Swappers Day, the Collection and The Motion

Swappers Day, Johnstown Ohio. Another time and place. A short drive on Highway 62 takes you from Columbus to Johnstown. It is probably only about thirty minutes, but time is just a series of numbers that move through space and I am uncomfortable with numbers, and not a little unsteady with space. Let’s just say we could listen to my Obsession Playlist twice so my wife could decide which to choose (Don’t forget to exercise your right to vote)^1.  We still had time to talk about the knights suit of armor on the back porch of the small house right on the side of the highway, and the other things that make traveling so much fun.

We have been going to Swappers Day for about five years. My wife started her new job, and one of her coworkers, one of her friends, who has become one of my friends, told her about it. We are always game for crowds, sales and festival food. We really had no idea what we were about to see. Even now, all these years later it is still new, and always interesting.

One of our favorites is the negotiations. Intense, occasionally difficult to understand.

“Look, I’ll take sixty dollars, but that is the best I can do, it is still a hell of a deal and you’ll still make money off it.” Which seemed, to me, an odd sales pitch for a compound bow. But, the quiet, bearded Amish man, dressed in his simple clothes was comfortable with the price and the implication and bought the bow.

Or the angry exchange between vendor and woman customer.

“It’s marked as ten dollars, I’ll give you five.” The woman offered.

“I’ll take seven.” The vendor countered

“Are you f*&#ing crazy?” An agressive counter offer from the woman.

You have to enjoy the people. It is always the people, more than the booths, the food, the wild variety of products displayed, bickered over, bartered for and occasionally sworn about. It is always the people.

There is an old couple with a really nice camper, an expensive, newer model that looks comfortable, and huge. They always have a “booth” right by the road. Several tables under an awning with a few trinkets scattered tastefully and sparsely, it looks more like a museum display than a sales booth. the sit in comfortable looking folding chairs and watch the crowd mill past. I can’t help but think they are there on a little vacation, to see some old friends, to make some new friends, money isn’t everything, right? For some reason the thought makes me happy.

Some places have no camper, no tents, just tables piled high with tools, like they were dumped there from a tractor’s bucket. Old tools, newer tools, wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, chisels, tools for every job. All you had to do was pull out the one you wanted, and hope the rest didn’t fall on the ground in avalanche of clanging, clattering metal. You break it you bought it. I’m not very good with tools, so I just look, from a distance.

There are some people who are there on business. Pulling carts recklessly, homicidally through the crowded paths, looking for a bargain, they are the most aggressive negotiators, pity the poor vendor who has the item they want for their shop, sale, booth or swap meet table. They are as hostile stationary as they are moving.

One guy was pulling a cart full of guns, he stopped at a booth with a lot of guns laid out on a table, and asked “Are you interested in buying any guns?” He asked, politely, and they talked quietly about the guns. Before he moved on he bought at least one more gun from the table to add to his traveling sales cart. You have to love the people. 

It was a good day, and we are already looking forward to next year.

1.  At last check it was a three way tie between An Emotional Fish, Dr. John and Scandal. Which leads me to believe nobody watched the Midnight Oil video, Peter Garrett was a wild man.

Yellow Springs and the Power of the People.

This weekend my wife and I are loading up and going to Street Fair in Yellow Springs, OH. Yellow Springs is a fantastic little town. There is a liberal arts college there which pours a little extra soul into the streets, shops, bookstores. Street Fair is the festival that focuses all of the energy into a point. Admittedly it is a point that is about 4 blocks long and two blocks wide, but, it needs to be that big just to hold the power.

And it is power. It is the power of a lone sax player standing on the corner, right in front of the burger and beer place, just ripping through jazz riffs until the sensual drift of the rhythm pulls you along. It is the magic of the lone musician with a guitar made from a cigar box and amplified through a tiny speaker just plucking a blues melody in front of the Speedway station, because they let him use their electricity. Blues music can really soothe the soul, a simple progression in the hands of a master can move you to a place of such intense feeling. Even when it is played, or maybe especially when it is played, on a small wooden box guitar built by hand. It is magic.

So much magic. It is the magic of the local historical society trying to preserve the beauty of those simple streets, despite government cutbacks and apathy,  by selling homemade cookies, brownies and pies. There is a magic buying street tacos from the elementary school booth, trying to pay for a new swing set, staffed by volunteers flipping carnitas filled with pork, chicken and steak. A special magic when a child's smiling face, missing a tooth in front asks you in all seriousness "do you want it really hot?" "I want it to make me cry." and they laugh and douse it with mild sauce, smiling the whole time. You have to throw a few dollars in the tip jar for that kind of service. Tacos made with love.

You have to love the festivals in small towns, the community, even when you are not part of the
community. There is a flow, even when all movement stalls, and it does, often. The small streets are crowded with booths, back to back down the middle and on both sidewalks, which makes traffic rely on cooperation. Sometimes, though, something calls to you, some bauble, some piece of art, some exquisitely tie dyed shirt, and you have to stop and admire the love and talent that went into it's creation.

And really, that is what it is all about, creation, a community has to be a creation of all the inhabitants. It doesn't matter if it is a small town, a Facebook group, a circle of friends, it needs the life of the members. I have always been kind of an outsider, and at least when I got older I learned to pretend it was my choice. Which makes things like Yellow Springs Street Fair so wonderful me. I can go and be part of a bigger community without ever risking trying to be a part of anything. Or maybe I just like the tacos.

