Published writer, compulsive reader, Old School Whovian, Match Game enthusiast, NKOTB fan, data hoarder, and - surprisingly, given that list - married with four kids.
Welcome to my take on life, fatherhood, entertainment, and whatever strikes my fancy.
Enjoy!
For much of its length, I was convinced The Seance was one of the best books I'd read in years.
The Seance centers around Wraxford Hall, an abandoned mansion in 19th century England. Many years ago Nell Wraxford fled the mansion and disappeared, leaving behind rumors that she murdered her own infant daughter. Now, a generation later, distant relative Constance Langton has inherited the house. Constance, who has some history of psychic experiences, agrees to have Wraxford Hall examined by professional researchers. But something in Nell's diaries leads her to fear something more than just the proverbial bump in the night.
As I said, for most of the novel the book is superb. Written in different voices, the transitions are seamless and avoid sounding anachronistic. Despite rehashing every B movie staple of Hollywood horror, Harwood manages to integrate it all into a sharp, intelligent and highly entertaining example of the Gothic genre.
And then it all falls apart. I am not sure, even now, if the atrocious finale truly damages the book as much as I believe. It's possible I'm just bitter when I think of how Harwood stood on the precipice of greatness . . . and flinched.
Like more than a billion people worldwide, I watched the Michael Jackson memorial service. I thought it was appropriately reverent, classy, and emotional, while also taking care to express and share the joy that echoed through Jackson's music.
I won't bother to rehash the event here, because it's just saturating the news (according to foreign clips shown on CNN, it's the 'top story' as far away as India and Hong Kong). I will say it featured a few surprises for me.
I didn't realize how important Michael was to the African-American community, or how deeply affection for him ran among their leaders and icons. I didn't think there would come a day when Al Sharpton(!!) would earn praise from me for a rousing and positive eulogy. I certainly didn't think Sharpton would continue to garner accolades from me for his sensible commentary throughout the evening. Nor did I expect the service to end with the Jackson family making sure that, for all the spectacle of the memorial, they held fast to their faith. "The King of Pop must bend his knee to the King of Kings," said their preacher, The Rev. Lucious Smith.
And Michael's daughter, wow. Her words brought tears to my eyes, a reaction I think was pretty common.
At any rate, what a magnificent send-off. I won't see another funeral like this in my lifetime. There are those who will brush it off with a curt "He doesn't deserve it. It's not like he was a king, or a President who ended world hunger." I don't recall the last time a politician managed to accomplish the latter, but I understand the point. I just disagree.
You may be ambivalent towards Jackson, you may dislike him. Either way an incredible amount of people felt the opposite, and where mourning is concerned I choose to be laissez faire. I say allow people to express their grief in whatever positive and healthy way they see fit.
And for the record, I think he's a global icon who factors positively into the memories of three generations. The world misses the man. As popular as any President is or has ever been, you can guarantee that a billion people in China and India aren't going to give a damn when he passes away.
Personally, I'm grateful for the chance to have witnessed this twelve-day event, and I hope my kids are old enough to remain some memory of it. To see an outpouring of love and respect for anyone is enriching, and the fact that people seem free once again to publicly acknowledge his talent and gifts, well, that's an added bonus.
It's just a shame he had to pass away for people to once again show their love.
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If you were paying attention, there were signs everywhere of this funeral's impact on our pop culture.
The woman in the apartment across from my Mom flew to L.A. for the memorial. Although I doubt she had tickets to get into the Staples Center, it was enough for her to be in the city.
Another woman she knows holds a season pass for a local water park and attends religiously each day. Today she offered the pass to friends, saying she was going to watch the funeral from beginning to end.
A woman at a store was wearing a "King of Pop 1959-2009" shirt as she checked out.
At my niece's birthday party, the bowling alley played several MJ songs, and a middle aged man strolled down the hall singing along to "Don't Stop till You Get Enough"
At a grocery store, I overheard a woman on her cell phone, vigorously debating what Jackson song was the best.
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Meanwhile, in my house last week I overheard YaYa calling LuLu over the computer. On Youtube YaYa had pulled up a copy of the Thriller video and was eager to show Lu.
At first I was going to stop her as I thought it would scare them, but then I remembered something I hadn't thought about in decades. When I was around YaYa's age I was skating at a local roller rink. An announcement was made, and on a new fangled projection screen the rink played the Thriller video. A hundred kids, white, Hispanic, whatever, gathered around to watch it.
Aliens could land on earth and you couldn't get 100 kids to unite and sit still for the news bulletin, but there we all sat, in awe, watching the video beginning to end.
