It's Better in Wyoming.

A-1 Towing is offering free rides tomorrow night. This is the 11th year they've offered the New Years Eve service, in memory of the owners' brother, who was killed in a drunk-driving accident. The Boomerang reports that last year, around 300 people used the service, and A-1 owners Shane and Nicole Candelaria--and the volunteers who help them provide rides--say they've given rides as far as Centennial and Wood's Landing. The phone numbers are 307.755.1340 and 307.760.1213.

MSN's Year in Review 2008 appropriately lists the giant sunglasses fad as one of the year's most regrettable pop culture trends: "We've had status shoes, status purses and now, in 2008, status sunglasses. The really cool shades these days have lenses the size of pork chops. They make the people wearing them look like houseflies. Or aliens. Or maybe even houseflies from outer space. Someday, when we look back on the pictures of us in our ... massive, black, bug-eyed shades, we will laugh. Tinted hubcaps do not flatter a normal-sized face any more than the ginormous eyeglasses we wore in the '70s and '80s. Today, the only people still wearing those monster specs are geriatric high school math teachers and serial killers. Run from them! Run for your life!" On the other hand, I have to disagree with their decision to lump the 'pornstache' in with such obvious lameness as giant sunglasses: " History is full of comical facial hair:

Anyone who has stopped believing in miracles should wash out a paint brush. Even after I tried to brush out all the paint that was left on the brush, the amount left in between the bristles was prodigious. It defies the laws of geometry: there's no space there to hold the paint! Miracle!

Just a few of the lines from Middlesex: "Confronted with the impossible, there was no option but to treat it as normal." "Planning is for the world's great cities, for Paris, London, and Rome, for cities dedicated, at some level, to culture. Detroit, on the other hand, was an American city and therefore dedicated to money, and so design had given way to expediency." "As a baby, even as a little girl, I possessed an awkward, extravagant beauty. No single feature was right in itself and yet, when they were taken all together, something captivating emerged. An inadvertent harmony."

Here's the letter opener I made on David's forge on Day 1 of the WV-AZ trip: The letter opener started the day as a 12-inch piece of rebar. I spent the morning drawing out the tail for the loop, putting in the decorative twist, and then hammering out and trimming the blade. Oh, and I gave myself third-degree burns on my thumb and middle finger, which are healing nicely. On Sunday I used the grinding wheels to put an edge on the thing. On Monday I put it in my checked luggage; somehow I don't think I would've gotten through security with it in my carry-on. When I got back to Laramie, I had a pretty good pile of mail waiting for me. I'm happy to report that the letter opener will, in fact, get the job done. Argh!

It's a windy day in the gem city of the high plains. But that didn't stop me from loading up the skis and heading to Happy Jack for a quick morning loop--my first skiing of the season. The trails were in good shape, though the snow was not all that fast. There were several cars at the parking area, but not too many people on the trail. I thought the wind was going to blow my driver-side window in as I was heading down the summit, but I made back safely, all auto glass intact. Now I'm heading down to Coal Creek--I'll finally get to finish Middlesex today--and think I'll brave the wind and leave the truck at home. And, later tonight: deer stew!

I *think* this may be the first year, ever, when I haven't been with at least one family member on Dec. 25. Except maybe the year I was in Germany. Instead of family time, I hung out with Elsa and Jim snowshoeing at Happy Jack, eating delicious chicken pot pie, playing Elfenland, and making a trip down to WPR to watch Elsa record the weather. And we watched Best Man Fail , too. It's not all that funny the first time, but it gets better and better. So many fine details to appreciate.

I resolve to hike Med Bow Peak next year in 2:30 or less. I realize that may not be much of a challenge for a lot of people. It's a pretty ambitious goal for me, though--I think that's about an hour faster than I've ever done the loop.

Two days after getting back from the WV/AZ trip, I headed up to Newcastle to spend a few days with dad, Suzie, and the dogs, and to see how grandma is recovering from the broken hip. Happily, the roads were good on the way up and again today on the way back. Happily, grandma seems to be getting better. Happily, it felt great to earn my appetite: Despite single-digit temperatures (on both sides of 0), cutting firewood on Sunday and Monday kept me mostly warm enough to strip off a layer of clothes, and to work up a Riesen appetite. Gas was a buck-eighteen in Wheatland. After Kaijsa's full-day layover at DIA waiting for a plane to Seattle (after Frontier cancelled 3 flights), and after watching news of the Chicago mess, I will no longer bitch about my 5-hour delay after United cancelled my flight into Dulles.

A bit out of order, but. My winter vacation started with a cancelled flight. After two hours of waiting at DIA, through announcements that our plane had a water leak and that United was searching for a replacement plane, the staff announced that the flight was cancelled. This has never happened to me before. I got in line with the other 200 people who were supposed to be on a non-stop flight to Dulles, hoping to reschedule something that wouldn't eat too far into my short visit to David's place in WV. So I ended up flying into Chicago and catching a connecting flight into National. While I waited to catch the flight to Chicago, I called the car people and changed the car rental reservation. No problem. Now I've been to Chicago. If a stop-over at O'Hare counts. I don't think it does, since I keep hearing about what a cool town it is. My flight on to National was no problem. Even an empty seat next to me, which makes for a bit of room to stretch out my legs. S

My grandpa treats longevity as a race. The goal, apparently, is to last longer than everybody else has. During my visit, Grandpa said that, if he lives four more years, he'll have outlived his own father. In other parts of his life, my grandpa isn't competitive. He doesn't improve his house simply to keep up with the neighbors; he makes improvements to the house because it's the right thing to do. And he also eats nutritiously because it's also the right thing to do, but there's something else there, a type of superiority or control that seems to come, for him, from being fit. This is, in some ways, a pretty admirable trait. It's not that my grandpa avoids risk or eats a ridiculous monk's diet of only oats and carrots. He's gotten accustomed to healthy food and daily exercise. He's 86 and goes for at least a mile-long walk every morning. For my grandpa, it's an approach that's worked pretty well. I think he feels that he deserves

A couple of brief comments before I close my heavy-lidded eyes after day 5 of my trip: - Having lunch with my cousin Lisa on my way back to Dulles was so fun . It felt like such a completely natural thing to do, even though I've never visited her the entire time she's been in Washington. Even though our meeting for lunch was right in the middle of driving back from David's place by Berkeley Springs so I could hop a plane to Phoenix. Even though we hardly ever talk otherwise, not because we have nothing to say or because we don't get along but just because. Oddly enough, one of her colleagues' boyfriends is from, of all places, Lingle, Wyoming . - It was 55 degrees in WV when I headed back to the airport. It was about 40 degrees when I got into Phoenix. Something about this situation seems backwards. I feel slightly cheated, until I remember that Laramie recorded -16 over the weekend. - I sleep better after I've read a bit. Middlesex is good and getting b

Talking to Joyce just now about how many students are going to fail my class this semester, I realize I should feel worse than I do. I feel like I've failed, too, despite also believing that I've done some really good work this fall. It's frustrating and humiliating to acknowledge that "good" teaching doesn't necessarily translate into good learning, and it's hard for me to know where the process went wrong. It would be nice if I could believe that I just got stuck with a bunch of lazy or stupid students this semester, but I don't believe that at all. I just feel spent, emptied out, defeated. Some days I don't know if I should care more or care less. After all, there are more important issues in the world than whether a student remembered to double-space the works-cited page. Somehow, though, I keep believing that education matters, and that my piss-ant effort might make a positive difference. I think it's time to revisit my philosophy of

What are the rules for citizens arrest? Specifically, if there's a girl talking on her cell phone, with half her car windows frosted over, who doesn't wait her turn at the four-way, would I get in trouble if I pulled her out of her car and slapped her with her phone a couple of times? I suppose that doesn't quite count as citizens arrest. Vigilante justice, maybe. Whack, whack! In less aggravating news, tomorrow is the last day of classes for the semester. Finally. It's been a long time comin' this fall. I really should start thinking about the trip to WV and AZ and start planning some Christmas gifty-gifts.