The Eye of the Storm.

Saturday my wife and I had the honor of volunteering at the Street Speech / Columbus Coalition for the Homeless water sales booth, at ComFest, a music festival held every year in Columbus, OH. For two dollars you could get an frosty, cold bottle of water and help those less fortunate. It was in a prime location, right at the corner of the two major streets that define the most prominent boundaries of the park. ComFest, short for community festival, is built around the idea of inclusion and unity, the driving force behind Columbus Coalition for the Homeless, and Street Speech. Not long ago I was fortunate enough to meet the editor of Street Speech, (and she is kind enough to have published a few articles of mine) which put me in prime position for the gig of volunteer.

It was a beautiful day, sunny, warm but not hot, and the crowd was vibrant. We arrived early and

walked around a little before our shift began. ComFest is the very definition of diversity. Goodale Park is crowded with vendors, stages, people, topless people, tattooed people, mothers and fathers pushing strollers, children, grandchildren, adorable young people on dates, old people in wheel chairs married couples walking happily through the narrow paths lined on both sides with tents. Tents filled with arts, crafts, henna tattoos, t-shirts, political activism. There is enough tie die and woven clothing to have outfitted the Monterey Pop Festival.

And the music echoes from one stage to the next. Reggae, hip hop, occasionally some country and
western, some classic rock, though to a man my age classic rock has a different definition, all manner of music. People who are willing to get on stage and leave themselves open to praise and criticism. It takes a special bravery, a certain amount of self belief to put yourself out there, and I salute every single one of them.

Food lines the streets. Barbecue in all its glory, calling your name, beckoning with the sweet smoky smell of wood chips and dripping with heavy sauce. Buns piled high, and looking absolutely wonderful. Steaming hot cauldrons of spicy hot curry, pita bread stuffed with meat popping and sizzling over an open flame, buried under onion, lettuce, and creamy white sauce.   Pizza, fish sandwiches, lemonade, people will wait in long lines or the lemonade. And beer trucks with masses of humanity crushed in front, a mob of beer customers, thick, thirsty and surprisingly patient. It has to be the national debt in beer sales. Beer, the cornerstone of Americana. The lines were so long I wouldn’t wait, and I like beer. And after my time at the water booth I could have used a beer.

The water booth was like a scene from The Walking Dead. Moments of silent introspection and careful planning, followed by wave after swarm after full frontal assault of people. It could have been the desert and the water would not have sold any better. Some people buying 3 or 4 bottles at a time. A brief lull in the demand, grab a case and try to ice it down, but the motion and the noise and the sight of bottled water was more than the swarm could resist. They would line up, “water please.”

The water came in cases of 36 and we went through at least 4, and possibly 5. It was exhausting, it was terrifying, and it was exhilarating. We worked as a team, fighting the good fight, against the encroaching madness. Supply and demand meet heat and hydration. A tempest in front of the Jazz stage. The sound and the fury, and we were the calm in the center of the storm. Dispensing smiles, cold water and sage wisdom to the yearning masses.

“Where is the Gazebo Stage?” Over that way, I think. You have to remember I have only been to ComFest a couple of times, have a lousy sense of direction, and don’t handle pressure well, and demanding mobs of thirsty festival attendees, and a polite request for a location qualifies as pressure.

It was an experience and we are both grateful for the opportunity. There are a lot of good charities, you should pick one and give as much as you can. You could help make the world a better place.

The Fight Continues

"Our isolation continues to be total; various illnesses have undermined the health of some comrades... our peasant base is still undeveloped, although apparently a program of planned terror will succeed in neutralizing most of them and their support will come later. We have not had a single recruit (from the peasantry)... To sum up a month in which all has evolved normally considering the standard development of a guerilla war."

"Che" Guevara, Bolivia April 1967

Join us, you can do it from home.








Apparently this insurgency warfare is a lot more time consuming and arduous than we thought, at first.  And kind of lonely. And the first holiday party is Monday. So we may have to just go to attend.

It might be the perfect chance to gather intelligence, though. If you ply people with enough pizza and "fun size" candy bars it is only a matter of time before they start spilling the beans about the plans for the Thanksgiving party, and the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa party. Oh the power of melted cheese, chocolate, caramel and creamy nougat. It is irresistible,

Then we can spend the next few weeks undermining the party plans of the imperialist lackeys, and their overly social bourgeois masters.

Nothing says happy Thanksgiving like an exploding turkey (particularly if it is too dry), and lumpy potatoes and gravy. Also, we plan to substitute fat free whipped topping for the pumpkin pie. Then people will think twice about having another party.

If that does not deter them we plan on taking all of the presents for the big party, the gift giving extravaganza and substituting "Dummy" books. "Dieting for Dummies" "Hair Styling for the Complete Idiot." "Makeup Application for the Stupid, and Trashy." Hey, that party might be kind of fun, then.

We are still working on the New Years bash, and will update you soon. Stay focused, comrades, our struggle is real and the road to victory long. #VivaLaDonuts.

Labor Day, Swappers Meet, And Life.

Yesterday was the first day of the long weekend. Having Monday off makes a weekend even more mystical. So, we celebrated by going to the Johnstown Swappers Day, which is actually three days long, but one day is enough, for us, anyway.

