Any Word Press geeks available to help me out a bit?

Drop me a line.  Those of you have my address, know it. Otherwise – my address at yahoo.com is “feedbackinthedark”.

Yesterday, someone named my “Twenty Years Ago Today” series one of the best posts.

Of 2005.

Not sure what it means, but thanks. 

Good:  That feeling you get when you’re sailing down the street.

Better:  Passing a Prius driver, yelling “you should be ashamed, you gas-guzzling, carbon-belching, stinkpot-driving tool of Big Oil”

Best:  Passing the Prius on the left.

Rode in to work again today.

I’ll confess – I was incredibly sore on Friday.  I made it without throwing a knee or a ventricle, but since I haven’t done a lot of biking in the last five years or so, I was feeling it Friday night – especially since I went out for another ride in the evening.  Owwww.

Sunday, Monday and yesterday were better, of course – much better.  And the ride in takes almost exactly the same time as the bus.

I figure there’s going to be another week of searing pain.  But it’ll be worth it in the long run.  I hope.

…but science finally proved what I think we knew all along.

Being the oldest child in the family has its perks: later bedtimes, no hand-me-downs, and, according to a new study, a higher IQ.

The study, detailed in the June 22 issue of the journal Science, analyzed the IQs of nearly 250,000 Norwegian 18- and 19-year-old draftees and found that older siblings had higher scores than younger siblings.

I’ll type slower for y’all.

My only New Years’ resolution was to “get back into less-pathetic shape”.  I’ve stuck with it.

Phase 1 of the resolution – working out at the “Y” 2-4 times a week, as well as eating less-crappily – has been going on apace since January.  It’s had some results.  Could and needs to be better, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Phase 2 – biking the ten-mile round-trip to and from work all summer, now that I don’t have to be hauling kids around every morning and my bike is all fixed up – starts today.  I’ve identified a less-suicidal route downtown, found my company’s shower room and a place to park the bike, and arranged space for extra clothes, deodorant, and splints in my cube’s cupboard.

Phase 3 – a spree of retributive ass-kicking – exists as a “planning-only” exercise.

Phase 4 – finding my true destiny with Marisa Tomei – is still TBA.

I was reading the new and improved website for Keegans’ Pub yesterday, and I saw this interesting note:

The design is Edwardian, a style that came at the end of the Victorian era in the 1890s.

Dum di dum… 

It is authentic to Ireland and fits with the historic preservation district in which we are located.

…di dum…   

Keegan’s is the first and only Irish Pub Concept (IPC) pub in Minnesota.

 scraaaatch

Huh?  What does that mean?

Because “Irish Pubs” are to the 2000s what “Sports Bars” were in the ’80s.  Back then, everyone with a refrigerator and two TV sets was opening a “Sports Bar”.  Today, now that fads have changed, those “sports bars” bought some used church pews and stained their bars brown, put in a Guinness tap and replaced the “Motley Crue” CD with a “Pogues” CD, and celtified their name to “O’Tostengaard’s Irish Pub”, and badda bing, they’re up to date!

But I needn’t have fretted:

IPC was developed by Guinness Brewing Company as a format for authentic Irish pubs.

Aaaah!  It’s a marketing thing! 

 Although no two Irish pubs are alike, the IPC format calls for four elements to be present: Irish design and build, Irish food, Irish music and Irish staff.

Irish staff?

So this is really a make-work program for Celts?

Terry?

It’s been a while since I won anything.

I do believe I’ll attend Keegan’s trivia night tonight.

Here’s an Atomizer’s-eye view of the pub:

I’ll hope to see you there!

It was Sunday, June 14, 1987.  It was a hot, bright day, not at all unlike today. 

I’d been “on the beach”, at least as far as full-time work went, for two months.  I’d picked up a few voiceover gigs here and there – one or two a month – and written some articles for some of the Saint Paul neighborhood papers.  All in all, it was enough to pay the bills.  More or less.  My bills, fortunately, were pretty tiny; $166 a month for rent, car and car insurance together maybe about the same, and I didn’t eat much.  I figured if I brought home $350 a month, I was pretty much in the clear.  Voice-over jobs netted me $150 for two hours’ work, and every news article I sold was another $50 or $60, so if I stayed moderately busy, I could do OK. 

