Actions speak louder than verbs

In Michael Pollan's "In Defense of Food" he wrote a simple, 7-word, phrase:

"Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants."

I've tried to follow that as best as possible and have found it to be life-changing. It has helped me improve my physical health.

But, of course, there is more to life. And lately, I've become aware that I'm missing so much more. After some soul-searching I came up with a list/mantra to help guide me in the future. The list is in no order of importance:

dream

plan

travel

create

play

do

Uh, now that's just plain stupid

People who know me, know that I try to be diplomatic and non-judgemental about perspectives and points of view that differ from my own. I also have an aversion to snarky bloggers who heap loads of hate on people by saying things they'd never say to someone's face.

But I'm 42 now and I've come to a few conclusions that some things are just plain stupid and I'm not afraid to tell people who disagree with me that these things are stupid:

First, the Second Amendment.

The Second Amendment, which too many people believe is God's justification to stockpile every gun ever made, was written at a time when the Government was still unstable and vulnerable, kind of like a baby turtle whose shell is still soft. It's stupid in the same way the book of Leviticus - and much of the Bible is stupid. For Christ's sake, we don't stone children to death who talk back to their parents and we don't need muskets at the ready to join up with the local militia and defend ourselves against a tyrannical local or foreign government. These ideas are out of date and now they're dangerous because paranoid idiots have adopted them as God's truth.

Church

Church is stupid. If you believe in the big 'g' God and feel like you have to be somewhere, at a specific time and perform a specific set of instructions (rituals), I think what you're doing is just plain stupid. And if your god requires you to do these things in order to get some reward at the end of your life, then your god is just plain stupid too.

Here's a list of some other really, really, stupid things I can think of off the top of my head: diet soda, fat free cheese, greeting cards for Halloween, situational comedies, ideological bumper stickers, buying and wearing expensive sports jerseys, equating President Obama with Hitler, equating the far left with the far right (the right is much worse, cuz they're armed to the teeth), denying man-made climate change, raw food-ism, etc.

No racists here.

OK, Mr. tea party protester, you say you're not a racist. And since I can't read what's really in your heart, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe your angry opposition to the president's health care plan is based on your fiscal conservatism.

So you must have seethed with rage when the Bush Administration and the majority Republican Congress passed the Medicare part D drug program and essentially wrote a blank check to fund the war in Iraq? One of your fellow fiscal conservatives, Judd Gregg (R-NH), said this about the Medicare part D drug program, "Things like the [Medicare] Part D drug program were truly a big mistake from the standpoint of fiscal policies. The Part D drug program alone added an $8 trillion unfunded liability to the federal books. If we were going to put that program on the books, we should have paid for it." And about that war in Iraq? Economist Joseph Stiglitz called the Iraq war a, "$3 trillion war."

That was probably when you first printed up that "Congress is enslaving our children with debt" sign. Yes?

Or maybe you're a civil liberties conservative who is concerned that Obama's Recovery Act and health care reforms border on totalitarianism -- that they endanger the freedoms guaranteed us under the Constitution? So, as a staunch advocate of personal liberty, you must have become positively apoplectic with anger when the Bush Administration/Republicans crafted and Congress passed the Patriot Act. You had to be 'mad as hell/not going to take it anymore' when the Bush Adminstration admitted to illegal wire taps and when the NSA admitted to monitoring private phone calls of American citizens. I have to imagine you were angry enough to punch a nun when you found out the U.S. detained and tortured terrorism suspects (including Jose Padilla - an American citizen) for years without being charged. And holy buckets, your ears had to be shooting steam when you discovered that Bush Administration officials instructed interrogators to use torture tactics that totalitarian regimes like the Soviets and the Nazis once used to elicit false confessions from prisoners.

Nope, you're not a racist. You're a true patriot.

I need to say this. But I don't know if it helps.

(Note: if you want to read this, but are confused, follow the link in the first sentence before reading further)

I went to the office the morning after it became apparent we were losing our potential baby. I didn’t know what else to do. I told my boss what had had happened, and she sent me home. She told me that it was necessary for me to be at home for my wife.

But when I got home my wife told me there was nothing I could do and that I might as well go back to work.

She was right.

I was not the one who was undergoing a miscarriage. I was not physically losing a part of my body down the toilet. What in the glorious fuck was I going to say or do to make her feel better?

So I did what any decent husband would do. I hung around the house, waiting to be needed, for anything – to be cried upon; to take her to the hospital; or run errands for her. I was utterly heartbroken for many reasons but mostly because I had to watch the woman I love suffer physically and emotionally, and be helpless to do a goddamned thing to help.

It turns out she did need me to run to the store for her. And I was happy to do so. I also installed a temporary screen in the front window and shoveled a bunch of wood chips onto a path next to the garage. I was trying to do anything to be useful. I needed to feel like I was good for something.

But I felt like that was not the time to share that particular sentiment with her. She didn’t need to hear about my biological/sociological male needs to feel useful. That was not going to take away her pain, her cramps, her blood and tears. Times like these make me think that a man can never really get any sympathy from a woman. And we don't deserve it.

That’s certainly the protocol for expectant fathers. I was preparing myself to undergo the ups and downs of pregnancy; to be the understanding partner who might feel the occasional verbal swipe from a hormonal wife. I was preparing myself for late night runs to the store for the foods she would crave. I was prepared to go perhaps months without sex or intimacy of any kind. And I was preparing not to complain about it – after all my inconveniences would be nothing compared to carrying and giving birth to a baby.

