The Head Kid

My weekend in pictures

2006-08-13T20:39:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, that is. Last Sunday I took a ferry from Boston to Provincetown, a town located at the extreme tip of Cape Cod:
A tanker obstructs Boston as we leave the harbor:

Sail boats in the open sea:

Arriving in Provincetown. For the record, Provincetown is a small town (under 3,500 inhabitants according to the 2000 census), but it's known for its beaches, artists, and tourist industry. That tall monument in the middle of town commemorates the Pilgrms signing the Mayflower Compact in Provincetown’s harbor in 1620. The Pilgrims agreed to settle and build a self-governing community, but they must not have liked the beaches of Provincetown because they continued across the bay to Plymouth shortly thereafter:

The beach looking west toward town center:

Provincetown is full of streets like this that lead straight to the Atlantic:

I saw this girl getting dangerously close to a seal, and all I could think about was Buster's unfortunate seal-related mishap on Arrested Development:

Commercial Street, Provincetown:

I'm told* The Lobster Pot is a Provincetown institution (*so says The Lobster Pot's website):

Provincetown harbor at dusk:

Leaving P-town at 8:30 pm. This is blurry, but I still like it:

Arriving back in Boston around 10:00 pm:

Thank goodness for Zach Braff

2006-08-11T21:49:00.000-05:00

First "Garden State" and now "The Last Kiss." No one captures quarter-life angst like Zach Braff.

I saw this trailer at the movie theatre tonight and found myself nodding along as if my subconscious was saying, "Yeah, yep, that's the way it is. Uh huh."

A bit more about William Christenberry

2006-08-03T17:37:00.000-05:00

Remember William Christenberry? I wrote this a couple weeks ago about my encounter with Christenberry's work on the Fourth of July:

[The National Portrait Gallery] is unequivocally my new favorite museum in DC. The gallery deserves its own posting, especially William Christenberry's exhibit. Hopefully I can find the time to tell you a little bit more about him at a later date.

NPR ran a brief piece on Christenberry yesterday afternoon. Their story began with this lede:

Artist William Christenberry now lives in Washington, D.C., but he grew up in Hale County, Ala. Since 1961, he has returned there each summer, revisiting the same places in forgotten corners of the region. Through his photos, paintings and sculptures, he documents how the places of his youth have changed -- and chronicles the passage of time.

Here's an example of how Christenberry documents time and change:

Wood's Radio-TV Service, 1964: During William Christenberry's childhood, this building in Greensboro, Ala., housed Wood's Radio-TV Service. It later became a juke joint for African-Americans. Christenberry says you can get "better barbecue and better blues" at a juke joint than at a honky-tonk, which is frequented by whites. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)

BBQ Inn, 1971: When Christenberry returned in 1971, Wood's had become the BBQ Inn, which it would remain for many years. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)

BBQ Inn, 1983: A decade later, the BBQ Inn is still in business: The door is open, the Coca-Cola signs are still up, and the building has been painted chrome yellow. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)

BBQ Inn, 1989: Christenberry returned in 1989 to find that a fire had burned the juke joint's inside; there was a gaping hole where firemen had gone in to fight the fire. Talk in the community gave Christenberry hope that the BBQ Inn would be restored. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)

Site of BBQ Inn, 1991: In the end, no one restored the burned-out juke joint, and the building was demolished. The empty concrete slab is all that remains of the BBQ Inn. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)

I think Christenberry's work appeals to me for two reasons. First, he has an appreciation for place and landscape that I share. The Deep South and the Plains may not have a lot in common at first blush, but if you'll permit me to make an unscientific observation about regionalism in America, I do think Southerners and Midwesterners have a greater appreciation for "home" than people from other parts of the country. Maybe it's because we're always defending the place we grew up as something other than boring, empty, fly-over country (in my case) or racist, confederate-loving hillbilly land (the South).

Second, I find Christenberry's work so relatable. There's a quote from Christenberry on a wall at the National Portrait Gallery that reads something like, "Living outside the Deep South gives me a perspective on where I'm from. I need that distance."

I've brought my camera back to South Dakota with me a few times over the last couple years and I always end up taking photos of familiar things that used to seem mundane and unremarkable. Now, with a little perspective, they seem unique and full of history. A rusty license plate nailed to a barn wall once seemed ordinary, but now looks like a work of art. And a long shuttered gas station, steadily deteriorating, once seemed an eyesore, but now has a story to tell.

If imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, Christenberry should be flattered. I'm taking my camera with me next time I go home and then again and again. Maybe you'll see my work at the National Portrait Gallery in 2046.

Sam Adams is more than just an American patriot.

2006-07-24T20:43:00.000-05:00

He's also the namesake for a beer, but you probably didn't need me to tell you that.

All this talk of the New Belgium brewery reminded me I had forgotten to post pictures from the Sam Adams brewery tour I took last month. Like I said in my last post, no tour comes close to the New Belgium experience, but I have to give Sam Adams props for being very generous with the free post-tour beer.

And as an added bonus, here's a picture of the beach I took later in the afternoon off the coast of Newbury, MA.

As you can see, it was a foggy June day -- perfect for a brewery tour and free beer.

About the Banner #2

2006-07-23T22:07:00.000-05:00

I changed the banner at the top of this blog back in January and promised "to try and do this somewhat frequently." That, of course, meant every seven months or so.

For the story behind the last banner, read on...

Fortuantely for me, one of my college buddies was born and raised in a small Nebraska town. Fortunately for him, New Belgium brewing company out of Fort Collins, Colorado distributes as far north as Nebraska. Fortunately for the both of us, I don't think my friend ever went home without returning to campus with a few six packs of New Belgium's best... Fat Tire, 1554, Sunshine Wheat. I'm not too proud to admit I'm drooling just thinking about them.

Long story short, I had the opportunity to tour the New Belgium Brewery in Fort Collins two years ago next month. I've been on a few brewery tours since, and I can say no one comes close to New Belgium. After the tour, I seriously considered how I might get a job at the brewery, but alas, there's a long waiting list of people just like me. And for good reason. Every employee takes home free beer daily. After one year at New Belgium, employees get their own fat tire bike. After five years, they get an all expense paid trip to Belgium. Plus, they get to live in Fort Collins. Sign me up!

My Fourth of July Weekend in Review, Part 2

2006-07-23T20:24:00.000-05:00

Was the second part of my Fourth of July weekend in review really worth the 15-day wait? Probably not, but this blog, if nothing else, has become suspenseful...

I returned to Boston Saturday night, July 2 and packed my bags for a morning flight to Washington, DC. Visiting DC is a bit like going home for me, not because of DC itself, but because of the people I see while I'm there. DC is full of South Dakota ex-pats including some good friends from college.

I flew into Dulles Sunday around noon. My friend Erick picked me up at the airport and suggested we hit up Wegmans on our way into the city. This was my first Wegmans experience, and I wasn't disappointed. Another friend, North Maple, calls Wegmans the happiest place on earth. I don't know if I would go that far, but it is a nice grocery store.

We left Wegmans after eating lunch and picking up supplies to make sangria (I don't know if it was the southern heat or something else altogether different, but I was in a distinct sangria-drinking mood), and made our way into DC. Word to the wise: pay close attention when perusing citrus fruits to include in your sangria. I attempted to buy two blood red oranges (sangria, after all, is Spanish for "bleeding"), but I think I may have picked up a couple grapefruits instead. Grapefruits make for some very sour sangria, but luckily Erick had a bag of granulated sugar that we dumped the vast majority of into our pitcher.

Many drinks and one DC thunderstorm later, the humidity had dropped enough for us to walk with three additional South Dakota transplants a few blocks to a hookah bar/cafe. The atmosphere was a bit sketchy, but the food was great.

Despite my being a few hundred miles from Boston, the next day, Monday, was a work day for me. I set up shop at Tryst, a coffeehouse/bar with wifi, just a few blocks from Erick's apartment in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of DC. My favorite thing about Tryst? They bring two animal crackers with each cup of coffee you order. It's the little things that make me happy.

Tuesday, the Fourth of July, was a typical DC scorcher. But Erick came up with an ingenious idea to spend most of the day in the newly reopened, and very well air conditioned National Portrait Gallery, which closed in 2000 for renovations and just reopened on July 1 of this year. It is unequivocally my new favorite museum in DC. The gallery deserves its own posting, especially William Christenberry's exhibit. Hopefully I can find the time to tell you a little bit more about him at a later date.

Now for what you've all been waiting for, the piece de resistance of my Fourth of July weekend: the lobster. South Dakota kids don't have many opportunities to eat lobster, especially lobster newly plucked from the sea. My friend Sonja invited a bunch of Midwesterners over to her place to partake in something all too foreign for all of us -- picking up, transporting, boiling, cracking open, and then eating lobster. I enjoyed my lobster, but really, who wouldn't enjoy something so thoroughly coated in butter? The process, on the other hand, I could do without. It's a lot of work breaking into that crustacean for so little foodstuff. I guess I should be grateful we live in an era of cut meats and processed foods neatly packaged and ready to be purchased.

We capped off the evening with strawberry rhubarb pie and the DC fireworks display.

From Meryl Streep and Prairie Home at Tanglewood to pie and fireworks in DC, this Fourth of July weekend was one of my best.

My Fourth of July Weekend in Review, Part 1

2006-07-08T17:15:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to post about my Fourth of July weekend since, well, the Fourth of July. But I honestly haven't had time until now. The weekend began with a Saturday morning haircut (believe me, it gets more exciting as the weekend progresses), and then a trip to Tanglewood in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts.

Tanglewood, located in Lenox, MA and once an estate owned by a wealthy Nineteenth Century family, is now the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and an outdoor concert/performance venue.

Last Saturday, Garrison Keillor and the entire cast of "A Prairie Home Companion" were at Tanglewood for a live taping of their season finale and Independence Day Special. Also on hand was Meryl Streep, star of "A Prairie Home Companion," the movie, and songstress extrodinaire (see previous post on "My Minnesota Home").

Seeing the show after hearing it countless times over the years was a lot of fun. I could try to summarize the exprience, but I'd rather leave that to the professionals. Keillor and the gang taped a show a couple months ago in Vermillion, SD. A few days later, Bernie Hunhoff, editor of South Dakota Magazine, summed up the experience perfectly:

Several of us from South Dakota Magazine drove to Vermillion Saturday night to watch Garrison Keillor do what we’ve heard him do many times through the years. He’s obviously a huge radio talent, but the radio airwaves don’t do him justice. He’s more of an entertainer, singer, musician and cultural commentator than I’d recognized previously. You realize even before the show starts (because he began to entertain the crowd about 10 minutes before airtime) that you’re watching the best in his prime: like watching Michael Jordan in his heyday, or Willie Nelson or Johnny Carson.
He’s a master entertainer. That’s not so unusual in America; it’s the depth he adds to much of what he does that is impressive. He’s also much warmer in person.

He works largely without a script: in the Lake Woebegon skit he wandered about the stage and the audience, relating a story about a 16-foot python that gave everyone in town an excuse to do what they wanted to do — which for some was to move to California. [...]
The humor is far better in person. So was the music. And the storytelling.
A few years back, Ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick noted that we all have personal limitations, and they include our time and place and civilization. She said we are as bound by our common culture as we are by our physical surroundings and abilities. Culture limits us, shapes us, or expands us.

Keillor, whether you like him or not, certainly expands American thinking.

You can listen to the Fourth of July show, and see official photos at the Prairie Home Companion website. If you only have time to listen to part of the show, I'd suggest "The News from Lake Wobegon."

I also brought my camera along, and took a few pictures of my own to share:

The set, including advertisements for products familiar to all Prairie Home listeners: Powdermilk Biscuits, Guy's Shoes, Duct Tape, and Catchup.

You'll have to take my word for it when I tell you those blurry objects in the bottom lefthand corner are Meryl Streep and Garrison Keillor.

The cast and crew stayed on stage for close to an hour after the live show ended to entertain those of us in the "studio" audience. Meryl Streep is seated to the left of "The Wailin' Jennys," Garrison Keillor, and Linda Williams.

After the fourth encore, Fred Newman, the touring Prairie Home Companion sound effects guy, brought out a gong and handed the mallet to Meryl. Thus ended my evening at Tanglewood. What a way to start the holiday weekend.

An afternoon on George's Island...

2006-06-18T18:15:00.000-05:00

I bet you didn't know South Dakota was once home to a nuclear missile field that housed 150 Minuteman II intercontinental ballistic missiles buried inconspicuously in silos deep below the prairie.

As I understand it, the missiles were placed throughout the Midwest, because, let's face it, if the Soviets were ever going to nuke the U.S. of A., they would have started with either of the coasts. That's why it was so brilliant and downright sneaky of our military leaders to hide our missiles in flyover country (a.k.a. the Midwest). When Kruschev claimed he would bury us, I don't think he had the slightest inclination to start with Rapid City, South Dakota.

The missiles are no longer there, and that's actually why I know about them. With the Soviet Union defunct and the Cold War over, our federal government removed the missiles in the 1990's and destroyed most of the silos, generating a fair amount of coverage in the local media.

Now, you're probably wondering why I would bring up ICBM warfare on an otherwise beautiful Sunday in June. It's really quite simple: I took a day trip seven miles off the coast to George's Island in Boston Harbor this afternoon.

Not following my logic? Well, long before reconnaissance satellites orbiting the earth were used to track potential enemies off our coasts, George's Island was Boston's last defense. Any foreign navy had to get by George's Island before it could enter the harbor, plunder, and then pillage Boston.

The most recently constructed fortress on George's Island is Fort Warren, built between 1833 and 1869. Many a Union soldier was trained at Fort Warren during the Civil War, and many a captured Confederate was forced to call Fort Warren home.

