December 29, 2006

Boot's Top Books 2006 - #5-1

5. Saturday - Ian McEwan

The more I think about this book the lower it goes on the rankings. Look for it tomorrow and you may not find it here. Some awesome writing takes place here though and it's a post 9/11 book that doesn't scream "look at me, look how creative I can be about the terrorist attacks, look how I'm dealing with it!" Example: as the main character sees a plane out of his window he remarks, "there gathered round the innocent silhouette of any plane a novel association. Everyone agrees, airliners look different in the sky these days..." And even though the book takes place on the day of an anti-war rally it's not overtly political - in fact, it is more a wonderful meditation on individuals and culture, connection and disconnection, and the arbitrariness of fate and violence on both a national and personal scale. On second thought, maybe it should move up the charts...

4. Ilf and Petrov's American Road Trip - Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov

The last book that I read in 2006 ended up being one of the best. It was a total impulse buy from Cabinet magazine. Basically, these two Russian photo-journalists come to the United States in the 1930's to try to find the real "America." They buy a car in New York and drive out to San Francisco then head back through the South. The pictures (he used a Leica) are so artless that they are awesome; just snapshots really, and the commentary is priceless and spot-on, innocently charming but fool of satirical snootiness. They seem particularly obsessed with American advertising (refreshing Coca-Cola, burma shave signs, political posters). "We withstood it for a month. We didn't drink Coca-Cola. But then advertising got to us. We experienced the drink. Yes, Coca-Cola does refresh the throat, stimulate the nerves, and has a salutary effect on a weakened constitution. How could we not say that, when for three months it's been drilled into our skulls every day, every hour, and every minute?" So how did they find America? "The most advanced technology in the world and a horrifyingly oppressive, stupefying social order." I wish I could buy you a copy.

3. The Path Between the Seas - David McCullough

Can anything be more impressive than the engineering of the Panama Canal? The Panama canal was an essential part of American empire-building and I expected to hear about that as I read this book, however, the focus here is a tale of disease and hardship was. The sheer mechanics of building this project were amazing. The construction and political decisions will make the reader cringe at times. It would be easy to attribute the ultimate success to superior American ingenuity and resolve, however, while this did indeed play a part, the impact of a national, government financed effort (as opposed to the privately financed French effort) coupled with huge strides in medical and mechanical technology in the intervening years probably was the most compelling reason for American success. Get this: when work was at its height, the US was excavating at Panama the equivalent of a Suez Canal every three year. However, one of the least impressive things about the big dig was the understanding of disease. To protect themselves from the ants attacking, family put everything (plants, bed posts, food) inside of bowls of water which in effect were breeding grounds for mosquitos and yellow fever.

2. Bering - Orcutt Frost

When I worked at the Barnes years ago people used to recommend books to me all the time - "You just have to read the Purpose Driven Life; the DaVinci Code is to die for; have you heard of the new Patterson?" I, of course, never listened - good for them that they like trash fiction and that they are at least reading. Anyway, this is one book that I actually listened to a customer on and it was incredible. I read it in February and it still has the sticking power to be the top non-fiction book that I read this year. You can read about Bering in this previous post; however, this fact is something that seems awesome. Scurvy is among the most easily cured of all diseases known, yet from the 15th to the 20th centuries more human beings dies from scurvy that from any other disease. For as incredible and imposing a figure Bering is in this book, the doctor, Steller, ends up being the true protagonist by administering to the crew's ailments and helping to improve their spirits until they can make it home.

1. The Road - Cormac McCarthy

This book easily won the "Booty" for best book of the year, it seems to be making it into a lot of top ten lists this year. To be honest, I was at first a little skeptical about this book. The whole premise, a man and boy walk across the land after the apocalypse, seems a little too Beckett-esque to be any good. Plus McCarthy just came out with a book in 2005, so another book in less than a year seemed a little Stephen Kingy. However, it is a true masterpiece in subtle characterization. It has one of those perfect endings: one that at first leaves you feeling a little cheated but then when you stop to think about it, and it makes perfect sense (a la 1984).

Well, there you have it.
My top 10 books of 2006; 5 non-fiction, 4 fiction, and 1 lit crit ... Stay tuned for honorable mentions...

December 27, 2006

Boot's Top Books 2006 - #10-6

10. The Crusades Through Arab Eyes - Amin Maalouf

I read this book as part of the History Book Club at Barnes and Noble, and I thought this book was pretty average until the last few chapters when Maalouf ties the crusades to modern thinking. The author points out that at the time of the Crusades, the Arab world was actually culturally, scientifically, and intellectually ahead of the rest of the world. The Franj army invaded and took not only land but also their ideas. The ideas went back to Europe, were improved upon, and led to the rise of Western power. When the Arab world thinks about getting back to a time when they were superior to the Western world they don't look at adopting our advances and improving on them, they look backward at a time when the mindset was even more militantly anti-Western. There were many books published in 2006 that deals with the Middle East question; however, very few of them look back at history to see that the crusades continue to this day.

9. Fortress of Solitude - Jonathan Lethem

I received this book as an advanced reader copy at the Barnes. The first half of this book is an awesome meditation on the dynamics of growing up. It took me a while to read this book because it begins to drag a little in the middle when the kids grow up and begin to navigate the adult world where difficult choices can have very real consequences. I think the influx of magical realism (super ring, kids flying) actually hurts the tone of the book even if it may augment the theme. Ultimately, As She Climbed Across the Table may be a better (and shorter) Lethem work.


8. Housekeeping Vs. the Dirt - Nick Hornby

How can you not love a book with a sentence like this? "I would like my personal reading map to resemble a map of the British Empire circa 1900; I'd like people to look at it and think, How the hell did he end up right over there? ... I'm always reading works of bloody literature; I'm never reading about migration patterns." I'm so sick of the New Criticism that says a book must stand outside of its time period both in reading and writing. Hornby acknowledges his personal prejudices and appreciates that certain books hit us exactly when we need them instead of just trudging through a wish list of books that should be read. I tried to read Gatbsy three times before I finally got through it - I wasn't ready for it at the time. It is now one of my favorites.

7. Walking to Vermont - Christopher Wren

Speaking of personal prejudices, I love Vermont and would love to walk the Long Trail up the spine of Vermont sometime soon. When Wren retired from the New York Times, he decided to walk to his new house in Vermont from New York City, and instead of half-assing it like Bryson does in a Walk in the Woods, Wren actually walks the whole darn thing. Plus he does it while recounting field assignments that he had for the paper. Something about being in a bunker in Vietnam and having to make the choice between letting rats continue to have sex on top of him or make noise by shooting the rats and risk revealing the troops position - how can you forget a book like that? But the walking to Vermont part is actually even more engaging because it doesn't try to get all preachy about why the trek is important or why the environment is good or anything like that; it's a well-told chronicle of his walk.

6. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

I'm a little embarrassed to be putting this on the list. It seems like I should have been able to cross this off the list sooner. In fact, this is the first Steinbeck I've ever read. Sure, most of the characters are flat and static and the foreshadowing would have to actually reach out of the book and punch you in the nose to be more obvious. But for some reason I'm becoming fascinated by the time period of the Great Depression/Dust Bowl so this nice little story about the friendship of George and Lennie hit me right where I was hankering.


****Well, that's numbers 6-10. The top 5 will be coming shortly, as well as 3 books that I was surprised didn't make the list.****

December 20, 2006

Time Out

I finally got my Internet back tonight. It's been broke for about a week because squirrels chewed through the wires outside; K said it took the guy like two and a half hours to find and fix the problem.

I'm working on my top 10 books for the year post; I only read 28 in last twelve months but there are some prime contenders for the 2-9 spots. Number 1 was a lock the moment I finished it.

December 5, 2006

The Ref


To say that being a referee for a Special Olympics High School basketball game is "interesting" may be the understatement of the year. This is my first time ever doing such a thing and I think some people thought that I was too much of a sarcastic jerk to do it well, but I had a smile on my face the whole time. It was awesome helping students understand a game that I love watching and playing. Sure there were times where flagrant traveling and double dribbling occurred but for the most part parents understood that I let their kid get away with as much as everyone else. And sure, there were times that I had to dodge the kid that would just run randomly around the court or the kid that would just stand in the paint biting his hands. Would I do it again? You betcha.

November 12, 2006

Go Vertical


This morning I climbed to the top of the Sears Tower and, man, was it easier than I thought it was going to be. Climbing 103 floors (2,109 steps) in around 30 minutes seems pretty good. I took the first twenty flights pretty well but my mouth was parched because of the poorly ventilated stairway. I got water at the 30th floor and every 10 floors after that. The continual goal was to make it to the next water stop instead of thinking of the top floor. At floor fifty I was a little discouraged but once you break through the 70's you know that you are going to make it. The easiest floors were 100 - 103 because you can hear the beeping of the chip timers and the announcers. You just grab onto the handrails and vault yourself up to the finish. The view at the top was, of course, awesome.

