The Woodpecker

I was driving to work the other day and listening to the news when a story came on telling how a bird observer down in Louisiana had seen an Ivory Billed Woodpecker, quite a remarkable sighting considering that the bird was declared extinct years ago.

The news made my ears perk up. I've long been an admirer of those who show skillful survival abilities against the odds. Almost all of the people I admire most have stories of being counted out at one point or another only to stage some type of comeback. This was the all time comeback story. Imagine having your species declared down for the count forever and yet there you are. You're still bleeping there. I almost turned my car around to head back home to tell my three boyz the news. Their reaction probably would have mirrored any reaction I could get at work at 6:30 in the blessed a.m.

Having become a complete scooterhead these days this was one of the few recent mornings that I was actually glad I was in my car. This spring hasn't exactly been abundant with ideal scooter riding weather. Every night before I hop into bed I listen to the weather forecast for the next day. The forecast more often than not either calls for unseasonably cold weather or worse, for drizzle, showers, and rain. I go to bed hoping and sometimes praying that they are wrong.

I then wake up thinking this might be the morning that my prayers have been answered. I look out the window hoping it isn't raining and as MPR's Cathy Wurzer tells me the temp at 5:10 a.m. I try to tell myself that since it's above freezing maybe it won't be too cold to scooter.

Alas more often than not I soon find myself snug as a slug in my rusting and dying car wishing I could be zooming along on my scooter, Marco the Nimrod. One advantage to driving to work in my car is that I can listen to the radio. It's a luxury I don't have when I'm out in the open where I could in theory put on some headphones underneath my California Highway Patrol style helmet. I don't want to do that though because I'm trying to be ultra-alert to everything going on around me knowing I probably won't come out the winner in a collision between me and another vehicle.

The few times I have been able to ride my scooter I fill the music void by singing at the top of my lungs. Of course the obvious choice of song would be the cliché motorized two wheel anthem, "Born to Be Wild" but as I was searching for my own personal theme song to sing on my scooter my mind flashed back to the Rutles' "Cheese and Onions" Lord knows why.

"I have always thought in the back of my mind/Cheese and Onions/I have always thought/That the world was unkind/Cheese and Onions/Do I have to spell it out?/C-H-E-E-S-E- A-N-D-O-N-I-O-N-S- Oh no/Man and machine/Keep yourself clean/I'll be a has- been/Like a dinosaur/My device for everything nice/You better think twice/At least once more..."

As weary as I've been I came home the other night and trying to make the most of my Netflix subscription I plopped my rented DVD, Seabiscuit into my DVD player. I must say I've never seen a better sports related movie. God almighty the movie is good.

Granted the cinematic sports genre is full of many clunkers so the competition isn't all that great. The only movie that has ever made me boo the screen was the dreadful The Natural. And unfortunately my extreme disliking of that movie happens more often than not when watching a sports related movie. Sports can be so inspiring, so poetic, so beautiful and yet when movies try to capture these aspects they usually fall far short.

Seabiscuit is the exception. The movie manages to capture the beauty and the danger of horse racing and still it's really not about the sport itself. Like all my favorite movies there are themes about redemption and loss and overcoming odds. The movie is about misfits rising above expectations and finding another who can inspire you to live up to the potential that exists within. That it also captures the relationship that can develop between man and animal and how one can push the other to be something greater, is something to behold and treasure.

I loved this movie. Chris Cooper's performance as the trainer, Tom Smith is remarkable and makes this a must see movie all by itself. Seabiscuit is the kind of movie that makes you want to go out into the world and make a difference or at least join the land of the living one more time before you give up faith knowing your lucky horseshoe can never make a difference in a land full of indifference. I watched this movie with a three-legged cat sound asleep on my chest feeling as peaceful as he can in this dangerous world. When it was done I was inspired to hop on my scooter and just ride, didn't matter where.

I Could Have Been Somebody

I don't know if "reality TV" has been so dubbed because it's supposed to reflect anything that's actually going on outside that big black box in the corner of my living room. More likely it's been called that because nothing that happens on those shows has been written and we all know that nothing written is ever real.