Fort Warren, like the missile silos of South Dakota, was abandoned by the federal government in 1958. Interestingly enough, the government's initial plan was to use the fort as a nuclear waste repository. After all, where better to store our nuclear waste than inside the walls of an historic place on a picturesque island just a few miles off the coast of our nation's seventh largest metropolitan area?

But greater minds prevailed and the fort was saved. That being said, Fort Warren could use a little work -- a nip here and a tuck there, if you will. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts now owns the island, and they've turned it into a campground of sorts. People take the ferry to George's Island with picnic baskets, footballs and frisbees, and tents in tow. All of this makes for an odd juxtaposition of past and present as you'll see in the photos below...

The ferry approaches George's Island.

Our park ranger tour guide explains that a dry moat surrounding the fort was, you guessed it, meant to keep enemies out of the fort.

A woman sunbathes in the dry moat. Our ranger did his best to ignore the woman so I was forced to draw my own conclusions. I can only assume those who constructed Fort Warren had no plan for keeping young sunbathing women out of the dry moat.

Union soldiers assemble in formation within the fort's walls in 1864.

Our ranger tells us about the many solemn activities that took place in the fort's courtyard (soldiers were trained for war, cannons were fired, traitors were hung) while a bunch of hooligans play football...in the courtyard.

In 1864, soldiers loaded massive Rodman cannons like the one pictured above. They could take out a ship nine miles away.

Today, the fort is protected by small children, Cub Scouts actually, and their skipping stones.

Love at first sight

2006-06-17T22:20:00.000-05:00

This high priority message just arrived in my inbox:

Hi therbe lovely,
I was searching the net few days ago. I am new to this thing. and saw your profile. I decided to email you cause I found you attractive. I might come down to your city in few waeeks.

Let me know if we can meet each other in person.
I am attractive girl. I am sure yoaub won't rebgret it.
Reply tob may personal email at dx@mailforfreedom.com

I mean, what type of person actually replies to spam like this? On second thought, I'd rather not know.

Summer has arrived

2006-06-17T13:09:00.000-05:00

Few things signal the beginning of summer better than watermelon.

While walking in Davis Square yesterday, I came upon a man carrying a watermelon with both hands while simultaneously kicking a second watermelon down the street -- perhaps he had World Cup on the brain. And today, I saw a elderly woman pushing a watermelon in a baby stroller on the sidewalk outside my apartment.

Summer has officially arrived in Boston.

"All the world is a world of rivers flowing to the sea..."

2006-05-29T18:06:00.000-05:00

Thanks to North Maple and her powers of persuasion, I recently purchased the soundtrack to Robert Altman's latest cinematic vision, A Prairie Home Companion, based on Garrison Keillor's long-running, St. Paul-based NPR radio show. The soundtrack was released last week, but the movie doesn't hit theaters until June 6.

I highly recommend the soundtrack to any and all good Midwesterners, especially those currently residing outside the Midwest. One of my favorite songs from the soundtrack is "My Minnesota Home," a variation on "Swanee" sung by Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin. North Maple, a native of Watertown, SD and a Los Angeles resident this summer, told me the only thing getting her through the morning L.A. traffic is "My Minnesota Home." Change the lyrics from "Mississippi River" to "Missouri River" and "Minnesota" to "South Dakota" and the song is all about us:

"Way down on upon that old Mississippi River not so far away, that's where my folks have lived forever, and that's where they're going to stay. I've been searching across the whole creation half my life or more, but I found my own sweet satisfaction right here on that muddy river shore. All the world is so sad and dreary everywhere I roam. Oh mama, how I miss the prairie and my Minnesota home."

As Garrison himself says, "Remember to keep your feet on the ground, your hopes up high. Pray for rain, keep the humor dry, and eat those powdermilk biscuits."

My first time at Fenway

2006-05-24T16:51:00.000-05:00

When I was seven years old, my father took me to Fenway Park for the first time, and as I grew up I knew that as a building it was on the level of Mount Olympus, the Pyramid at Giza, the nation's Capitol, the Czar's Winter Palace, and the Louvre - except, of course, that it was better than all those inconsequential places.

- A. Bartlett Giammati

As you might suspect, I didn't have many opportunities to attend a Major League Baseball game growing up in South Dakota. After all, my hometown is five hours from the Metrodome in Minneapolis, nearly six hours from Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City, and more than 12 hours from Mile High Stadium in Denver.

Let me first go on record as saying, and I apologize to any Twins fans reading this, the Metrodome has absolutely no character or appeal compared to Fenway.

I feel as if I am now an official resident of Red Sox Nation, and Fenway Park is my new Capitol Building. How I lived in New England more than a year before stepping foot inside Fenway is beyond me. Last night, thanks to well connected friends from New Hampshire, I not only got to watch the Red Sox play the Yankees at Fenway, but I got to watch the game from a front-row seat in the State Street Pavilion, the most recently renovated portion of the park -- new and improved with extra leg room, concierge services, and a club lounge.

Sure, the Sox lost, but it was a good game nonetheless. I had a great time, and I hope to make it back at least once more this summer.

Give 'em hell, Tim.

2006-05-18T12:26:00.000-05:00

Tim Johnson is my favorite senator for a number of reasons. He works hard, makes a difference, and does his damnedest to stay out of the spotlight. I admire that. I also like that, when the situation calls for it, he doesn't mince his words. Take, for example, Johnson's response earlier this week after Republicans in Congress passed, and President Bush signed, a $70 billion tax cut on stock dividends and capital gains:

"It's much more difficult to pass middle-class tax cuts now," Johnson said. "Congress needs adult supervision at this point."

Well done, President Bartlet.

2006-05-14T22:19:00.000-05:00

As if the nonstop rain and subsequent flooding weren't depressing enough, the series finale of The West Wing aired tonight, and it was heavy on the sentimentality. Make fun, but I felt as if I was saying goodbye to an old friend.

The West Wing did honor to those who work in politics and the government: staffers, candidates, Members of Congress, judges, cabinet members, the military, and occasionally the ordinary clerk in the basement office. And that's why it was almost universally revered by all of the aforementioned groups.

To quote Rizzo turned First Lady Bartlet, "You did a lot of good, Jed, a lot of good."

So funny, yet so sad...

2006-05-14T12:46:00.000-05:00

I read a few days ago that Saturday Night Live had a big surprise in store for viewers this week. Given SNL's recent track record, I was not expecting the surprise to be nearly so funny...

Sigh. What I wouldn't give to live in this alternate universe, renegade glaciers not withstanding.

A beautiful day in Boston...

2006-05-07T18:51:00.000-05:00

"Our chili will make your hot dog bark!"

2006-05-07T12:03:00.000-05:00

Last month, I flew down to DC to spend Easter weekend with friends. After a Good Friday night of drinking many, many really, really cheap pitchers at Hawk n' Dove, three of us cabbed it -- thinking back, the cab ride itself is worthy of its own blog post -- to U Street, known as "Black Broadway" back when Washington was officially segregated and U Street was home to jazz clubs frequented by the likes of Duke Ellington and Miles Davis.

We made the trip across town for one explicit purpose: to eat half smokes covered with chili and fries smothered in melted cheddar cheese at Ben's Chili Bowl.

Now fast forward to this morning when I turned on NPR and heard a story about two Gourmet magazine writers who traveled across America for three decades in search of the perfect meal. After three million miles on the road and tens of thousands of meals eaten, they chose to highlight, you guessed it, the half smokes and cheese fries from Ben's Chili Bowl.

I feel like my street cred as a modern-day "American Explorer" just advanced considerably.

I'm 26 today.

2006-05-02T11:28:00.000-05:00

Here's the question of the day: When looking back on life in general, and past indiscretions in particular, at what age does it become unacceptable to excuse yourself by saying, "I was just a kid,” or “I was young then”? I'm not sure, but I think 26 is getting close.

It's not that I'm mourning my youth. I'm not that melodramatic. But birthdays are a strange thing. Me? I'm not a huge birthday person. As my grandma says, "It's just another day." (I should note she says that about her own birthday, not mine. Any grandma worth her salt wouldn't say such a thing about her grandson's big day.)

However, the one good thing about birthdays -- for me, anyway -- is the way they serve as an annual opportunity to take stock of what I've done with my life and look ahead to what I could or should be doing. I'm not one of those people who makes a list of things to do before I'm 30 or 40 or 75 or before I die. I tend be a bit more spontaneous, more "go with the flow" and see where life takes me. It's been an interesting ride so far, which is really what it all comes down to, right?

Well, I'm still up...

2006-04-05T00:02:00.000-05:00

...after a long day/night at work so I might as well note the fact that my computer clock just turned to 1:02 a.m., which means a few seconds ago it was 1:02:03 on 04/05/06.

This isn't really all that exciting, I guess. After all, something similar will happen in a little over a year -- 4 seconds past 2:03 a.m. on May 6, 2007, to be exact.

Too funny not to share

2006-04-03T18:36:00.000-05:00

Hat tip to Hotline On Call. You don't even need to be political to find the humor in these:

The Funniest Photos On Official Congressional Websites
Sen. Bill Nelson; Rep. Dennis Kucinich; House Min. Leader Nancy Pelosi; Speaker Denny Hastert; Sen. Ben Nelson; Rep. Jack Kingston; Rep. Lee Terry; Rep. Mike Honda; Rep. Dan Boren; Rep. Geoff Davis; Rep. Sue "Hell No" Myrick; Rep. Vito Fossella; Rep. Brad Sherman; Rep. Jean Schmidt; Rep. John Sullivan; Rep. Shelley Berkley; Rep. Adam Putnam; Rep. Bob Filner; Rep. Richard Pombo; Rep. Denny Rehberg; Rep. Ellen Tauscher; Sen. Barbara Mikulski; Mikulski again; House candidate Raj from "The Apprentice"; Rep. Rosa DeLauro; Rep. Katherine Harris; Rep. Pat McHenry; Rep. Marty Meehan; Rep. Neil Abercrombie; Rep. Mary Bono; The Backstreet Boys; Rep. Tom Petri; Sen. John Ensign; Rep. Jim Gerlach; Gerlach again; Rep. Jane Harman; Sen. John Cornyn; Rep. Ruben Hinajosa; Rep. Louie Gohmert; Rep. Tom DeLay; Rep. Tom Tancredo; and finally, one of you just sent this in for old time's sake.

Overheard...

2006-04-03T18:34:00.000-05:00

...at Whole Foods today:

"Man, this place is neat. We need one of these in Kentucky."

It's St. Patrick's Day in Boston... (Updated)

2006-03-20T14:22:00.000-05:00

We had Irish soda bread for breakfast and Guinness for lunch. I'll have pictures later.

Update:

Irish soda bread for breakfast. Guinness for lunch. Guinness for a really long afternoon snack. Guinness for a pre-dinner appetizer. Guinness for dinner. Home by 9:00 pm. That's St. Patrick's Day in Boston as far as I can tell.

We spent a good portion of the day at Durgin Park, the only Irish pub in the Faneuil Hall area not charging a $20 cover...

The bar was full of people like this...

And the streets outside were filled with people like this...

Their inferiority complex might exist for a reason.

2006-03-19T18:49:00.000-05:00

I wrote what I thought was going to be my last post about my broken finger back in October. Five months have passed, and while the finger isn't officially broken anymore, it isn't exactly fixed either.

Now, before I go any further, let me say I am fully aware this whole finger saga isn't nearly as interesting to the rest of you as it is to me. Come to think of it, most everything I write about here probably isn't nearly as interesting to the rest of you as it is to me. Moving right along...

Unfortunately, I still haven't regained full range of motion in the aforementioned finger, prompting me to restart hand therapy at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston (pictured above). As a confession, I should note that I finished a course of hand therapy in New Hampshire last November before I returned to South Dakota, and I really should have continued therapy while I was back home. Hindsight is 20-20, etc., etc. Now that I'm in Boston, I decided it would be best for me to restart what I never properly finished.

Boston is renowned for its health care and Mass General, a teaching hospital of Harvard Medical School and a biomedical research facility, consistently ranks as one of the country's top hospitals in U.S. News and World Report. I'm told 70,000 people pass through Mass General's doors each day. In other words, this is unlike any hospital I've been in in South Dakota or New Hampshire.

I had my first hand therapy appointment at Mass General last week and was fitted for a new splint -- complete with a stainless steel crank designed to force my finger into bending. (See picture below.)

Now, compare this to a similar splint made for me in New Hampshire -- complete with, I kid you not, rubber bands and a paperclip. (See picture below.)

I think it's fair to say New Hampshirites have a bit of an inferiority complex when it comes to Boston in particular and Massachusetts in general. They get the feeling they're not welcome in Boston -- as if Bostonians would rather New Hampshirites had never come out of the woods. Perhaps their inferiority complex exists for a reason.

Comparing these two splints, I can't help but wonder if I should have had my medical needs taken care of in Boston in the first place. Two surgeries, seven months, and thousands of dollars later, there isn't much I can do about it, but I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

Here's one more for the road...

Irish Invasion

2006-03-19T17:19:00.000-05:00

WBOS, my new favorite Boston radio station, is celebrating St. Patrick's Day all weekend long by higlighting the best in Irish Rock. Yeah, that's right. We're talking non-stop U2, Van Morrison, The Cranberries, The Coors, and other Irish musicians of which I've never heard. Plus, a DJ from Dublin periodically "takes over" the WBOS airwaves as part of an "Irish Invasion." I'm not Irish in the least, but I'm all about the way Bostonians completely embrace their Irish roots.

Better late than never, right?

