Born on the Fourth of July

It really is a great country we live in.

And because of that, I've decided that my next big cross-country trip (next spring, maybe?) may be a drive through New England for a bit of history sight-seeing.

I've been thinking about it for a long time now, and had almost decided to drive through the northeast states this fall, to see the colors. But I want more time to explore, and see the places that made America what it is today.

While reading David McCullough's "1776," I found myself picturing the old agrarian towns of New England - Trenton, Brooklyn, Princeton - and wondering what they look like now, and how much has changed.

Of course it's been a lot. Two hundred plus years a lot. But I want to see it.

I want to see the spot where Washington crossed the Delaware River at McConkey's Ferry, and see the spot where the Continental Army marched into Boston as the British retreated into the Atlantic. I want to taste the water and feel the breeze that inspired Connecticut militiamen to join in what was almost a lost cause.

The Revolutionary War bug has bitten me, you could say, and I've got an itch to scratch.

The Founding Fathers, those legendary few men who, in the span of only a decade or so, changed the entire world, have always been a keen interest of mine. I remember driving through Virginia for the first time with Jenn and wondering what it was like for a young Jefferson or Washington to get their start in such a beautiful state. School books could never teach me enough about the plight of the Sons of Liberty, nor could they translate the passion that Thomas Paine had when he wrote "Common Sense."

Born out of the Enlightenment, raised as near-English gentlemen, and smart enough to notice when their government oversteps its bounds (can we say the same today?), Franklin, Adams, and the rest of the crew deserve a lot of respect for the overwhelming odds against them; they started an experiment that's still being run today, everyday, by all of us.

So I'm going to visit them: where they lived, where they fought, where they died, and where their lasting legacy lives on.

I may throw in a few literary hot spots, like Walden Pond and Emerson House, because the American Renaissance is a thing worth knowing well, too.

And really, every American should make a similar trip, if even to their local library to learn more - to discover the tales that school passed over. If "these are the times that try men's souls," we ought to know why keeping the spirit of those Dead Presidents (and ol' Ben Franklin) alive is so damn important.

The spirit of a nation lies in its history, and because we have such a very short history - in the scheme of things - there's no excuse for ignorance on all things American.

Let Jay Leno be damned. Ask us on the street who died in the duel between Hamilton and Burr, and we'll answer correctly.

News from the front - May 3, 2007

Had a nice weekend in Chicago, thanks for asking, and it was kind of the unofficial kick-off to the May that Will Never End.

I took Friday off, left from Jackson at 1:30 p.m. with the Anderson Printing crew, and enjoyed a heckuva weekend - great weather, great food, lots of walking, and good company.



Friday we ate stuffed pizza at Giordano's, and went to Second City and saw "Between Barack and a Hard Place," a great comedy show. Saturday we strolled around town to the Art Institute, Michigan Ave. and the Apple store (where my actual profile pic came from, thanks to iSight cameras and free internet), Millenium Park, Dick's Last Resort for dinner, and the Excalibur Club for some booty shaking with some aging Gen Xers.



Sunday we ate at the best breakfast place in the Midwest, Lou Mitchell's, and I took a quick nap in the park - which just goes to show not even the third largest city in America can stop me from sleeping.

Home and Trader Joe's and wine and drinking on the train - it all made for a good weekend. Thanks to Suzanne and Carolyn for including me in the fun.


* * * * *



Don and I have a new roommate.




[wait for it]



Meet Mario, our new goldfish!



Katie's been encouraging me to get a pet fish, especially since the only other living thing in our apartment is the plant. And Mario has bonded quite nice with the plant; he tends to stick on that side of the bowl.

Mario had a brother, Luigi, but sadly he didn't make it past the second or third day.

But the whole deal was a bargain. Got the fish bowl out garage saleing for $0.50, and the fish certainly didn't cost more than an ice cube - why not?

Mario's not very affectionate - must be that stint in 'Nam with the Agent Orange - but he's good company.



* * * * *



Yesterday morning was like diabetic Christmas.

I had my quartely check up at the Diabetes Center. I've lost five pounds, my blood sugar is a little higher than it should be, and I walked out of there with tons of free goodies.

