The McPrince Chronicles

Favorite songs of 2009

2009-12-13T20:46:00.001-08:00

Dan inspires me to keep my list going, even if it's not as well thought out as his. Here's a slew of songs I listened to a lot in 2009, in no particular order.

1. "Poor Boy" from Blind Pilot's 3 Rounds and a Sound.
2. "Bracket, WI" from Bon Iver on the Dark Was The Night compilation album.
3. "All My Friends" from Broken Social Scene's To Be You and Me.
4. "Banshee Beat" from Animal Collective's Feels.
5. "La Llorona" (The Crying Woman) from Beirut's March of the Zapotec.
6. "A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left" from Andrew Bird's Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs.
7. "Black River Killer" from Blitzen Trapper's Furr.
8. "I Wish I Was The Moon" from Neko Case's Blacklisted.
9. "Easier" from Grizzly Bear's Yellow House.
10. "Levelland" from James McMurtry's Where'd You Hide The Body.
11. "Just Breathe" from Pearl Jam's Backspacer.
12. "Rome" from Phoenix's Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.
13. "Fake Plastic Trees" from Radiohead's The Bends.
14. "You Really Gotta Hold On Me" from She & Him's Volume One.
15. "Family Tree" from TV on the Radio's Dear Science.
16. "Vincent O'Brien" from M. Ward's Transfiguration Of Vincent.
17. "Heart Skipped A Beat" from The xx's XX.

2009: (Nearly) final mileage check

2009-12-13T20:05:00.000-08:00

I'll have about four more days on the bike in what should be a crazy end to 2009. With those rides, I'll fall far short of my goal for the year (3,500; too ambitious, clearly) but still hit a respectable 2,700 miles. Still, it was about 600 miles more than last year.

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Best single day was a 70-miler (a metric century) in August. In 2010 I will hit 100 miles in a day.

Worst single day was getting hit by a van (just lightly, but still scary) in, oh, I think it was June or July.

Hottest single day came in late July, when it was nearly 110 but in one stretch of North Portland my computer topped out at more than 120.

Coldest single day came last week when it was a bone numbing 12. Thankfully, it was a dry cold.

Next year, I'll aim for 3,000 as my goal.

Breaking Down Oregon's Win - ESPN Video

2009-12-04T22:04:00.001-08:00

My morning ride (Sorry, Dan, ANOTHER bike post!)

2009-05-14T20:56:00.000-07:00

A buddy at work writes about crossing the Interstate Bridge, which I do twice a day Monday-Friday.

Read the full story here.

Mom, because I know you're curious, here's what the route looks like.

Next weekend's challenge

2009-04-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

RACC Century
Find more Bike Rides in Vancouver, Washington

Zoo trip

2009-04-14T16:51:00.001-07:00

A few pictures from today's trip - Jasper's first - to the zoo.

One year later

2009-04-05T22:13:00.000-07:00

Monday marks one year of my start bike commuting. In the past 365 days, I've put 2,898 miles on my bike, which is roughly the distance between Portland and NYC. Not bad.

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Next up... can I do 100 miles in one day? In about a month we'll see.

Excused absence

2009-03-28T23:46:00.000-07:00

Spring began this week, and with it, I hope, will come more than improving weather.

The winter that just ended was a blur, largely because of work, which meant little to no time or energy for blog posts. Things are, generally speaking, crazy at work. Several factors combine to make it so:

1) August through March is the busiest possible time in my job. That is the stretch that encompasses the college football and college basketball seasons. This year, we had two bowl games, one NCAA Tournament team, at least one major coaching transition and the opening weekend of the NCAA Tournament in town.
2) The unprecedented changes currently unfolding in how people consume media.
3) The collapse of our economy.

The fact that all that coincides with Jasper's first six months of life and it's been all the more wild and wonderful, frustrating and fascinating, terrible and terrific -- all together, often back to back, in minute-to-minute spans.

On top of that, as a factor of Nos. 2 and 3, last week we got sizeable pay cuts, four furlough days and a capped pension. And while my job remains guaranteed (knock on wood), some of my good friends at work face the prospects of layoffs. And friends elsewhere are enduring much of the same.

It's all utterly exhausting.

Which is why the three-day weekend I'm on now is so very good. It's been so nice just to have time with Amy and Jasper. To simply go play in the park, like we did on Friday.

Life lately

2009-02-23T21:38:00.000-08:00

My family.

My ride.

Couple of pics

2009-01-18T19:57:00.000-08:00

Nights like this are why I love the ride

2009-01-14T20:18:00.000-08:00

My hometown

2009-01-02T20:53:00.001-08:00

I'm sure there are lots of these "Barbie for (insert state name)" e-mails going around. They probably share the same pictures and some of the same funny lines. That may be, but this one pretty much spot-on nails my hometown:

"Norman Barbie"
This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won't be able to afford any of them.

More trip pictures

2008-12-28T00:15:00.000-08:00

Jasper consults with Pop, his great-grandfather.

Amy, Mom and Pop (Jasper's great-grandparents) laugh as he tries on Charlie's hat. Charlie is a doll kept in Mom and Pop's toy cabinet that at least three generations of McFall kids have played with it. This was Jasper's first turn.

Pop and Jasper couldn't escape the "Poparazzi."

On another visit to Mom and Pop's, Jasper naps with his mom before the mantle full of the grandchildren's (8) and great-grandchildren's (5) Christmas stockings. Jasper's is the littlest one right in the middle.

Cousins Lily and Sophie had fun playing with Jasper.

Amy's parents' house was kid central on one day of our visit. From left: Angie (Amy's sister), Amy, Leigh Ann (Amy's cousin) and Erin (Amy's cousin-in-law) and all their kids. Jasper -- the only boy in this bunch -- fears cooties.

Jasper with my parents.

Jasper with Amy's parents.

More from Calexico

2008-12-28T00:04:00.000-08:00

Joey Burns does another of my favorites, "Not Even Stevie Nicks." Takes a while to load, but well worth the wait.

Snowy homecoming

2008-12-25T17:56:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

2008-12-24T19:32:00.001-08:00

Amy and I will be smiling as big as Jasper is here if we get home tomorrow.

We've enjoyed our extended stay in Oklahoma during the holidays (more on the trip -- including more pictures -- later). What was supposed to be nine-day trip turned into a 13-day one when a massive snowstorm buried Portland and prevented us from flying home as planned. The upside, we had more time with family in the comforts of their homes. The downside, we're exhausted and fried after nearly two weeks of living out of suitcases with a baby in tow.

Here's hoping we make it home for Christmas -- and are able to pick up Wiley first thing on the 26th!

My 2008 playlist

2008-12-23T22:51:00.000-08:00

This year's list didn't receive as much deliberation as last year's. Nonetheless, here are 15 songs I found myself listening to over and over this year (and as with last time, the songs weren't all released this year):

1. "The Wolves (Act I & 2)
Bon Iver; For Emma, Forever Ago
Dan and I caught them live at one of the few shows I made it to this year. This song has a sing-along that hooks me every time. It's better still in person.

2. "All the Wine"
The National, Alligator
How can you not love a song with lines like, "I'm a perfect piece of ass" and "I'm a festival" in the first verse?

3. "Fade"
Calexico, Hot Rail
Q and I finally caught this band (one of my favorites) live -- the night before Jasper was born. Although they didn't play this song that evening, it is the one I find myself returning to as I listen to their material. The jazzy undercurrent to it all entrances me.

4. "Golden"
Red House Painters, Old Ramon
Another one linked to Q, who introduced me to this band just in the past month. The whole album has a feel, to me, like another of my all-time favorites, Big Head Todd and the Monsters' Midnight Radio.

5. "Cath..."
Death Cab for Cutie, Narrow Stairs
Just because.

6. "Random Rules"
Silver Jews, American Water
Had me from the opening line.

7. "Say It to Me Now"
Glen Hansard, Once (Music from the Motion Picture)
Loved the movie and the album, but this is the one song I can go back to time and time again without feeling too sugary sweet. A little yelling never hurts.

8. "Hasir"
Modeselektor, Hello Mom!
Found this in one of my Radiohead benders. Thom Yorke recommended the band in a podcast he participated in. Good for the gym, among other places.

9. "Your Hand in Mine"
Explosions in the Sky, The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place
Came across this -- and loved it -- this spring. Then a co-worker died and his children, who are about my age, had this as one of the songs playing as people filed into his funeral. Completely changed how I think about the song, but still a favorite.

10. "Hold On, Hold On"
Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
Casey introduced me to Neko by saying something along these lines, "If God had a voice, she'd sound like this..."

11. "Come Pick Me Up"
Ryan Adams, Heartbreaker
Hard to go wrong with this guy. Really need to get to one of his shows sometime.

12. "Go First"
Damien Jurado, Caught in the Trees
Another of Q's tips.

13. "Outfit"
Drive-By Truckers, Austin City Limits Music Festival (2003)
Reminds me of where I grew up. I liked it before Jasper's birth. I like it more now that he's here.

14. "Love and Some Verses"
Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days
Makes me think of Amy.

15. "A Change is Gonna Come"
Sam Cooke, 30 Greatest Hits - Sam Cooke Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964 (Remastered)
Thought about this song a lot in the run up to Election Day. Then the day this summer that about 75,000 people gathered in Portland to hear Obama speak (as documented by my colleague Bruce Ely below), I began to wonder if he and the future first lady might dance to it months later at the inaugural ball. I hope they will. Amy, Jasper and I will, I suspect, that night in our basement.

That's it from me. What'd you listen to this year?

The trip

2008-12-16T14:58:00.000-08:00

We are back in Oklahoma for a much-needed vacation as well as a pre-holiday visit, spending the first part of the week with my parents in Norman and the second half of the week with Amy's parents in Edmond.

Good to bring Jasper back to see all his relatives (familial and otherwise, when it comes to my side) en masse. Good to see family ourselves. Weird, always, I think, to see how my hometown has changed for the better and the worse in the eight and a half years that I've been away. Weirder still to come back with our son to Norman, which makes me think of Bruce Springsteen's "My Hometown."

Last night me and Kate we laid in bed
talking about getting out
Packing up our bags maybe heading south
I'm thirty-five we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said son take a good look around, this is your hometown

I had that conversation -- with myself, mostly -- oh, about nine years ago. I was getting out, one way or another. Not because of anything bad, but rather just because I knew there was more out there and I needed to go see some of it. Now, upon returning for a visit with Jasper, that's bittersweet in a way. This town was once mine, but it's not really anymore and it's not his, either, and I don't know if it ever will be.

Not that it should be, in my mind, though I know that drives a lot of people I love nuts. Whenever and wherever the time comes, 18 to 20 years from now, I hope Jasper goes out on his own to make his own way, to figure it out for himself, to make his own mistakes beyond the comfort of a safety net because I know how important that has been for me. I want him to know what's at his core -- Oklahoma, in some regards, yes, but the Northwest as well and who knows where else -- but to have the independence to stretch beyond whatever Amy and I have instilled in him and to make his own path wherever that will take him.

I think although I may communicate it a little differently than many, that's one of the goals for most any parent: To raise a child with all the love and support and tools they'll need to someday stand on their own. I know mine allowed me to do so -- even though my mother, in particular, hates it now. And I'm sure she's not alone in that.

Thing is, though, Oklahoma still feels -- to me -- too constricting. Right now, at least. Maybe that'll change someday. Today, however, I don't even know how I'd make a living here, how I'd feed my family. I drive around town and see storefront after storefront closed, in an oil-rich state that has thrived in eight years of an oil-driven administration. I see the hometown paper a shell of what it used to be, seemingly unable to adequately cover the big stories in its own backyard. I see the big local paper doing innovative things on some levels, things to be applauded and perhaps even emulated, but I also see it still lacking real depth and texture in its journalism. I see a hometown that, best I can figure, would hold one option for me -- a university job, if I could get one. A university job, no less, in a field in a state with a brain-drain problem. Regardless, though, at 31, I haven't been gone long enough, learned enough, experienced enough or simply had enough to settle for that.

I've caught up online recently with people I went to high school with, people who either stayed behind or already came back. Folks who -- and I don't say this critically because I'm certainly a creature of habit in my own ways -- are doing all the stuff we used to do 10 and 15 years ago. People who are coaching their kids in gyms they once played in themselves. People who are still invested in a football team to a wholly unhealthy degree. And I know it works for them, and I'm happy that it does, but it is not something I can imagine. It feels foreign to me, and part of that makes me sad -- not for me, but because I know others wish I felt differently.