2006-03-19T16:49:00.000-05:00

I was in New York City last month to meet up with friends from college. This was my fifth or sixth time in New York in the last year so we've already done most of the touristy things. In fact, we now eschew touristy things and instead make fun of the photo-happy, aimless tourists we see on our way to non-touristy things.

Last month, however, we set our elitist anti-tourist views aside and, despite the bitter cold and hurricane-force gales, decided to take in all things New York City outside of Manhattan. Brave, no?

We took the ferry to Staten Island. We ate at Grimaldi's Pizzeria in Brooklyn. And we crazily decided to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge back to Manhattan. I nearly lost my limbs to frostbite, but the views were worth it:

I meant to share these with you earlier, but better late than never right?

Spotted at the University of Chicago...

2006-03-19T15:25:00.000-05:00

In case you thought I was exaggerating a couple weeks ago, I offer the following two exhibits as proof that the South Dakota state legislature and governor have drawn a lot of attention to the state in recent weeks:

[Photos courtesy of a friend and fellow de facto South Dakota ambassador currently residing in Chicago.]

On sacrifice...

2006-03-19T14:10:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow marks the third anniversary of our invasion of Iraq. Regardless of political persuasion, there is at least one thing on which we can all agree: this war has taken a heavy toll in blood and treasure. At last count, 2,322 U.S. soldiers had been killed; 17,400 wounded. And the Congressional Budget Office now sets the war's cost at about $500 billion. According to Nobel economics laureate Joseph Stiglitz, the cost will end up being between $1 trillion and $2 trillion.

Yet most of us continue day to day as if no war is being fought. I, for one, haven't had to make any sacrifices of which I am aware -- other than the incalculable sacrifices we're all making as our dollars are spent in Iraq instead of here at home on education, health care, or even lowering taxes.

With this in mind, I thought I'd share a slideshow I recently came across documenting the funeral services for 22-year-old South Dakotan Brett Lundstrom, a Lakota Warrior killed in battle in Iraq.

Not many know this, but Native Americans have the highest rate per capita of enlisted military service men and women. My job in 2003 and early 2004 brought me to all nine reservations within South Dakota's borders, and I saw this dedication to service firsthand. The reasons behind this disproportionate contribution are complex, but I think it's at least partly attributable to a cultural emphasis on strength and honor.

Anyhow, I found it harder to disregard the war when I was on the reservation. Take a minute to view the slideshow and you'll have some idea why.

It's St. Patrick's Day in Boston...

2006-03-17T12:06:00.000-05:00

We had Irish soda bread for breakfast and Guinness for lunch. I'll have pictures later.

About the banner, 2nd Ed.

2006-03-07T19:16:00.000-05:00

Back in January, I promised to change the banner at the top of this site "somewhat frequently" in order to showcase photos I've taken over the last couple years. I guess by "somewhat frequently," I meant every six weeks or so.

The last banner was created from a photo I took while aboard a ferry in Puget Sound. I first took that particular ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island during a spring break trip in 2001. Some people go to Cancun for beachfront-bikini contests, poolside-drinking games, and late night clubbing. I, on the other hand, opted for more sedate adventures in more sedate locales like Holden Village, a former mining village now serving as a retreat center in the Cascade Mountains accessible only by the successive use of a plane, car, bus, boat, and bombardier.

This photo was actually taken three years later during another trip to Seattle. I had some time to kill in Seattle, and decided to make another trip out to Bainbridge Island. The ferryride back to Seattle coincided nicely with that day's sunset. If you're a "Grey's Anatomy" fan, you might be interested to know the Drs. Shepherd call Bainbridge Island home and take the very same ferry to "Seattle Grace Hospital" every day. (Sometimes my meshing of fictional characters with the real world frightens even me.)

Proud to be a Lutheran! (but not too proud)

2006-03-07T18:23:00.000-05:00

All kidding aside, I am proud to be a Lutheran, and not only because of lutefisk, lefse, and the LBW. My pride stems from the Lutheran Church's embrace of the gray. Humankind far too often gets caught up in the black and white when the world really is all shades of gray.

The abortion debate emanating from South Dakota prompted me to do something I haven't done since college (a Lutheran college, mind you): reference a social statement issued by the ELCA. Today, I looked up the Church's statement on abortion. I've excerpted part of the statement below, but you can find the full text here. In my opinion, the Church is much more on target than the SD Legislature. See for yourself below (emphasis mine):

Prevention of unintended pregnancies is crucial in lessening the number of abortions. In addition to efforts within church and home, this church supports appropriate forms of sex education in schools, community pregnancy prevention programs, and parenting preparation classes. We recognize the need for contraceptives to be available, for voluntary sterilization to be considered, and for research and development of new forms of contraception.

Many women choose abortion in a desperate attempt to survive in a hostile social environment. In order to affirm the value of life and reduce the number of abortions, it is essential for us as a church to work to improve support for life in society.

Greater social responsibility for the care, welfare, and education of children and families is needed through such measures as access to quality, affordable health care, child care, and housing. Sufficient income support for families needs to be provided by employers, or, in the case of the unemployed, through government assistance. As a society we need to provide increased support for education, nutrition, and services that protect children from abuse and neglect.

There's more, but if you've made it this far, you should really just head on over to the ELCA website and read the whole statement for yourself.

On the East Coast, South Dakota doesn't seem so boring

2006-03-06T15:33:00.000-05:00

I met up with two of my fellow South Dakota expatriates Saturday night at a trendy Thai restaurant in Cambridge. Some of the dinner conversation covered what I laid out in my previous post today, prompting one of the expats to bring up an Argus Leader guest column from last November.

I missed this the first time around, but I was able to find it in an online archive. I'm sure the powers-that-be at the Argus would rather I not reprint their columns in their entirety, but I honestly don't care. Peter Severson, a Sioux Falls native and a freshman at Princeton, does a great job summing up what so many of us with South Dakota roots have experienced on the East Coast. It deserves to be reprinted on this blog, copyright laws be damned.

On the East Coast, South Dakota doesn't seem so boring

By Peter Severson
"How can the train be 17 minutes late?"

I had been so lost in idle thought that I'd barely noticed the woman next to me on the platform. Her exclamation didn't seem to be addressed toward anyone in particular, so I felt safe just staring ahead blankly like most of the other passengers.

"My flight is at 4, so I can't be late," she said. The proximity of and insistence in her voice seemed to tell me that I was her target. At that point, I felt obliged to respond. "Boy," I said, throwing in a hint of disinterest, "that's no good."

Soon enough, however unintentionally, I had fallen into chatting with her. Though she had a flight to catch in less than an hour, she didn't seem terribly concerned about leaving. As our conversation wore on, I wondered when she would ask The Question. I knew we couldn't avoid it. Finally, she blurted it out, almost offhandedly, as though she weren't terribly interested in the answer.

"So," she said, "where are you from?"

"South Dakota," I replied.

The woman shot me a wide-eyed glance, as though I'd said Azerbaijan. "Really!" she said. "That's interesting."

Interesting. How many times in my life had being from South Dakota ever been a subject of interest? I could probably count them on one hand. On the East Coast, however, it has become an unendingly amusing novelty for others to interrogate me about.

Of the many minority groups that inevitably spring up on college campuses, one of the most overlooked is geographic minorities. On a campus where only 0.00082% of the undergraduates are from South Dakota, I'm unwittingly outnumbered. The sense of pride, as a result, has tended to increase proportionally, much to my own surprise.

Being from a state whose total population is much smaller than the cities most people have come from, I have found it increasingly necessary to represent my state in the most positive light possible, if only because I know that no one else will. Here at home, we don't often imagine having to put ourselves on the defense about our home, especially when surrounded by a sea of Midwestern citizenry every day. I can recall many times when my friends at home and I have discussed our state citizenship with a fair degree of disdain, lamenting that we were born in such a dreadfully boring place.

One need only visit the coasts, however, to find out that it's really not boring at all. Certainly it helps me on campus to be distinguishable from the sea of New Yorkers, Bostonians, and Los Angelinos.

When I'm away from home, being from South Dakota will always be a point of pride, whether I'm defending my non-accent against an incredulous New Zealander, clarifying the odd pronunciation of "Pierre," high-fiving a Minnesotan because we live in adjacent states, or explaining to a British exchange student what exactly the Corn Palace is "for."

At the least, I've made sure that everybody knows where Mount Rushmore is, and why it makes us better than North Dakota.

Yes, I'm from South Dakota, and no, I have no idea what my state legislature is thinking.

2006-03-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

Well, he did it. Moments ago, the Governor of South Dakota signed a bill that will, for all intents and purposes, never become law. Moving to Boston and starting a new job keep a person busy and don't leave much time for blogging. But good governor, today's actions have forced me to shake this blog out of its unintentional hibernation.

Put simply, this is a fool's errand. The old, white, Republican men who serve us in the state legislature call this a "frontal assault" on Roe v. Wade, but this will backfire. I predict the Supreme Court will never hear this case. Even if they do, the current makeup of the Court (5-4 in favor of upholding Roe) makes it more likely than not they will slap South Dakota AG Larry Long silly and send him home with a big 'L' on his forehead. Here's the kicker: I'm not a Constitutional scholar, but I can tell you most of the Supreme Court Justices are reluctant to overturn cases that have been repeatedly reaffirmed. This South Dakota law -- if it gets as far as the Supreme Court -- will be yet another case in the long line of precedent-setting cases in favor of Roe.

I'm not surprised, but I am frustrated. Put aside the many, many reasons this is bad policy. I'm actually frustrated for more personal and selfish reasons: I'm usually the first and only South Dakotan people meet, making me a de facto ambassador for all things SoDak. This silly, extremist effort by my home state legislature and governor has drawn attention -- a lot of attention -- to South Dakota for all the wrong reasons, and I'm not about to make excuses for them. I guess my best option is to try and redirect the conversation to things like buffalo, Mount Rushmore, soybeans, and the Corn Palace -- things I can really get behind.

A strange confluence of events this weekend

2006-01-30T02:04:00.000-05:00

I was in kindergarten when the space shuttle Challenger exploded. While I don't remember much, I do know the Challenger explosion is the first, "Where were you when...?" moment I can recall. I remember being told in the days before the shuttle launch that a school teacher, Christa McAuliffe, would be among the crew of the Challenger. And I remember that some of the older kids were going to watch the launch at school. I also remember seeing the explosion played over and over again on TV in subsequent days.

As you probably know, this past weekend marked the 20th anniversary of the disaster. This is the first time I've been able to remember something from two decades ago, which led me to think about other 20th anniversaries that might be approaching soon. The only things that came to mind were "Baby Jessica's" rescue and the Iran-Contra hearings. I found the former traumatizing and the latter completely incompatible with my cartoon-watching schedule.

Oddly enough, this popped up on the AP newswire tonight, which can mean only one thing: Ollie North will do something newsworthy tomorrow.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part XI: Small Town Misfit

2006-01-29T23:55:00.000-05:00

This dovetails nicely with the drunken horse riding highlighted earlier tonight.

The most humorous feature in small town newspapers is often the local police blotter. With little else to keep them occupied, aimless youth and ill-intentioned adults in small towns are capable of devising some of the strangest ways to break the law. Fortunately, Small Town Misfit gathers posts from papers across the U.S.

Some of my favorite categories: booze, church, love thy neighbor, and underwear.

Solving all our problems: the SD State Legislature in action

2006-01-29T23:21:00.000-05:00

The State House Transportation Committee voted 10-to-1 last week on a bill allowing South Dakotans to take their horse or bike home after a night at the bar...even if they've had a bit too much to drink. It's being called the "Drunk Horse Bill," but as you'll see below, this is as much about drunk horses as Bush's "Clear Skies Intiative" is about taking care of the environment.

This all came about because of a recent court case in my home state's fair capital city, Pierre (that's pronounced "peer" for all you non-South Dakotans) -- the second least populated state capital in the nation, by the way.

Back in 2002, a 42-year-old Pierre (remember, it's a one syllable "peer") man had a few too many drinks at the local cafe on a Sunday night. As he left the cafe, the local police pulled him and his steed over and arrested the man for drunken driving.

Under current South Dakota law, operating a horse while under the influence of alcohol carries the same penalty as operating a car while drunk. But the man fought his DUI charge, and the court eventually sided with him, deciding in favor of his defense: the horse knew its way home despite the man's drunkenness so no one was in any danger.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part X: Famous Last Words

2006-01-28T18:28:00.000-05:00

Some look to a person's last words before death for insight into how he or she lived life. I, on the other hand, find last words as helpful hints on how (or how not) to go out in style. Here are a couple pointers I picked up while perusing Wikipedia's Famous Last Words:

If your own guards are trying to stab you to death, and you have any desire to live through the ordeal, it's best not to exclaim, "I am still alive!" as did the Roman Emperor Gaius Caligula. One more jab of the knife can take care of that.

In the same vein, if your beheading by French revolutionaries is imminent, I see no problem with proving your superiority one last time as Thomas de Mahay Favras did. Upon being handed his official death sentence as he was led to the scaffold during the Reign of Terror, de Mahay Favras said, "I see that you have made three spelling mistakes."

And there's Karl Marx. Responding to his housekeeper who had just asked if he had any last words, Marx said, "Go on, get out! Last words are for fools who haven't said enough!"

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part IX: How to fold a shirt in Japan

2006-01-27T03:32:00.000-05:00

Who amongst us doesn't remember the 1980s when Japan's eventual domination of the world seemed imminent? They sold us their cars, taught their kids to be better at science than us, and even bought the Pebble Beach golf course and Rockefeller Center out from under us. But then the Japanese economy collapsed and our greatest fears seemed allayed.