Goodies like a new blood check monitor (the stylish OneTouch Ultra 2 - the Sequel!) and a whole $30+ bottle of new insulin to try out.

I've heard on the news where drug companies woo doctors to push their medication, and I was kind of against it. But now? Hell, bring on the cronyism!



* * * * *



This weekend is a trip to the west coast - a Rotary conference in Kalamazoo and then on to Lake Michigan and some beach-town fun. Then bachelor parties, weddings, going-away parties for dearly-loved little brothers, and a giant trip across this great nation.

See you in June.



* * * * *



God bless Jon Stewart.

I'm not a regular viewer of the "Daily Show," but when I do catch it I'm always struck at how much I end up respecting the man. He's out there doing what a lot of journalist SHOULD be doing, which is point out the absurdity of modern life in America.

But after the Virginia Tech mess, he had a representative from Iraq on for an interview, and he asks the guy, "We just had a terrible tragedy happen in this country. How do you deal with this kind of horror on a daily basis?"

Bam. There it was.

Imagine, friends, dealing with something on the scale of the Virginia Tech shootings on a goddamn daily basis.

I wouldn't be surprised if you can't, because I can't either. That's not the kind of world you and I, and the rest of this country, live in.

Stewart was on with a brilliant man, Bill Moyers, a superb journalist and all around decent human being, on his new PBS show "Bill Moyers Journal" (I've been listening to the podcasts). I encourage you to grab it, because it's the smartest interview I've probably ever heard. Stewart has this country. He sees, with a glimmer in his eye, what bullshit is going on, and he stabs at it with humor and intelligence that is sadly lacking from TV journalism - and he's not even a journalist.

Stewart recently beat the snot out of the once-respectable John McCain, and it was beautiful. Check it out.

Maybe I'll make more time to see "The Daily Show" now that I truly understand what it does and what its purpose is: to show Americans just how fucked up everything is right now.

Sweet home Chicago

Off the grid, and on to Chicago tomorrow afternoon.

As far as I'm concerned, California can keep Los Angeles and New York can stay put. I'll take Chicago over either of those still-bigger cities.

Heading there with the Anderson crew by train tomorrow at 1:30, then on to pizza, comedy, the Art Institute, and lord knows what else. I'm kind of a tag-along for the trip, because I sure don't work at the print shop, but I do appreciate Suzanne and Carolyn for the invite.

I haven't been back since the big trip last year, and even then it was only a few hours to grab dinner and pictures. Two summers before that it was Wizard World with Gugin, and then my first trip that spring for my birthday.

There's a big Apple store I have to visit. And I'd like to do breakfast at that little restaurant by Union Station where I got hit on by the salon owner. Not because of him, thanks, but because it was great food. Good memories.

I could see myself living there someday, but I don't think it would ever happen. It'll probably always be the big Midwest city, just west of Lake Michigan, that draws my heart.

It's the Place to Go, so I'm going. For the weekend. It's kind of a warm up for trips to come later this month.

Sweet home, Chicago.

I am a prophet of doom

"The glorious feelings, those that most we prized,
That made indeed our very life of life,
In the world's turmoil and ignoble strife
Are sear'd and paralysed."

- from Goethe's Faust

---

Maybe it's what I've been reading, or maybe it's what I've seen on the news, but I feel like we're all doomed.

Politically, environmentally, socially - maybe there's just a grim undercurrent in the tap water we're all drinking, but there's a confluence of events and happenings that makes me want to buy a house, dig a big hole in the back yard, and hunker down for Armageddon.

Take "The Road," by Cormac McCarthy. It's a beautiful, moving book about a father and his son traveling southbound down a highway to the ocean to escape the cold of winter. Sounds reasonable, right? Well, the world has ended, all life has dissolved into ash, and the few people left are scavengers, Mad-Max-style, and prowl the landscape looking for canned food. McCarthy doesn't say exactly what happened, but it's apparent - from the scorched, mummified bodies and the blackened tree stumps - that all people are going to die before things get any better.

Great bedtime reading!