Anyhow, I feel like on these trips I have to explain myself to some extent. So that was my attempt.

Now, for Karen in Stillwater (whose joy I've apprently been stealing due to my infrequent baby postings, my mom reports) and others wanting to see Jasper, here are some pictures of him with two of his aunts -- my sisters.

Jasper and Sarah.

Jasper and Chelsea.

Final mileage check

2008-12-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

The (nearly) final tally on my bike commute this year: 2,044 miles since I started in early April. And if I do my minimum rides on the six days of work I have left this year after returning from vacation, that figure will rise to 2,080 miles. I hope to get in some full rides, though, and cap the year around 2,100 miles.

That, roughly speaking, is the distance between Portland and Dallas, Texas.

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Not bad considering I started out this spring as a complete novice unsure of whether I could do it and if so for how long.

Now, as the year nears its end, I'm completely hooked and know this is a commitment I'm going to stick with long term. I've found a great pleasure, relief and satisfaction in doing something that is entirely based on my strength and willpower. I've never felt healthier, stronger or better in general.

Some other numbers to consider:

By biking this year I...
- Avoided using 78 gallons of gasoline.
- Kept about a half ton of CO2 out of the atmosphere that driving would have emitted.
- Averaged, for the year, about 64 miles a week.

That last one disappoints me. I know some late nights and crummy weather dinged that figure this winter. I'd like to get that back up into the 70-mile range, if not higher. My goal, for 2009, is to get around 3,500 miles in. And I think I might talk to some of my more serious cycling friends and see if I can build up to my first century -- 100 miles in a day -- ride. In fact, I think I'll plan to tackle this one, the Portland Century, next August. Anyone want to join me?

Turmoil

2008-11-17T16:24:00.000-08:00

For those nonjournalists reading out there, here's life lately in my work world.

Stunning.

But I find some small glimmer of hope in the site at the same time -- showing where we're headed, using new tools to tell the old stories.

Besides, I have every confidence we will figure this out.

Lesson learned

2008-11-16T17:43:00.000-08:00

Riding the MAX last week with my bike in the rack.

I was shamed last week. And I'm thankful for it.

I've been riding my bike as my main form of transportation since this spring. I overcame my "Can I do this?" apprehension, my uncertainty about flat tires (sort of) and built up my riding desire all summer long so that I could push through the long slog that I know will be bike commuting through a Northwest winter.

But I had not learned proper care and maintenance of my bike. So after riding through two days of the first big storm of the season -- which caused flash flooding in parts of the Northwest but just dumped a couple of inches around here -- my very nice bike was very much hurting. It was squeaking. The gears were shifting hard. The chain sounded BAD. The pinnacle of my bike's pain was last Thursday night, when I had to stop atop the Interstate Bridge, spanning the mighty Columbia River, in a driving rain, in pitch black conditions, to take off my rain-soaked glasses and blindly make way down the span. The bike and I were worn out.

So Friday morning I rode in -- squeakily -- and quickly made my way to the bike shop. To be shamed, politely, as it turned out. But shamed, nonetheless.

I'm no indie Portland hipster/bike messenger who rides a fixie and has a bike chain tattoo around my forearm, but I'm proud of my riding habit. I'm healthier than I've ever been. I'm consuming less fuel than ever. I'm saving money. And I'm making the planet a little bit cleaner for my son.

I didn't know if I'd be able to stick to this, but I have and it's been nothing but satisfying.

But I can't ride my bike into the ground. I have to take care of it. And I was nervous about what that involved. It's only a bike, but I'm not the most mechanically minded guy and as such I figured I'd do more harm than good when I started fiddling with things.

Then I walked into the bike shop and explained myself.

"This is my first winter riding through," I said, "and I need to know how to take care of my bike."

The mechanic -- a guy who'd helped me before when I got a new, better set of Kevlar-lined tires -- was gentle but firm as I told him about this squeak that had somehow developed after two days of monsoon riding.

"Well," he said, "how should I say this? Let's just say there are two types of people -- those who take care of their bikes and those who, um, don't. Those who lube their chains once a year and those who don't."

And so began my lesson on maintaining my ride. I got a tutorial on the various concoctions available for keeping my chain in shape and how to apply them. I learned to gauge how much brake pad I have left. And at some point in the conversation, back amid the bike stands and tools and greasy rags, I heard the line that makes perfect sense but for some reason I had never before chose to hear: The closer you'll get to your bike the better you'll understand it.

Friday night I came home and (after Amy reminded me to slow down and enjoy some time with the family) brought my bike down to the laundry room in our basement and cleaned my bike from wheel to wheel, from saddle to pedal. It was therapeutic. It was a little like I was back working my way through college, detailing cars on what's ridiculously known as the Magnificent Mile of Cars in Norman, restoring the beauty in something. And it felt really good for a change -- at a time when my job regularly involves mentally exhausting 12- to 13-hour days -- to rely on my hands to physically improve something.

Better still, the bike didn't make a single squeak when I hopped on it Saturday. In fact, it rode like new.

Amy shot it, and it's not posed (or I'm sure this photo will play well in Oklahoma)

2008-11-10T17:38:00.000-08:00

Five weeks old today...

2008-11-03T15:12:00.000-08:00

... and I already have him working stories.

"I'm re-writing your lede."

Perhaps another future journalist in the making?

Vision

2008-11-02T16:53:00.000-08:00

Here's hoping he doesn't get my eyesight. But if he does he might end up looking something like this...

One more from the weekend

2008-10-27T21:53:00.000-07:00

The arrival of the grandmothers, part II

2008-10-25T13:09:00.000-07:00

Amy's mom is here this week. She's giddy, too.

Pumpkin hunting

2008-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

We didn't make it all the way out to Sauvie Island this year, but we did go for pumpkins today nonetheless.

Also, considering Mr. Baby's arrival, we won't get around to hosting the annual carving party this year. But it's a good trade-off, for sure. Though I think Jasper involves more cleanup. Next year, however, we'll resume the tradition.

Mileage check

2008-10-20T22:41:00.000-07:00

I've cleared 1,600 miles on the bike so far this year, which is the equivalent of a trip from Portland to Lincoln, Nebraska. I'm doing well with the weather so far, and hope to keep at it and clear the 2,000-mile mark before the end of the year.

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Playing on the bed

2008-10-20T22:09:00.000-07:00

The arrival of the grandmothers, part I

2008-10-20T17:48:00.000-07:00

My mom was here to see her first grandchild last week. She was giddy.

A thought

2008-10-14T23:20:00.000-07:00

I went on a cleaning spree while I was off the past couple of weeks. In sorting through one closet I found a bunch of cards Amy and I exchanged over the years. One - from back in college - had one of my favorite quotes on the back.

For all the knowledge that we will never succeed in the work of our lives, we must continue to choose to continue. For all the frustrations and fears that each of us has and will have in our short time, we must choose to pursue to the end of choosing the best we know for each other, and in that choosing, long and late, we will connect with each other.

-- A. Bartlett Giamatti

Seems fitting these days, in many ways at work and in politics, no?

Jasper's namesake

2008-10-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

My mom flew in today (more pics on that to come; meanwhile, suffice to say she can't quit telling us she's in love with her grandson) and brought this picture of Jasper's namesake - Jasper Newton Prince Jr. (March 4, 1881-July 11, 1918). He is our Jasper's great-great grandfather on my father's side.

You can see from the markings at the top that the original, which hangs in my parents' house, is an oval-shaped print. And the line running through his hat shows how old it is because that's where the picture broke apart when they took it out of the frame years ago to make a copy.

I suppose in everyone's childhood homes hangs a long-gone relative's portrait from which, you'd swear, the eyes followed you when you got up in the night for a snack or to use the bathroom or maybe even to sneak out. This was that picture in my house growing up.

The hat.

The cigarette.

The buttoned-all-the-way-up shirt.

I mean, when you're about 13 years old, you think anyone who got their portrait made with a cigarette dangling from his lips, clearly, was a man not to be messed with -- much less to do mischief under the nose of in the dark of night. It's only tonight, so many years later, that I noticed for the first time the doorway or whatever that is over his shoulder. As a kid, I never -- ever -- managed to get past the face. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing but the face.

I wrote a little about Jasper Junior -- and his wife, whom I trace my Choctaw heritage back to -- in 2004. Here's the related passage, which gives a little more background on the man and his life:

Eliza Walker, my great-grandmother, is the bedrock of what I've always known to be my Choctaw ancestry.
Eliza, an original Choctaw enrollee who stopped speaking her native language as a child to avoid discrimination, married Jasper Prince Jr., an Irishman, in 1903 after meeting him at a church social. His family disowned him because of the interracial union.
Undaunted, Jasper and Eliza pressed on. They farmed the allotment that was one of the few benefits her roll number offered. They had seven children, and Jasper, planning for his growing family, borrowed against the land. Then he died in 1918 at age 37, leaving his wife with a row of mouths to feed and a stack of bills to pay.
A widow at 31 with children ranging in age from 6 months to 13 years, Eliza lost the land as she struggled to hold her family together. She persevered, though, serving as her brood's unbreakable bond through the highs and lows of the 60 years that followed.
She died in 1981 at age 94, a slight but commanding woman who always was the anchor of stability in the family.

In that portrait I can see some of the qualities that have come down from Jasper to his son Elmer to his sons Randy (my dad) and Darryll (my uncle), then to me and, perhaps, to this new Jasper.

Our Jasper.

Like I said, I could never get past Jasper Newton's face in the portrait as a kid. Now, it's funny, but I can't get past Jasper Elliott's face in front of me today.

I'm entranced by both. Just for different reasons.

If only...

2008-10-11T21:58:00.000-07:00

... more people in OKC were this cool.

A few more pics (or The grandmothers are clamoring)

2008-10-10T22:45:00.001-07:00

Some more pictures as my time off nears its end....

This was from back when we were at the hospital. Jasper likes to get a good foothold while nursing.

Also back at the hospital. The football hold -- as taught in baby class -- a position that is almost guaranteed to soothe the crying baby. Jasper goes for it almost every time.

Amy attempts to give me dirty (and I mean dirty) diaper-changing instructions. Wiley pays more attention that I do.

Jasper really likes to play with his hands. A lot.

All snuggled in to the wrap-carrier-sling-thing for a walk on this cool afternoon day. Within minutes, he's asleep.

Back from the walk, resting on the porch. Jasper sleeps in that pouch. Sleeps hard.

I attempt to soothe Jasper earlier this evening while Wiley's expression suggestions, "Crying? Again?" (Should've used the football hold.)

Then and now: Our friend Dina brought dinner tonight -- capping two weeks of dinners friends have brought us (What great friends! What wonderful food!) and while she and her boys were here they delivered pictures from Amy's baby shower that Dina hosted. I think in this picture Amy is remembering the whole ordeal that is pregnancy.

Jasper's first week*

2008-10-05T21:35:00.000-07:00

A week ago tonight, we got into bed with Amy feeling contractions and thinking it still would be a few days before Jasper would arrive. Tonight, we are all settled at home with both Amy and Jasper next to me alternately sleeping and nursing.

The intervening days have been an exhilarating and exhausting roller coaster of emotions.

Before going into all that, however, here's a picture: Jasper in the car seat -- he really likes the thing -- preparing to leave the hospital (for the first time; more on that later). He's a long, skinny guy, but not as much as this picture suggests.

Let's start with the name: Jasper Elliott Prince. I don't know if folks are just being kind or what, but everyone keeps telling us they love the name. The first name was picked for family history. The middle name was picked for sense of place.

Jasper is the name of both my great and great-great grandfathers on the Prince side. A striking portrait of the junior (born March 4, 1881, died July 11, 1918) resides in my parents' house. Maybe we'll get a copy of it for our own home now. Personally, I like the name because it has a certain older feel, a Midwestern sensibility as my friend Q once said. Plus, I don't think we've met any other Jaspers.

Elliott we originally had in the running for a first name because we like Eli. Went around and around about the spelling. Settled on double l, double t in the end for a couple of reasons, I suppose, though just about any combination would have some symbolic ties to the Northwest -- where our Jasper was born. Elliott Bay is in Seattle, which is where I first thought I'd like to live someday if I ever made it to the Northwest. Eliot Glacier is on Mount Hood, which we see every day -- and I stop to look at as I ride to work. Elliott Smith is one of the musicians from the Northwest whose music I most like (though none of it is exactly happy baby-friendly stuff).

That's Jasper as he looked as I peeked in on him earlier tonight.