I'll be honest, I was a little worried about my ability to make a respectable try out of this race. My training regime included running up NCC stadium's steps twice, working out on the stairmaster once, and taking out the garbage a couple of times. Oh, and I kind of trained for a marathon before that.

November 11, 2006

The Road - Read It

I've never read much (any!) Cormac McCarthy; mostly because I'm a contrarian. Some people recommend his books and say that I'll really enjoy them. Others say that it's probably not the writing for me. That leaves me with little room to be contrary.

Anyway, the long and short of it is: I love it. It is in my top 10 books: it is a masterpiece in subtle characterization. It has one of those perfect endings: one that at first leaves you feeling a little cheated but then when you stop to think about it, it makes perfect sense. I couldn't wait to recommend it to others.

October 31, 2006

Trick or Treat

It's interesting, this Holiday. A day when all rules are thrown out the window and kids are allowed to wander the streets to knock on unknown neighbor's doors to take candy.

I sat on the porch and passed out treats tonight. K and I don't have a prime candy-passing location so I only saw a few kids in the hour or so that I was outside. It was a brisk night but I sat and waited, eating hot clam chowder, drinking an RC, and reading the Economist to pass the time. Eventually K came home from work and we went upstairs to watch reruns and enjoy each other's company. We left the carved pumpkins on the porch and a tupperware full of candy. Every half hour or so I would go downstairs to top it off. It felt nice, grown-up even, to sit on the porch, listening for costumed kids to come up the sidewalk and to eat a nice warm meal on my front steps.

I didn't really remember how much work carving pumpkins was but K and I did it. I'll try to post some pictures of our creations in the upcoming days.

October 23, 2006

Chicago Marathon

Well, I did it. After not training well for months and months, I finished the Chicago marathon. I've never read David Foster Wallace's "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" but I'm sure marathoning is included.

However, for a free t-shirt and hat, I've registered for the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon on 5-6-07. I'll blog more about the race when I'm not so exhausted. Yep, 36 hours later, and I'm still exhausted.

On a similar note, I saw King Lear at the Goodman Downtown. It is a marathon in itself, clocking in at three and a half hours. The acting was incredible (except for Goneril, who was truly bad) but the director made some "interesting" (read: political, unfocused) choices that ultimately made the play unsatisfying. I'm glad I went; I always love the theater, but I can't recommend the show.

October 16, 2006

Why I Keep Blogging

A friend recently posted about giving up blogging. It got me to thinking; here's a few reasons why I keep blogging:

  1. Even though two of the people I enjoy most have never met; they still have an influence on each other. *67 went to see a movie based on Squirrel's recommendation and I am now reading "The Road" because Squirrel mentioned it on his blog. McCarthy was also an author that *67 was reading when he came to visit me once at IU. The human connection in a digital world.
  2. I realize that the banal minutae of my life may not make good reading, it's nice to look back on what's been going on every once in a while. Ultimately, these posts are all about me. The smallest details can trigger the largest memories.
  3. Even though I'm not so good about staying in touch, this blog helps people know what's going on with me and hopefully makes them post what's new in their lives - which saves my cell phone minutes.
My dad was/is in the hospital today and apparantly was on Saturday night. One would think that I would get a call regarding this. My sister told me today. The lack of communication in the M. household stays true. Awesome.

October 10, 2006

Goodbye Bad Friend

The Neon left my possession tonight. I posted it on Craigslist and within an hour a guy came, paid me, and towed it away. A great burden of bad car has been lifted off of my shoulders and out of my garage.

Oh, and I have my Miata back.

September 19, 2006

It's not good for a 24 hour bike race but...


Instead of fighting suburban traffic everyday, I've decided to commute via train, walk to the North Campus of my school and ride my bike to South Campus which is about a mile away. This saves my time (usually the train is faster than driving), my money (the train costs 3.55 each way, but they only take my ticket half of the time), and my sanity (I don't come to school filled with road rage).

Anyway, imagine this bike with chrome fenders and a rear rack and you've got my new ride. Please note the white-wall tires.

September 12, 2006

Still Kickin'

Currently, I don't have Internet at home and my school blocks 'blogging' sites. Until then...

June 3, 2006

South America or Bust


K and I leave for Brazil and Argentina tomorrow, so I'll be on a little summer leave from blogging. I'll be back in the States on June 21st, my birthday, number 26.

May 29, 2006

Things I Underlined in Buddha of Suburbia

Race:
The thing was, we were supposed to be English, but to the English we were always wogs and nigs and Pakis and the rest of it. (53)

The immigrant is the Everyman of the twentieth century. (141)

You couldn't ler the ex-colonialists see you on your knees, for that was where they expected you to be. They were exhausted now; their Empire was gone, their day was done and it was our turn. I didn't want Dad to see me like this, because he wouldn't be able to understand why I'd made such a mess of things when the conditions had been good, the time so opportune, for advancement. (250)

Sex:
[Sex with Jamila] It was all pretentious, of course, and I learned nothing about sex, not the slightest thing about where and how and here and there, and I lost none of my fear of intimacy. (52)

As she tugged me towards it and I inhaled urine, shit, and disinfectant cocktail I associated with love, I just had to stop and think. (55)

whether sexual experimentation was merely bourgeois indulgence or a contribution to the dissolution of established society. (148)

Wit:
'Cuba wasn't won by getting up late, was it? Fidel and Che didn't get up at two in the afternoon, did they? They didn't even have time to shave!' (56)

I didn't want to work in a place where I couldn't wear my fur coat. (95)

she hailed a cab - absolute Roman decadence (113)

Now do The Mad Dog Blues for me, please. Brilliantly (139)

But he's not fucking here, unless I've gone blind. (139)

He was quiet and distant tonight, as if he couldn't be bothered with the performace of conversation. He spoke only in murmured cliches, as if to underline the banality of the evening. (199)

But I can't have people - men - telling me what to do. If Pyke wants me to be with him, then I must follow my desire. (226)

I greeted him with a scream which rose from my stomach and flew across the air like a jet. (234)

the socks were perfect - you can always tell a quality dresser by the socks. (267)

Coming of Age:
There are certain looks on certain faces I don't want to see again, and this was one of them. Confusion and anguish and fear clouded his face. (66)

[Eva] Sometimes she became childlike and you could see her at eight or seventeen or twenty-five. The different ages of her life seemed to exist simultaneously, as if she could move from age to age according to how she felt (86)

For Mum, life was fundamentally hell. You went blind, you got raped, people forgot your birthday, Nixon got elected, your husband fled with a blonde from Beckenham, and then you got old, you couldn't walk and you died. (105)

When you think of the people you adore there are usually moments you can choose - afternoons, whole weeks, perhaps - when they are at their best, when youth and wisdom, beauty, poisse combine perfectly. (106)

[reminds me of Gatsby] Like Andre Gide, who when young expected people to admire him for the books he would write in the future, Charlie came to love being appreciated in several high streets for his potential. But he earned this appreciation with his charm, which was often mistaken for ability. (118)

But now, at the beginning of my twenties, something was growing in me. Just as my body had changed at puberty, not I was developing a sense of guilt, a sense not only of how I appeared to others, but of how I appeared to myself, especially in violating self-imposed prohibitions. (186)

You go all your life thinking of your parents as these crushing protective monsters with infinite power over you, and then there's a day when you turn round, catch them unexpectedly, and they're weak, nervous people trying to get by with each other (228)

I thought of how, when I was a kid, Dad always out-ran me as we charged across the park towards the swimming pool. When we wrestled on the floor he always pinned me down, sitting on my chest and making me say I'd obey him always. Now he couldn't move without flinching. I'd become the powerful one; I couldn't fight him - I wanted to fight him - without destroying him in one blow. (261)

Culture:
This was the English passion, not for self-improvement or culture or wit, but for DIY, Do It Yourself, for bigger and better houses with more mod cons, the painstaking accumulation of comfort and, with it, status - the concrete display of earned cash. (75)

I saw she wanted to scour that suburban stigma right off her body. She didn't realize it was in the blood and not on the skin; she didn't see there could be nothing more suburban than suburbanites repudiating themselves. (134)

Pyke's shows were also commended for their fantastic intermissions, dazzling occassions where the fashionable audience came dressed in such style they resembled peasants, industrial workers (boiler suits) or South American insurgents (berets). (160)

None of this seemed like work to me, and I loved to think of what the suburban commuters in our street, who were paying for us through their taxes, would have made of a gand of grown-ups being pop-up toasters, surfboards, and typewriters. (168)

We have class, race, fucking and farce. What more could you want as an evening's entertainment? (189)

I walked around Central London and saw that the town was being ripped apart; the rotten was being replaced by the new, and the new was ugly. The gift of creating beauty had been lost somewhere. The ugliness was in the people, too. (258)

Education:

Most of the kids I grew up with left school at sixteen, and they's be in insurance now, or working as car-mechanince, or managers (radio and TV dept) in deptartment stores. And I'd walked out of college withouth thinking twice about it, despite my father's admonitions. In the suburbs education wasn't considered a particular advantage, and certainly couldn't be seen as worthwhilein itself. Getting into business young was more importnat. Bot not I was among people who wrote books as naturally as we played football. What infuriated me - what made me loather both them and myself - was their confidence and knowledge. The easy talk of art, theatre, architecure, travel; the languages, the vocabulary, knowing the way round a whle culture - it was invaluable and irreplaceable capital.
At my school they taught you a bit of French, but anyone who attempted to pronounce a word correctly was laughed down. On a trip to Calais we attacked a Frog behind a restaurant. By this ignorance we knew ourselves to be superior to the public-school kids, with their puky uniforms and leather briefcases, and Mummy and Daddy waiting outside in the car to pick them up. We were rougher; we disrupted all lessons; we were fighters; we never carried no effeminate briefcases since we never did no homework. We were proud of never learning anything execpt the names of footballers, the personnel of rock groups and the lyrics of 'I am the Walrus'. What idiots we were! How misinformed! Why didn't we understand that we were happily condemning ourselves to being nothing better than motor-mechanics! Why couldn't we see that? (177-178)

May 10, 2006

Letter to the Eiteljorg

John Vanausdall
President and CEO
Eiteljorg Museum
500 West Washington St.
Indianapolis, IN 46204

Dear John,

A few days ago, on May 5th, 2006, I was one of the thousands of people that flooded your city to participate in the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. I decided to come down a day early to visit your museum. This was my second visit to your campus and it looks like you have really grown since my last trip six years ago when I was an undergraduate at Indiana University – Bloomington.

I think that your museum perfectly captures the Zeitgeist of the early American West. It seems that every detail, from the architecture to the signage to the selected gallery pieces, helps to enhance the visitor’s appreciation of the beauty and hardships of the past. Additionally, your contemporary gallery always treats me to what issues current artists are grappling with.

However, during my last visit one thing detracted from my experience of the wonderfully fluid Remington statues, the semi-abstractionist works of O’Keeffe, and the masterful use of light in Hulling’s “Wash Day”. The only thing that broke the trance and silence of the West was the two security guards in the Gund Gallery and the Art of the American West Gallery and their incessant talking.

Throughout my trip, they walked next to each other talking, not in museum voices mind you, about friends who were mixed up in drugs, a relative who “is dating part-Hispanic”, and other personal issues. When I visit other museums, it is hard enough to get a “hello” out of the security guards because of the respect for other patrons so to see two employees chatting it up for at least 90 minutes was frustrating - to put it nicely. I even found myself rushing through one of my favorite museums or neglecting certain pieces because of the proximity to the guards.

No doubt, one day soon I will come back to your museum, it is too much of a treasure to pass up when I am visiting Indianapolis. However, in my recommendations and recollections of the Eiteljorg, the employee’s rude behavior will unfortunately taint the memory of an otherwise outstanding weekend.

Sincerely,



JM

cc: Lezlie Laxton, HR Manager

May 8, 2006

Indianapolis Mini Marathon

On Saturday, I ran the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. I arrived in Indy around 10:00 a.m. and went to the Eiteljorg (I'll save that for another post) and had lunch with my friend A. at Einstein Bros. Around 2 I drove to the airport to pick up K, and we killed some time going up to the top of the Circle Center Monument which was hot and graffittied and hanging out at Borders filling our heads with places to travel.

After A got off work we walked over to the Convention Center for the Race Expo. We picked up our bib numbers, I bought a mini-marathon shirt, and we had a fruitless search for red running socks. After dinner at Rock Bottom, the three of us went back to A's nice new digs and went to sleep.

We woke up at 6:00 a.m. and put on our race gear, drove up to the race, and walked a few blocks in the morning cold to the starting line. Because we had estimated that our finishing time would 2:40:00 we were placed in carrol 'P' we found our way through the crowd to the appropriate place and seemed to fit in with the rest of the people.

Before each race, K and I like to find 'our people' the runners. It's hard to describe who we look for but the main qualification is that they look a little pokey for some reason. The 'P' carrol had some of our people but some serious looking runners. I guess with a race of 35,000 people that's to be expected. The race officials play the national anthem, a local priest gives a prayer, and the race is underway. K, A, and I just stand there. About fourteen minutes later, we make it up to the starting line and start the race.

A runs with us a couple of minutes but then heads off at a quicker pace. Just past the first turn with the Eiteljorg and State Museum on the right, there is a little patch of bushes. I look over and see at least 15 guys peeing in the woods and running back to the course. The course is lined with bands of all kinds playing and once you would get out of earshot of one another would be right up ahead. We heard Jamaican Music (my favorite of the day), high school rock bands playing Weezer and originals, a cello and fiddle rocking out to "Play that Funky Music White Boy", metal and a guy with an acoustic singing Guster. Some people opted not to play at all but instead prostelize about how the most important marathon is the one heavenward.

Around Mile 3 were passed by a gorilla and I yelled, "Good job, gorilla!" which got a laugh out of the fellow runners and a fist pump from the great ape. A few minutes later, we were the ones doing the passing, as we crept ahead of a man wearing a full firefighters suit (with oxygen strapped on his back and a mask on) who was raising money for charity.

We continued running, getting water and gatorade at the numerous rest areas, as we approached mile 6 and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. This was by far the coolest part of the race but also the most challenging. On TV, the Indy Race track looks like it takes about 30 seconds to aip around. What we don't realize is that the track is 2.5 miles long and what we don't see are all the little groves in the track like a giant record. The course seems to go on and on and you can't even see the opposite side from the one you are on. The grooves are close enough together that made me a little dizzy. It was at this point that we passed a man in military fatigues with a full pack on his back; I told him "good job" and kept of jogging. The entertainment at the track is also lacking because instead of bands, high school cheerleaders line the course. K and I both blew kisses to the row of bricks in the track, though some people will actually stop and kiss the ground.

Once you get done with the track, however, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Mile 9 is close at hand and then you only have 4.1 miles left. At Mile 10, instead of water or gatorade, the Hi Neighbor Tavern and their leather-clad, biking patrons serve beer to the less than elite runners. K and I definitely took some (we had been looking forward to it since we found out about it the previous night) and 2 ounces of ice cold beer definitely hits the spot.

The last 5K works it's way back to downtown Indy and runs along the river and over the bridge to Military Park. I urged a couple of runners on who started walking and questioned whether I was going to be able to make the last .5 without stopping myself but K and I pushed on and finished at 2:26 which was a little better than the average and placed us at 16,002. We turned in our timing chip and were given our finisher's medal. As we exited the finish line we picked up fruit, water, cookies, energy bars and went to go find A who had finished in 2:04 and claim our free runner's beer. There's a great sense of accomplishment after running 13.1 miles and the fact that you are doing it with 35,000 other people with 1.2 million spectators makes it seems less like a competition and more like a community event. I can't wait for the Chicago Marathon.

On a Side Note:
The quote of the weekend was by K as we rode the $1 elevator to the top of the circle monument, we passed some kids taking the steps, K imitates the mom and says: "Tell your Daddy to get a job!"

May 4, 2006

My Day in Court

Today, I woke up and didn't go to work. Instead, I decided to head to a local diner, eat a Southwest Breakfast Sandwich on a croissant, and drink some coffee. I then drove down the street a little bit, parked the car, left my cell phone and reading materials, and for a short period of time became a member of a Federal Grand Jury. I decided to dress up for the occasion, wearing my light blue J-Crew shirt, black pants from the Gap, black Bostonian shoes, red Italian cotton socks, and a pink with red and white striped Marshall Field's tie.

9:45 a.m. - I show up at court, go through security, and meet the Grand Jury Bouncer that finds my name on "the list" and allows me into the courtroom. The room is about 80 X 40 X 40 and has medium brown wood with blue paint on the walls and mostly white ornamented ceiling with light blue accents. Pictures of previous judges adorn the wall. As we are let into the courtroom, we are told where to sit by our juror numbers - I am #45. Already I can tell I won't be selected.
They only need 23 jurors.

10:10 - The last of the stragglers come in and a new security guard moves most of us around into a new order, taking attendance again.

10:15 - A court worker realizes that #16 has been excused prior to today so we all move one seat over. Attendance is taken again, this time we say how far away our drive was. We will be paid 44.5 cents per mile. Jurors respond 113, 62, 58, 74, 13 until I am called.

"A third," I say.
"A what?"
"One third."
"One third of what?"
"One third of one mile."
Everyone laughs.
"We'll count you as 2"

Great, so now I have an extra 89 cents, plus the $40 I will receive for coming in. I'm not sure if they'll take taxes out of that or not.

10:20 - We finish attendance and just wait. In the room, in this cross section of the district there are young and old., 41 whites and 1 Hispanic.

