2008, we hardly knew ya

I have been so busy dealing with weather adventures, holiday issues, family stuff and work that I really haven't realized that the New Year was almost here.

I used to say the New Year's was my favorite holiday. It's a date with so much optimism. It was a nice counterbalance to the pessimist in me. For many years, Christmas tended to be a disappointment. It think i expected too much of myself and those around me.

That changed somewhere along the way. I think that happened when I quit concentrating on myself and the things I wanted and started thinking about concentrated on my daughter and making the holiday good for her in some way.

Maybe that's what they mean about the spirit of the season being about giving rather than receiving.

So, maybe now that Christmas is better, great even, I have less need for a hope for a better year to come along because the one ending was ending on something of a sour note.

In the long run, maybe that puts less pressure on the new year, when the old one ends well. And all, in all, 2008 turned out to be OK, thanks to family and friends. That is if you don't take the economy and my bank account into consideration. But 2009 promises to be a big one too. It's the year my daughter graduates from high school.

There was too much good stuff to let it all stay in Vegas

I was out of town last week, off playing hooky last week. I was in Las Vegas for the Wrangler National Finals Rodeo.

Before I get too far removed from the experience, I wanted to share a few of those experiences here.

•••

I didn't take a computer along, but I did post some updates via cell phone of my activities at the National Finals on my personal Twitter page. I was disappointed to find out that those updates stopped posting to my Facebook page at midweek.

•••

The rodeo action was, as always, the highlight of the week for me. This was the 50th anniversary performance. My parents have had tickets through a tour group for probably about 20 years now. The tickets are for the last 5 performances each year. I think the first time I went with them to the rodeo was in 1991 (I'd have to find where I've got previous years' programs stashed to confirm the date). I have been lucky to either go with them or meet them in Las Vegas nearly every year since 1994. I always try to see something or do something new every time I'm in Vegas, because there is so much to see and do there, and so many places I still haven't been. This year's trip was fill of firsts. We stayed at a new hotel this year, the South Point Hotel Casino.
•••

I watched a screening Tuesday, Dec. 9, of a new documentary at the South Point's movie theater about the life of two of rodeo's stars of the 1980s -- bull rider Lane Frost and the bull Red Rock. The documentary, "The Challenge of Champions: The Story of Lane Frost and Red Rock", was recently released on DVD and it was shown in a special big-screen screening. It featured interviews with fellow cowboys and Frost's traveling partners Tuff Hedeman and Cody Lambert. Also featured prominently were Frost's parents, Clyde and Elsie Frost, and stock contractor John Growney of Growney Brothers Rodeo Company, who owned Red Rock.

The highlight of the screening was that John Growney and Clyde and Elsie Frosts answered questions and told stories about Frost and Red Rock after the screening. Well, to be honest, Elsie Frost and Growney did most of the talking as Clyde was the quite type. I don't think he said a word to the audience over the microphone. But as I was filing past the Frosts after the Q&A session, both Elsie and Clyde took time to shake hands and talk to those who greeted them and express their appreciation for people still being interested in their late son's story. It was an honor to shake Clyde and Elsie's hands and thank them for sharing their story with those of us in the audience and with the documentary film maker, David Wittkower.

The movie also features the song Red Rock by the Smokin' Armadillos, which I definitely need to add to my iPod.

Red Rock - Smokin Armadillos

Later in the week a ran into Growney in the elevator as I was going down to the casino from my room. I told him I appreciated the presentation he and the Frosts made after the movie screening. He was very polite and friendly, showing off his trademark smile.

You've got to love rodeo people, they are extremely friendly and approachable.

•••

Speaking of approachable rodeo folks, I spotted the aforementioned Tuff Hedemen near one of the bar's in the South Point casino on Saturday night, Dec. 13. A couple of female fans were getting their picture taken with the retired bull riding champ.

•••

Butch Knowles (right) behind the bucking chutes at the Pendleton Round-Up in 2005.

The group of farmers, ranchers and others I went to the rodeo with from Eastern Oregon were joined by another name, and face, familiar to rodeo fans on our return fright home from Las Vegas to Portland Sunday, Dec. 14. ESPN rodeo commentator Butch Knowles, a former NFR average winner in the saddle bronc riding, flew home with us and spent time talking with many of the folks in our tour group. Of course, some in our group knew Knowles before he his NFR days or his TV days. And some know him now as a rancher co-founder of Hermiston's Farm-City Pro Rodeo. One of the popular topics of conversation with Knowles appeared to he his nephew, Trevor Knowles, who finished fourth in the world standings in steer wresting, won or tied for first in the last four of 10 go-rounds at the NFR.

The reason I know at least part of what Knowles talked about to folks was because my dad, brother Dean and I say behind him (and talked with him a bit ourselves) on the flight to Portland. That is, we talked when we weren't sleeping. I don't know how much rest Knowles got in his 10-day broadcasting trip to Vegas, but I know I ended up pulling an all-nighter before our flight.

•••

As if five nights of rodeo action weren't enough, I also watched some of the action at the World Series of Team Roping, which was held at the South Point's Equestrian and Events Center. There were literally hundreds of roping teams at the South Point for the event.

•••

One of the other highlights of the week for me was getting to see some up-and-coming country musicians on the Academy of Country Music stage at the Cox Pavillion prior to the rodeo. In the lineup were The Carter Twins, Whitney Duncan, Randy Houser, Zac Brown Band and Jack Ingram.

Ingram was definitely the best known, and most popular with the female fans, but I count myself as a new fan of the Zac Brown Band, who definitely put on the best 45-minute show. Houser also had a strong performance. To be honest, I didn't stick around for much of the Carter Twins' performance. And I didn't catch all of Duncan's show, but she seems like she's still trying to find her voice and her sound.

•••

I'm sure there's more, but I need to finish this post and call it a night.

Media professionals lose while their companies win in a bad economy

The more you study the more you know,
The more you know the more you forget.
The more you forget, the less you know,
so why study?

The more I learn about business and Wall Street and investing, the less I seem to understand. I was listening to a radio talk show this evening on which an economist from the University of Oregon said we are not only in a recession, we are in an economic depression.

You see businesses all over laying people off and some business closing. More people are out of work. This week, more than 1,700 people are losing their jobs from one newspaper company -- Gannett. The layoffs are not done there and the final tally is not yet known. But it will get higher.

To a casual observer, it might make sense because fewer people are out there spending money on stuff, including advertising and newspaper subscriptions. And everyone has probably seen headlines on newspapers or websites of how much advertising has been pulled out of newspapers and other traditional media and was being directed to websites, even before the economic collapse became daily front page news. So it would be easy to assume that publicly owned newspaper companies, like Gannett, are losing money. Right?

Well, they aren't. These companies are still making money, and lots of it. They just aren't making as high of profit margins as they used to make. In order to maintain the margins that Wall Street seems to expect in an economy where real estate advertising and classified advertising have dwindled, costs are being slashed. The biggest costs in the newspaper business are newsprint and people. So, you see the physical sizes of pages getting smaller, the number of pages in papers getting fewer and the number of people on the payroll being slashed in order to maintain profits.

In the interest of full disclosure, I used to work for a Gannett paper in California for 5 years. I left to move back to Oregon to accept a job that allows me to be closer to family. Like many former and current Gannett employees and media observers, I've been following the carnage over on the Gannett Blog.

When I left Gannett, the company's stock was valued at about $74 per share and the company paid a dividend of 27 cents per share. The last five dividends issued by the company were 40 cents per share, but the stock price has fallen through the floor, down to $6.32 a share on Nov. 21.

But what's happened this week? The news has been bleak for newspaper professionals, particularly at Gannett, which is leaving some empty positions unfilled permanently, buying out some workers and laying off others, meaning readers will get less of something, or a lot of things. It doesn't seem to bode well for the short-, or long-term quality of information media. But Gannett's stock price, for the time being at least, is rising for now. Up more than $2.50 a share since Nov. 21 to $8.87.

That's not enough to do much for my 401(k) account, or for the escalating numbers of people out of work. I can't imagine it will do much for readers either.

