Top 'o the World, Ma!

And so I have made it! I have crested the summit of my Everest. One blog post per day in November. Not any richer for it, but feeling a bit richer for it (if you get my meaning). And I think this penance has set me back on a proper blog track after dropping the ball in October. I'd like to thank my wife and my family for their indulgence as I nightly uttered the phrase, "excuse me, gotta post". Their patience is duly noted.

And on this day of blog triumph, you might take a momant to check out a post I heartily agree with: 10 Ways Blogging Will Change Your Life! (thanks to Marilyn for posting about it---what an excellent find)

And now it's time to wish November good-bye, the month ending with a bit of noise for us. This morning as I was brushing my teeth there was suddenly a very loud sound of things falling with a crash and a clatter. When the sound began I didn't really react because our house often echoes with a crash and clatter---ones that don't amount to much.

But this commotion went on longer and louder than was typical. So I spit into the sink, and with toothbrush in hand, scooted into the kitchen where the noise came from. What I found there was the Lemur on his knees on the floor in front of a corner shelf we have in our little nook area, looking a little shook up.

We rescued this little triangle unit from our friends down the street who were re-doing their kitchen. It helped us to make use of some dead space by the dinner table in our kitchen. The wife had filled it with occasionally used plastic dishes in the lower cabinets, and displayed some mug sets, candy dishes and a potted plant on the shelves above.

When I found Lemur there on his knees he was holding the unit at about a 70 degree angle, keeping it from from falling on him, with the entirety of the contents scattered and smashed on the floor around him, his face painted with shock and a little fear.

I righted the unit and instructed him to stand slowly. He was still bare foot in his pajamas and I didn't want him stepping on something and getting cut. After he stood, I picked him up and once in my arms he was finally able to cry a bit. I asked him if he got hit or cut. He hadn't. The cry wasn't one of pain, or the type from scared toddlers. It was the dry cry young boys still do when the emotion gets too much for them and it has to seep out somewhere.

He eventually quieted down and the wife began to clean while Lemur ate the rest of his breakfast.

It all happened because he was just trying to be a good help, too. How unfair is that. We also keep the cat food in those bottom cabinets, and lemur had noticed the cat waiting for some morning kibbles while as he was eating his own. So, in a mini fit of unprevoked responsibility, he had gone to get the cat food out to fill the cat dish. What I figure happened after that is that when he went to stand up, he must have leaned on the open cabinet doors, levering the whole thing into a landslide.

Thankfully no one was hurt, and the day went on.

As they say, Life happens. It just seems to happen so much more around our house.

And So, The Inevitable Comes

And down from the hills whips the shrill, knife edge cold of winter. We dropped 40 degrees in less than 24 hours, and with the wind chill, a lot more than that. This begins the time of year for my mantra of the death season; "ihatewinter, ihatewinter, ihatewinter". Usually mumbled under breath you can see while walking across parking lots in the dark, lasting roughly until about mid-March.

It's also the time of hear that geese begin showing that they have more sense than we do by flying south. They fly low and honk and squawk loudly what I suppose to be a bird form of my mantra, as they fly low overhead. And four year old boys stand in back yards everywhere and yell up at them, "Shut Up! SHUT! UUUUUUUP!!"

OK. Maybe that's just us.

Dreaming Dreams

Kate over at DatingGod had an entry the other day which mentioned a dream she had about a tidal wave . Very apparently this came from a feeling of life being this overwhelming force that is coming crashing down on her and threatens to drown her. I hope she has better dreams coming, but I did think it was interesting that people in her comments spoke about also having tidal wave dreams. Until I had read hers, I had never even heard of a tidal wave dream.

What I have had was the more common, ever present Actors Nightmare. Where you're to go out on the stage in front of an audience and everyone else knows what's going on but you. My wife and I have had several variations on that one---the actor's nightmare, the director's nightmare, the tech director's/set and or lighting designer's nightmare, the writer's nightmare, even the make up and costumer's nightmare. All have the same component, you are responsible and expected and depended on for some crucial role in a collaborative affair (the play) and you have no idea what you are doing. So you wing it to the best of your ability, usually with disastrous results.

The cousin of the actor's nightmare then would seem to be the unprepared student nightmare---where you show up for class on exam day not having attended a single class all semester, or something of that nature. I haven't taught in over a year, but recently I had an unprepared teacher's nightmare. I showed up to school thinking I was there on the last week of summer break getting ready to start my lesson plan, only to learn from another teacher that met me in the hall that I was in fact there on the last week of the semester and my class was waiting in my room for the final exam that I had not even begun to prepare. When I finally worked up the nerve to go in, the class was not over joyed to hear there would be no final (which would probably have been the actual case in real life), but they were furious and got up in a kind of revolt, telling me that I was a sham and didn't know what I was doing and that they had paid good money to get an education and I had ripped them off!

I have also recently had a dream on the other end of the spectrum. These are dreams that I have fairly frequently, probably my only other reoccurring dream. In these dreams I re-visit some place that I am far away from but have had very good experience at in the past in my life. Places like college, or Virginia Beach or Australia. In these dreams I go back to those places all these years later, sometimes in a vacation and sometimes as a move, and it's everything you could hope for. It's exquisite. The people are wonderful and glad to see you, moving through the places feels magical, and even the colors seem so rich and vivid.

Oddly, the trouble is that it's so wonderful that when you wake, you feel like you've been yanked away prematurely. Like a gift that was given has been stolen back by the giver. And it usually means a rotten, out of sorts feeling to start the day.

Honestly, as strange as it sounds, I'd almost rather have the nightmares. If I had to choose. As long as they're not too horrifyingly graphic, the feeling of relief when you wake and realize it was just a dream is fairly cleansing. And kind of preferable.

Monster

monster
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

We finally got pictures back. (Remember when you used to have to wait to get your pictures back.)

Here's the picture of the monster we had living in our back yard for a week in October. Little Bear was quite fascinated with it. However, this was the only photo he would let me take of him sitting on it. After I snapped this shot he got up and wouldn't let us sit him back down on it. He kept running away from us saying, "No---it's too huge! It's just too huge!"

It's Up. . .And It's Good!

We officially started the Holiday Season today with the raising o' the tree this evening. We have an artificial that we got when we first moved into this house and finally had room for a full size tree. I must say that each year the kids get bigger and can handle more and more of the actual work of getting the tree up and decorated, the more I am able to enjoy it. They've never lacked the enthusiasm, but when they were little it was me trying to get the tree up while I fought off the munchkin hoards of glass ball smashers undoing everything I was trying to do in their efforts to 'help'.

But now it's a totally different story. I pull it down out of the attic and sit on the couch coaching and handing out decorations that I'm pulling out of the boxes. So amazing---we get the tree up and decorated and everybody still likes everybody.

Robo and Kitten commented as the put on the top portion of the tree, "Man, this tree gets shorter every year."