But doing OK wasn’t what I wanted.  I spent part of the day listening to radio and TV news shows replaying Reagan’s Brandenburg Gate speech from the Friday before

And I thought “Damn.  I gotta get back into talk radio NOW”.

Today on the NARN and elsewhere in the Commonwealth of Mitch:

• Yard work!
• A big tripleheader NARN show at the dedication of the State WWII Memorial, with  NARN Volume I (“The Opening Act”) and Brian, John and Chad,m  Ed, King and Michael and I talking about the memorial, interviewing guests, and talking with people who’ve come to view the memorial and the event. 
• Then, more yard work!

Tune in on AM1280, either on the air or via the web. 

Today on the NARN and elsewhere in the Commonwealth of Mitch:

• Breakfast at an undisclosed location with some of the NARN crew
• Tuning in to NARN Volume I (“The Opening Act”), where Brian, John and Chad will be talking about politics and stuff.
• Then, Ed and I will do NARN II (“The Headliner”); we’ll be talking about Ed’s Excellent Edventure in Iowa with Mitt Romney, as well as interviewing some prominent bar owners about Minnesota’s “War on Hospitality”.
• Then, tuning in to NARN III (“The Final Word”), as King and Michael talk inside state political baseball. 
• Then, off to a big party at an undisclosed location.

Tune in tomorrow on AM1280, either on the air or via the web. 

Domino’s Pizza is bad enough. 

And their latest ad – “it takes a wise man to choose between Philly Cheesesteak Pizza and Brooklyn Style Pizza – so we asked the Weismans of Short Lawn, New Jersey” – goes one step beyond the nausea-inducing notions of either recipe with this little line:

MR WEISMAN:  “Cheesesteak!  Have it with a hot cuppa cawfee…”

SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATCH

Pizza with coffee?

What unholy beast foisted that idea on the world?

Every once in a while, I’ll relate a personal anecdote in this space.

And, slightly more rarely, someone will chime in “I think that’s bulls**t”.

So – just for the record, and to be taken to the bank: if I write it in this space, and it’s not fairly clearly satire, then it’s the truth.

(While I regret any inconvenience caused by any misapprehension on the part of individual readers in determining what is and isn’t “clearly satire”, it’s not really my or my blog’s problem).

That is all.

Jeff Kouba notes something my daughter and I both caught during 24 last night, when Ricky “Doyle” “Silver Pistols” Schroeder ordered CTU to “set up a perimeter!” to stop the escaping Cheng:

*pause so audience can dissolve in fits of laughter* Do we have even one example of a perimeter ever working on this show?

Indeed, in six years, I think the only thing a perimeter has ever done on 24 is earn overtime pay for LAPD/CHP/CTU redshirt extras.

But it occurs to me – there’s a bit of pop culture fame to be seized here. “Set up a perimeter” is the ultimate sarcastic negator!

Think about it:

• “Patty Wetterling set a perimeter on the Sixth District Congressional seat”
• “Al Franken has set a perimeter around Coleman’s Senate seat!”
• “Minnesota Monitor has set a perimeter around journalistic credibility!”
• “Ryan Rhodes’s lower bowel is a perimeter against noxious emissions”

It works.

That is all.

And yet it’s never gone away.

Gary Miller’s mother is having some serious surgery today:

I am one of those numbskulls who believes there is One who takes into account the solicitations of His people before rendering a perfect plan for the universe.

If you are like-minded, I would be grateful if you would whisper a quick prayer for Pat Miller.

So pass the word.

It was 41 years ago today that a little red-faced ball of ornery came into the world, wrecking my brief idyll as an only child and turning me, for better or worse, into a Big Brother.

And I do remember meeting her on the doorstep at 724 Third Avenue Southeast in Jamestown and hoping for not a whole lot different.