Swappers Day is a celebration. It was born around dogs racing across a manmade pond. It became more popular, and soon grew into an immense flea market. An immense flea market that covers acres. An immense flea market that brings thousands of people to the small Central Ohio community.

Food vendors are always a big draw, and Swappers Day is well supplied. Corn dogs, french fries, elephant ears, funnel cakes, fried stuff on a stick, even things that are not normally considered vendor food, chicken and noodles, cornbread and beans. Rows and rows of food, even a booth with Amish people selling homemade pies and cookies. Ridiculously good cookies, too.

What I really like about the event though is the opportunity to walk through miles of vendors, selling little pieces of the past. Small, trivial bits of American history. It might be a Jetson lunchbox, or a Nintendo game. There are things from modern history, many may say junk, but these are the artifacts of our time. 

In many ways it is a museum. For five dollars you an walk down the grass and dirt aisles and view the artifacts arranged randomly on folding tables or stacked on shelves. A blogger whose work I admire greatly once raised the question of what people from the past would think if transported to the present. A wonderful exercise, but these events make me wonder what future archaeologists and anthropologists will think when they unearth the minutia of the present.

It is as diverse as it is large.  Order and chaos in adjacent booths. One set of tables arranged neatly, product lined up straight, grouped logically, prices easy to see and understand. Two steps away is a jumble of used things, dropped from a box, and scattered by hand into one single, homogeneous layer of yesterdays dreams, and today's memories.

Guns, everywhere, guns, people walking around with rifles, pistols, shotguns, all displayed proudly. All for sale or trade. Guns laid out on tables, standing on racks, nestled comfortably in foam lined cases. You could not swing a dead cat without hitting somebody with a gun. Being from a small suburb of a large city it always surprises me when I am around that many guns. And knives, there were knives for sale everywhere. From the decorative knives that sell for a few dollars with aluminum like blades (whose only real function is to provide a few dollars to the seller) to the utilitarian, specialty knives made for cleaning game. Almost every bladed weapon imaginable, bayonets, machetes, swords, all for sale, all being carried around proudly. As a pacifist who worries about the condition of the world, all of these implements of destruction are a little unnerving. What is the fascination?

It was a very good day. We started with a good breakfast and before we left the event we had over

11,000 steps. Plus, there is something comforting about moving through a mass of knotted humanity. A herd like solidarity being around that many people. Moving along the path of least resistance, and stopping to admire the relics of days recently passed.  It is almost hypnotic listening to the bargaining over price, and intent. “Make me an offer,” was a common phrase. And offers were made, rejected and countered. Here is the best part, I am going to make a video, sort of a practice video for my big trip to Tennessee. If it is worth sharing (and it will be, it might not be worth watching, though) I will. Until then, have a great day, find a festival around you and dive right in, you will be happy you did.

A little something about me.

Recently a very wise young man wrote a post about his life. Focusing on things that made him unique, the things that set him apart and the things that let him fit in, too. It was a great post, and as with so much of his work, I enjoyed it immensely.  Plus it was such a great idea I decided to steal it. Hey, steady now, it happens all of the time.

"Les Miserables" was actually from a blog post I wrote in 1847 about a waitress working at a coffee shop in Paris Texas who got a parking ticket for leaving her VW Beetle in the middle of the intersection right when the cattle drive was coming through town. The ensuing hilarity of the police chasing a wise cracking waitress divorcee through a small Texas town inspired what many consider to be one of the greatest novels of all time. Plus, it inspired Burt Reynolds to make "Smokey and the Bandit."

No, that never really happened. I just made that up.

But, last weekend I went to pickup some arugula, endives, and scallops at the local market. I was going to make one of my signature dishes, delicious, fat free, no sodium, absolutely irresistible. It is so good people have actually committed felonies for a small dab on a rice cracker. Who was there, having a coke? You guessed it, Former Buckeye Legend, ESPN college football analyst, and Coca Cola heartthrob Kirk Herbstreit. He would not let me shop until he got a picture with me.

That didn't really happen, I don't even know what arugula, endives or scallops are. If I wanted a signature dish I would need to sign it, and my wife would be fighting mad.

You know, this whole autobiographical blog thing is a lot harder than originally thought. Maybe I should start small, and work my way up to the truth.

I am a serial dreamer whose life is a maze of confusing facts, and sometimes I pay attention to them. Blogging has given me the ability to act, kind of, on the what Dylan called "a head full of ideas that are drivin' me insane." And everyday is a new day, and an old day, but always a great day, at least part of the time.

Hey, what about you? Tell me a little about yourself, it doesn't have to be true, you know.

Labor Day, Swappers, It Was Humid, Hot, and Fun

It was a great day, with a great breakfast, a really great breakfast, and the coffee was wonderful, so rich, dark, steaming, you could see the flavor wafting up from the cup, oh man was the coffee good. after that it was only a twenty minute drive up the highway to the Johnstown Swappers Days. Free parking, in a pasture, buzzing with mosquitoes,  a short walk across the field and the road, five dollars for admittance and we were immersed in a ninety degree day, high humidity and a crowded, far flung, wild west flea market.