I still did choose to keep some decorations off the tree, though. My collection of Star Wars and Star Trek ornaments that my mom and dad have given me over the years stayed off because to the Bear they still look to much like toys. And the glass balls got a pass. The memory of last year coming into the living room and seeing the Bear sitting surrounded by glass shards as he pulled them off the tree onto the floor where he stabbed them with knitting needles was still very fresh in my mind.

But we were able to keep some tradition as we watched "The Muppets Christmas Carol". If life deals me a bit of Bob Cratchet, I guess that's a back drop I can play against, especially when I see it played by Kermit.

Thanks for all the kind words and thoughts everyone. Never hurts to have people around that help to keep the Season in perspective.

Deck those halls, baby.

Ditty Bops - Wishful Thinking Music Video

This is a music video of a duo I first heard about on NPR. I thought this video was kind of a unique sort of goth country type feel.

I know this is another cheat post but I can't help it. I took the kids to see "Happy Feet" tonight and brought the New Boy along. They walked out of the theater holding hands.

It's the first time I've seen my daughter holding hands with a boy like that. I'm doing good right now to be typing complete sentences. Heck, I'm doing good to be speaking in complete sentences.

Enjoy the music.

Sometimes I don’t feel like a grown up.

Sometimes I feel like a boy who was issued the wrong uniform.

The world is just so big.

Sometimes I don’t feel like I stood in the right line.

I was so filled with self righteousness in college.

Studying the arts, looking down our noses at the others who would study medicine and business.

They ran after the money. We were we so much more enlightened. We were culture.

We held civilization together and kept mankind separated from the animal kingdom.

Fast forward.

Black Friday 2006---daddy’s car is in the shop.

The lifeblood of his earning capacity, and today his ball and chain.

It needs repair? How can I say no.

December 25, 2006---the year daddy brings home a clutch for Christmas.

Won’t that make a sight full of holiday cheer.

Daddy is wearing his degree on a chain around his neck; it is his albatross .

I know it’s my journey, and I’m walking it the best I can.

I just don’t know what my family did to get drug along for the ride.

They must have stepped on a duck .

(Click the link if you've never heard the duck joke . You'll understand what I mean then.)

Is it just Us?

In my last post with the video I mentioned that my daughter got a ticket to the TranSiberian Orchestra concert from a friend of hers for her Birthday. You may have also noticed that on several previous occasions I have referred to the current young man with an eye for my daughter as the New Boy. What I haven't mentioned is that there is an Old Boy (even though that was probably obvious). And it isn't the bad boy . It's a different boy, but the Old Boy is the one who gave her the tickets to the concert and then took her----with the New Boy no where in sight.

What makes all this interesting, and perhaps a little unusual, is that the Old Boy has carried a torch for my daughter since they were in 6th grade together, roughly 4 years ago. However, since the bad dad has the no dating rule, Old Boy had to look elsewhere for his romantic pursuits. But he could never really shake his feelings for my daughter.

They have remained good friends all these years, through a number of Old Boy's girlfriends. Kitten has seen the wisdom of the no dating rule during this friendship. Old Boy has trouble staying satisfied in relationships and is struggling to learn that just because you have a significant other, it doesn't mean you stop being attracted to other others, and if any of those other others should return your interest, it's not a good idea to give up what you've got to go after something you might think you want more. Kitten realizes that my rule has saved her from being one on the list, and the hurt that would go with it.

I've discussed with her that this is the very type of thing that made me decided to institute this rule. If I had just told her this type of thing was out there, she would have nodded but probably still not been able to see it when it came her way. Until it was too late. People, so many times, have to experience things to build them into their wisdom. The bad dad just tries to act as a buffer between that first hand experience and it's cutting edge.

But the Old Boy still there wanting to be involved in her life. And he's a decent enough guy when you're outside of his figuring out how romantic relationships work. So they hang out together, they write stories together, they email and myspace each other, and he buys her gifts (such as concert tickets).

And she goes to the concert, even though now there is a New Boy in the picture. New Boy was ok with it, I guess, because Old Boy took his girlfriend as well, who also went to the concert. Which was cool with Kitten, because she just likes Old Boy as a friend and is friends with the girlfriend too. In fact, because of the hour they returned and how far out of town the girlfriend lived, she ended up spending the night at our house after the concert!

Kitten also has been and continues to be friends with a fair assortment of Old Boy's girlfriends (many now ex). And even though I have the feeling that if Kitten ever came to a point where she said "I can date now, are you interested?" Old Boy would drop everything, including any romantic entanglements, and come running----that even though it seems pretty obvious that this is brewing right under the surface, there has never been any animosity between Kitten and these other girls.

This just seems amazingly easy going to me. So absent from the expected catty-ness and insecure jealousy one would expect.

Of course, her parents are no different. The people who drove hours from Iowa to be at her birthday party and gave her wonderful gifts and took the photos of the party is a family which the dad is the guy who was involved in a long distance relationship with my wife when I first met her back in the 80s. And we're still good friends with him and his family. And the blond that I had dated in high school (who was a good friend at the time of my someday to be wife as I mentioned in my 100 things ) is also still a good family friend and Robo is running around with her nephew.

Is this normal? It just seems so odd to me---but in a good way.

TRANS SIBERIAN ORCHESTRA-CHRISTMAS EVE SARAJEVO

One of my daughter's birthday presents from one of her friends at school was tickets to see these guys in concert. Lucky thing. She went last night and said it was awesome.

Got back veeeery late for a school night, but it was only a half day at school before they let out for Thanksgiving break.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Man in the Mirror

Just over 16 years ago a major mental shift happened that changed my perception of reality as I was living it. I stood with my wife of only several months in front of our dresser and stared at two little test tubes, each with a little purple ring in the bottom indicating . . .I was going to be a Dad.

I was in my early twenties and a junior in college. I had certainly included fatherhood in my someday plans, it had just arrived a little sooner that I had conceptualized it. Of course, in the end, it was a complete blessing that I've never regretted in the slightest, but as I reported to work at KFC that night where I was a cook, I couldn't feel my lips or my hands or face the entire rest of the evening.

Well, I could feel them, but just as sort of a far away tingling. Eventually I reconnected with my body and commenced my impending new role by getting books out of the library with titles like Dealing with your Troubled Teen. What was to be my little girl could have fit on the head of a pin at that moment, but I wanted to be ready.

In our "guess who's coming to dinner" method of family planning, I did have 3 other oh-my-goodness moments, but nothing as intense as that first one. In that first moment I became amazingly aware of my mortality. It was like a fog blew away and I found my foot on the rung of a ladder, and I could look up and as far as I could see were the people who came before me. I was now in line with them. I wasn't running around in the grassy fields anymore, totally oblivious. I could see my place in the chain very vividly. I'd never thought about myself that way before then. Now it was impossible not to be aware of it.

I had a similar experience on Saturday night when the New Boy came to pick up my daughter. After my daughter was safely home again and tucked in, I lay down next to my wife and told her how I was remembering while Kitten was on her outing.