Well, looks like winter arrived today. About six inches of fluffy white powder fell today, big flakes falling straight down--the kind of storm that makes me feel content and eager for the changing of season, the type of snowfall that makes me wonder how much longer it'll be until the trails at Happy Jack will be ready for action. The arrival of winter also means the arrival of boxes of tasty clementines. Mmm, clementines.

it's odd how things change. as much as i'm a fan of thanksgiving, i might've actually overdone it this year. i was full before we even started into the turkey on thursday. by the time family turkey came around sunday afternoon, i was almost immobile. of course i made a pumpkin cheesecake for each of the dinners, and of course everyone ate a piece, not because they needed one or because they were hungry but because it was there. also part of the weekend was my old roommate jill's wedding, saturday afternoon in louisville (colorado, not kentucky). a really beautiful and well-planned event, of course: jill's good at this type of things. four attendants on each side. i didn't stay for the reception, since i hadn't brought a date, knew almost no one, and didn't figure i'd have much chance to talk to jill and ryan. and i felt out of my league, too; maybe i've lived in wyoming too long or maybe i'm just not classy. at least i didn't wea

I'm thankful for -- good music -- good people --wonderful Wyoming --no hotel bombings in Laramie this week. When things are generally so good in my own corner of the world, it's hard to imagine how crazy things can be in other places. And I guess it's crazy how relative the concept of "normal" can be. Here's what Vineet Pandit said about the attacks in Mumbai this week: "We are not going to live our lives in fear because of these people. This is just 25 terrorists. We are a city of millions. Why should we let them scare us?"

and there's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound of the sleepin' city sidewalks and a sunday morning comin' down

So tonight, I'm cooking up some a chunk of tasty Sewell beef, roasting a sweet potato with cardamom and seasoned salt, and uncorking a bottle of Little Penguin. I could be pissed off about discovering that my little grill apparently has been stolen, or sad that the Cowgirls lost their game this afternoon, or grouchy that I had to interrupt a perfectly nice Sunday afternoon with grading, but I think I'll pass on all that noise. I could be feeling a bit lonely, wishing I had someone to share this meal with, but on a night like this, I'm content to feast alone.

Went over the hill (around it, actually, since Hiway 130 is closed for the season) this evening for dinner at the Cantina and a soak in the hobo pool at Saratoga. Dinner at the Cantina was unremarkable except their inability to bring a taco, with a corn tortilla, to the table within, oh, 45 minutes after we'd ordered. It doesn't seem like this is the kind of request that would render them useless, but there it was. So Katelyn just got to watch while the rest of us ate our dinner. The hobo pool was relaxing, as always. Now I'm ready to melt into a deep satisfying sleep....

Tonight's game: Cowgirls 100, University of North Dakota Fighting Sioux 75 It's exciting to see the Cowgirls break a hundred. In marginally related news: According to my friends, James Cook was a British explorer who discovered the Cook Islands and mapped much of Australia. My friends are so smart, making me feel dumb.

It's uncomfortable to live in a state that enjoys a budget surplus--a surplus which funds my job--merely because it has lots and lots of natural resources. It wouldn't be so uncomfortable for me if I shared the "Drill Here, Drill Now" mentality. But I don't. On top of that, Wyoming has committed millions towards higher education through the Hathaway Scholarship (funded, again, by natural resources) in an effort to increase enrollment rates; meanwhile, NPR reports, "The California State University system may cut student enrollment by 10,000 students because of a statewide budget cuts." These days, I'm damn happy to have a job.

So a few days ago I got an email reminding me of my scheduled training for sexual harassment. Which was a bit funny, since I didn't remember that I'd signed up for any training for sexual harassment. Turns out, I hadn't. But the university provides training for sexual harassment every three years for 'supervisors,' 'managers,' and faculty. Since the scheduled time happened to fit my schedule, I went, rather than putting this off for another six months or whatever. Anyway, 20 minutes into the training, I was engaged in the issues the presenter was presenting, and I was wondering whether as faculty we're required to report instances of suspected student-to-student harassment. (We are.) And I was wondering about cases where instructors choose content that is intentionally intended to force students to confront their attitudes about sex: can that be perceived as 'harassing'? (Yes, but it's protected as academic discourse if there's a s

I hate being sick. I've been faithfully taking my Zicam today, hoping that I can kick this cold before I end up spending Thanksgiving sniffling and hacking and feeling sorry for myself and worrying about being contagious. Plus, I need to be healthy. I can't have a bunch of phlegm in the back of my throat, affecting my ability to fully appreciate each bite of sweet taters, stuffing, punkin pie, turkey, green jello with cottage cheese, cranberry sauce, baby corns, turkey, punkin pie, mashed potatoe, sweet taters, pecan pie, celery with peanut butter, and turkey. And punkin pie. And some late night stuffing. I love Thanksgiving.

I went to Cheyenne today, mainly to meet a guy from Loveland who wanted to buy the snowtires I'd listed on CL last week. That's one less thing sitting in the basement taking up space. The trip was also a chance to have lunch with Deb and hang out at City News, catching up on grading papers. Coming back on Happy Jack the sky was amazing. Here's a crappy picture I took from the cell phone, coming down the summit, of a lenticular cloud looking UFO-like. I haven't been thinking much about Christmas presents for family and friends. I just ordered the first of many gifts, and I think I did alright. It's a start, at least.

Drank a bit too much last night, out with Peter and Katelyn and Kaijsa and Elsa and Jim. Paid for it this morning. But it wasn't really the hurting head that kept me from going on a hike; it was the hurting foot. I don't know what I've done to it, but I think I better get it checked out. I predict a torn tendon or something like that. Slow burn. In unrelated news, thai dinner tonight was fantastic. Spring rolls, cucumber salad, lemongrass shrimp soup, swimming rama, delicious beefy noodles (don't remember the name), and cocunut ice cream. A pretty satisfying way to end an otherwise lazy day. In other unrelated news, I'm excited that plane tickets turned out to be so affordable. The Denver-to-West Virginia-to-Phoenix-back-to-Denver loop should be a lot of fun. Micale's Wilderness Outpost, here I come.

