midway Cub at 11 on Saturday if I want to see plenty of my fellow human beings, or to Byerly’s at 4AM if I want fewer of them, or to Aldi if I want to feel a lot better about my life’s course, or to SimonDelivers if I don’t want to see anyone at all.  I can buy hard drives or tabasco sauce or a boat online, or go to the Farmer’s Market and buy vegetables and put ’em in the burlap bag I brought to save the hassle. 

I love it because it’s the opposite of the whole Eastern-Bloc socialist system where one shopped when the powers that be sent the merchandise – or one missed the merchandise!

So as a rule, when merchants call and say “if you’d like such-and-such a deal, be here on Saturday Morning at 9AM”, I tell them to relieve themselves up a rope. 

But I also have a very old house that needs some remodeling over the next couple of years.  And a former girlfriend’s parents were members of one of those wholesale warehouse places, and told me about the amazing deals they got on pretty much everything.  Of course, these were the kind of people who built new houses because they were bored with their old houses, but…whatever.  Simple fact:  I need stuff, and since I’m half Norwegian and probably a quarter Scottish, I want it cheap.

So I got a call from “Direct Buy Showroom” last week.  The young lady on the phone ran down a long list of the deals that one could get if one were a member.  Decent deals, as far as it went…but more later.

She also said that the “showings” were by invitation only, and asked if I were available Saturday morning for about 90 minutes.  As it happened, I was – I needed to go to White Bear to do the Saturday broadcast at the Superstore.  So it wasn’t out of my way, per se.  I’m always a little loathe to devote 90 minutes to anything that doesn’t involve work, kids, earning money or having fun, but I ignored that little voice in the back of my head, and accepted.

I drove up to the McOfficePlex in White Bear precisely on time – 8:45 AM – and went inside. 

A brief aside, here; I can’t stand most salesmen.  I mean, I’ve worked with a lot of them, and they can be really great people as people – but when they switch into “sales” mode on me, and try to “sell” me something, I shut down.  And I don’t care how slick they are, how polished their approach – I can always tell when someone is trying to convince me to pay more than I would on my own, for something I don’t need all that bad.  Always. 

But no worries – the guy they sicced on me was neither slick nor polished.  His suit pants bagged out in back; I tried to think charitably; maybe he’d lost 50 pounds entirely on his butt.  He also had that air of “I’m doing sales on Saturday mornings because my real job isn’t panning out for me.”  Whatever – he sat me down, got some coffee, and started chatting me up.  Of course, when sales guys start chatting you up, you know you’re being chatted up to try to set you up for a sale.  And since I knew I was in the room for the long haul, I figured I’d have some fun; so I started chatting him up in return.  I was right; he was a Lutheran minister…er, wait.  He was a “consultant” to Lutheran churches.  And things were a little slow.  And…

…well, I started to tune out, when the sales manager came around and told us it was time for the big presentation. 

Minister guy and two other salespeople brought four of us – a woman whose attitude screamed “accounting execuchick”, and a couple that looked prosperously blue-collar – into a room with a big-screen TV in the front.  A guy that looked for all the world like Dr. Craig from Saint Elsewhere walked to the front of a room, and spent the next hour alternating his pitch with a video about the store.  And the deals – an average of 43% off of retail – did sound good (assuming one ever pays retail for anything, or even tends to buy things brand-new, which I should add at this point I rarely if ever do).   His pet example: a “high quality” dining room table that ran $3,000 at the retail store would cost a member…$1,800. 

$1,800 for a table?  Isn’t that what estate sales are for?  I have only spent over $1,800 for a handful of cars in my life; I’ve never spent more than a sixth of that on a given piece of furniture!

Key to the whole thing, I knew, was that they only sold to “members”.  And as the elapsed time crept up toward an hour, I thought – “the longer they delay telling you how much the “membership” costs, the worse it’s gonna be”.  I started tallying up the things I need to do – build a patio, new cabinets and floors in the bathroom and kitchen, lots of paint, refinishing a bunch of hardwood floors – and tried to figure out the break-even point.  I figured a couple of hundred bucks for a “membership” could be pretty well worth it. 