Unfortunately, we may have been duped. If present day Japanese ingenuity and skill can combine to produce this, what choice do we have but to throw in the towel and learn to love sushi: How to fold a shirt in Japan.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part VIII: A Grab Bag of Links

2006-01-26T16:52:00.000-05:00

These are kind of weak. No worries, though. I'll make up for a lack of quality with quantity...

What is it about cat owners that makes them want to do this?
"I've Been Roped And Throwed By Jesus In The Holy Ghost Corral" and other inspired Country songs.
The Slanket: capitalism gone awry or God's gift to humanity?
Connecticuters it is, but we're mainly -ians and -ans.

Working the night shift

2006-01-26T15:09:00.000-05:00

I apologize if you came here yesterday looking for the latest installment of "My Daily LSAT Distraction." I didn’t really have time for any distractions yesterday. I was determined to squeeze in two practice tests, which took about five hours and left precious little time to ponder things like the mystery that is the Cosby sweater.

It's 3:00 p.m., and it's morning for The Head Kid. As much as I try to adhere to a normal sleeping schedule, if I'm not obligated to be awake at any particular time (for work or otherwise), I invariably revert to nocturnalism, or nocturnality, or nocturnalness, or something.

This time I've taken it to new heights. I've been routinely staying awake until 7:00 a.m., which means I'm calling it a night when most of you are greeting the new day. Still, my reverse sleeping habits have probably been a net positive this go around. With nothing to divert my attention, I'm forced to pick up my No. 2 pencil and ruminate over all things LSAT. As you might guess, there are far fewer distractions in small town South Dakota after midnight than there are during the day. Come to think of it, there really aren't that many distractions in small town South Dakota during the day either, but you get the idea.

There is one issue, though: I feel like a recluse. I'm told the temperature here has been above average for more than a month now. Don't hold me to this, but I think it was in the mid- to high-40s yesterday. I was sleeping so I can't be sure.

Finally, I found the cartoon accompanying this post too cute by half, but I couldn't resist posting it anyhow. Maybe after little human contact these past weeks, I'm turning into one of those people who enjoy cutesy cartoons like The Family Circus. God help me.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part VII: The Cosby Theory

2006-01-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

There are some questions in this world better left unanswered. This, however, is not one of them: Why doesn't Bill Cosby where those sweaters anymore?

In 1984, Bill Cosby debuted his brand new sitcom, The Cosby Show. Cosby was the lead, but he couldn't have done it without his costars: Phylicia Rashad, Malcolm Jamal Warner, Lisa Bonet and...those sweaters. During the show's 8 year run, Bill Cosby wore a variety of multicolored Australian Coogi sweaters that fondly became known as the "Cosby Sweater."

But when the lights faded, so did the sweaters. No one has seen or heard from The Cosby Sweater since Bill and the gang bid their adieu to the TV watching public in 1992. Most people just think the Cosby Sweater went out of style. Most people...are wrong. The truth is as frightening as the patterns on the sweaters themselves.

Come inside...if you dare.

What's on your mind?

2006-01-24T16:16:00.000-05:00

What is: 1+5 ?

2+4 ?
3+3 ?
4+2 ?
5+1 ?

Now repeat saying the number 6 to yourself as fast as you can for 15 seconds. Then click here...

NH will miss its fictional native son

2006-01-24T00:38:00.000-05:00

If you haven't already heard (which probably means you don't care), The West Wing will officially end its seven-year run in May when fictional President Josiah Bartlet finishes his second term in office. Bartlet, played by Martin Sheen, is a New Hampshire native -- a former governor and congressman. Anyhow, I thought I'd pass along an article on this very subject from today's New Hampshire Union Leader: As 'West Wing' folds, NH will miss its fictional native son...

They didn't always get it right.

In seven years on television, characters on NBC's "The West Wing" mangled the pronunciation of our capital city, rode the railway we don't yet have and sojourned at an impossibly rustic Manchester farm.

Still, for two Presidential terms, New Hampshire residents could take pride in knowing one of their own was occupying the White House. Even if it was only a TV show.

Having lived in Manchester, I can vouch for the lack of "impossibly rustic" Manchester farms. Manchester and Crawford do not a duality make. In fact, I never saw a farm, rustic or otherwise, in Manchester. I lived in a neighborhood that bordered the woods in a house with a big backyard. That's about as close to farm life as one gets in Manchester.

I watched this year's West Wing season premiere with Manchester natives back in September. They laughed when Bartlet referenced driving up to the farm from his presidential library. Driving up to Manchester would mean Bartlet's library is in Nashua or Salem and everyone knows there is nothing worth seeing in Nashua or Salem. It's a joke only New Hampshirites can fully appreciate. All jokes aside, take a look at the final two graphs of the Union Leader article and let me know if they make any sense to you:

"New Hampshire is a land of myth," said Rick Broussard, editor of New Hampshire Magazine. "And 'The West Wing' is, in essence, nothing but a carefully contrived political myth that's designed to -- like all myths -- impart some truth, impart a little hope and maybe tick a few people off.

"That's really the strength of our state. It gets under people's skin, it gets in their heads and it causes them to dream. Or to scratch."

Uh, I guess that's one way of putting it.

Commonsensically frustrated

2006-01-23T08:10:00.000-05:00

As I prepare for the LSAT, I'm paying special attention to the logic games that actually comprise only 25% of the test. It's not that the logic games are necessarily more difficult than the rest of the test. Yes, there's more strategy involved (pacing, sketching, remembering the contrapositives, etc.). But, for me, it really comes down to one thing: before I can solve a logic game, I first have to get beyond the fact that the situation described in each game is utterly ridiculous.

Take the following logic game as an example:

Ron is packing for his upcoming vacation, trying to decide among the following types of clothing: belts, hats, jackets, neckties, T-shirts, vests, and caps. Ron has several of each of the seven types of clothing, and makes choices consistent with the following guidelines:

If he packs neckties, he does not pack caps.
If he packs belts, he does not pack jackets.
If he packs belts, he packs at least one cap.
If he packs jackets, he packs at least one cap.
If he packs caps, he packs at least one vest.
If he packs vests, he packs at least one cap.
If he packs caps, he packs at least two.

Which of the following could be a complete and accurate list of the items Ron packs for his vacation?

one belt, one T-shirt, one vest, two caps
one belt, one necktie, one T-shirt, three caps
two belts, one necktie, three T-shirts
one jacket, one T-shirt, two vests, one cap
one belt, one jacket, one vest, two caps

Now, this is an acceptability question, so it's actually fairly easy to determine the right answer (it's A). Still, I find it unreasonable that Ron would choose to go on vacation without packing any pants. Why in God's name does he need a belt if he doesn't have any pants? Are two caps really necessary? I hope he uses one of those caps to cover up "down there." Ron needs to spend less time packing vests and caps, and more time packing the essentials.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part VI: Lone Star Statements

2006-01-23T07:32:00.000-05:00

Time magazine recently made a list of the top 100 English-language novels from 1923 to the present. The Morning News then turned to Amazon.com to see what book-reviewing readers had to say about these critically acclaimed novels.

The excerpts from actual one-star Amazon.com reviews are hilarious. Some of my favorites? Reviews for The Grapes of Wrath, Lord of the Flies, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and To Kill a Mockingbird.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part V: Death by Caffeine

2006-01-22T22:48:00.000-05:00

After 295.75 cans of Diet Coke, I'd be pushing up daisies.

Find out how many cans of your favorite carbonated beverage it would take to kill you.

Scary Pete Coors alone in the woods...

2006-01-22T22:42:00.000-05:00

The beer industry is trying to change its image...

As wine, vodka and whiskey grab market share from beer, leading brewers have crafted a new industrywide campaign that's aimed at "fighting back the enemy" by touting -- get this -- the finer aspects of beer.

Brewers are apparently going to concentrate on exposing consumers to the ins and outs of the brewing process in an effort to go head-to head with wine-drinking snobs. You know the type -- the ones who show up at your party with a bottle of wine, talking about boquets, legs, and tannins.

I think this is a net positive for beer and beer drinkers. For the record, I 'd rather not know how most things I eat and drink are prepared/processed/produced. Beer, however, is the exception that proves the rule. I'm fascinated with the brewing process. I've even toured a couple breweries in the Rockies and Pacific Northwest.

Of course, brewers will need to walk the line between highbrow and creepy, a feat which, as Deadspin points out, Pete Coors is already failing:

Oh, good. Because I can't get enough of Pete Coors standing alone in the woods. That guy creeps me out. Maybe it's just me, but I think he's got some deep, dark secret out there. People don't go into the woods by themselves for no reason, and Pete isn't dressed for hunting. I think he's doing something deviant out there. I just don't know what it is.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part IV: Face Recognition

2006-01-21T14:45:00.000-05:00

What did people do to pass the time before they could upload pictures of themselves to a website that would then tell them which celebrities they resemble? Life must have been much less fulfilling before the folks at MyHeritage.com came along.

So, who does The Head Kid resemble?

My top four matches are: Colin Farrell, Zayed Khan, Matthew Perry, and Lord Kelvin.

Yeah, that's right. I've got my bases covered -- an Irish actor turned self-made porn star, a Bollywood actor, a Friend, and the man who discovered the atom.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part III: Regret the Error

2006-01-20T18:10:00.000-05:00

Like Johnny Carson, I prefer David Letterman over Jay Leno. But there is one -- and I really do mean there's just one -- Leno gimmick I enjoy: "Headlines." Maybe that's why I find Regret the Error, a blog devoted to notable corrections in mass media, so humorous.

There are some real doozies: Kentucky's Lexington Herald-Leader's apology for not covering the civil rights movement; this from the Dallas Morning News: "An Oct. 19 article on songwriter John Bucchino incorrectly stated that he doesn't read. The sentence should have said that he doesn't read music"; and the "cut and paste" mistake in Purdue's student newspaper, The Exponent (clip pictured at right -- read all the way to the end).

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part II: 1980s commercials

2006-01-19T18:48:00.000-05:00

This brings a tear of nostalgia to my eye: Only the sweet smell of scratch and sniff stickers could more vividly conjure memories of my 1980s childhood. Relive simpler times when encyclopedias existed and the "new" Colgate pump revolutionized the toothpaste industry.

As a side note, I must have been incredibly receptive to TV commercials as a child. I owned, ate, or used nearly all of these things -- except for the Slip N' Slide. I always wanted one of those. Sure, it was little more than a plastic sheet unrolled on the lawn with a sprinkler next to it, but man, it seemed so cool.

Tara shares her words of wisdom

2006-01-19T17:59:00.000-05:00

In light of Osama bin Laden's latest home movie hitting the airwaves, here's a gem of a quote from Sports Guy's Quote of the Day Archive. Tara Reid commenting last July on the London subway bombings:

I wish all the mean people, if you want to be mean to each other, just buy a country together and blow each other up. Then we'd have no terrorists left. Like, don't kill innocent people for no reason. It's not fair. We love everybody. We'd even like them if they said they're sorry. It's not fair that innocent people are getting hurt. It makes me sad.

She really has a way with words, doesn't she?

Ready, aim, shop.

2006-01-18T21:58:00.000-05:00

No Wal-Mart for me, please. I'm a Target man. And I'm impressed...

The Chicago-area Target store pictured above (more at Google Sightseeing) is getting creative with its advertising budget and reaching out to those who use Google Maps. Of course, if an air war is ever fought within U.S. borders, this could be a very regrettable mistake.

My Daily LSAT Distraction, Part I: Neologisms on The Simpsons

2006-01-18T20:41:00.000-05:00

An update on my whereabouts: After Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, birthdays for two nephews and one niece, and another niece's baptism, I think I'm pretty well caught up on my family dues. But I won't begin the trip back east for another 2-1/2 weeks. In the meantime, I'll study for and take the LSAT, which I've been postponing for one reason or another for four years now. I still don't know if and when I'll go to law school, but the test has been on my to-do list for far too long.

When it comes to LSAT studying, I can be easily distracted. So check back each day over the next couple weeks for an installment of "My Daily LSAT Distraction."

Today, I spent far too much time learning about invented words and phrases from The Simpsons. Then again, maybe the LSAT will ask me to define Withstandinator, Saudi-Israelia, or deceleratrix.

Give me a choice between practicing logic games or perusing Wikipedia's List of Neologisms on The Simpsons, and I'll choose the latter.

About the banner

2006-01-17T22:12:00.000-05:00

I've decided to change the banner at the top of the site, mainly on a whim. I'm going to try and do this somewhat frequently. It'll give me an opportunity to share some of the photos I've taken the last couple years. I'll also try and include the story behind the banner as a regular feature when I change them out. For the story behind the last banner, read on...

This was created from a photo I took at the border of Harding and Perkins Counties in northwest South Dakota. These counties, on the North Dakota and Montana borders, are desolate -- a combined population of 4,716 spread over 5,542 square miles. In place of people, you'll find ranches, streams, stock dams, and deep ravines.

It just so happened that a summer thunderstorm was rolling in as I took this photo allowing me to capture some of my favorite South Dakota colors: the dark blues of a stormy sky, and the greens and golds of the grass.

These two counties were 65th and 66th in my 2004 quest to step foot in all of South Dakota's 66 counties. Mission accomplished.

Grab your popcorn and soda, sit back, and enjoy...

2006-01-17T12:22:00.000-05:00

I took one English course in college to fulfill a graduation requirement, and it happened to be taught by a professor who specialized in the study of American cinema. While we did read a few books, we actually spent the majority of class time watching and discussing movies like Citizen Kane, Chinatown, and The Killing Fields. The premise of the class was simple: movies are a form of literature and they can be enjoyed (and studied) as such.