It was a hectic, crazy, chaotic day filled with a variety of booths, selling everything from tools to bottle openers, to rabbits to hunting dogs. And weapons, tables full of weapons. I have been on hunting trips with people who weren't so well armed. People were walking around with rifles, shotguns, sidearms. It is amazing how careful a person treads when dealing with hundreds of armed people, mutual assured destruction on a personal scale.











After this trip I can feel comfortable saying 2nd amendment rights are very well protected. Including the right to bear arms, to trade them openly, to bicker endlessly in public about the price of the weapons.

Amish people are pretty safe as well. They were well represented, and heavily involved in the trading that took place. Plus, they were using cell phones. This seemed a little surprising.






















It was a great day, there were too many booths to see them all
in the oppressive heat and sweltering humidity, but we ended up looking at most of them. And fully intend to go back next year with the hope that it is a little cooler, and more comfortable. We are very confident the breakfast will be good anyway,

Boxing, the Sport of Kings, Depending on Your King.

Yesterday we went to the County Fair. I love county  fairs. It is a celebration of community. I enjoy watching the bustle and hum, and color, and excitement. Everywhere you look there is activity, color, and excitement, everywhere you listen there is noise, music, the whir of carnival rides. The smell of  fried food, the odor of humanity, mixed with the heat and humidity, it can be intoxicating, and powerful. It must trigger something primal, from our collective past. Something from when our survival depended on numbers, cooperation, and a herd like solidarity. Or maybe I am just a little crazy.

Anyway, we went mostly for the boxing.  Growing up I watched giants, Ali, Foreman, Frazier, Norton. Giant men, with giant egos and giant personalities, using giant amounts of talent, and determination to prove who was the best. And I was in awe.

Later, when living in a small town in the Midwest, and knowing very few people I joined a boxing club, mostly to try to get in shape, and keep myself from too many really bad habits, habits that threatened to consume me. After a couple of weeks they politely refunded my money and asked me to leave. It seems my actual boxing skills were very limited, but my imaginary boxing skills were boundless. Concerned with my safety, and, probably potential insurance problems, they decided to end our association. Another dream falls dies on the vine.

But, I don't blame them, and I still love boxing. Though, I had forgotten how much until my wife asked "do you want to go to the boxing matches at the county fair?" DO I? my dreams were reborn, at work, when no one was around I was shadow boxing on the second floor. Jab, jab, jab, hook, upper cut, dance away. He never laid a glove on me!

So, we went, and loved every minute of it. We walked in right as the first match started. And it was amazingly fun. These guys were boxing, in the truest sense of the word. Honestly, I didn't expect the boxing to be that good. They would punch and move, jab, throw a flurry of combos. There was not a lot of grabbing to rest, they really put on a good show.

The rest of the bouts were good, but that first one was the best. Here is the amazing bit, (I try to save he amazing bits until the end, I've heard that is the best way) the winner of the first bout, the undefeated boxing legend Afrim Mema, (he was undefeated yesterday, anyway, and any professional boxer willing to watch the matches with us is a legend on this blog) came up to the grandstand, and asked who was winning, we told him it hadn't started. And my son said "great match." he thanked him and sat down and watched the rest of the boxing matches. Not only was he a very talented boxer he was a polite young man, with a great sense of humor, and a keen insight into the sport.

It was a great day, very warm, very humid and a lot of fun. Unfortunately, we forgot the sunscreen and are all a little too toasted this morning. That is OK, though, we had a good time, watched great boxing, and met a professional boxer, it doesn't get much better than that.

The videos I threatened all of Tech Whacko Nation are still coming. It is much more difficult transferring video from a digital camera to an iPhone than I assumed, you know what they say happens when you ASSUME things. You end up looking stupid.

Spiders, snakes, and a word of caution in the Black Hills

No trip to the Black Hills is complete without a visit to Reptile Gardens.  Well, that isn't exactly true, we have made a couple of trips here without stopping at Reptile Gardens, but it is fun, and since my cousin Mike (thank you, Mike) paid for admission, surprisingly reasonable, free in fact.  It is a fascinating place, and I am always glad to have gone.

Reptile Gardens is an odd oasis of exotic animals from around the world, displayed beautifully in a group of buildings just south of Rapid City.  There are giant tortoises, alligators, crocodiles, tarantulas, scorpions, and snakes, oh the snakes. There are hundreds of snakes.  Snakes from all over the world, each displayed in a carefully designed habitat, that mimics the natural environment of the snakes home country, I guess.  They could just throw some stuff in there and I would't know it didn't look like Southeast Asia, or the deep jungles of Africa.  This would be a good place to point out that according to the website Most of the animals at Reptile Gardens are from Zoo Trades, and not captured in the wild.

According to the brave, young man who performed the show with the snakes there is no sure way to tell if a snake is venomous without looking for a venom gland in the mouth of the snake or getting bit. Thank you, but no.  I will just assume that all of the snakes are deadly, venomous, and looking for me, with malice, and awful intent.  Wretched things, anyway.

After the snake show, it is a short, quick walk to the alligator/crocodile/caiman show. Where a strong, brave, slightly foolish young man will walk through an enclosure filled with alligators (I know there is a difference, and it has been explained to me, at the show several times, but for the sake of convenience and fewer keystrokes we will refer to them as gators).  Using humor, and what appears to be a suicidal pokes, and jabs with a stick he explains a little about the giant animals.  Ultimately, he "wrestles a gator."  He does this by leaping on it's back, and holding it in place, in what I am assuming is a practiced, and at least somewhat safe routine.