Again, about this time last week Amy's water broke and off we went. We'll spare you the gory details, but an epidural around 4 a.m. pierced something it shouldn't have, resulting in what the doctors called a spinal headache. Basically, the botched epidural resulted in spinal fluid leaking, which made her brain ache anytime she was upright. As a result, for most of the time between 4 a.m. Monday and about 4 p.m. Wednesday, she was flat on her back. With her feeling better, we came home Wednesday night only to realize the headache returned -- which meant even more time flat on her back while trying to feed the baby. So back we went to the hospital on Thursday to get what the doctors call a blood patch. They drew blood from her arm and injected it into the same spinal spot used for the epidural. The goal: have the blood, basically, fill the pierced dura and prevent more spinal fluid from leaking, thus ending the headache.

Bottom line: She's a helluva lot tougher than I am or ever will be. In the course of four days she had a giant needle shoved into her spine, gave birth to a nearly nine-pound baby, endured a debilitating headache and then had another giant needle shoved into the same spot in her spine.

She amazes me. As does Jasper, who helped me blog some of this in between feedings tonight.

* Note: Corrected namesake reference to great and great-great -- rather than great-great and great-great-great grandfathers. Sleepy.

A family picture

2008-09-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

Our friend Dina visited tonight and snapped our first family picture while she was here.

More from Jasper-palooza

2008-09-30T17:12:00.000-07:00

Jasper Elliott Prince

2008-09-29T16:37:00.001-07:00

Our baby made his long-awaited arrival this morning.

Water broke at 12:30. To the hospital by 12:45. Epidural by 4:15. And out he came at 7:15.

He's a big guy -- 8 lbs., 13 ozs. and 20.5" long.

Whole thing seems like one intensely happy blur. Along with a lot of very sweet cooing and gurgling. Can't believe he's here. He's ours. And he's just stunning.

Measuring my ride

2008-09-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

For months now, I've resisted getting a computer for my bike. This week, however, my friend Q led me to a new find that -- minus measuring the wattage of each pedal stroke or my heartrate -- tells me most of what I'd like to know about my rides. And, better yet for all those naysayers out there, it's on my iPhone. The TrackThing app is pretty damn cool. Here's a couple of screengrabs I clicked after getting home tonight.

The odometer is based on total riding distance today -- my usual length, if this thing is right is just under 14.5 miles, which is pretty much what I expected. The average and max speeds and pace are based on just the ride home. But here's the really cool part...

It charts my speed versus the elevation change over time. The big green spike is the worst hill of my ride. And you can see, it's definitely an urban ride with lots and lots of stop lights.

This morning -- again, if this thing is accurate -- I hit 30 mph on the downhill side of the Interstate Bridge while passing cars stuck in rush hour traffic. I've always wondered how fast I get rolling there, but never knew. Never would've guessed it broke low 20s.

Next up: 40 mph.

Summer's kiss

2008-09-08T19:43:00.000-07:00

I'm off Mondays during college football season, and Amy took the day off to rest as well. We ran a few errands in the morning, including buying a highly-recommended glider rocker for basement baby soothing. She slept most of the afternoon; I worked outside. Got a lot done -- including cutting the grass with my new no-engine hand mower. Nice. Did a little reading as well, from the late David Halberstam's "The Breaks of the Game," which includes this passage that fits the day perfectly:

In late summer the weather in Oregon is lovely, warm and dry, as if conjured up by some Chamber of Commerce to atone for the wetness past. There is a sense that you can see forever, or failing that, at least, and with ease, to the awesome mountains that surround Portland. The air is clear, as if from another, preindustrial, age, since potential polluters fear the power of Oregon's ecologically alert citizenery, and after the long gray months so recently past and so soon to return, it seems a special gift. On days like this it is inconceivable to stay inside, inconceivable to work, and there is a feeling that no business is being transacted in Portland at this moment, that an entire state may be on vacation.

Bring on baby

2008-09-01T20:10:00.001-07:00

Nursery is done, and Lil P, as he's currently know, is nearly done cooking. Some pics while we wait.

Amy did a little artwork for the walls. The rug is one we picked out for the nursery in fall 2006, during our trip to Morocco.

Buh-bye, 'Bu

2008-08-25T10:18:00.001-07:00

Today we sold Amy's old Chevy Malibu, affectionately known as "The 'Bu," which officially makes us a one-car family.

My friend Casey once was going to write an essay about our bonds with our cars. Perhaps this will re-inspire that thought.

We put it on Craigslist on Saturday, had a looker Sunday, closed the deal today. (Man, that was fast.) It was a good little car for us. It's what we drove out to Oregon together, loaded up with her stuff.

On Day One I remember pulling out of her parents' driveway, the car packed tight, everyone in or on the verge of tears, before we headed north on I-35. We drove through to Denver, stopping overnight with our friend Ellen shortly after she broke her back. (Only Ellen would flat-out insist upon having house guests with such an injury.) On Day Two we pressed on through Wyoming -- where the cross winds nearly blew us off the road and did sweep the hat off my head at a gas station -- and stayed the night somewhere in Idaho. Day Three brought us down the Columbia River Gorge and to our rather snazzy apartment -- two balconies, count 'em -- in Tigard.

The three-day drive in that car just after she graduated was, I suppose, the official start of our living together. So perhaps it's fitting that we say farewell to the car as we start a new phase: parenthood.

Of course, as my friend Q said, only in the Portland area (read: not back in the Midwest) would a couple be having a kid and downsizing the number of vehicles they have. Maybe so.

Timing's good on another account, though. Last week was full of rain, which tested my bike-commute commitment. I geared up and slogged through. And it wasn't nearly as bad as I imagined it could be. In fact, I kind of liked it.

Squawk

2008-08-25T10:13:00.001-07:00

This flier is on telephone poles all over our neighborhood...

The escapee flies, eh? I'm glad to hear she didn't walk away.

(And I say this with complete empathy -- we'd flip if Wiley ever got lost, of course. Just haven't heard of missing parrots before.)

Worth a listen

2008-08-20T22:55:00.001-07:00

Passed on by my friend Q. The Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne on what he believes.

Elsewhere, sort of...

2008-07-28T21:51:00.001-07:00

We had some friends over last night for a pre-baby cookout. One of them, Casey, has a photo-a-day blog, and so the evening was well documented. Check it out here. (In the second shot, no, Amy's water didn't break -- though I have fears of it looking something like that; she's extinguishing my underwhelming attempt at a fire in the chiminea.)

Though it's Casey's blog, the pics are by our friend Q.

May our pictures of the baby look so good.

Ty. Sigh.

2008-07-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite writers and a fellow Oklahoma native, Hank Stuever, on the housing crisis exemplified. It includes this wonderful paragraph:

All the crying people did for the camera: They cried when television's magic wand touched them, and the hosts always cried, too, while telling the camera how good they felt making the dreams of the sick and wretched owners of substandard tract houses come true. Think of the many tears that were shed on American television over organized closets and new kitchen countertops.

Pics

2008-07-19T00:17:00.001-07:00

I was backing up some data tonight when I came across a few previously-not-downloaded pics... and added a new one for the sake of memories.

The first three from our trip to Cannon Beach back in May. Great weather, great escape, great weekend minus the infamous failure/forgetting to stop at Sonic for the pregnant wife. Wiley is not a fan of the sand, though. Ah, the Civic. Wonder who is driving it -- and getting amazing gas mileage -- now.

And then from tonight.

Seven and a half months and -- it's official -- that button has popped. Gotta document that, right? Even if Wiley is giving me a 'She wouldn't approve' look. She'd kill me if I posted the close up of it, though. Little guy is kicking all the time, which I take as encouragement for us to get a crib, a dresser, and the rest of that nursery together -- pronto.

Mileage

2008-07-05T23:57:00.001-07:00

In my new-found bike geekdom I watched some of the Tour de France's opening stage today. I didn't get up at 5:30 a.m. to catch it live; the countless replays satisfy my curiosity right now. Amid the crashes I shudder to see, the kilometers I struggle to comprehend and the names I shouldn't even try to pronounce, though, it got me to thinking about one thing: mileage.

The guys crazy enough to finish what is one of - if not the - world's toughest sporting event will log 2,175 miles over three weeks with just a couple of days out of the saddle. I, on the other hand, have pulled only about 750 miles total on my LeMond since I started riding in late March/early April. Roughly speaking, in three months I haven't done even half of what they'll do in three weeks.

Really, 750 isn't anything. My friend Craig - he who was kind enough to show me how to actually navigate this commute - cleared 10,000 miles not too long ago. But, nonetheless, I'm proud of my 750. That's about the equivalent of riding from Portland to Salt Lake City. Plus, here's a couple of benefits: not having to buy about 30 gallons of gas and feeling healthier than ever (achy wrist aside).

Onward to my first 1,000 - and more.

My ride

2008-06-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

I've been curious about the length of my bike commute, but I've been hesitant to go spend even more money on a bike computer to calculate that and much more. As my friend Craig said, it only makes you feel antsy about whether you're keeping a good pace.

So today I found MapMyRide.com and calculated my commutes. In the morning, when I ride from our house to the MAX, it's exactly three miles. In the evenings, when I ride straight through from work to home, it's 10.95 miles. So, all told, most days, I'm doing about 14 miles. And I'm toying with the idea of starting to ride all the way in most mornings when the summer weather is so nice. So that'd be, basically, 22 miles a day.

Here's a map of my route home.

Of course, all this was moot since last Tuesday. On the way in that morning, I took a bad spill -- rookie mistake involving the clip-in shoes -- and sprained the holy hell out of my wrist. Got it X-rayed Wednesday and there's no break. It's still sore, but I'm getting back on the Poprad in the morning. I've missed it.

Ride Home
Find more Bike Rides in Portland, Oregon

All baby, all the time...

2008-06-22T19:49:00.001-07:00

A few other updates.

The new baby-friendly car....

And the old porch swing I stripped, sanded and refinished so we can swing on it with the little guy this fall. We'll re-hang it later this week.

And, of course, she's still glowing.

A little of this, a little of that...

2008-06-20T22:58:00.000-07:00

Sigh. Long week. Some odds and ends....

It's Pedalpalooza here in Portland, which best I can describe is basically a festival celebrating all things bikey. The events even drew some other guy form Oklahoma all the way out here. (Video from BikePortland.org.)

My favorite line: "Like any other, you know, ding-ass town..."

Next up, more bike fun. Riding home Wednesday night I encountered my first unicycle commuter. I was in a good groove, fresh off topping the worst hill of my ride, when I looked up and there he was. I had -- had -- to slow down and just watch how he managed that thing. In particular, I wanted to see him handle a red light. Sure enough, about two blocks up we caught one. The guy slowed and worked his way over to the curb as we approached the crosswalk. Then, he just reached out and grabbed the telephone pole and sat there. Impressive, no?

When the light turned, though, he couldn't get it going and fell/jumped off. Still, he landed on his feet, which is almost better than me occasionally in these new clip-in shoes.

Third bit o' news: In the ongoing preparation to sail away from the no-kid island we currently inhabit, we went out this week and got ourselves a proper baby-friendly car. No pics yet, but it's a pretty sweet, year-old Toyota Rav4. Traded in the trusty 5-year-old Civic -- what a good car that was. Kind of sad to see it go. Still, this new ride gets good gas mileage and will be a lot easier to get the wee one in and out of while also being a better fit for us and our occasional light hauling needs. Next up, cleaning up and selling the Malibu and becoming a nice, simple one-car, one-commuter-bike family.

Finally, tonight, ever exciting, we flipped through the dial and saw not one, but two classic cheesy martial arts movie scenes. First, caught the final fight scene from "Karate Kid" ...

I admit, I teared up a little. But then, it got better - or worse, depending on your view -- "Bloodsport" with Jean Claude Van Damme was on some other channel. Amy, to my horror, had never seen it. We had to watch a little to its great fight scene. Enjoy. Especially the way he yells -- one loudly, one weakly -- before he realizes he can fight blind.

Yeah, that pretty much made my night. Not so much Amy's, for some reason. (Though the baby was busting out some serious kicks on her. Maybe he liked the flicks, too.)

The price of pregnancy

2008-06-02T22:28:00.000-07:00

"Wiley, tonight we're going to have a glass of sparkling water and just imagine it's a LARGE beer."

-- Amy to Wiley, our dog, while cooking dinner

(By the way, it's official: We're having a boy.)

$4/gallon

2008-05-30T22:34:00.001-07:00

Sometimes graffiti is good. This is on the back of the bar down the street from our house. The parking lot? It's full of big Dodge trucks and SUVs. This bike thing is looking better all the time. I figure I'm riding about 65 miles in my weekly commute.