Over the weekend I headed north, to visit my dad and to go see my grandma in the hospital with a broken hip. It's been a while since I've taken a good road trip, alone, with the miles spread out before me. Usually the drive is head-clearing--a chance to get away from my typical myopia and feel the weight and freedom of a hundred square miles of sagebrush around me. This trip was no different; the landscape makes me feel alive--both fortunate to live within this space and sad that I don't fully know and appreciate it. This picture is part of the scenery coming out of Wheatland headed west. Ah, Wyoming

Hope is a dangerous thing. At least when Bush was president, I didn't expect much. But already I feel a sense of engagement, a desire to participate, that I've never felt before. Now I just hope that Obama and the Biden don't let us down. In related news, Libby posted a NYT op-ed piece reminding us that Bush still has three months in office, and already his administration is beginning its last gifts of 'generosity': "In late September, the I.R.S. restored tax breaks for banks that take big losses on bad loans inherited through acquisitions. Now we learn that JPMorgan Chase and others are planning to use their bailout funds for mergers and acquisitions, transactions that will be greatly enhanced by the new tax subsidy." Gee, thanks.

I remember having a bottle of Blue Paddle a few years ago and not being very impressed. This weekend, though, sitting at the bar at the New Belgium brewery sipping a handful of samples, I gained a new appreciation for their pilsener-lager. I'm also excited that 2 Below, NBB's seasonal brew, is available again. Winter must be on the way.

So the UW club hockey team defeated Colorado School of Mines 11-2 tonight on the home ice. Meggie, Kaijsa, Tawnya and I had dinner at Sweet Melissa's Vegetarian Cafe before heading off to the arena. We ended up getting there about 25 minutes late, which worked out okay because there was, apparently, a bit of a miscommunication about refs, so the teams were still waiting for the officials to show up when we got there. Hockey equipment stinks. I mean, really. Kirkmeyer was unimpressed that he'd been sitting there for 25 minutes waiting for the game to start (and for the rest of us to show up) and smelling the overwhelming of stale ripe sweat. I guess that's the smell of victory. Tonight, at least.

For the record, Britannica says that the islets of langerhans are "irregularly shaped patches of endocrine tissue located within the pancreas" named after German pathologist Paul Langerhans. I like playing board games with my smart friends because I learn new things. Ibises are long-legged wading birds; ibexes are wild mountain goats. So, after my morning of oats and raking, I did some grading, a little bit of shopping, planted some bulbs, and then met up with Elsa at the Headquarters Trail for a short hike. Look! Another photo of the same tree I take a picture of every time I hike this trail! I love this view, though. Then, after the hike, Elsa and Quincy came over for pumpkin cheesecake, tea, and a game of Scattergories. My shopping today included a couple of new pillows. "Down-wrap" pillows, with feathers on the inside and down on this outside. Firm support, for side sleepers (like me!) So, not only has it been a great day, but I'm excited to head to b

This morning I'm finishing off a bowl of steel-cut oats and a cup of tea, then heading out to rake leaves. This afternoon I think I'll drive up to Vedauwoo for a hike. And the pumpkin cheesecake I baked last night will be a well-deserved afternoon snack. I could think of worse ways to spend a Saturday in the fall.

"you're pretty good, for a Democrat"

So, since I haven't yet been invited to anybody's rockin' Halloween party, and since I probably wouldn't get dressed up anyway, I've decided to recruit fans to the UW Club Hockey game on the 31st. The story is: 7 pm, at the Laramie Community Ice Arena. UW vs. CSM, which I think stands for Colorado School of Mines. Y'all come!

Seems like I spent a lot of time today bitching about the guys last night who were bitching about student attitudes. So maybe that makes me even worse. Bitchiness squared, or whatever. Seems like one of those times when I should pause to be thankful for the good things: --Like, I just discovered that there's a home hockey game on Halloween. Since I haven't heard of any rocking costume balls yet (and don't have a rocking costume to wear anyway), I'm thinking I should try to assemble some people to go cheer for the home team. Powder River, let 'er buck! --Also, April and Joyce. I'm lucky to have such smart, thoughtful colleagues. --Also, the delicious bread from the Safeway deli. --Also, humble self-deprecation. I've been the wounded osprey waaaay too often. I feel better already.

Tonight I went to a "working dinner" event of K-16 teachers and administrators to discuss the process of strengthening the bonds among the various levels of teaching and learning. The first 40 minutes was supposed to be a discussion of the final chapter from My Freshman Year , at assigned-seating tables. At my table, two people dominated the first 15 minutes or so of conversation, whining about how bad today's students are. About how entitled students are, about how lazy they are, about how this is the "first generation to 'rent' rather than 'own' knowledge." As in ( one dude explained to the other), students just retain information long enough to pass the test and then they dump it. Nods of assent all around. And I said, "Well, that's also potentially liberating, isn't it?" And they looked at me with eyes that said: "That's the stupidest effing thing I've ever heard." And then they went on bitching abo

Who is this "joe the plumber" guy they keep referring to? I missed the first few minutes of the debate, so maybe he was introduced to everyone and got to take a bow, but he sure does seem to be important. Is this the same guy as joe six-pack?

To the hot chick at Ten Minute Lube - m4w To the smokin hot chick behind the counter at Ten Minute Lube. You have dark hair and so do I. Almost shoulder length. I have a red Dodge pickup and wore a black long sleeved t-shirt. I was there around 1:30pm today. There wasn't a connection but would've liked to be. If you read this, let me know. Maybe we can hang out. Sometime.

The new title photo was taken earlier this year, near Esterbrook, looking south to Laramie Peak. It's some beautiful rugged country. In related news, I'm hopeful the weather will hold up and that I'll be able to go on the moonlight Med Bow hike tomorrow night. In unrelated news, the new Freshman Comp curriculum has me feeling wounded. I've never been so optimistic and discouraged at the same time. I think the students are finally reaching that critical juncture where things are going to either all fall into place or all fall into pieces. The only thing to do is ride it out. I guess it's like the wise sage once said: Sit tall in the saddle, Hold your head up high Keep your eyes fixed where the trail meets the sky And live like you ain't afraid to die And don't be scared, just enjoy your ride.

So I've been reading in The Seven Sins of Memory that the left side of the brain does a really great job of generalizing, rationalizing, and handling verbal information. Tonight I feel like my left hemisphere is on vacation, so I guess that updating the theme of the blog will have to serve as my contribution.

It's Vedauwoo, not Veedauwoo. I've been meaning to set this right for a while now. I misspelled it in a couple of earlier posts, but USDA/Forest Service says Vedauwoo, and I guess they'd be right about something like that. In unrelated news: It's like all the leaves decided, overnight, to fall. The mountain bike trails at Happy Jack were paved with gold this afternoon.

So here's one of the big newish windmills west of Cheyenne. I stopped to take a picture of the windfarm today, coming back from Octoberfest in Sidney, Nebraska. I thought about jumping the fence to go fight this whole herd of gigantic windmills, but they were really big. So I jumped back in the truck and motored on down the Happy Jack Road. In related news, I made it from Pine Bluffs to Cheyenne entirely on the back roads. So my 150-mile trip back today was only 20 miles of interstate--unlike yesterday, which was all interstate. I like the old highways and the gravel country roads, though I did spend twenty minutes driving around in Pine Bluffs looking for the turn-off for Road 212. Finally found it, though.