Many are blaming the Internet for causing the demise of the traditional media. It may be the insatiable demand of Wall Street that a company like Gannett maintains double-digit profit margins (well in excess of 20 percent for lots of newspaper properties) even when the wider corporate world seems to get by with 7 percent margins.

You need to read behind the business headlines. Less profit is not losing money.

I feel bad for the people who are losing job. I even feel bad for the people who are in the position of having to dismiss employees. But the more I understand about all this stuff, the less I seem to know. Because I still don't understand why Gannett's stock has fallen so low, or why a company like Google's could get so high ($279.43 per share even after it's dropped).

But after seeing what happened with mortgages and the credit market and banks, I don't feel so bad. Even the people who get paid to understand financial stuff don't seem to know what the hell they are doing.

All I do know is that a lot of friends and former colleagues are wondering if they will have jobs for long, or if they will have any money left in their retirement funds when all the dust settles. They are wondering what they will do if they can't do what they've known and put their passion into their entire adult lives. It would all be comic if it weren't so tragic.

Nothing says the holidays like sharing a communicable disease

In addition to enjoying great food and wonderful time with family over the Thanksgiving holiday and weekend, I came home with a cold.

I knew I would probably get one. Spending parts of four days with a sick family member made it unlikely I would escape in perfect health. And as long as the bug is out of my system by next Monday, it's all good.

I have a trip to take next week. Vegas baby!

But for now, I'm curled up under an afghan and wishing my sinuses would clear.

Thanks to a stranger of the giving kind

A woman I had never met, who's name I do not know, gave me an early holiday gift this evening. She demonstrated the spirit of generosity, sharing and selflessness that the holidays are supposed to be all about.

I don't want to be overly dramatic or make a bigger deal out of it than it deserves. We aren't talking about an organ donation here. But she game me something new to be thankful for and made me smile.

I went to the local Fred Meyer store to pick up a pie for tomorrow's family Thanksgiving feast. I was asked to bring a pumpkin pie, but I didn't know if one would be enough. I didn't want to take two of the same pies. You have to have a little variety and give people some options. Besides, I don't eat pumpkin pie. I'm not a big dessert eater ever and pies in general are not my favorite dessert. But on those occasions I do eat pie I mostly stick to apple pie and cheesecake. Cheesecake is my favorite, but when I think of Thanksgiving desert, I think of apple pie.

So when I walked in the grocery store this evening, I checked out the large display of pies at the front of the store. There were plenty of pumpkin pies and a few peach pies, and a bunch of other berry pies. But there was no sign of an apple pie.

While looking through the selection of baked goods, I noticed another woman who also seemed to be having trouble finding whatever it was she seeking. Pretty soon she walked away and I was left to examine the display more thoroughly. But soon I gave up and headed for the back of the store to the bakery section.

When I got there, I found another big display of pies, including pumpkin pie in two different sizes. So I grabbed a pumpkin pie and kept looking.

"Are you looking for apple?" a woman standing near the display asks. I recognized her as the woman I had seen a few minutes earlier at the other pie display.

"Kinda," I said. "I'm under orders to get pumpkin, but I like apple."

"There were only two left," she said. "Here, take this one. I already have one." And with that she places the pie she is holding back on the top of the display."

I tried to say no thank you, but she said she didn't need two and that I was welcome to it. "Take it," she said. She smiled and went on her way.

I smiled too. That simple act of sharing, that display of generosity, was a great way to start the holiday season. I have been looking forward to Thanksgiving because it will give me a chance to spend time with people I love. But now, thanks to a random act of kindness, I'm looking a little more forward to the holiday season in general. I had been worried about finances and not being able to buy as many or as expensive of gifts as I would like to buy for loved ones. But a stranger in a grocery story demonstrated what I already should have known --it's acts of caring and kindness that make this season special, not the price tag or label on a gift.

Is my work following me home or is my home following me to work?

The lines in my online life are getting blurred. I started a Facebook page for work, in order to create a page for my employer, and ended up finding a lot of friends. So I have a mixture of work colleagues and personal friends in my contacts.

I started a Twitter account, also for work, and tied it to my Facebook account, so my Twitter updates seem to amuse some of my friends because they update people on stories about farm animals and crop reports.

I like more tidiness in my life. More separation between my work life and personal life.

The irony is, once upon a time I used to tell people that what I do is who I am. I hope that's no longer the case. I hope that who I am is more complex and distinct that my merely stating my chosen vocation.

Sometimes work helps the personal life. Sometimes my personal interests inform my professional life. But I'm not sure how comfortable I am in having the lines of my online digital pursuits at home and work overlapping so much. Maybe it's just a sign of the new media environment, but it gets a little creepy.

Leave already, or I will

Dead Denny not only returned on Grey's Anatomy again this week, apparently dead people are amazing lovers. And even when Izzie spurned her ghostly lover, he still frickin' won't leave.

I may have to leave. The shark is in the process of being jumped. The concept was creative the first time I saw it, which Patrick Swayze's spirit used Whoopi Goldberg's body to ring Demi Moore's chimes. Now it's just tired.

We single men have enough pressure to deal with in trying to make women happy. Do we really need to compete with the screwed up notion of a love so true and powerful that a lover can come back from the dead to curl a woman's toes? What a stupid story line.

But I was recovering and feeling better when afterward I'm enjoying the show Life on Mars. I told myself that at least I have that to look forward to on Thursday nights, only to learn during the previews of the next new episode that the next new episode will not be on until Wednesday, Jan. 28. So, I get to wait two months and tune in a different night. Two months from now, I may have found something else to do with my time on Wednesday nights.

Network TV executives need to be shot. I'm more outraged by TV executives' decisions than people are about the big three from the Big Three automakers taking their private jets to Washington to beg Congress for a bailout. Those idiots make my credit card debt look like chump change.

But the morons running the networks -- canceling shows after only a few episodes, or only showing a few episodes of a show before taking an extended break --are going to wonder why their ad rates drop through the floor because no one is watching anymore.

Monday minutia

I broke down this evening and turned on the heat out in the living room for the first time this evening. I've turned on the heat a few nights back in the bedroom this season, and I've been turning on the space heater in the morning to heat up the bathroom for a while now. But I've been holding out on heating the main room But I'm tired of having to wrap up in a blanket and wear a sweatshirt just to watch TV or work on the computer.

I'm not looking forward to higher electric bills, but I HATE being cold.

***

I drove up to Portland last night in the fog. I got spoiled living in Southern California. I don't ever remember having fog there. I realized when I was driving home from Portland in the fog that If I have to drive in the fog I'd rather do it at night than during the day. You can see the taillights further up ahead at night than you can in the day. But still, driving in the ground mist is exhausting.

My eyes ached by the time I got home. By the time I went to bed I had a splitting headache. I'm not sure if driving in the fog contributed or not, but I'll blame it anyway.

***

I'm not pleased by all the Christmas displays and Christmas commercials on TV already. That stuff shouldn't start until after Thanksgiving. I swear the weeks from Thanksgiving to Christmas used to be plenty of a holiday season. My favorite radio station has even started playing the occasional Christmas song and promoting their website where you can get commercial-free Christmas music 24/7. I'm tempted to boycott the station until after the holidays.

But I know the real reason I hate the hard sell is I don't have money for many, if any, Christmas gifts this year. I don't need to be reminded of that every second of the day for the next 6 weeks. I had to by tires and still need an oil change and new brakes for the truck and new eyeglasses.

Merry Frickin' Christmas.

***

I took the plunge recently. I filled out a profile on an online dating site. I haven't used the site to contact anyone yet and the profile still needs work. But it's a first step. Right? That's progress. Right?

Has Grey's Anatomy jumped the shark?

I think Grey's Anatomy has jumped the shark. What's the deal with the ongoing Izzie and dead Denny storyline? Can't the writers find enough dramatic content in a hospital, complex family, friend and lover relationships? Do they have to keep bringing back a character they killed off? Really?

My opinion may not be universally held (see this post from Daytime Confidential). Hey, I can handle shows with supernatural storylines that are beyond the scope of normal, conventional beliefs. I like the show True Blood for example, with it's vampires and people who can hear people's thoughts or shape shifters, and Life On Mars and its time-traveling cop. But I want to know I'm expected to suspend disbelieve from the outset based on the plot.