10:40 - The judge comes in and we all rise. She introduces herself as Judge Springman. We stand again and take an oath. She then tells us about the court and our duties which will last from June 2006 until January 2007, averaging one day per month of service.

10:50 - Juror 6 says she should be excused because she is getting married next month and moving out of the state. The judge asks some questions, the government doesn't object, and she is excused.

10:55 - I stand and say on June 3rd, I will be moving to Illinois. The judge asks if it is permanent. The asks if it is for employment. I respond 'yes' to the first question and 'professional and personal reasons' to the second. The government doesn't object to me being excused and I walk out; thus ending my service as a member of a grand jury.

May 3, 2006

Well at least they don't feel bad

The frustration of being a high school teacher is that when the underachieving students get pushed on to your classroom there is nothing you can do about it. It is impossible to counteract 13 or 14 or 15 years of falling behind in the 18 weeks that I get to see them and try to teach them high school level material and focus on 105 other students.

When I first graduated from college with a secondary ed - English license and a computer minor. I thought that I was use the computer minor to help me get a job but would teach English. However, this year since I was leaving, the administration decided to stick me with Keyboarding classes the second half of the year. So now I spend the day watching students type. Great fun. How could this be frustrating?

Today, a student was working on a keyboarding / Wheel-of-Fortune game. If they type sentences fast enough and error-free, they get to guess letters, then solve the puzzle. As I was walking back to my desk after refilling the paper in the printer (my main job) a student stopped me and asked, "Mr. Maffey, do you know this one?"
I looked at her screen:

Abraham Lin_oln

Without even stopping, I replied, "Yeah, he was our 16th President." What else could I do? Tell her the answer? Stop and give her a little bio on the importance of Lincoln? Her goal was to get onto the next puzzle, not get a history lesson. So the knowledge would have been passed onto deaf ears. I am continually awed by the ignorance of our youth, the failings of our elementary schools, and the lack of responsibility by many parents.

May 2, 2006

The Fun of Microsoft Word Tables

The girl asked me again. The girl that asked me yesterday how to create and format a table. The girl that asked me eight times yesterday. She asked me again if the columns go "side-to-side" instead of "this ways". She's the girl with the 5 page table for 4 rows of data. She's the girl that can never remember how to remove the lines or move cells no matter that I just walked her through the steps for the eighth time.

So the kicker today was when she was supposed to type a table then make corrections. The kicker was when she was supposed to switch 'Payments - automobile' to 'Automobile payment' and the "P" had a line through it and a cursive "lc" next to it to make it lowercase. She thought it was an "e" so it was now eayment. She said it looked funny. I told her that it wasn't an "e" but an "lc" as in lower-case. She made the edits while I helped another student. When I came back, the word "lcayment" sat there staring at me. "Are you serious, lc-ayment?" I said. I went back to my seat.

As I'm typing this frustration-letting blog entry, a student came up and said what do I do here. I explained it again. "Switch the words then, make the 'p' of payments lowercase." The response I get? "So I put Automobile Payment LC?" Do kids not know what lowercase is anymore? Are we even dumbing down letters nowadays? Are elementary classrooms filled with lessons on "big" letters and "small" letters because our kids self esteem might suffer if we use words (capial and lowercase) that are outside their zones of development?

April 27, 2006

The Supreme Court : HBC - April

If you ever find yourself looking for a really bad book to read to atone for something you did, pick up "The Supreme Court" by Chief Justice Rehnquist. There are only two reasons this book was published. The first is that the publisher was counting on name recognition and a solid topic (does it get loftier than the Supreme Court?) to bring in sales. The second is that the publisher just couldn't tell a sitting Supreme Court justice not only that he wasn't interested in the book, but that the author only has a limited grasp on how to put a book together.

The book layout starts chronologically: the Marshall court, then the Tanney Court. The Tanney Court chapter talks about how a Supreme Court can effectively work in commerce and regulations and how it can fail miserably by overreaching it's bounds in the Dred Scott Case. Then the book talks about 2 random judges, then then 3 random judges. Most of the information that the reader finds out here sounds like it was lifted from a pamphlet from the Visitor's Center.

Rehnquist decides that now would be a good time to throw in two chapters about the Steel Seizure Case then a couple of chapters about how he runs the court and what the typical day in the life of a justice is like and how he selects his law clerks.

The key insights in his book are that if a sentence takes up more than six lines of printed type it is too long. That's really something that Rehnquist tells us in his book. Even more pedantic, we learn that Rehnquist found it puzzling when he first became a justice that lawyers would come up to him and they would know his name but he would have forgotten theirs! He spends five pages telling us about how for a lawyer, this is his big day, a day in front of the court; for a justice it's just another day at work.

The last nugget that really rubbed me the wrong way was when he pulled the standard middle-school technique of starting a chapter with a "Webster's defines 'pack' as..." So what I've learned from this book isn't that the Justices are these magnanimous beings, but that they have shortcomings - unfortunately, one of Rehnquist's is that he's a horrible writer that has no respect for the intelligence of the common reader.

With such a bad book, you could imagine the way that the History Book Club meeting went. When I usually arrive fifteen minutes early, there are other members setting up tables or browsing the aisles for upcoming month's picks. Today, no one. Finally, the Dave, the head of the club shows up then one other member. We talk casually about how much we loathed the book and curse the person who picked it until we realize she hasn't even shown up yet. Fury glows in all of our eyes. Ten minutes late, the picker of this trash comes in and says, "so how was it? I didn't read it, I've been playing golf for the last three days." I'm speechless.

Fine, the meeting continues with the three readers. We say a few nice things then focus on the shortcomings of the book. Periodically, the lady will interject, "So what are you reading now" or "I don't understand how you can not support the war" or "All you ever hear about are the gays, but San Fransisco is one of the most beautiful cities." She actually said that.

I almost walked evey time she opened her mouth. And she didn't actually want to hear why anyone would have misgivings about the war or why Congress today doesn't have statesmen anymore, because as soon as someone would reply she would daze off into the distance until we started talking about the book again. If it was my first meeting, I told Dave, I'd never be back. Which is fitting because with my move to Chicago, I wouldn't be able to. It's too bad I'm leaving with a bad book under my belt and bad taste in my mouth because of partisan-spewing book club crashers.

April 25, 2006

My Favorite Season

I had two favorite times of year in college; the beginning of fall and spring semester. The few weeks ahead of time I would pick up a schedule of classes and begin debating which courses to take next term, which prof was best. I had scheduling down to a science I would track which courses were filling up, which were cancelled, where I stood in line for waitlisting. My senior I acutally registered in less than 10 minutes. There was a rush to get in, and get out with the best schedule possible. Literally, my heart would beat faster and I would sweat trying to beat the other hundreds of people that were registering simultaneously.

But the real rush was going to the book store to buy the course books. How could you not look forward to that? I couldn't wait to see which books I was going to be able to discuss with a professor, which books I probably wasn't going to read, and which books I didn't look forward to but would read anyway. "Hope Leslie", anyone?

Nowadays, I'm out of college and don't get to experience buying course books anymore. When I'm in a college town, I still mosey over to the textbook section and see what the undergrads are reading for Postmodern Lit or Introduction to Literature but it's not the same - I don't have the excitement for it. I'm on the other side of the glass, looking in.

My current favorite time of year is going on right now. It's the time when I spread out garbage bags on my floor and repot all my houseplants. Some don't make the cut and get thrown away to make room for new plants or old plants that need new digs. Many branches are pruned back and cuttings are made toward propigation. The whole process takes three or four days. Already, just a few days later my cactus plants have already started to grow and a few plants have begun to flower. When the basil that K and I are growing made the push through the soil, I actually jumped up and down at the new growth.

April 22, 2006

St. Jude's Run with the Spirit 5K

This morning I went back to my grade school to run the Run with the Spirit 5K. After spending K - 8 in this neighborhood, being educated in the Catholic tradition there, it's funny how I never really noticed the landscape. Maybe when you're younger you have boundless energy, you aren't really allowed too far away from the school grounds, and you spend most your time playing parking lot football and trying to impress girls; so you never really care about how hilly certain streets are.

The course did a loop just west of the school then came back and went east into the park area behind the adjacent hospital then came west back for a smaller loop. The course was a good challenge and my quads definately felt the burn of the rolling hills. I finished with a respectable 28:15 and beat a few runners that usually finish ahead of me.

Up at the head of the winning pack was my friend's little brother who we used to call "Goober" growing up. It's hard to believe that I can remember when Goober was first born and now he's out running races ahead of most other comers. I may not be as fast or as competitive as I used to be but I enjoy "it" more. I've never felt more comfortable or confident. Just part of growing up, I suppose.

April 19, 2006

The 2006 Race to Wrigley 5K

Since I'm moving to Chicago in about a month the inevitable question needed to be answered soon. Cubs or White Sox? If I root for the White Sox I look like a Johnny-come-lately and even worse, a bandwagon hopper; if I root for the Cubs I would immediately turn into a drunken frat boy with my hat backwards and develop an unhealthy obsession with "next year". The choice was obvious.