The chosen "gator" this time did not really want to be part of the show.  He kept trying to escape, and the poor man would have to pull him back.  While doing this the other "gators" would come stalking
up behind him. He would have to shoo them away, while holding onto the wrestling opponents tail.  It was easy to worry that the show was going to get a little too exciting.

But, the show came off without incident, and we were off to the main exhibit hall. This is where all of the snakes are displayed.  Their enclosures are marked with helpful signs, and interesting facts, "Venomous," or "Very Venomous."  I can't speak for anyone else, but when I walk up the an enclosure and the words "very venomous" are screaming at me, and there is nothing inside it makes me a little nervous.  Where is that damned thing? creeping up behind me? hanging on one of exposed beams overhead, getting ready to drop, bite me and ring down the curtain on the final act of my way too short, not nearly finished life?  Time to move on, quickly.

A day in the life.

I have decided to document my life, in photos. When out and about on one of the many adventures that fill an average Life Explained day I will snap photos of things I see then post them here.

To the right are some artificial flowers from an exciting, action packed trip to Taco Bell, where we ordered off the dollar menu.  My wife and I ordered off the dollar menu, anyway.  My son had something called the steak doubledilla.  It cost quite a bit, but it was big, and came in its own box.  It was highly recommended by his friend, who should know quite a bit about food, he works at Donato's Pizza.

And here is a photo from my fun filled joy ride of an adventure to Target to buy some bottled water.  My wife gave me very specific instructions.  Buy six cases of Aquafina, it is on sale.  And, she gave me a coupon, still attached to the advertisement that would trigger an award of a five dollar gift card.  She even binder clipped a gift card to the ad, right by the coupon. I swear she thinks of me as a child.  Hey, I can take care of things, I am a grown man.

The lines were not long, and I waited my turn, patiently, I am an adult, after all. When it was my turn I walked, briskly, efficiently, calmly, in complete control, up to the register.

WHAT?  She didn't clip the coupon.  Now, I would have to tear it off, trying not to rip it in half, in front of the whole store, this was madness!  But, the young man at the register scanned the coupon, and took care of everything, before I could even start to panic, too much.  He handed me my gift card, my receipt, my new gift card, smiled reassuringly and thanked me.

I told him "wow, that was amazing, you were like a machine! That was so fast, and easy."  He thanked me, and I went to the food counter to buy a Coke and a bag of popcorn, which is kind of a ritual and my son was thought we should, so we did.

I have a theory, when you have free refills it demands a certain level of gluttony.  So, I said to my son, "here, give that glass before you put on the lid."  And I was drinking some, maybe a lot.

While I was enjoying my long, delicious drink somebody touched my shoulder from behind and said "sir, can I talk to you."  It scared the bejezus out of me.  I thought for sure they were going to make me pay for another Coke, and my mind was scrambling for a reason to drink extra pop (or soda, or cola, or whatever).  She asked me about the young man at the register, and I said he was great.  In my relief at not being harassed about my sudden, overpowering, unquenchable thirst I started talking a little too fast, and a little too much.  Fortunately I managed to stop short of telling her how much I hate shopping at Target.  I am a rock.

Then it hit me, my life is pretty dull, and considering how quickly I fly into full blown, half crazed agitation, and frenzy it is probably a good thing.  So I have decided to chronicle my life in pictures and make them seem more interesting than they are.  On the right is a picture of the artificial flowers at Taco Bell re-enacting the battle of  Anzio.  And it was pretty convincing too.  On the right is a picture of aliens getting ready to attack Target, Wal-Mart was too crowded, I guess.

A Day Out, Kind Of.

It started with few challenges. First, we had to find a parking spot at our favorite breakfast place. And, then finding out the wait was so long we didn't want to wait, the twenty five minutes to get a seat. 

Then we had to climb back in the car and wait for the person who was trying to park next to us to maneuver and coerce her Tahoe into the spot next to us. I sometimes wonder if the person who designs parking lots around this city drives a subcompact, maybe a Smart Car, or a Mini Cooper, without ever taking into account that this corner of the city is the land of mini-vans, Tahoes, Suburbans, Excursions, big cars, that take big parking spaces, and big aisles to swing all that size into them. Obviously, that was kind of an inauspicious start. 

 
After that it got a better. Our drive to Jeffersonville was really smooth. That stretch of freeway can be so hectic, crowded and aggravating that it was a very pleasant surprise. We cruised pretty much at an officially acceptable speed of slightly more than the posted speed limit. It is funny, that they post a speed limit, and then, according to popular myth, allow you, without penalty to exceed it by a given amount, which is four or five miles an hour. But, we take advantage of that leeway.

 
Which brings up a sore spot. Why don't people use cruise control? It is a good question, too. If people went a more uniform speed, it would prevent a lot of the weaving, and lane changing, and passing, re-passing, and congestion that curses so many drives across country. At least so many of ours. But, yesterday was peaceful, easy, and with little aggravation.

 
Surprisingly, the Outlet mall was peaceful, and relatively quiet, there was enough people to make it interesting, and fun, but not enough to consume the sidewalks and push the boundaries of sanity. 

Of course, the Adidas and Nike stores were filled, people in those stores always seem to believe they have certain rights that probably don't really exist. For exampe, the right to stand in the middle of the aisle, and try on shoes. 