I'm not saying I'm completely done watching Grey's Anatomy, but my loyalty to any network TV show is tenuous at best, given writers' strikes and odd-ball, on-again, off-again schedules, I can find something else to do with my time in any hour time slot -- like watching old Happy Days reruns.

If you can't go home, sometimes home can come to you

Tom Wolfe wrote the book "You Can't go Home Again." I used to think Wolfe's title was right. I left the small town where I grew up 24 years ago for college and have been gone pretty much ever since, except for a couple of years in my mid 2os. The reason I used to think Wolfe was right about not being able to go home is that the home we return to isn't how, or what, we remember. The place changes. We change. Life goes on. But the truth is, there's really no need to try to go back to something that never leaves you. You take home with you wherever you go.

Friday night, home came to visit me.

Actually, we met up in McMinnville, where my alma mater was playing in a state football playoff game. The Echo Cougars vs. the Perrydale Pirates. To give you an idea of how small my town and school was, and still is, they compete in a league that plays 8-man football and many -- most -- of the players play virtually every play, on offense and defense. There was no cheerleading squad, just students and parents, cheering and changing in the stands.

Unfortunately, my old school, the Cougs, didn't win, but I feel like I did. I got to see some old friends, who now have children or nephews playing on the team and get caught up on some of the quarter century of life that's passed since we spent time together. Back then, I couldn't wait to get out of town. I felt trapped. Suffocated. People knew way too much about me and my business. But Friday night if felt good to be feel so at home, if only for a little while.

Dream of equality lives, but not yet realized

Television and the Internet can sometimes make the world seem like a very small place. It's easy to get the impression we all have shared experiences. We post our little burbs on our blogs and Facebook and MySpace pages, we Twitter and text and talk incessantly on cell phones. Communication is non-stop.

We share data and details with those near and far. However, that doesn't mean there is true sharing or understanding.

In watching the post-election coverage Tuesday night, so many of the commentators, analysts and pundits were talking about how far we have come as a nation to elect Barack Obama, a bi-racial man, to the highest office in the land. Obama, who was born before the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act became law, is now seen as the hope of a new generation and the embodiment of what so many generations have fought -- and died -- to achieve.

Even Obama's acceptance speech was different than those that came before in its attempt to be inclusive of all of America.

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. ... It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled – Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red
States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America."

-- Barack Obama, Nov. 4, 2008

In the rush of euphoria, perhaps it seems that the worst is all behind us. That Americans have matured, grown wise and understanding and inclusive and accepting of people and their differences. But on the same night Obama was elected the next president of the United States -- on the night he mentioned homosexuals specifically in his speech-- that very same electorate also voted to exclude others. Voters approved a constitutional amendment restricting marriage to heterosexual couples only in California and similar measure in Arizona and Florida -- three of 30 states that have now adopted such measures. And on Tuesday, Arkansas voters passed a measure that keeps gay men and lesbian women from adopting children or serving as foster parents.

The headline on commentary piece by Joseph Galliano on the Guardian website calls Obama a pro-gay president.

Yes, we've come so far, but our nation still has so far to go.

"There's something deeply wrong with putting the rights of a minority up to a majority vote," Evan Wolfson, a gay-rights lawyer who heads a group called Freedom to Marry, was quoted as saying in an Associated Press story. "If this were being done to almost any other minority, people would see how un-American this is."

Fortunately, we have a system that does not merely rely on majority rule. We have a system that offers checks and balances. But we haven't achieved true balance or true equality yet.

Just ask the gay community.

I can't understand it. I'm perplexed why anyone would care that two people who share their lives and responsibilities also share the same gender. But then again, not everyone has had the same life experiences I've had. I am thankful and fortunate to have so many friends and family members who are gay and open about who they are at their core. They don't live a lifestyle, they haven't made a choice to live or love a certain way. Their sexuality is as much part of them as their eye, or skin, color.

I've been fortunate to live in a community with a vibrant and active gay community, gay businesses and gay activists. I've been fortunate to see beyond the flamboyant fringes of gay and lesbian life and beyond the stereotypes. Those I care about have shared their lives -- not just the parts that are different or mysterious or spicy -- to a heterosexual who was naive about such things. I've seen that they have the same boring, vexing problems I have. But if they are fortunate to find someone they want to share their life with, they run into many more roadblocks in trying to take care of each other or share the burdens of responsibility that come with love and true commitment.

My tolerance for intolerance has worn thin. That's undoubtedly due in no small part to having family members who are Latino and gay and friends who are Latino, black, Jewish, gay, Asian, etc., in other words, people who are outwardly different than me, yet who inwardly have proven to me to offer more similarities than differences and whose differences have enriched me personally.

I'll be honest, Obama's election stunned me. I know there is still a lot of bigotry, racism and intolerance in our country. If I look close, I can still see it in myself too. I didn't think we, as a society, were ready to elect a black man as president.

I was wrong. Sometimes it's good to be wrong. But I can't for the life of me figure out how some of the very same people who voted for Obama in California, Arizona and Florida could also oppose gay marriage.

However, I am not without hope. I know interracial marriage was once illegal. I know the voting majority once supported slavery and opposed giving black men and women of all races the right to vote too. I am proud America is the type of nation that it is with the type of government it has and that majority rule is not the only rule of government or law. I am confident that one day we will achieve the freedom and equality espoused in our nation's Declaration of Independence. We are already more equal today than our Founding Fathers ever dared to dream.

But we are just not yet equal enough.

Congrats to the new parents and parents-to-be

I found out from my friend Karly's blog, that a couple of mutual friends and former colleagues had their first baby today. Congrats to Tom and Kara and their new baby girl, Lexi. There are photos on Tom and Kara's blog.

I worked with Jose and Karly and Tom and Kara in Palm Springs. They are among about a billion former colleagues who seem to be expecting lately. Fortunately, I can stay caught up with them through blogs or Facebook, even though we've now scattered all over the country.

It's sort of weird to have so many friends who are starting their young families and having kids because my daughter is getting ready to graduate from high school this year. It doesn't seem that long ago that we were all colleagues, friends and fellow singles. Up until recently I thought maybe someday I would marry and get a chance to be a traditional dad. The marriage part hasn't happened for me yet, but I haven't given up hope. However, I now am thinking that maybe being a parent again won't be in the cards. And I am growing more comfortable with that. I certainly don't feel old, but I am not sure I would have the energy I would want to have to be the parent of a newborn. I do enjoy getting to be Uncle Gary. Small kids are a joy. I think a great part of my interest in them comes from only spending time with my daughter in very small doses quite far apart when she was small. Perhaps it's trying to recapture part of her youth.

I am envious of my friends who are starting their young families. You are in for a great deal of joy, happiness and pride. There is no love like it. Tom's got that figured out already, as evidence by his post in which he describes his beautiful newborn daughter. Tom writes: "As I typed beautiful my eyes teared up. For the first time in my life, I truly understand what beautiful is."

Yea, Tom, you've got it bad. Just wait until you are sitting there watching some sappy commercial on TV that reminds you of your child and you choke up, your eyes fill up with tears. God forbid it's when the guys are all over watching football or something. It's OK, dude. The other dads will understand. They'll flip you no end of crap, but they are just doing that to keep from tearing up themselves.

Who can promise real change for a better future?

My ballot and the voter's pamphlets sit a few feat away on a foot stool. Election Day is less that a week away. It may prove to be one of the most important elections of a generation, yet I find I'm not yet ready to mark my ballot.

I miss going to the polls on Election Day. It feels more significant somehow to go to the polls and cast a vote. A vote at the polls seems more like I'm fulfilling a civic right, like I'm more a participant in the process.

I'll probably end up doing like I have the last couple of elections and drop off my ballot at one of the drop-off spots, rather than mailing it in. It feels more like going to the polls that way. That, and I need a deadline -- a ticking clock -- to get me moving on some projects, whether at home or at work.