"A Christian university in Oregon said Tuesday it has punished four students who confessed to hanging a likeness of Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama from a tree on campus," says an AP story from earlier today. Good to see that a Christian upbringing is helping to create more sensitive and accepting citizens. Really, though, I shouldn't generalize; I'm still pissed off to find myself and all of Laramie lumped in with Matthew Shepard's killers. For the NYT to suggest that Laramie hasn't changed much in the past 10 years seems unfair. This is my town, and I've changed. Maybe I'm just one person, and maybe I haven't changed enough. But it's more than nothing.

Richard E. Miller, a guest speaker on campus last week and this, says that, in order to become mature thinkers, we need to have a "profound encounter with boredom" followed by a "profound encounter with frustration." I don't know that I entirely agree with him, but I do know the claim is going to make me think a bit. He says that the problem, these-a-days, is that kids don't ever have to really wallow in the boredom--whenever they start to get stuck a bit, they just fire off a text message, or go xBox, or distract themselves with one of a hundred distractions. So they never get to that point where they become so bored that they actually discover that things are interesting--that they can be engaged by things that don't immediately capture their stunted attentions. The concept makes a lotta sense to me, actually, and I wonder how teachers can encourage more profound boredom. Not just the average, run-of-the-mill kind of boredom, I mean. Most teache

I admit that I don't entirely understand this whole financial markets thing. Mostly, I assume it's smoke and mirrors. How can our government afford a $700 billion bailout? And I admit that it's probably morbid, but I do sort of wonder what would happen if we one day woke up to find that all the money disappeared. What irony, that the proposed bailout is named TARP (for the Troubled Asset Relief Program). The NYT just published an article calling the TARP "the financial equivalent of the Patriot Act." Marvelous. So far I've heard of two hiring freezes affecting friends of mine.

I hope they don't discover that aluminum foil leaches out dangerous chemicals when you throw it on the fire. Cuz I love the foil packet veggies. Somebody mentioned a weener yesterday or day before, and I've been craving a tasty brat ever since. Tonight I rode the xt225 off to Albertsons, picked up some tasty sweet italian sausages, and selected some choice vegetables for foil packet supreme. I chopped up a little green squash, some red onion, a sweet potato, and a tomater. Sprayed 'em down with olive oil, sprinkled steak salt on 'em, poured in a bit of PRB (America's Best in 1893!), and wrapped 'em up in the foil. God bless foil packet veggies. The brat was mighty-fine too, on a lightly toasted hoagie-ish roll. Apparently Albertson's is raising prices: the sticker on the potato rolls said "12 count" but I only counted 8. So I think they're going for the "same price, less stuff" trick--like the 14.5 oz. cans that used to be 16

So, since I've discovered that my nightly episode of Bones will probably lead me to declare bankruptcy after racking up thousands of dollars on credit cards, blowing money on expensive dinners, fancy vacations, and high-tech gadgets, I've decided I better find a new show. One that's less likely to increase my "mortality salience." Something like this . Cheese doesn't make me think about impending death. It's practically a food of the gods. Immortality salience, yeah.

"Shopping in the face of death is escapism, especially for those with relatively low self-esteem," concludes a recent article on reason.com . The article reports the findings of Naomi Mandel and Dirk Smeesters, whose study indicates that "mortality salience"--recognition of your own more-or-less impending death--makes you buy more stuff. This effect was first noticed after 9/11, but new studies also suggest that people who watch shows like CSI, Bones, and The First 48 Hours are more likely to consume (or think about consuming) food, drink, and other, uh, consumables. Like big screen TVs, fast cars, fancy perfumes, whatever. In other words, terrorism really IS good for business. It used to be that only the insurance companies (mostly, I guess) would capitalize on death, but this evidence makes me eagerly anticipate whole ad campaigns that subtly suggest my more-or-less impending death. This news makes me think I should stop watching Bones and CSI. Right after I

Just finished watching spiderwick chronicles. I dunno what I expected, but the film was no Lord of the Rings, or Golden Compass, not even Shrek. It was like, well, let's say it was like Spiderman 3. Like, it coulda had some potential, but it just came off as shallow, without much real mythology or backstory to give it any depth. I mean, I realize it's just a kid's story, but so is Harry Potter, and Harry Potter kicks the pants off of Jared and family. Maybe I should go watch "Burn After Reading" if I want some real depth...

So tonight I saw my first HGTV show about a house that didn't sell. I take this as a sure sign that the real estate run-up is running down. Of course, the house was in Denver, in some neighborhood that was "supposed" to get gentrified. Of course, the dude bought it in the winter, when all the homeless guys were sleeping under the bridge, instead of hanging out on his front yard, where they showed up once it got sunny. Of course, he did roll $20k of personal debt into his mortgage, which was one of the interest-only deals (or some similarly unbeatable offer), so that he owed more on his mortgage than his house was worth even when he bought it. Of course, taggers spray-painted the other side of his duplex while the house was on the market. Of course, he had to cancel his initial open house because he effed up and thought his primer was actually an attractive grey paint color. Or something like that. Of course, his newly-certified real estate "friend" offered to

I think maybe it's Curious George who Prez-in-Waiting McCain reminds me of. Of course, Bush kinda reminds me of a monkey too.

haven't felt too productive lately. not in meaningful ways, anyway. at least i've made a new coffee table. i told kaijsa i'd make her one for her birthday, in april. so, only four months late. yay for me.

So I'm not camped out in Denver, hoping for the arrival of the Boss. And by the Boss, I mean Bruce Springsteen, not Barack Obama. Though maybe he'll become the Boss, too. But I am sitting at home, enjoying leftover Chicken Tikki Saag from Taj Masala, where Joyce and I had dinner on the way down to the Willie concert. It's in Golden, and not far off I-70, so I'm hoping that maybe this place will become an expected part of future trips to Red Rocks. I'm starting to understand why people are so in love with live shows. I've seen more live music in the last year than in the rest of my life before then--local bands at the Alibi's back yard, the Clumsy Lovers at Oyster Grass, Hoooo-tie and the Blowfish on campus (oh, yeah!), lazy Fourth of July at the Fire in the Sky, Will's band in Will's basement. All kinds of really rad stuff. And it's been great. Still makes me a bit melancholy--especially to hear Willie sing songs like "Angel Flying To

Joyce and I are headed to Red Rocks today to see Willie Nelson. Oh, yeah. Maybe Obama will make a surprise appearance on stage with Willie. I'm trying to think what Willie song would be an appropriate campaign song. Proly not "Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground" or "If You've Got the Money (I've Got the Time)" or "Nothing I Can Do About it Now." Maybe "Blue Skies" or "Living in the Promised Land," though--seems like they'd work out okay. I just heard today that Bruce is playing the DNC on Thursday. Maybe I'll just spend the next few days down in Denver. Bruce and Willie in one week? That would be awesome.

I don't remember watching much of the Athens games. But generally, I find the Olympics to be pretty worthwhile TV. For the most part I'm impressed by the humility--or the appearance of humility--of most of the U.S. athletes. Not the track stars, so much. But the swimmers and divers and gymnasts and Misty and Kerri at the beach volleyball pit--they all seem like pretty decent people. The Bob Costas guy, he's sorta annoying. And Al Roker and the Good Morning America crew: also a bit dorky. Bela Karolyi, though, that guy's awesome. I loved the footage of him watching Nastia's floor routine.