I was remembering how I felt when I would go over to the houses of girls I liked when I was a teen age boy and happened to meet their parents. I had always felt a bit of pity towards those men, those fathers. I didn't do it consciously, and I always showed respect and was duly polite. But deep inside I always had a feeling of how sad it was that these men had to go through each day doing the best they could with what they had left, not being in a place in life so full of vigor like I was. They were just kind of a remnant keeping the wheels turning even though they may have even forgotten what they were turning them for.

Like I said, I never brought these judgments to the forward part of my brain. They were just impulsive emotional responses based mainly out of youth and ignorance. I had this feeling, it seemed, toward every father of every daughter. . .except one. I realized as I was telling my wife all this that the only father of a girl I hadn't felt that way towards---was hers. Frank was a friend, and easy to spend time with and talk to. He had a good sense of humor and made me feel very at home. And at that moment, I began to miss him again. Cancer claimed him far to early.

But as I was brushing my teeth that night, I suddenly realized that I was in the other role. I was the father of the liked daughter, and that this young man, very polite and respectful himself, was probably having that very same reaction of pity towards me. The old guy. And as I was standing there in the bathroom light realizing these things, my scattered grays seemed to shine a little brighter than usual. At that moment, it seemed like they were the ones telling the truth, much to the shame of the darker ones

This morning as we were getting Lemur ready for school, my wife pulled a crumpled, hand scrawled note out of his book bag and showed me. Over the top of the big smiley face that took up two thirds of the page it read:

Lemur (but she used his real name),

This is from the girl who loves you.

Signed,

(and she signed her name)

I only had a single thought at that moment: "ONE AT A TIME, PEOPLE! ONE. AT. A. TIME!"

Volkswagon Golf commercial

This is probably the most famous of the commercials that actor Tony Hale has been in. You know Tony Hale, he's the actor that was in my final project at Grad school that is now doing movies and I'm not.

My daughter just saw him (on her movie night out with the new boy) in Stranger than Fiction. He's a good guy, though, and I'm glad for his success.

This commercial is also how I look at work when I get to jamming with my headphones on. Gotta watch that. . .

Mask

Mask
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

Our photographer friend took my daughter out to do a fun photo shoot to show he could be a little dramatic. My little girl, so mysterious.

Unmasked

Unmasked
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

My daughter spent some time with a photographer friend. Here is one of the pics in normal mode.

I knew this day would come

So tonight was the night the young man came to pick up my daughter. As was mandated, there were others there so my daughter was actually let out of the house.

He came into our living room with his friend from out of town and sat down on the sofa. He was a little early, so they sat there as the parents came into the room. I put on my best 'father of the girl' persona and stood there as he sat, asking him questions, trying to get a feel for the guy. He was quiet, a senior, had been working at the hospital in food service and was working with his dad restoring a '72 El Comino.

Some how the conversation got around other subjects and he said:

"What I'm still trying to figure out is, when I have kids, should I show them the Star Wars series in the order they're numbered, or the order they were filmed."

I wasn't expecting something so geeky from a kid with a Camino. That one kind of, um, through me off. I just, uh, well. . .and the next thing I knew they were walking out the door.

Crap. I'll have to practice keeping the Dad face.

The guy aparently paid when they got to the movies (but to keep a low profile he also paid for his friend), so this is the first thing that could be considered an actual date type thing.

I stood there in the bathroom bathing the Little Bear to get him ready for bed, and thought how not that long ago that little wet head belonged to a little girl who was now somewhere in the dark sitting next to the most dreaded force in the universe---a boy.

And she didn't even take her lightsaber. May the Force be with her.

Furry Boots

Well, it's that time of year again. The air is getting a bit chill and so. . .

I've never been a conventional man when it comes to what turns my head on a woman. Forget lacey, or frilly, or high heels or any of thes standard trappings.

Like shoes, for instance---the typical runway fare does nothing for me. In spring, summer, fall, the sexiest thing a woman can wear on her feet is a pair of black Converse hightops. And in the colder time of year, it's all about the furry boots.

I love that sort of Nordic warrior princess appearance it inspires. When I was in Australia in 1986 there was this young blond I fell for on a 2 week band trip, and when she asked me what it was about her that first caught my eye, I had to tell her truthfully----it was the Ugg boots. She was not impressed that this is what impressed me. It's always been my trouble, the things I find attractive and interesting in people I should never tell them, because it's always the thing society has told them are totally undesireable attributes. So I keep those things to myself.

But I do love the boots. My wife brought out hers this week. Gotta love it. Not real Ugg boots---knock offs. We can't afford the real ones.

I just wish the Hollywood trend for Ugg boots would go away so they wouldn't be so God blessed expensive. The common people (like me) were able to afford and wear them in the 80s---we want them back now.

The People Have Spoken. . .They Will Speak Again

Now that all the Federal stuff has wrapped up in an upset, it is my belief that we are about to experience an upset of a much Geekier kind in November 2006. And the bloodshed begins in earnest this weekend.

That’s because Nintendo and Sony both release their next gen consoles, and it’s about it get interesting.

The reason is this: The new Xbox has been out for a while and it’s going pretty good, but it’s a one trick pony. Without the Halo franchise it really doesn’t have much pull. The new Playstation 3 from Sony (the reigning champion on the console scene) has the momentum of the first two Playstations to ride on, but Sony seems to be thinking they are a little unstoppable with a might $500.00+ price tag on that thing. And for what--better graphics is all I’m hearing. Not terribly compelling for the outlay of that kind of cash. The heavy duty gamers will fork it over, of course, but mom and pop for the kiddies will be a different story, I predict.

I’m calling the victory early on this one. And the crown, in my opinion, will be going to the Nintendo Wii. Yes, from Nintendo. Such a distant third Nintendo that most people probably didn't even know they were still in the race, speck on the horizion Nintendo. They're coming back, and back to the top I believe. A spot they haven't occupied since Mario was running around college dorm rooms in the early 90s.

From the buzz I’ve heard, this thing is going to do well, in spite of it’s completely lamo name. The reason is this: they are totally redefining how people interact with video games. They’ve re-imagined how it could go, and it seems to be striking a cord. If you haven’t heard, they have a wireless controller that is motion sensitive, so you are acting out the movements and the characters on the screen mimic your movements. So if you are playing baseball, you actually are swinging the controller like a bat. If you are a warrior, the control is your sword. If you golf, you use your swing from the course.

And that will open up video game play to a whole new set of players---people who are overwhelmed by the standard, button crunching type controller game play. I see my dad playing with the kids when he can just use the controller like a regular golf club. And all of this innovation for less than $250.00---the least expensive of all three. They win on play, they win on price. How does anyone hope to stop these guys?

This is going to be good. Let the games begin!

I now return you to your regular, less geeky programming.

Fractured Fairy Tale--because I am the Fockers

In the next 12 to 36 months, my first born son will emerge as the giant man boy that he has been destined to become.