This way, 90 years from now, I can complain that I moved to Chicago and began rooting for the White Sox the year after they won the World Series and bemoan the fact that they haven't won one since. Plus, whenever I would venture to Chicago to see a ballgame in the past with the boy scouts or some other organization we would go to Comisky - I've never been to Wrigley.

So it was with a little chagrin and a lot of trepidation that I ventured up to Wrigleyville last Saturday to run the "Race to Wrigley" - a truly terrible race. I seem to remember the day as cold, possibly rainy, with dark clouds and occassional lightning behind the ivy-fenced Castle Grayskull. The weather channel, however, seems to think it was in the brisk upper 50's and totally sunny. The race had 3,000 participants so the pace was slow because the pack would have to walk when we had to turn. The fellow runners were obnoxious, often cutting others off. I saw at least 10 people cut across the course well before the turn- arounds; they all seemed to be wearing blue and red and white outfits with a large "C" on them. Cubs? I think not, "Cheaters".

After running the first 3 miles through Hades' bar district, the last .1 mile went into the gates of Wrigley and through the concourse. I've never run faster.

Overall, K and I finished a little slower than usual, but I think we were happy to escape with our Sox-loving heads.

April 17, 2006

My Shitty Roommate

Back in 1787 Grigori Potemkin constructed hollow facades on the buildings in his village in order to fool Catherine II as to the value of her new conquests of the Crimean War, thus enhancing his standing in the empress's eyes.

My roommate similiarly puts up a false front to hide the fact that he is the worst roommate ever. No hyperbole. Worst, ever. Example: he subsrcibes to Esquire to learn how to dress "European" but when he buys a nice suit jacket he doesn't realize that the pockets are sewn shut and as a result believes that he has "fake pockets". He looks nice, but it's all window dressing. It turns out he's one of the least considerate people alive, and only does something if it will publically improve his standing.

Months ago when we first moved in together, I bought a 24-roll pack of toilet paper. It lasted for a while but inevitably we ran out. I noticed that we were on the last roll and in fear of running out, I bought a mini 4-pack. This supply runs out shortly thereafter, as it happens on a Friday. I go to Chicago on weekends so I figured we'd be restocked when I returned. No such luck. I had no intention of being the toilet paper lacky, so I got a couple rolls and kept them in my room, wondering how he could have gone three days without toilet paper. "Maybe he's been lucky and has gone at work or during errands," I think, "Or maybe he was at his girlfriend's all weekend."

A couple of weeks go by and the odds are certainly not in his favor any longer. I have my secret stash so maybe he does too. I do a brief check in his room, no paper products. The next week A, who lives a floor below and knows of this conundrum, is going to have a big going-away party for a friend and my roommate offers our apartment to her (of course, not checking with me). My roommate's girlfiend pulls A aside, takes napkins out of her purse and says, "Here you'll need these, they aren't buying any toilet paper." You'll obviously note the incorrect pronoun usage there, but I'm past that. A. laughs out loud and my roommate must have been embarrassed enough because shortly after we have T.P. again. A four pack of one-ply, but it's better than nothing.

I respond once that runs out with another 4-pack and that lasted up until last Thursday. Easter vacation hits and I head up to Chicago for the weekend. I have now returned to a bare cardboard roll and the beginning of the Second Great War. It like looks the reserves are going to get called up again.

April 12, 2006

There's Something About Riding a Bike Down a Country Road in a Nice Blue Suit


James Taylor; oh boy, can that man sing.

Yesterday my parents and I went to the Embassy Theater and saw James Taylor. You know that dream you have when you purchase tickets to a great singer-songwriter and you hope that maybe they'll just show up alone with their guitar and play. However, when you get to the concert they've brought a whole big band and the aspects that you were hoping for (voice, guitar, lyrics) are overshadowed by the "big show" hoopla?

Not tonight.

Stage left: one piano
Stage right: a large screen
Center Stage: James Taylor, guitar

James put on a great show, not just because his voice has somehow gotten better with age but because he brought pictures. Sometimes before a song he would put pictures up on the screen and explain how the song came into being. Pictures of his parents, old girlfriends, old cars, Richard Nixon, Mediterranean Islands. He was extremely funny, quipping at one point when he realized his explanation was a little long, "You probably didn't realize that you were paying to sit in the dark to look at old photos." Or when he was explaining a song, "So, that's the first and last verse, the rest is just filler. All that middle stuff? Filler." When he was describing Richard Nixon's resignation, "And he walked down that long hallway and out through the French doors, or rather, what we would call Freedom doors nowadays."

If a chorus was needed in a song, on the screen would be the choir from his hometown filmed singing the chorus in his recording studio/barn. It was awesome seeing an ordinary choir, ordinary faces, ordinary people sing along to their friend's songs.

It's times like this when your hometown becomes a little less quaint and a little more cozy. When you can run into your dentist at a concert and he'll ask you about your life, or when the elderly ushers who have worked so hard to hold onto and maintain such a magnificent theatre crack a large grin when James Taylor compliments their preservation efforts.

After being so down on concerts a month ago, James has reminded me how powerful live music can be by making it personal and really seeming to care that each person in that audience connects with the show and the music.

April 11, 2006

Your Time Confuses Me


This year I had to deal with daylight savings time. For the first time. Ever since I could tell time, I have lived in one of those few states that doesn't observe daylight savings time. This always gave me a cool feeling when I could check Eastern (Indiana) as my Time Zone option. I guess as long as the crops get their sunlight, it don't matter what hour we call it out here in the sticks. Well, our governor grabbed the bull by the horns on his last campaign and decided that all of Indiana should be on the same time zone instead of three different ones. Well after much debate, we now observe Eastern Standard Time unless you don't, so we still have three time zones but now instead of not changing clocks, we do. Whatever.

However, this year for my first daylight savings celebration I was in Chicago, so it wasn't a big deal to everyone because they've been doing it for years. Of course, K and I forgot and sprung forward about 7 hours later than everyone else. Indiana was already one hour ahead of Chicago when I arrived so I didn't actually have to change my computer or watch.

Well a week goes by and I arrive back in Indiana assuming that all of my clocks are in order. On Sunday night, as I am getting ready for bed I realize it's not actually midnight but instead 1:00 a.m. There goes my good night's sleep; Daylight Savings Time pulled a fast one on me, albeit one week late.

April 10, 2006

I Wish I Knew How to Quit You

After a great beginning portion to my Spring Break in Chicago, K and I ventured SW to help her grandma move and to pick up my car. The carless experiment is over. After a $300 drop for a new starter, I reclaimed my car. My first stop: Target. About 15 miles down the road, the "Check Engine" light begins blinking. Using my excellent mechanic knowledge, I deduce a plan of action. I'll call its bluff. I've known people that have driven with that light on before, it'll stop, I tell myself. Besides, if it doesn't stop, I'm screwed.

Well, the Neon carries us around Ottawa and back to Chicago safely. On the drive back to Fort Wayne, I stopped to get gas. Shortly afterward the "Check Engine" light turns off. The possibilities:

1) The engine was rejecting the transplant of a new starter.
2) The car was allergic to old gas.
3) The car realized that I didn't care.
4) The car is still in dire straits but the "Check Engine" light is now also broken.

April 1, 2006

A Playful Weekend


Yesterday night, after driving to Chicago with my sis and her boyfriend, K and I went to see Romance by David Mamet. It is a foul-mouthed, hilarious comedy that tries to restore peace in the middle east through spine-alignment in the large picture and peace in the bedroom through the airing of the grievances. It was standard Mamet dialogue; that is, sparse and great. The thing I liked best about this play is that between scenes they would dim the lights and you could see the actors move the props and set around while this cool synth, drum beat played. The actors would set themselves, the lights would go off, then when the lights came back on the actors would be in different positions.

Today, we went to see Macbeth at the Navy Pier. It was well-done with great scene transitions with some weird gothic/street tough leather style costumes; I think the acting in the Mamet was better, but that's Shakespeare theater for you. Immediately afterwards, the actors sat on the stage and answered questions about the play, and since it was kids day matinee the kiddies got to ask most of the questions. I was impressed that 1) many 8 year olds sat through Shakespeare play and 2) they had formed interesting questions about the play. The actors answered ably and didn't dumb down their responses. I felt like even I learned something. At the end of the play when Macbeth is killed (sorry to ruin it for you), they made the choice to have Macbeth grab Macduff's dagger help in the stabbing. It showed that Macbeth was responsible for his choices even though his path had been predicted by the witches. It was a great touch, though something I would have missed or dismissed if the actor hadn't pointed it out.

Big City theatre; it's hard to top the quality of the everyone involved the process.