Let's pause to give this some thought before my more highbrow readers get up in arms. Sure, the lazier amongst us probably thought, "Awesome! Instead of spending the weekend reading a 500-page book, I can sit down in front of the TV for a couple hours of movie-watching before the Friday night kegger." But I think most of us also grew to think critically about movies in a way we hadn't before. Years later, I still approach good movies like I do good books, investing time to digest how a particular film records, reflects and recreates a person, a society, or a specific time and place. I think that was a valuable lesson learned.

Now, couple my interest in movies with my interest in politics and you'll start to see where I'm going with this blog post. If you've paid any attention to the box office this year, and particularly this award season, you've likely noticed a certain penchant for politics emanating out of Hollywood. No matter your political leanings, I hope you'll agree that movies, like all forms of literature, are a reflection of our time in history. In other words, whether or not you agree with the messages presented by a particular film, there's still valuable information to be gleaned from that film about issues facing us as a society.

After last night's Golden Globes, pundits of all persuasions took notice of the increasing number of award-winning political films. Focus on the Family and other rightwing groups complained that Hollywood liberals are attempting to cram an agenda down our throats. Bullsh**. Given what we're facing as a society, it should come as no surprise that filmmakers are finding stories to tell from within the political realm. War, global terrorism, oil dependence, abortion, homosexuality, government and corporate corruption, and a host of problems plaguing the entire continent of Africa: these aren't exactly the best of times.

After 20 years of relative peace and prosperity, the you-know-what has hit the fan, and there are plenty of stories to tell. We haven't seen this sort of political movie-making since the 1970s when films like All the President's Men, The Deer Hunter, and Apocalypse Now reflected American society in the wake of Vietnam and Watergate.

This isn't to say political films are bringing the American public into theatres in droves. In fact, it's unfortunately the opposite. I'm probably one of the few people in the country to have seen most of the Golden Globe-nominated films. All I have to say is the rest of you are missing out.

"Caw, Caw-ca, Caw-ca."

2006-01-14T12:21:00.000-05:00

If you don't why this is funny, well, I feel for you. I, too, was largely unfamiliar with "Arrested Development" until recently when the folks at Netflix so kindly delivered six DVD's of hilarity to my mailbox.

In another TV news, I just finished watching the first season of "Veronica Mars" (also courtesy of Netflix), and I liked what I saw. I was reminded of days of yore when I passed the time reading Encyclopedia Brown. Veronica Mars is basically Encyclopedia Brown only much better looking:

My very own "Left-Leaning College State"*.

2006-01-13T11:56:00.000-05:00

There's nothing better than founding a new country to get your weekend started. I created one this morning.

We're a nice nation -- tiny, socially progressive, renowned for our barren, inhospitable landscape. We're a compassionate, hard-working, intelligent people (population of 5 million), and we enjoy extensive civil freedoms, particularly in social issues, while business tends to be more regulated. We juggle the competing demands of Healthcare, Social Welfare, and Education. The average income tax rate is 17%. And a healthy private sector is led by the Trout Farming, Automobile Manufacturing, and Furniture Restoration industries.

Fish, cars, and furniture. Doesn't this sound like fun?

Head on over to NationStates.net and click on "Create a Nation." You'll be asked to choose a name for your nation, a motto, a national animal, and a currency. Then you answer a short questionnaire about your politics. This will determine what sort of nation you end up with: authoritarian or permissive... left-wing or right-wing... compassionate or psychotic... you get the idea.

Have at it.

*That's how the imaginary UN categorizes my country.

Don't even bother trying to explain what a blog is.

2006-01-11T19:45:00.000-05:00

Sure, centurion Strom Thurmond's retirement and death a couple years back went a long way toward lowering the average age of the U.S. Senate. But I think it's still safe to say the Senate could use some new, younger blood.

Case in point: a bit of a brouhaha broke out this morning between Senators Arlen Specter, age 76, and Ted Kennedy, age 74.

You see, Specter is chairman of the judiciary committee, which means he's in charge of Supreme Court confirmation hearings. I won't go into detail, but Kennedy made a request during today's hearing that caught Specter off guard. Specter banged his gavel and scolded Kennedy.

Turns out Specter had no reason to be caught off guard. Kennedy had notified Specter back in December that he'd be making this request. Specter realized his mistake during his lunch break and returned to the hearing to tell the committee that Kennedy had, in fact, made the request and that he had made it via a "computer letter."

Yes, "computer letter." That means "e-mail" for people over 70.

Barbie moves to Gitmo.

2005-12-21T15:51:00.000-05:00

My three-year-old niece recently took to decapitating her Ken dolls. We weren't sure why, or if it was reason for concern, but turns out it's normal child's play:

Children turn to torture as Barbie loses her sparkle
Barbie dolls have become so ubiquitous that they have lost their value to children who maim, burn or microwave them to show their disgust, an academic study claims today. In a finding that will astonish many parents, academics at Bath University concluded that girls attack their Barbie dolls as a symbol of their rejection of the consumer society. "Barbie provoked rejection, hatred and violence," said Dr. Agnes Nairn, who led the research for the university's school of management.

Sorry, Dr. Nairn, but I'm not convinced. Who's to say children aren't simply seeking an active role in the "War on Terror"? Perhaps Barbie and Ken are tough to crack. Maybe they need a little extra "persuasion" before they'll reveal their contacts with foreign terrorists groups or the location of the hidden Barbie dream nuke. The verdict's still out on this one as far as I'm concerned.

And the moral of the story is...

2005-12-20T21:51:00.000-05:00

First, two items to set the table:

A Recap on the Missouri River Divide: All together now... The eastern half of South Dakota was settled by farmers and sectioned off Midwestern grid style. But moving westward, the Missouri River in the middle of the state acts as a dividing line. West of the river, green turns to brown, cultivation grows sparse and then stops, and Republicans run wild. Arid, brown, open, politically conservative "West River" is very different from the more populated, more moderate, greener, lusher "East River" where I -- and 75% of South Dakotans -- grew up.
2005 - Year of the Moose: I saw more than a few front page news stories in New Hampshire this past year about horrible car accidents involving moose. In summary, car + high speeds + moose = dead moose, oftentimes dead people, and destroyed car. I thought I had temporarily left moose behind in New England when I returned to the Midwest for the holidays, but lo and behold...

From tomorrow's Sioux Falls Argus Leader...

Moose gets a nap, trip to zoo
A young bull moose that has been wandering through [East River] Minnehaha and Lincoln counties the past few days was tranquilized early Tuesday afternoon and taken to the Great Plains Zoo. [...] It took 11 people, many with the South Dakota Game, Fish and Parks Department, to load the moose into a horse trailer owned by Hartford farmer Duane Miles. It was then transported to the zoo.

Now, compare this to how GF&P officials handled a similar moose incident in 2003, this time West of the Missouri River...

School children's moose lesson has tearful ending
Youngsters at Children's House Montessori school are writing a new ending to the story about a moose that came to visit. The school is adjacent to the West Main Street home where state conservation officers shot and killed a young bull moose Wednesday morning. At the start of their school day Wednesday, the children watched out the window of the classroom as the moose grazed on leaves and drank from Lime Creek. Teachers gathered all the books about moose in the school's collection, and the visit by the moose became a learning experience.

"They were watching and learning about the moose. They were finding out what he eats and what he does all day," Laurie Miller, a mother of two children who attend the school, said.

But South Dakota Game, Fish & Parks Department officials outside and west of the schoolyard determined that the moose posed a threat to public safety and decided to shoot the animal.

If this doesn't clearly illustrate the differences between the two halves of my home state, nothing will. We East River folks don't go all semper fi on a moose when it wonders into our half of the state. We tranquilize it and then arrange to have it dropped off somewhere near the Canadian border. Our West River brethren, on the other hand, use shotguns to take down moose in front of classrooms full of children writing word portraits about the nice Mr. Moose.

My yen for America.

2005-12-19T00:03:00.000-05:00

Both of my sisters gave me a hard time today about Christmas gift-giving. Neither of them know what to get me. One even referenced this post from last December, and asked if she should get me beer for Christmas. I told her no. In hindsight, beer -- or any beverage for that matter -- just doesn't seem like the best Christmas gift. Would you like a gallon of milk for Christmas? I didn't think so.

In all honesty, I'm not sure what I want. More than anything, I need a new apartment and a way to transport my belongings to said apartment. Of course, U-Haul rental trucks don't really make good Christmas gifts either. Quite the conundrum, isn't it?

If you haven't already heard, I bought myself an early Christmas gift a couple weeks ago (pictured above). After 10 years crisscrossing the nation in GM's finest -- a red 1996 Pontiac Grand Am, I decided to turn my back on America and buy a 2006 Nissan Altima. Given my purchase could be viewed as tacit support for a Japanese overthrow of the U.S. government, I'm undoubtedly being surveilled by the White House.

Truth be told, 70% of my "Japanese" car was manufactured in Smyrna, Tennessee. Plus, it gets better gas mileage than most American models so I'm being patriotic by conserving energy. Take that, Mr. President.

Legislators say the darndest things.

2005-12-18T23:31:00.000-05:00

Rapid City-area state legislators tend to be far right-of-center Republicans with little to no opposition. They coast to reelection year after year, which gives them liberty to say whatever's on their minds at any given moment. I found the latest "straight talk" enlightening and worth passing along:

"... during comments about abortions, which [Rep. Howie Gordon] opposes, he noted that pregnant cows were worth more than the non-pregnant variety."

and

"Gordon also apologized for the remark. He said he only meant to say that South Dakotans value life. If we value unborn livestock, he said, why wouldn't we value the lives of unborn human beings. "I freely admit I said that very poorly," Gordon said."

Because women are like cows. Get it?

I'm back... again.

2005-12-18T23:06:00.000-05:00

I'm guilty. No matter how many times I say I'll try to do a better job of keeping this blog updated, I just can't shake my irresponsible blogging ways. Blogs are like children -- always waiting to be fed, and if you don't feed them, you feel guilty. Of course, that makes those of you dedicated enough to peruse my blog when months go by without any new posts the equivalent of social service agents regularly checking in on me and sometimes chastising me for neglect. I ask you for a reprieve and promise to try harder henceforward.

A side note: Perhaps I've watched a bit too much Law & Order recently. (By the way, does anyone else think TNT, USA, and maybe even Bravo should just drop the pretense and call themselves the "Law and Order Channels?" I mean, let's call a spade a spade.)

Leaning Tower of Sioux Falls

2005-12-03T17:39:00.000-05:00

South Dakota's largest building -- a feed mill, of course -- was supposed to come tumbling down in the name of progress and revitalization today. The pending demolition was front-page news in the state for much of the last two weeks, maybe even longer. Thousands of people gave to charity in return for an up-close view of the destruction, but they'll have to make do with the warm fuzzies that come with charitable giving. The buidling didn't fall.

The toppling of the Zip Feed tower failed Saturday, turning what was supposed to be a spectacle watched by thousands into a source of amusement for an entire city.

The 202-foot tower, the tallest building in the city and possibly the state, was scheduled to topple at 12:55 p.m. But after a loud blast it tilted east, dug itself into the ground and stuck.

A crowd of more than 200 that was gathered at Kilian College gasped when the blast went off, then held its breath as the tower leaned and then stopped. And they held its [sic] breath some more.

Slowly, anticipation turned to confusion and, in less than a minute, to cascades of laughter at the mishap that nobody had prepared them for.

NPR carried the story during its 4:00 pm CST newsbreak, referring to the mill as "The Leaning Tower of Sioux Falls." Move over Mt. Rushmore. You just got some competition.

I'm back and I'm cold.

2005-11-29T12:24:00.000-05:00

If you hadn't heard -- and really, who isn't keeping track? -- I'm back in South Dakota for a couple weeks. I’m meeting new family members (a niece), taking care of my teeth (dentist), eyes (optometrist) and fingers (will it ever end?), buying a new car, finishing up a few work-related tasks, studying for the LSAT, and surviving a South Dakota blizzard.

When I arrived home last week, there was no snow on the ground and the daily temp hovered around 45 degrees. Not anymore. Freezing rain turned to snow yesterday and then the wind kicked into high gear.

I took these photos last night right in front of our house. Suffice it to say, global warming isn't sounding so bad right about now.

I saw this in Newsweek and it made me laugh outloud...

2005-10-19T18:33:00.000-05:00

The last word on my right fourth finger's proximal phalanx.

2005-10-15T19:11:00.000-05:00

Barring anything blog-worthy during the next few weeks of hand therapy, this will be the last post about my broken finger. Yeah, that's right. The metal plate and four screws holding together my right fourth finger's proximal phalanx (pictured above) seem to be doing the trick.

I saw my orthopedic surgeon yesterday for a one-week-later post-operation checkup, and the x-rays look good. I’m starting hand therapy Monday to exercise the tendons and get full motion back.

Someday, I'm sure this will all make an interesting story. But right now, I'm just anxious for it to be over.

My Name is Earl

2005-10-08T19:56:00.000-05:00

Granted, my latest dose of Vicodin just kicked in, but I'm really enjoying the "My Name is Earl" marathon on NBC tonight. In fact, they even made a joke about Vicodin in the premiere episode. I haven't seen a new sitcom worth watching in years, but "Earl" just might be it.

Sometimes boring is better.

2005-10-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

Until last Wednesday when I was informed a re-do hand surgery would be necessary, I was planning to spend this weekend with two of my best friends in New York City.

As I've already made clear, I'm instead staring at walls and ingesting painkillers -- not necessarily in that order. The Drudge Report, though, offers two examples of why Manchester might be a safer, saner place to be this weekend...

Well, he doesn't like us either.