I have been expecting this for years. From the moment when I was watching him through the glass as a new born in the hospital and having strangers standing beside me asking, "Has the University of Nebraska head football coach called yet?"---I knew. He was so much larger than the other babies. It was so obvious he was destined to be mighty one day. And being a comic book geek from boyhood I also knew; With great power comes great responsibility.

So as I watched he and his older sister playing in the sandbox, I could see a divine order unfolding. It was like a fairy tale. The beautiful maiden girl playing beside what would eventually grow to be the jealous giant. Her protector. He would growl and frighten away all suitors with a protective rage that the princess would honor, because she knew that it kept her from the harm of unworthy men. Until one day, a prince would come, and prove his purity of heart and worthiness by knowing exactly how to tame and befriend the giant. And all would be well in the land and there would be much rejoicing.

That was the vision as I saw it. But now that the time is upon us, I get my reality check. The giant is an easier touch than I originally forecast. Right now, any dude that can last 10 minutes on the Playstation is in there like swimwear.

So. . . . .he's totally fired.

Now all that's left of the fairy tale is the troll. . . .and that would be me.

The princess was asked out by the new guy this weekend. To the movies. How lame. I know that old trick, he's not fooling anybody. But having anticipated this, I have a clause to the Mean Dad No Dating Rule. It is kind of a loophole that I created purposely so as not to entirely stifle my daughter's social life and have her hate me forever. The provision is such that if she wants to go out and do stuff with that 'special guy' she may, provided that she is 'going out with a group of friends' ---and he just happens to be one of those friends. So after the invite, she gets on the phone to all of her friends----"please, help me out here".

And her friends have come to her rescue. They are all off to the movies this Saturday night.

The new boy was a bit bewildered when my daughter casually mentioned that I'm number three in her my space friends box. (I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. 3?? Why not 1?? You are her dad after all. But at this point I'm just glad to be in her top 8. That's more than most dad's can say.)

"Your dad has a myspace page?" he asked her, dumbfounded.

Not a good sign. He's obviously not resonating to our frequency. It had never crossed my daughter's mind that a parent with a myspace account was anything other than perfectly normal.

"Yeah. But he's not a freak or anything."

She's such a good little girl, always coming to her dad's defense.

But he still couldn't reconcile the concept. He probably thinks that the only reason that a grown-up, a male grown-up, would have a myspace page was if they were a predator on the prowl, and possibly expects me to show up on the next Nightline sting operation show. But the truth is much worse.

The troll has given up his bridge and stalks the Internet ether to protect his princess. I'm watching you, son. I'm watching you.

On a very different note, is anyone else totally psyched about the opening of the Mary Poppins musical on Broadway tomorrow? It's gonna be sooooo goooooood!

Micro Post Dos

My two favorite Painters: Norman Rockwell of Saturday Evening Post fame and Salvidor Dali of the melting watches.

My two favorite Playwrights: Neil Simon who wrote "The Odd Couple" that eventually became that weekly T.V. comedy of the early M*A*S*H* era, and Samuel Becket who wrote "Waiting for Godot" and other plays only performed by colleges because who wants to pay Broadway prices for an acid trip that makes you want to slit your wrists at the end.

This says something about me, I'm sure. I'm just not sure what.

And lets not even get into the cognitive dissonance that I call and iPod.

But that's where I like to live, somewhere between contradiction and irony.

Does anyone else have polar opposite favorites of anything?

Ok so I know this is weak

This is my pathetic post for the month. The post that is a non post. I'm tired. I had a meeting at the school tonight for my daughter's speech team. I rubbed my wife's feet because she is having pain in her legs for some reason. So this is the post that says no long, introspective post for tonight.

(Is that cheering I hear in the distance?)

Seeing This Through

Well, here is the hard part. The crunch time. I'm up late again posting. After everyone, including my wife, has gone to bed. After I should be in bed, and my body is begging me to go there. But I post, because I made a commitment to myself that I would post. One post every day for a month. A meaningless commitment, but one that I want to see through. Like running a marathon or climbing a mountain, although less grand. Seeing things through----it's something I try to teach my kids. And a lot of times trying to teach this lesson gets me that look like I'm just a grown-up and don't understand. And secretly I hope I do understand as much as I think I do.

We struck my wife's play tonight. Took the set down, put the costumes away. It went well. So many people have come up to me to tell my how impressed they were with my wife's performance. This was the first acting she's done in a while where she really had a chance to shine. The first time her children have seen her really act. She had her doubts, doubted herself and if she could pull this off, unsure of what she got herself into and if she could muster what it took to see it through. But she did see it through, and though the size of the audiences for our fledgling group are modest, they were appreciative. So much so that a woman who was at one of the shows with the smallest attendance took the time to write a letter to the editor of our local paper to say that she had a very enjoyable time and people should do themselves a favor and see this show. The audiences that next weekend did pick up, too.

My daughter is getting to the point where she can imagine the end result early into a process. She can plan things like shows and songs and dramatic readings and rehearse them without prompting because she knows the steps between idea and product, and the satisfaction of the end accomplishment motivates her. It's so neat to see her at this point, reminded of how far she's come by her brothers who are all at stages of still putting the pieces of experience together.

Robo is at the point where he is starting to accept guidance and see the ending when he begins. He was a good help with the leaves this weekend. He could keep going and know what it would take to finish a job properly. I could put him to work and walk away and he knew what to do, and had what it took to keep going---raking leaves into piles, and getting those piles into bags, and getting those full bags put away neatly so he could look back over that clean expanse of lawn with pride. And a deep sigh of relief that now the liberation was complete and he could run off with his friends finally.

That all doesn't probably sound so amazing, but it is significant to me seeing as just earlier this fall I was having to force him to not quit the football that he so badly wanted to start in the first place. He got a little frustrated when things weren't being coached quite the way he had imagined and so he dropped out. I had a talk with him because I didn't want him getting a reputation as the kid who never saw things through. I had just let him drop scouting several weeks before, and I didn't want this becoming a habit.

But now he's going above and beyond the expected. He's been practicing his drums far in excess of what anyone recommends, he teachers, his parents, his grandparents. He's pushing himself because he knows that there is something at the end of that rainbow. I've promised we'd look into getting him a full drum set if he could practice 100 hours, because at that point I'd know he was serious. And now he's pushing himself to meet that goal as soon as possible---that and looking forward to having enough skill to be a full on drum player himself.

His progress is also significant to me because I had his little brother helping me this weekend, reminding me of the difference that a few years can make. I had the Lemur doing the job of holding the leaf bags as I filled them, and to him this was an everlasting, ongoing dismal toil with no end in sight. He whined and fussed and complained the whole time like he hoped God should strike him dead right there rather than go on living the rest of his life in such a dismal predicament. Of course, it eventually did end (the job, not his life), but to him it probably seemed like an unexpected, Providental change of fortune rather than an eventual outcome.