Sense and sensitivity

2008-05-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

Our gussied-up kitchen is on a remodeled homes tour this weekend (ours is that first bullet point), and we figured getting out of dodge would be more fun than hanging out while Wiley loses his ever-loving mind as a bunch of strangers tromp through the house. Which explains why we're at the coast tonight for the start of a weekend away.

Which brings me to the point of this evening's post: I've noticed a lot of different smells and sounds -- just senses and sensations, in general -- lately. (Who says it's only Amy's sense of smell that's heightened because of being pregnant? Wiley's sniffing this pet-friendly room up and down, too, like you wouldn't believe.)

Sitting here, not quite ready for bed yet, I'm finally mentally unplugged enough to realize the steady hum I've been hearing is not traffic, not the port, not the train depot. It's just the rolling crash of wave upon wave a few dozen yards from here. It's a little mesmerizing now that I'm in tune with it. Clearly, I've been too wound up at work if it took several hours and finally muting the TV for that to register. Still, nice, eh?

And I've noticed lately, too, on my long rides home from work each night that I'm not just seeing, but also smelling things I never would have before. One part of my ride smells like a bakery -- like fresh bread, specifically -- but I'm pretty sure there's no bakery nearby. There's also one part, down just a couple of feet off the riverfront in downtown Portland, where I can smell the fresh water -- part river, part current, part fish, part air sweeping across it. I keep hoping the dudes fishing there on the esplanade don't rear back with their gear and snag me or some other passerby one of these evenings with a big ol' hook.

I've been riding my bike to work for five weeks now, and tonight was the first time I didn't ride home. It felt weird not seeing my bike parked there near my desk during the work day. It felt weirder not to get on it to head home when the day was done. That was because while this morning I rode to MAX, light-railed it downtown, and then biked to work as usual, around 10 a.m. I pedaled over to River City to drop my ride off for a tune-up. So Amy picked me up downtown after work and we drove straight to the coast. And as we sat in rush-hour traffic, alternating between the gas and the brake, checking the rearview to make sure no one was coming up fast, I realized it's been a while since I've been behind the wheel of a car for any extended period of time. Felt kind of weird.

Of course, so did nearly getting doored (see entry No. 1, mom) on Interstate during my ride home yesterday. So did the two head-up-their-asses pedestrians who yelled at me yesterday when they were jaywalking or generally stumbling around clueless. So it's not like biking is all bliss. Though I am liking it.

But this weekend, it's nothing but the beach ahead of us. And we've got perfect weather, too. Today was in the 90s in Portland. Tomorrow's supposed to be in the 80s here. I'm looking forward to the feel of the sand between my toes.

And the smell of the ocean.

And the taste of that taffy.

And, through it all, the sound of those waves.

Bump

2008-04-20T20:18:00.000-07:00

We've got ourselves an official baby bump. Brangelina, watch out.
I told her she's glowing.
Word is we're having a boy. Confirmation coming soon. Any suggestions on names?

A nice ride home

2008-04-19T17:28:00.000-07:00

From the middle of the Interstate Bridge over the Columbia River, which separates Oregon and Washington. One little thing I never would've noticed in the car: the family (families?) of rabbits that live on the northwest corner of the bridge, right at the run-up to the bike path.

My new commute

2008-04-12T23:24:00.000-07:00

It's only been one week, but I'm liking this bike commute more than I ever imagined I might. Even in the rain, it's not bad at all. So far, at least.

I'm riding in the morning the roughly three miles to the MAX station, where I can catch a train downtown and then ride my bike the five or so blocks to work. Most evenings, especially when I get off late, I do the same on my return trip home.

Friday, though, was a beautiful day and I got off around 5:30 so I biked the whole way home. I hope to do that more in the evenings this summer and into the fall, at least. I imagined it would be a great way to unwind at the end of a long day and indeed it is. It's about 11 miles in the car, so maybe slightly longer with the twist and turns of the bike route. Minus one hill that kicks my ass, I love it. And I made better time biking straight through than I would had I taken the train most of the way, as I do most days.

Morning or afternoon, there's a certain satisfaction that comes from seeing that you're going faster on a bike than cars stuck in rush hour on the interstate are.

Plus, it's cheaper and healthier, too. All the better for when we have the baby this fall. Nice to know I'm getting to work in a more sustainable way and taking better care of myself at the same time.

Overheard in a Cambridge bar

2008-03-27T19:31:00.000-07:00

I'm back in the Boston area this week on a work trip. After a couple of long days here, I went to a club about the size of my living room last night to catch a Portland band I'd never seen in concert. Blitzen Trapper (above, though fuzzy; blame the iPhone's crummy camera) was worth the wait even though they didn't take the stage until midnight, but what I heard while standing in line for tickets was what I'll remember most.

A group of college-age friends were packed into a booth by the door. One of them, a woman, amid a lull in the death metal barraging us from the club next door, said: "Librarians are so hot. If I could find me a librarian I'd..." Then the death metal returned and drowned her out.

Only at Harvard, I thought. Certainly not something I ever heard in college back home.

Pregnant

2008-03-14T23:03:00.000-07:00

We're expecting. (Hoping the kid's not so poorly focused come roundabout late September.)

ID theft

2008-03-14T22:50:00.000-07:00

My favorite living author, Sherman Alexie, pops up again. An excerpt from a LA Weekly piece well worth reading in full, available here:

And then I turn the corner and see him, the Indian guy onstage. He’s taller than me. His skin is much darker. His black hair is twisted into perfect braids. I’m jealous. I mean, yes, I’m a handsome guy, but the man onstage is gorgeous. He looks far more Indian than I do. Everything about him screams Indian. I feel inadequate in his presence. How am I going to read my poems after he has already read my poems so well? But then he sees me. He stops performing.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks me. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Training wheels

2008-03-08T20:35:00.001-08:00

Eight years in, Portland's really rubbing off on me. The latest proof: Got a new bike today. I am about as excited as I was when I got my first real bike as a little boy. Which is to say very excited. Here's what it looks like: As soon as warmer weather decides to stick around, I'm going to start riding at least part of the way to work. If I don't ride the full 10 or so miles in, I'll at least ride to the MAX and go from there. Either way, soon I won't be sitting in traffic on I-5, burning gas, wasting money and losing time. Plus, I'll be healthier, too.

Six-million-dollar man

2008-02-21T20:56:00.000-08:00

Football is king back home, and the coach at our alma mater will make about $6 million this year, it was reported today. Coolest (or most depressing) part of the story, though, was this device, which allows you to compare what you make to what he'll make.

Check it out: Bob Stoops' salary calculator.

On leadership

2008-02-17T11:33:00.000-08:00

"This is not a democracy. At best, it's a benevolent dictatorship."

I first heard that saying - in that instance, explaining an editor's power to make decisions - in college at The Oklahoma Daily. Loved it then, love it now. It's all about leadership, which always fascinates me, be it good or bad.

Which is why I am not ashamed to admit I love - LOVE - Parade magazine's annual top 10 list of the world's worst dictators. It is the US Weekly equivalent of Amy's weekly must-have celebritnews. It came out today.

Thing is, this year's list was really depressing. They're all genuinely bad guys. Really, just about every entry includes words like torture, execution, starvation, stoning and so on. Grim stuff, to be sure.

The list just hasn't been the same since Saparmurat Niyazov died in December 2006. He did some shady stuff, to be sure, but he also reportedly did flat-out crazy, relatively harmless, cult-of-personality stuff such as:

Shut off cable television to his country after a documentary he did not like aired.
Rename months and days of the week after his family.
Order physicians to give up the Hippocratic Oath and to swear allegiance to him instead.

"I admit it," he once said, "there are too many portraits, pictures and monuments. I don't find any pleasure in it, but the people demand it because of their mentality."

Now, 14 months after his death, it sounds like Turkmenistan is, well, not much different than it was when he was around. Read about it here.

Perhaps Parade's dictator issue offers a little perspective as our political process plays itself out, and does so with a large contingent of voters more enthusiastically involved than my generation has ever seen before. Still, somehow, some are calling the buzz around a certain candidate a "cult of personality."

Sigh.

Weekend getaway

2008-02-11T19:58:00.001-08:00

Back from a great weekend with friends in Bend. Thanks to Micah's folks, Deb and Jack, for hosting. And thanks to Mike for the pic. It was so good to be together with (most of) the Vancooter group. Seems like it's harder and harder to get everyone together these days.

Front row, from left: Me, Amy, Erin, Erik and Jack.
Second row, from left: Amelia, Micah, Stephanie, Susan, Anna and Mike.
Back row: Deb and Jack.

Is this why people have a kid?

2008-02-06T22:27:00.000-08:00

Dolorean, almost

2008-01-26T23:31:00.000-08:00

Got to see Al James, the lead singer of Dolorean, play an opening set at Mississippi Studios last night. He performed some material from the upcoming release, "The Unfazed," which focuses on turning 30. That - coupled with my liking of his band, which wasn't playing - was the big draw. Friend Dan was kind enough to come out for the show, too.

James did some of the "Unfazed" songs, read some poetry by Robert Bly and apologized to his mother - who was sitting behind us - for playing some songs with curse words. He talked a lot - in words and music - about the challenges of reaching 30 as a musician who hasn't got that big break but who keeps plugging away for something he's clearly passionate about. And really, what's life without something you're passionate about?

In a weird twist of fate, Oklahoman Garth Brooks, retired country music superstar, played a show in Los Angeles last night. Part of it was televised live on CBS. Thing is, Brooks doesn't exactly need the money. In fact, he was donating proceeds from that and a few other shows to firefighters who battled the wildfires in Southern California last year. That crowd on CBS last night - which I caught a bit of before heading to Mississippi Studios - was going absolutely berserk for that old guy who, for the most part, was playing 10- to 15-year-old material.

So it was kind of bittersweet when James started talking about watching all these younger bands in Portland making it, and how he'd taken - for one day - a job in a cabinet-making shop, but quit after having a box dropped on his hand and shooting a nail in his finger. Kind of a bum deal for a guy who plays guitar. Then, amid a set of gorgeous mostly new material (and a sweet Dylan cover), he said it all made him want to play, of all things, a Garth Brooks song that's always been distinctly country to me, but last night seemed decidedly less so: "Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)."

The chorus pretty well sums it up:

And the white line's getting longer and the saddle's getting cold
I'm much too young to feel this damn old
All my cards are on the table with no ace left in the hole
I'm much too young to feel this damn old

So go check out his stuff if you haven't already. As the headliner, Barton Carroll, said in his set: CDs are available in the back, for those of you who still buy them. If you don't, if you get your music free online, maybe you can buy me a coffee sometime. Like a six-dollar cappuccino. I mean, I drink two-dollar coffee, but I gotta make a living here.

Viva, Part II: Las Vegas

2008-01-24T19:30:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows Las Vegas in Nevada, but we're convinced it really is in a foreign country. They should require passports to get in and out. Marrakesh is wild, but Vegas is flat-out crazy. I haven't seen so many people - including people entirely too old to be doing this stuff - drinking before noon this side of a OU-Texas tailgate party.

That said, we had a great time there, where we stayed at the MGM Grand, even though the first 12 hours or so were complete culture shock. After that first night, though, we were mentally prepared for the rest of the trip and had been upgraded to a nice suite with a good view. Having a quiet place to retreat from the chaos and smoke was, for us, key.

The view from our room on the 26th floor.

Walk a little ways down the street from our hotel and, boom, you're in Paris. See? Foreign. Didn't even have to deal with the TSA.

Here Amy enjoys the late-afternoon glow of the sunset in Venice. Or maybe it was the painted ceiling of the Venetian.

Stroll out the doors of the MGM and just like that you've arrived in New York, New York.

Caught a couple of great shows: Spamalot (funny) at the Wynn and Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity (funny and sexy and, ultimately, sweet and romantic) at New York, New York.

While we were at the Wynn, we hung out in the sports book before the show started and caught the end of the Packers-Giants NFC championship game. Cracked me up to hear the Voice of God of Gambling come over the intercom with seconds left in regulation to say overtime betting would be available if the game went that far. And then, no more than 45 seconds after the winning field goal in OT, the Voice of God of Gambling returned to tell us all the initial Super Bowl spread and say that bets were now being taken.

Of course, at that point a Giants fan's celebration had gotten so out of hand that a Packers' fan was on the verge of kicking some ass. This was about five feet from where we sat.