2005-10-08T08:02:00.000-05:00

You may have already seen this piece from "The Onion," a make-believe newspaper well-known for its cutting satire, which is "incredibly funny," "sad, but true," and oftentimes both. I have my own opinion, but I'll leave it to you to decide which category this one falls under:

Bush's Approval Rating Of Other Americans Also At All-Time Low
September 28, 2005

WASHINGTON, DC—Shortly after President Bush's job-approval rating dipped to 40 percent, the lowest of his presidency, a poll indicated that Bush's approval rating for American citizens is also at an all-time low.

"At 30 percent, President Bush's satisfaction with 'likely voters' is the lowest it's ever been," said Rachel Markham of TNS Intersearch. While Bush finds that 40 percent of Americans are "on the right track," he said he believes only 30 percent will do a good job supporting him in the event of another disaster or terrorist attack.

My weekend plans...

2005-10-08T07:59:00.000-05:00

They're simple, really. I'll be busy inhibiting the pain receptors in my brain and simultaneously halting the production of prostaglandins which otherwise cause pain.

Let me be more clear: I'm spending the weekend recovering from my second surgery in as many weeks. It's supposed to rain all weekend in New Hampshire, which, combined with the Vicodin and Percocet cocktail prescribed by my orthopedic surgeon, means I'll be a functioning narcoleptic for the next couple days.

My doctor says I have a high pain threshold, which the more macho part of me finds flattering. However, she also says I'm a lightweight when it comes to painkillers. Perhaps that's why I spent 1-1/2 hours high on Percocet and staring at a wall yesterday afternoon following surgery. Nah, there's a better explanation. I simply find it easier to inhibit receptors and halt prostaglandins when focused on blank walls.

I'm thinking of renaming this blog "The Finger Kid."

2005-10-08T07:57:00.000-05:00

Wouldn't it be fun for one and all if I returned to the blogosphere this morning with a happy update about my 10 fingers working together harmoniously to make the world a better place?

"Yes, that would be fun," you say? So sorry to disappoint.

I'm still one-handed, which makes typing a long post on all things skeletal since September 25th cumbersome. However, thanks to young Bill Gates' ingenuous creation of the copy and paste functions, I won't disappoint.

My right hand was momentarily liberated from its cast for 1-1/2 days last week. During those glorious hours of freedom, I emailed the following update to a few friends. So, without further delay...

Today's blog is brought to you by the letters CTRL+C and CTRL+V.

The ongoing drama in my life caused by my right hand ring finger took another interesting turn today.

I think you all know I had two screws inserted in my finger a week ago Monday. It was my first time in the OR - my first IV, my first general anesthetic, my first time in one of those hospital gowns I've heard so much about. The drugs were vicious and knocked me out for four days.

My post-op checkup with the orthopedic surgeon was this afternoon, and unfortunately, one of the screws didn't hold. I have to have another surgery Friday (10/7) morning to reset the finger (for a third time) and have a metal plate inserted to hold it in place.

This is really the big, all-consuming news in my life. I'm not sure what that says about me, but it's the truth nevertheless. Fingers seem so inconsequential, but you'd be amazed how much trouble they can cause.

That's my update. Drink your milk. Keep your bones strong. Stay out of the woods after dark.

And this little piggy went to the orthopedic surgeon.

2005-09-25T12:33:00.000-05:00

"Fingers enable us to touch, grasp, and interact with our environment. Therefore, they are easily injured."

I couldn't have said it better myself. Thanks, emedicinehealth.com.

It's been close to a month now since I broke my ring finger on my right hand. And that month has been one, long, educational roller coaster of a journey through our American healthcare system:

Saturday, August 27: I fall in the woods and break my finger.
Wednesday, August 31: Resigned to the fact that my finger isn't just badly spranged, I finally decide to do go to the Emergency Room at 9:00pm. By 12:30am, I've been X-Ray'ed three times and lectured by a Physician's Assistant for not getting medical attention sooner.
Thursday, September 1: My new best friend is an orthopedic surgeon. She re-breaks my finger and then wraps my hand in that God-awful cast pictured above. Three weeks of immobility commence. But the good doctor makes up for all that by writing me a prescription for Vicodin, a remarkably cheap yet potent pain killer.
Wednesday, September 21: The cast comes off and I'm X-Ray'ed again...and again...and again. It seems my skeletal system is feeling uncooperative. My bone is not growing back together properly. "Let's give it two days," the doctor says. "Come back and we'll reassess after you've exercised your tendons."
Friday, September 23: Yet another trip to the orthopedic surgeon. We determine the inevitable: I need three tiny stainless steel screws inserted into my bone.
Monday, September 26: I go under the knife, and get another prescription for Vicodin. Wish me luck.

It's just a finger. We have ten of them, after all. But it's amazing how different things can be when you're left with only nine.

Remember, fingers enable us to touch, grasp, and interact with our environment. And I'm currently touching, grasping, and interacting at only 90% of capacity.

I'm alive, and with nine working fingers...

2005-09-22T12:21:00.000-05:00

It's been brought to my attention that one should not blog about death and then disappear from the blogosphere for a month. My apologies if I've worried you, but I have good reason for my absence.

I awoke five Saturdays ago feeling unexpectedly productive. I picked up my room, did three loads of laundry, and gave my bathroom a long overdue cleaning. Then, I hiked 6.5-miles up a mountain, risked my life climbing back down that mountain after dark, broke a finger, and rescued two women lost in the New Hampshire woods.

A friend and I had decided it was high time we got out of Manchester. We settled on an afternoon hike up New Hampshire's Franconia Ridge in the White Mountains. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, but I think it's safe to say we should have begun our hike up Mount Lincoln before 3:45 pm.

It took us two hours to get to the summit, which was beautiful, but by that point we were in a hurry to start the retreat to the mountain's base. Halfway down the mountain, darkness fell. And I fell soon thereafter.

The picture accompanying this post shows our trail mid-afternoon. Crossing this brook five times on the winding trail in daylight is pleasant. After dark, it's a bit treacherous. Around 9:00pm, I slipped on a mossy rock in the middle of the brook and fell backwards, fracturing my ring finger on my right hand.

As we continued down the flashlight-lit trail, my friend and I came upon a young woman and her fatigued mother. We later learned the young woman thought a daylong mountain hike up one of New Hampshire's highest mountains would make a good birthday gift for her mother. "After all," the young woman said, "she likes to take walks around our neighborhood at home."

All together now: "Bad idea."

They were lost and by the time we found them, they'd given up any hope of making their way out of the woods before daybreak. We led them down the last mile or so of trail and got them to their car, which even now -- five weeks and three visits to the orthopedic surgeon later -- still sort of makes it seem like we were on that trail after dark for a reason. Sort of.

Death.

2005-08-25T11:25:00.000-05:00

I'm just going to throw it out there.

I started writing this post earlier today, but ended up on a tangent about abreaction. So, let's get right to it: I've been preoccupied with thoughts of mortality for a few days now. Weighty material for a blog, I know.

To be clear, I haven't necessarily been focused on my own mortality, but mortality in general. And it's all because of the series finale of Six Feet Under, which aired Sunday night. It was phenomenal. Judging by reaction on other blogs, I'm pretty sure it was impossible for anyone who's watched the series in its entirety to get through the show without sobbing.

Six Feet Under is a show about life in the face of death -- and about the Fisher family who, because of their work running a funeral home, is surrounded by death. A few weeks ago, all the mundane morbidity of the previous four seasons smacked the Fishers upside the head when one of their own died suddenly. The final few episodes of Six Feet Under focused on the messy emotional reckoning and grieving process that frankly felt all too authentic.

In many ways, I grew up surrounded by death. I didn't realize until much later in life that the number of funerals I had attended as a child -- the number of times death had hit so close to home -- was out of the ordinary. I don't think I fully comprehend it even today, but there's no doubt death and grieving have unalterably affected me.

Maybe that's why the final minutes of the series are still haunting me. The finale ended with one of the Fisher siblings preparing to drive across the country to start a life far from home and far from her family. When she has second thoughts about moving, her brother's ghost appears and tells her,

"I spent my whole life being scared. Scared of not being ready, not being right, not being who I should be. And where did it get me? You can't stay here."

That hit me hard.

As she tearfully drives away, a fast-forward summary of the future flashes on the screen: birthdays, marriages, and eventually all of the show's characters wither and die, one by one. It was the most final finale in television history. Except that it continues to replay in my head.

Abreaction: the expression of unconscious material by verbalization.

2005-08-25T09:39:00.000-05:00

I've come to an important conclusion about this blog: It exists foremost as a means for me to move beyond something that's monopolizing my thought process.

In other words, when I become preoccupied with one thing or another, I use this blog as a mechanism to process my thoughts as one can only do when forced to commit those thoughts to paper (or keyboard).

In college, my friends and I would talk about whatever was bouncing around in our heads for hours on end, sometimes through the night until the sun came up the next morning. We had the luxury of time -- the thing I probably miss most about college. Now, hard-pressed for time and thousands of miles from anyone who's willing to listen to my ramblings, I blog.

Sure, I'll post about an oddity involving animals (i.e., sheep jumping off a cliff for no particular reason) once in a while, or something quaint about South Dakota or New Hampshire. But, by and large, this blog is about abreaction. Hey, I didn't name it "The Head Kid" for nothing.

Fifteen bucks sounds like a good deal until you realize your life is on the line...

2005-08-18T16:45:00.000-05:00

I took the Chinatown Bus (officially known as Fung Wah) round-trip from Boston to New York back in May. Tickets are notoriously cheap -- $15 one-way -- so it's the best option for recent immigrants and cheap, young, white people like me.

The bus seemed relatively safe despite the sniffling man who coughed on me for much of the trip and successfully gave me a cold.

It seems catching a cold was the least of my worries. Look what happened yesterday:

Flames engulf Fung Wah bus in Connecticut

A Fung Wah passenger bus burst into flames on Interstate 91 in Connecticut yesterday, leaving more than 50 riders in a frantic rush to escape with little help from the driver, irate riders said.

There's more...

Passengers said the driver, who was not identified, pulled over about 45 seconds after noticing smoke and went outside to inspect the situation. He then came back onto the coach bus, which was carrying about 45 passengers and motioned for them to evacuate.

He "motioned" for the passangers to evacuate?

Is it just me, or would "HOLY &*%$. THIS %&#$@ THING IS ON *&#$@ FIRE! RUN, CHEAPSKATES!!" be appropriate in this type of situation?

The confused passengers fled the bus just before flames shot 50 feet in the air and engulfed it.
''A minute later, we could have all been dead," a passenger, Lisa Holliday, 25, said by by cellphone while standing on Interstate 91 in Meriden, Conn., near the bus's smoking remains.

To those with heart enough to try politics...

2005-08-15T14:36:00.000-05:00

A friend brought me a copy of this excerpt from a Boston Globe column by David Nyhan. I thought it was worth sharing/preserving via the blogosphere.

It was originally printed on September 13, 1998, days before that year's state Primary Election in Massachusetts...

The closing days of a campaign are the longest, the hardest, and sometimes the cruelest. A year's effort and angst are on the line Tuesday. Lives will be changed as a result of what voters decide. And the people who risked all, many of them, will be cast down, because there are always more losers than winners on Primary Night.

I can't think of a nobler thought to close out this primary season than with...Ralph Waldo Emerson's definition of what constitutes a successful life, as fine a politician's credo as exists:

"...to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a little better place than we found it, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life breathed easier because you have lived...This is to have succeeded."

By that measure, the laborers in the political vineyard, be they great or small, have succeeded, yet again, this dismal season, when talk of lust and vengeance soaks the words from Washington.

One fine thing about all political people, from the sign-holders and footsoldiers to the strategists and candidates, is that they risk their time and treasure to wage the battle none is ever sure of winning. To abjure politics and things political is to retreat from where decisions are made. You refuse to participate? Then you are no better than a leaf landing in a rain-swollen gutter, to be wafted along, spun round and round, and where you fetch up is anybody's guess.

But to risk, to dare, to work, to endure the taunts of a tabloid age, to try to make a difference with no guarantee of success, gives one a measure of direction, a vector of volition, and puts you in position to do a little battle with fate. And that's all you can ask, a chance to fight, to alter, a bit, for the better, the condition of your world. The political game is like the lottery: You can't win if you don't play.

Let's move the vote.

2005-08-09T22:19:00.000-05:00

Back in March, I posted about the Count Every Vote Act of 2005, legislation which most people probably find mundane. But in this case, I'm not most people.

I'm fascinated about all things related to elections and election law. Voters and non-voters alike take much of the process for granted. But it's time to sit down and take a serious look at anything and everything related to the American voting process... even Tuesdays.

Tell me, can you give a single reason why Tuesday is the best day to cast ballots? I can't think of one. And neither can the people who created www.whytuesday.org:

Voting on a Tuesday is as much a part of America as little league and the prairie plains. Yet holding national elections on Tuesdays is not required by the U.S. Constitution. Instead, this election day was established in 1845 by federal law. In those rural, agrarian years, Tuesday was a convenient day for most eligible voters -- rural workers and land-owning gentry -- to journey to the county seat and vote. Congress ruled out other days mostly by default.

Today we live in a different world. The average employed person works 163 more hours than he or she did 20 years ago, or the equivalent of an extra month per year. In addition to longer work days, America's working families also must provide for child care, their children's education and family health care needs. The benefits to rational Election Day alternatives outweigh a blind adherence to history. Maintaining this mid-19th Century relic in a modern economy makes as much sense as Macys's restricting business to daylight hours, as shopkeepers did before the arrival of electricity.

They're right. Let's move the vote.

I guess it's time to start writing my last will and testament...

