Before the plan was devised and hatched to make Sandra Bullock the future Mrs. Maeda, there was another. Back in the archives of Cheapo lore lies my affection for this other who every time I saw her, every time I heard her, my heart would go flutter like a little bunny's. Susanna Hoffs, formerly of the Bangles, forever a fabulous babe, was this other lucky person that once occupied my heart. Whenever I saw her do that thing with her eyes, the "look" where she turns her gaze to the side, sigh...
So deep and so public was my affection that former Cheapo East Manager, Brian Haws, who used to disagree with me just to see if I actually had a pulse, used to fill my work shifts with disparaging remarks about Susanna ("She's got bug eyes! She says 'cowps' instead of cops in Walk Like an Egyptian and that isn't even a word!") just to test my loyalty to Ms. Hoffs. Christina Schlieske, now known as Tina of Tina and the B-Side Movement, promised to set me up with her friend Missy Morales because she supposedly looked exactly like Ms. Hoffs. Fernande Rodgers, who used to manage our video rentals back when we used to have video rentals, set aside Susanna's movie, The Allnighter just for me as soon as it arrived in the store so I could be the very first to see it. She also gave me the promotional poster that came along, all the while muttering underneath her breath, "I can't believe such an otherwise intelligent young man can behave so childish..."
When the Bangles broke up a few years back it was to me what the breakup of the Jayhawks was to many others. While it meant Susanna was now free to pursue solo endeavors, it meant the end of a group whose work I so enjoyed. As deep as my admiration was for Susanna, it was the group's harmonies and those jangly Byrd like guitars that made me listen to the music. Thus Susanna's first solo effort, When You're a Boy, though much anticipated was a bit of a let down. The CD was OK, but nothing I listen to very often. One of the Bangles charms was their astute choice of cover songs from Jules Shear's If She Knew What She Wants, to Alex Chilton's September Gurls, the group had a knack for complimenting decent originals with other well written songs. Susanna tried following the same formula with her effective and unusual cover of David Bowie's Boys Keep Swinging, but the rest of the disc seemed a bit impersonal at best.
It took six years for the follow up to finally arrive, the self titled Susanna Hoffs, but it was well worth the wait. The disc combines Susanna's whispy vocals with rocking good tunes, economical ballads, and a strong selection of songs. Like all good collections, the CD gathers impact with each repeated listen. The growth and maturity from her first disc is impressive during a time when the competition has raised the stakes, everyone from Sheryl Crow to Joan Osborne, Jewel to Tori Amos, Liz Phair to Patti Rothberg, Susanna's disc, with her sense of adventure and artistic aspirations holds its own. Now a veteran of the industry she helped move forward, it's appropriate that she is making a return of sorts in an era where the traditional has withstood the test of trends. With the return to form of perennial favorites like the world champion Yankees and Packers, Hoffs' comeback is welcome. Hers is a voice that was missed and has gained strength over the years, now achingly authentic in its appealing vulnerability.
Susanna Hoffs opens with her multi- tracked vocal sweetly "aahing" above a lone piano and the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar. Beekeeper's Blues strings several pop lyric homilies, "no good deed goes unpunished," "these boots are made for walking, they're walking back to you," "you were a future star, who do you think you are?" into an effective bittersweet diatribe directed toward one who the singer wants to walk away from as much as she wants to walk next to. The second song, a cover of the Lightning Seeds' All I Want, is the CD's first single. It is a lush ballad sung confidently by one who is willing to lay down what she wants. Indeed it is the sheer confidence of the singing and presentation that makes these silly love songs immensely listenable.
Other highlights include the confessional Darling One a song about her struggles and frustrations with her record label. "I saw you waiting there for the music to come back. Feeling blue cause there's so much to live up to. I wish that somehow I could give it to you." There's a "bonus" track cover of Lulu's To Sir With Love sung with convincing affection. Also Weak With Love a touching tribute to John Lennon, the most moving I've heard since Paul McCartney's Here Today. The song works because it doesn't praise John to the heavens but rather reflects on the loss the singer felt when she heard about his murder.
The disc reminds that the arc of time can be so compelling. Art that endures is as difficult to find as a permanent feeling. Feelings evolve and change, some for better, some for worse and one almost never knows which way they will go. It's a challenge to understand one's roots as those roots are constantly growing. Infatuation turns to intrigue turns to respect- a heart's beat. It is a lesson music like this helps one to understand.
NEXT WEEK: The Martha Quinn Years
Monday, February 17, 1997
Monday, February 10, 1997
A Clean Well Lighted Place
"In going where you have to go, and doing what you have to do, and seeing what you have to see, you dull and blunt the instrument you write with. But I would rather have it bent and dull and know I had to put it on the grindstone again and hammer it into shape and put a whetstone to it, and know that I had something to write about, than to have it bright and shining and nothing to say, or smooth and well-oiled in the closet, but unused."
-Ernest Hemingway
Richard Attenborough's In Love and War is the type of movie that when it ends you ask yourself, "that was all very nice and all but what exactly was the point?" Yet the feeling may actually be oddly appropriate since in both love and war once they are over, one is often left asking one's self, "what the hell was that all about?" So it is a quiet, well lit, contemplative movie with not a lot of action, little memorable dialogue, yet touching at times and certainly more earnest than your average Hollywood movie.