Until just now, I didn't realize it's been almost a month since my last post. I'm speechless, apparently. But, there's plenty to talk about. Upcoming topics: What if it's NOT really better in Wyoming and other travel tales about the northwest. The morons who post to the "Rants and Raves" section of Wyoming craigslist. Idiots! Olympic glory and other superheroes. Magical Thinking and Dr. Pepper enemas. But right now, it's bedtime.

I'm not usually much for classical music. But I will say that, the other day, working on the coffee table project, I felt more like an artisan while I was listening to whatever it was that was playing on NPR. Or maybe it was just one of those nights, when things were just falling into place, and I actually really did know what I was doing. Guess I'll find out next time, when I actually start piecing things together with some sort of permanency.

Eight years ago on this night I remember driving from Newcastle to Custer, watching flames from a forest fire curl high up into the dark sky along the limestone rim just north of the state line. It was spectacular and beautiful and terrible. In retrospect, I'm tempted to find some symbolic meaning in that orange glow. Maybe the stupidity of youth, burning so eagerly and thoughtlessly. Or the blaze of passionate affection, creating its own energy from the solid and unmoving forests. Obviously it wasn't the flame of eternal unity, at least not in the shallow sense of two hearts being joined together forever. I guess I prefer to see it as part of the phoenix cycle, the great fire of new life emerging. It's been slow coming around to the rebirth part of things, seems like, ashes and embers, finally breaking down into fragments to sustain the seeds of fresh growth.

Q. Hey Rick: do bacon and sweet potatoes go together? -- anonymous A. Thanks for the question. In fact, bacon and sweet potatoes make a pretty good combo. Here's how I like 'em: Slice up a sweet potato into quarter-inch chunks. Cut up four strips of bacon into one-inch chunks. Slice up some red onion--about a third to a quarter of a medium unyun. Turn the stove-top to medium-high heat. Place the bacon in a single layer on the bottom of a nine-inch skillet. Grind some pepper over it. Then strew the red onion over top. Now layer the sweet tater over top all that. Season with basil and some Chachere's cajun spice. Then, to help things cook evenly, you might pour half a beer over everything and throw a lid on it. Cook fifteen minutes or so, remove the lid, and let the bacon crisp up a bit. Then mix it all up, put it in a bowl, and serve alongside the main event. Modern American fare!

I'm watching that new show on ABC, the one that's like the ridiculous japanese obstacle course shows where the commentators provide, well, commentary about the crazy nosedives people take. Also today, I heard the marvelous Fat Boys/Beach Boys collaborative piece "Wipeout." It's the first time in a long time since I've heard this masterful synthesis of sound. Also today I decided not to go meet my soccer teammates (at our first game) since everyone I know says I need to get my ankle checked out. I took it on a mountain-bike ride with me at Curt Gowdy on Sunday, and it definitely stretched some things out. No reason to go introduce myself to my team if the dudes at Gem City tell me I need to have surgery or avoid sharp right turns for the next six months or whatever.

That's what the sign above the bundles of camp wood at the Glendo gas station said, when dad and I stopped there after our weekend camping up at Esterbrook. Tonight I met a girl who's getting married up there next weekend. Small world, since I'd never really heard of it until this spring.

That's what it cost me to fill up my tank, at the gas station today, for the new motorcycle. I actually think I might've overfilled--it was pretty far up the neck of the tank. Tomorrow I probably need to fill the pickup, which will cost me about 10 times as much. In completely unrelated news, I started the new job with BCA today, my summer internship writing grants. I spent most of the morning learning about IRS 990 forms, which was actually pretty fascinating. As fascinating as tax forms can be, I guess.

Now, a week after the big damage, I'm gonna say that the ankle feels like it's about 81%. In other words, not a whole lot of progress. The amount of blood that seeped all the way down to my toes and a third of the way up my calf may ( may! ) indicate that something is damaged worse than I first guessed. Swelling's been down the last two days. There's a weird spot at the back of my foot that continuously burns, just above the heel bone I'd say. Behind the talus and above the calcaneus , to be more precise. And a spot at the front of the talus, too, that burns a bit. According to one site, getting a massage early on increases the swelling and bleeding. I wonder about a week afterward, though. Seems like a massage could work out a lot of the blood that's hanging around down at my toes. In more-or-less unrelated news, I walked around most of yesterday at the Woodchoppers Jamboree in Wyoming's twin cities, Riverside and Encampment. In the morning: much

I'm gonna say that my ankle feels like it's back to 80%. I'm not really sure how you measure a thing like that, but essentially it feels a lot better than I expected it to, two days after the big rollover. And it feels a lot better than it looks, too: In somewhat related news, UPS says they delivered my cleats by the back door today, but there's no package there. Hmmm. It's not like I'm exactly ready to start trying on cleats, but it'd be nice to know where they are when I am ready. Hmmm.

Last Friday, before heading off to Greeley/Boulder/Denver for the weekend, I took the XT out for its first real mission: some errands to the post office and bank and to pick up some groceries. Now that I've got the rack and crate mounted, it's a mean machine. Look, here's the bike with my groceries: If you look closely, you'll see a hott! spray-paint job on that wire crate. Gray! And I found a sweet helmet to match! Gray! By the way, if you're shopping for motorcycle gear in the Denver area, I'd recommend Performance Cycle . After shopping unsuccessfully for soccer cleats at a half-dozen stores on Friday--and being disappointed by unimpressive customer service at each of them--the guy at Performance Cycle was great. Friendly and helpful and not condescending even though he was a high-performance crotch-rocket guy and I was a guy excited to have just u-bolted a milk crate to my otherwise stock dual-sport. Good customer service is hard to beat.

I wasn't really bragging to Deb yesterday, but I was feeling pretty smug that I rarely get sprained ankles. I think, through several seasons of basketball, soccer, and more lately raquetball and skiing, I twisted an ankle less than a dozen times. What goes around, comes around. I'm not gonna say that spraining my ankle is karmic payback for feeling so smug. It feels a bit that way, though. Guess which one is the sprained ankle? On a tangentially related note, I think these are the first pictures I've even taken of my toes. I've got some ugly feets.

A 10-minute mile is not a very good showing. Even if it is the first mile I've run in 10 months or so, I feel like I should be in better shape than the time indicates. I'm a bit embarrassed. On the bright side, at least I got some exercise--rode my bike down to the Pedal House, dropped it off for a tune-up, walked over the foot bridge to the green belt, put in my shamefully slow mile, and walked home. Hopefully there will be a decent turn-out for pick-up ball on Sunday; otherwise I'll have to go be ashamed again, trying to keep up with the pick-up soccer game. On another bright note, I think I solved the grill crisis for the weekend's bbq--on my walk to the greenbelt, I passed a bunch of stuff out on the sidewalk with a 'free' sign on it. Including a grill with a propane tank that felt at least half-full. The element looked serviceable. Is a grill the type of thing that I should think twice about before accepting a donor?