And I was more than willing to endure it. For one magical week, I was an expectant father. I felt like a king-stud and I walked with an extra swagger. Like my wife, I felt like we were going to have a boy. And that made me glow. I looked at my friends’ Facebook pics and videos of their sons with an entirely new outlook. I was going to be a fuckin’ daddy. I was going to have the opportunity to raise a boy and teach him stuff I knew about like girls, guitars, grilling steaks and a whole lot more.

We are experiencing a tragedy together, but honestly I don’t know if telling my wife about my disappointment and heartbreak right now will help her work it out. That’s why I decided to write this down. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m just trying to figure out what’s best for her, but I’m in unchartered waters. I don’t know any other men who’ve been where I am. Someone close to me and his wife had a miscarriage some years back, but they already had two kids at the time. And frankly I don’t know how much good it would do if I did know someone in a similar situation.

Heavy Metal Kittens

I did the guitars and sampled/cut/paste the drums.

scary!

Equating Bill Maher with Glenn Beck? Really?

Bill Maher says America is a stupid country. Glenn Beck calls President Obama a racist. A CNN segment calls them both 'Wingnuts of the Week.'

Really?

Maher's statement is blunt and broad. And because he doesn't say certain people in America are stupid, one could accuse him of being hyperbolic or too general. But is that equal to someone like Beck saying stupid shit like "Obama has a deep-seated hatred for white people?"

Nope.

The only fair comparison you can make between the two is that both Beck and Maher are entertainers who say things in a certain way in order to get a response.

But I see this little CNN segment as part of a larger problem with my colleagues in the media today. They seem to bend over backward to draw parallels to the current antics of right-wingers to those of the left. And they do so at the expense of the 'truth.'

The truth is there's a history of angry white mob violence in this country that is fueled by fear of non-white people taking over. And that is what is spurring the 'Tea-baggers,' and the 'birthers' and the yokels at these town hall meetings to wrap themselves in an American flag and scream, "I want my country back!"

Unfortunately, when my colleagues in the national press see people holding signs comparing Obama to Hitler or Stalin or Mao, they say, 'well people have some strong feelings about healthcare. There are people with strong feelings on the other side too."

That's bullshit and we as journalists should know better. I suspect there are some of us who do suspect there's a strong racist element to these protests, but are afraid to be labeled as taking a partisan stand in the issue.

But sometimes, you gotta call a spade a spade. Or a racist fuckhead who holds up her birth certificate at a rally and calls the president a Kenyan citizen - a racist fuckhead.

Which brings me back to Maher, who, while he's not a journalist, is not afraid to confront ugly truths. And one of them is - as these right-wing, rally troglodytes are showing us - there are a lot of stupid people in this country.

the omnivore's orgy

Last week, I feasted on a variety of critters from land and sea, raw and cooked, in one evening - all in small tasting portions, of course:

grilled octopus (pictured)
The following were eaten raw: scallop, oyster (on the half shell) and yellow or bluefin tuna.

Also had fried clams, beef short ribs, lamb sausage, lamb bacon, deep-fried lamb brain, lamb and other meat meatballs. By the time the duck confit wrapped in filo dough came about I was too full to try it.

Of course there were other veggie side dishes: beans, hummus, grilled 'squeaky' cheese with watermelon. I'm probably forgetting several things. Maybe that's because everything was washed down with several glasses of sparkling wine, a mojito and a bottle of beer. Perhaps the most unusual part of the story, is, the next day, I felt great.

The sea food came courtesy of the grand opening shin dig for a restaurant called Sea Change - in the Guthrie. After that we ventured down to Saffron, where chef Sameh treated us to some of his favorite food. And it was all good.

Such is the life of the husband of a food writer. Before I met her, I probably would never had tried half the stuff I ate that night. Life tastes so much better with you, baby. Thanks.

"Never been there before" lunch week continues...

The top photo is a "german sausage" from the German Hot Dog Company. It's located right next door to Falafel King in the TCF skyway area. Due to my predilection for the crispy, deep-fried balls of joy, I'd never ventured over to the little hot dog joint. The first thing you notice about the German Hot Dog Company, is that it's run by two Asian women. Such is the nature of the great ethnic salad bowl which we call America. The sausage was very, very tasty. Unfortunately, in my haste to get back to work, I forgot to secure some ketchup and mustard. But the onions were juicy and sweet and were almost good enough to make up for the lack of liquid condiments.

On Wednesday I ventured down to Cosi in the IDS Center. They apparently focus on the Triple S lunch formula: soup, sandwich, salad. And from my limited exposure, it looks like they do a decent job. I grabbed one of my favorite sandwiches, the caprese. Although at Cosi they call it the BMT (basil, mozzarella and tomato). The flatbread was crispy on the outside and flavorful. The tomatoes were actually decent, as were the B and the M. I'll go back there.

I've never been there before

I've decided to keep the lunch week theme going, but this time I'll use a geographic, rather than food-type basis. It's easy to get stuck in a rut or routine when foraging for sustenance in this vast mountain-range of skyscrapers. So I got it in my head that I should focus on places where I've never eaten before.

First stop: Sushi Dynasty

For the first day of the new theme, I stopped at the first place I've never been to. I walked past Taco Bell, Cousins subs, Royal Orchid, a Subway (a chain which I've likened to violent ass-rape in a past post), Taco John's, Zen Box, Potbelly, and Allie's Deli before I saw this hole-in-the-wall instant sushi place.