I've been a huge fan of the original network reality show Survivor, ever since its inception. Yes I know the show is utterly predictable and dumb but I've always been quite entertained by all the conniving and scheming done by groups of good looking albeit more often than not, rather vacuous people.

This season started off the same as always despite the twists the producers have tried to introduce. Immediate lapses in judgment led to poor strategy by a couple of people who apparently have never seen the show before. The one thing all Survivor players should know by now is that the one thing you do not want to do at the beginning of the adventure is to call attention to yourself. You don't want to be too bossy or assume that it is a good idea to try and be a leader, a loner, or an eccentric. If you stick out you're gonna have this huge target tattooed on to your back and you're gonna get voted off pronto.

Sure enough the first person booted off of Survivor Palau was a woman who thought she'd entertain everyone else by belting out songs she had written about the show. While the others rowed their boat toward shore this woman annoyed them all by not only not helping row but by singing some rather dreadful songs.

The plot twist this season was that the first two people ashore got to be captains and they chose the next person they wanted on their team. That person then chose the next and so on. The singer/songwriter of course did not get chosen. As the teams were formed it appeared to be a mismatch. One team contained all the young, athletic, good looking people while the others had the misfits and old people. Surprise of surprises the young athletic team did not win an entire immunity challenge and all of their tribe members have now been voted off.

Up until this season my all time favorite Survivor was Elisabeth Filarski who parlayed her charm and sweet personality into a full time gig co-hosting the ABC daytime talk show, The View. However one of this season's Survivors, Stephenie, has moved to the top of my heart by showing she was perhaps the best female participant ever. She kicked butt in the immunity challenges even though her team never won one. She out hustled, out performed and outwitted the rest of her team. When she ultimately joined the opposing team, her odds in surviving were minimal because not only was she the odd person out, but she was seen as a threat for her prowess in challenges.

There reached a point where Janu, a whiny Las Vegas dancer wanted out and she let her teammates know by completely isolating herself and shutting down. Still some wanted to vote out Stephenie first, because they didn't see Janu being a threat in any way shape or form. At the next tribal council Stephenie soon began to realize she was in trouble. As it dawned on her she began to cry. She said it wasn't fair (and it wasn't) that because she had done so well she was apparently done while there was another who was asking to get voted off and she apparently wasn't going to get her wish.

I didn't realize that Stephenie's competitive drive had gotten to me until the tears began to stream down my own cheeks. It wasn't the first time in my life a Stephenie made me bawl. But that's another story of course. Since that particular Stephanie, my life has somehow morphed into being about all kitties all the time. Sometimes I think living with the three that they have formed a Survivor like alliance and if we had a vote on who to kick out of this house I'd be the first to go.

But then again if this house was actually made into a reality show (or at least something real) it would be more like NBC's The Contender. That show kicks Survivor's butt because the actual demise of its contestants is to lose a hard fought boxing match not some kind of goofy contrived challenge and the show if nothing else has shown over its run that boxing is a rather brutal sport.

The Contender does a splendid job of effectively building the tension up to the actual fight. The mixture of realism and reality TV is highlighted by the presence of Sylvester Stallone and Sugar Ray Leonard both equally comical in their attempts at analyzing what is going on. I'm not sure if Sly realizes he was never an actual championship boxer, and I'm not sure if Sugar Ray realizes he was never the entertainer Ali was, but if they came over to my house they could maybe help me sort out the pecking order between Diego-san, Thompson, and young Theo. When the boyz wrestle I'm not sure if they're playing or if they're playing for real. All I know is this isn't the Real World and yet I'm still game in playing along.

Listen Up

As long as we're talking about conversation based movies I gotta say the oddest one I've ever heard is Spanish director Pedro Almodovar's 2004 Talk to Her.

I'm not exactly sure what the movie is about but the plot involves two men bonding because the one thing they have in common is they are both in love with women who happen to share the unique affliction of being in comas. Marco is a travel writer who falls in love Lydia, a female bullfighter (I can't tell you how many times that has happened to me). Lydia ends up sustaining a work-related injury and ends up in a hospital (also an all too often occurrence in my life).