I helped my friend Craig remodel his bathroom over the weekend. I went with him to Home Depot Friday morning and then didn't leave his property until this afternoon at 1. The time just blended into one long day; I can't believe that the entire weekend has already passed. It feels good to work with my hands, to create something new or better. It also makes me notice how well we've all been socialized to have certain expectations--the height of light switches, the horizontal orientation of toilet paper dispensers, the width of grout lines between tiles. We even fabricate tiles that meet our expectations about what our expectations about tiles should be. We expect straight lines, textured walls, eight-foot ceilings. Water pressure for our showers, drain pipes for our poop, wires to carry electricity to our outlets where we can plug in our devices to make us pretty. I was glad not to be camping on this rainy Memorial Day weekend, but spending the time looking at all the

Maybe it's no one else's idea of a good time, but I'm excited to spend Memorial Day up in Casper helping Craig remodel their bathroom. I also get to play their wii. I plan to practice my mad bowling skills. Why is Jon Stewart funny to me and Stephen Colbert so not funny? In other unrelated news, who has time to make Lego stop animation clips of totally weird things like the thriller video? And why I am so excited about the new Indy Jones film?

Granted, lyrics like " Everything's bigger down in Texas, ' cept the minds that try to lead us" may not be especially deep. Last night, though, standing in Will and Tawnya's basement next to the washer and dryer and the workbench lined by tubes of caulk on the unfinished concrete floors, with fifteen people next to me standing or sitting on a remnant of carpet or a folding camp chair, listening to Saint Olas sing about spiders and iguanas and zombies, I got to hear one of the best live shows of my life. Maybe the thing about live music that makes me so melancholy is feeling confronted by the really beautiful expression of emotion and knowing that I'll never be able to express those parts of me (whatever parts of oneself, I mean, which can't be expressed in words) as clearly and as beautifully as a musician. It's sort of like when people say, "Man, yoga yesterday worked muscles I didn't even know I had"--for me, live music stirs parts

Patrick and I went out to Rogers Canyon this afternoon and killed some organic black bean cans. Killed 'em dead. Now I feel secure in my manhood. Yawp!

the street lights on grand were flashing yellow and red when i came back from campus today. i thought maybe the dudes digging up the front yard at my house had cut into a power line and shorted out all of town, but apparently not. the tv still works. my roommate was watching some 'next' on mtv when i got here. for a reality tv show, it sure sounds like they're all reading from scripts that they haven't quite memorized yet. but the roommate left cuz she couldn't take the whole house shaking when the compact the dirt where they're refilling the big hole they dug so they could put in a new water line. she says the noise and vibration make it hard for her to focus on the final she's been studying for since monday. i'm inclined to agree. but the point is, when i was sitting at the light, on my bike, while all the cars kept driving by on grand and it looked like there would never be a break in the traffic, two nice drivers stopped to let us cross. i

on sundays, we've been playing pick-up basketball at noon all semester long. the flyball people have had the gym reserved at 1:30 all semester long. maybe the flyball people don't realize this, but when we play pickup basketball, we play to a certain number of points , not to a certain time. this means that we don't always know when our game will finish. sometimes a game is quick--fifteen minutes--and sometimes it's less quick--like forty minutes or so. i don't know how long it takes to set up flyball equipment. but it seems to me like they could start setting up their shit on one end of the floor while we play our half-court game at the other. instead, there's a dude who dumps his big box of stuff right in the middle of the floor while we're in the middle of a game. i understand that they have the right to the gym at exactly 1:30 every sunday. i admit it; it's indisputable. and yet, the dude is such a complete prick. maybe he lacks social ski

"Falling in love can induce a calming effect on the body and mind and raises levels of nerve growth factor for about a year, which helps to restore the nervous system and improves the lover’s memory." That's what a story on msn says. I think I could use some of that kind of medicine.

I think that hot cocoa before bed has one of two effects on my sleep: either I get no sleep, or I have bad dreams. It doesn't always give me bad dreams--maybe it's a combined effect with some other aspect of my diet/actions/behaviors/whatever--but it's often enough that I'm identifying it as a contributing factor. Weird. Also weird: curling. It's on channel 27 right now, the CBS College channel, though apparently, according to the design on the ice, this is the world curling championship. Canada vs. Scotland, complete with play-by-play announcing. I wonder how these guys got into the sport--I mean, like, did they take curling lessons in third grade and discover a preternatural skill for sliding big rocks down the ice? Or maybe some curling scout saw them sweeping the grocery store steps and recruited them for the national team? Maybe this is what people mean when they say there's nothing to do in Wyoming. I bet you can't take curling lessons anywher

I think I've already mentioned this, but it's still true: One of my favorite things about spring is skirts. In fact they may be my favorite thing about spring. Yeah, skirts. Tulips and daffodils and grape hyacinths and budding trees are nice too. Yeah, spring.

Kaijsa and Wendy and Tawnya and I went out to Skyline Skate tonight. We were the oldest kids there by at least a decade. But, as Kaijsa said, we're not too cool for school. I think some of our friends passed up the opportunity for a sore shin and blisters and maybe a bruise because they were afraid to make dorks of themselves in front of some junior high schoolers. I felt a bit like a dork at times, but I had a good time. I even wore my headband, which makes me feel like some kind of 70s superhero. Sadly, the music selection did not include any Michael Jackson, G'n'R, Poison, or the Culture Club. Apparently it did include some Nelly and Fergie. Now we're trying to figure out how to rent the place out and fill it with some adults. Until then, though, people are going to have to content themselves with Roller Derby tomorrow night at the ice arena (which is of course melted for season; Meagan and Oscar were there for a circus last week). I'll miss the Denver fla

I like Pandora. A lot. It's exposing me to some great new sounds. According to pandora, though, Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" is genetically similar to Bruce Springsteen's sound. Maybe I've just never thought about it before, but that seems like an odd stretch. Hold me closer, tiny dancer. If you're looking for a new band to test drive, I recommend The Editors. Good stuff!

At 8:45 on April 21, 2008, I became an uncle. What a weird feeling, actually, but in a cool way. I can't quite explain it; I haven't really known how I'd expect to feel. But it's a new type of connection. Part of it, for me, is that shift from feeling like the 'young' person--the child, or the nephew, or the grandkid--to becoming the 'old' person in family relationships--the parent, or uncle, or grandparent, or maybe even the older sister even. It just now--right now--occurs to me that for 30 years I've been the youngest Fisher in the family, the younger brother, the youngest of five cousins. Wow: I've never known what it's like to make room for someone younger in the family. Some kids have this feeling when they're 2 and their little brother comes along. I can't wait to meet my new niece.

I just figured out the strumming for "The Cape." And I've nearly got "Falling Slowly" figured out too. Will invited me out on Thursday to practice with his band. I'm pretty sure I won't make the cut. Especially since they're looking for a bass player and I don't. Still, Tawyna and Will were nice to have us out for brats and chips and macaroni salad since Undine Park was windy. The Teaching Writing in Wyoming conference in Douglas was not everything I thought it could be. I stuck both feet in my mouth, within minutes of one another, when I was talking to the featured speaker at dinner. But I did get to talk to cool people. Very enjoyable. Honestly, it feels like something broke loose during this trip, like I've made a path through that block that has always gotten in the way of easy conversation for me. It's not that I'm suddenly Mr. Easy Conversation, I mean. But there was a point, talking to Janet on the way back, when I th

The other day, on the way to Quincy's to watch 'once,' coming out of El Zarape with Kaijsa, I spotted a bumper sticker that said: At least the war on the environment is going well. The sticker strikes me as one of the most clever I've seen in a good long while, because of the things it says without saying them.