I got a couple combos, checking closely to make sure they actually contained at least some raw fish. You have to be careful that someone isn't sneaking smoked salmon into their rolls and making them look like tuna. I'm sorry but getting smoked salmon in a roll when you expect tuna is like a kick in the taint. After the pain goes away, you're just angry.

Luckily there was raw tuna in these rolls, but unlike my favorite skyway sushi joint Tensuke (now Sushi-Do), they mince the fish. Which I think is a blatant attempt to hide poorer quality tuna. No, I don't think they're trying to poison people (most sushi tuna is frozen before it gets here anyway, killing the potential nasty bits), but part of the appeal of sushi is the presentation. And minced fish in a spicy tuna roll, doesn't look good.

I also had some eel rolls and california rolls (they help fill me up). Both left me going, "meh."

Meatless Lunch Week: Last Day

Work gets in the way of lunch sometimes. That was the case on Friday. I was rushing around town covering an Obama cabinet official's visit to Minneapolis and couldn't grab lunch until after 2 p.m.

Lucky for me Torby's Pizza lowers the price of their slices after 2 p.m. I was able to grab a slice of veggie and a slice of cheese for just more that 5 bones with tax.

Torby's is decent pizza. Although sometimes, especially after 2 p.m., the pizza you get looks like it should be placed in a 'factory seconds' bin. There's been a few occasions where I've gotten back to the office and just as I'm about to shove the slice into my mouth, I notice that parts of the crust have been charred beyond recognition. A more disciplined person would just walk back to the joint and ask for a new piece. I'm usually too hungry and just shave off as much of the edible upper layer of the crust as I can.

A hamster in the lentils

heh, heh, heh, CLASSIC

Meatless Lunch Day 4

Curried lentil soup w/ whole wheat baguette

from Au bon pain

There are three or four of these joints near me downtown. I frequent them more often during soup season (winter). But there are times during the summer when I have to grab a bowl of the curried lentil soup. It's their best liquid food offering and I really like it. Some of their soups taste like paste, so you really need to doctor them up with lots of salt, pepper or sriracha. This soup actually has flavor and usually only needs a splash of hot sauce to complete it. The medium bowl and bread is only $5.17. The baguettes are usually pretty fresh and tasty.

Meatless lunch day 3

This is the veggie curry, with a side of steamed veg from Zen Box. It is probably the best curry I've had outside Namaste Cafe. It's a hearty and elegant curry; well-seasoned and smooth. And it's filling. Sometimes, I don't finish the whole bowl. However, you know how it goes, an hour or two later, I'm hungry again.

If you can't go all the way veg with this one, they do offer the curry with a deep-fried, cheese filled pork chop on top. I'm not lying.

It's vegetarian, but not exactly health food

King size falafel w/fries from Falafel King

You can pat yourself on the back after eating this meal because it doesn't require the death of an animal. But don't fool yourself into thinking this is some kind of health food. There's deep-frying involved in this dish. The lovely balls of herbed bean paste are cooked crispy in a fryolater. You can get this dish with a side of rice instead of french fries, but don't bother. I've given up on it. The rice is so bland and overcooked, you'd get better flavor from grated styrofoam.

When the falafel are fresh, they are devine. But when they've sat a while in the steam table, they are cold, dense and mealy.

Robert Strange McNamara...

...was a complex man. He had some mighty big regrets in his day, especially escalating the Vietnam war. A few years ago I watched this documentary "Fog of War" in which the former Secretary of Defense recalls some of the big events of his long life. For me, the above clip from the movie stood out the most. In it, McNamara explains how the U.S. backed down from the brink of nuclear war with the Soviets by understanding our 'enemy.' The Soviet leader at the time was Nikita Kruschev. As you listen to what they say about him, imagine if Kruschev was Saddam Hussein.

Sadly the same advice given to Pres. Kennedy was not given to Pres. (W)Bush. Or, maybe Bush wouldn't have followed it. Yeah, he probably wouldn't have.

Meatless lunch week

It's lunch time again. And I can still feel last night's spicy meatball sub trundling through my colon. So I thought it might be appropriate to dedicate this week's adventure in lunch blogging to those dishes that are meatless. And yes, fish and seafood are included.

I'm not giving up on meat. However, Mecca and Michael Pollan have convinced me to limit my meat consumption and to eat only naturally raised and humanely slaughtered animals. And I've already taken that to heart and stomach. It is clearly more than just a health decision. There are moral and environmental factors involved which I will not go into detail on.

I regularly eat two to three meatless lunches per week. When I do eat meat for lunch it's usually meat-lite. I opt for turkey sandwiches, a slice of pepperoni pizza (i even pick off some of the pepperoni because some places just put too many on), a Chipotle burrito with chicken or the weekly sushi splurge. On a rare occasion I'll get something more meat heavy like a gyro from Falafel King.

For the first day of meatless lunch week, I chose a favorite.

Yellow curry with tofu and white rice (pictured above).

When they see me approach the steam tables, the identical twins who run the Royal Orchid in the skyway say, "the usual for you today?"

This is a substantial meal. I often can't finish it. The yellow curry is creamy. The hunks of skin-on potatoes and stewed carrots are weighty. You have to cut them with a knife. The tofu pieces are meaty and hold the flavor of the sauce. Royal Orchid also serves a side of steamed carrots, cabbage and broccoli on the side. Thankfully, the veg is nice and firm, not overcooked. I top it all off with a few squirts of sriracha chili sauce.