March 31, 2006

Crusades Through Arab Eyes: HBC - March

For the Barnes and Noble History Book Club last month we read Maalouf's Crusades Through Arab Eyes. The amazing thing is that the accounts are pretty much the same as the "Western Version" in that certain figures are characterized as great (Saladin jumps to mind) and others are vicious butchers. Which means that chroniclers were particularly objective at this certain point in history. The main difference is that the crusades aren't divided up into 1st, 2nd, 3rd; it's just a continuous stream of reinforcements.

For the first two thirds of the book, I kept thinking to myself when are the Arabs going to get it together? The Franj come down and slaughter cities and every leader is looking out for themselves or believes that the invading army will go elsewhere. This of course makes sense. The Franj came to take back the Holy Land; a singular focus, while the Arab leaders have to beware of the tribal lines, the invaders, and to a lesser extent later, the Mongols. At certain points the Arabs form truces with Franj to attack other Arab cities and occassionally even prefer to live under Franj rule instead of a rival Arab leader.

But the strongest section of this book is the Epilogue. The author points out that at the time of the Crusades, the Arab world was actually culturally, scientifically, and intellectually ahead of the rest of the world. The Franj army invaded and took not only land but also their ideas. The ideas went back to Europe, were improved upon, and led to the rise of Western power. The new technology inevitably flows back into the Arab world much to the detriment of the culture. Before the invasion, Westerners were seen as barbaric oafs who had nothing to offer; now, the Arab world wants nothing to do with anything Western so even if it demonstrably improves their lives they reject.

This line of thinking is prevelant today. When the man shot John Paul II, he said he was attempting to kill the leader of the crusades, when nations reject "democracy" in the Middle East they reject the Western way of governing, being told how to set up their state. During the crusades when a Franj leader died everyone knew who the successor was; when an Arab leader died a civil war broke out. Nation building has never been a goal. When the Arab world thinks about getting back to a time when they were superior to the Western world they don't look at adopting our advances and improving on them, they look backward at a time when the mindset was even more militantly anti-Western.

March 29, 2006

Why I Don't Read Much Fiction These Days

Well, I finally finished "Confederacy of Dunces". I have this sick disease that makes me finish every book that I start even if it is truly awful. The only time I have been able to break this curse was with Neal Stephenson's plodding epic "Quicksliver" that I got as a galley copy the summer I worked at Barnes and Noble. I guess there are several reasons why I shouldn't have even started that one, but I couldn't think of any reason not to pick up Toole's Pulitzer Prize winning book. In fact, when you type in "confederacy of dunces" at amazon.com the related books are "Infinite Jest", "Gravity's Rainbow", and "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" Fine books, all. I don't see the connection.

The gimmick of the book is that the reader is drawn to this overeducated oaf who is forced into the job market and has disasterous results. Remember that scene in Catcher in the Rye when Holden introduces us to Stradlater and Ackley. Ackley is the bad-breath, pimple-faced loser. Stradlater is the jock that gets the girls and pushes homework off on others. By comparison, Holden doesn't look so bad. If it was just him though you'd see him for the pessimistic, whiney, loony that he is. (Full disclosure: Catcher in the Rye is one of my top 5 books)

Same deal here; Ignatius is surrounded by characters that are so flat and bumbling that he seems endearing. Does this book get you to think deeper about, appreciate the nuances of, or view life any different? Nope. Toole does a good job capturing and filling the book with the different dialects of New Orleans but the characters are boring and unlikeable, and regardless of how many people say this book is a comic masterpiece, I didn't laugh or even chuckle once. The situations that come around are silly, not funny and I'll be hard pressed to tell you anything about this book in a week.

Imagine "The Simpsons" from the point of view of the fat comic book store owner and you have Confederacy of Dunces in a nutshell. Maybe good for a half hour of your time but not for a 300+ page book.

March 27, 2006

Parents These Days

Tis the season for student conferences. With involved, engaged parents it's no wonder that the federal government wants to put the onus on student achievement on the teachers. For a while now I've thought about going back to grad school but I'm not sure what I would study. Educational policy sounds intriguing but I firmly believe that the next revolution in education will be at home.

Conference #1
Parent doesn't come.

Conference #2
Parent doesn't come but the special ed teacher gets a hold of them via phone. The parent says, "Uh-huh" the rest of the conference.

Conference #3
Parent doesn't come and when the special ed teacher calls to remind them of the scheduled meeting she says, "I never got a m______f_______ letter." The special ed teacher tries to hold a phone conference but our voices are too loud on speakerphone. When the special ed teacher picks up the line, she is reamed and told not to be a smart ass. The conference is rescheduled.

Conference #4
Parent and student fail to show up.

How can we improve student performance? Don't worry about increasing parent responsibility or student engagement. Fix teacher salaries to the test scores of their students. Now all teachers will want to teach the lower achieving students. Yeah! What else? Let's produce studies that reveal that the reason kids drop out is because they are bored. Right! Let's turn our teachers into performers. I remember being bored in Mr. Kill's biology class. Did I ever think of dropping out? No. Did I ever blame him when grades came around for my lack of interest in RNA and mitosis? No.

For once, let's blame the students, let's hold the parents responsible. No Child Left Behind? Good grief.

March 21, 2006

Open Letter to McDonald's

McDonald’s Corporation
2111 McDonald's Dr
Oak Brook, IL 60523

Dear Sir or Madam

I have recently returned to your franchise after a long, self-imposed furlough. The delicious mint and vanilla taste of your Shamrock Shake took me back to the days when your sandwiches used to be boxed in thick Styrofoam and I would try to sneak fries from the bag without my mother noticing.

However, time passes, we age, and custoners become more discriminating, so I was a little perplexed by the menu when I visited your store a few days ago. The $1 Menu looks to be a tremendous value to the consumer and most likely a boon to your pocketbook, but I was a little stymied by one of your offerings.

How can a double cheeseburger be sold for $1 and a regular cheeseburger for 95 cents? I can only figure two options; neither of which makes sense so I was hoping for a little clarity on this issue.

Option #1: The double cheeseburger is a loss leader; however, the obvious problem here is that people are probably not ordering much more food because the double cheeseburger fills a respectable appetite, so you’re just left with a loss. This is not good business.

Options #2: You realize that the cheeseburger is an incredibly bad deal but since you built your reputation on this offering, it would seem untraditional to remove it. Not to mention, in this increasingly health-conscious world, the reaction when people realize the smallest sandwich you offer would be the double.

Thank you for your time regarding my query; any information you could offer would be of great interest.

Sincerely,

Boot

March 19, 2006

Start slow, then taper off

On Saturday, I came in sixth in my age group in the local 20K run (12.4 miles). One qualifier: there were only 6 runners in my age group. The first three miles were on hills and the first six miles were into the wind, and since we were in farm country, there was nothing around to stop the wind. Needless to say, that since I was sick a couple of weeks ago and could hardly stay awake for work much less to go running, I hit the wall fairly early. At 10K point, I had a time of 1:06 but shortly after my legs started to refuse to work and lightning began striking one of my toes whenever I would hit the pavement. So, I decided to walk / run with a fellow jogger, Deb. We finished the last 6 miles together, complained about the wind, enjoyed the scenery, and finished with the exact same time of 2:28:19. I guess I could be disappointed that I wasn't able to run the whole thing, but then I think about all the people that didn't move 12 miles away from their home yesterday much less compete in a race.

March 16, 2006

A Day to Rival Alexander's

You know your day's off to a bad start when you wake up at 7:33 and you need to be to work at 7:40. When you have massive bed head and have to take a fast, frozen shower. When, on the way to work in the car that your dad is letting you borrow, you nail a squirrel. When you look out the side window and realize that three grade school kids witnessed the atrocity. When you arrive to work to find that someone has taken your parking space. When the first thing that a student says to you is, "I may be a little weird today because I took too much medicine. And I took too much sugar." And you look at the clock as the first period bell rings and realize you've been awake for exactly 27 minutes.

March 15, 2006

Concerts, the state of


Last weekend I went to Chicago and saw Belle and Sebastian. Wait, let me start over.
Last weekend I went to a Belle and Sebastian concert. For some reason, Belle and Sebastian draws an unusually tall crowd so I never actually saw the band except at one point where he stood on a speaker for a few lines.

There was a time, years ago when I really enjoyed going to concerts. A group of us would drive down to Deer Creek (now Verizon Wireless Music Center) and see Dave Matthews or Phish or Counting Crows or whatever other Top 40 alt rock band would come through. It was a huge, impersonal venue but being with friends and girls and making fun of the bad dancers and giggling as people would make out and feeling shocked when the girls would get strangers to buy them beer and feeling subversive for being able to pick out the smell of weed made the whole concert experience...

There was something about shutting your eyes and feeling the bass in your stomach, and seeing the lights flash behind your eyelids, and hearing thousands of people scream in recognition as the first note of a song played...