I think he will soon begin to understand though. He's right at the brink, and I predict that understanding will come with his Spring dance concert. He's taking tap, as you might have read me mention, and he wanted to quit a few weeks ago. We told him that he could quit, if he still wanted to, after the Spring dance recital. But he had to continue lessons till then. He had told us was frustrated that he had gone to a number of lessons and still couldn't make the fast tappy sounds yet. It was still too slow. But he agreed to stay in till spring. I think that when he gets on stage and under the lights in the hall they rent each year, that he'll be struck by the performance bug and want to keep going because he'll know there is a payoff for his hard work.

His younger brother, however, is still mastering the more rudimentary concept of cause and effect. Little Bear has yet to learn that if he comes out in the yard and starts puncturing the leaf bags he finds there over and over with the tail of the ever present Godzilla action figure, that the end result is that his dad will flip out. He has yet to learn that no matter how satisfying the snap of plastic is each time it's pierced, avoiding his father's hissy fit is a much preferable eventuality.

Of course, when the father comes back out onto the lawn following the carrying of the screaming child into the house after snatching Godzilla out of the child's hands and shrieking at the child, the father might feel like he should himself revisit the whole cause and effect theory. That way, maybe the father wouldn't be standing there with a rake in his hand looking up and down the block at his neighbors, each on their lawn, hoping they didn't hear the commotion from his yard over the whine of their leaf blowers. They aren't looking at him, so maybe the didn't hear. But then again, they aren't looking at him, and maybe that says they did. He just puts his head down and goes back to raking, knowing that he'll probably never really know for sure.

This morning I woke up again from an alarming dream. I'm doing that a lot lately. Not sure why.

This morning right before I woke, I was driving our minivan across a Kmart parking lot. And when I say across, I mean in a diagonal, cutting through the lanes of traffic and parking spaces of the empty lot without regard to the sort of mandated directions.

I felt drugged and not myself, hardly able to keep my eyes open to drive. I just wanted to get to that parking space right up front and shut off the car so I could close my eyes and sleep for a minute. Even though I shouldn't have been driving at all, I was moving at a pretty good clip, but figured that was o.k. because it was a pretty big parking lot and I was the only car I could see on the whole thing. Or so I thought, till someone honked at me, long and angry.

I looked over my right shoulder just in time to see the car I was flashing past---a car that had pulled into the lot from the street and was coming down through the lanes of parking stripes the correct way. The driver had to put his breaks on hard to avoid hitting me in the side, and it was a nice car, one of those new eight cylinder Cadillac luxury cars, one of those overpowered, gas guzzling status cars. I was sure that the driver was as concerned about his car's safety as he was for his own.

I continued on, rocketing to the front of the parking lot, up by the store doors, and pulled into the stall I was aiming for and parked, relieved that this embarrassment was behind me, if only just. I was leaning my head back to close my eyes for a moment when I heard a car screech to a stop beside me. I looked over and it was the Cadillac. The guy had pulled beside me, and it was obvious even before he even opened the door to show himself from behind the tinted windows that he was furious. He was a blond, well dressed, well groomed man in his mid 40s that you could tell had worked all his life to gain the money and status that a car like that commanded---and you could tell that keeping a grasp on it was something that was a constant struggle, even so. One that he did not loose good naturedly, and here I was cutting him off in a parking lot with disregard in my dirty little minivan.

He leaped from his car, slamming his door and stomped around to my driver's side. At this point that my embarrassment was turning to fear. It was becoming clear that there was going to be an exchange. He screamed at me hysterically through my drivers side window but it muddied his words so I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying. I didn't realize just how bad it was until the passenger side sliding door opened and a rent-a-cop came in with his billy club drawn looking to teach me a lesson. I shot awake when the angry man's fist shattered the glass in the door coming for my face.

I lay there in bed, the alarm from the radio playing the local classical station softly, too softly to have woken me up. My breathing slowed as the vivid images faded. The sun had been up long enough to be throwing patches on the ceiling of the room through gaps in the curtains. I just lay there looking at them and thinking about the lawn care that lay ahead of me that day. I've never been the best in the neighborhood at keeping my lawn and yard and car all up to acceptable middle class standards. The people I live around are good and friendly people. I feel lucky to have them surrounding me. I have never heard them complain about us or dissapprovingly mention anything, so I don't think that the man in my dream personified any of their sentiment. I think that angry man lives somewhere inside me.

I've never been able to pull off the middle class thing. And it's not that I resent it, just that I don't do it well. Not well at all. And sometimes that gets to me. I look at my yard and house and compare it to every one else in the neighborhood and think, I'm not keeping up my end of the bargain. I'm not being a team player. I'm not climbing the ladder like I should so I can have the money to put the polish on things around here like needs to be. I don't know why that angry blond man inside me was so angry, and it's not like I'm feeling shackled by middle class mainstream American expectations that I have some secret inner longing to break free of or anything.

I had this friend in Virginia who after years in a corporate setting sold most everything she had, packed the rest in her car, quit her job and went over to the art supply store to buy what she needed to become an artist. Had never painted in her life but couldn't bear the thought one moment longer that a cubicle was all the more she would ever amount to. Last I heard, she was making a living as a professional painter/sculptor. We have one of her paintings in our living room. She and our church gave it to us as a going away present when I finished school and we treasure it. But she was single, which made a jump like that easier than when you have mouths to feed, and I just don't feel the walls closing in on me like she did. I actually want to be better at playing the game.

I told my wife that every time I go out to do yard work it's like being forced to run a race with the fastest kid in school, just so I could be sure that I still sucked at sports. But I do it, for what it's worth, and the wife looks on a sees a man taking care of his family, and she gets a funny twinkle in her eye after I spend an afternoon of sweating my guts out. She still won't touch me till after I've showered, but you can see she's crushing on me a bit. So I endure the inner beatings of the blond angry man because I love my family. Someday, I hope to get the best of him.

Dag Nab It!

Ok, so I have a new term that I would like to gain wide spread usage to send a message. That term is "Googled Up". It is a term that can be applied when someone or something that does one thing very well so thinks that this expertise should translate into everything else they put their hand to---creating less than stellar results. Even more applicable if they are butting into something that is going along quite well and decide that their involvement would only make things better, and it, of course, does not. Think of it as he complete opposite of an Apple experience.

I am posting this frustrated post in response to Google's buying binge this year, and how they are Googling Up everything that I was doing just fine with. Start with blogger here. At first Googles acquisition of blogger was fine because the left it alone, relatively. When they came out with Google mail I was good for a free try, but must say that I thought that they should stick to the search business which they do much better. Their try at mail just seemed like a big mess.

Then they bought the online word processing website that I was very fond of called "Writely". At first, they also left that alone, which well they should. But then, in the end, they decided to "improve" it, and they took this attractive, intuitive, functional web based application, and turned it into something that looks and acts like Google mail! I still use it, but the charm is gone.
Now they went and "improved" Blogger, and I can't post my photos from Flickr anymore! Whatever Flickr has been using all this time to log in and post a photo is now broken because of the updated version of Blogger! Grrr. So click on my Flickr badge in the sidebar if you'd like to see more party photos.