Last week Nine Inch Nail's new album, "Year Zero," came out. And maybe you've heard, but it's one big game. Placed 15 years in the future, Trent Reznor's story places America in a very scary place: a dirty bomb goes off in Los Angeles, freedoms have been curtailed, poison is being leaked into the drinking water by the government, protestors are tortured and killed, the Middle East has become an even bigger mess (with Iran suffering an atomic attack), and people are hallucinating about a giant, ghostly hand coming down out of the sky.

Perfect for cool, quiet rainy days!

I'll give it to Mr. Reznor - at least he's made a game out of the whole thing. But still, his vision has to come from somewhere, and I'm afraid he's seeing a result of the world we currently live in. Reznor's vision reflects Hegel's non-Marxist view of the struggle for freedom, and yin-yang observations about the close relationship between creation and destruction. We're creating so much, but at the same time we seem to tip-toe ever closer along the edge of destruction.

Things could always be worse, right? We could be experiencing the plight of the Mandeans, an ancient tribe who, every day since the U.S. invasion of Iraq, face apocalypse at the hands of Shiite and Sunni extremists. The Mandeans believe that bottled water is "dead," and that we should only drink from free-flowing sources. But what happens when all the rivers run dry?

The rivers of American democracy are surely in need of fresh water, and all one needs to realize this is a newspaper and a history book. It's like we're reading a dystopian novel - some Orwellian yarn brought to life - while the world around us goes to pot.


I remember reading about "global warming" as a simple theory as a kid reading Carl Sagan. Sagan was one of the first to diagnose the effects of a full-on nuclear exchange - a "Nuclear Winter" he called it - and to propose that a runaway greenhouse effect would lead to conditions not all that unlike our sister planet Venus. Been to Venus lately? It's a literal hell. And here Sagan was warning the world about the effects of atmospheric polution in the 1980s.

Jump to 20 years later, and global warming is pretty much confirmed - and most scientists blame human activity. Sagan said back then that it would take decades to undo what humans had done. Are we too late, Carl?

Existential dread is a bitch. It's not something you talk to about at dinner, or bring up during phone conversations, because apocalypse lays bear, as McCarthy writes, ìthe frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night.î Even sitting at the luxurious hotel in Orlando, I thought about the uselessness of all that tropical excess. Is this what matters in life? Would I care if I had to fight and claw my way through the world, as McCarthy's pilgrims do? Are these thoughts even worth having?

But I feel like a lot of my friends are feeling the same as me. Doom. Peril. Ruin. It's in the air.

There are some who would say I have a serious case of Chicken Little, to which I would tell them it's only a theory. More study is needed. The verdict isn't in. The tea leaves are unreadable.

I would also tell them that I wish I lived in their world, where caring is an option and critical thinking is drowned out by Fox News and the way-too-early presidential election politics. We can't even breathe and think anymore because students are shooting their classmates, TV and YouTube are stealing our time, important, earth-affecting celebrities are dying, and the Cult of Too Busy to Care grows in membership.

If the point of good - or at least reflective - art is to highlight the struggles of the human condition, then today's artists have plenty of material to draw upon.

It's enough to make us doomsayers want to move to the Northern Territories of Canada and wait this shit out by reading paperback Huxley novels and listening to "American Idiot."

Busy is as busy does

Having too much to do can be a curse.

It's been like this ever since I can remember (which stretches about as far as freshman year of college): to-do lists, notes written on my hand, stacks of paper, unresponded-to e-mails. It all adds up to one big pile of busyness.

Just ask anyone who's e-mailed me. When's the last time you heard from me right away, especially if you need something done? My tendency is to receive the e-mail, read it briefly, then let it sit in my inbox for, what? Days? A week? Then, when I realize the pile that's buildling up, I plow through each message and tackle the project in a fury of productiveness.

On a good day, that is.

But lately I think I'm hitting some kind of stride. Especially when it comes to Rotary and Recycling; the projects I'm working on have actually been getting done.

My trick? Keeping an electronic to-do list on my flash drive. Every day I plug it into my computer, read the lineup for the day, and try to spend a few minutes working on whatever needs working on. Just a plain ol' text file is all I need.