In college, the feeling began to go away. Bob Schnieder and Rufus Wainwright and Guster and Ani Difranco all put on good shows but there was something missing. Even when I went back to Deer Creek to see Paul Simon, who did three encores and it thundered and poured all around us, I felt more removed from the experience and was content with smaller venues and more personal touches but the excitment, the enthusiasm was never the same.

So when S, C, K, and I went to the Belle and Sebastian concert we found a spot on the floor but the idea of being pressed against people for 2 hours wasn't exactly appealing. So we (except S) moved back by the bar and stood against the wall. Maybe I'm not a good concertgoer. But concerts nowadays feel like I'm listening to a really loud, never-before-released live record. Even artists like Sigur Ros who intentially flood the senses, I find lackluster. And the whole time I'm thinking, I could be listening to this CD at home while I play Yahtzee! or read or cook.

March 13, 2006

The Iceberg Theory


Why is it that scientists believe that when the glaciers melt the sea level will rise when the ice that melts in my glass of Rooibos tea makes the water level go down because frozen water expands?

March 10, 2006

The day I bought myself

Yesterday I went to the local clay studios and bought myself. One of my friends is in a local art collective called e4 - they work individually and collaboratively and had a show at the local studio. I bought two paintings.

I've never seen the point of trying to describe art in words. It seems impossible. The Mona Lisa is reduced to a portrait of a lady with a pensive smile. Pollack is a bunch of splatter. You can't describe the way Singer captures the female spirit or how emotional Rothko's colors can be.

Ok, I'll give it a shot. The first one I bought is by Tracy Row and is three small profiles of me looking deep in thought. I was playing chess at the time.

The second one is by Eric and is 6" X 6" and has a windmill on the left and a farmer holding a large red balloon on the right. See, it's hard to picture. Maybe I'll take a picture and post it later. Probably not.

March 6, 2006

Let the Experiment Begin!


It's funny to see the kind of reactions that people have to riding my bike around town. I've decided not to get my car fixed and rely solely on my own feet and public transportation in a city that hates bikers and has little tolerance for car-pooling but at least it will make for interesting blog entries.

Most people bug their eyes out and wait a second to see if I'm seriously going to give up my car. The one mile bike ride to school today was a little chilly and my glasses had a coating of ice on them from the snow but I arrived at about the same time as if I had a car and had to sit through red lights - there are always red lights.

At this point, the few weeks before my move to Chicago I really don't need to go anywhere. I've become rather insular. The only thing I'll need help with it getting to Waterloo to catch the train to Chicago unless I borrow or rent a car and getting to my meetings for my trip to Europe this summer. Both of which I think are manageable.

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I've become completely addicted to gameknot.com - it's a free chess site but instead of playing your opponent in real time you make a move then your opponent has 3 days or so to mull over the board before he responds. I like the quaintness of it - like when people used to play chess by mail with their friends. Maybe it's because I'm playing my cousin.

At Least It Wasn't in Canada


As usual, I went up to Chicago last weekend. On Saturday K and I went down to Princeton, IL to help her grandma move some boxes into storage. We had a nice time, ate way too much bad Chinese buffet, and headed up to Ottawa, IL to visit her sister.

When P and I went to the storage garage we unloaded the car and when we got back in all we heard was a click. The good ole reliable Neon decided not to start. P and I called K who graciously came to pick us up. We had to punch the exit code to let her in to try to jump the car. This of course didn't work so we had to push the Neon out of the fenced in storage center and into the parking lot. As I was pushing, P ran up ahead and tried to punch in the gate code so we wouldn't lose momentum. Unfortunately, the gate thought we had exited when we let K in so it wouldn't work. P had to scale the barbed wire fence to punch in the entrance code.

We drove up to the local service station and after a dozen questions regarding the cost we found out that it would be $50 to tow it less than a mile. This of course wasn't acceptable so I called the insurance company. Ninety minutes later a tow truck, in fact the same tow truck that wanted the fifty spot, came and towed me for free to the same service station where the original inquiry took place.

K and I stayed in Ottawa overnight, ate pizza, cooed over the new baby, and relaxed after the frustration of losing a car nowhere near home. The next morning P graciously took us up to the Joliet train station and related a funny story about getting his window smashed in by a snow plow. K and I took the train back to Chicago, made dinner, watched my new guilty pleasure "Project Runway", and played yahtzee!

At 7:00 I took a taxi to the Amtrack where a nice homeless man opened the door for me and wanted a dollar for the service. Even for Chicago this seemed steep so I declined and headed back to Waterloo where A was waiting to bring me back to the Fort. I woke up a few hours later to return to work, carless.

March 2, 2006

Goodnight

Dolley was put to sleep this morning.

March 1, 2006

Spam cummings Litter Apple


I received the following in a spam email. I thought it was strangely beautiful.

"drew he arms. force sandwich use make night suddenly.wife evening across teach turning. wrong she he speaking hard rich. servants wanted love force embarrass.parents filled thus. shining suddenly respect did side.force similar teach steps sugar principle.love bought thats arms profession principle."

May you rest in peace, Gertrude Stein.

February 28, 2006

The Mysteries of Condiments


I ate lunch yesterday at a Vietnamese restaurant that I frequent maybe once a week. I order the same thing every time - the #25 with a side order of crab rangoon. The waitress knows my order and tells it to the cook before I'm even seated.

When she brings the crab rangoon out she always brings Ketchup and Mustard. I've never used these condiments before with my crab rangoon. I always use the more traditional sauces and the delicious, sinus-clearing sriracha sauce.

Why does she brings these condiments with the crab rangoon? If she knows my order, she must know that I never use these. Is there a cultural disconnect? Am I missing out on the wonderful combo of crab and mustard?

February 27, 2006

The Boring History of Chile


Last summer, I was going to travel to Chile. I began looking at airfare, destinations, transportation, and buying travel guides. Then I bought a Miata and decided to spend my summer driving to the lower 48 states and see America instead. I think I made the right choice but I am still fascinated by Chile and still wish to travel there. It ranks as the country I would visit if I was granted one wish by a travel-agent genie. However, no matter how much I rub my passport, no supernatural phenomena appear.

So it goes without saying that am pumped whenever a new Chilean History book appears on the shelves of the bookstores. Chile has an amazing past: European Conquistadors. A fight for independence. The military coup of 1924. Democratic elections.

In 1970, socialist Salvador Allende was democratically elected President. The US was scared that communism had now spread into the Americas and decided to undermine the presidency with propaganda and financial blockades. When that didn't work the US decided to set up an atmosphere where an assassination was possible. On September 11, 1973, (note the date) a military strike killed Allende and Augusto Pinochet, a US hand picked successor ascended to power.

Pinochet became a tyrant and ordered the killing of thousands of dissidents and forcing the exile of 30,000 more. The US was complicit in these human-rights violations. Pinochet began an international terrorism unit and assassinated exiles in foreign countries, including a car bomb, killing two people, in Washington D.C. in 1976.

This all sounds like it would make a fascinating book. Much intrigue and formerly classified information between the CIA, the White House, and Chile. However, The Pinochet File, which I finally finished, is written so dryly and you can't wait for the 500 page book to be over. In fact, most of the time, I was so bored and I couldn't even be outraged that we were permitting this to happen or that US citizens were killed in their nation's capitol by a group of terrorsts that we helped install.

The ironic part I guess is that once Pinochet was out of power the Chileans democratically elected a socialist again. Probably to see how the platform would all play out without US involvment. Then they were progressive enough to elect a woman as President in 2006 who is the daughter of an air force general who was captured and tortured in the military coup of 1973.

If there a country that is more geographically, politically and culturally diverse, I sure haven't found it. Maybe when the genie finally appears he can point me otherwise, but most likely he'll help me pack my bags for a trip to the country with the world's driest desert and lushest jungle; the mysteries of Easter Island and the chill of Tierra del Fuego; the ocean and the Andes.

February 22, 2006

Voices of Protest - HBC: February

My friend D runs the History Book Club at Barnes and Noble and although I've been sick the last couple of days, I took a nap and then went over to the discussion. The book was Voices of Protest by Brinkley and was about Huey Long, Father Coughlin, and Great Depression politics. There is really nothing that I'm going to add to a review that you can't find at amazon, but I did really enjoy the book; it is tremendously readable and quite interesting.

The best part of the night was listening to Ernie, a 75-year old man, talk about his experiences at the time and remembering listening to Father Coughlin while he was growing up. Time to get some rest.

February 21, 2006

Mom Wrestles Bear

This isn't the most amazing thing you've read today?

http://espn.go.com/outdoors/general/news/2006/0221/2338668.html

Smells like Suc-chess


I coach chess at the local High School. Membership is checkered because we are always competing for members with other clubs and sports: speech, football, baseball, track, robotics. Places where the students can get a letter. Our meetings are pretty laid back; we work out some chess problems but don't delve into a lot of theory. Some of the students read chess books, others don't.

However, whatever we're doing works because we won our chess tournament today and are now 2-0 this season. Our first match was against the school that I used to teach at and where I helped set up their chess club. It was a pretty even match-up and we ended up winning 4-3-3. The students were pretty happy but a little apprehensive because they had to use clocks for the first time; our club can't afford them.