You may be wondering about the combination of white rice and potatoes. 'Aren't refined carbohydrates and starches evil?' Well, asian cultures have been eating white rice and potatoes for thousands of years without their folks keeling over from diabetes. I'm no nutritionist, but I suspect that white rice and potatoes combined with fat - like from animals - is more responsible for obesity, than just the carbs and starches with vegetables.

But really, I eat this dish once a week because it just tastes good.

You're lucky to be an American, act like it

Yesterday, I was lounging poolside with my friends Kim and Eric out at their Bloomington estate. As I sipped my 'beer-garita' and dipped my toes in the cool water, I reflected on my good fortune. A lot of acts of man and nature, good and evil and just plain friggin' chance got me to where I am today.

As an African American, obviously, some of my ancestors were brought here against their will. The Atlantic slave trade was one of the greatest evils committed by humans. But I have to look at the odds. My people could have easily been among the scores of millions of Africans who lost their lives.

Had my people stayed in west Africa, they could have perished in civil wars or died from a very curable disease - and I would have never made it here. Lets be real. America has not been the most hospitable place for African Americans. But considering the state of most African countries right now, I'd much rather live here than in the Motherland.

Face it if you're a natural citizen, you're here because a parent or some other ancestor came here. There are other cool countries out there, for sure. And on those days when I write out a big check to Fairview Hospitals, I yearn to live somewhere with single payer or (i'll say it) socialized medicine. But for a lot of reasons, if you were born here, you're in the top 98th percentile of good places to live. Really. You kinda won the lottery.

Unfortunately, too many of us natural citizens act like we had something to do with this. And we're proud of it.

Personally, I feel more lucky to be an American than I am proud. I really think there's too much pride in America right now. And it's lead to some pretty shitty behaviors, ie: invading Iraq, torturing suspected terrorists, and so forth.

So on this Fourth of July, think of how fortunate you are to be an American. Maybe we'd be doing a little better if more Americans started acting like they've been given a gift, instead of an entitlement.

OK, I'm getting off the soapbox and back on the couch now.

Happy Fourth of July everybody....

Turkey Sandwich Week Day 4

Thursday: Brothers Deli

This is the turkey melt from Brothers Deli. If you other so-called turkey sandwiches can hear my voice, take note. Here's what you should know. This sandwich is absolutely delightful. It is polite and thoughtful and I'm sure if it had a mother it would call it everyday.

The turkey is thickly sliced like it was carved off the bird. The dark rye bread (you should try this bread) is lightly toasted. The cheese, perfectly melted. The tomatoes taste like they're supposed to be there and are not an afterthought. And, they top it all off with a zesty, tasty mayo-like sauce.

Mozeltoff!

Sandwich week - Day Three

Wednesday - Twin Cities Bites

These folks run an independent sandwich joint in the Northstar building just downstairs from a Subway. To me Subway is to sandwiches what violent ass-rape is to sex. They've turned what should be a pleasant experience into something worse than vomiting blood from your eye sockets.

Anyway, I wanted to give these folks a try. Independent sandwich shops are the first line of defense against the invading hoardes of chains which sell failure to people and call it food. You're looking at a 6" smoked turkey sub on wheat with mustardmayolettucetomato AND pepper jack cheese. It tasted as bland as a hotel lobby oil painting. But, I'll still go back there and try some of their other stuff. However, I'll have to bring some hot sauce.

Sandwich week day two

Tuesday: Potbelly Sandwiches

I've been going to this place in the skyways for a while. There's actually two nearby. And I keep going back because they make a good turkey sandwich. The key? They toast them bitches.

Yep. That's the key right there. Heat. It adds flavor and texture to an otherwise bland, mushy affair.

Normally, I'm not a fan of places that ask you what you want on your sandwich. I'm like, 'you're making the sandwich. Do your job and make my lunch.' And even though Potbelly does that, I've learned a simple rhyme that keeps me from doting over all the friggin' choices. It goes like this, "mustard, mayo, lettuce, tomato." It kinda rhymes and it's easy for me and the sandwich maker to remember. Now, they do have hot peppers. And they taste good. But they put pickled carrots in the mix and they're too damn hard and crunchy. Fucks up the whole gestalt of the grinder.

I usually get the regular size sandwich, but today I needed the big one. Only a buck more. And so far, it is the best turkey sandwich in town. But I've got three more days to go.

erk.

Turkey sandwich week starts today

To me, the turkey sandwich is the vanilla ice cream or the off white paint of the sandwich world. Turkey breast doesn't have much flavor of its own, so it's only as good as its supporting cast when placed between two slices of bread.

I usually wind up ordering a turkey sandwich - and I hate to admit it -- because it's lower in fat and calories than ham or roast beef. I don't like to fill up at lunch. I get logey around 2:00 p.m.
On a whim I decided to dedicate this week to the turkey sandwich.

Monday

Erbert & Gerbert's subs and clubs -- Skyway 800 LaSalle.

I've walked past this place many times during my semi-frequent 2 p.m. walks (it keeps me awake on slow days) but have never tried their food.