The movie stars Chris O'Donnell as a young Ernest Hemingway seeking adventure and experience in war torn Italy, and Sandra Bullock as Agnes Von Kurowsky, a Red Cross nurse who cares for Hemingway after the yet to be famous writer is shot in the leg. There is a warning early on that this movie may have a few cracks in its simple structure. Before the opening scene we get the dreaded "based on a true story" (as if there is any other kind). Herein lies the problem of the movie. Since most viewers will begin with some kind of preconceived notion of Papa Hemingway, O'Donnell's attempts to portray a yet to be formed brash and cocky Hemingway somehow don't work or don't offer the insight one expects. Take away that and all that is left is a common love story, one which is not terribly romantic or memorable. We never really see any of the passion or whatever it is that attracts O'Donnell and Bullock to each other.
The story suggests that it was this relationship and the events surrounding it that helped form the harder edged Hemingway, forever coloring his personality and his writing. By his written accounts, Hemingway in the middle of all the destruction, pain and suffering found his comforting soul mate who changed the unchangeable while at the same time returning him to his old self nursing him back to health. He wrote that while far from the familiar, she felt like she had been around forever yet at the same time felt so refreshing and new, helping him return to his foundation, an anchor in the turbulent storm. Haunted by a trip taken as real as the scar on his wounded leg, by her presence turned absence, the writer transformed his love from the tangible one in front of him somehow never to be touched, to just another tragic character in another story. In the movie this merely translates into being portrayed as a believer of the rather standard notion that a writer is to suffer for his art while also showing that there are some things one should be willing to die for. One of the movie's strengths is in showing the war's horror, which is faithfully conveyed in one frightening battle scene, and later on in the personal sufferings of those involved.
But the depth of Hemingway's eternal feelings for Von Kurowsky certainly aren't conveyed in movie. O'Donnell instead emotes what looks like a school boy crush on his nurse. Bullock seems bemused by his alternating bravado and boyish enthusiasm. The viewer is asked to make the jump internally, to accept that this colorful young reporter became the brooding but often times masterful writer. And because that isn't the easiest jump to make, one begins to wonder that if this story wasn't about Hemingway would there be anything that worthwhile to watch? Yet it is a good looking movie, easy on the eyes. Attenborough is able to use the beautiful Italian countryside as an effective backdrop to the courtship and flirtation.
For Bullock it is another in a growing string of diverse roles. She gives a quiet yet charismatic performance, creating a portrait of a woman both nurturing and independent. It is through this performance that her lasting power is beginning to show. Rather than playing the nurse as the young plucky heroine type, she gives a more distinguished, dignified reading. While her appeal remains her down to earth charm and sense of humor, this role shows it is possible she will grow to play something other than the youthful "star." This is someone whose movies are worth waiting for, one to grow old with.
-Ernest Hemingway
Richard Attenborough's In Love and War is the type of movie that when it ends you ask yourself, "that was all very nice and all but what exactly was the point?" Yet the feeling may actually be oddly appropriate since in both love and war once they are over, one is often left asking one's self, "what the hell was that all about?" So it is a quiet, well lit, contemplative movie with not a lot of action, little memorable dialogue, yet touching at times and certainly more earnest than your average Hollywood movie.
The movie stars Chris O'Donnell as a young Ernest Hemingway seeking adventure and experience in war torn Italy, and Sandra Bullock as Agnes Von Kurowsky, a Red Cross nurse who cares for Hemingway after the yet to be famous writer is shot in the leg. There is a warning early on that this movie may have a few cracks in its simple structure. Before the opening scene we get the dreaded "based on a true story" (as if there is any other kind). Herein lies the problem of the movie. Since most viewers will begin with some kind of preconceived notion of Papa Hemingway, O'Donnell's attempts to portray a yet to be formed brash and cocky Hemingway somehow don't work or don't offer the insight one expects. Take away that and all that is left is a common love story, one which is not terribly romantic or memorable. We never really see any of the passion or whatever it is that attracts O'Donnell and Bullock to each other.
The story suggests that it was this relationship and the events surrounding it that helped form the harder edged Hemingway, forever coloring his personality and his writing. By his written accounts, Hemingway in the middle of all the destruction, pain and suffering found his comforting soul mate who changed the unchangeable while at the same time returning him to his old self nursing him back to health. He wrote that while far from the familiar, she felt like she had been around forever yet at the same time felt so refreshing and new, helping him return to his foundation, an anchor in the turbulent storm. Haunted by a trip taken as real as the scar on his wounded leg, by her presence turned absence, the writer transformed his love from the tangible one in front of him somehow never to be touched, to just another tragic character in another story. In the movie this merely translates into being portrayed as a believer of the rather standard notion that a writer is to suffer for his art while also showing that there are some things one should be willing to die for. One of the movie's strengths is in showing the war's horror, which is faithfully conveyed in one frightening battle scene, and later on in the personal sufferings of those involved.