So I let them watch it, making sure to tell LuLu it was all fake. Now the kids can recognize most MJ songs by ear, even if they can't always get the title right (although YaYa is trying hard). Their favorite seems to remain Thriller, or what Lu calls "the wolf song".
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One last long forgotten MJ memory. When Bad came out my Mom bought us a cassette, then painstakingly sat and dubbed each of us kids a copy on her skinny dual-tape book box. (My Mom, the bootlegger :) Thank God it wasn't a Metallica album)
I can still recall how hard it was to fit the track listings on the teeny little lines they printed on the tape inserts.
Anyway, thanks Mom. That was sweet of you.
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Watching/DVR'ing the Michael Jackson memorial service on CNN.
Right now Mariah Carey is peforming "I'll Be There" at the memorial. I don't care what anyone says, NKOTB did a better cover of the song.
Just back from my niece's 13th birthday party. We listened to the rest of the MJ memorial in the car, as V100 was broadcasting it live. (Probably the only time you'll hear me with that on my car stereo :)
For those of you in Milwaukee, you have to know the story by now. For those of you who aren't (or if you're one of the kids reading this ten years down the road), here's the scoop:
Cudahy, Wisconsin is a southern suburb of Milwaukee named for Patrick Cudahy, the man whose meat packing plant spurred the suburb's creation. The Patrick Cudahy plant is still in operation there and employs some 1,800 workers, making it an invaluable resource to the community. It stands only a couple miles south of my home.
At around 9:30 PM on Sunday night workers reported smelling smoke in the plant, and firefighters responded to what soon became a ferocious blaze. The fire spread quickly through the 1.4 million square foot plant, exploiting void spaces and other idiosyncrasies that come with a building that's been expanded and remodeled over the course of a 121 year history.
As of 5 p.m, nearly a full day into fighting the blaze, officials estimated it would take as much as another day and a half to extinguish the fire. Because of 177,000 pounds of ammonia stored in the plant, everyone within a mile radius was ordered to evacuate. The border for this evacuation zone fell mere blocks from my sister's apartment.
With 27 fire departments and 130 firefighters on the scene, more than 8 million gallons of water were thrown on the flames in the first sixteen hours. The operation drained the water supply of Cudahy and nearby St. Francis, and by noon the City of Milwaukee had to release some of its water supply in order to continue the effort.
When I showed up to work a co-worker and part-time firefighter for New Berlin (a western suburb) was rushing out the door. He told me he'd been called to relieve some of the exhausted fire crews at the scene. I told him to stay safe and wished him well.
Later, at work there were several customers shopping as a diversion from the fire that threatened their homes and livelihood. I also noticed several livestock trucks on Milwaukee streets, probably deliveries diverted from the plant.
Quite aside from the continued, if diminishing, danger from the fire, this will badly damage the operation of the company itself. 1800 badly needed jobs are now in jeopardy. Not just temporarily - who knows if the plant can ever be repaired, how long the repairs or new construction would take, and if it would be economically feasible at all.
Not that there's ever a good time for a disaster like this, but in this economy, it could be a lethal blow to that community and to those who call it home.
Well, we have our first casualty of my 3 days with the kids. Unused to dealing with curly hair I just combed it a bit and tossed it in a ponytail. By this morning it was a rats nest and Lisa took her to have it cut. LuLu was thrilled, as she's been asking to have it cut short but we vetoed it so as not to start a LuLu/YaYa war.
Yay! My son is home. I HATE that he takes a school bus, esp. since his summer speech program is at a diff. school, miles away from the one he knows. If he could say more than a couple dozen words - if he could voice his name and address - I'd feel much better
Following the parade we mosied into the park proper, suprisingly just in time to view a recreation of a 1860 era baseball game. I've meant to check out these vintage games in the past, and I was very glad to finally get a chance to see them up close.
The game was hosted and played by the Milwaukee Cream City's (Cream City being Milwaukee's nickname at the turn of the 20th century, a reference to the distinctive color of our brick buildings).
We were early enough to see batting practice, which didn't exactly thrill my troops. Note LuLu's question rougly 47 seconds into this clip.
So my sister took the kids to play on a nearby playground while my Dad and I watched for three or four innings. (the kids returned to watch about two inning into the game)
At its heart it's not all that different than the baseball you know. The fundamental difference seems to be in pitching. There is no mound, and the ball is thrown underhand to the batter. There are no fielding gloves either, a painful experience tempered by a rule that says a "striker" (batter) is out if the ball is caught on the fly or on one bounce. I imagine you see a lot of 'one bounce' outs in lieu of busted fingers. The child you hear on the clip *isn't* one of mine. BTW, if you can't make out what my Dad says, he's questioning the distance between bases. From my research it's consistent with modern basepaths (90 feet, expressed as 30 yards in vintage literature). They did seem awfully long though.