The meet today was against Wayne and we came out very strong, ultimately winning 6-2-1 (W-D-L). When I used to coach soccer I would have my players work hard at practice and I would then sit back during the games. There was nothing I could yell across the field that would get them to play better or smarter; of course I would talk to the players that had just come off or were just going in but I refused to play Nintendo with my players. I had to hope that the practices would pay off.

It was much more nervewracking watching the chess games today. I was nervous, I was sweaty. The feelings are the same as soccer but since the pace of the game is so much slower the tension was excruciating. I still had to trust my players; trust that they would see the traps, the opportunities, the positions just like we worked on in practice.

You can always tell which student lost a game because invariably their face would be flushed. There is something so personal about losing a game of chess, the embarrasment of not seeing the attack correctly, the frustration of not beating your opponent, that makes watching the already fragile High School ego heartbreaking. The only thing you can say is 'shake it off; work on the next game'.

February 18, 2006

Dollie, Dolley, Dolly

One of my earliest memories is from when I was still living in Cincinnati. I was about four and I remember being pounced on by a large black dog. I can recall the snout forward, jaws open, paws outstretched tackle - though this memory may be influenced more by movies than the actual event. The dog left me scared of its canine brethren for much of my adolescent years. So much so that when I moved to Indiana, I avoided certain activities where I might encounter such creatures. I decided to pick up safe activities like bike riding, playing "war" in various backyards throughout my new neighborhood, and paperboying. For some reason, dogs seemed set on seeking me out and destroying me.

There was the time that I was chased all the way home into my garage by a mongrel while riding my Huffy. It was so close to my heels that it got stuck in the door as I ran into the house. There was the time I followed the advice to "just stay still and back away slowly" while I was hunting snails in the creek only to be hounded again. At least as a paperboy with my cumbersome paper carrier and daily news, I had some sort of protective gear and a weapon, though the dogs seemed to sense my newfound embattlements because I don't recall them being anything but a burden.

You can understand why I was less than pleased when I was playing basketball on a summer afternoon at a neighbor's house, I turned to see my parents get out of the van with my sisters and Dollie, our new dog. Over the next couple of days I plotted a strategy of dealing with this new adversary that had used her "puppy wiles" to get into my house. I decided to overcome my fear and make peace with my new family member. I had dreams of becoming good at baseball finally by hitting ball after ball in the yard and having Dollie retrieve them. Dollie, it turned out though, had other ideas. She preferred to mostly lay around and eat treats. Sometimes, she would jump over cushions that we would set for her and point to possible disturbances in the backyard, but overall she was decidedly an indoor dog. Over the next decade, Dollie and I never really became close but we would sometimes share the couch for a nap or go on walks together.

Dollie is now 15 and is joined in our house by Jack, a fellow Brittany and 50-pound lap dog. She has become grayer in the face, a little forgetful, and somewhat lumpy. She has large fatty tumors covering her body and has recently been losing her balance more frequently.

A few days ago, we were told that Dollie has cancer. My family hasn't had to deal with death much, all of my grandparents are still alive as are all close family and friends. Occasionally, a high school friend would pass away, but the only funerals that I've attended have been those that I served as an alterboy at in grade school.

Dollie has made me less afraid of dogs and hopefully I've added a little happiness to her life. The news of her cancer, and the idea of having to face Dollie's death isn't shocking. She is an old dog that has been steadily deteriorating. I've always tried to live by Wolfshiem's maxim from the Great Gatsby: Let us learn to show our love for someone when they are alive, and not after they are dead. I'm confident I've done that with my dog, Dollie.

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The name Dollie was originally Adrena though that spelling may be wrong. The spelling of Dollie is up for constant debate in my family. My grandmother wanted to name her after the first lady, Dolley Madison, a gracious hostess with a sassy, ebullient personality, whose most lasting achievement was her rescue of valuable treasures, including state papers and a Gilbert Stuart George Washington from the White House before it was burned by the British army in 1814. However, that seemed to a little too stuffy for me as a grade schooler and I enjoyed singing "Hello, Dolly" in a gruff Louis Armstrong voice so I proposed Dolly. When that didn't fly, I decided just to be contrary and have since spelled her name "Dollie".

February 17, 2006

Running Errands


I have reached the point in my running where I have enough endurance to do errands while I'm out. Every other week one of my runs is to the bank about 1.5 miles away; I stand in line, rest, and withdraw a roll of quarters so that I can go home and do laundry.

Yesterday, I had to take my car back to the shop because the mechanic didn't cut a 45 degree angle into some part of the brake, as a result, the rear brakes made a knocking sound when the car was slowing down. The problem was easily fixed and there was no charge. So after school yesterday, I walked home, changed into my running clothes and hopped on the River Greenway. I ran up the Greenway through Sweeney, past some kids smoking pot on the bridge, and into the West Central neighborhood. I was a pretty awesome run because instead of running in a circle I was able to run away from my house for 3 miles then drive back home. I was able to see different scenery than I usually do, although I was running a bit faster than usual to make it to the shop before it closed.

It gives a whole new, and more rewarding, meaning on the phrase "Running Errands."

February 15, 2006

Dust Your Fingers Off. Vote!

I'm looking to buy a new pair of white shoes. Please help me pick; I'm also open to other suggestions. They would be worn while walking to the store, working the scoreboard at High School basketball games, and driving to Chicago. The nominees are:

1. The Saucony Kilkenny XC Flat
Pros: I could play pick-up dodgeball in them, under $50
Cons: Is there a vague South Park reference in the name?

2. The Steve Madden Stryker
Pros: Classy and athletic look, I used to play striker in soccer
Cons: $80, who spells stryker with a 'y' anyway?

3. Adidas Originals Country II
Pros: The green leather color adds some spice but doesn't overpower
Cons: Is this one of those retro styles that never really comes back?

Add a comment; tell me what you think. Full Disclosure: Gender, age, and sexuality will add to or detract from the weight of your suggestion. Thanks for the help.

February 14, 2006

Boot Formally Revokes Support of Mike Davis

Mike Davis today showed how totally out of touch he is with Indiana Basketball tradition and how over his head he is coaching in the Big Ten. It is totally inconceivable to Davis why his fans have turned against him. Let me explain.

Mike Davis is the first coach in Indiana history to begin his tenure with three straight 20-plus win seasons and three straight NCAA Tournament appearances. In each of his first two seasons, Davis led the Hoosiers to six victories over ranked opponents. The last time Indiana defeated at least six nationally-ranked opponents was 1992-93. Under Davis' direction, Indiana has defeated four top 4-ranked programs (No. 1 Michigan State and No. 4 Illinois in 2000-01 and No. 1 Duke and No. 3 Oklahoma in 2001-02).

However, in the last two seasons, Mike has failed to make the NCAA tournament with a 14-15 record and 7-9 in the conference in the 2003-2004 season and 15-13 record, 10-6 in conference, the next year, which was the first time in over 25 years that IU failed to make the tournament in back-to-back seasons. This year the Hoosiers were ranked as high as 9th in the nation and were 12-3. Yet, typical Mike Davis fashion has turned a potent offense that scored 100 points in their first three games into a feeble 13-8. How does Mike fix this problem?

According to the Journal Gazette in Fort Wayne he blames the fans and the media for his player's and his coaching scheme's poor results. "I know a lot of teams around the country that would have been happy if they were one game out of first and ranked in the country, but it's really, really taken effect on out players - not just this year but every year I've been here, because it doesn't matter what I do." Unfortunately, Mike, IU fans expect more than being ranked in the country, and now the Hoosiers are 2 1/2 games out of first in the Big Ten. We expect to make it to the tournament every year, we expect to win a conference road game. There wasn't a lot of complaining when you made it to the final game your first year or advanced in the tournament the next two. There are IU alumni who remember never seeing a home loss in Assembly Hall their entire academic careers. There are alumni who remember the undefeated season. There are alumni who remember when IU used to run an offense instead of constantly settling for three pointers.

If you can't live up the expectations, get out. And do it without making excuses. Mike says, "Indiana needs to have one of their own. They need to have someone that has played here, so they can embrace them." I don't remember hearing this his first three years; as if his lack of Hoosier affiliation was the problem. Since 1938, the year of the first NCAA tournament, IU had Branch McCracken who played at IU then coached them to 2 National Championships; Lou Watson a IU player turned coach who was dismissed after six seasons and a 62-60 record; and Jerry Oliver's 7-12 interim season. The school then chose to look outside of its alumni circle to a former Ohio State player, Bobby Knight who as a coach won 3 national championships. IU fans like coaches who win national championships not just coaches that are Hoosiers; IU fans want coaches with the drive and wherewithal to become members of the Hall of Fame (McCracken, Knight); to claim otherwise does a disservice to your fan support, your players, and your ability.