Finally – at about the hour mark – the guy cut to the chase.  The initial membership term was 10.5 years.  “Think about how much retail markup you pay in ten years!”, he exhorted us, splattering numbers on a whiteboard like a Pollock painting, somehow arriving at a figure in the mid five-digit range.

“Now, before I go on”, he continued, “due to our agreement with the manufacturers, our deal is this; if  you walk out of here today without becoming a member, we can never offer you the membership again.  That’s to safeguard our relationship with the manufacturers…”

He then wrote the price for the initial term on the whiteboard. 

$5,900. 

I raised my hand.  “So, we gotta come up with six thousand dollars today to join your little club?”

“Yes”.

Execuchick spoke up; “And that’s it?  If we don’t do it now, that’s it?”

“Yes”.

Both of us got up and walked out.  I was tempted to leave with a hearty “the only reason I have  any money is that I never spend $1,800 for a dining room table, much less $3,000“, but I stuck with a simple “I just don’t spend $6,000 without budgeting it way in advance”.

The guy didn’t seem to bat an eye.  I got the feeling they expect to have half of their prospects walk out in a huff.

Which made me wonder, as I drove to a coffee shop to get ready for the NARN broadcast – after all that, they find enough people who can impulse-spend $6,000 to keep their little showroom open?

Two Americas, indeed.  I’m trying to figure out if those Two Americas are rich/poor, or thrifty/spendthrift, or smart/gullible, or pennywise-poundfoolish/smart, or what.

On Friday, I talked with MPR reporter Jess Mador about the countdown to the Republican National Convention, which stands at “one year” right about now.

The mystery – When will the piece air?

It might be on “All Things Considered” this afternoon.

Or it might be on “Morning Edition” tomorrow.

And it might or might not include anything I had to say…

I’ll tune in, natch – but let me know if anyone hears it.

UPDATE:  I actually met Ms. Mader this afternoon at the “Press Conference”, and had a brief but pleasant conversation.  She informs me the piece should be on ATC this afternoon.

I’m going to be taking the day off – mostly (the story that’s coming up next was actually written on Sunday).

Hope you are, too!

Back tomorrow with a full slate of fun stuff.

Piercing headache.

That run-down feeling. 

Eyestrain.

Is it an “under the weather” day, or is my body just giving me a preview of life under Hillary!?

Went into the Brueggers down the street from my office this morning.  Locked the bike, walked inside. 

1. Note to Bruegger’s:  it’d be oh so cool if you’d do a little division of labor behind the counter; maybe have a couple of the workers focus on making those fussy, nasty-looking breakfast sandwiches (that take like two minutes apiece to make), or filling the orders for the dozens and dozens of bagels (which seems to be about a three minute job), and have someone – even one person – concentrate on grinding out the single bagels-with-cream-cheese that most of the people in line came for, and take about fifteen seconds apiece to make.  That way, all of us in-‘n-out quick-bagel guys can be on our way, shortening the overall wait in line appreciably.
2. Of course, it’d help if three of your shop’s six people weren’t standing around the cash wrap, gabbing away.
3. Note to the customer who stood in front of me this morning, talking to the Hmong girl who’d just finished an order of those loathsome sandwiches.  You were hard to miss; you were wearing a full-face motorcycle helmet.  As you gave your order.  Your order sounded like “Mfmmmfmmrfmmfm”.  Both the first time, and then when the Hmong girl gamely, tenaciously asked you to please repeat your order.  It took three tries to get the order (naturally, for a loathsome, time-consuming sandwich) straight.  While caution can certainly be amply rewarded, I might suggest that you perhaps sneak a little microphone under the face-shield, and attach it to a bullhorn of some sort.  That, or remove the damn helmet, or at least cock it back to clear  your mouth, long enough to give your (loathsome) order.

That is all.

A while ago, I wrote about the City Pages – the Twin Cities’ “alternative” freebie ‘zine – and their front-page article about the 35W Bridge Collapse.  I said that…:

 …”last week’s City Pages did a long, meandering, utterly speculative assignment of blame to everyone from the Governor to David Strom.  Absent from Anderson and Demko’s list:  “The design of the bridge itself”.