I can't remember what I've already written about the movie 'once,' but I liked it as much the second time around. Before seeing it the first time, I think I'd read somewhere that it was a 'modern-day Irish musical,' but it's nothing like the musicals I've seen before. In Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, music is this thing that interrupts life--the characters typically stop what they're doing in order to sing and dance. But in 'once,' music stands in as a metaphor, I think, for all of everything that binds us to others--it's not an interruption, but an integral part of what's already there. In the movie, music makes auditory all of those silent feelings and conflicts and hopes that swirl around us all the time when we talk to others. Maybe that's what music is all about generally, but the movie captures it well. Take this sinking boat and point it home / We've still got time.

Looks like I'll not be rooming with Kaijsa next year; sounds like I can stay in the Kearney house for another round. I might still look for other places, though, we'll see. I think this is a good thing. The few other places I looked at make me notice how nice a place I have now. It's hard to beat the location, the rent, a washer/dryer, and the condition of this place. Plus, my life has been complicated enough lately. Spring time is hard for me--there's almost too much potential; it's unsettling. Should I search for a new job? A new house? What should I do for the summer? This week has been a good one for helping me have a new appreciation for stability. And it's been a good one for forcing me to confront my anxieties about control and responsibility. It's crazy hard for me to accept things that are out of my control, but a couple of things have happened lately to help me realize that we can't always have control over the amount of control we ha

--I think it's about time for new running shoes. I've been playing basketball in them the past few weeks and I'm out of cushion. --It snowed about 4 inches here last night. For the record. --Looks like I'll be rooming with Kaijsa next year. We looked at some places this weekend and found a cool three bedroom house just a couple blocks further away than where I am now. It's quite a bit more expensive than where I am now, but it's a nice place, and I'll still be able to put some decent money away while I figure out whether I'm gonna stay in Laramie or take on something new. Plus, the place is huge (three bedrooms plus a den and a sun room), and it has a garage, which means space for a motorcycle and for woodworking projects. It oughtta be big enough that we don't get on each other's nerves.

Yesterday I threw on some shorts and dragged my bike out of the basement and filled the tires and went out for a ride on the greenbelt path. It was a bit chilly and windy, but it felt like spring. Then, last night, we got a skiff of new snow, just enough to remind me that it's still winter in Wyoming. And by Saturday the high is supposed to be 52. Springtime in Laramie! I'm excited for some new life. The Easter Bunny (me) brought me some new gardening tools, and I'm hoping to get over to the Cheyenne botanical gardens to see if I can talk them out of some composting worms once the weather is a bit more predictable. Springtime in Laramie!

My apologies to the driver of the Subaru on the cloverleaf interchange at Highway 34 and I-25 on Friday. I don't know what happened to me on my way to Greeley. It was a pretty good trip until I almost missed the off-ramp waiting for the Subaru and another guy behind him to merge into my lane so I could get my exit. I slowed down; they slowed down. So I gassed it and cut the guy off, skidded around the curve, lost traction there for a second, then got it straightened out for the last stretch of the trip to my sister's for Greeley. In related news, the rest of my visit to Greeley was great. I've got such a nice family. The Easter bunny brought me some new garden tools. The weather was mostly nice. I got to watch Revenge of the Sith. And eat ham and play UNO. And see signs of spring, which are mostly absent in Laramie. Overall, a great trip, except for those few seconds of stupidity.

Hooker hips put more glide in your stride. That's what I learned last night at Brett's birthday party. Today I tested the claim and can confirm that it has some merit. Cass told me about the technique; she had learned it from an instructor at the skiing class she and Brett took this spring. It's funny that somebody can say to you at a party, "Hooker hips really helped me get better on the trails," and without much more discussion you can get up the next morning and put the technique to the test. It's less funny that I can spend several class periods talking to students about the need to establish a context for their writing and wake up this morning to read a bunch of drafts that seem to indicate that I've been speaking German or piglatin or Mesopotamian during class time lately. There must be some equivalent to hooker hips that will make everything fall into place for them. I just have a hard time, lately, of talking to people in their own language.

What goes around, comes around. Walking back from town the other night, I realized that it's great to be able to return the generosity of others. It makes me understand how hard it is to be social when there's no money to reciprocate; lately I've felt like I have been able to afford to keep up. Maybe it's not the best way to spend money (I could be donating to the 'save the tree octopus' charity, after all), but it's nice to feel like buying a round for the group, without having to keep track of who's 'turn' it is, is manageable. I think it's part of a bigger change, a shift away from 'what's in it for me' mentality to a better understanding of the ways that we all depend on and support our network of friends. I hope that's what it means. In other, unrelated, news: Lars and the Real Girl was a good, good show. One of the best in recent memory. A show bitter and sweet and sharp and well crafted. A good quote: "You

St. Patty's Day is a festive celebration. People look pretty good in green, overall, I think. Even those five or six individuals who came jogging through the Library Bar in green aprons. Just green aprons. Well, and shoes. Rebekah and I went out for reubens, then I caught up with Kaijsa and Peter and Cass and Tawnya and Gena at the Library for more green beer, and then I watched Mr. Woodcock. It was surprisingly better than I'd expected. Infinity times better than 10000 BC, for sure.

If you were thinking about seeing 10000 B.C., skip it. No, really. It's so bad that it's not even remarkably bad. It's so bad that it's not even funny. Well, except the part about the arrival of the prophesied hunter: "You speak to the spear-tooth?" And the dude with the nasty long fingernails covered in gold foil. That's it--those are really, really the only two parts of the movie that are memorably bad--the rest is just like low-grade headache: not really troublesome, hardly worth your awareness, just sort of present. No throbbing, stabbing aching pains, weird vertigo-ness--nothing to make you think of it later at all. But not enjoyable or worthwhile, either. A blight on your day. Looking forward, though, I think spring break has promise. Drinks tonight, maybe some dancing or bowling, skiing in the morning, and an opportunity to catch up some school work. An invitation to see the bluegrass band Long Road Home in Cheyenne tomorrow night, which

I like it when people share their musical tastes with me. I like a lot of stuff, but I have a tendency to fall into ruts, the old standbys. It's nice to be pushed beyond those boundaries, to hear a fresh voice or note. Where'd you hide the body? Where'd you stash the loot? Keep your hands where I can see 'em So I don't have to shoot. Hearing some of this music also makes me wish a for a dance floor--it's got the right beat for a two-step. Well I wisht I was in Austin in a chilly parlor bar drinking mad dog margaritas and not carin 'where you are But here I sit in Dublin, just rolling cigarettes and holding back and choking back the shakes with every breath So forgive me all my anger, and forgive me all my faults There's no need to forgive me for thinking what I thought I loved you from the get-go, and I'll love you till you die I loved you on the Spanish steps the day you said good-bye. Achingly good stuff.