2005-08-09T21:55:00.000-05:00

What is it about being 25 that hits me like a mack truck every once in a while? -- not often, but once in a while...definitely once in a while.

Take, for example, this, the 16th season of The Real World. I've used The Real World Austin as a summer diversion, catching up on recent episodes via Comcast On-Demand when I find the time.

The series is what it is -- namely entertaining and, like I said, a diversion -- but I have one very important question: When did these people get so young?

I remember watching The Real World: San Francisco back in 1994 as a 14-year-old. Back then, even Puck seemed older, wiser, and well, grown-up.

I simply don't relate to this season's cast. And now I know why. I am officially too old for The Real World .

It was a work-free weekend.

2005-07-31T18:43:00.000-05:00

This was a weekend about me. I stopped by the office tonight for about two hours, but otherwise had a work-free weekend. I saw Batman Begins (two thumbs up from The Head Kid), finished the second season of The Sopranos on DVD (I'm watching the series from the beginning to catch anything I didn't see the first time through), and finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

That's right. I'm a 25-year-old, and I spent the weekend reading what's supposed to be a children's book. First things first: I'm certainly not the only adult fan of the Potter series. Here's just one example: a friend of mine saw Iowa's Governor Tom Vilsack carrying the latest Potter tome onto a plane last week.

Secondly, I know where you're coming from. If you haven't read the books, you don't know what you're missing, and it's easy for you to make fun. Being late to the Harry Potter bandwagon myself, I was once like you. But then, shortly after publication of the third book, I found myself on a plane with nothing to read. The person sitting next to me had a copy of the first book in the series and offered it to me. "What the heck?" I thought. "Just to kill the time..."

Two weeks later, I was well on my way through the third book, anxiously awaiting publication of the fourth. And this has continued through the years. I was actually the very first person to buy a copy of the fifth book in Sioux Falls' Barnes & Noble. Granted, a friend was working the register, and she illegally sold me a copy one minute before midnight, but details, details.

And finally, this is history in the making. This series will undoubtedly be read for years to come, and I'm not ashamed to say I own a first edition copy of each volume.

Anyhow, the sixth book did not disappoint. I'm honestly sad that I've finished it. In an effort to combat my withdrawal this evening, I went searching for tidbits about the next movie, and the final book in the seven-volume series. I came across this article, which I think is worth sharing:

Party line: Harry Potter has wide support

A poll of U.S. adults who have read at least one Harry Potter book found that when it comes to the boy wizard, there are no red states and blue states.

Among Potter readers, about 65 percent of Democrats and 66 percent of Republicans in every region of the country said they planned to read the just-published "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." Released July 16, the book is the sixth in the series about the adventures of Harry and his friends at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. [...]

This may be true, but I'm reminded of a bumper sticker I saw and photographed in Seattle last summer (pictured below). If you haven't read any Harry Potter, you should know Voldemort is not a good man -- in fact, he's evil and hellbent on killing others to gain control of Harry Potter's world. Get it?

It's a black tie occasion.

2005-07-29T09:48:00.000-05:00

While writing my "Crime in the Wild West" post yesterday, I came across this photo of the Mayor of Belle Fourche, SD, population 4,335 (or 1,973 families, according the the City of Belle Fourche website):

To clarify, that's Mayor Todd Keller on the right, and City Councilman Chuck Livingston on the left. As if Keller's very mayoral t-shirt didn't let the cat out of the bag.

"My goal that night was to beat up the biggest tourist I could find."

2005-07-28T14:56:00.000-05:00

There's apparently a new phenomenon sweepin' down the Plains. This article in today's New York Times details how "cage fighting" is the hot new thing in Sioux Falls, SD. What's cage fighting, you ask? I had the very same question.

I lived in Sioux Falls off-and-on for most of the last seven years, and I was completely unaware people were locking themselves in cages and fighting the kind of fight where the only rules are "no eye-gouging, no fishhooks, no fingers in bodily orifices."

From the article:

This is not quite the Sioux Falls that Money Magazine declared the best place to live in the country in 1992, not the Sioux Falls that has attracted Citibank and Automatic Data Processing Inc., a quiet, safe city of 141,000, where an average of eight new residents arrive each day and a laser-light show plays every night.

In this Sioux Falls, people are 19 and 20 and 21 years old and looking for something to do, anything besides some youth program at one of the city's 65 parks or another laser-light show. The timeless ritual of cruising, in a square of downtown called "the loop," was banned two years ago, when police officers started writing tickets after three nightly sightings of the same car.

"There's really not much in Sioux Falls to do," said Anna Anderson, 21, a housekeeper wearing black clothes and matching nail polish at her first fight, on Saturday.

I don't disagree with you, Anna Anderson. Sometimes Sioux Falls is boring. But I'd rather stay home and stare at the wall than watch this:

The first fight lasts about as long as it takes to read about it: two men throw a few punches and fall twisting and writhing on the mat, until one traps the other in a painful hold, maybe punching the back of his opponent's skull with a free hand.

I get a headache just reading about it.

Related: Reason No. 24,601 We’re Happy Not to Live in the Midwest. Or Is It? [Gawker]

Crime in the Wild West.

2005-07-28T13:56:00.000-05:00

I photographed that road you see at the top of my blog one year and one week ago during the very beginning stages of a road trip across the Great American West. If memory serves me, the road is somewhere off US 85 in Harding County -- the very northwestern reaches of South Dakota.

Growing up on the completely opposite, most populated, most urban (relatively speaking), southeastern corner of the state, I had never stepped foot in Harding County until last year. That's actually my reason for going when I did. I was on a quest to hit all 66 South Dakota counties last year, a feat I successfully accomplished.

Now, for a lesson on South Dakota geography: Western South Dakota, or West River as we call it back home, is very different than East River (i.e., the half of the state east of the Missouri River). For example, West River is sparsely populated save for overwhelmingly Republican ranchers and their nemeses (prairie dogs). Relatively speaking, East River is a concrete jungle teeming with people. We share the same state capital, but little else in common. Actually, that's the very reason I've always enjoyed vacations to, or road trips through, the Western part of the state. It's nothing like home.

I also enjoy reading about West River via online newspapers, especially the Hot Springs Star. Hot Springs, SD, a town of 4,000 near the Nebraska-Wyoming-South Dakota border, is your typical West River town. And I get a sense from reading the Hot Springs Star that Roger D. Exum, Chief of the Hot Springs Police Department, is your typical West River law-and-order kind of guy.

Take a look at this excerpt from Exum's police report coving the first 15 days of July:

"Hot Springs is a quiet community with very little violent crime. Overall we had an average month, concerning the number and type of calls that an officer responded to," Chief Exum further commented. "Vandalism, a coward's crime, was down, and we are thankful for that. We investigated six vehicle accidents, which is about average. Driving while intoxicated and domestic violence calls and arrest were down slightly."

"Vandalism, a coward's crime..." I love that.

"The art of a blogging," or "I'm a failed blogger asking for forgiveness."

2005-07-27T18:29:00.000-05:00

Two weeks have passed and the Turkish sheep story is still at the top of my blog. I guess it's probably time to post something new.

There's no way to skirt the truth. I'm letting you, those who take the time to visit my blog, my readers -- yes, I'm being enormously optimistic referring to my readership in the plural form -- down. I'm a bad blogger.

You see, I spend the vast -- and I mean vast -- majority of my time at work, which leaves little time to blog. That's the thing about blogging. It's a lot more than putting your thoughts to paper, or, uh, keyboard. It's a commitment and, well, commitments aren't really my thing.

It's not that my life isn't bloggable. I mean, have you seen some of the things people blog about? I give you stories about sheep, and buffalo, and the Pope, not boring news reports on what happened to so and so at a certain time and what so and so thinks or feels about someone they met in study hall.

I'm not sure this is something to boast about, but I often find myself thinking, "Now, this is good blogging material," but I'm having trouble finding a free moment to send my thoughts into cyberspace. For example, I ran into Adam Sandler's mother on the street last week. She apparently gets her hair cut at the salon below my office. That's certainly bloggable.

What's worse is that I can't recall what I want to blog about from one day to the next. You'd think I could store up my bloggable adventures for a rainy day, but no. The abstractness and spontaneity of blogging make it imperative that one is a regular and prompt blogger, which, over time, I have come to realize I am not. There, I said it.

Those who jumped later were saved as the pile got higher and the fall more cushioned...

2005-07-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

It's a day of hard-hitting news at the office. A co-worker just passed along this Associated Press piece about Turkish sheep:

First one sheep jumped to its death. Then stunned Turkish shepherds, who had left the herd to graze while they had breakfast, watched as nearly 1,500 others followed, each leaping off the same cliff, Turkish media reported.

In the end, 450 dead animals lay on top of one another in a billowy white pile, the Aksam newspaper said. Those who jumped later were saved as the pile got higher and the fall more cushioned, Aksam reported.

"There's nothing we can do. They're all wasted," Nevzat Bayhan, a member of one of 26 families whose sheep were grazing together in the herd, was quoted as saying by Aksam.

The estimated loss to families in the town of Gevas, located in Van province in eastern Turkey, tops $100,000, a significant amount of money in a country where average GDP per head is around $2,700.

Every family had an average of 20 sheep," Aksam quoted another villager, Abdullah Hazar as saying. "But now only a few families have sheep left. It's going to be hard for us."

Cat Scratch Fever, and other odd things.

2005-07-11T11:32:00.000-05:00

Today's Corpus Christi Caller Times quotes musician Ted Nugent saying, "I'm getting real close to deciding to run for governor of Michigan and that will be determined here within the next few weeks."

So, Ted Nugent, a musician best know for his song, "Cat Scratch Fever," might run for governor. Hmmm... I wonder what his platform would be.

Never mind. Thanks to some top-notch reporting in today's Miami Herald, I now know what Governor Nugent would mean for the citizens of Michigan:

"To show you how radical I am," Nugent said, "I want carjackers dead. I want rapists dead. I want burglars dead. I want child molesters dead. I want the bad guys dead. No court case. No parole. No early release. I want 'em dead. Get a gun and when they attack you, shoot 'em."

"Ooooh. Look at you. It's the future!"

2005-07-09T16:40:00.000-05:00

Did you know Manchester is home to the company that invented and manufactures the Segway Human Transporter?

You might remember the big hoopla surrounding the Segway before it was unveiled 3-1/2 years ago. The invention was rumored to be a revolutionary innovation comparable to the car, plane, TV, telephone, or computer. Speaking of computers, I believe it was Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple Computer, Inc., who even suggested cities of the future would be built around the Segway.

To cope with expected demand, the Segway factory just outside Manchester's city limits was designed to build up to 40,000 units per month. The company expected to sell 50,000-100,000 units in the first year alone, but after 21 months only 6,000 units were sold.

And, interestingly enough, I think all 6,000 of those Segways (and their owners) are in Manchester this weekend for SegwayFest 2005. They're speeding back and forth all over town. Some of them are even taking part in Segway polo matches in the park down the street from my office.

To each his own, I guess. But I can't help but think of something that happened a couple years ago as I stood outside a Washington, DC bar talking on my cell phone. Someone sped by on their Segway and a man -- maybe he was drunk, maybe he wasn't -- chased after the Segway rider yelling, "Ooooh. Look at you. It's the future!"

Wise words from the woman who makes my sandwiches.

2005-07-09T12:32:00.000-05:00

Something strangely reassuring happened to me while standing on line waiting for a sandwich at the deli yesterday afternoon. I yawned and the woman behind the counter said, "At least it's Friday."

I responded, "No kidding. And it was even a short work week."

And then, as if she could read my mind, she said, "But it's been intense."

It certainly has, and that's why posting on this blog has been so sparse. I have lots to share from my Fourth of July weekend and the days since, but I simply haven't had time to share it. I hope to rectify that tonight.

"I wish I could hug you."

2005-07-01T11:21:00.000-05:00

I don't have much to say that hasn't already been said about today's breaking news, but I feel compelled to say something anyway. I'm actually feeling a bit like I did back when we found out about the new pope.

Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, the proverbial glue holding the two ideological sects of the Supreme Court together, is retiring. If you don't follow the Court or politics in general, you should know Justice O'Connor's decision to step down has HUGE implications. I'm obviously not a SCTOTUS scholar, but I can tell you O'Connor is well-known for her "thread the needle" decisions on a number of hot button issues. She frustrated the right and the left by searching out the narrow, but oftentimes common, ground in the middle.

What now? Well, the President has the power to appoint someone who will follow O'Connor's example, but I'm guessing he'll cater to his rightwing base and appoint a staunch conservative. We're essentially a 50-50 nation, but to the victor -- however narrow the victory -- goes the spoils. Look for the Court to take a rightward turn very soon. And when the Court (with its lifetime appointments) shifts direction, it sticks with that course for a long, long time.

One more thing before I go. The quote I'm using as the title of this post comes from none other than President Bush. He phoned Justice O'Connor this morning at 10:18 and at one point in the conversation said, "You're a great American. I wish I could hug you." Succinct as always, Mr. President.

Elvis, Oprah to replace Jefferson, T. Roosevelt on Mt. Rushmore.

2005-06-28T10:19:00.000-05:00

This just in...

More than three million votes were recently cast via aol.com, text messages and toll-free phone calls as part of Discovery Channel's campaign to identify the "Greatest American."

Call me crazy and out of touch, but I had no idea so many people feel Elvis and Oprah Winfrey have "most influenced the way Americans think, work and live."

Top 10 Greatest Americans
1. Ronald Reagan
2. Abe Lincoln
3. Martin Luther King Jr.
4. George Washington
5. Ben Franklin
6. George W. Bush
7. Bill Clinton
8. Elvis
9. Oprah Winfrey
10. FDR

PS - I'd like to apologize to Harry Truman (#90) on behalf of all those who voted in this contest.