It is there where Marco meets Benigno a male nurse who is in love with Alicia a dancer he longed for months before she is hit by a car on the street that separates his apartment from her dance studio. Benigno's extra special care of his comatose patient is a little creepy and Almodovar doesn't hide this in lingering scenes where the nurse is giving his patient a sponge bath.

It's not clear if the movie expects us to be touched or repulsed when Benigno tells Marco he has never been more in love, nor has he had a better relationship than he has with Alicia despite her inability to respond to everything he has ever said to her.

While she was still a conscious human being Alicia enjoyed silent movies. Thus Benigno makes it a point to go to as many as he can so he can tell her all about the movies she is now missing. This leads to one of the most disturbing scenes I have ever watched in a movie. It is a simulated silent movie where a man shrinks much to his lover's chagrin. He ends up literally crawling up inside her. The visuals of the scene made me cringe and I'm sure I'll be talking to my therapist about this nightmarish imagery for the rest of my life.

Eventually there is a scandal of course and Benigno ends up in prison where Marco's support and friendship becomes invaluable. There's something lovely about the conversations between the two men and their devotion to the women that remain a part of their lives.

Talk to Her was made before the Terri Schiavo situation became front page news (at least in this country). The movie raises thought provoking questions about the nature of relationships (how much does one have to converse with another to actually qualify as being in love?); it also delves into what a human spirit consists of (if the brain ceases to function does the spirit survive?). It's a beautifully shot and directed movie, well acted and almost always intriguing to watch. Yet it's also a somewhat manipulative movie and the silent movie scene itself is so bizarre and calls so much attention to itself it's difficult to imagine anyone can truly say in the end they enjoyed watching this film.

As creepy as much of Benigno's behavior is, his love and devotion to one who would likely not love him back if she was actually conscious, is in its way very sweet. He makes it his duty to take it upon himself to try and keep Alicia connected to the things she once loved in life even if science has defined her situation as hopeless.

At the heart of the movie is the question of whether to qualify as an actual conversation, the exchange has to include give and take from both participants. Is it good enough to intuitively feel a connection or does the other person have to communicate that all too rare occurrence with actual clunky words? When we're all alone in solitude (or in a house full of lovable kitties) is the dialogue/ monologue we carry on meaningful enough or is it just a symptom of some form of insanity?

At the same time if words can be heard but not fully comprehended or at least responded to on any level does that qualify for a conversation? Can humans definitely connect on a strictly non verbal level? Talk to Her ends with a scene involving Marco and Alicia and though those characters alliance relies soley on others there is something significant and beyond words in their self imposed limited exchange.

Dangling Conversation

I filed for a metaphorical divorce.

Words fail me. They don't correspond or accurately describe feelings inside or thoughts bouncing around my noggin at night. A wannabe writer, I now have learned how to live legally separated from words. I envy my cats who can express plenty without saying a thing.

I remember a day in 11th grade band class where we had a substitute teacher for the day so instead of making music we had a study hall. I got into a conversation with fellow trumpeters Tim O'Keefe and Todd Libby. We talked about life, philosophy, religion, and trying to figure out what it all really meant. We truly were determined to sort it all out. Once the bell rang and we had to head our separate ways all three of us had to sit for a moment in silence, transfixed that we all had just participated in one of life's rarities- a serious and meaningful discourse full of ideas where each of us would throw out a concept, something that had bothered any and all of us for awhile, and the others would then share and add what they thought. The whole was greater than the parts.

I suppose that you can't have that deep a conversation every day. There just isn't the time or energy or the needed connection but it's a bit sad that it was the type of conversation that sticks out so clearly in my mind because there have been few others that were as meaningful to me.

A stellar conversation is at least 50 percent about listening. And what really strikes me when I think back to that day is how I have come to learn over the years that finding a good listener is rare. I keep thinking of the Bill Monroe quote where he said he did his best thinking while someone else was talking. Many people just don't seem to understand that in order to listen you have to know when to shut your own yap for a moment or two.