I am pretty sure I know how I'm going to vote on the major races (but won't divulge that here. That's a secret I'll keep for my ballot). But the ballot measures are another matter. I'm becoming a cranky old curmudgeon on ballot measure. I am tempted to vote no on everything. I believe the initiative process can be an important part of American civics. However, it mostly seems a sign that the America political system is broken. Our elected leaders (at the federal and state levels), entrenched in divisive partisan politics, seem unable to govern. Unable to practice statesmanship. Unable to make the difficult, important choices to move us forward and away from simplistic, stereotypical rhetoric.

The people have tried to take action, force change, through things like establishing term limits in various states. But instead of making things better, it has only made things worse by leaving the lobbyists and appointed bureaucrats with the influence, power and institutional knowledge necessary to negotiate the process.

Can any of these men and women running for office, seeking our vote on Tuesday, lead us to a better world?

It's a simple vote: Yes or No?

I don't like Mondays

Some days suck more than others. If a day of the week has to suck, it might as well be a Monday. But this may be a long lasting suckiness. Can I just go back to the weekend and live there for a while?

Feeling my age

That day hiking all over the University of Oregon campus really took it out of me. I was pretty much a complete bum today. I got laundry and dishes done, but spent a lot of time camped out on the couch too.

I was tired. Dog tired. Dead tired. And when I did get up to check the laundry or put clothes away, the muscles in my thighs protested at the strain of going from a seated to a standing position.

If I were smart, I would use this as impedes to start a regular exercise regime. But I'm also certain if I lay back down on the couch, that urge will pass.

An intra-family Civil War may be brewing

My daughter was one of hundreds, if not thousands, of high school students to take part in the University of Oregon college visitation today in Eugene. The Oregon campus was also host to the Society of Professional Journalists of Oregon and Southwest Washington's Build a Better Journalist conference.

I had decided to go to the college visitation when I got an e-mail at work about the conference, so I decided maybe I would try to participate in that too while I was in town and on campus. I figured it would allow me to show my interest and support, without subjecting my daughter to having to endure both parents tagging along all day.

Sounded like a good idea to me. But I'm paying the price now. I'm exhausted from crisscrossing the campus all day long to meet up with family for some things then attend some sessions of the conference. I'm tired, but it's a good tired.

And, truth be told, I'm also proud of the fact that one of the reasons Suzanna wanted to visit the University of Oregon campus is that she may be interested in studying journalism at the U of O. There's enough pride that I could even handle my daughter being a Duck, no matter what she decides to study. That's a little tough for an Oregon State Beaver to admit. But the reality is Oregon State can't compete as a training ground for journalists. Maybe it never could, but there are many OSU alumni who have, or still are, skilled journalists out there. But we are becoming a rarer breed, as the journalism department at OSU was shuttered a few years after I earned my degree there. You can't even get the degree I got at Oregon State anymore.

Regardless of where Suzanna goes to school, or what she decides to study, I am getting excited for her, planning for college and planning for her future. Maybe it's because college was such a great adventure for me and a voyage of self discovery about so many things. It wasn't just getting the education and the skills needed to start a career. I found myself in college and was introduced to a wider world of people, options and opportunities that I didn't even know existed. Just being on the U of O campus today, with its red brick buildings, grass-lined paths and colored leaves floating to the ground, I was reminded of many of my college experiences. I hope she has a great college experience with many fond memories that last her a lifetime. I know I'm not yet ready for her to be grown up and all on her own, but I am so proud of the young woman she has become.

As we walked through the Duck Store at the end of the day, I realized that may there is room in the wardrobe for some non-Beaver collegiate logo apparel in my wardrobe. Maybe, I could wear something that identifies me as a Duck dad.

As I was walking back to my truck I caught myself daydreaming about attending a Civil War football game with my daughter some fall day in the not-too-distant future. Maybe it could happen. I could handle a Duck daughter, as long as she can handle her college friends seeing me in my Beaver gear walking beside her over the Autzen Bridge.

Ode to a dream job

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I wasn't a journalist. I used to be fond of saying, "I can always pump gas," based on my experience working for my dad when I was a teen. One of my jobs was servicing the airplanes, pickups and other rigs around the place. That involved pumping a lot of gas.

For a decade I had to stop saying "I can always pump gas," because it didn't make since to anyone in California when I lived there. California had self-service gas stations. Everyone pumped gas in California.

Now, I suppose, I could use the line again as a born-again Oregonian. I don't think my creditors would support the career change though.

But I may have found it. I have a new dream job.

I want to be a copy writer for Del Taco tray liners.

Seriously.

On my way home from work I decided to stop off for dinner someplace where I could get a taste of California. I have been eating at home primarily lately, and frankly, my cooking skills leave something to be desired. I needed a change. There is one Del Taco restaurant in Salem and it reminds me of SoCal. For several years I lived just a few miles down the road from Yermo, Calif., the birthplace of the Mexican fast food chain. Although, as I recall, Barstow tries to claim for Del Taco's founding. If you've ever been to Barstow, you'd understand the people there need to be known for something beyond being a piss stop between L.A. and Las Vegas.

I was never a big fan of Barstow, but I loved the California deserts. The Mojave, with it's Joshua trees, the Colorado, with it's palm trees and mountain vistas. And warm, no, HOT sun and dry air. It was nirvana, and I needed a little reminder of that Eden to start my weekend.

So there I was, enjoying my soft tacos and daydreaming about the desert when I look down and there, on thin paper lining a plastic tray, was my key to a new career aspiration.

Whoever wrote the "Ode to the Bold" as part of Del Taco's "Go Bold or Go Home" campaign may have the best job ever.

Here's an excerpt.

"Here's to the pioneers. ... To the first to look a bull in the eyes and say, 'Yea, I'm gonna ride that. And with one hand.' Here's to the uninhibited. ... The lovers that honor one another with tattoos, The streakers. And the mooners. Here's to the brave. To those who can't karaoke, but karaoke anyway. ... Or objected at a wedding that needed an objection (thank you, thank you, thank you). Here's to the rule-breakers. ... And all the 4s out thee who married a 10. Here's to you, our customers. ... For you are the bold."

Made me feel like a stud for just eating a taco. I'm glad a went for the Del Scorcho sauce.

If you are going to go bold, you have to go all the way.

I kept the tray liner. I'm thinking of having it framed.

I wonder if the tray liner writer job comes with any pirques, like free combo burritos?

Pumpkin magic

It wasn't my normal time of year to come home for a vacation. In the years I lived in California, it became my routine to come back to Oregon during my daughter's spring vacation, which was always close to her birthday. And whenever possible, I would try to come home as close to Christmas as possible.

Why I came home in October eight years ago is lost to posterity. But for a change I came home near my birthday. I got to thinking about that trip over the weekend. I had to do some research to figure out just when it was I made that trip.

The reason it came to mind is that over the weekend I visited one of the same spots, with many of the same people important to my life. We went to the Pumpkin Patch on Sauvie Island in Portland to pick out some gourds for carving. There was a certain symmetry to the visit. I wish I had a scanner to scan in some of the photos I took on that trip eight years ago. I would love to post them side by side with some of the pictures I took this weekend.

Eight years apart, but it was like that pumpkin patch was a portal through time. Same place, different times, all side by side in my mind and my emotions.

The date: A retrospective

So the big date came and went and since I blabbed about it on here, it seems only right that I provide some sort of recap of the evening.

The evening had all the ingredients for disaster, or at least a coronary episode on my part. What I neglected to mention in my first date post was that the meeting was arranged by my boss and my boss and his date were attending the same event I was, as were several other coworkers. It was sort of like dating in a fish bowl with several sets of noses pressed against the glass.

I should have, by all rights, been a nervous wreck.

Surprising, at least to myself, I was calm, completely at ease with myself and the circumstances. I had a great time. My companion was attractive, charming and funny. She has a candid way of speaking that I find comforting and refreshing. Perhaps my admiration of that trait is due to too many years spent learning to bite my tongue for fear of offending someone or embarrassing myself, which tends to result in thoughts and emotions building up until a blurt things out in a stream of consciousness that shocks others. Better to dole out colorful language and blunt observations in small doses I think, but it's not a skill I've mastered.