Barb went on to a long career as Dad’s little darling (it’s true!  it’s true!), the family’s talented artist, and along with little bro Jim the bane of my young existence – and, later on, a 4.00 (if not more – criminy, where did that  come from?) student, renovator of chicken coops, mom of three four adorable kids, and the queen of the area north of Billings, Montana.

Happy birthday, Barb!

Now that I’ve successfully defended my credentials as the Twin Cities’ foremost feminist (granted, it wasn’t difficult), it’s time to move on to the next challenge. 

This orange I have in my hand here?

Tastiest.  Orange.  In the.  World.

No other orange can come close.

Feel free to find your worldviews again challenged to their very cores.

I love ethnic food.  The more ethnic, in many cases, the better.

But I’m not quite sure what was in the microwave in the lunch room at work today. 

Judging by the smell, I’d say dog droppings marinaded in ammonia.

Work is kinda nuts today, plus computer problems at home – so blogging will be mighty light for a bit.

I spent a couple of hours last night at Minnesota Public Radio’s UBS Auditorium, the huge top of the MPR’s Taj MaKling, their immense downtown Saint Paul headquarters.

I was a guest on “In The Loop“, a newish MPR public affairs program hosted by Jeff Horwich. Word had gotten to Horwich that I was a conservative who was interested in the whole topic of the planned protests at next year’s GOP National Convention.

More on that later.

As I’ve written in the past, once you get past the whole “public” nature of Public Radio – the fact that taxes go to support what is in essence a medium catering to a specific socio-political niche – there is actually some excellent stuff out there. And “In The Loop” is certainly an interesting experiment. I’ll give the Loop crew this; file away your “Delicious Dish”/Terry Gross “Good Times/Good Times” stereotypes. It’s a fun, fast-paced, eclectic show, recorded live in front of a studio audience (and edited for time and to cut out flubs – it is public radio, after all). Horwich, a talented, personable guy (at from my first impression, as a guest) is a good interviewer. And he seems to have done a good job, tonight at least, of seeking some sort of balance in stacking the show. The show takes an hour (more like 90 minutes before editing) and talks about an issue – in this case, activism from the very personal to the very public (which was where I came in).
Again – more on that later.

———-

After almost thirty years, off and on (mostly off) of working in radio stations that were tucked above drug stores and into transmitter sheds, MPR is something else; big, clean, Scandinavian, expansive, an equipment geek’s dream. The UBS Auditorium feels like a lecture hall at a well-endowed university, with theatrical lighting, badonkadonk acoustics, and a gorgeous north (?) facing view of downtown Saint Paul.

———-

The culture shock continued when I saw the way the show ran.  Where  commercial talk show involves a host or two, a board operator, and maybe a call screener (and on major-league talk shows like Limbaugh they might add a person or two to do on-the-fly research), a National/Minnesota Public Radio show involves a crew that, to my commercial-radio tastes, looks more like the crew for a good-sized TV production.

The show included the host, at least four producers (one of whom acted as a combination stage manager and technical director, calling instructions to the booth staff into a wireless mic as he maneuvered about the floor), at least three engineers that I could see (two or in the large booth at the back of the room running the recording, the lights and the Powerpoint slides that ran behind the interstitial recorded bits, plus one running the house sound from a big mixer back to the audience’s left).  The show’s closing credits ran on a long time, listing close to a dozen people.  Plus the band.

To produce a one-hour, monthly show. 

Not criticizing.  Just saying – to my frugal, commercial-radio-raised tastes, it was like being in a foreign country.

———-

The first guest was songwriter Larry Long, a local folkie in the Pete Seeger mold – musically and politically – who played a couple of songs. A local “storyteller” read a couple of poems. “The Smarts”, a three-guy jazz combo, provided some occasional hilarious bumper music (a jazzy version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” after…well, we’ll get to that).

There were some recorded segments of interviews with people discovering activism and protest in various ways.

And then it was my turn.