 So, if you would like to look at shoes you will need to backtrack, navigate through aisles filled with people contorting themselves in an effort to put on a shoe while standing. Often, thrashing violently, arms flailing, hopping madly from side to side, a little clumsy ballet of gymnastics, followed by a breathless, "how do these look? I think they look good."

 
But, I don't stay in those stores long, just long enough for a few performances, then I am off, to more peaceful, sedate stores. Yesterday, we even tried a new stores, Pottery Barn, which surprisingly had very little pottery, but some very cool things. One of the things that seemed genius is the acrylic glasses.  They look like real glass, but if you drop them they don't break. Genius, I tell you.



Then we went and bought some clothes for my wife, at a place (Ann Taylor) that always uses headless mannequins.  Why headless?  It is a little disturbing, It is a little hard to tell how good an outfit will look on a person with a head.  "Well, that does look nice on a headless person, can you leave your head at home."  


And a new pair of Nike shoes for me, but we bought them at Famous Footwear, which is a much more polite shoe shopping experience.

 

And what trip to the outlet mall would be complete without stopping at the Goldfish Cracker store, the snack that smiles back. Officially it is called the Pepperidge Farms store, but everybody understands the real star is the delightful, flavorful fish.

Really, it was a good day, and we had a lot of fun .  And, we had McDonald's for breakfast and Popeye's chicken for lunch.  Days like that are what make life great.  Spending time with your family, and the laughter, and smiles, the sunshine, and crowds, the thrill of finding a good deal, and the joy of being a father, and a husband.  I would give a lot to live a day like that more often.

 

Louisville, Last Weekend. It was great.

In the end, when all of the cards have been played and the "old man with the telescope cuts the final strand" last Friday is going to be counted among my best.   Traveling is not something I relish, but a three and a half hour drive is not really traveling, more of a commute., even I can handle commuting.

There is something special about taking a quick trip, a miniature vacation, a short jaunt, that doesn't require all of the preparations.  Packing is minimal, preparations are simple, just throw a couple of bags in the car, a case of bottled water, some Diet Coke (my wife has a Dr. Jekyll \ Mr. Wife thing that happens when she doesn't get her Diet Coke) and maybe a couple of beers for the motel.  Snacks, drinks, and personal hygiene items, and you are on the road.  No fuss, no bother, and no drama.  Louisville here we come.

Our drive was uneventful, and even had some magical moments.  There is a deep, wide valley that runs east and west just north of Cincinnati, I am not sure what river carved this beautiful feature, but the view is genuinely striking.  On Friday, rain storms had filled the valley with a dense, smoky fog that added a surreal, almost supernatural appearance. It was fun to imagine what monsters lay hidden, but you don't want to go to far down that path.

Three and a half hours later we are in the KFC Yum Center. It was a fantastic place to to build an arena, a stroke of convenience genius, access made in action.  It is adjacent to to three freeways, in and out quickly.  We drove straight down Interstate 71 took the exit, 10 minutes later we were parked, and walking to the game.  

Whoever designed the Yum Center deserves some sort of award.  It was built around basketball.  True, it is a multi-purpose facility, but, it is a basketball shrine.  Walking the halls of this wonderful building you can sense the pride, feel the history, and steep in the glory of Cardinal basketball.  In Kentucky basketball is King.  

We have been to quite a few sporting events. hockey games, men's and women's basketball, and the atmosphere at a Louisville basketball game is different.  It is more like a really big party, with people you don't really know, but who are happy to be there.  Cardinal fandom seems to be a brotherhood, or sisterhood, and everybody is enjoying the atmosphere.  Even the vendors are fans, and "Go Cards" rings constantly.

Our tickets this year were phenomenal. three rows up, (my wife still amazes me sometimes, these were the best seats I have ever had at a sporting event) right across the entrance from the band, so close you could see how tall the basketball players really are.  From that close the game takes on a new significance, you can see just how physical college basketball really is, how much they fight, and struggle for position.  You can hear the rim rattle on dunks.

Louisville is a fun team to watch play.  They are relentless, and keep pressuring, and trapping and harassing, and pressing, it is a 40 minute defensive fight, and that is how I think basketball should be played.  It is a game of movement, and motion, and sweat.

It was a great trip, capped by a big win, and followed by a great, free breakfast, I love the Embassy Suites, and their cooked to order omelettes.  It will be hard to match last weekend.  

Another Saturday Night, Another Chance to Dream.

As is normally the case, last Saturday we watched college football.  It was a nice day, so my son and I took off for a kick scooter ride, and we had a lot of fun, and took a few pictures, I only mention this so I can add this picture to the post.  I like this picture.

But, when we got home we started watching Minnesota play Michigan, at Ann Arbor. It was close at half time, Minnesota was ahead 10 to 7.  In the second half Minnesota started to dominate the game, and really looked like the better team.

It is always difficult to say whether one team is so much better than the other based on one game, and it is even harder to make that comparison from the results of one half.  But, it doesn't stop the announcers, in this case ESPN analyst Ed Cunningham, who said that Minnesota would have to be considered the odds on favorite in the Big Ten Western Division.