I decided on a turkey sandwich called "Girf." A closer look at the menu shows other colorful sandwich names such as Narmer, Tullius and Bornk. I dig that. Anywho, the Girf ($5.84) contains turkey, ham, provolone, tomato, lettuce and mayo. After ordering I noticed there were a few extras, like sweet peppers, which I could have added to the sandwich to brighten it up a bit.

I probably should have. The sandwich cried out for brown, spicy mustard or the peppers. Ham is usually a nice partner for turkey because it's a little saltier. But this ham fell down on the job. And the turkey was just too subservient for me. Despite it's traditional passive aggressiveness, turkey can be assertive - I've tasted it happen before.

On the bright side, the wheat sub bread was substantial and chewy. So it had that going for it.

I'll give them another try. I'm curious for a Bornk.

BWCA 09 - Tuscarora Throwdown

Here's the video:

Smitten...

Sure, I could gas on about scientific theories about how baby humans emit magical pheromones, sounds and visual cues that compel adult humans to feed and care for them. That our survival as a species would not have been possible without some sort of chemical bond between infant and adult, is extremely fascinating.

But when it comes down to it, babies are too just dang cute to ignore.

Of course, once they get older and smellier and start to talk shit about you...that's another thing. But for now, my niece Chela is a perfect being. She eats, sleeps and excretes bodily functions. Her carbon footprint is relatively miniscule. She doesn't owe any money. And she's never done an unkind thing to anybody.

Perfect.

Your 15 minutes is up, please, please get off the stage

1. Sarah Palin
2. Rod Blagojevich
3. "Tea Baggers"
4. Dick Cheney

you go now. you been here four hour!

Rich, white dopes on rap

Very funny.

The view from up top

Looking out from the 50th floor of the IDS you can see the Target Center and Target Field taking shape.

And, by the way, if this photo gives you a little bit of vertigo - then don't see Wild California at the Science Museum's Omnitheater. I dug it. But there were definitely more than a few 'quease-inducing moments.'

Here's a bit of a mind-blower

If you try to wrap your head around the thought expressed here, you may catch a hernia in your amygdala, or blow out your frontal lobe. So use caution, please:

"[I]f all order, without exception, requires a designer, then God, too, requires a designer. If God were the intelligent designer of the universe, God would have to be even more perfectly ordered than the universe. But if God were even more perfectly ordered than the universe, and God could exist without an external designer, then why not the universe?"

Daniel Kolak and Raymond Martin, Wisdom Without Answers, (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1998), p. 40

(ow, I think I just came down with a subdural hematoma...)

You greedy, greedy bastards

I wouldn’t know a ‘credit default swap’ if it kicked me in my lovely, brown nuts. But I do know greed when I see it. And the more I learn about this country’s economic woes, and the more I learn about how our economy runs, the more I realize how much our financial health depends on a culture created by a bunch of insufferably greedy bastards.

First off, I’ve learned that our financial system is an elaborate house of cards. No. Wait. Cards are much too sturdy and tangible. Our system is more like a house built from a delicate, gossamer thread, spun by invisible fairies. In other words it’s a system built on wishful thinking, speculation, confidence, gut feelings and the opinions of others here and in other parts of the world. Wall Street is like a house which is only as strong as the people inside it think it is. Does that make sense? And the strength of the house changes from day to day depending on how confident Wall Street thinks it is.

To continue with the house metaphor – apparently a few years ago bankers and other capitalists decided that the mansion needed a new wing. Perhaps they wanted somewhere to put the new 102” plasma screen HDTV. So they created a new way to make profit.

Please admit the following simplification of the situation:

It was the turn of the new millennium and home values were booming. People were flipping properties and making profits by the basketloads. Greedy bastard mortgage loan officers made sales pitches worthy of used car hucksters on late night television commercials. “Bad credit, no credit? No problem!”

They offered loans for little or no money down, with no income verification. Granted there were greedy bastard homebuyers who bought 4,000 sq. ft. mcMansions they knew they couldn’t afford. But greedy bastard homebuyers were reinforced in their greed by greedy experts who told them, housing values ALWAYS increase. They don’t go down. So don’t worry about your adjustable rate loan. Don’t worry that you’ve got a $250,000 home with a household income of $80,000. In a few years, you’ll be able to turn around and sell that baby for a million dollars.

Enter the greedy bastard bankers who saw the potential for profit on these loans. The loans were turned into things called ‘mortgage backed securities.’ Again, I wouldn’t know an asset-backed security if it punched my grandmother in the throat, but apparently, if you’re holding someone else’s loan, you’re making money on the interest the borrower is paying. And if you’re holding 10,000 loans, especially sub-prime loans where the interest rates are 10, 12 even 15%, well, my friend you stand to make a shitload of money.

But, it doesn’t take a financial whiz to figure out that the loans won’t be worth the paper they’re printed on if the borrowers can’t pay them back. And that’s what started happening. People began defaulting on their loans, left and right. Unfortunately, some of the world’s biggest financial institutions like Lehman Bros. and Bear Stearns were holding billions of dollars in this bad paper. Worse than that, it turns out that one of the world’s largest insurance companies – AIG – was insuring those risky investments for the big financial institutions. These are the aforementioned ‘credit default swaps.’

So I’m asking myself, how did all these smart people, who already knew how to make millions of dollars get caught in a shitstorm without an umbrella? Seems to me, the millions weren’t enough. They wanted billions. And they didn’t like the rules which kept them from getting there like the Glass-Steagall act passed during the Great Depression (doy). 10 years ago Sen. Byron Dorgan predicted massive bailouts of the industry following the passing of the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act which allowed big financial institutions to merge into mega-financial institutions:

You should read more about this – this is fascinating:

(You know who else voted against G-L-B? Paul Wellstone – bless his soul.)