It was that same year when my best friend Steve Olson and I made our way to the Uptown theater and saw My Dinner with Andre, a movie that Siskel and Ebert had been raving about for months. The plot of the movie was about as simple as humanly possible- it was a movie about two guys who get together for dinner and have a conversation. There were bits in the movie that reminded me of my conversation with Tim and Todd. At the beginning of the movie Andre dominates the discussion with his dinner companion Wally telling about his recent travels and wacky life changing experiences (like getting buried alive as part of some tribal ritual).

The movie comes alive however when Wally begins to challenge some of what he perceives as the overall point to what Andre's experiences are getting at.

Steve and I loved the movie. It had more than lived up to its billing. I wanted to go back, sensing that I hadn't paid careful enough attention to earlier parts of the conversation that occurred while I was trying to get used to a movie that was all talk. This was pre-VCR (let alone DVD) days so I never imagined that one day I could actually own a copy of the movie when I could replay the conversation any time I wanted to. Somewhat ironically my favorite part of the movie is when the two men discuss whether modern conveniences like electric blankets are good or bad. Is technology deadening our senses and thus numbing us to what it means to really be alive?

So after having recently rewatched the movie again on my DVD player I have found myself in the mood for conversation based movies. I rented four Richard Linklater talk based films: Before Sunrise, Tape, Waking Life, and Before Sunset. All four films involve Ethan Hawke, not one of my favorite actors because I never felt he was good enough to marry one of my favorite actresses, Uma Thurman (who I would cast to play the part of my friend Alex in the movie of my life).

Before Sunrise and Before Sunset are bookends. The former was made in the mid-90's and I didn't particularly like it when I first saw it. The concept of two young people falling in love as they talk and talk after a random meeting, interested me but the conversation quite frankly paled in comparison with Andre and Wally. The latter, made a decade later, is about what happened to the two characters in the first movie and is an entrancing update. I liked how the two have become a bit jaded over the years and the tone feels just right.

The two characters also appear in Waking Life, an animated movie that is all about the meaning of life. My favorite bit is when a woman explicates on how words are so inadequate in trying to communicate. When one person says they are in love can another person really understand what they mean? Does that word really mean the same thing to all of us? The movie may just be a cartoon but it's much more real than most other movies I've ever seen. It's a great example of what makes a great conversation movie great is that the viewer has to be an active listener to get it.

Scat Singing: How to Be a Cat Loving Scooter Rider

I've kind of wondered when I'd fall in love again. It's been quite a while, like seven years. But here I go again.

I haven't had a lot of time or much of a chance to ride my new scooter but the brief times I have had, I find I just can't get enough. There is nothing remotely like it in my life. It feels like I'm zooming a million miles an hour and quite frankly when I'm on my bike zipping around the side streets of my neighborhood I'm not exactly sure how fast I'm going since the speedometer measures speed in kilometers per hour. Damn it I knew I should have paid attention all those years ago when they tried to teach us the metric system!

I've gotten the scooter near 60 kilometers per hour and I've since learned that is about 37 miles per hour. It's both scary and exhilarating going that fast in the open air. While racing around town there have been a couple of times I've passed motorcycles headed the other direction where the motorcyclist gives me a secret hand signal as if to tell me they approve of my bike. Of course they're probably mocking me as they could ride circles around me but still I tell myself that I've joined a secret little fraternity that those loser car and SUV drivers will never understand.

Over the past few weeks I've also finally gotten a chance to spend some time with my kitties. It's nice to have good listeners around. (Upon further analysis I have discovered there are exactly two good human listeners in my life and one of those I don't get to talk to much anymore.) I love how I can tell by listening to their footsteps on the carpet which cat is approaching me. I love when Theolonius badgers Thompson and the two end up wrestling up a cloud of cat fur. I love how Diego will get his face right in mine and purr as deeply as a lion.

I've learned there is a connection between life as an honorary cat and as a scooter rider. Every little bump in the road presents a moment when I can lose control of my scooter and go flying into a world full of pain. Every corner of my house represents a similar obstacle for my three cats. Skid a little too fast across the wood floor and danger lurks right in front of your face.