Based on this one half of dominant football he was willing to overlook Michigan State (I don't really remember what he felt their glaring weakness was), Wisconsin  (I am not sure why he felt they were so easy to ignore), and Nebraska, who, he said, "has their problems."  Excuse me, Mr Cunningham, but so far those weaknesses have been amply compensated for by their strengths, to the tune of 7.5 yards per play, and 6.9 yards per rush.  Sure, Nebraska's defense has been a little inconsistent, but anybody who has been paying attention has to say they are improving, and are vastly superior to last year at this time.

Of course, next weeks game at Michigan State (is it just my imagination or did Nebraska play at East Lansing last year?) will help clear up some of the picture, and Minnesota is certainly a good football team, but it is a little early make such bold predictions.

On an unrelated note, we watched most of the Air Force game.  They were playing Boise State, and I was rooting for Air Force.  I like the service academies, possibly because they run the option so much, and so well.  The Falcons were looking very good, really dominating the Broncos.  ESPN analyst Aaron Taylor was pretty certain it was going to be short lived.  With every Air Force miscue he would comment on how it might be just what Boise State needed to mount their inevitable comeback.  It never happened.  But, he did comment on one of the receivers, and how he "used to be a former quarterback."  It might be suggested, possibly, that he is still a former quarterback, and at some point will also be a former receiver.

Analysts are a funny group of people, it would be so hard to make such bold statements so often and wipe them from memory so quickly.  In fairness, though, if you had to fill up so much time with unscripted dialog it would be easy to misspeak occasionally.  I salute the sports announcers around the world, theirs is not an easy lot, and they are only trying to make a living.

Again, the Cornhuskers tromped up and down the field, smashing their way through an Illinois team that would have loved to ruin homecoming.  Ameer Abdullah proved he is a strong contender for the Heisman Trophy, and any other award that could possibly go to such a fantastic football player, who also seems to be such a wonderful human being.  I remember an interview last spring, when Ameer Abdullah claimed to have "more bounce than Benny."  What he forgot to mention was he also had more power than Hercules, more speed than Hermes, and more personality than anybody deserves.

I am starting to fall into that old trap, dreaming of an undefeated season, championships, and glory, and you know, it is great.  No matter what happens though, this team is a lot of fun to watch.  And, I thank them for pleasure, and the dreams.

Football Analysts should remember the wisdom of Bob Dylan who said,

"Well, the moral of this story,
The Moral of this song,
Is simply, one should never be,
Where one does not belong,
So, when you see your neighbor carrying somethin',
Help him with his load,
And, don't go mistakin' Paradise,
For that house across the road."

Another Life Explained Psychological Experiment.

Where I work we are serious people.  We take creativity seriously, we are serious about generosity, in short we don’t mess around.  Consequently, when my wife asked one of the owners to donate something for a charity auction during the holidays, the owner took it very seriously, and donated several things.  One of which was a set of wooden blocks, vibrantly colored, fashioned in unique shapes, designed to be stacked in a variety of ways to suit the tastes of different people.  

My wife, works as a receptionist at a school district and to go almost anywhere in the building you need to walk by her desk.  Having spent some time in sales she knew the best way to generate interest, and increase value was letting people touch and feel and see the product. To that end, she took the blocks out of the box, and set them on the file cabinet by the hallway in the area beside her desk.  She laughed when she talked about how everybody who walked past had to stop and play with blocks.  She would hear the little clicks of construction, (and sometimes the crash of failure) and it made her smile.  And, it helped, the simple, little blocks sold for a good price (as did the other items given in such quiet generosity) and the proceeds gave some comfort to the needy.

Recently, the serious people for whom I work introduced another set of blocks, these are a little more intricate, angular, with sharp corners, and clean lines, painted to appear as buildings.  They are designed to be held together by the evil magic of geometric properties (I knew when they tortured me with those angles, and lines they were doing the work of the devil).  I bought her a set.  She set the pieces on the corner of her counter, and was amazed at the interest they attracted.

People were drawn to them, stacking and re-stacking, sometimes to the point of obsession. For the first several days people would only play with them when she was away from her desk, she would come back and they would be assembled in a new pattern. Soon, the invisible barrier went down, and people would stop, construct chat, and move on.

 Age was not a factor, children to retirees stacked them, nor was education level, custodians with a high school diploma their highest education, to administrators with PhD's would stop and assemble the blocks.  Often criticizing the last "construction engineer" who built such a shoddy, ad hoc, rickety creation.  "Oh, this is not right, this will never do," was a constant lament.

After a little convincing my wife agreed to snap pictures at various times of the day.  Kind of a snapshot into the thinking of her co-workers.  She was a little hesitant, but, after 25 years of marriage she has learned to suffer foolishness more or less gladly.  I don't know what the pictures mean, and how to make sense of the creations, but looking at them makes me believe there is some insight arrayed in the patterns and designs, and I am drawn to the results, with the same intensity as they were drawn to creation.

Some people were more interested in reaching for heights, and would dare gravity to do its best.  Stacking, and hanging, and laughing in the face of convention. Daredevils that cared little for the constraints of reality, they probably had messy desks, and drive fast cars, or ride motorcycles.

Others were more interested in combinations based on colors, shapes, trying to make sense, and purpose, they had no worries about Urban Sprawl. It is easy to see these people having large houses, big cars, noisy dogs, and large families. Their kitchen table probably seats dozens of people.