To make a long story as short as possible I will say that the evening went quickly. My date had other plans for the latter part of the evening, so after a few hours of conversation, dinner and laughter the evening ended. I'm glad I went and surprised myself to find that stepping outside my comfort zones proved to be remarkably comfortable.

Perhaps that's not as exciting as a stereotypical first date filled with anxiety and anticipation, passion and uncertainty. Maybe that type is more fun. But all things considered, I thought it was about perfect. I'm not sure it would be the best of circumstances to be head-over-heels and looking for love on the first date after a long dateless spell. Looking for a friend was much preferable. Only time will tell whether I found a potential friend, or merely had a nice evening with an engaging, intelligent and interesting woman. One can't have enough interesting experiences either.

It's a date, isn't it?

I have a date. I think. Sort of.

Although, truth be told, I'm not sure I really know what a date is. I've never been much of a dater. So I may need clarification from more advanced and experienced daters out there.

For me, the biggest dating issue has always been asking someone out for a first date. It's a two-pronged problem. I tend to be shy around women and suffer from a paralyzing fear of rejection. For some reason it's hard to get a date if you can't bring yourself to ask a woman out on a date.

So, in order to work up the nerve to ask a woman out, I had to be pretty head-over-heels for her and know her well enough to be pretty confident her reaction to being asked out would not be laughter, spitting or stunned silence. Of course, it helps to have a friend who could do some recon work and find out if a girl likes you, but that doesn't go over so big after junior high.

I have almost always gone into a first date knowing I wanted a second one. Knowing I want a relationship. Knowing I had a crush on her.

There have been some exceptions, but I always felt uncomfortable and awkward, which didn't make for the most enjoyable outing. Of course that didn't lead to many second dates either.

I know that dating, at least in theory, is a way that people get to know one another to find out if they want to date more. I understand the theory. I've just never been able to put the theory into practice.

So, that's why I don't know if my date Saturday is a date. It's a fix-up situation. A blind date. And there is no expectation for a second date. Perhaps that's what's kept me from freaking out so far and actually has me looking forward to it. In order to get back into (or, perhaps more accurately, get into for the first time ever) the dating scene, it seems important to get that first date in a long time out of the way.

So, I've got a date. And I'm completely comfortable and at ease with the whole thing.

Oops, got to run. my nose just started bleeding. That usually only happens when I've got a cold, or when the weather changes or I'm stressed out about something. I wonder what brought this one on?

Must be the onset of fall weather.

In search of the profound through beer and blogs

I feel the need to write something extremely profound. To exhibit wisdom through well-chosen words. To engage people in dialogue that chances minds and alters beliefs.

What I really need to achieve these goals is a ghost writer. Or maybe beer.

Hopefully Google/Blogger don't implement a Blog Goggles system like they have with their Gmail Mail Goggles. Stringing words together is enough of a challenge after drinking or late at night, don't ask me to do math!

Unravelling a family mystery

I've never known much about my family history. I spent my early childhood in a small town in Nebraska that both of my parents' families had lived in for a long time. I knew one of my great grandparents. But I never really knew much about my family heritage. About all I knew was that my mom's side of the family was German and had come to America from Russia.

That's all.

My father's side has been a complete mystery. From the few conversations I've had about the family line with my father, I think that lineage is a mystery to him too. For the most part, it's been a mystery I've not felt too compelled to solve.

Something seems to have changed.

I'm not quite sure what inspired me to do it, but I've started looking into my family tree. Maybe it's the fact that they were talking about ancestry recently on the Today Show (although I didn't see any of those segments, just the promos for them). Then, there was a commercial for a website that allows people to trace their family tree on TV the other day. And as simple as that, I started a search.

Maybe it should not be such a surprise that I've become captivated by this exploration. It sort of fits what I do for my day job. Finding information, looking for records, trying to answer difficult questions is part of my job.

If the path I've followed is true, I've traced my father's line back 10 generations, to the year 1680 in England, before I ran out of leads. I've been able to get back about the same number of generations on one branch of my mother's side of the family, also to England, where that trail runs cold in 1724. I'm not sure if I can expect to find much about my maternal grandfather's family or not. I did find records indicating they were German, but I have jet to find a name for my grandfather's grandfather. So, the search will continue.

I've enjoyed the challenge of trying to add small pieces of the puzzle together to learn what the next piece reveals. It may not result in a story for print in the normal way I deal with stories, but it may tell me more about my own story, the things about myself that I never knew I wanted or needed to know.

Now, as my daughter is becoming a young adult, it seems like that's a story that I may want to tell her one day.

Online social life is booked solid

Holy cow, I haven't posted here in ages, and to make my online live just a little crazier, I've added LinkedIn and Facebook account. How will I ever keep up?

I held out as long as I could. I avoided LinkedIn and Facebook (and before that MySpace) well past the point where they were hip. But too many people I know are on those services. And I'm glad I've signed up, because at least it makes it possible to see (even if it's only in photos) a lot of friends I don't get to see often enough, especially some friends from my days in Southern California. Life just moves on, and I don't get to see the people who have been, and remain, important as often as I would like -- as often as I should.

So, it's been nice getting back in touch with some friends and former colleagues. But, I'm not sure I can handle the pressure to provide updates, upload photos, send do-hickeys and whatchamacallits to people.

If I had as many active social contacts in my offline world as I do in the cyber realm, I'd never be home.

Reliving the gory, glory days

This upcoming weekend, the Fourth of July weekend, is one I've been looking forward to for a long time. Now, for some unexplained reason, I find myself having mixed emotions about it.

I've been looking forward to it for months now because there is a reunion in my old hometown and I'm hoping to see a lot of old friends from school, many of whom I probably haven't seen in 20 years or more.

Our school was quite small, so we can't really have traditional high school reunions, where a particular class gathers at those various milestone years -- 5, 10, 20, 25 years, etc. If we did that for my class, there would only be 17 of us there, and spouses perhaps, and that's if everyone showed up, and if I'm rightly remembering the number of people in my class. Obviously, everyone would not show up. So, every so often a school/community reunion is scheduled where everyone from any year, or who has ever just lived in the community can show up. So, that might improve the odds that more than 17 people will be there, but it also means that people far younger, or older, than I and whom I don't even know will be there. It's not just classmates, or even immediate year schoolmates.

I already know at least one of my classmates, and the guy who was my best friend from second grade through college, won't be there. He has a family event to attend for the holiday weekend.

Maybe part of the reason I'm having mixed feelings is because I'm skipping out on a family event myself to attend this school/community reunion. But this is only the second school reunion like this I've heard about since I graduated. The only other one I knew about occurred when I was living in California and the time off just wasn't in the cards, or something. I don't really remember when it was or why I didn't go, but I didn't.

I am excited to see at least one person who I know is expected to attend. One of my old running buddies who now lives in Germany is bringing his wife and kids home to visit his family and they scheduled their visit to coincide with the reunion.

The friend in question was a few years ahead of me in school, and had a bit of a wild boy reputation. Why he ever let me hang out with him, I'll never know. But we had a good time pursuing, if never quite capturing the elusive females of the species on warm summer days and nights in a beat up Chevy Vega, or whatever vehicle I could manage to borrow from my folks.

In fact I even served as best man at his first wedding, a casual backyard affair. I had no clue what a best man was supposed to do, and in hindsight I was a lousy one, but I stood up with my friend and witnesses the momentous occasion, all the while fawning over his then-new bride's younger sister.

My ol' buddy and I got reacquainted not so long ago over the Internet. In fact he was the one who told me about the reunion. Obviously he's got better connections around the old homestead than I do. Given the time difference, we often catch up with each other just as he is starting his work day and I'm thinking I should head off to bed.

Getting a chance to get caught up should be worth the trip. And who knows, maybe there will be some still single, or single again, women there too. And I can get absolutely nowhere again with the girls-turned-women of my old hometown.