For most of what I saw of the game the crowd was tenative and disinterested. That changed when a batter skyed a high fly ball to right. The outfielder approached quickly, then slowed down to allow for catching the ball on the bounce. That was his plan anyway. Once it hit the ball had its own ideas and took a wicked hop to the right. The outfielder, still running, took a violent leap to his left and made a spectacular barehanded sliding grab.
"NIIIICE!" I yelled, and the crowd roared appreciately and gave the man a hand.
The verdict? I liked it. Enough to try and find a Facebook page for the team (it doesn't exist yet) and enough to consider heading out to see them again this summer.
Look, the last thing I wanted to do at 8 in the morning was wake up three grumpy kids, get em dressed, and head out to watch high school kids march around in band uniforms. I am, as you may have guessed, air quote not a morning person air quote.
But Lisa would have got it done, and so we did it. My sister and niece were supposed to meet us at 8:30 but my sis showed up alone, as her daughter was too tired to attend. Ha!
We landed primo seats in an intersection where the parade turns right, and set up shop.
Some people still weren't happy. OFW.
But they could be coerced into giving the appearance of joy.
While some had it naturally.
My Dad met us there and the parade soon started. Once it was going it was all good.
Someone in the crowd booed the Mayor, which I thought was low-brow. A time and place for everything, sir, a time and place for everything.
One of the skills Lisa has painstakingly taught them is the art and science of candy collection at these things. Parade participants, especially motorized ones, often toss handfuls of candy at the kids in the crowd. Anything less than a 75% retrieval rate . . . well, it hasn't happened yet. The kids inched their chairs closer and got ready.
Smiley used his Americana top hat as a beggars bowl, extending it to the parade and saying "me can-dee pease".
The kids made out like bandits. There was no pushing, no shoving, no cheating or bullying to get the goods. Just simple unadulterated action, without a hint of hesitation. That's the key right there. There were some kids next to us, kids you'll hear about in a second, who'd stand there and nervously bite their thumb nail and go all "now? or now? now?" when the candy was a'flyin. They got doo diddily doo diddly.
Ah, here's one of the kids now, on the right. Note that she's taller and about a year older than my YaYa. Her brother, in a red shirt, was as tall or larger.
Anyhow, the kids start whining to their Mom about how my kids were getting everything and they had nothing. A gross exaggerration, to be sure, and even their Mom pointed out there was no foul play involved. But while no Vile Socialst, I am a Christian. I called YaYa over.
"Divvy up some of the candy and give it to those kids, ok?" I said. "And sit the next few out."
So she did both things - and the kids next to us STILL failed to grab any decent amount of candy because the children to their other side now grabbed the goods. Plus, my kids were now out candy of their own. Lesson: you can't help those who won't help themselves.
Here's a clip from the parade, most notable for Smiley's interaction with the parade near the end.
In this last clip, which took place near the end of the parade, after I'd restored full candy collecting rights to YaYa, you can see the Mom scramble to collect candy for her kid.
Mein Gott, you are raising soylent green! Instill some life in them fraulein!
Another 4th of July parade down! Happy Birthday America!
In an effort to gobble up some more federal money Gov. Doyle's new budget makes seat belt enforcement a 'priority' issue . So now cops can pull you over for nothing more than seeing you without a seat belt on - and for shi*s and giggles under the guise of "I thought he wasn't wearing one judge!". Absolute bunk. I wear my seat belt, but in no way/shape/form is it the busines of anyone else, esp. the gov't.
In celebration of America's 233rd birthday we repaired our flagpole and put it back up on the front porch. Somehow, that flag did more to beautify the house in one minute than all the tulips and hastas we've planted since we bought the place.
I don't think I can surpass 2008's Jimmy Cagney and Kate Smith post, so here it is again. Patriotic music still stirs my soul, and I've got a CD of it in the van just waiting for Saturday to start.
To anyone and everyone who has had a part in securing the freedom and prosperity of this nation in any way, thank you. For those who did so at the threat of their own safety and lives, words cannot express my thanks.
Happy 4th of July!
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On a personal note this is the 3rd anniversary of my maternal Grandmother's death. I love you grandma, and I think of you often.
For much of its length, I was convinced The Seance was one of the best books I'd read in years.