Which brings me to what our friend Terry describes as the Ugly American syndrome of Vegas. They're everywhere - not just at Toby Keith's bar at Harrah's, though I'm sure they're overwhelming that place, too. Basically, it's cheap to get to this big-time party town (not so cheap once you're there, though) so it draws a broad cross-section of Americana. High-class, middle-class, low-class, no-class, they're all there. And most of them are drunk out of their minds, smoking like chimneys and throwing cash around like they just won Powerball. Our favorites, though, were the ones who brought their kids -- from those in strollers to those actually old enough to walk.

And kids were everywhere. Hannah Montana was playing the MGM Grand the weekend we arrived - apparently John Mayer was backstage, selling out what sliver of a soul he might have had left. We didn't see Miley Cyrus' dad, Billy Ray, but we did see plenty - PLENTY - of mullets.

So the people watching was plentiful. As were the eating options, but I'll boil those down to two can't-miss stops. On the Strip, check out L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon inside the MGM. Spendy, but fun, especially with the inside-the-kitchen view you get while sitting at the counter and talking to the servers. Off the Strip, as confirmed by our server at L'Atelier, the must-visit place is Rosemary's Restaurant, about 10 miles to the northwest. It's in a strip mall, but America's Vancouver is proof fine dining can co-exist with strip malls (Roots, 360, etc.) Rosemary's has exemplary service, a great beer selection (all the nicer after all the swill they serve on the Strip) and terrific food. Best money we spent in Vegas, I'd say.

Great trip, good timing (avoided the fire yesterday at the Monte Carlo) and lots of fun. That said, it's very nice to be home.

Viva, Part I: La transportación

2008-01-23T23:30:00.000-08:00

We're back from a long weekend in Las Vegas. I'm not sure where to start describing it, but in the end we had a very good time.

After backpacking around Mexico and Morocco on recent vacations, we wanted something with a taste of adventure and a little of the unknown. Somehow, we settled on Vegas. It's adventuresome, no doubt, but in an entirely different way than those previous trips. And it was certainly an unknown to both of us. Still another selling point: it would be faster - and cheaper, we hoped - than another international trip.

First, though, bounce back to last Saturday. After a snowy week in the Boston-Cambridge area, the wakeup call came around 4 a.m. On the heels of a long farewell night out with the Maynard crew, that O-Dark-Thirty ringing of the phone was particularly cruel.

The Chips Quinn Scholars contingent was seven-strong at Maynard Media Academy. From left: Erin McKinney, Maynard; Kara Andrade, Maynard; me; LaSharah Bunting, The New York Times; Minal Gandhi, St. Louis Post Dispatch; Jon Perez, Rocky Mountain News; Staci Brown Brooks, Birmingham News.

Thankfully, though, that call ensured I got to Logan for a 6-something flight to, of all places, Dallas, Texas. That's the city - for reasons both real and imagined, fair and unfair - I despise more than any other on the planet. As travel writer Chuck Thompson said in a hilarious book I finished in this day of marathon flying: "... it's perhaps only outsiders who can completely appreciate the magnificent sense of relief and elation you get watching that fucking town disappear in your rearview mirror."

Now, my apologies in advance for what will turn out to be roughly a four-paragraph aside.

I think the stomach-churning emotion I feel toward Dallas stems from my issues with my own hometown's longstanding discomfort with itself. Hank Stuever has previously summed up that sentiment, however, much more eloquently than I could ever put it. Stuever, the Washington Post journalist extraordinarie and an alum of the same private high school my childhood next-door neighbor attended, was a finalist for the Pulitzer for a piece he wrote upon going home in the wake of the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. In that piece, he wrote:

"There were dreams about getting out of here. ... What you need to know about that urban heartland is how it can weigh upon you. What you need to know about the Bible Belt is how tightly it can cinch. What you need to know about a comfortable place is how discomforting predictability can be. Some of us did move away. Others stayed in Oklahoma, opting for a literal and emotional 'Okay,' ... Here is a metropolis that in its wildest dreams that aspired only to be more like Dallas."

So, yeah, I hate Dallas. And I'm reminded of it each time I feel my body tense up when I fly or drive through there. I hate it for all its ego and money, gridlock and greed, sprawl and silicone, peroxide and politics, and the fact that some of my high school classmates went on to embrace all that like lemmings marching over the cliff. At its core, I think, the draw was this: It was just far enough to seem different, big enough to feel like somewhere and money-driven enough to appeal to our baser selves, all while being close enough to crawl home if you fucked it up.

Perhaps that's all some psychoanalytical self-loathing in what could've been the rearview mirror of my life at one point in time. And maybe my friends and family - good folks all - who have lived in or survived Dallas can convince me otherwise. But that was neither here not there when I hit DFW five hours into my long-haul-trucker day of travel. Dallas was no destination. Rather, much like for the bewildered old Amish family fearfully searching for a bathroom in Terminal C, it was nothing more than a piss-'n-go stop.

After a mercifully short layover and a four-plus hour flight, I was happily back in Portland. And as if on cue, our flight touched down in that steady, soft, cleansing winter rain that turns the sky here the same shade of gray as the Columbia River. I swear, upon landing one woman on the plane started talking loud enough for all to hear about how much she'd missed this sweet, sweet rain.

Amy picked me up, we ran home, I unpacked a week's worth of work clothes, did some laundry and repacked some proper vacation clothes. Less than four hours later it was back to the airport for the two-hour flight to what we soon would learn would be a foreign vacation destination after all: Vegas.

But that'll have to be for tomorrow. It's getting late, and we're all - Wiley included - looking forward to sleeping in our bed in our house together for the first time in almost two weeks.

More from Maynard

2008-01-16T18:11:00.000-08:00

Today was our short day, running from 8-3. On our lunch break I ducked into the room at the Lippmann House that is named for Robert C. Maynard. He's the man behind the institute that runs this program, and he was one of the great journalists of our time.

It was nice to grab a few minutes in there, seeing the face and mementos about a legendary man. Then, to cap the moment, I found the names of two editors of The Oregonian while I was reading a plaque on another wall in that room. They were listed among people who have been key supporters of the institute over the years.

After we wrapped for the day, I dumped my bag back at the hotel and went for a long walk around Cambridge until sunset. Came across this scene late in the day in a park across from campus. Pretty site.

Finally, capped the night with a trip to the movies to see Daniel Day-Lewis' dominating performance in "There Will Be Blood." One of the best I've seen in years.

Hah-vad

2008-01-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

Lippmann House is our home away from home this week. This was how it looked as we finished the walk over this morning. All this snow makes things even more beautiful.

We had a great day of sessions, including one led by Francisco de Asis Martinez-Jerez, an assistant professor of business administration at the business school here. Wow. He was the most engaging and enlightening professor I've ever witnessed. I can't imagine what this place is like if all the professors are that stunning. We talked about organizational systems, how they're structured, how they work and how they break down. And how leadership drives all of that. I loved every minute of it.

It's been years since I've thought of going back to school, but this professor left me thinking how much fun it might be to get an MBA.

Tomorrow we have a short day, so I'm hoping to get to see more of campus and maybe cross the Charles and check out a bit of Boston. The Trail Blazers are in town tomorrow night, too. Hmmmm.

So this is what they call a Nor'easter

2008-01-14T03:39:00.000-08:00

A little more than six hours later, it looks like this out my window.

At least it blew in after I did.

Boston.com, somehow, is taking it in stride. Back in the Northwest, we'd be on virtual lockdown and talking about BLIZZARD '08.

Who'd have thunk it?

2008-01-13T19:36:00.000-08:00

So I am at Harvard for the week. Frightening thought, no? It pretty well scares the bejesus out of my dumbass.

I'm here on a business trip and will get to come back for another week in March, all in the name of journalism education with some young, diverse managers (really, is there possibly a more uninspiring word than "manager"?) from around the country. Should be a special week if I don't let the surroundings overwhelm me.

Funny thing: When I was wrapping up high school I applied here on a whim (there was no way in hell I would have been able to pay the tuition, much less cut it here). Funnier thing, though: I got in. I filed that acceptance letter away in a box somewhere when I went across town to start at the University of Oklahoma. Now, nearly 13 years later, I have to laugh a bit at it all.

The view from my room ahead of a blizzard that's expected to hit in about an hour. They're saying we could get up to a foot of snow tomorrow.

No, really. I am here. The letterhead proves it. I'm still scratching my head, though. As one of the speakers said tonight at dinner: Consider yourselves lucky - you're at Harvard and you didn't even have to take a test.

8 years in blur

2007-12-14T19:05:00.000-08:00

An eight-year time-lapse photo project from Detroit artist Jonathan Keller as he goes from his 20s to his 30s. As The New York Times writes, he plans to continue the project until the day he dies.

Living My Life Faster - 8 years of JK's Daily Photo Project from c71123 on Vimeo.

Year-ender benders: 10 4 07

2007-11-29T18:34:00.000-08:00

First, a disclaimer: These year-end music lists are wildly overdone. That very fact is what's kept me from ever doing one of these before, and what might keep me from ever doing one again. That said, it's been a very good music year for me, all around. I've seen more shows and been introduced to more new music than ever before and I've even played a little music myself - poorly but happily - on several occasions.

Basically, if you know me, you know I'm a big music fan. I'm not a music snob; not that there's anything wrong with those folks - some of them are my very good friends, and they're among the people who've introduced me to some of the best music I've come across. (Thanks, Quentin.)

So, with that said, here's my top 10 songs of 2007. I'm posting them now because I'm on vacation this week and I fully expect December to be chaotic. My twist on the traditional list: The first five are from bands I was lucky enough to see in person this year. The second five are ones I discovered, rediscovered or was introduced to otherwise this year. Clearly, they weren't all released in 2007. And they're listed in no particular order.

Whether you're a music snob, fan or novice, I hope you find something here to enjoy. It's been fun listening to all of it this year.

1. "West"
Lucinda Williams, West
June 10, Crystal Ballroom

We went to see her on the night of my 30th birthday. I don't think she played this one, but it's one of my bittersweet favorites from her latest release nonetheless. It includes these two verses, which are a fitting description of one of the driving forces - to me, at least - behind our migration here almost a decade ago now:

Come out west and see
The best that it could be
I know you won’t stay permanently
But come out west and see

Who knows what the future holds
Or where the cards may fall
But if you don’t come out west and see
You’ll never know at all

I think often of the sentiment behind those lines. In particular, it hits me each time we drive as far west as these roads go - which we don't do nearly often enough - and watch the sun sink into the Pacific.

2. "Impossible Germany"
Wilco, Sky Blue Sky
Aug. 22, Edgefield
Previous post

This was one of the songs I most wanted to hear at what was my most anticipated concert of the year. And about an hour or so into the set - in a night full of great songs - the band delivered just as I'd hoped. My favorite lines remind me of our adventure out here, alone together, each rounding out the other:

This is what love is for
To be out of place
Gorgeous and alone
Face to face

With no larger problems
That need to be erased
Nothing more important than to know
Someone's listening
Now I know, you'll be listening

Great lyrics and my all-time favorite guitar duet, between Jeff Tweedy and Nels Cline. Or as Paste Magazine put it: "(T)he two-and-a-half minutes of vocals are merely the set-up for the three-and-a-half-minute instrumental coda that delivers the emotional impact at which Tweedy’s words have already hinted. ... Their twin melodic lines diverge and converge again and again like lovers seeking both individuality and intimacy, a combination as elusive as 'an impossible Germany, an unlikely Japan.' "

Sappy? Yeah, but it's my list. Don't like it? Make your own.

3. "Your Ex-Lover is Dead"
Stars, Set Yourself on Fire
Nov. 15, Crystal Ballroom

Clearly, sappiness is out the window here - as is any illusion I'm too terribly plugged into the music scene. Although it was released more than three years ago, I hadn't heard the song until this year, and I hadn't seen this band from Montreal until this November. (Can't find an image of the concert poster from that night, so the cover of that particular album appears instead.)

Bottom line, though, is this is a great song for those odd - and here, thankfully, impossible - occasions of running into an ex:

God, that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said, "Yes, I think we've met before"
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name...

Really, for much of the show, the band was too precious for my liking - with an almost "Breakfast Club"-like vibe full of '80s earnestness, complete with the members hurling flowers into the crowd. So that's what made it all the more delicious when the band delivers such jaded lyrics amid such sweeping, elegant, layered and almost orchestral music. And it was all topped off by what my friend Jann calls the "live-music experience moment" when Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan turned their mics to the crowd at the song's peak and hundreds of us all chanted along, joyfully:

Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...