Sometimes I get quite nostalgic for home, that home of my youth, and the people I spent it with. But I don't miss the boy I was, perpetually shy and terrified of members of the opposite sex. The boy who was unsure of himself and his place in the world. That boy is, for the most part, gone. But his ghosts haunts the present day from time to time, like when I'm confronted with a new situation, or meeting new people in a purely social context. It's those times I wish I had my old running buddy or my old best friend to lead the way with their outgoing, seemingly unflappable natures. Their confidence, bordering on arrogance, was something I've never perfected, except sometimes in the working world. Sometimes, when I know I need to take a leap, not like the one at the swimming hole along the Umatilla River of my teens, I need someone to leap first to show me the water is deep enough. And sometimes I need someone to give me a little nudge to leave the relative security of solid ground to step out into thin air and feel the rush.

Squeezing in a nervous breakdown

I'm freaking out! Can the panic attack be far behind?

OK, perhaps I am exaggerating, but I'm definitely feeling a higher level of anxiety than I have grown accustomed to experiencing.

For people who have known me for most of a adult and professional life, this would wound a bit odd. I used to be one of those Type A folks. Long hours, long days, always pressing. That was my story.

It worked pretty well in California.

But for the last three years, I've been living life at a slower pace at work and at home. I got pretty good at saying no to optional obligations, personally and professionally.

But the pace has picked up lately. I've got stuff going on. And I'm not used to it. I have recently started keeping a calendar again. When I started doing it, it seemed like a bit of a joke, since most of the days were blank. A lot of them still are, but having some filled-in dates, and some travel plans on top of it, has got me a bit nervous.

If my old friends could only see me now. I used to be busy being busy. Now, I've been busy being a bum. It's damn tough to go back again.

A night reminiscing reminiscing about sunny days gone by

It's rather amazing to find that when I have a life, and life it, I don't have much time to post to the blog.

Last weekend, I had the distinct pleasure of taking my daughter out to lunch for her birthday. And while I did find time to write a post about that, I haven't spent much time in recreational writing since then.

On Friday, a couple of friends and former coworkers were coming through Portland and I met them for dinner and drinks. We spent far too few fun-filled hours sharing stories of the old days (roughly about 3-8 years ago) when we worked together. There were tales of people we encountered along the way.

Two members of our party are now living here in the Northwest, still enduring a winter than refuses to yield to spring, in spite of the longer days an blossoms on the trees, now being beaten off the branches by those mythical April showers. But the third member of our triumvirate still lives in sunny Southern California. I'm sure you can tell who is the sun worshipper by the photo.

It fascinates me how sometimes time can melt away when friends or family get together after an absence. Weeks, or months -- even years -- can disappear, almost as if no time at all has passed. But for our little trio, a surprising amount of time has passed. It's been about five years since we shared a good meal, good drink, good stories and good laughs.

My friends, Julie and Cindy, and I worked together at a newspaper in Palm Springs. Working in an environment of deadline pressure and high expectations forged some tight bonds, and forced some others to unravel.

I feel lucky to have made some good friends during the years I spend in California. But there is a sadness to it too, realizing that circumstances and distance have scattered us to all corners of the country. I don't see so many of the people that I grew to admire and respect, personally and professionally.

But for a few hours on Friday, time not only stood still, but the clock turned backwards to a time when the 21st century was just beginning and the sun shone every day. And the days the sun didn't shine were so unusual that it made news.

The land of the free giveaway and the home of the stupid

It's one of those stories that makes you either fear for survival of the species, because people are too stupid to live, or make you fear for your own survival because people will take any opportunity to rip you off.

Someone posted a couple of ads on Craigslist in Southern Oregon saying a homeowner had to leave quickly and his belongings were free for the taking. And given the power of Craigslist, word got out and people showed up and started carting stuff off. (See the story from Associated Press here.) Even when the owner got tipped off to the ripoff and returned home to confront some of the people on his property, they hauled his stuff off anyway.

According to a report in the Medford Mail Tribune, he is starting to get some of his stuff back.

Check out some of the comments being posted to the news article too. I get a particular kick out of the ones justifying people who showed up to take stuff because they believed the ad.

Maybe our schools, churches and families have stopped teaching the lesson about being wary about offers that appear to be too good to be true because they probably are.

Oh, sure maybe someone somewhere is giving stuff away, but don't you think if someone intended to do that they would be there, or someone would be to hand out the booty? Someone that could prove they had title to the property or authority to give it away?

I guess we can only hope the people who would outright steal so blatantly or be so willing to believe such nonsense are also the same bright folks who steal copper wires from live electrical transformers. Perhaps that problem will take care of itself over time.

And if not, I'm going to start crafting my Craigslist ad for Willamette Valley oceanfront property for a bargain price. Why drive all the way to Astoria or Newport or Lincoln City when you can see the ocean from your own private deck, close to I-5.

We accept PayPal, direct electronic transfers or cash.

Could the future president be coming to town?

Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama is coming to Oregon at the end of the week and he is scheduled to make an appearance in Salem.

According to the Statesman Journal website, tickets are required at his Salem appearance, but no more tickets are available.

I don't talk about my politics, even with friends, so I won't say who I will be voting for in the Oregon primary or in November. Actually, I'm not sure if I'll get to vote for anyone in the primary, since I also didn't tell state election officials my politics and I am not affiliated with a major (or minor) political party. But I am a little intrigues by the opportunity to see someone who could be a future president with my own eyes.

Perhaps I was born too late. I love lots of the modern technological conveniences and devices, but I miss campaign style of earlier generations where candidates made their stump speeches from the backs of trains at a railroad siding while traveling the nation.

I got to meet a former president once and covered a couple of presidential candidates' appearances in Oregon when I was in college -- Jesse Jackson and Michael Dukakis. Papers I've worked for have covered campaign appearances, but I was long since relegated to desk duty during those events.

Maybe I just forget the feeling and excitement of those appearances because so much time has passed. But Obama's candidacy seems to be different. There is an energy and excitement out there among the public and the mainstream press. I guess I am intrigues at the idea of find out what that excitement is all about for myself.

Odds are, I won't go. I probably wouldn't get to a spot where I would see anything more than the candidate's motorcade anyway. It's just exciting that at least one of the primary races is close enough that a candidate will make several Oregon appearances. Back in January, I figured it both races would be long over by the time Oregon's primary rolled around in May. I don't we will see McCain or the Democratic Party nominee before the November general election. Oregon just isn't a big enough state with enough voters to matter in the fall, unless they make a quick pass through Portland en route to Seattle or somewhere else.

I'll also be curious to see whether Hillary Clinton visits any other cities besides Portland prior to the primary.

Reaching for the breaching

I've had this urge. It's a craving. A pull. A need. It's a hunger that I have been unable to fulfill.

I've had this urge to write. Not a work of fiction. Not something related to my job. Something more personal. But I haven't been able to start.

It's sort of like when I have insomnia. No matter how tired I am, there are times when I can't bring myself to even try to sleep. It's been like that. I haven't been able to bring myself to write whatever it is in the middle of the whirlwind swirling around in my brain.

At so many points in my life, writing has been my solace. My therapy. It's as if the words flowing out through the ink from a pen, or that are tapped out through the stream of consciousness on a keyboard carry me like a river on some great expedition of self discovery.

I have the distinct impression, a feeling, that I'm coming up on some sort of turning point. A new phase. Like I want -- need -- to do something bold. But I need to write it out to figure out what that thing is.

I've done a little research for a blog post I want to do based on something I found online a few days ago. It was something that reminded me of my dad and family and my early childhood. I've bookmarked a few sites that I want to link to in that post. But that isn't the story I feel the need to tell. It's not the source of the craving. The urge.

This post ain't it either. I thought maybe if I started trying to explain the feeling that the source of the feeling would reveal itself.

If only the words would come. The right words. Then maybe I could find what I'm looking for.

An enjoyable journey down October Road

This season's TV viewing has been pretty much a bust. The writer's strike left a lot of long winter nights without some familiar faces and video friends to keep us company.

I'm currently watching the season finale of October Road. I find it ironic that the second season is ending after showing about one season's worth of shows since it's debut.

In this strike-shortened year, it is an odd irony that one of the bright spots of the last few weeks has been a show that is very well written. I hope that's not a kiss of death for the show as the last well-written show I became a fan of was the Aaron Sorkin drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. That show died an all-too-quick death.