The more significant connection however comes in learning to constantly live in the moment. For Thompson, Diego-san, and Theo, life forever exists in the here and now. Yes they are capable of taking a lesson learned and applying it later on so the same mistake isn't made over and over. For example, Theo used to greet me right at the front door. But one time he stood too close and I whacked him when I swung the door open and entered the house. He now hangs back, if not runs away, when I get home.

Likewise it's not that I don't pay attention when I'm driving my car because I am a rather careful driver. I signal every turn unlike 80 percent of the other dreadful drivers out there. But when driving my car I can drift off and think about other things. If I hit a pothole it's probably not like I'm going to lose control of my vehicle. The same cannot be said when riding my scooter. I have to pay extra attention to everything around me because if the car next to me drifts I'm not going to come out ahead in that battle.

I learned this lesson first hand the other day. I was scooting down Lexington Avenue during rush hour. My mind wasn't on the task at hand and I hit a bump in the road that almost caused me to lose control for a second. I didn't but my heart started beating bunny rabbit faster. The same thing hasn't happened again because believe you me I now am forever in the present whenever I ride my scooter. Yup just like my friend the Dalai Lama and my three splendid cats, riding my scooter is a great reminder of how a life is better lived living right now than worrying about what might happen tomorrow or what has already passed me by. I am in love again.

You Can Call Me Scooter

In 1966 Bob Dylan was at the top of the world and why shouldn't he have been? In less than a two-year period he released three stunning LPs, Bringing it All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, and Blonde on Blonde. Songs like "Like a Rolling Stone," "Mr. Tambourine Man," and "Visions of Johanna" went to places seldom ventured before or since. His lyrics dove deep within his psyche with equal flashes of insightful brilliance and beauty. His music was wild and mercurial. It seemed as if Dylan was poised to change the world with the strum of his guitar and each and every one of his songs were deciphered for hidden messages.

Then it all came crashing down. News spread that Dylan had crashed his motorcycle and the rumored severity of his injuries ranged from death to disfigurement, from a broken neck and brain damage to a cut leg. Whatever it was (and many speculate it was his way of escaping the madness that was swallowing him up whole and allowing time for quiet recuperation) his music never quite was the same again. In a way seeing how Dylan was forced like many other artists to grow up in a vacuum at an accelerated rate, perhaps the crash was symbolic of his first mid-life crisis.

I'm centuries from the place Bob Dylan was in 1966 even though I feel about as tired as he must have felt back then. Having turned 40 it was probably well within time for me to have a similar crisis. And like much of my life the way this crisis manifested itself wasn't quite the same as is the norm for other people. You read every now and then about some folks my age who deal with a mid-life crisis by going out and buying a Porsche or a Corvette. I went out and bought me a scooter.

It's a fancy little green 49cc retro style scooter that can whip up to 40 miles per hour. Some may label it a moped but there is nothing mopey about my scooter. It zips and zooms and when I open up the throttle it races along like a bat out of hell.

A couple of my co-workers and I went to look at scooters last weekend having gotten sick of rising gas prices and inflated downtown Minneapolis parking rates. We got to test ride a raspberry colored Twist and Go Venice model at Scooterville near Dinkytown. I hadn't planned on plopping my stash of nickels on the counter but after having ridden the scooter I felt I had no choice. Yes the pencil width exhaust pipe might suggest that it putters more than powers along but believe me if I put my kitties on board they would howl mighty loud in sheer fear.

I had to wait four days to pick up my scooter and when my friend dropped me off at Scooterville I have to admit I was a bit nervous about riding it home in the rush hour traffic. I stayed well under the speed limit not wanting to feel overly confident about my riding abilities. I was soon reminded of one of the things that keeps me from riding my bike very often- I don't like making left turns in traffic with cars behind and in front of me. Having stayed to the far right it meant I had to cross over a few lanes and sit there in the middle of things as the far bigger vehicles buzzed in every direction.

After enduring my first left turn I decided I would try to come up with a makeshift route home that meant I didn't have to turn left anymore. Unfortunately this probably meant a detour through southern Afghanistan so I bit the bullet and did what I needed to do. Soon I was sailing along, the predictable Steppenwolf song playing in my head accompanied by my own sound effect of yelping "zoom, zoom!" at the top of my lungs.