But the depth of Hemingway's eternal feelings for Von Kurowsky certainly aren't conveyed in movie. O'Donnell instead emotes what looks like a school boy crush on his nurse. Bullock seems bemused by his alternating bravado and boyish enthusiasm. The viewer is asked to make the jump internally, to accept that this colorful young reporter became the brooding but often times masterful writer. And because that isn't the easiest jump to make, one begins to wonder that if this story wasn't about Hemingway would there be anything that worthwhile to watch? Yet it is a good looking movie, easy on the eyes. Attenborough is able to use the beautiful Italian countryside as an effective backdrop to the courtship and flirtation.
For Bullock it is another in a growing string of diverse roles. She gives a quiet yet charismatic performance, creating a portrait of a woman both nurturing and independent. It is through this performance that her lasting power is beginning to show. Rather than playing the nurse as the young plucky heroine type, she gives a more distinguished, dignified reading. While her appeal remains her down to earth charm and sense of humor, this role shows it is possible she will grow to play something other than the youthful "star." This is someone whose movies are worth waiting for, one to grow old with.
Monday, February 3, 1997
Inside the Gaze of Mr. Max
There was a recent urge, not quite a desire for the student to return to school and further his education. Thus this past week he began, at the University of Minnesota, a five week course called Managing Human Behavior which put to rest any notions of his returning to school on a regular basis, at least for a while. The whole academic environment thing was a bit too painful to return to. Nonetheless he thought how part of him would forever remain the perpetual student. He doubted those dreams of his college days or heaven forbid, high school days, would ever completely go away. Besides he thought, one doesn't need the formalities of academia to realize that in life we are all constantly learning if for no reason than to survive in a rapidly changing world. And on top of that all of his closest siblings were teachers.
So after class this past week he returned to his humble little abode to the wise if not vacant face of his little kitty. The student told Max all about what he learned that night, what was covered in class and what was to be covered in upcoming weeks. He learned that one cannot motivate another person, only inspire them to motivate themselves. He also learned there are no answers only responses.
Max looked up at the student as one who hadn't been fed his dinner yet. It was at that moment the student decided to finally put those tens of thousands of dollars invested in his history degree to use. He began to explain to Max what a historical time they were living in to help the cat appreciate the significance of their tiny little lives in this momentous age. And to put to use his recent foray into the Japanese language, he decided from now on to call his little friend Mr. Maximoto. (It didn't make any sense of course, but Max was quite used to accepting his roommate's eccentricities by now.) "Mercy," the student said for no apparent reason, once again using his favorite expletive.
The history lesson began. The student balanced Mr. Maximoto on his lap, stroked his fur and told the cat all about the train they were on, gathering speed careening and caroming toward the 21st Century. The student explained the train was now crossing the bridge being built into the next millennium which wouldn't slow down enough to catch one's breath let alone realize and appreciate the time they were lucky enough to be living in.
The changes, the advances, the setbacks, all seemed to be occurring at exponential speed. The student told Mr. Maximoto how the industrial age gave way to the technical age which led to the information age. From the rise of the Great Wall of China to fall of the Berlin Wall, from the first man on the moon to flying toasters on everyone's personal computer they had seen a remarkable amount of earth shattering events. The student told Mr. Maximoto to forget for a moment about catnapping near a forced air heating vent. Things were changing so fast that they forced themselves to catch the evening news every night just to know if the world was going to end that night. During Mr. Maximoto's short little lifetime, he was witness to some breathtaking historical advances.
As an example, the student recalled how when they first started rooming together Mr. Maximoto used the standard kitty litter, the kind where you dumped a bunch in his litter box, he did his business and when it all got too smelly the student had to empty it into a garbage bag all the while choking on the fumes of ammonia and those other tear producing smells. No more. Now with clumpable litter the student merely scooped out the product after Mr. Maximoto had a sit down and the rest of the litter remained fresh for his next visit.
Another recent advance made this chore even easier. For Christmas, Mr. Maximoto's grandparents bought him "The Perpetual Litter Sifting System" which comes in three slotted trays. After Mr. Maximoto is finished with his duty, the student merely lifts the top tray which sifts the unused litter down into the bottom two trays and leaves the clump solitary and ready for disposal. "We have advanced light years in the area of kitty excrement disposal. This is a marvelous age we are in," the student said to his now sleeping kitty. "It's like we're a traffic cop to the speeding world going by, trying to decide if the conditions are safe enough to be going so fast. Managing human behavior? Inspiration? Motivation? They're just down the street, thousands of light years and miles away. Mercy, Mr. Maximoto, mercy..."
So after class this past week he returned to his humble little abode to the wise if not vacant face of his little kitty. The student told Max all about what he learned that night, what was covered in class and what was to be covered in upcoming weeks. He learned that one cannot motivate another person, only inspire them to motivate themselves. He also learned there are no answers only responses.