But October Road is different, because it's a show about normal people and the normal dramas of life. It's not another cop show, or a hospital show or a show about a show. It's a show a bout a small town guy and his mixed feelings about returning home. Trying to get a life back he left behind and reconnect with the people he loves who he once walked away from in pursuit of a dream.

I can related to that. And it features great music.

I like October Road. I hope it has a long and winding journey.

17 Across: Triumph, but just barely

Something is wrong with the universe. I just finished a New York Times puzzle.

Maybe it's one of their easy puzzles, I don't know. But that was pretty weird.

I know a lot of people in my line of work -- newspaper journalists -- that are crossword puzzlers, but I never picked up the habit. One of my exes was something of a fanatic about her morning routine, which included doing (or at least starting) the puzzle out of the morning paper. Sometimes, I would pick up a half-finished puzzle and try filling in a few blanks, but I would usually lose interest in short order. I'd get bored, or frustrated, or be unsure of the spelling of some word and have no confidence of writing my guess in ink, so I'd toss the paper aside and do something -- anything -- else.

I don't know what possessed me to even start working on a puzzle today. But the lifestyle section of a paper from a few days ago was sitting here next to me and I picked it up and dove into the Sudoku puzzle. Those things, I'm mildly addicted to. In fact it's become part of my bedtime routine to do a few puzzles to empty my brain of other thoughts. I have a Sudoko game loaded on my iPod and I can do puzzles on there for hours until I either get tired of the games or get too physically tired that I doze off.

The Sudoku puzzle in the paper wasn't much of a challenge and I whipped through it pretty fast. I still had some time to kill, so I decided to try a few clues on the crossword. I got more clues than I expected and just kept going. Next thing I knew, all the squares were filled in.

I have a bit of a complex about writing out words, particularly longhand. I'm not a confident speller, and grammar isn't my strong suit either. I used to hate being called up in front of the class in school to write anything on the chalkboard. Maybe that's why I didn't pursue writing earlier in my life. I enjoyed writing but didn't aspire to study it or try to make a living with it because of the stigma about spelling. I took some newswriting classes in college because I had to to pursue my interest in newspaper photography as a major. But I figured the longest thing I'd every have to write was a photo caption after college. It turned out, I was wrong.

Thank God for computers and spellcheck programs. Still, I need an editor (as may be obvious from my posts).

That's my core paranoia. What if the other word folks around me will discover I'm an impostor. That I'm not a word person. I started off in journalism as a photographer. There was no conscious plan to become a reporter/editor. Years ago, when I was between jobs, I had an opportunity to work as a reporter on a fill-in basis for a paper that had a vacancy. The voyage to the word-side was supposed to be temporary. As an ambitious (and poorly paid) reporter, I aspired to move up and became an editor.

Now, after nearly 18 years working as a writer and editor, I'm finding that maybe I'm a little bit more of a word person than I've ever really bothered to give myself credit for being. Most people I've worked with in my career have only known me as a word guy. They don't know that my own self image is that I'm a picture taker who's pulling a fast one on everyone.

It's funny to wake up one morning and realize the person in the mirror isn't the person you thought you'd find. Sometimes you expect to find a Sudoku puzzler and discover a crossword puzzler instead.

Hey, Dex, can you help me out?

My efforts to polish my culinary skills (OK, the develop ANY cooking skills) have been derailed, at least momentarily.

My grocery supply has run short, so I've reverted to some of my old ways the last few days. I've been eating out more often the last few days. I have no good excuse.

I may have rediscovered why I never developed the habit of regularly eating at home. Did you realized that in order to have food food in the house you have to go shopping? With each and every meal you prepare, your food supply is diminished. And if you don't use it fast enough, some of it spoils! What's up with that?

The fact of the matter is I've just been too lazy to go back to the store to stock up again. On the way home from work, I'm just not motivated to deal with tramping up and down the aisles, checkout counters, etc. So, then I get home, get busy being a bum, and then it just gets too late to go to the grocery store.

Maybe I need to start exploring the options to shop online and get my groceries delivered. Then I can sit on my ever-expanding butt at midnight in my underwear and artery-clogging digestibles.

***

I obviously spend too much time setting on my widening butt watching TV. So, since not everyone has that sort of quality time to bond with their boob tube, I'll share with you what I've learned.

There is this actor named Brian Stepanek who seems to be in every frickin' commercial there is. But don't take my word for it. Here are some samples:









For more samples of his work, check out the commercial reel on his website. The dude in omnipresent and funny as hell.

Have I ever mentioned that I did some acting in high school? Maybe I could have been the Dex guy! Naw, on second thought, probably not. If I was Dex, I'd already know how to find a grocery store that delivers after shopping online.

For some reason I'm craving a DiGiorno pizza and a DQ Blizzard.

The thingy's busted

I think my writer is broken. Every time I try to start a blog post, whatever I'm writing turns to mush and I either just leave it as a draft or delete what I have and start over. With more mush.

That's the only explanation I can think of. Something has to be broken. It couldn't be that I have nothing relevant to say, could it?

Nah, that can't be it.

My writer-thingy must be broken.

Some touch-and-goes are touchier than others

I saw this video earlier today (first posted on a site called LiveLeak.com) and it made me glad I wasn't on this plane. But it did remind me of a hairy takeoff several years ago from Ontario International Airport.

That particular adventure was on a Southwest Airlines flight. I was traveling with three coworkers up to Sacramento to help our sister paper in Marysville cover a flood. We were like the relief workers, after they had all been working days around the clock.

One of the people in our little quartet hated to fly. As the son of a pilot, I was trying to convince him that flying was no big deal. The weather, however, made our takeoff a very big, nearly very bad, deal.

I had never felt a plane turn sideways as soon at the wheels lost contact with the ground, but I did that evening. I'm glad I don't have video of that little adventure to see just how much like this German landing it really was.

The only other time I got nervous on a flight a couple of years ago this month coming into Portland International Airport.

I wrote something about that landing a couple of years ago in another venue, but here's how I described that little adventure.

Portland... was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around.... We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach. The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.

After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your
sign" sort of questions.

Me: So, is it windy here?

Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.

Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.

Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.

It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.

On both occasions, I had far less harrowing travels than the folks who were coming into Hamburg on Saturday. Here's one account of what happened. Good thing the pilot on the Airbus didn't lose his cool, or his lunch.

Healey's passing leaves guitars weeping again

Canadian guitarist Jeff Healey could make a guitar weep, or roar. His unconventional playing style, holding the guitar across his lap, allowed him to make one instrument sound like many. But sadly, now that guitar is silent.

Jeff Healey died Sunday in Toronto at age 41.

I can't claim to be an expert on music, or even Healey's music, but I am proud to be a fan of his blues/rock. I got to see Healey perform once, years ago, in Medford, Ore. My roommate at the time, Logan, and I ventured across the mountains from Klamath Falls to see the Jeff Healey Band perform at some forgotten venue in Medford.

I don't remember when, or where, I first heard Healey's music. It was probably in college. But Logan converted me into a fan of Stevie Ray Vaughan, another blues/rock guitar virtuoso. Vaughan, who was also taken the world far too soon, dies shortly shortly after Logan introduced me to his music. Now, Healey's passing has reminding me a friend from long ago I haven't seen in many years. But that's the magic of music. It's the ultimate time machine.



My early Healey music collection was on cassette tapes, now gathering dust in a back room. But I have added some of my favorite Healey song onto my digital music collection. I'd like to find some of his jazz work to see if I enjoy that as much as his blues sound. It's amazing how music with so much energy and vitality can still sound so sad an mournful at the same time.

Since I heard of Healey's passing earlier today, the refrains of his cover of George Harrison's "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," have been running through my head. Today, guitars all over the world are weeping, because Jeff Healey won't be around to make them sing as only he could.

R.I.P. Jeff, and thanks for sharing your special talent and the music of others who came to it through your love for music of earlier generations.

Sadie Hawkins takes the leap

It's almost Friday. Feb. 29. We get an extra day this year for Leap Year. I'm thinking I should do something special to make use of this bonus day.

Do people do anything special for Leap Year? Do people schedule parties for Leap Year? To make it a tad more special, the bonus day is on a Friday.