I love the sensation of scootering. There is something quite liberating about turning back the handle, letting the gas flow and zipping ahead with the air briskly flowing by your face. It's quite possible that such a feeling was part of the inspiration Dylan felt all those years ago. Yes it was a by the gut impulse buy but even if it means an inevitable crash somewhere down the road, I think the road between here and there will be quite the fun filled journey.

Humble Home for Wayward Kitties

To live in my house you have to at least be versatile. But what we're really looking for is a strong acting ability.

The newcomer to the house, who his foster mother dubbed "Dribble" and since has been renamed Thelonious, is 100 percent cat although there are times like he doesn't quite seem to realize that yet. Theo is way too friendly. He wobbles when he walks, likely a side effect of having a child sit on him and injure his back legs. This same injury prevents him from jumping up on furniture. Instead he tends to pull himself up with his front two paws.

Yet Theo in a way is more fortunate than his roommate Thompson, the three-legged cat. Thompson is missing his front left leg, a victim of getting it caught in a trap. I continue to marvel at how this doesn't slow him down much. Indeed he always seems to be in a hurry since his balance seems much better when he is moving fast rather than hopping slowly along.

Theo and Thompson both adore Diego-san, the third cat in the house. Diego has long silky black fur, an impressive massive tail and he swaggers when he walks. His curiosity is relentless and whatever he seems to get into Theo and Thompson are sure to follow his lead. For example, Diego-san loves to drink his water straight out of the tap. Whenever I turn on water he comes prancing into the room, hops up on the sink and then has this routine of pawing at the porcelain as if he is actually digging for his water. He doesn't mind getting the top of his head wet and running water seems to fascinate him.

For a year and a half Thompson didn't have any interest in this activity until one day Diego's sheer enthusiasm got to be too much for Thompson to ignore. At first he would hop into the bathroom and sit on the back of the toilet or the bathtub and merely watch Diego drink. Eventually he got a little braver and soon he was precariously balancing himself on the rim of the sink. He wouldn't drink from the stream of water, instead waiting until I turned the faucet off and then he would lick the remaining drops of water from the surface of the sink. Soon he too put aside his aversion to getting his face a little wet and began licking the running water.

Theo was quick to pick up on this ritual in our home. Now every time I turn on a faucet three cats (ten and a half good legs between them) come scampering from various locations into whatever room I'm in. The other two boys often nudge poor Diego-san off the sink.

The difference between living with three cats and two is that there is now rarely a peaceful quiet moment to be had. One of the three is always up to something. Theo loves to badger Thompson- so much so that Thompson always seems to be looking over his shoulder sensing something is about to leap out at him. The two have daily wrestling sessions (Thompson also loves to wrestle with Diego) but at the end of the night, no matter how rough the fighting gets, Thompson takes it upon himself to clean the other two.

In the House for Wayward Kitties/This Feline Circus being one dimensional is not an option. Diego does a passable owl imitation with his sharp piercing stare. He also is the size of small black bear and despite his sometimes standoffish, I'm in charge here personality, he really does have a teddy bear of a personality. He loves to snuggle.

Thompson never seems to be at ease. Every unexpected noise causes him to take notice like a frightened little bunny rabbit. Yet I've never met a better napper. He'll lie on my chest for hours if I let him.

Theo's trick is that with a little help he can imitate a penguin. His white underside contrasts nicely with his soft black coat and as I rub his belly he'll sometimes waddle on his back legs. His coloring also could pass for that of a skunk although I'm not sure how he would develop that imitation and I'm not sure I'd want him to.

The latest health care crisis is that Theo has seemed to have developed a case of feline herpes. Who knew such a thing existed? He spent all of Tuesday night sneezing. He would try to clean his face and then spastically shiver as if he couldn't quite control his front legs. Every time he sneezed the other two boys jumped a foot in the air. I took him to the vet who said that as long as Theo continued eating he probably was OK. Now it was my turn to act. I pretended like I understood that these are just cats and that the sneezing was only a symptom that would someday go away. Still Theo in a very short time has won over my heart and I pray that he'll be healthy soon.