Chalk is the movie I watched tonight. It's a faux documentary of the lives of high school teachers. I thought it was surprisingly good, capturing both the highs and the lows of what trying to be a good teacher feels like. It reminds me of those days, those battles to engage resistant students, the humility of having one's sense of maturity and knowledge tested by a sixteen-year-old telling you to shove it up your ass, the reward of finding a way to connect across what sometimes feels like an unbridgeable gulf. It makes me both think I could never go back to that world, and wonder how I ever could've left. The word 'ache' means something to me lately--I find myself using that word to describe a lot of the things I've been feeling. Maybe it means that I'm getting some sensation back, somewhere, that's been numb for too long. My friend Rebekah burned a cd of her music for me, and the tone matches my soul these days. A tone that manages to be mour

I'm watching that Seinfeld episode where George offers up "Seven" as a baby name and gets laughed at, and then somebody steals the name. I don't know why people laugh when I tell them that "Celery" is a perfectly beautiful girl's name. Really--it's a nice name. Maybe if you spelled it wrong--Selery, or Celrey, or Celerie--people wouldn't even associate it with stalky green vegetables. I'm not really a fan of spelling names creatively, though. I mean, maybe I'd care if I had a common name--maybe it would allow me to feel more unique. Maybe I'd want it to be spelled Jonn or Jahn or Jhon so that I didn't feel like just another john. Maybe not. I get annoyed when people can't spell Fisher right, so I don't know what I'd do if there were 13 different ways to spell my first name. Walter and Stanley are perfectly fine names, too.

This afternoon started much like yesterday: standing in a long line. I decided that my leg is too damaged for a ski trip today, so I'm taking it easy and hoping to heal it by the time the Sunday pick-up game rolls around. Hearing that the Obama rally would offer much more seating than the Slick Willy event yesterday, I decided to take my chances on another wait in the cold. Kaijsa and I started nearly twice as far back in the line (and Cass stayed home to recover from yesterday's unsuccessful foray in the cold), but the event was so much better planned that we made up that distance in virtually no time and were seated in section B, about 20 rows up. Aside from some minor shenanigans in getting seated, things went smoothly. But even before that, the weather seemed to bode well. In the place of slicing cold wind was a nearly warm sun. An auspicious breeze to blow us to our places inside. Then, the rally. It was good. Our man Obama made a joke about the Secret Service conf

So, I'm relatively apolitical, but that's been changing now for a while. And I was sort of excited about the prospect of seeing Bill Clinton stump for Hillary tonight at UW's Multipurpose Gym. Kaijsa and Cass got in line around a quarter to 4, and I caught up to them about 20 minutes later. There might've been 300 people ahead of us in line. Slowly--painfully, brutally, slowly--we made our way towards the doors. The line wound around the law school to the corner of Willett (our starting point), then down Willett all the way to 22nd. I wished for an ice-cream truck to come by so I could warm my hands on a frozen fudgesicle--it was a perfectly windy Wyoming day, clear and bright and sharp like mountain stream water. Brrr. Finally we got inside the doors: only 60 feet stood between us and entry to the big event. Then, 40 feet. Then just 20 people or so. And then the doors closed, after we'd been standing out in the fuggin' cold for an hour freezing off our

So somebody got ahold of a giant roll of newsprint paper in the last few days and wrote a giant banner to unroll at the Cowgirls game tonight--their last home game of the season. As best I can remember, it said: "Thanks Jody Dom Hannah and U-stena [our graduating senior girls]. Coach Joe and supporting staff--thanks for the memories. Best of luck." I think there were one or two more SENTENCES included on the banner. It spanned three or four sections of the arena--it was at least 75 people long, I'll say. It was cool. Really cool--especially in an age of text messaging, where people can hardly be troubled to write one complete WORD, let alone a string of coherent sentences. Then, after it was completely unrolled, it made its way all the way around the arena. Of course it started to come apart, but come on--how cool is that? Damn cool! Judgment: two thumbs up. In other, less cool news that I've been meaning to write about for several days now: Bollywood night

The title of this post may be somewhat misleading. But there are days when I feel like I've learned something about relationships and the way that other people think and how to be less of a jackass. But I'm pretty sure that if I start to feel like I know something I'll just get laid flat, blindsided by something I haven't yet figured out. I wonder how cautious one should be. I do realize that my level of disengagement might be somewhat unproductive, but I also think it's a self-preservative instinct that I'm grateful for. I just wonder how to move myself beyond that wall. Maybe it will just happen when the right person comes along.

So, I just got back (okay, 10 minutes ag0) from a showing on campus of "Sometimes Happy, Sometimes Sad." That's the English title for a 2001 Bollywood film. (Original title: Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham ) All total, it was nearly four hours long. That's a lot of dancing and singing and being sometimes happy and sometimes sad. It's the first Bollywood film I've seen from end to end, and I think I can say: I would've really liked it, if only it had been 90 minutes shorter. It makes me willing to watch some other Indian cinema, though. Two other things: I like the name 'Rohan.' In Irish and Gaelic it means 'red' or 'red-haired,' but in Hindi it means 'sandalwood' or 'ascending.' NameVoyager says it's about the 500th most-popular boys name in America these days. I can't decide if the actress who played Anjali was hotter than the actress who played Pooja.

Then, one day, I just woke up, and I said, 'e-i'! And ever since then, I haven't had any trouble figuring out how to spell 'weird.' 'E-i'!! I don't know how, after about 20 years of thinking about it, it suddenly just made sense to me, but there it was. That hasn't yet happened, by the way, with 'separate.' I still misspell it half of the time. Certainly there's some easy mnemonic device for 'separate,' though...? Last weekend, playing pick-up basketball, was sorta the same. There I was, with a basketball in my hand, and I thought, I'm gonna fake right and go left. Or, I'm gonna square up and take the shot right over top of the dude in front of me. Even though I've been playing basketball for years, it was like a whole new level of the game opened up to me. Weird, huh? 'E-i'!

I just finished Cormac Mccarthy's The Road . It was intense, and not intense. "Unpyschological," one reviewer calls it, and I agree. But that doesn't mean it wasn't deep or dense, in spite of the sparse language. I intended to post a couple of quotes from the book to throw here on the blog, but I returned it already to Jess who I borrowed it from, and it's surprisingly difficult, online, to find many quotes from it. Even then, I don't know if it's the type of writing that lends itself to excerpting. I don't think I can quote capture the complexity in the book by pulling a 10-line passage. Next I think I'll start Alyson's book, set in Wyoming. Snow, Ashes . Meanwhile I've got plenty of work-related reading to do (and seem to somehow be falling even further behind....), but fiction is some medicine for the soul.

As I was doing some research tonight about the move towards increased levels of online reading, I came across a reference to this incredibly worthwhile grassroots effort: http://zapatopi.net/treeoctopus/ I also notice a link to their online gift shoppe. Look for me to be sporting my ringer tee in support of this important issue. Why haven't Barock and Hilary and McCain been talking about this?!

Something I keep forgetting to mention: a hockey game seems like a weird place to hear the "Star Spangled Banner" on a violin. It's the first time I've ever heard a violin play the anthem, and I have to say that I liked it. And once I got over the whole 'bull in a china shop' feeling, I actually thought it was pretty appropriate. I mean, those hockey dudes are seriously agile. Even under 30 pounds of pads they're elegant. Even when they're getting up from a full-body check they make it look easy to be out there on a sheet of ice. It's a song about bombs bursting in air. On a violin. I won't say it brought me to tears. But I will say it moved me in a way that nationalism rarely does. At a game where they balance some of the most elegant motion in sports with knock-down, drag-it-out, punch-you-inna-face fighting. Good times. God bless America.