Max looked up at the student as one who hadn't been fed his dinner yet. It was at that moment the student decided to finally put those tens of thousands of dollars invested in his history degree to use. He began to explain to Max what a historical time they were living in to help the cat appreciate the significance of their tiny little lives in this momentous age. And to put to use his recent foray into the Japanese language, he decided from now on to call his little friend Mr. Maximoto. (It didn't make any sense of course, but Max was quite used to accepting his roommate's eccentricities by now.) "Mercy," the student said for no apparent reason, once again using his favorite expletive.
The history lesson began. The student balanced Mr. Maximoto on his lap, stroked his fur and told the cat all about the train they were on, gathering speed careening and caroming toward the 21st Century. The student explained the train was now crossing the bridge being built into the next millennium which wouldn't slow down enough to catch one's breath let alone realize and appreciate the time they were lucky enough to be living in.
The changes, the advances, the setbacks, all seemed to be occurring at exponential speed. The student told Mr. Maximoto how the industrial age gave way to the technical age which led to the information age. From the rise of the Great Wall of China to fall of the Berlin Wall, from the first man on the moon to flying toasters on everyone's personal computer they had seen a remarkable amount of earth shattering events. The student told Mr. Maximoto to forget for a moment about catnapping near a forced air heating vent. Things were changing so fast that they forced themselves to catch the evening news every night just to know if the world was going to end that night. During Mr. Maximoto's short little lifetime, he was witness to some breathtaking historical advances.
As an example, the student recalled how when they first started rooming together Mr. Maximoto used the standard kitty litter, the kind where you dumped a bunch in his litter box, he did his business and when it all got too smelly the student had to empty it into a garbage bag all the while choking on the fumes of ammonia and those other tear producing smells. No more. Now with clumpable litter the student merely scooped out the product after Mr. Maximoto had a sit down and the rest of the litter remained fresh for his next visit.
Another recent advance made this chore even easier. For Christmas, Mr. Maximoto's grandparents bought him "The Perpetual Litter Sifting System" which comes in three slotted trays. After Mr. Maximoto is finished with his duty, the student merely lifts the top tray which sifts the unused litter down into the bottom two trays and leaves the clump solitary and ready for disposal. "We have advanced light years in the area of kitty excrement disposal. This is a marvelous age we are in," the student said to his now sleeping kitty. "It's like we're a traffic cop to the speeding world going by, trying to decide if the conditions are safe enough to be going so fast. Managing human behavior? Inspiration? Motivation? They're just down the street, thousands of light years and miles away. Mercy, Mr. Maximoto, mercy..."
Monday, January 27, 1997
10 Years Later Still a Size 5 1/2 So Please Pass the Talcum Powder
Who would have thought it? Who would have thought all those years ago that I would still so enjoy working for a company whose success continues to grow through the hard work and efforts of so many individuals? And my heart's admiration expands when I see that the company keeps adapting to meet the challenges of a constantly changing and fickle industry. Doesn't seem all that long ago when we were a two store operation on Snelling Avenue where we entertained our customers with tunes from a jukebox and a myriad of assorted quirky characters. My how times have changed and last Sunday was a nice reminder of that.
Just as important as our celebration of who we now are and where we are headed is the recognition that we do need to look back from time to time at where we've been. Certainly we must continue to keep our eyes looking forward to where we want to be, but as we grow it becomes important to have some annual (weekly and monthly) traditions to celebrate our company.
Congratulations and thank yous go out to all involved in making our Second Annual Anniversary Party such a smashing success. Good bowling (with some rather unique and artistic styles), free drinks, a nice spread of food, free gifts, and entertaining music made for a fun filled Sunday afternoon. I enjoyed seeing people I haven't seen in a while and don't get to see very often, as well as some people I've never seen before in my life. If you blinked your eyes you may not have noticed, but it was as close as I'm ever going to get to actually mingling. And any party where I walk away with a new hat has to be considered a success.
I particularly enjoyed the "Battle of the Bands" despite the last minute cancellations. All three performances were enjoyable although Ms. Bell's (who earned points for spontaneity) performance was all too brief and a wee bit tuneless though entertaining nonetheless. It's always fun to see another side of the personalities that make this company what it is.
THE DAY AFTER: Reflections on a lavish Presidential Inauguration? A celebration of a different sort, extravagant in light of what has been accomplished the past four years and what we can expect to see in the next four. President Clinton's speech was about as poor a speech he has given during his Presidency, lacking in force, focus and substance. Even the usual rhetoric seemed a bit tired and uninspired. What he did issue was a call for our country to strive for nobility and dignity.
In an age where our culture is comprised of mistrust and cynicism, maybe to strive for lofty goals such as being more noble or more dignified is akin to spitting into the wind. But no matter what age we are in, it probably isn't a stretch to say that life has always been about trying to improve yourself as you pass through whatever it is you are passing through. To get more education, to get a better job, to improve relationships or a personal situation is what you come to realize much of what day to day life often is all about.
Take away the desire of self improvement, take away the inspiration that moves us towards that goal, and suddenly life loses a lot of its meaning. Though it often seems different, it really isn't any easier to be critical and judgmental as it is to be optimistic and a positive force. Both take a lot of energy to pull off. As a country we may have come a long way from the days of Nathan Hale's idealistic cathartic cry for liberty, so perhaps Mr. Clinton's updated call for nobility and dignity just fell upon deaf ears. But the beauty of self improvement is it is whatever it is that you make of it. Claim what is yours and deduct all the rest.