For those of us lucky enough to have lived through those bad ex's and moved on to domestic bliss, those lines are all the sweeter.

4. "Road to Joy"
Bright Eyes, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning
May 2, Crystal Ballroom

I was tempted to pick "Cleanse Song" from this year's "Cassadaga," which I like very much, and which was all the trippier amid the all-white stage setup/band attire and psychedelic-like video backdrop that was running nonstop at this show.

But as I thought back through the shows I saw this year, the version of "Road to Joy" (2005) that Conor Oberst and his crew closed the May 2 show at the Crystal with was the single-best show-stopper I experienced. (Wilco's "Via Chicago" was my favorite live song of the year, but it was the second to last song they played that night.)

"Road" kicks off fast and only gets better, with Oberst coming ever-closer to losing it as he runs through versus like these:

So I'm drinkin', breathin', writin', singin'
Every day I'm on the clock
My mind races with all my longings
But can't keep up with what I got

And so I hope I don't sound too ungrateful
What history gave modern man
A telephone to talk to strangers
Machine guns and a camera lens

So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing
It's best to join the side thats gonna win
No one's sure how all of this got started
But we're gonna make 'em goddamn certain how it's gonna end
Oh yeah we will, oh yeah we will!

Then everyone pauses to catch their breath, some militant-like drums come in and then it leads to this:

Well I could have been a famous singer
If I had some one else's voice
But failures always sounded better
Let's fuck it up, boys; make some noise!

Then they did just that, all hell broke loose and the Crystal's floating floor was bouncing like I'd never felt it before as they ran through the song's final verse. My friend Quentin said as we were walking out that he was initially surprised to hear "Road" as a closing song, but I came away thinking it was just about the perfect rock 'n' roll finisher.

5. "Spitting Venom"
Modest Mouse, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank
March 15, Crystal Ballroom

Image from stop.down @ Flickr

Another great show-stopper, but this time it's from a show I - like many others - remember entirely too little of, unfortunately. Opens with these great lines:

We were spitting venom at most everyone we know
If the damned gave us a road map then we'd know just were to go

From that oh-so-happy opening, the song builds to a near frenzy before coming to an almost complete stop about halfway through. Then the band introduces some horns, then drums, then some Johnny Marr guitar, then Isaac Brock comes back in with these decidedly more optimistic vocals:

Cheer up, baby
It always wasn't quite so bad
For every venom then that came out
The antidote was had

And then - on that night - they pushed everyone the rest of the way into that full-on frenzy before walking off the stage and leaving us all to somehow make our ways home.

6. "Just Like a Woman"
Jeff Buckley, Live at Sin-é (Legacy Edition)
Previous post

My favorite musician covers Bob Dylan. I bought this late on a Friday night in January as my qualms about the impending arrival about 30 began to set in. Was up reading about Buckley and his short 30-year life. Now, here in December, I see it has been covered by Charlotte Gainsbourg and Calexico in "I'm Not There," the new Dylan bio-pic. Out of all the versions - from the original on down - I've since heard, this is far and away my favorite.

7. "Crayon"
Caribou, Up in Flames

Sugary-sweet electronica by mathematician-turned-musician Dan Snaith of Ontario. His group has a new one out this year - "Andorra" - but this 2006 song was my introduction do the band, and it still makes me smile whenever I hear it.

8. "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi"
Radiohead, In Rainbows

My favorite band from college returns with its groundbreaking, screw-The-Man, pay-what-you-want epic album that's sure to be on many best-of lists for the ballsiness of that move alone. I loved "OK Computer" back in the late '90s, and while that one is unsurpassed in overall concept, I have to say I've been wearing this one out from Day One. Especially this track, and the one after it, "All I Need." The layers of sound, led by wave after wave after wave of guitar are almost enough to put you in a trance.

9. "Heretics"
Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha

This one's been stuck in my head since the day I got it as a free download for buying tickets to a now-canceled Decemberists concert. Maybe it's just me, but does anyone else hear a little Lou Reed in Mr. Bird's voice?

And this from a guy who was once associated with the Squirrel Nut Zippers, those swing-dancing, jazz hipsters of the late '90s fame.

10. "We Winter Wrens"
Dolorean, You Can't Win

This little Portland band - recommended by my friend Quentin a few months back - is my favorite find of the year. Their music is, as I wrote a recently, something I can listen to for hours. I'm no man of great faith in any traditional sense, and while their music is full of religious overtones it's still enthralling stuff, to me, at least. Classic lo-fi alt-country. The occasional Wilco-esque sounds don't hurt, of course.

I've been listening to song after song of theirs as I've put this listing together and their selection has been the toughest choice, hands down. They're just all good for the listening. It's a album to put on, hit play and walk away. If I had to pick favorites, I'd go with "We Winter Wrens," "Beachcomber Blues," "33-53.9°N / 118-38.8°W" and the title track - the only and prettiest song I know of to have simply one line and repeat it over and over. In doing so, though, it somehow shifts from a resigned acknowledgment of defeat to a beautiful acceptance of life's unending challenges. (Again, sappy. But it's my list.) All three of their albums, though, are well worthwhile and all too overlooked.

So, for good or bad, that's my list. All of these are available from your favored sources online. Check them out. And let me know what you liked this year.

Can my vacation have a mascot?

2007-11-28T09:19:00.000-08:00

I'm on vacation this week, doing some house projects, hitting the gym (I've done almost 50 miles on the bike at midweek - that's good, for me, at least!) and spending what I'm sure Amy would say is entirely too much time online. But in some of that surfing, I learned that this morning the Vancouver 2010 folks unveiled a series of mascots for the Winter Games.

Now, I've thought a lot - too much, some folks might argue (and this post probably confirms) - about sports mascots in the States, in particular about how the controversial images of Washington's NFL team, Cleveland's Major League Baseball team and other such instances are handled. In each of those examples, the imagery focuses on Native American people and associates stereotypical imagery - whether you think they're respectful or not - to them. And my question, always, is why should one group of people be reduced to a stereotype?

Somehow, we don't have any teams named after African Americans, Latinos, Asians or gays. But we have a lot named after Indians and some folks are adamant that those depictions not be changed for a variety of reasons. A few years ago in a great ironic twist, an intramural basketball team at the University of Northern Colorado named itself the "Fighting Whites." (Get your shirts here. Sorry, they don't appear to be available in wife-beaters. That'd be just too much, I suppose.)
All that's a long way of saying I find the imagery on tap for the 2010 Games a refreshing change of pace. Yet again, those Canaduns - as our friend Mike would say - seem to do things right. The main trio along with the official logo all reflect indigenous imagery. Nice to see a little diversity in what will bring unprecedented attention to one of our favorite cities - or favourite, as they'd write - in a few years. And nicer still to see that diversity reflected in a respectful manner, focusing on traditions and cultural stories rather than outdated stereotypes.

Funny thing, though, about the mascots. Lots of folks commenting on the main CBC story this morning and on other Canadian blogs are seriously bent out of shape over these things. For example, one person wrote in to say, "If the kids enjoy them I guess they're all right. But … nobody will know what they are unless it is explained to them."

That's right, wouldn't want to use the international spotlight to in part educate and start conversations about different cultures at an athletic event famous for uniting countries from around the world. No, that'd be bad.

C'mon. My people are from the South in many ways, and I still don't have a clue what the '96 Atlanta mascot, Izzy, was, much less what it meant - though I have seen very similar costumes at gay-pride parades. Yet, somehow those Games went on.

I suppose we should just be thankful the Games aren't in Anchorage or Juneau. If they were, somehow the U.S. organizers might have come up with a logo of a club-wielding Eskimo standing over a dead baby seal and considered themselves culturally enlightened.

Anyhow, like 'em or not, here are the images you'll see a lot of come 2010 and what they mean:

This is the Games' official logo, an inukshuk, a traditional stone sculpture used by Canada's Inuit people. They're calling it Ilanaaq (el la nawk).

These are the Games' official mascots. You know they're going to sell millions of those things between now and the closing ceremonies. As the site says, they are as follows...

Sumi: An animal spirit who lives in the mountains of British Columbia. Like many Canadians, Sumi's background is drawn from many places. He wears the hat of the orca whale, flies with the wings of the mighty thunderbird and runs on the strong furry legs of the black bear. Sumi’s name comes from the Salish word “Sumesh” which means “guardian spirit.” ... Transformation is a common theme in the art and legend of West Coast First Nations. Transformation represents the connection and kinship between the human, animal and spirit world. Revered animals, such as the orca whale, the bear and the thunderbird, are depicted in transformation through masks, totems and other forms of art. The orca is the traveler and guardian of the sea. The bear often represents strength and friendship. And the thunderbird — which creates thunder by flapping its wings — is one of the most powerful of the supernatural creatures.

Quatchi: A young sasquatch who comes from the mysterious forests of Canada. ... The sasquatch is a popular figure in local native legends of the Pacific West Coast. There is both a legendary ‘woman-of-the-woods’ (a slightly fearsome figure whose stories are told to discipline young children) and a ‘man-of-the-woods’ (a shy giant who lurks in the forests). The sasquatch reminds us of the mystery and wonder that exist in the natural world, igniting our imagination about the possibility of fantastical creatures in the great Canadian wilderness.

Miga: A young sea bear who lives in the ocean with her family pod, out past Vancouver Island near Tofino, British Columbia. Sea bears are part killer whale and part bear. Miga is part Kermode bear, a rare white bear that only lives in British Columbia. ... The sea bear is inspired by the legends of the Pacific Northwest First Nations, tales of orca whales that transform into bears when they arrive on land. The Kermode bear is a rare white or cream-coloured sub-species of the black bear that is unique to the central West Coast of British Columbia. According to First Nations’ legend, Kermode bears — also known as Spirit Bears — were turned white by Raven to remind people of the Ice Age. Orcas are also honoured in the art and stories of West Coast First Nations, as travelers and guardians of the sea.

Part 2 of the Alexie video posted earlier

2007-11-27T18:33:00.000-08:00

Go Indians (finally, for once, it's appropriate)

2007-11-21T21:38:00.000-08:00

Last week one of my favorite authors, Sherman Alexie, won the National Book Award for young people's literature for his most recent effort, "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian." If you haven't read it, check it out. Regardless of age or race, there's something universal to his autobiographical story that's both powerful and beautiful.

I had the chance to attend one of his readings a few months back when he came through the Portland area and spoke a few miles from my office. Funny guy, in print. Funnier guy, in person (see video below). He's kind of the new Kurt Vonnegut for me - someone who addresses life's tragedies head on, often with a healthy dose of humor, which is often the only way to survive, as Kurt wrote. But more valuable than that in my eyes, with this book he seems to have fully stepped into an exciting and important role that's been foisted upon him - like it or not - for some time now: Indian role model.

Alexie is Spokane/Coeur d'Alene. He grew up not too many hours from where we live now. I used to work with a Yakama woman who knew him back before he became, oh, just one of the best writers and most famous Indians alive today. He's pretty much the closest thing there is to an Indian rock star, as evidenced by the number of us who turned out that night in Beaverton to see him speak. I'd never seen so many rez plates and Leonard Peltier bumper stickers in seven-plus years in lily-white Oregon as I did that night. And that was before I walked in and saw a crowd full of proud Indian folks. It was like going home, in a way.

So there I sat, in the back row, listening to his reading and the Q&A that followed in which he talked about the "irony of indigenous immigration" one minute and how "even the evergreens are paler in Oregon" the next, just smiling and feeling like it was, somehow, an important moment. I realized as he spoke that I was watching something I never would've seen as a kid. The only real Indian role models I knew of - beyond immediate family - were the dead ones in history books, and those all have a certain, um, bent to them.

Part of me wanted to tell him about that afterward, although it would have only completed the the fanboy-meets-rockstar-and-geeks-out moment.

In the end, my friend Casey and I did get to talk with him afterward - after she totally caught him off guard by complimenting him on his sportscoat, which he swore to us came from T.J. Maxx, which got us all to talking about places to score cheap clothes (how Indian is that?) - and he told us a funny story. Turns out about the time he met his future wife, he was trying to ask out my former colleague. Or something like that. I don't remember all the details. Like I said, I was a little star-struck.

I mean, this guy is a famous Indian role model. And he's actually alive. And there I was shaking his hand and carrying on a conversation thinking, "He's only 11 years older than I am (what am I doing with my life?!) ... I know someone who knows him ... This guy was on national television last night, albeit on 'The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.' (Wait, why aren't Letterman or Leno or Charlie Rose inviting the Indian guy on? Oh, yeah. He's done at least some of their shows before, too.")