I just shudder to think what they'll do to YouTube.

Anyway, on the flip side, I found a new piece of website software that I'm trying that's called iLike at iLike.com. It's a sidebar that attaches itself to your iTunes and then looks at the music you like and makes recommendations based on what you're listening to. Also, they have profiles of a MySpace flavor that's centered around helping you find see what other people are listening to and let's you listen to samples. It also tries to match you with people with similar musical interests so you can connect with new people that like the music you like.

If you try this new thing let me know. I'd like to hook up with some people over there. It'll be fun. (I'm CyberJazzDaddy over there too.)

Do it quickly before that gets Googled Up too.

Kids In The Way- Fiction

This is one of my new favorite songs. I especially like the chorus where it says;

--we're making fiction of our lives, burning pages as we write. . .

That line stuck with me because it resonates with the reason I blog. On a day to day basis so many neat moments happen, so many stories go by, and most all vanish as quickly as they occur, unwritten, unrecorded, and largely unremembered.

I know I can't write everything down, there's just not enough time. But I want to at least get some down, as much as possible.

The wonderful Kate made a comment on her blog recently (www.datinggod.typepad.com) that one of her ex's had scoffed at her blogging as trying to "mythologize her life". From her tone in that post it seemed like she may have taken exception to that characterization. But when I read that I thought---yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to do, and I think others are too---and many very successfully.

Part of the focus of my study in grad school was learning to teach people how to use theater games and improvisation to give more attention and reflection on the value of their personal histories. How to make personal myths. And not myths as in false-hoods or ill founded beliefs, but as in stories that are larger than merely the events they contain. Stories that serve “to unfold part of the world view of a people or explain a practice or belief”---Stories “which seems rooted in universal human experiences” and have “the power of symbolizing society's ideology and of dramatizing its moral consciousness--with all the complexities and contradictions that consciousness may contain”.

It’s like in that Eagles song “James Dean”;

---- I know my life would look all right
If I could see it on the silver screen.

The Internet is our silver screen, and that’s where our stories should be. So shine on, blog brothers and sisters, shine on.

So where have I been. . .?

My pretty Girl
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

Oh Where did October go then? What made me fall off the map like that? What the heck was going on during the blogging blackout?

Well, It all began with my little baby girl preparing to put her foot on the first step of adulthood. Even in late September we were beginning to plan for the day she turned 16. The coveted age of the driver's license, that threshold of "real adult" experience and responsibility. We don't really have too many rights of passage in our culture, the American culture. But what I'm sure started out as a bureaucratic afterthought (how to manage all of these new machines and the people who drive them) has turned into just that. This is our coming of age, the gentile Bar (or Bat) Mitzvah of sorts, such as it is.

This picture was taken at homecoming. We had planned for her birthday party to take place the weekend before her birthday, but a few days prior to sending out the invitations, someone at school observed that we were planning the party on homecoming weekend! A very bad idea if you want your teenage friends to actually show up. So we moved it to the next weekend. The wife was very frustrated because the moon wouldn't be full like it was going to be on the original weekend we had planned. Leave it to theater people to worry about how the astronomical backdrop is going to look for a back yard party. And the grandma was a little heartbroken as well, because now the birthday party was going to be happening on the weekend of her wedding Anniversary and she and dad already had plans and reservations set up---so she was going to have miss it, a thought that upset her greatly. Less that an ideal situation, but we had to do the best we could.

So the first weekend of the month our darling Kitten went to homecoming ----with a big group of friends rather than dates (which seems to be becoming all the rage, and I totally endorse the change). They had quite the group, about 15+ people, mostly girls, and they didn't want to deal with the hassle of trying to get reservations or seating at a nice restaurant, so the got drive through and had a picnic in the park beforehand. Then it was off to the flagship event--the Dance.

When they arrived at the dance, there was a boy there my daughter had been crushing on for some time, who didn't return her affection, and who also turned her down when she asked him to be her date to the dance. He had told her he wasn't even going, and yet there he was. When the music slowed down, the group of girls she had been jumping around with stopped and looked at each other like 'what do we do now?' My daughter looked over and saw this boy. She turned to her friends and said, "I should ask him to dance". One of her friends said, "You totally should"! That's all it took. She looked over and called out to him, "Hey, you wanna dance?" And he said yes. It was only one dance but she told me she did get to put her head on his shoulder. She was floating on it for a couple of days---all the while assuring us, "but of course, I'm totally over him".

And of course, she's totally wasn't. And that caused her mother great concern. He's not exactly rude, but he's also not smooth when it comes to dealing with the unsolicited attention of my daughter, so it comes off a rude and self centered. He's not the Big Man on Campus, but he is kind of the big name in the drama department. I feel like he's a potential candidate for the "best actor in school who goes off to LA or NYC to make it and gets a major reality check" life path but that's none of our concern. The thing for us is, we were just worried that our little girl would end up heartbroken at the hands of her own untethered expectations run rampant.

This far after the fact, we are happy to report that she's moved on, and has another young man who had taking a liking to her. A nice young man who shows her respect. Too bad I have that pesky no dating till 18 rule. I'm not kidding, that's the house rule that I've imposed. My kids don't realize it yet, but they have a mean dad.

More to come. . .

Sweet Sixteen Burton Style

Sweet Sixteen Burton Style
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

My daughter wanted a Tim Burton costume party for her 16th, so we did. And daddy decorated the cake. (More to come. . .)

Breathing deep and looking out on the horizon as I drove into work, the sun came up burning through the morning mist making my hour commute feel like I was waking from a dream the whole time. This was a much needed peace transfusion to calm me from the dream I actually did wake up from ---being told that while on a class field trip to NYC my daughter was killed by a subway train. In my dream it felt like I was sobbing and wailing and breaking things for hours till I finally shot awake. But I just lay there, not even able to feel the relief of "Oh good, it was just a dream", because it still felt too real, like the toxins of grief were still floating around in my bloodstream. But indeed I was very glad it was just a dream.

As if in apology for having done that to me, the rest of the morning was wonderfully calm and smooth. Even the Lemur and I had only hugs and smiles and getting out the door on time fabulous departure. Amazing.

But the truly noteworthy thing about taking the kids around this morning happened as we were heading toward the Middle school. Our newest commuter, who typically doesn't say two words the whole trip, exclaimed, "I declare a Geek Off!" Being pre-teen boys the other two instantly leaped to the challenge (like they do to every cast gauntlet). Trouble was that they didn't really have an idea how Geek supremacy could be decisively determined in this duel sort of context.

Of course, Robo stood no chance. He is my boy and I love him without bounds, but he has much to learn in the ways of the geek. And I will be there for him to guide and build him, but in his time. I won't push him in this. It will happen when he's ready.