Former City-Pager Mike Mosedale emailed me:

That is incorrect. If you read the story, you will see there is a full section devoted to the subject.
Here is one relevant snippet:

“Even though it’s early in the investigation, the National Transportation Safety Board is already raising questions about the bridge’s design. One issue of concern: the bridge didn’t have any piers built into the riverbed. It also lacked what are commonly referred to as “engineering redundancies”—back-up support built into the system to minimize damage if one part fails. Last week, the NTSB and Federal Highway Authority focused on so-called gusset plates, steel sheets that connected the bridge’s girders together. The inspectors said the plates may have been a design flaw.”
 
I’m not interested in participating in your comment scrum, but I do think you should post a correction or apology.

Well, it goes to show you that I don’t read the City Pages as closely as I once did. 

But I apologize:  I missed the article’s brief nod to empirical fairness amid the pages of speculative, politicized witchhunting.  My bad. 

Because goodness knows how important it is to check one’s facts.

I am not a golfer, but I do love post-golf parties.

So I’ll be attending the Post-Tournament gala for the Millard Fillmore Memorial KARNation Open Championship Celebrity Charity Golf Outing Classic, tonight at an undisclosed location in the south ‘burbs.

The Head of Alfredo Garcia is live-blogging the festivities at the tourney, which teed off about half an hour ago.

While the “Linguistic Hit List” is a regular feature on this blog, it’s time for me to widen my focus.  To creep my scope. 

To take on things above and beyond language, wrestle them to the ground, mark them for execution, try and convict and sentence them, and strap ’em into Ol’ Sparky. 

Today’s docket:  Aphorisms that must die:

“Live Without Regrets!” – If you have no regrets, then you really didn’t risk all that terribly much, now, did you?  Either that, or you don’t care about the slopover.

To “Live without regret” either implies that one has won every one of life’s battles (impossible) or that the consequences of the losses (rare as they may have been) were so utterly bearable that not a single peep of remorse, “what-if” or blurp of retrospective anger has ever crossed one’s mind,  that the consequences really didn’t matter that much, and that they didn’t affect anyone else in any way. 

Let me be clear – this is different than accepting and forgiving oneself for the failures, mis-steps and regrets, and making any amends needed to anyone else affected, of course – but in my humble experience, most of the people who claim to “live without regrets” either haven’t thought about it all that hard, or are solopsistic to the point that they don’t recognize the effects their failures, mis-steps and mistakes have on themselves or others, no matter what they might have been.

“Live Like Every Day Is Your Last” – Well, every day can indeed be just that – and one day, one of them will be, for all of us.  But there are a couple of problems with this aphorism.  Isn’t it just as narrow, self-defeating and self-limiting to focus ones’ life on permanently “living on the edge” as it is to live every day fearing the end? 

Doesn’t this injunction to “suck the marrow from every day” tend not only to leave one without any remaining marrow on the next day of the thousands that bless most lives, but also lend a kind of frantic, treadmill-y-ness to daily life?  Like, if you go bungee-jumping on the day that (one can have no way of knowing is) 12,448 days before one actually ends up dying, don’t you have to come up with something even edgier on Checkout Minus 12,447?  And so on, and so forth (assuming that the edginess doesn’t itself kill you, perhaps in a fit of XtRe3m cordless bungeeing)?  Doesn’t that lead one, necessarily (and providing one doesn’t actually die terribly soon) to become jaded with the whole notion of “living every day like it’s your last”, which indeed contradicts the original sentiment? 

And is a life of inherently less value, less “lived”, if one spends the the day before one checks out blogging, working the job one work to pay for ones’ kids’ food and house, watching Scrubs with ones’ daughter, and talking with a high school pal on the phone than if one climbed the IDS Tower freehand?

And why?

“I’m Spiritual, But I’m Not Religious” – I’m trying to figure out what would have happened back in college if I’d said “I believe in learning, but I don’t believe in study groups, the library or reading books at all”, as if being with a group of like-minded people actually, in and of itself, detracts from ones’ search for spiritual enlightenment. 