The Wonder of it All.

2005-06-26T22:35:00.000-05:00

No, that's not the Emerald City of Oz in the photo accompanying this blog post. It's actually the Foxwoods Resort Casino -- the largest resort casino in the world, with 340,000 square feet of gaming space in a complex that covers 4.7 million square feet.

I'm told you're not an authentic Manchesterite unless you've made the 2-1/2 hour trip to Foxwoods in Connecticut. Luckily, I was invited to join a group of locals on a birthday trip to the casino today. Mark June 26, 2005 as the day I became an authentic Manchesterite.

I've been inside casinos in Baton Rouge, Reno, and even Flandreau, South Dakota, but this was my first time actually bellying up to the table and placing a bet. I won't get into too much detail, but I will say that at one point I was $200 in the hole, and I walked out the door at the end of the day with a net gain of $20.

Foxwoods is owned and operated by the Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation, which is very small, very rich, and relatively new -- at least according to the federal government, which officially recognized the tribe in 1983. The Mashantucket Pequots are also unlike anything I've encountered in South Dakota.

The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in southwestern South Dakota occupies the two poorest counties in the United States. Pine Ridge was the site of political strife and numerous murders during the 1970s. Today, its leaders are attempting to combat poverty and alcoholism. Long story short, it's quite the opposite of Foxwoods where people are told they'll "experience the utmost in comfort, pleasure and excitement...and The Wonder of it All."

I've had the privilige of working a great deal with Native Americans on Pine Ridge and across South Dakota during my short professional life. There's a strong desire -- both inside and outside the Native community -- to finally get down to work, improve the quality of life on our reservations, and make amends for past injustices.

Well, I've sufficiently expunged any and all funniness from this blog post. I guess I just meant to say that while the trip to Foxwoods was supposed to be nothing more than a day's worth of diversion, it was also a helpful reminder of work left unfinished.

Keeping things on the up and up.

2005-06-26T21:29:00.000-05:00

"No record, but it was . . . HOT!"

That's the headline from today's Union Leader article about the weather this weekend. And yes, it has been on the warm side.

New Hampshire didn't reach record heat yesterday, but you wouldn't know it by how it felt around the state or by seeing the crowds at Hampton Beach. [...]

Ambulance crews had to treat at least a half-dozen people who had passed out on the beach. [...]

"It's been a couple years since we've been this hot," Lester said. The thermometer touched 95 in Manchester. Heat and humidity combined to push the heat index into the high-90s. [...]

"This is not extreme heat, but we're not used to it," Lester said. [...]

If you've lived outside New England, you're probably thinking, "Huh. Only the high-90s? The great people of New Hampshire don't know the meaning of 'hot.'"

But if this is hot to New Hampshirites, so be it. People were passing out on the beach after all.

Ah, the beach. Why go to the beach when you could spend the better part of the day in an unconditioned warehouse-type building on the marina in Portsmouth, New Hampshire? Truth be told, I didn't have much choice. Said warehouse happened to be the location for a work-related event yesterday afternoon and evening. By the grace of God and all things Mexican, an ice-filled tub of Corona was available to help take my mind off the heat.

Later, seeking the air-conditioned comfort we've grown so accustomed to in the 21st Century, two friends and I fled to the Portsmouth Brewery's basement lounge. Once there, we were promptly accosted by a very drunk man at the bar. He claimed to know each of us, which is impossible considering none of us is from New Hampshire. He then proceeded to ask one of my friends, "So, when you hang with those two," referencing my second friend and me, "I'm guessing you do blow."

For the record, we don't. Other than the occasional speeding ticket, The Head Kid has always tried to keep things on the up and up.

If you play with cripples you start to limp.

2005-06-24T11:38:00.000-05:00

I found this snippet from last night's "The Daily Show" interesting, especially in light of my previous post about party identification.

First, a little background... A porn star, Mary Carey, was invited to fork over $2,500 for a plate of food at President Bush's Salute to Freedom fundraising dinner on June 15. How this fits with Bush's "family values" platform is beyond me. But, no need to be alarmed. Mary Carey says she's a Christian. Mary also said she would like to party with the Bush daughters. "They seem like they would be 'fun.'"

Stephen Colbert: What appeals to you about the Republican party?

Porn star Mary Carey: I just think Republicans are very, very wealthy people. And, um, if I want to be wealthy and powerful I should hang out with them. If you play with cripples you start to limp. So I don't want to play with cripples anymore. I want to be up with the NBA players, y'know, which is Republicans.

Colbert: Okay. In your analogy Democrats are handicapped and Republicans are tall athletic black men.

Carey: Exactly. That's exactly what it is.

Watch "The Daily Show" clip here.

Ask a question, get an answer.

2005-06-23T21:27:00.000-05:00

I'll occasionally be walking in downtown Manchester and see not one, not two, not three, but four or more homeless people milling about within a four-block span. Now, according to the 2000 census, Manchester is a town of just over 107,000 people. Suffice it to say, I think the homeless population is disproportionately high for a town this size. I'm not a statistician, but one homeless per block seems a bit high.

Manchesterites are generally proud of their city, especially the revitalized downtown, which often comes up in conversation. So, when a local recently mentioned the great things happening downtown, I took a risk and said, "True, but what about all the homeless people? If things are going so well, it seems to me there would be fewer people forced to live on the street."

"Oh, they're not from Manchester," the local replied. "Just ask the next homeless person you come across where they're from. You'll find out they're from Concord, or Nashua, or Portsmouth, and so on."

Turns out the standard policy for local governments in New Hampshire is to round up the homeless, give them a one-way bus ticket to Manchester and send them on their way. But it doesn't end there. Guess what the Manchester city government does in response.

That's right. They put them right back on the bus with a one-way ticket to their original location.

Now, if you're like me, you're probably thinking the money used for bus fare would be better spent on affordable housing or work training programs. But I guess a bus ride across the state is better than nothing at all.

It's not your place to tell me how much money I need.

2005-06-21T18:26:00.000-05:00

David Sedaris, a funny, funny man and one of my favorite authors, sat down for a recent interview, which I stumbled upon tonight. He's not much for interviews so it's a rare find.

Sedaris spends most of his time traveling the country reading from his latest book, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, at bookstores and coffee shops. If you haven't read any of his work, you should definitely check him out. Here's an excerpt from his interview that made me laugh outloud:

So you literally have a tip bucket at your readings?
DS: Yeah, people will ask, "Is that your tip bucket," and I'll say, "Yeah."

Then they say, "Anyway, if you could make this out to Sheila." Like, would you go to Starbucks and say, "Is this your tip bucket? OK, anyway...."

Someone a couple of days ago told me that I make enough money from royalties, and I told her, "It's not your place to tell me how much money I need. I will tell you when I have enough money."

All politics is genetic.

2005-06-21T12:18:00.000-05:00

I often wonder why I'm a Democrat. Well, not so much why, but how and when I became a Democrat. I think I registered to vote in my high school civics class, but I honestly can't remember. I do know that I checked the party affiliation box and signed my name on the registration form without giving it much thought. No thought was needed. I inherently knew I was a Democrat. Or maybe I inherently knew I wasn't a Republican.

Since getting involved in politics, I've given some consideration to how the environment I grew up in might have influenced my political leanings. My family isn't political. If anything, I've brought them along for the ride. But there were small things that probably nudged me left of center. For example, I remember my grandpa -- who was less than thrilled with Republican farm policy in the mid-1980s -- having an anti-Reagan bumper sticker on his pickup truck. I know I didn't understand what any of it meant at the time, but if you messed with my grandpa, you messed with me.

As the New York Times put it today, "Political scientists have long held that people's upbringing and experience determine their political views. A child raised on peace protests and Bush-loathing generally tracks left as an adult, unless derailed by some powerful life experience. One reared on tax protests and a hatred of Kennedys usually lists to the right."

But the article goes on to note that our gut-level reaction to social issues "like the death penalty, taxes and abortion is strongly influenced by genetic inheritance."

It is not that opinions on specific issues are written into a person's DNA. Rather, genes prime people to respond cautiously or openly to the mores of a social group.

In other words, we get our politics from our family tree. And with each new branch, the political ideology gets purer. According to the article -- and common sense and personal experience back this up -- politically like-minded men and women marry each other. Shocker, I know.

Moveable Feast.

2005-06-20T02:35:00.000-05:00

My co-worker was flipping through the channels at the office this weekend and stopped on C-SPAN's coverage of various graduation speeches from around the country. At that particular moment, MSNBC's Chris Matthews was speaking to the graduates of Quinnipiac University.

I couldn't help but notice that Matthews agrees with my "throw-away decade" concept:

"If you have hard plans for further education, get it. Get whatever education you need -- but also that thing called 'experience,'" Matthews said.

"Sometime in your twenties I urge you to bolt out, get out there and grab the one chance you'll ever get to see not just the place or the country of your birth, but the world you were born in and the memories that come with it, your 'moveable feast.' You were born in the freest of countries. You will never be so free. The choice is yours."

For the record, he's referencing Ernest Hemmingway's description of Paris:

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." -- Ernest Hemmingway

New Englanders loves them some Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

2005-06-19T18:25:00.000-05:00

I'm weak. The radio and television airwaves in New England are thoroughly saturated with ads for Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee, which, by the way, is now available in blueberry and coconut flavors. I disregarded the ads for three months, but I'm afraid I succumbed to the pressure and bought an iced coffee this afternoon. It was okay, but the half-inch layer of sugar at the bottom of the empty plastic cup has me questioning whether Johnny Damon actually drinks the stuff.

This all leads me to the topic of this blog post: New Englanders loves them some Dunkin' Donuts coffee. And I don't understand it. There isn't a single Starbucks in all of Manchester -- well, outside of the Barnes & Noble, that is -- but there are three Dunkin' Donuts on the street where I work.

I'm told the locals don't particularly care for the donuts at Dunkin' Donuts. That's why the Dunkin' higher-ups weren't concerned in the least when Krispy Kreme attempted to enter the New England market a few years back. Dunkin' Donuts knew they had nothing to worry about, because it's the coffee that gets people in the doors.

I got a glimpse of this, what I'd term irrational, adoration a few years ago while working in South Dakota with Massachusetts natives. Unhappy with their options in Dunkin'-less South Dakota, they pined for Dunkin' coffee. One co-worker even had her mom mail a pound of Dunkin' Donuts coffee grounds. I wasn't impressed, and I continue to be unimpressed.

In fact, I much prefer the Mountain Roast blend at 7-Eleven. After all, it's 7-Eleven coffee that saw me through most mornings in Florida last year. A rough night in South Beach? Another hurricane's on its way? We just lost the election and I'm out of job? Oh well. As long as the boarded-up 7-Eleven on Palomino Lane still brews me a cup of Mountain Roast, all will be fine.

Perhaps that's why I've chosen to spurn Dunkin' Donuts and resume my morning stops at 7-Eleven now that I'm in New Hampshire. To each his own, I guess.

We're all God's creatures.

2005-06-19T17:29:00.000-05:00

As a general rule, I'm not a fan of seafood. I think the aversion is merely a byproduct of growing up in the Midwest where fresh seafood was never available. Lutefisk.* Need I say more?

But now that I'm a bit more traveled, I'm beginning to acquire a taste for sea creatures. For example, a couple years ago, I had crab cakes for the first time in Annapolis, MD, and thought they were very tasty.

However, this article in the Washington Post has me rethinking my decision to eat anything that makes its home in the water:

Watermen say that female blue crabs "paint their fingernails," meaning the tips of their claws turn bright red as they age. The male crabs, on the other hand, have sky-blue claws -- a sign as masculine as a mustache in the world of crustaceans.

So when Robbie Watson dumped out a crab trap and found a specimen with one red claw and one blue one, the discovery stopped him. [...]

Before turning over the crab to the scientists, Johnson and other watermen conducted their own experiment into its sex life, with bewildering results. They dropped a female crab, which was just about ready to mate, into its tank.

First, the half-and-half crab cradled the female under his legs, as a male crab would do in preparation for mating.

Then, the crab seemed to lose interest in the female and let her go, Johnson said.

Then a day later . . .

"He ate half of her," Johnson said.

And that's that. By the way, this half-and-half crab was found in the Chesapeake Bay, just off the shores of Annapolis. Yuck.

*A traditional Scandinavian dish prepared by soaking air-dried cod in a lye solution for several weeks before skinning, boning, and boiling it, a process that gives the dish its characteristic gelatinous consistency.

Crazy + $$$ + Land no one wants in the Everglades = Ave Maria.

2005-06-17T17:51:00.000-05:00

Domino's Pizza founder Tom Monaghan is crazy. And he's a billionaire. These two attributes in combination almost always lead to something bad, like a rightwing Catholic utopia in Florida. You see, Monaghan is spending his pizza money building a town from scratch in Southwest Florida. Keep in mind that I was trying to get people in this part of Florida to vote for John Kerry last year:

Ave Maria won't be just a university, [Monaghan said]. It will also be a new town, built from scratch, in which the wickedness of the world will be kept at bay.

"We've already had about 3,500 people inquire on our website about buying a home there -- you know, they're all Catholic," Monaghan says excitedly.

"We're going to control all the commercial real estate, so there's not going to be any pornography sold in this town. We're controlling the cable system. The pharmacies are not going to be able to sell condoms or dispense contraceptives."

I'm off to Boston for the evening, which -- and I think this is a fair statement -- is pretty much the opposite of Ave Maria. Or maybe New Orleans is the opposite. Oh well. I've been there too, and good times were had by all.