Just as important as our celebration of who we now are and where we are headed is the recognition that we do need to look back from time to time at where we've been. Certainly we must continue to keep our eyes looking forward to where we want to be, but as we grow it becomes important to have some annual (weekly and monthly) traditions to celebrate our company.
Congratulations and thank yous go out to all involved in making our Second Annual Anniversary Party such a smashing success. Good bowling (with some rather unique and artistic styles), free drinks, a nice spread of food, free gifts, and entertaining music made for a fun filled Sunday afternoon. I enjoyed seeing people I haven't seen in a while and don't get to see very often, as well as some people I've never seen before in my life. If you blinked your eyes you may not have noticed, but it was as close as I'm ever going to get to actually mingling. And any party where I walk away with a new hat has to be considered a success.
I particularly enjoyed the "Battle of the Bands" despite the last minute cancellations. All three performances were enjoyable although Ms. Bell's (who earned points for spontaneity) performance was all too brief and a wee bit tuneless though entertaining nonetheless. It's always fun to see another side of the personalities that make this company what it is.
THE DAY AFTER: Reflections on a lavish Presidential Inauguration? A celebration of a different sort, extravagant in light of what has been accomplished the past four years and what we can expect to see in the next four. President Clinton's speech was about as poor a speech he has given during his Presidency, lacking in force, focus and substance. Even the usual rhetoric seemed a bit tired and uninspired. What he did issue was a call for our country to strive for nobility and dignity.
In an age where our culture is comprised of mistrust and cynicism, maybe to strive for lofty goals such as being more noble or more dignified is akin to spitting into the wind. But no matter what age we are in, it probably isn't a stretch to say that life has always been about trying to improve yourself as you pass through whatever it is you are passing through. To get more education, to get a better job, to improve relationships or a personal situation is what you come to realize much of what day to day life often is all about.
Take away the desire of self improvement, take away the inspiration that moves us towards that goal, and suddenly life loses a lot of its meaning. Though it often seems different, it really isn't any easier to be critical and judgmental as it is to be optimistic and a positive force. Both take a lot of energy to pull off. As a country we may have come a long way from the days of Nathan Hale's idealistic cathartic cry for liberty, so perhaps Mr. Clinton's updated call for nobility and dignity just fell upon deaf ears. But the beauty of self improvement is it is whatever it is that you make of it. Claim what is yours and deduct all the rest.
Monday, January 20, 1997
Yubin Kyoku Wa Doko Desu
In the wake of celebrating a very special anniversary by bowling our brains out, consider this- I've been able to boil my life down to three essentials elements this winter: shoveling, shivering and a third "s" verb which I now forget. Kutsu o migaite kudasai. Back when I was a kid we used to have to walk five miles to school in bare feet, with a refrigerator strapped to our back (we were too poor to afford the latest fashionable, every kid must have 'em lunch box). I remember we used to huddle by a heating vent in the mornings trying to stay warm, just waiting for our Pop Tarts to finish toasting to get us through another frigid morning. Now days the governor deems it necessary to close all the schools when the temperature drops a degree or two below the freezing point. No wonder character building is getting thrown aside like rock salt.
As my nephews and nieces might testify at my competency hearing one of these days, one of my latest raps/rants is that to begin to fix the ills that plague our society we first must start with the impressionable minds of the next generation. This means that these all too common three day school weeks have to be thrown out of the equation. Why the heck do these kids need so much time off? Isn't it time to stop celebrating every nickel and dime excuse of a holiday and start hitting those books again? Ebonics, schbonics, it ain't the language that needs fixin'- rather it's the growing inability of our youth to anaylze what is inside as a reaction to what is outside and then to demonstrate that they have a shred of ability to express themselves effectively.
It's a cruel cold world out there according to more than just the professional pundits who'll kick you in the groin faster than Dennis Rodman. Faster than you can mutter that your stairs are crumbling underneath all the ice and frigid air, another storm appears on the horizon. But the current focus is on regulating what the kids can see, limiting them to even less than now with measures like a TV ratings system rather than trying to expand their vision beyond. It's more than just a PG-13 world out there and to try to deny it doesn't do us any good. Kami o tsunde kudasai.
And once we straighten out these kids's educational system what do we do? We build a new baseball stadium. If we allow the Twins to leave this state (and they will leave the state if the proposed stadium doesn't get built), we will become either the predicted "cold Omaha" or its equal, a warm Ontario. Since the current proposal is to pay for said palace by taxing cigarettes another ten percent (and still not allowing smokers to light up in the new stadium), we need to start our kids smoking sooner. Perhaps we can even enlist those two "kid" spokesmen, Kevin Garnett and Stephon Marbury, to be the leading advocates in getting our youth to light up before it's too late. And it all goes for a good cause!