———-

I was on a panel with a cute-as-a-bug twentysomething named Erica, from some anti-war organization (the name sounded similar enough to every other anti-war group out there that I involuntarily started replaying the “People’s Front of Judea” sketch in my head).

Her line; she and her fellow protesters want to show the “ruling class” in this county – the one coming to the GOP convention – what anger was all about. They want to block freeways, raise havoc – in her words, they want to break up the convention, in as many words.

Y’know – to teach Republicans a lesson about democracy. The message seemed to be “My ends justify my means!”, delivered in a perky chirp with just a tinge of Valleygirl.

I tried to respond. Horwich split the time – under ten minutes – pretty evenly. Which, being as used to co-hosting a two hours show as I am, was very, very difficult!

I was nearly a loss as to how to respond. The ruling class? Does my boss know this? At any rate, it was hard to find a way to engage her; she seemed to believe her feelings about the President trumped everyone else’s right to participate in a democracy – a point I tried to make several times. Between the fact that Horwich kept the interview zipping along (it’s a live show, after all) and the fact that, like most anti-war protesters, “Erica” would zip away from topics when cornered like a greased rhetorical pig made me pine for my nice, long-form talk-radio interview format.

Still, check it out; it’ll be on at 9PM tonight, and 6PM Sunday on your area MPR affiliate or online.

While Erika slipped away without a word to me, Larry Long and the whole MPR crew were exceptionally gracious; any thoughts of being trapped in the belly of a left-of-center beast were…well, not untrue, but whether you chalk it up to good manners, love of a good debate, or professional polish, everyone I met – Horwich, his producers, the show staff, and the other MPR staff present – was way beyond civil, and downright friendly.

Leaving philosophical problems with taxpayer-funded media aside (let’s face it, MPR could most likely support itself), In the Loop is an interesting experiment – think of it as a live This Minnesota Life with an audience.  At any rate, it’s well worth a listen.

It was Friday, April 17, 1987.

I’d been out of work for two solid weeks.  I’d finally meandered my way down to the unemployment office. 

I’ve been on unemployment twice in the past twenty years.  Most recently, in 2003 when the Clinton Recession in the software market left me with no work for five months and skimpy work for six more, it was a streamlined, online snap; you applied online, called in your hours by phone, and got your checks by direct deposit.  Miserable as unemployment was, it was one state program that’s actually gotten easier.  And the legislators and bureaucrats had even gotten together to help things make some sense; if you made a few bucks on a freelance job, they’d just deduct it from  your unemployment check rather than threaten to kick you off. 

In 1987?  You went downtown with a folder full of paperwork.  And you got in line.  And waited.  And waited. 

And talked with a frumpy, grumpy person who really seemed to hate dealing with you.

And got a stern warning that if you picked up any income on the side, tried to stretch your check in any way, you could lose your unemployment coverage. 

And went forth with a time to come back and fill out more paperwork.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait some more.

It took a month, as I recall, to actually get an unemployment check.  I think it was $275 for two week’s non-work. 

Better than nothing. 

———-

But I did finally find out why my roommates and I were getting the stink-eye from the neighbors.

I walked over to Henri’s one warm afternoon after a day of job-hunting – a little neighborhood corner bar with a pool table, great burgers and $1.50 pints of beer – for a drink one afternoon.  I got to talking with the waitress – something I spent a lot of time doing in the next few months.

I told her I lived in the duplex at the corner of Minnehaha and Fry. 

“Ah”, she said.  “You heard about what happened, didn’t you?”

She started explaining…and it came back to me, a news story that Karen Booth had covered at KSTP a few months earlier.  An unemployed social worker had hatched a project; build a group home in a duplex.  On one side of the duplex would be juvenile victims of sexual abuse. 

On the other side of the duplex – adult perpetrators of sexual abuse.

I’ll let that sink in for a moment.  Goodness knows I had to.

The neighbors in the Midway, Karen duly reported, had risen up in arms, veritably storming City Hall to get the Council to nix the idea.  Which, after the usual bureaucratic legerdemain, they had done. 