No, I know – there are churches, clergy and congregations that don’t help much, that can even interfere with one’s search for God or Truth or Satori or whatever it is you’re looking for, but those are usually individual, situational things.  So what is it, supposedly, about the act of meeting other people who have chosen freely to seek their enlightenment roughly the same way as you are seeking the same that, in and of itself, hinders that search?

More as my memory warrants.

Biking in the rain is a challenge.

Some of the challenges I was ready for; that brief moment when you hit your brakes, and it actually feels like you’re speeding up (it’s an illusion, of course; your body expects to slow down, and it doesn’t, at least not as quickly as you think you will) is old hat to me.

And while this summer is my first real experience at bike commuting, I was ready for the big challenge.

Let me explain.

When you bike on a wet surface, your tires throw off water in a plane directly out from the center of the tire.  This is especially true on thin little road-bike tires like mine, which come to a pretty fine peak (to cut down on rolling resistance); you can actually see water sheeting off and flying into the air in an almost-plumb-straight line.

Now, if you don’t have fenders (and I don’t), that water’s gotta go somewhere; that somewhere is a fat, wet, sloppy line from your butt to your neck, straight up your back.

But I rode to work, secure in knowing that a hot shower and a change or two of dry clothes (one in my backpack, another stowed in my cube just in case) awaited me.

But as I wheeled down the busy street, I came up behind a couple of the guys I’ve noticed before (see Item #4 in this post); guys riding in their dress shirts and khakis.

And, but for the windbreaker one of them wore, that’s exactly how they were dressed this morning.  No back fender.  Big sloppy muddy wet skid mark up the back of their khakis and dress shirt.

They pulled into the government office building, and – presumably – went to work.  Skid mark and all?

I don’t know.  I really just don’t know.

Actually the Friday Five via Pianomomsicle, but who’s counting?

1. What were your after-school hours usually like when you were in high school? Usually play practice, speech team meetings, occasionally working at the radio station.  Thursday nights were Stage Band practice.  My senior year, we’d spend a couple of nights at the Gallager brothers’ dad’s garage, practicing.
2. What are the first moments like when you finally get home after a long day? Park the bike, take a quick shower, start something for dinner, usually flip on Scrubs. 
3. Where do your thoughts normally turn after the December/January holidays have passed? Usually, trying to figure out how to enjoy winter.  I like winter, although even for a winter guy like me February and March can get mighty long in Minnesota.
4. When did you last allow someone to cut in front of you in line? Getting on the elevator about five minutes ago.
5. What are you going to do right after you finish answering these questions? Get on my bike, ride to work.

I should take this opportunity to point out that not only did I continue my summer-long dominance at Keegans’ Thursday Night Trivia (I’m 4/4 so far this summer), but for the first time I brought daughter Bun down to Keegans’ (subject to their rules for underage attendees, of course) for dinner and…

…yep.  Victory. 

It wasn’t pretty – 16 points was the winning score – but hair-splitting is for also-rans.

My friend Beeeej is going to be doing a mega bike-a-thon.  It’s for a very good cause:

Six years ago, less than a year after I moved to New York City to be closer to my parents, my mother was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. None of us really knew at the time what that meant; we knew that leukemia was a form of blood cancer, but we didn’t know her prognosis, or even really that there were different kinds of the disease. I’ll write more about CLL in later entries, but for now suffice to say we knew her life would change.

We have been very fortunate, far more fortunate than many families of leukemia patients, in that my mother’s life hasn’t changed all that much; she has remained relatively healthy. CLL can remain relatively inactive – or at least advance very, very slowly – for several years, and with Mom it has done just that. As I said, it’s been six years – and she’s not only still with us, she’s still in pretty good health, and hasn’t had to undergo any kind of medical treatment. Not everybody is so lucky, and so we count every day with her as a blessing.

What does that have to do with Tucson?

Tonight I spent a couple of hours at the registration and kick-off for the New York City chapter of Team in Training. “TNT” is an arm of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, through which ordinary people sign up to do extraordinary things to raise money for the Society’s programs – medical research, government lobbying, patient services, and all the other things that are desperately needed in the fight against blood cancers. TNT members spend months training to run a marathon, bike/swim/run a triathlon, or bike a “century,” and they use the event as a catalyst to raise money from their friends and family.