So with all that going through my head, no, I didn't go all fanboy. I did get his autograph, though, and as I walked away I said a big, open-ended "Thank you." It was for the moment, for the memory and for the book I'm someday going to make sure our kids treasure for not only what it says but what it means. And if I'm lucky, when that day comes, they'll roll their eyes at me because living Indian role models - much less meeting them - won't be any big deal at all. Not anymore.

Good reads

2007-11-08T20:51:00.000-08:00

More from the NYT on two things that are big in Portland, bicyclists and foodies: "In Portland, Cultivating a Culture of Two Wheels" and "Outrageous? He's Heard That Before."

And one of my favorite writers re-emerges to write about what he's been doing since leaving the aforementioned publication: "Charlie LeDuff on life as a stay-at-home dad."

Life, lately

2007-11-02T23:53:00.000-07:00

From last weekend's annual McPrince carving party

My friend Quentin recently tipped me off to a good, little-known Portland band called Dolorean that I've been listening to a lot lately. Good stuff for this time in life, at this time of year, as the last of the leaves pile up and the mornings turn from crisp to see-your-breath cold. Just this week I started having to scrape my windshield in the mornings before leaving the house.

For tonight, though, forget the chill. Amy's upstairs in bed and here I sit, curled up with Wiley, sipping a stout called "Old Viscosity," listening to what one reviewer calls the "ambient folk-rock" sound of Dolorean's three albums - "Not Exotic," "Violence in the Snowy Fields" and "You Can't Win." It has me thinking about something Q sent me in an e-mail about the next album the band's lead singer will be working on. The note, taken from their site, reads as follows: " 'The Unfazed' will be an austere affair focusing on turning 30 years old, growing up, giving up, finding unbelievable happiness in being honest with the people around you and living very simply.' "

Amen, brother.

Last weekend we had, as pictured above, the annual McPrince Halloween carving party. It was a reminder in the inevitability of growing up. It was fairly austere, too - Amy limited her cooking to chili and a tasty bread pudding. Amy and I dressed up as the ghosts of this 100-year-old house's past, playing off the way-too-new slab of concrete oddly placed in our 1907 garage. (She was the dead wife; I, the shovel-wielding dirtbag husband. Maybe Susan can shoot us a copy of the "American Gothic"-esque picture she snapped, or maybe we'll get another shot tomorrow night if we re-create the spectacle for Hugo's legendary neighborhood party.) When we started our little party three or so years ago, it was all big people. Now, I swear, the little ones are soon to outnumber us. Wiley was surrounded and overwhelmed. And, I think, quite happily exhausted by the end of the night.

Back to that quote, though. I'm not one for giving up; Amy would be the first to vouch for how that stubborn-as-a-mule Prince streak will likely preclude that from ever happening, in damn near any capacity. But I am, in a sense, finding ever more enjoyment in living more simply and directly. Being healthier, more balanced, settling down to a greater extent. As my friend Casey noted yesterday, domesticated life ain't half bad. In fact, it's pretty damn good.

Along those lines, we hit a barn dance on Sauvie Island last weekend with fellow Vancooters the Robinwoods and honorary ex-pats the Nieloways. Their wee Anna was a delight all the while, whether the gang was gathered around a big bonfire or two-stepping to the always-entertaining tunes of Lisa and Her Kin.

But enough about the week past. The one to come has potential to bring big - exciting and crazy - change, too.

Or, to again quote the boys from Dolorean: "They all told me at different times to go ahead and go all the way into that feeling and try to come out on the other side. As the project wore on I eventually did, and the sentiment of "You Can't Win" changed drastically. Instead of the frustration that I was feeling early on there was a renewed appreciation of hard work, a belief in the complexity of love, and a newfound joy in creating..."

Greetings from sticky St. Pete

2007-10-21T18:53:00.000-07:00

I'm in Florida, land of humidity, for a week of edumicatin'. On my walk back to the hotel this evening I passed this sign. Note the bottom line.

Think they ever get a call from a guy who says, "Yeah, I need a root canal and I'm the biggest weenie you can imagine..."?

All the news that's fit to dish

2007-09-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

The NYT's fallen, and fallen hard, for Portland, aka foodie heaven. Go figure.

This is a golden age of dining and drinking in a city that 15 years ago was about as cutting edge as a tomato in January. Every little neighborhood in this city of funky neighborhoods now seems to be exploding with restaurants, food shops and markets, all benefiting from a critical mass of passion, skill and experience, and all constructed according to the gospel of locally grown ingredients.

And later...

“This is one of the very few places on the West Coast that has been an affordable place to live,” said Andy Ricker, who in 2005 opened Pok Pok, which started under his obsessive eye as a ramshackle Thai takeout shack and now has a hip little dining room as well. “There are a ton of people here who are going at it in sort of an indie rock way, mostly because they can.”

Ah, the indie rock thing in Portland. We're ground zero for that, too, apparently, but that's a whole different story. But both the food and the music scenes (and many other things shaking out in this city) today are clearly being driven by the much hyped "young creative class," which has been flocking here for years, as it starts to influence in very tangible ways what traditionally has seemed to be a very old-guard city.

It's all part of why we love it so much here. But at the same time, you have to wonder what unintended consequences this kind of swooning coverage will end up having on our adopted town.

Down, set, crazy

2007-09-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

Like I've always said, I don't think anyone takes their football as seriously as Oklahomans. And this guy's not even the coach of the good school back home.

Mo, Mo, Morocco

2007-09-23T01:05:00.000-07:00

It was a year ago this evening that I sat atop a sand dune in the Sahara and watched the sunset, as shown in the photograph at the top of this blog and below in a painting by our friend Jim Torson.

To commemorate the anniversary of the trip, Amy made us a great dinner using spices we picked up in Chefchaouen.

Then we watched Hitchcock's "The Man Who Knew Too Much," which was filmed in Morocco, and includes the original version of the famous song "Que Sera, Sera."

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Words to live by, no?

Closing out summer

2007-09-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

The leaves are starting to turn, the morning air is crisp and we've been on vacation only once this year. With that in mind, we took some much-needed time and carved out a long weekend in the other Vancouver with friends the Slighterallis.

I'll leave the foodie discussions to Amy over at the Dinner Hour. But suffice it to say that Dan and I think Juliana and Amy could talk about food 24/7 if given the chance. So it was only fitting we took our foodies to Granville Island, where they met a couple of hunky guys over a pile of raspberries.

I hope to write more about the trip later this week. But whether or not I get back to that, it was a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed the time when Dan and I crawled down to the waterfront along Burrard Inlet on Stanley Park's west side and played with the stacked stones, a tradition that I believe was started by the First Nations people. Here, Amy investigates whether they are truly stacked or actually cemented together in some fashion.

Not long before that I'd done the same thing, on another stack, and managed to knock over the pile. So after feeling like a cultural trespasser of some sort I'd embarked on a re-creation projection. I'll be the first to say that mine was nothing like the originals, but it did go four stones high. I'm pretty proud of that. Attempt to put one together and you'll quickly learn it's a Zen-like exercise in balance and patience.

Here, on the right in the foreground, is how mine looked. You'll see many more of these in a couple of years, when Vancouver hosts the 2010 Winter Olympics at Whistler.

Thanks, Dan and Juliana, for a great trip. And happy anniversary.

Big and little drummer boys

2007-08-29T21:03:00.001-07:00

I got to help Luke, Dina and Ryan's oldest son, learn to drum last night at the final Mint Tea circle of the summer. Fun night. Luke seemed pretty mesmerized by it all - and really, who wouldn't be at that age?

I think that drumstick is bigger than he is. But that's the way it should be. Let your reach exceed your grasp, right? Today, at work, the whole night reminded me of this line, which - fittingly enough - I read in a story I was editing this morning.

"I tell my kids: ‘I don’t want you to be note punchers. I want you to be able to feel the music and put some emotion in it.’"

Whenever Amy and I have kids, I think that's the way to go. Somethings are not about doing by the notes. Instead, they're about going where the feeling leads you. That's been a lesson I was probably slow to learn.

Anyhow, the hippie-trippy dancing, always part of the show, fascinates the little ones.

Luke played until it appeared exhaustion was setting in. After that, the usual crowd played and played and played. Went for two-plus hours. I left well after dark, bouncing home, drumming all the way with wonderfully sore hands and a huge smile on my face.

Looking forward to next year's circles - and maybe some here and there over the fall and winter.

You know football season is near...

2007-08-25T10:21:00.001-07:00

When, as a Sooners fan, you see a story with a headline like this - "How rivalry became violent" - and somehow you aren't surprised. (A Texas paper puts a little different slant on the story.)

Either way, it brings all new meaning to the the old "Tuck Fexas" T-shirts and bumper stickers that pop up each October in Norman.

This, of course, comes just as people here have stopped asking me whether I knew any of the Oklahomans who were making death threats against the Pac-10 official who blew the call in last year's OU-UO game.

The whole deal, though, makes me scratch my head over how crazed some people get about their teams. Out here in Oregon and Washington, there are some loons, for sure, but I don't think anyone takes their football that seriously. One, their teams just aren't that good. Two, there's so many other things than football to be caught up in.

Oh, well. The season starts a week from today. Let the madness really begin.

Red-Eyed and Blue*

2007-08-23T20:48:00.001-07:00

Now that was what I needed.

Here, the guys from Wilco - plus a couple of their friends from the Minus 5, or this other band you might have heard of ... R.E.M. - open the second encore of last night's show with the long-awaited and much loved "California Stars." This was the biggest sing-a-long portion of last night's concert, by far. Maybe it's just the Oklahoman in me, but Woody Guthrie's lyrics just seem to call out for that, don't they?

From left: Nels Cline, Scott McCaughey of the Minus 5/R.E.M. on keyboards, Jeff Tweedy, Glenn Kotche on drums, John Stirratt on bass, Peter Buck of the Minus 5/R.E.M. and Pat Sansone on keyboards.

First, the setlist from Edgefield...

Either Way; You Are My Face; I Am Trying to Break Your Heart; Remember the Mountain Bed; Handshake Drugs; Pot Kettle Black; A Shot in the Arm; Side with the Seeds; Shake it Off; War on War; Impossible Germany; Too Far Apart; Jesus, Etc.; Walken; I'm the Man who Loves You; Hummingbird; On and On and On. 1st encore: Bob Dylan's 49th Beard, The Late Greats, Hate it Here, I'm Always in Love, Outta Mind (Outta Site). 2nd encore: California Stars (with McCaughey on keyboards and Buck on electric guitar), Heavy Metal Drummer, Via Chicago and Spiders (Kidsmoke)

That's 26 songs over more than two hours.

And no matter how much pints of beer or bottles of wine people drank or how much pot they smoked - and there was so much of the latter that Tweedy inquired about the "bongfire" raging in the first few rows - they came away in awe of Nels Cline's guitar masterwork.

Holy shit. The things that man can do with a guitar might very well be illegal in some parts of the Bible Belt. I could have spent the better part of the evening just happily watching him get lost in the music whenever that downright possessed, ecstasy-striken expression would overcome him. Every once in a while - such as in the photo above, with Tweedy during a shared jam - Cline would peel one eye open and look up to see whether a) everyone else was still with him and b) his I've-gone-utterly-ape-shit licks had ripped a hole in the fabric of the universe and caused the world to start to collapse in on itself.

Obviously, I never got to see some of the great guitarists of the past, but listening to Cline so intensely rip through a show makes me wonder what Hendrix would've been like in person. Especially considering Tweedy has a reputation for not wanting to be upstaged, what happened at the end of the show during "Via Chicago" was amazing to watch.

In the second half or so of last night's live version there was a section where Cline would create so much feedback from his guitar that it would almost entirely mute the lines Tweedy was singing. They'd go back and forth like that - a run of audible lyrics interrupted by a drenching torrent of notes from which lyrics would suddenly re-emerge - until they brought it all together in a sudden, crisp, perfectly timed stop. As my friend Jann would say, it was a moment to be filed under "live music experiences."

And then, sadly, after one more song the lights came up and it was all over.

* Note: Tweaked the last couple of grafs because I originally wrote - incorrectly - that they were playing "Spiders (Kidsmoke)" when Cline started drowning out Tweedy. In fact, it was the second-to-last song, "Via Chicago." My mistake.