So with a little tweaking here and there innovations do happen. As an example, who was the genius that developed the new and improved, quarter sized paper towel sheets? I was in the midst of cleaning up yet another one of my all too frequent kitchen messes when I yanked off a sheet from my recently purchased roll and discovered it was half the size of the normal bountiful surface I have become used to. At the moment it was inconvenient having to learn to clean a man's size mess with half the material, but upon reflection I discovered I now get twice the use out of roll of paper towels than I used to get. What an important money saving discovery! Back about a year ago when I was scrimping and scrounging to meet the closing costs on my house, one of the authorized cutbacks in purchases was in the area of Kleenex, toilet paper, and paper towels. I somehow learned to get by with one to meet the needs of all three. So whoever came up with the idea that is now so conveniently saving me money on every roll I buy, I salute ya!
As my nephews and nieces might testify at my competency hearing one of these days, one of my latest raps/rants is that to begin to fix the ills that plague our society we first must start with the impressionable minds of the next generation. This means that these all too common three day school weeks have to be thrown out of the equation. Why the heck do these kids need so much time off? Isn't it time to stop celebrating every nickel and dime excuse of a holiday and start hitting those books again? Ebonics, schbonics, it ain't the language that needs fixin'- rather it's the growing inability of our youth to anaylze what is inside as a reaction to what is outside and then to demonstrate that they have a shred of ability to express themselves effectively.
It's a cruel cold world out there according to more than just the professional pundits who'll kick you in the groin faster than Dennis Rodman. Faster than you can mutter that your stairs are crumbling underneath all the ice and frigid air, another storm appears on the horizon. But the current focus is on regulating what the kids can see, limiting them to even less than now with measures like a TV ratings system rather than trying to expand their vision beyond. It's more than just a PG-13 world out there and to try to deny it doesn't do us any good. Kami o tsunde kudasai.
And once we straighten out these kids's educational system what do we do? We build a new baseball stadium. If we allow the Twins to leave this state (and they will leave the state if the proposed stadium doesn't get built), we will become either the predicted "cold Omaha" or its equal, a warm Ontario. Since the current proposal is to pay for said palace by taxing cigarettes another ten percent (and still not allowing smokers to light up in the new stadium), we need to start our kids smoking sooner. Perhaps we can even enlist those two "kid" spokesmen, Kevin Garnett and Stephon Marbury, to be the leading advocates in getting our youth to light up before it's too late. And it all goes for a good cause!
So with a little tweaking here and there innovations do happen. As an example, who was the genius that developed the new and improved, quarter sized paper towel sheets? I was in the midst of cleaning up yet another one of my all too frequent kitchen messes when I yanked off a sheet from my recently purchased roll and discovered it was half the size of the normal bountiful surface I have become used to. At the moment it was inconvenient having to learn to clean a man's size mess with half the material, but upon reflection I discovered I now get twice the use out of roll of paper towels than I used to get. What an important money saving discovery! Back about a year ago when I was scrimping and scrounging to meet the closing costs on my house, one of the authorized cutbacks in purchases was in the area of Kleenex, toilet paper, and paper towels. I somehow learned to get by with one to meet the needs of all three. So whoever came up with the idea that is now so conveniently saving me money on every roll I buy, I salute ya!
Monday, January 13, 1997
Beautiful Music
One of the things I miss most about working in downtown St. Paul is the variety of places one can go for lunch. Fast food, ethnic food, fried food, health food- all a mere walking distance away in the wonderful skyway system. Sure my current workplace is within driving distance of a good choice of fine restaurants in downtown Stillwater, but who wants to take the time to warm one's car, and slip down those slippery slopes into town just to drop down a day's pay for some good grub?
Nope, more often I choose either to bring my own lunch from home (a cup of Ramen noodles and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich) or take my chances with the cafeteria food within the Government Center. And taking a chance is a proper sentiment, for this food isn't always the most delectable choice to be found, being the prison food that it is (quite literally- it is the same stuff they feed to the inmates). It is however the more convenient choice for one who rarely takes much of a lunch break.
Thus being a participant in the first of Cheapo's monthly anniversary lunches was a real treat. Last Tuesday Mary, Al (the Kanji master), Cliff and I dined at the impressive D'Amico and Sons restaurant in the poorly plowed Uptown area. It was a fine lunch full of good company, conversation and food. I had a tasty chicken feta salad which was chock full of pasta, chicken and little zesty things that I first thought were grapes, then thought might be olives, but never really discovered what they really were.
Anniversaries are reason to celebrate in these days when commitment and longevity, admirable traits, are becoming more and more difficult to find. I enjoyed the chance to talk to Mary and Al, two people I don't get a chance to see very often, and Cliff who was the only person in this company who was working in the stores when I started all those years ago. Anniversaries are also a time for reflection, something anyone who knows me well will tell you is dangerous to me; after all I have spent years of my life in reflection, looking within, into mirrors and reflecting pools diving and divulging into the inner sanctums of introspection and self indulgence.