My very good Libertarian friend Eric is fond of a saying that goes something like, ‘A government that is big enough to give you everything can also take it away.’

Well, I think Americans should be equally – no much, much more suspicious of big banks and big business. Unlike most of the government which is actually, pretty transparent, big banks and financial corporations don’t have to tell you what they’re doing unless they’re a public company and you’re a stockholder.

As this latest episode shows, financial institutions that are ‘too big to fail’ are just plain TOO BIG. And that’s because too many people are just too damn greedy to be trusted.

Evil gets old

I was struck by this photo when I came across it on CNN's website. This is Charles Manson at 74. This is the face of evil -- or should I say, 'insane evil' -- in old age. Clearly the man is going to die in prison, and rightfully so. I guess this is exactly why I'm against the death penalty. I believe life imprisonment is worse than death. Had the state of California executed Manson when he was a dark-haired, crazy-eyed icon, it would have made it easier for people to glorify him.

Despite his horrific crimes, Manson is not a demon. Demons don't get gray hair, calcium deficiencies, prostate cancer or dementia. Humans do.

Farewell, sweet Boo

Me and the Boo got off to a bumpy start.

At the time I picked her out of the lineup at the Animal Humane Society, I was a barely 30-ish bachelor. I was at a point in my life where I felt like I was missing something. I realized I wasn't very good at relationships with women. I'd gone through a couple uncomfortable break-ups in the past few years, including one with a live-in girlfriend. For some this may be considered a 'come to Jesus moment.' But since that route didn't and doesn't appeal to me, I decided I wanted a cat.

I fell for the Boo - actually, her previous owners called her 'Smudge' which I thought was kind of slur for a black cat, you dig? Boo, fit much better. At times I called her Boo-trous, Boo-trous kitty and the Boo-dah, partially because she weighed in at 18 lbs.

The day after I brought her home, she picked up an upper respiratory infection. Which meant I had to go through the painful motion of packing her back in the box she'd been rescued with and bring her to the vet. It broke my heart, because to her it must have seemed like she was going back to Death Row.

The vets gave me antibiotic pills to give the Boo. "Just pry her mouth open and drop it in. And rub her throat to make sure it goes down," they told me. That proved to be much easier said than done. She fought like a beast as I tried to hold her still and get my fingers into her mouth. She growled, scratched and cursed at me. And she made me cry. I couldn't do it. I was going to fail this little animal.

I had to call a friend over to come help me wrestle down the Boo the first couple times. Finally, I figured out how to immobilize her by wrapping her up in a blanket up to her neck - 'kitty burrito' style. It was still tough, but my will triumphed.

The Boo was with me through my ups and downs. She liked to sleep with me on the couch in front of the TV. If you looked at her and said, "Hey Boo." She'd chirp back at you. The Boo also loved to eat. Like a dog, she'd snatch food off your plate if you weren't looking.

In her last year of life, the Boo caught a bout of hyperthyroid, cancer and kidney failure. Once again, I had to fight with her in order to save her life. There were pills, and chemotherapy for the cancer and the kidney failure. The hyperthyroid caused her to lose weight rapidly.

Despite all this, she was still the Boo. She still wouldn't let you sit down with a plate food without trying climb up on you to investigate it. She'd still chirp at you, although not as frequently. And she was still not fond of being medicated. Because she'd become so dehydrated, the vets gave us a bag of fluids and a set of needles which we used to inject water under her skin. And even though by this time she had withered down to about 5 lbs., she still fought us.

On her last night, the Boo was too tired to fight. Sensing that the inevitable was coming very soon, Mecca wrapped her up in towels and stayed up with her much of the night. In the morning, I held her as she took her last breaths.

I'm still deeply sad about losing the Boo. But I'm also relieved that she's no longer sick. And I'm relieved that she died at home in familiar surroundings, with the people who cared for her the most.

Watch this movie

I'm always fascinated by people who were apparently born knowing what they wanted to do and be. And that's the case with Phillippe Petit. The filmmakers of Man on Wire brilliantly juxtapose images of the construction of the Twin Towers and pictures of Petit's childhood. He was apparently a little impish French monkey, always climbing things and performing tricks. And everybody around him knew it and apparently accepted it. I won't give away too much of the documentary - although - obviously, the main character lives. But it is as much a story about Petit's accomplices in his 1974 trans-Tower wire walk as it is about him. What would you do if your best friend told you that the most important goal in his life was to string a wire between two tall buildings and walk across it? Would you help him? Knowing that he could die? And that you could also face harsh legal consequences?

The other really fascinating thing about Petit's clandestine plan was that he and his friends didn't get busted before they could pull it off. Amazing. The documentary mixes a series of reenactments with actual footage. Of course, watching Petit walking 476 meters above the streets of New York is breathtaking. Especially considering he walked across 8 times and was on the wire for 45 minutes.

Walking down musical memory road

Lately, I've started making a list of the 15 records that have had the most impact on my life and why. It's been so much fun, that the list has expanded to 20 and is still growing.

The list includes several moments where a piece of music hit me like a sledgehammer and made me rethink what I thought I knew about being a guitar player.