There were a few who wanted to find a happy medium, exploring the best of both worlds.  Moderate souls who wanted to make the best of all worlds.  Or, maybe they just took pleasure in the art of stacking. Volunteers at homeless shelters, generous, kind types who abhor conflict, and seek quiet places to enjoy literature.

Sometimes you could see the neat, meticulous planners.  Function following form following design.  Angles intersecting, everything in place, making sense, serving a purpose, and having a reason. These people probably file by month, day and hour, with color coordinated folders and typed tabs. They use a straight edge to align emails. Though, it is possible that they just have a little railroader in their soul.

And, some people were just trying to make something unique. People who are interested in art for art's sake, unencumbered by the norms, mores and discipline imposed by society. These free spirits enjoy life because it can be so much fun.
















For a while our company sold folding bicycles, and would attend the InterBike Show in Las Vegas. Since we had several bikes we would just use them as transportation. Once, after finishing our dinner, I was standing next to one of the owners, watching a couple of my coworkers weave lazily around an empty parking lot on their bikes, riding wide circles, looping around light poles, and just having a little fun before we headed back to the hotel. He watched them and said, with what seemed to be awe, "bicycles bring out the child in everyone." He was right.

Now, though I know it does not take a bicycle, it can be a small pile of wooden blocks, and the kid inside will stand up, take control, and have a good time. Happiness is a precious resource, and should be shared, often, and freely. I am not suggesting that small piles of stackable, colorful blocks will change the world, but my wife will tell you it can bring a smile to the face of almost anyone, and that is a good place to start. You know, maybe we are not so serious after all.

Facebook, Moderator Extraordinaire.

Recently, Facebook admitted to "psychological testing" on certain user's news feeds in an effort to understand how people would react to seeing their friends doing interesting, exciting things.  Of course, it caused jealousy, and bitter resentment.  Particularly when all of your friends were together having a good time, doing something extremely fun, something that you had always wanted to do, and all of your ingrate friends knew it was a life long dream of yours and they all got together to do it, without you, and there they were scattering hundreds of pictures of joyous, gleeful, ecstasy, laughing together, while you sit home, scrolling through their pictures, wishing that just one of the bastards had been thoughtful enough to invite you, stupid Facebook, anyway...  Wait, where was I?  Oh yes, "social media" and societal responsibility; should Facebook, and other websites designed to bring people closer together be accountable for potential depression?

In essence, should "moderators" be employed to "moderate" the amount of fun people are allowed to share on their account?   Yes, they should.  And I would like to apply for the job!  Mr. Zuckerberg, please contact me through this blog and we will discuss a few of my ideas to help bring this deplorable situation under control, and my salary, and car, and driver, and vacation requirements (which will be way too much fun to share on Facebook, by the way).

Mr. Zuckerberg, (do you mind if I call you Mr. Zuckerberg) here is an example of what  I can bring to the table.  Obviously, these people are at a fantastically entertaining gala of some sort, an event that would actively, rigorously exclude many people, including many poor souls who use your fine site.   A handful of lucky attendees would post their fun filled pictures of dancing and partying, and carrying on in an obscenely fun manner, causing all sorts of emotional distress.  Until, they (the losers who did not get invited) stumble upon a few of these bad boys, and think "oh my, they got smashed by a giant monster, I am so glad I wasn't there."

Soon, people will start logging on to see what terrible fate befell their poor, pitiful, popular friends, and traffic on your wonderful site will boom, and you and I will be rich!!!  Well, you will be even richer, and I will be rich, and this would be nice.

I look forward to hearing from you, and see a bright future for both of us.

Sincerely,

Tim

Vacation, what a great idea.

In one week and two days I will be on vacation.  There is something about vacation, something spiritual, something heavenly, something powerful, wonderful, and liberating.  People who have vacation scheduled are always a little happier, a little more cheerful, they smile more, are more liable to whistle.  

"Hey, Phil, can you compile a list of all known clients who have purchased anything with any value from anybody in the whole world in the last two centuries?"

"Sure can, Bob, have it done before lunch, and then I will buy you lunch.  Is pizza ok?  Bring your whole family, my treat."

People who have just returned from vacation are sullen, venomous, and range anywhere from manic depression to homicidal rage.  Angry, resentful, and incendiary, they are best avoided.

"Hey, Phil, how was your vacation?"

"Hey, Bob, how about you kiss my a$$!"

For the longest time we had to hire armed security to keep the two groups separated.  We opened a new break room, (it cut down on the fire fights in over coffee, and donuts) and designated a "vacation scheduled lavatory," and a "just returned restroom" with padded fixtures and stalls that will not lock.  People are required to wear slip on shoes or surrender their shoelaces before using that facility.

It was a good temporary solution, but then we came up with a great idea.  A vacation planner!  The minute you return from work you need to start planning for your next vacation.  On your first day back, the minute you walk in the door, our grief counselor vacation planner is waiting with brochures of potential vacation spots, filled with glossy photos or beautiful people having an extraordinarily good time doing all sorts of fun things, smiling, laughing and just vacationing the heck out of things.

It is an amazing transformation, crushed and defeated to delighted and overjoyed in minutes.  They start filling in dates on calendars, calling loved ones, and singing songs of joy.  We have saved a bundle on first aid supplies.

The thrill of competition.

Last night we went to the hockey game, and it was fun, but we got a lot more than we expected.


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