I must say that at age 32, I don't have many complaints or the usual anxiety and angst over the current state of my life. Things are okay and you learn as you go on to accept and not feel so deeply those things that used to cause some sleepless nights. I guess there is one lingering regret, one element of life that gnaws in my craw and there are two current motion pictures out to remind me of that missing piece of life. Woody Allen's Everyone Says I Love You, and Madonna's Evita are attempts to revive the movie musical. I applaud the attempt, and can't wait to see both movies. Gosh darn I wish life was the same. I wish that at appropriate moments people would just break out into song and we would all get together and feel the freedom to perform a musical number together. People are just too damn afraid to go out on a shimmering limb and make a fool out of themselves (something I've never had too much trouble at doing). Think of the charm and fun of breaking into a number during those dull moments during the day, or dancing up a storm with a swelling orchestra backing whenever a stressful moment appears.
It isn't only the movies that are missing those glory days of the MGM musicals. Our society is becoming more and more harsh and unforgiving. As music continues to become more of a business than an art form, it would be nice to see somebody during the events of every day life just break into a song because the mood fits and inspiration calls for it. Maybe it's not appropriate and they would cart you away, but I remember a moment in junior high on a wistful spring day, when a young boy's heart turns to thoughts of... and it was pouring out as I went to catch my bus and I passed my heart's inspirational source and I began to sing and splash dance, quite spontaneously, Singin in the Rain and she laughed but didn't go so far as to join in.
Such moments in life are too rare. I guess the best we can do is sing spirituals as we shovel through the downfall from our winter's malcontent. Life ain't a musical. But still that can't prevent you from enjoying a chicken feta salad now and then.
Nope, more often I choose either to bring my own lunch from home (a cup of Ramen noodles and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich) or take my chances with the cafeteria food within the Government Center. And taking a chance is a proper sentiment, for this food isn't always the most delectable choice to be found, being the prison food that it is (quite literally- it is the same stuff they feed to the inmates). It is however the more convenient choice for one who rarely takes much of a lunch break.
Thus being a participant in the first of Cheapo's monthly anniversary lunches was a real treat. Last Tuesday Mary, Al (the Kanji master), Cliff and I dined at the impressive D'Amico and Sons restaurant in the poorly plowed Uptown area. It was a fine lunch full of good company, conversation and food. I had a tasty chicken feta salad which was chock full of pasta, chicken and little zesty things that I first thought were grapes, then thought might be olives, but never really discovered what they really were.
Anniversaries are reason to celebrate in these days when commitment and longevity, admirable traits, are becoming more and more difficult to find. I enjoyed the chance to talk to Mary and Al, two people I don't get a chance to see very often, and Cliff who was the only person in this company who was working in the stores when I started all those years ago. Anniversaries are also a time for reflection, something anyone who knows me well will tell you is dangerous to me; after all I have spent years of my life in reflection, looking within, into mirrors and reflecting pools diving and divulging into the inner sanctums of introspection and self indulgence.
I must say that at age 32, I don't have many complaints or the usual anxiety and angst over the current state of my life. Things are okay and you learn as you go on to accept and not feel so deeply those things that used to cause some sleepless nights. I guess there is one lingering regret, one element of life that gnaws in my craw and there are two current motion pictures out to remind me of that missing piece of life. Woody Allen's Everyone Says I Love You, and Madonna's Evita are attempts to revive the movie musical. I applaud the attempt, and can't wait to see both movies. Gosh darn I wish life was the same. I wish that at appropriate moments people would just break out into song and we would all get together and feel the freedom to perform a musical number together. People are just too damn afraid to go out on a shimmering limb and make a fool out of themselves (something I've never had too much trouble at doing). Think of the charm and fun of breaking into a number during those dull moments during the day, or dancing up a storm with a swelling orchestra backing whenever a stressful moment appears.
It isn't only the movies that are missing those glory days of the MGM musicals. Our society is becoming more and more harsh and unforgiving. As music continues to become more of a business than an art form, it would be nice to see somebody during the events of every day life just break into a song because the mood fits and inspiration calls for it. Maybe it's not appropriate and they would cart you away, but I remember a moment in junior high on a wistful spring day, when a young boy's heart turns to thoughts of... and it was pouring out as I went to catch my bus and I passed my heart's inspirational source and I began to sing and splash dance, quite spontaneously, Singin in the Rain and she laughed but didn't go so far as to join in.
Such moments in life are too rare. I guess the best we can do is sing spirituals as we shovel through the downfall from our winter's malcontent. Life ain't a musical. But still that can't prevent you from enjoying a chicken feta salad now and then.
Monday, January 6, 1997
1996 Woman of the Year
Previous Newsletter Women of the Year-
1992: H. Ross Perot
1993: St. Francis of Assisi
1994: Newt Gingrich
1995: Cal Ripken Jr.
Those who know note that my brother and I have vastly different personalities. This difference played itself out various ways early in our lives. When we were growing up there was a competitive nature to both of us, but that competitiveness manifested itself in different ways. I learned early on that whenever we played a game, it was better to lose than have to put up with an angry brother for the next three hours. There was no joy in beating him simply because he got so pissed.
Perhaps that is why to this day I have a weakness for always rooting for the underdog. If I turn on a sporting event, I will almost always root for the team that is not supposed to win. Therefore I end up backing the loser nine times out of ten. Doesn't matter though because there is something so appealing to watching somebody overcome long odds to fight their way toward triumph. Who cares if this doesn't happen often and more often the loser gets the stuffing snuffed out of them?