Here's an excerpt:

No. 5 -- Eat ‘Em and Smile – David Lee Roth

To this point, I’d thought Eddie Van Halen was the greatest guitar player EVER. And being that this was Roth's first solo effort since leaving Van Halen, I was anxious to hear what kind of guitar player Roth would recruit to – let’s face it, replace Eddie. I was skeptical. I mean, Eddie was my guy, right? He was like the tough kid in the neighborhood who the other guys feared and admired at the same time - partially because you thought no one could beat him.

I wanted to hear what this new dude -- this Steve Vai -- could do. I bought Eat Em and Smile at the Musicland in Southdale and put the tape in my Walkman. I’d heard the first track, “Yankee Rose,” and while the song was cool, I wasn’t blown away. I was walking home to the Edina Towers and was just crossing 66th on to Barrie Road when the second track came on, “Shy Boy.” I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the street and my jaw dropped. I kid you not. I laughed out loud. I couldn't get my teenage guitar player head around what I was hearing. Then I listened even more carefully and discovered that the bass player -- Billy Sheehan -- was matching Vai, lick by lightning-fast lick.

"That's not fair," I thought. "Bass players are NOT supposed to do this. God, I suck." But as tempted as I was to put the guitar down after hearing this, I soon discovered that Vai was much more than a shredder. The song "Big Trouble" is a slinky vamp that contains perhaps the most perfect guitar solo ever created. "Ladies Night in Buffalo" is also kinda groovy. And Vai's riffs in "Goin' Crazy" was a tip of his hat to Eddie Van Halen. And while I knew I couldn't reproduce what Vai was playing, I just learned to enjoy listening to his music - just for the sheer pleasure of it.

From there I listened to other Vai classics as Flex-Able Leftovers, Passion and Warfare and Alien Love Secrets. And I listen to these in the same way classical music lovers listen to Mozart or Mahler. Vai is a brilliant soloist, but an even greater composer.

Zen and Mondays

Here's the scene: It's Monday morning and I'm in the elevator as three more cube jockeys trundle in and watch the door close. The three apparently work on the same floor, so they recognize each other. As the elevator lurches upward, one of the heavy set office ladies wearing a full length down coat which smells like a recently burned cigarette, turns to the other similarly dressed woman and says, 'Well, is it Friday yet?'

They share a giggle and lament about the beginning of the week. In my short journey to the 6th floor, I listen quietly as the women proceed to blame all the world's ills on Mondays. Apparently their souls have been crushed by the first day of the week.

I'll preface my rant with this: I'm lucky to have a job that on most days doesn't make me sick. It really is a boost to my personal constitution. But, 'Gah,' life doesn't only happen on Saturday and Sunday. Do shit Monday through Thursday. Do happy hours with your friends or co-workers, go bowling on Tuesday nights, get a hobby, learn how to speak Yiddish -- anything.

Pretty soon, your weeks will get shorter.

You know what? I betcha I've written this rant before. I think columnist and local hipster zen guru Jim Walsh sums it up best in the latest issue of the Downtown Journal.

His take is broader than mine. Walsh says Americans, in particular are "born to run and so unsatisfied and constantly striving for more, bigger, better freedoms." It sounds to me like we're pursuing this happiness horizon which never comes -- it's always just out of reach. And that reminds me of the office ladies and millions of others who are 'working for the weekend.' They are the people I stand next to on the elevator everyday.

To be honest, I'm not much different. I try to 'be in the moment' and appreciate the little things and to be comfortable in silence and stillness. I think I'm better at it than I used to be. But it's hard. There are still moments of my day that I'm not trying to 'be in' and appreciate. Take flossing. I look forward to being done with flossing my teeth, because then I know I can go to sleep and feel a bit better about myself for having struck a blow against placque.

I'll keep trying.

I'm not saying these folks are in a cult...

I was walking through the skyway over 7th street this morning and saw a woman walking toward me who looked like she had some kind of smudge of dirt on her forehead. I was like, 'oh, how embarrassing, her pen must have exploded in her purse and then she smacked her head in frustration thus leaving a mark.' Then I noticed she was walking with a dude who was looking at her as he talked to her, and I'm thinking, 'why doesn't he tell her she's got schmutz on her punum?'

As I approached Cousin's Subs I noticed three more people with smudges right in the middle of their foreheads. Then, it hit me. It's Ash Wednesday. Which means the Easter bunny is busy hatching his eggs in preparation for his big day.

Here's what Wikipedia has to say about the actual meaning of the day:

"Ash Wednesday gets its name from the practice of placing ashes on the foreheads of the faithful as a sign of repentance. The ashes used are gathered after the Palm Crosses from the previous year's Palm Sunday are burned."

So they make crosses out of palms and then burn them - burn crosses - and then rub the ashes on their heads in the sign of the torture instrument used to kill people back in the day.

I'm not sayin'...I'm just sayin'.

Bad hair day

I'm feeling kinda like this little dude today. I need a haircut. Normally, I'd just zip over to Eddie's Barbershop. But a few months ago, the shop looks like it experienced some kind of fire. Now, considering the somewhat shady history of the shop as a place to make illegal bets on sporting events as well as get haircuts, I would not be surprised if the cause of the fire was not accidental.

In the meantime, I feel compelled to hang upside down from a tree branch and pick tasty grubs out the bark. mmmm...