News cycles passed.  I forgot about the story.

Until, sitting on a bar stool at Henri’s talking to Lori the waitress, it dawned on me. 

I’d moved into that duplex.  My landlord was that social worker. 

Some of my neighbors were wondering if I was one of those guys.

But the duplex was a nice place.  And I figured – if the landlord had hatched the group home idea, he must have worked out a lifetime of dumb.

It couldn’t get any worse.  Could it?

From Red, via Belldame, it’s the alphabet meme.

• A- Available or Single? Single.  “Available” is such a loaded term. 
• B- Best Friend. Not counting guitars (my old Ventura acoustic and my 1960 Fender Jazzmaster), there’s a couple of guys going back 10-30 years who’d qualify.
• C- Cake or Pie.  Not just any pie, of course – lemon meringue and key lime would be the, er, cream of the crop. 
• D- Drink of Choice. Tossup – limeade, Smithwick’s Ale, or pineapple juice.
• E- Essential Item. Laptop?  Guitars?  One of those, probably.
• F- Favorite Color. Green
• G- Gummi Bears or Worms. Both of them are loathsome.
• H- Hometown. If you’ve read the blog at all, you know.
• I- Indulgence. On Sundays when I don’t have the kids, going to some out-of-the-way place and having lunch and reading a book with nobody telling me where to go or what to do.
• J- January or February. February.  January starts with a hangover (even if it’s not a literal one for me, it’s a figurative one) and ends in the middle of winter.  February is short and ends with March, which, as much as I love winter, is where you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
• K- Kids. Bun and Zam.  15 and 14. 
• L- Life is incomplete without… Friends, family, music, great conversation, good food.
• M- Marriage Date. Beta version: October 13, 1990.  Final release:  TBD, no real rush to schedule it.
• N- Number of Siblings? Two – Barb in Billings, Jim in Minneapolis.  Plus three (I think) stepsiblings that I’ve never knowingly met.
• O- Oranges or Apples? Apples by a nod.  All kinds, especially Mutsus (if I can find ’em).
• P- Phobias/Fears. No big ones.  I get motion sickness on fairground rides much more violent than the bumper cars, but that’s not “phobia” so much as “I hate violent motion that I don’t control”.
• Q- Favorite Quote. So many.  “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”  “I offer only blood, sweat, toil and tears”  “Your job isn’t to die for your country.  Your job is to make the other poor, dumb sonofabitch die for his country”.  “I’m not a liberal, so I’m not an expert at things I know nothing about”.  “Whoever said ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’ never had to bet his life on it”.  “Who dares wins”.  “I’m not a vegetarian because I love animals; I’m a vegetarian because I hate plants”.  Dozens more.
• R- Reasons to smile. Health, springtime, great job, kids are coming along nicely – too many to list, although it helps to force myself to do it anyway.
• S- Season. I like ’em all, except for the dog days of summer.  Early winter is probably my favorite.
• T- Tag Three. Nah.
• U- Unknown Fact About Me. I’d like to keep it that way.
• V – Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals. Oppressor – but less so every year.
• W- Worst Habit. I worry too much.
• X – X-rays or Ultrasounds. Whatever it takes.
• Y- Your Favorite Foods. The more ethnic, the better. Crazy about Mexican, Russian, Turkish, Greek, Lebanese (all the mediterranean/middle eastern stuff), Korean, Vietnamese, you name it.
• Z- Zodiac. I don’t pay much attention, but according to people who do, I’m very Sagittarius.

…particular old vid and I find myself wanting to buy a six of Carling’s,  hit Taco Tuesday (2 hard-shell tacos for a buck) and drive around the prairie until 4AM…

Easter is, always, my favorite time of the year. Much as I love Christmas and Thanksgiving (and I do – for very different reasons), and as hard as it is to resist the temptation to yell “Hey, Atheists – eat flaming hot redemption!, Easter is still the place to which all spiritual and emotional roads lead.

So may God bless you and your families this Easter.