I'm open to suggestions for what to do with the extra day. Maybe a special dinner or a movie or something.

Maybe I need some sort of Leap Year tradition.

The biggest tradition associated with Leap Year is that on February 29 women can ask for a man's hand in marriage. I'm pretty sure I won't be a participant in that tradition. Does the modern woman need the permission of that tradition to propose to a man if he is the one she wants to spend the rest of her life with? If a woman does want to proposed to a man though, the website chiff.com offers links to help a girl out.

OK, maybe women don't do the get-down-on-one-knee, ask-for-the-hand-in-marriage thing. But women do make their intentions/desires known in their own way. And they certainly don't wait for one day every four years.

So, I don't expect a proposal to come my way Feb. 29. But I am free for dinner.

Making a splash in the Oregon desert

Is this a sign of another Eastern Oregon Internet celebrity?

Hey, towns like Hermiston, Ore., don't warrant much of a mention from the likes of the Oregonian, unless it relates to the chemical weapons being incinerated near there. But who cares about the Oregonian, this puppy's (or Bulldog) has apparently been feature on ESPN baby! Come to think of it, Dick Vitale would fit right in in Hermiston.

I actually learned about the video from watching KATU Channel 2, which had an angle on the basketball video that differs from the YouTube video that's garnered tens of thousands of views. I'm not sure where that video came from, but the one on YouTube is the "original" one getting popular via the Web.

How come my Hermiston-related video hasn't gone viral yet? I guess I shouldn't have edited out the slam dunk of a watermelon.

Voters strip mayor of gavel for posing in panties

The mayor of the tiny town of Arlington, Ore., got dooced this week by her constituents. See the full story from the East Oregonian.

Some people just have no sense of humor. Come on, just how many mayors would anyone want to see in their underwear on a fire truck?

There are mayors embroiled in even bigger scandals than this one. Like the mayor of Detroit, Mich. And remember Marion Barry?

Well, I guess there are two lessons to learn from now-ousted Mayor Carmen Kontur-Gronquist's scandal.

One lesson related to the Detroit mayoral scandal too and that is that political (sexual or skin) scandal has now ventured into cyberspace and the wireless world.

The other thing of note in this age of voter apathy is that sometimes your vote really does count, as Kontur-Gronquist was recalled by the slimmest of margins, 142-139. And she got her constituents involved, as nearly every single registered voter in the town cast a ballot. How many mayors can boast that sort of turnout or interest?

My friend, the artist

I added a new blog to my list of links. It's called Black and Khaki. The blog belongs to a friend, Mark Crummett, from the ol' college days.

Mark and I worked together at the college newspaper at Oregon State, the Daily Barometer. That was back in the days when my journalistic pursuits involved cameras and lenses. I was fortunate to be a staff photographer when Mark was the photo editor there. But it got a little weird when I succeeded Mark as photo editor and he worked for me for a while.

In a very real way, I have to give Mark credit for my interest in electronic media. Mark was a veteran Internet user, probably even before there was such a thing as the Internet, or we knew it by that name. Mark had a computer at home and a modem that he could do all sorts of cool things with, like using e-mail, communicating with people on a service called CompuServe and using things like listserves. Back then (in the Dark Age days of the late 1980s), I didn't even have my own computer.

So perhaps it is appropriate that we are linked again via electronic means. Unfortunately, I haven't seen Mark in many years, but he has managed to stay in touch. I always look forward to seeing in my mailbox the creative Christmas cards he and Lisa come up. And now, his creativity will be on display in an art show by the Raleigh (N.C.) Fine Arts Society.

Congratulations Mark! I wish you great success with the exhibit!

Wanted: Cooking coach to help me heat things up

I stopped at the grocery store after work. There was more grocery shopping. I think I've bought groceries more this year than I have in the last several years combined. And I've certainly fixed more of my own meals that I have since, well, ever.

I'm got quite a little string going. But I've come to a a realization. Two actually.

The first is that I need more cookware. My one skillet and two pans aren't cutting it anymore when I'm making meals at home.

The second realization is that I need to learn how to cook. I need cooking lessons.

I finally figured out that the things I've been cooking in my skillet I've been preparing at too high a temperature. Perhaps my first clue should have been that the edges of my plastic spatulas were melting.

It's a little odd to realize that here I am, a single man in my early 40s, and I've lived alone pretty much all of my adult life, yet never really learned to cook. I even have a George Foreman grill and no idea how to use it.

Today at the grocery store I explored some parts of the store I tend not to venture into. If I can't use it to make a sandwich, boil it, microwave it, or eat it raw, it's not on my shopping list. Today I saw several thing that I was tempted to get, prepackaged items intended to be easy to prepare but realized I wasn't even brave enough -- yet -- to try new things. For example, I found this stir fry mix with seafood and veggies that looked great. But it looked like it was a family serving size and not something I could down in one meal. So I was stuck with a dilema. Do I only prepare part of it? And if I do, can I re-freeze it? Or do I prepare it all and then refrigerate the leftovers?

Simple questions. Basic questions. I just have no confidence at trying things in the kitchen.

My boldest adventure of late in the kitchen was making scrambled eggs. That's part of how I confirmed to myself that I've been cooking with the skillet too hot. My first batch was, well it was edible, but it looked like crap and made a mess. So, I actually looked up how to cook scrambled eggs. The proof was right there. Heat the pan on medium, cook on medium low.

Medium low? You can cook on medium low? I thought anything below high was just to keep the food warm until you were ready for seconds.

Who knew?

Obviously I need a cooking coach. No, I don't want to take a class. I want private lessons. Preferably with a hot, female cooking coach wearing not much more than an apron.

Oh, and you'll have to provide your own apron, I don't have one of those.

Big Fat Super Tuesday

Check out my beads!

I hope you are all enjoying this Fat Tuesday, aka, Mardi Gras day. And this Super Tuesday election day.

May your candidate win, or may the liquor hold out long enough that you just don't care anymore!

Snow? Say it ain't so

There's snow outside my window. Not a lot, but some. Snow in the Willamette Valley is not good. People here don't know how to handle slick roads. There has been snow in surrounding areas for the last couple of mornings, prompting a flurry (if you'll pardon the pun) of snow closures and traffic problems.

I knew there are those who love snow. It's so white and pretty. I've never been a big fan. Not that I have anything against the flakes themselves, but if there is snow sticking around that means it's at or below freezing, and I loath the cold.

To me, the best snow is that that dusts nearby mountains, making for a picturesque backdrop. That's what I loved about living in the Southern California deserts, near mountain ranges. It was usually warm (or at least mind) during the winter months, but snow was common at higher elevations on nearby mountains. It was beautiful, especially under warm, sunny skies.

The roads may be a mess in the morning. Fortunately, I don't have far to go. And I am fairly confident that the snow, if it sticks around overnight, will likely be done by midday. Perhaps only to be repeated again tomorrow.

I'm not a big fan of gray skies and rain in the winter here in Western Oregon, but the one benefit of just dreary conditions is that it is usually above freezing -- day and even at night -- here in the Willamette Valley.

How long is it until spring again?

The kindest kind of crush

I saw a woman today in the lobby of my office. She was sitting in the reception area. I don't know why she was there. I didn’t know her, but she reminded me of someone I once knew.

A name and a face flashed into my mind. The name of the woman the mysterious visitor reminded me of was Kim. I haven't seen, or thought of, Kim in many years.

Kim was the source of my infatuation in junior high. She may have been my first real crush, if you don't count the one I had on my teacher in second grade. This crush was different. At a time of adolescent awakening, this one came with all sorts of odd, tingly feelings I couldn't explain.

Seeing Kim made me happy. It made me feel all warm and weird and wonderful.

Like all first lusts, the relationship was doomed from the start. Kim didn't feel the same feelings I did, if memory serves. She eventually changed schools and we went our separate ways.

I had not thought about Kim in many, many years. But seeing that woman today brought that name, and that face, to mind with a burst of synapses. It was like the name exploded in my head with a load bang. It shocked me. And it made me smile. Thanks mysterious stranger. And thanks Kim, wherever you are.