E-mail? That's getting better, too. I subscribe to the zero-inbox philosophy; there's something about an empty inbox that screams "aaaahhhhh." So making sure I hit e-mails as they come in, or at least flag them for some kind of response later, becomes key. Luckily, Gmail makes it pretty easy for me with the neat little "star" feature. If I need to respond to something, or someone needs something from me, I "star" the e-mail and that lets me know I need to get to it eventually.

Google, thankfully, has been helping as well. Have you checked out all the non-search stuff Google has been up to lately? Did you know you can personalize your Google homepage to give you your Gmail inbox, your calendar, local gas prices, the weather, and - a must for me - late-breaking headlines?

And sweet Jesus, take a look at Google Maps or Earth. I'm in the process of marking down every place I've ever been in this country. For free.

Tonight I even made a web site for my Rotary club. It's simple, but it works for our non-technical group.

The trouble with all this is it can quickly become a soft addiction. I could spend hours logging all the trips I've made on Google maps, and for what? Just to show off? For me it's like a scrapbook of Places I've Been, but it can be a big-time time waster.

And now I've got a bunch of big trips and plans in the next month - weddings, conferences, a giant trip cross-country to Seattle - that will be taking up more of my time. Who needs sleep?

It seems like a have a decent system down. iCal at home, Outlook at work (with those life-saving pop-up reminders), calendar on my iPod, and a scribbled-on hand that goes wherever I do - it's a recipe for Getting Things Done.

I've written before the benefits of slowing down, counting the breath, and not devoting one's life to GTD, but the habit is hard to break.

Life always happens in the meantime, doesn't it?

Back in blue

On the way back to my room last night, my skin glowing red, I dig into my swim shorts pocket for my room key and find a sea shell probably from the last time I was here.

Us midwesterners can't comprehend non-stop sunshine. We can dream about it, and we can visit it, and we can even imagine it coming to our own state. But to live here? Unthinkable. Too much pastel color. Too many smiles and sweet drinks with fruit.





I told someone yesterday that bankers go to cold places, like North Dakota, for meetings to justify a suit and tie. Credit union folks dress down, drink often, and are far more laid-back then your typical financial professional. It could be the deeper relationship we have with our members. After all, statistics and surveys consistently show a credit union/member relationship is one of the most loyal in all of capitalism. When you have people giving their money with such reverence and love, why dress fancy? We've got nothing to prove. The trust is already there.





And it's with great trust that American 1 sent me down here to collect the award. I like to tell people I've learned more in the four years I've been here than I ever did in all the years at school, and it's true. I do use the stuff I learned at Adrian, but this "real world" everyone keeps talking about isn't so bad - not when you really are rewarded for hard work.





Work has always supported and rewarded my efforts, and I appreciate that more than I can say. Kristi, my boss, has to make it a point to embarrass me by saying I can't ever go anywhere, and that we make such a great team. I've been well treated by the credit union: concert and Tigers tickets, training seminars and classes, a car loan, decent pay, my Rotary membership, and now this, my trip to sunny Orlando to learn about credit cards and collect my award.

I really appreciate all of it.





Friday at Epcot Judi, Chris and I took a trip Around the World. I guess it's a process, pretty well known, where you stop at each of the country stations at the park and sample the booze. Mexico, China, Norway, sub-Saharan Africa, France, Germany, Japan, Morocco, America - they're all there, and each has a nice restaurant with plenty of drinks to choose from. We barely made it to Canada, the last stop (see above), before the park closed at 9 p.m.

The cool part about each station was that the workers were actually from the representative country. The Norwegians were blue-eyed and blonde-haired (except for one brunette beauty, who still had the dazzling blue eyes), and I talked with a Canadian law student who helped me sing a verse from the Hip's "New Orleans is Sinking." She also gave me the only Labatt available in Florida.

Having sampled the world's drinks, and passing out on the bus ride home, Friday was an early night for me.




Judi and Chris? They kept going until 2 a.m. They're pros - experts at this credit union conference game, and they showed me a thing or two about partying with co-op comrades.





The gala awards dinner last night was a hit. I worried about the dress code, but my Hawaiian shirt fit right in. The dueling pianos couldn't compete with the great conversation and the sparkles of light dancing off my award. It was a work of art, as was the production of the night: open bar, concert-style lights and sound, and great food.