The two remaining boys squared off. Looking in my rear view mirror, I could see the new boy smiling confidently. The other boy in the back seat with him struck first, referencing the clarinet case and music folder he was carrying to show that he was a full on band geek, and then he smiled with a mouth full of braces. The new boy gazed back with a patient and encouraging look for this noble try, but then he pulled out a whole bag full of multi-sided gaming dice. The kind used when playing things like Dungeons and Dragons. When he quoted whole passages of HomeStarRunner, no one really needed to declare a winner out loud.

As they all quieted and looked to me for my input, like seeking the wisdom of the Geek Sage, I just grinned and thought, "Well done, grasshoppers".

So one thing I can say about the year 2006 is that it's the year I discovered poetry. Of course, I'd always known about poetry. I'm not an idiot or a recluse. I studied it in school, broke it down in English classes, I've even had to preform it in an Oral Interp class . I've always appreciated the creative use of language, but whenever I tried to read poetry from the heart it was always like I was a deaf man appreciating the complexity of a symphony by looking at the score. I was seeing and appreciating the all of the notes, but it wasn't making me swoon like everyone around me. For some reason, this year, the ears of my heart opened and I can honestly say I can finally get carried off by the poets pen.

Or maybe that's the key to what's happened. It isn't the pen at all. I have started listening to poetry through podcasts. Perhaps it was in the listening to the words that they really become vivid in my mind. Podcasting is a wonderful forum for this sort of thing. Not to much Broadcast traction for what's being called in some circles "spoken word performance". But with podcasting, they can just fling out a 5 minute piece when they want to and call it good, and every one agrees and cheers and anxiously waits for the next. It's perfect.

I started out with the quite reverence of a poetry reading done by Garrison Keillor in the The Writers Almanac podcast. Discovered it in the iTunes podcast directory. Love the Prairie Home Companion that Garrison Keillor does, and this is a little off shoot of that in the same spirit. A little Lit history lesson, very interesting, and then a poem. I started to realize that I really liked the poetry part. Started to believe that it may even be the part of this podcast I liked best. So I did a general search on iTunes for poetry podcasts. And there were many! I found one called Indiefeed Performance Poetry and started hearing what I'd only read about---Slam Poetry. Like a heavy metal/punk poetry scene. Crazy, and I'm eating it up. These slam poets have Myspace pages with thousands of friends like a rock start or something. Some of it is kind of rude and in your face, but there is an urgency there that is very compelling.

It reminded me, I guess, of the only time there was relief from my poetry appreciation drought. That was when in the early 90s, quite by accident, I got to see Maya Angelou perform live at the college I was attending. I didn't even realize she was just reading poetry. I just knew that I loved to listen to her. She had such an epic, heavenly, shaman like sensibility that I couldn't take my ears off her. She could have been a State Trooper at my rolled down car window telling me she was going to have to give me a ticket and all I would have been able to respond would have been, "Can you say that again".

That's the thing, I guess. Poetry needs to be performed, not just read. A poem that's simply 'read' can still seem dry as licking chalk off a blackboard. But if you get someone who can swish and roll the words around in their mouths properly, then the heavens open up. And now that I have been brought to that moment of understanding and appreciation, even when reading poetry back in print I can still hear the music.

In my daughter's Speech Team Forensics at her High School, there is a fairly large number of poetry competitors. When I was doing it in my High School days there were none. It was all drama and debate. But now I'm coming up to my daughter and setting her down like I have done with songs or movies we share and saying, "You've just gotta hear the poem I down loaded today".

It's nice to know that even when you think you've experienced a little bit of everything, the things you thought you knew can come back and surprise you in fantasticly unexpected ways.

Here I am, just in from a night at the theater. I took the older two, and this was the first time that they had seen their mom perform. They were duly impressed. I was glad that they could finally see what I've known for years. Their mom got skills. And she can really pull of period costumes. This show was late 1800s to early 1900s. I always hated wearing period costumes because in those ages it was all about look, and zero about comfort. But the wife seems to have a romantic place in her heart for those kind of outfits and so really pulls them off.

The earlier part of the day was spent attacking the lawn. We have a tree in the front that goes nothing, nothing, nothing ---and then dumps all it's leaves at once! We literally couldn't see the grass in the front yard it was so covered. So I rousted the troops the first thing in the morning to grab a quick breakfast and then help me take up a rake and move into action. Of course that went over with less than noticeable enthusiasm.

I just can't help thinking that the neighbors must think we're the craziest house on the block. I imagine them looking out their windows to see a dad leading out his flock, all of them dragging their tails and him going back to drag them out by their sleeves. Then they start to work, kicking and shuffling their feet and arguing a little with each other. The Dad keeps having to put down his tools to go around from worker to worker ---and even though they can't hear what he's saying, they could tell that he's having strong words because his gestures are very animated. And he keeps rubbing his head when goes back to his own work. They may have even seen the 8 year old shed a tear or two under this taskmaster.

Then they look out after lunch to see the whole family laughing as they try to balance rakes and lawn furniture on their faces. All except the youngest one---he's busy buying himself head to toe in the biggest leaf pile while no one is watching.

I find hope in the Vietnam Vets I see. Even though they went through hell, they have a bond that keeps them close. It gives me hope that years from now our little family can keep together, if for no other reason than because we made it through days like these alive.

Sitting in the semi-dark of my living room, lamps dimly lighting the corners, my Powerbook warming my lap and lighting my face while Enya casts her epic spell from the stereo speakers, feels like a reward at the end of the day/week.

Every one in bed. A little just before sleep wisdom imparted to my daughter before sending her off. When we can, she gets ready for bed and I come in when she's all snuggled down, and I sit on the edge of her bed and we talk for a while. She told her High School classmates that she still enjoys getting tucked in by her parents, and they looked at her like she was off her rocker. That caught her off guard a little---she didn't realize, I guess, that this wasn't the norm for kids her age. But she does love it when we get to spend that end of day time with her, and I love that she loves it.

Leemur has finally quieted down. He was all motion and noise until I settled him in his bed, then the whimpers began. Not the normal "I don't want to go to sleep and the world is mean for making me" whimpers, but these new noises are rising out of the pain in his jaw where those teeth will be filled this coming week. I hope he holds out till we can get to the dentist. His brother had a night where the cavity broke through to the nerve, and he cried all that night in his sleep. We didn't know what we could do for him. That time, when the morning finally came, it was all over. The dentist who finally was able to fill it was amazed that Robo hadn't experienced more anguish. I was just completely thankful that we were all spared what the dentist described. I gave Leemur Jr. pain medicine and ice, and rubbed his back till he finally drifted off.

Leemur likes to have his backed rubbed. He's the only one of my kids who really keyed into that. That's something we share. When I was growing up a good back rub was like a mini Christmas every time it happened. Bliss. And my mom thankfully wasn't stingy about doing it. And not a firm back rub either, but feather light, with fingers barely touching. Sends me to heaven. In college I had a spell when I was very sick. My future wife came to my room where I was delirious on Nyquil and did the back rub then. For hours she tells me. I don't remember much, but I know that she helped profoundly. Now it's my turn to give this little gift. I'm glad it's something that I've found that I can give to the Leemur. I feel like we both struggle to find that connecting point. It's obvious that we both really want to connect with each other, and we're trying, but the back rub moves past the wanting onto the actually finding that gentle intersection.