All this comes to mind as we perform a newsletter tradition. That clamoring you hear knocking on your door ain't the masses looking to buy the newest Susanna Hoffs' CD nor the latest stock of Tickle Me Elmo dolls. Rather it is the throng of people just dyin to hear who the 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year will be.
The committee met briefly at the Lumberbarn in Stillwater this year. There really was no debate over the eventual winner. Sure, Paul McCartney was knighted by the British Empire and that merited consideration. Sure, Madonna's Evita is the greatest spectacle since Max got into the bedsprings. But hands down our chosen recipient represented all that the award has come to stand for over the years; namely the most influential, inspirational, influenza like element of this past calendar year.
First, a history lesson. On August 26, 1920 the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was signed into law, granting women the right to vote. This still is the only article or amendment that specifically gives women a right. That it took over forty two years from the time the amendment was first introduced by Susan B. Anthony until it became the law of the land is just part of a long history to the Women Suffrage Movement.
This past year marked a time when we heard plenty about the widening gap between rich and poor; black and white. What we didn't hear as much about was another always widening gap, the difference between genders. That this gap today stands wider than the Grand Canyon doesn't seem to surprise many people. But last November the difference quite literally elected a President.
If the year was 1919, Bob Dole would now stand as our President-elect. More men voted for him than Bill Clinton. That the election wasn't even close is a testament to how far women voters have come over the years and how much political clout they now wield.
Bob Dole ran what was a campaign that was historical in its ineptitude. From day one the campaign was full of blunders and bad decisions. Whenever given an opportunity or a chance to prove he was the person we should elect, he inevitably would fall (one time quite literally) on his face. While it is true that Mr. Dole distinguished himself with years of service in the Senate, candidate Dole was a bumbling, incompetent man who seemed to feel he earned the nomination simply through his life's work rather than giving any compelling reason why he should be the next President. Still we men, chose him. If further proof is needed as to why our country desperately needs a female President to start making the right decisions, the choices men continue to make, like our choice for THE 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year- the Dole Campaign, should be used as exhibit A. Give us a loser and we will throw our full support behind him.
1992: H. Ross Perot
1993: St. Francis of Assisi
1994: Newt Gingrich
1995: Cal Ripken Jr.
Those who know note that my brother and I have vastly different personalities. This difference played itself out various ways early in our lives. When we were growing up there was a competitive nature to both of us, but that competitiveness manifested itself in different ways. I learned early on that whenever we played a game, it was better to lose than have to put up with an angry brother for the next three hours. There was no joy in beating him simply because he got so pissed.
Perhaps that is why to this day I have a weakness for always rooting for the underdog. If I turn on a sporting event, I will almost always root for the team that is not supposed to win. Therefore I end up backing the loser nine times out of ten. Doesn't matter though because there is something so appealing to watching somebody overcome long odds to fight their way toward triumph. Who cares if this doesn't happen often and more often the loser gets the stuffing snuffed out of them?
All this comes to mind as we perform a newsletter tradition. That clamoring you hear knocking on your door ain't the masses looking to buy the newest Susanna Hoffs' CD nor the latest stock of Tickle Me Elmo dolls. Rather it is the throng of people just dyin to hear who the 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year will be.
The committee met briefly at the Lumberbarn in Stillwater this year. There really was no debate over the eventual winner. Sure, Paul McCartney was knighted by the British Empire and that merited consideration. Sure, Madonna's Evita is the greatest spectacle since Max got into the bedsprings. But hands down our chosen recipient represented all that the award has come to stand for over the years; namely the most influential, inspirational, influenza like element of this past calendar year.
First, a history lesson. On August 26, 1920 the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was signed into law, granting women the right to vote. This still is the only article or amendment that specifically gives women a right. That it took over forty two years from the time the amendment was first introduced by Susan B. Anthony until it became the law of the land is just part of a long history to the Women Suffrage Movement.
This past year marked a time when we heard plenty about the widening gap between rich and poor; black and white. What we didn't hear as much about was another always widening gap, the difference between genders. That this gap today stands wider than the Grand Canyon doesn't seem to surprise many people. But last November the difference quite literally elected a President.
If the year was 1919, Bob Dole would now stand as our President-elect. More men voted for him than Bill Clinton. That the election wasn't even close is a testament to how far women voters have come over the years and how much political clout they now wield.
Bob Dole ran what was a campaign that was historical in its ineptitude. From day one the campaign was full of blunders and bad decisions. Whenever given an opportunity or a chance to prove he was the person we should elect, he inevitably would fall (one time quite literally) on his face. While it is true that Mr. Dole distinguished himself with years of service in the Senate, candidate Dole was a bumbling, incompetent man who seemed to feel he earned the nomination simply through his life's work rather than giving any compelling reason why he should be the next President. Still we men, chose him. If further proof is needed as to why our country desperately needs a female President to start making the right decisions, the choices men continue to make, like our choice for THE 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year- the Dole Campaign, should be used as exhibit A. Give us a loser and we will throw our full support behind him.
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