My solution to the mid afternoon doldrums

If you walk the skyways of downtown Minneapolis at around 2:30 in the afternoon, you'll see a wave of cubicle dwellers stretching their legs carrying cups of coffee. It's the choice of many to cure afternoon sleepiness. Lucky for me, I work alone. So, I can actually lay down on the floor and close my eyes for a few.

But, sometimes I opt for a little musical pick-me-up on youtube. Lately, it's been this one.

Hail Satan, kiddies.

Toilet stories, part 1

(warning: this blog post contains kind of graphic references to pooping)

Every morning, after the caffeine does its thing and I'm on my way to the bathroom to do my thing, I say something like this to the toilet god:

'Please, just a few minutes of solitude while I purge my guts of the evil within. Amen.'

Six out of ten times, this works. I'm in - I drop a deuce - and whoosh - I'm out. My guts won't work properly with others in the bathroom. They're shy. Especially, when someone is parked in the stall right next door.

Last week my solace was breached when what sounded to be a silverback gorilla entered the next stall. And apparently this beast had eaten and was trying to pass a handgrenade. A series of guttural grunts and groans were quickly followed by several loud explosions and splashes. I aborted my mission and hastily exited before the inevitable olfactory fallout contaminated the room.

I waited an hour to retry the mission -- just to make sure the odor and the coast was clear. At first, the mission was a go. And by this time, the guts were beginning to get angry. But before the soldiers could deploy, there was a revisit by if not the same gorilla, another who'd eaten at the same munitions dump.

Throughout the day, I had two more failed missions before success.

My kingdom for a private loo...

Hey, snow

Ah, nature's way of doing a half-assed clean up job. Instead of melting away all that nasty, brown, crusty ice and sand and filth, she just covers it up with a pretty, white blanket.

Nice job, nature. No, really. I think it looks nice.

Sandwiches I have loved

Oh, sandwiches I have loved. I miss you. From the tasty muffaletta in New Orleans, to my latest love, the Mort's Reuben, you've passed through my intestines, but you're still very much alive in my heart. (Well, I probably still have some corned beef in there somewhere)...

Stuff white people like...

The Medicine Lake Art Shanty is like a cross between ice fishing and an arts crawl. On Saturday - Valentine's Day -- me and the Mrs. joined the crowed of cold-ass, (white) hipsters skooching carefully across the ice to keep from falling.

We managed to stay upright, while we visited just about every shanty on the lake. The shanties are like ice houses full of displays or activities or performances. The 'Dance Shanty' was bumpin Beyonce. The Word Shanty was full of old books. But the best was the 'Sauna Shanty.'

Very, warm.

Christmas comes late

My folks sent a package full of Xmas presents about 4 or 5 days before Xmas. But come the big day, nothing. So, I started thinking that somebody may have stolen our box of goods from the lobby of our building. I mean, what kind of a friggin' Grinch takes someone's package?

So then, I find out my dad sent the box to the wrong address. He had the street name right, but the numbers were off. Then I'm thinking, what kind of jerk takes a box of stuff that's obviously sent to the wrong spot and keeps it?

My faith in humanity has been pretty wobbly for a while and this wasn't helping. My dad even sent a letter to that same wrong address, asking them to put a note on it for the postman to take it back. If that didn't work, I was considering driving by there and asking the folks, 'where's my box?'

It's not that I'm so hyped up about getting more stuff. I really have most of the stuff I want or need. But my parents were crushed at the notion that the presents they sent would not get to us. We've been living apart for going on 19 years now. And we rarely spend Christmastime together anymore. So I know, they're just sweaters and gift certificates and maybe an occasional kitchen gadget, but as the saying goes, 'it's the thought that counts.'

There's a happy ending to the story. The people at the wrong address made sure the box got back to Denver and my folks sent it back this time by registered mail - just to make sure. I picked the box up from the post office yesterday.

So this year - I don't care if it's here or in Denver, I want to see my folks for Xmas.

L-O-S-E-R

Nothing like the feeling you get the day after your football team loses a winable home playoff game. It's 2 below zero. The car reluctantly starts. It's the first full week after the holidays. Which means no day off this week. And as you sit on the frozen seat, waiting for the heater to clear a spot on your frozen windshield, you ponder your feelings. Why in the hell do you care? Why in the hell do you hope next season will be better?

ugh.

Angus throws a wobbly

I met my little godson Angus today. And I'd say we hit it off pretty well. He slept most of the time. He was likely exhausted from all the brain-learning through osmosis which newborns are supposed to be doing. I think his parents, Liz and Bill (pictured) were a bit worn out too. Angus, like most new humans - male or female - slightly resembles actor Burt Young. Well, at least a little bit.

Like I said, me and the boy hit it off well, until he got cranky. And here's what he had to say:

New Year's resolutions for 09

#1 - Keep up with blog

2 - Read a book per month. By the way, I highly recommend "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell. It's non-fiction. Gladwell looks at successful and not so successful people and explores the circumstances around their situations. He makes a compelling case to show there are no 'self-made' people. We're all molded by forces we can't control. For better or worse.

Right now, I'm getting ready to read some fiction. I heard "Midnight's Children" by Salman Rushdie is pretty good.

3. Be with my family at Christmas time. At least. I miss them too much.

4. Ride the bicycle more this year.

5. Take more pictures. I've got a Flickr Pro account and enough flash memory in my camera to hold several hundred pictures. Why not?

6. Make a bunch of raviolis and freeze them.

7. My biceps could be a little bigger...

8. And I should keep up with the blog more...Did I say that already?