Robo was off tonight to watch his mother's opening night tonight. She's in a two person show tonight called "Fourposter". The Fourposter of the title refers to the bed, which is what the play revolves around. The bedroom, really. It's set at the turn of the century and the device of the play is that we get to peek in and see the little dramas that go on between this husband and wife that take place in their bedroom. It's not any graphic "bedroom activity" but rather those arguments and discussions that a couple would want to have away from the kids and servants, so they occur in the bedroom. It goes from scene to scene tracking through their life from when they first move in as newlyweds to when they are leaving after their children have grown and moved away. It's a good script and my wife was very excited about it. And she invested herself in it to the point where she traveled the route of self doubt and dismay that we always seem walk whenever either of us do anything creatively. Both of us do that.

That's why we have the rule that "only one of us can go crazy at a time", meaning that only one of us can be investing ourselves in a project while the other one has the responsibility of being the cheerleader on the sidelines, trying to keep mental stability so no one decides to walk in front of a truck or anything. But now that opening night has happened, hopefully the sigh of just doing it will set in and she can get back to enjoying herself.

And both of us can get caught up on sleep.

So Halloween is over and now the real carnage can begin---the last ditch efforts in the run up to the election.

I will tell you proudly that I value my ability to take part in a democratic government like a person who has the privilege should. Watch the news, the real news (one that talks about other places in the world in addition to Washington D.C. and Hollywood) and you'll see that this experiment in a democratic republic is still a very strange and coveted concept for a whole lot of people on this big ball of mud. Getting out the vote is something I'm passionate about, but I do feel like it would be a lot easier to trumpet that horn if the people running gave us better motivations to work with.

So for the record, let me state here on the Internet where it might get picked up by some automated text search program run by some political action organization scouring blogs to find commentary on the political process and aggregate the data in an attempt to try and get the pulse of the American people (whew, breath out, breath in) that here are my votes for Candidate Behavior reform! I am one of those coveted registered independents, so listen up politicos:

1. Don't call me at my house. In the evening I'm putting my kids to bed, spending the few precious hours a day that I get to actually be with them being with them and quite frankly I'd rather talk to them than to your well meaning, good natured campaignster. If you really believe in family values like everyone one across every party claims to, then let me spend my family time WITH MY FAMILY.

2. Don't mail me stuff. Contributing to deforestation by barraging me with super sized postcards and newsletters I'm not going to read anyway is not helping your cause. I'd rather see that paper in underfunded classrooms than adorned with your smiling mug as it floats into my trash can (contributing to the landfill problem, by the way). And believe me, the mental association starting back at me from my mailbox where your mail is seen hob-nobbing with the mail from the credit card companies is not lost. It feels ominously like a painful foreshadowing. And not in a way that sways my vote.

3. Mind your manners with your T.V. ads. It's been said a hundred times, in a hundred ways, so here's 101. Watching you badmouth other candidates does not endear me to you. In fact, the effect is quite the opposite. I don't choose to spend my time hanging with people filled with venom who tear others down (sucking the life out of me in the process) so it doesn't make me want to spend my effort on you when you do it. We have rules in our house so that our kids don't learn to behave like that. In fact, if they are caught giving a Put Down, even in jest, my wife has a policy of making them immediately stop and apologize to that person and then pay them a compliment---what she termed "Giving them a Push Up". So as far as political Push Ups go, you're long overdue---get down and give me 20, soldier. You want an effective t.v. ad, ask Apple who came up with the iPod ads. They seem to have gotten them a little traction in thier efforts and entertained me for 30 seconds to boot.

I look forward to the day when we'll have more than two parties actually having a chance in elections. Right now if you vote for the "other" party (whatever party that may be), you'll be labeled as wrong by the opposite side. But if you vote for a third party, you're labeled as loony by both "other" parties. I just want to stand up and do a Regan scream at D.C., "Washington! Tear that Wall Down!"

I look forward to the next Presidental election. By my estimation the first one not featuring an incumbent since near the turn of the previous century. Could be anybodies game. Should be quite exciting.

I know that candidates need to get the word out. I know that they face an uphill battle. But it concerns me that the best they can come up with with is being annoying to try and gain my favor. And I'm someone who tries to stay aware and involved in our nations politics---I'm the one wearing my "I Voted Today" sticker loud and proud! The approaches you are using, Candidate X, don't work with the telemarketers, they don't work for the credit card companies and car dealerships, why do they think they will work for you? This concerns me because I have to wonder, if you can't be any more creative than this in your campaign, how can I trust you to be truly creative with the really hard, important problems ---like running a country?

So, Here goes. I'm in. I thought of it before I even knew it existed, so I was in before I knew I was in. But I've made some noise around about it so I'm in for real now. Jumping in to the NaBloPoMo, the "blog post per day during November club thing", no looking back now. Lord help us all.

For the uninitiated, NaBloPoMo is a November online gang up and get together to do something just for the heck of it movement like NaNoWriMo (where people try to commit to writing a novel in a month because they always wanted to write that novel and have been putting it off) and ArtEveryday (which was a spin off of NaNoWriMo for artists who would try to create something artsy each day and put it on their blog). Both of them have a community of people who will contribute and also go around and support others who are getting involved. Little online clubs in asynchronous time. The perfect club for me (where I didn't have to make time and find a sitter to be able to attend), and yet, in years past I haven't jumped in because I'm not ambitious enough nor do I have time enough to do either of those. So this year I was just purposing myself that I would Frankenstien the two together just for myself and have a Post everyday for the month of November thing, just for me. And I no sooner had that thought than I was over on the blog of the wonderful Kate, and saw that this year it's actually a real deal happening! Fussy decided that she would organize this little endeavor. And she's giving away prizes! Haven't quite figured out how you go about positioning yourself to win, but anything with prizes has a much more party hat and confetti feel to it.

The name NaBloPoMo is kind of unfortunate though. I realize they were trying to keep with the homage to the original, but it's so obviously another Net word/phrase that was composed and repeated into common usage before anyone said it out loud in front of the marketing guys. Try telling someone who isn't Net savvy that you're doing NaBloPoMo all month long, and they're bound to to step back about 16 inches and have a pained look on their face that tells you that they are thinking how life didn't prepare them for this moment. For me, on the screen it kind of seems like a prayer for bloggers with low self image and a southern accent; "Lord, please don let my Blog Po Blo Na Mo."

I don't know that my blog posts will be any more insightful or poetic with this level of demand, but it will force me to think smaller and make more concise posts.

At any rate, this has been the obligatory first Meta post talking about what I'm going to be doing instead of just doing it. One down, twenty nine to go!