Our country really is an amazing place, because people can be so different and we're actually curious about the differences. Mormon or Michigander, we won't cut your head off because of diversity. I like visiting with people from other states because, as a traveler, I like to get a feel for what the place is like. And part of that is getting to know the people. Steve, the guy from east Alabama, spoke eloquently (drawl included) of the SEC's superiority over any other college conference. Rich, the manufacturer salesman from Chicago, showed off his accent and love of '60s and '70s pop songs. A lot of ladies from Pennsylvania were worried about going home for fear of the Nor'easter moving in.

My own trip home was smooth sailing, and the first class seat sure helped. Flying first class is one of those things on the "Must do before you die" list, like seeing the Grand Canyon or traveling to Europe. Spacious seats, free food, and quick on-and-off service. And no screaming kids.

As I type this I'm flying somewhere over Georgia or Tennessee, and there's nothing but clouds. I've never been able to see this part of the country from the air, unfortunately, and it's giving me a sign of things to come when I get home. The weather says 50 degrees, and I'm already missing the warm Florida sun that put me to sleep when I was pool-side yesterday afternoon. I won't be thinking of pools in Michigan until at least late May or June, and even then a pina colada probably won't taste the same. Not without UB40 or the Beach Boys playing in the background.

Tomorrow life as we know it begins again, and I'll try to use the knowledge I've gained and the energy I've fostered to make a difference at work at apply all the cool stuff I learned.

Goodbye dream vacation. Hello Jackson.


[As always, check the Flickr account for more pics]

So many limes, so little time

The crickets chirp, the owls hoot, and I head to bed.

Madison. Kalamazoo. Minneapolis. These cities mean something, because I can say I got drunk at them and survived nicely, thankyouverymuch, all on someone else's dime.

I can now add Orlando, FL to that list.

Had an eventful day, full of fire and brimstone credit union speeches (by an amazing guy, Rex Johnson, who is mad as hell and won't take it anymore) that - with a bit of luck - won't be forgotten between now and the flight home Sunday.

Melissa and Jennifer. Liz and Lori and Maureen. John and Steve and Chris and Judi. These last four I just left at the hotel lobby after taking advantage of the open bar (my vote for the two greatest words in the English language) and the all-you-can-eat dinner. I'll never look at a bottle of Corona the same, and I'll never forget the relaxed, laid-back style of credit union professionals.

The dress code calls for "business casual," which to those in the CU biz means khakis and a logowear shirt, if that. We're supposedly known for our ability to drink and hang loose and actually engage each other in the gospel of membership and democracy and volunteer boards and "movements." We preach to the choir, except when the Aflac folks show up and we have to justify our existence to former bank presidents.

"Yeah, but ya'll are tax-exempt," Steve said.

Your goddamn right, pal, and for good reason.

In Rotary, I'm used to the fact that I'm the only single and young member when I go to these types of conferences. I tend to stand out, and even when I wish I didn't it makes for good conversation. What I'm finding is that CUs are a female-centric business, and this makes for its own conspicuousness.

No pool today, but plenty of food and conversation and "how's the weather?" (a talent perfected by us Midwesterners) and "What Disney park are you headed to tomorrow?"

Me? I'm all for Epcot, a grand adventure to the future, and probably the least family-focused of the parks. But then that's my style: go it alone, do your own thing, and hope nobody notices your by your damn self.

I wish it were different. I meet people, and they talk about kids and husbands and wives and grocery shopping and mortgages, and a part of me wishes that was happening. Especially when I see so many my age with rings on their fingers (I remember when I started looking for that).

But then I think, "Jesus, could any of this be possible with all that?" Which is better? What do I want more?

Right now I want sleep, and this terrible, booze-heavy feeling in my stomach to go away, because I know I have to get up early tomorrow and sit through some three-hour bore-fest before we storm the parks and raise Donald Duck as our pagan fowl god, drinking Goofy's still-warm blood and hoisting Mickey's head on a pike.

We're credit union folk, dammit, and we know how These Things Work.