And tonight I committed myself to spend the next six months training, so that I can ride my bike in “El Tour de Tucson” – one hundred and nine miles in and around the city of Tucson, Arizona in one day, November 17, 2007.

I hope you’ll check in with me often over the next six [now more like three!] months. It should be an interesting ride.

I know Beeeej would appreciate any help people can spare toward his goal of raising almost $11K to help combat Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, I imagine he’d appreciate it.

As would, y’know, all the rest of the CLL patients.

I’m going to try to chip loose a few bucks, and I hope you can too.

According to this survey (via Sheila), I’m totally down with Gryffindor:

GRYFFINDOR:
[x ] You’ve never done drugs.
[x ] You have a lot of friends.
[x ] You get along with everyone.
[ ] You love football.
[x ] You love baseball.
[x ] You’re into writing and art
[ x] One of your favourite music genre is rock.
[ x] You believe in “innocent until proven guilty” theory.
[ ] One of your favourite colors is red or gold.
[x ] Good grades at school.
[x ] One of the worst things you can do is lie.
[x ] You plan on going to college.
TOTAL: 10

HUFFLEPUFF:
[ ]You’re content with mostly everything in your life right now.
[x] You laugh a lot.
[ ] You like to follow trends.
[ ] Politics suck.
[x] You love to swim
[ ] Water polo is awesome.
[ ] Pink is one of your favourite colours.
[x] Black is morbid & depressing.
[x] You’re an optimist.
[ ] You’re very emotional.
[ ] You believe in going steady at a young age.
[ ] You haven’t made fun of anyone this month.
[x ] Loyalty is the MOST important thing in a relationship.
TOTAL: 5

RAVENCLAW:
[ ] You’re depressed to a certain extent.
[x ] You love to read.
[x ] You appreciate theatre & arts.
[ ] Sports suck.
[x] Hate is completely unneeded.
[ ] Indie is one of your favourite genre of music.
[x] Every once in a while you have little anger outbursts.
[ ] Lying is sometimes okay.
[ ] Blue is one of your favourite colours.
[ ] Knowledge is the key to power
[ ] Sarcasm is the best kind of humour
[ ] People should know what they’re talking about before they talk.
TOTAL: 4

SLYTHERIN:
[ ]There’s at least one person you hate.
[ ] Basketball is a good sport.
[ ] Football is amazing.
[ ] Black is a cool color.
[ ] You’ve lied about something serious
[ ] You’re a very deep person
[ ] You are not very loyal.
[ ] You like heavy metal.
[ ] You make school seem more important than it is.
[ ] You’re scared to grow up.
[ ] Anger is one of your primary feelings.
[x] You have trust issues.
[ ] Guilty until proven innocent.
Total: 1

Not sure what significance that has, but if it means I get to hang out with Alan Rickman, I’m cool with it.

I’m closing in on two months of biking to work nearly every morning.

It’s having some effect on me:

• A couple of people who never pay me compliments said it looks like I’ve lost some weight.
• Now that my morning kicks off with a death-defying dice with some of Minnesota’s worst drivers, I don’t need as much coffee as I used to.
• A couple of my favorite work shirts – which were on the brink of “tight” last May – aren’t.
• While my legs aren’t the tree-trunk-like instruments of tempered death that they were 20-25 years ago, when I was biking 20-30 miles a day every day, they’re coming right along.

But the best part of all…

There’s one big hill I have to surmount on the way home every night.

Day One:  I made it about a third of the way up, and then wound up walking my bike the rest of the way up, huffing and puffing.

Week Two:  I made it to the top – weaving back and forth (to lower the slope) in low gear – and sat at the stoplight at the top, huffing and puffing and drinking water, for a minute or two before I got started again.

Two Weeks Ago: Made it to the top in low gear, but in a fairly straight line – and sat at the stoplight at the top for a moment to catch my breath and water up before I got on the road again.

Yesterday:  Got to the top, rolled through the green light and continued on my way, not especially winded.

It’s going to stink when school starts again.