My annual concert fix

2007-08-21T21:57:00.000-07:00

Each year, it seems like there's one big show somewhere in or around Portland that I just can't miss. (Funny, this didn't happen so often in Oklahoma...)
Last year, it was Pearl Jam playing a smallish theater show up the street from my office. This year, it's Wilco (pictured above) playing on the lawn at a brewpub minutes outside of town in the Gorge.

My 15-year wait for Pearl Jam was well worth it. And although I've waited only about 10 years to see Wilco, they have gone through damn near that many members in their history. Still, I can hardly wait.

"Being There" was my introduction to the band in the late '90s. It'll finally be nice to do just that - be there - tomorrow night.

And when we are, I hope to hear "Impossible Germany" from the new "Sky Blue Sky" album that's pictured below. It includes this lovely lyric, which always makes me think of our McPrince adventure in the Northwest and beyond, relying on only each other in whatever foreign lands we may encounter:

But this is what love is for
To be out of place
Gorgeous and alone
Face to face

Or you can just watch them perform it live at Bonnaroo earlier this year:

Rhythm of the neighborhood

2007-08-18T23:28:00.000-07:00

When we went to Morocco last September the one thing I was determined to come home with was a drum.

Well, I struggle to understand how almost an entire year has gone by since then, but I have got my money's worth and then some out of the little fish-skin topped instrument I brought back from Marrakesh.

Abdul hosts drum circles during the summer months at Mint Tea. I have no training, and no skills beyond a natural interest in and love for music. And really, that's all you need. We gather at 6:30 on, roughly speaking, the nights of the full moon. A bunch of folks from the neighborhood and beyond show up -- all ages, ethnicities, backgrounds -- and we just play. And play. And play. We sit on the sidewalk outside the store and, I swear, if you let it, if you let yourself get lost in it all, you can feel the stress come out of your fingertip each time your hand comes down to deliver another beat in the song.

We usually go for around two hours. My hands are numb when I get home and usually sore for two days afterward. And only part of that is because of hitting my drum's hard ceramic edges. The rest is just from getting so into it that you just zone out and play hard.

So, the third weekend of August is always our neighborhood festival - the Uptown Village Festival. We spent a good amount of time today walking up and down Main Street, checking out the classic cars and various vendors. Tonight, HBO was taping a comedy special in one of the stores, but I was counting the minutes until I'd get to go play that drum.

An African band played until 8 and then afterward a bunch of the regulars from Mint Tea's drum circle took over the festival's main stage and got to it. We played from 8 to 10, when we had to stop for the sake of people nearby being able to sleep. But man, what fun.

We started all out of rhythm, with no lead emerging to set the course. But, slowly, sort of like as discussed on a great podcast, "Radio Lab," I listened to last week, one emerged. And when it did, when we all came together -- 10 or so strangers on a stage in the middle of the street in the dark, with people walking by and looking at us funny -- it was a beautiful thing. Strangers climbed on stage and joined in. Others stopped to dance in the street. Some just paused and smiled. But it was one of those magical little moments that reminds me why I love this neighborhood. Abdul and I, I was thinking, could just as easily have been playing on Jemaa el Fna in Marrakesh, amid the snake charmers and all-night food vendors and barbers.

Sorry, no pictures. I was too busy playing. But there's one more drum circle scheduled at Mint Tea this year -- on Aug. 28. Maybe then I'll take some pictures. Either way, I'm looking forward to it already.

Scenes of summer

2007-08-18T22:51:00.000-07:00

Here we are in mid August, wondering where the time has gone. It's been an eventful few months, which is our excuse for why summer has seemed like such a blur to us.

Some highlights in no particular order:

The One of a Kind Drumline plays before the year's first Uptown Movie Nights screening in July.

Here, Movie Nights gets started with the original "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." That's Willy on the left in the red shirt. I'd forgotten how trippy parts of that movie are.

Here's one more, from the final movie we screened, "Flash Gordon." The 1980 version, complete with one sweet Queen soundtrack.

Earlier in the summer, Amy changed jobs. Here she is the last time at Around the Table, after we picked up the last of her stuff.

Good experience, bittersweet how it went. Sad it didn't go as expected, but glad it gave Amy a good entry to the foodie biz, which she was able to use to get her new job.

Speaking of new jobs, they don't call the bureau I now work in the Duck Pond for nothing.

Meanwhile, Wiley's still ruling the roost, as always.

iLaugh

2007-07-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

David Pogue's spoof of my fellow iPhone line-sitters. You'll laugh. I know I did.

More on iPhone

2007-06-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

A few observations now that I've had a day to play with the phone...

THREE THINGS I LOVE
1. Realtime traffic mapping. I can use it to map my commute home to Vancouver from the Tigard/Tualatin area or vice versa. It will show me, as in this picture, the set mileage (19.3), but also the expected drive time (at the time this was shot, about 30 minutes) based on color-coded lines that indicate current speeds and slow spots on the highways I need to travel. If I see a red section, signaling a backup, I can pick another route. Even without Wi-Fi in our office, I'll be able to get this reading - slowly, granted - via the phone's built-in network connection before I get in the car. And once I'm on the road, I'll be able to continue charting the clearest route wherever I'm going.

2. Multitasking (Amy will hate this). Earlier, during a phone call I took on speaker phone, I responded to a running text message conversation and checked my e-mail.

3. This spot could go to some of the iPod features later (stunningly crisp video presentation, for example, with widescreen display for movies), but for now, I'll say linking straight from addresses I look up online (hmmm, where to go for dinner and how to get there?) or in my list of contacts (where does Joe live, again?) straight to Google Maps to chart their locations. If I were a reporter, man, this would be a great tool. One drawback, if the address (or phone number) on a Web page isn't hypertext, the lack of a cut-and-paste function sucks. If it is, though, just click and you're connected.

THREE THINGS I DON'T
1. The built-in network is, as advertised, REALLY slow. Sometimes it times out before pages load. And, at times, getting that alternative Wi-Fi connection can be a little tricky. Mike and I struggled to get on his home network today, and then got bounced off Portland's MetroFi a few times for some reason. That said, at our house, once I entered the home network password, the phone always goes straight for the better, faster connection. And, when I walked into the neighborhood coffee shop around the corner this morning, the phone automatically picked up that Wi-Fi and asked me if I wanted to use it.

2. No drag-and-drop loading of iTunes, at least for now. Everything must be synced to get in the system. That's fine and expected for contacts, calendars, mail and bookmarks. But it's an extra step I'd rather not have to deal with for music, podcasts and videos. Instead, in the case of music, you have to create a playlist and then sync it to the system. Once it's on, the music appears as it normally would on an iPod, but the runaround factor is annoying. And I don't recall it being advertised, which feels a little deceptive. Frustrated the hell out of me last night - and when I called this afternoon they said, "Yep, sorry, no drag-and-drop." Maybe an eventual software update can remedy that.

3. Safari, with no Flash and other limitations. Wish I could use trusty old Firefox with all the bells and whistles. But, really, as Amy will tell me, I don't need to get ALL the Web ALL the time.

iPhone frenzy

2007-06-29T23:02:00.000-07:00

Got one.

I'm pretty excited, even if I feel a little - just a little - dorky for going to stand in line for the last two hours before they went on sale at Bridgeport Village. But it was a slow day at work (for me, at least, but not for our friend Mike, who was busy) and I was able to wrap things up early. So, really, what else did I have to do?

Soon, I'm sure, Amy will be asking, "Don't you have have anything else to do this weekend but play with that damn phone?"

Still, I contend, it's a legitimate purchase. I lost my Razr a couple of weeks ago and my iPod Nano is a couple of years old and jammed full. The new iPhone takes the place of both with even more space and features. Plus, I get Mac's Address Book carried right over and all of iCal, which I love. I get weather and travel maps at my fingertips. And I can check my e-mail - both personal and work accounts - anywhere, even if the connection's a bit slow when I'm not on a WiFi network.

The whole shtick at the stores today was a little over the top. I just wanted the phone, not membership in the cult and high-fives with the "geniuses" who work at the Apple stores.

-30-

2007-06-09T22:17:00.000-07:00

In the world of journalism that age-old symbol, - 30 -, is universally known to mean you've reached the end of the story. It's what reporters out in the field would put at the bottom of their copy so that when editors received it they knew where the story was intended to close rather than where it might have been accidentally cut off during the transmission. (Oh, those dark ages before the advent of the Interweb and sat phones.)

In the months leading up to my 30th birthday, which will be tomorrow, 30 and -30- have at times felt almost synonymous. Chalk it up to my tendency to overanalyze everything just a bit. (Perhaps that - and a few beers; as Dan says, "it helps motivate" - explains last week's Buckley post that I'm pretty sure no one got.) But now that the big three-oh is a few hours away, I don't feel any anxiety at all. Even with the increasing numbers of gray hairs I keep finding in my beard and on my head.

That said, no other birthday has ever brought me that touch of concern. Sixteen was all about the excitement of getting to drive. Twenty one, from what little I recall, started with 23 shots and damn near could've been -30-. Now here's 30, staring me dead in the face and, after some initial fretting, I'm all the more ready for what's to come in the next decade. Rather than an ending, this is shaping up both at home and at work as a time of new beginnings.

I just hope I'm having as much fun when I hit 40.

"I'm only here for this moment"

2007-06-03T20:11:00.001-07:00

Last week -- Tuesday, to be precise -- marked the 10th anniversary of Jeff Buckley's death.

If you know who he is then maybe you'll get some of this. If you don't, I'm sorry, and I hope you'll still read on and maybe, sometime, give him a listen.

If you're in the later category, here's a little something to get you started, from his website:

Jeff Buckley was born in California's Orange County in 1966 and died in a tragic drowning accident in Memphis on May 29, 1997. He had emerged in New York City's avant-garde club scene in the 1990's as one of the most remarkable musical artists of his generation, acclaimed by audiences, critics, and fellow musicians alike.

Before we begin, yes, I realize just about everything that could be said about the man has already been committed to print or pixel. You can read plenty of those - from more eloquent, more insightful, more informed folks - here. Some of the bloggers who have been writing this week were even fortunate enough to have seen him perform live. (Lucky bastards.) And NPR had some good stuff timed to the anniversary that's worth a listen here.

All that said, bear with me.

I'd planned to write about this earlier. Then life got away from me - it's doing that a lot lately - and I figured the moment had passed. I figured I had nothing to add to the discussion, and, I'm still not sure I do. But this afternoon over beers and babies in the Hovdes' backyard, they mentioned their short stint in Memphis back in the mid '90s. And just like that, Buckley was back in my mind.

Now, with that introduction out of the way, I have to say the brief bio doesn't really begin to do him justice. But it'll serve as our point of departure nonetheless. And, yes, I'll be the first to say I'm sure I'm romanticizing the guy. (But really, isn't that what happens to all dead rock stars?)

For a variety of reasons, I've thought a lot about the anniversary's approach the past few months and its recent arrival. Part of it's what his music means to me - how I found it, who was in my life at the time, where my life was headed, where I am now and how his songs have been a constant through it all. Part of it is the mystique of the man himself - that voice, the ethereal range of "Hallelujah", and that guitar, from those entrancing first notes of "Last Goodbye", undoubtedly. But part of it is also his passion and what would seem to be his pain. And, no doubt, part of it is his death, both for when (at age 30, which I'll begrudgingly turn one week from today) and how (a drowning, like my uncle) it came. But, most of all, I think, it is the spirit that seems to bleed out of what he created - one epic studio album released in his life, and a ton of live and unfinished studio material, released after his death.

For my money or downloading time, there's an unmatched energy in all Buckley's music to create, and in that act of creation to stretch until hitting that spot where all self-consciousness is lost and an innate gut instinct kicks in. It's in that flicker of time that Buckley (and each of us, in those rare moments in whatever may be the pursuits of our own lives) comes utterly unhinged and sweeps himself and everyone around him away in the ecstasy of the moment that is now.

It's just gorgeous and beautiful and, for me, the epitome of the transporting powers of music. Some of the notes that man pushed himself past all natural limits to hit still give me goosebumps even as I listen to it all again tonight for the millionth time. I burned up I-35 between Wichita and Norman in late summer 1999, damn near wearing out my copy of "Grace," windows down in an old Cougar sans A/C. The wind-whipped roar of the Plains was never any match for Buckley's howl and cry as "Last Goodbye" gave way to "Hallelujah," which in turn gave way "Eternal Life" as I fled the remains of one relationship, pulled back into town and quickly found myself falling into the one - the love with Amy - that would lead to our marriage.

To hear people who saw him live tell it, he'd often stop shows and restart songs because they didn't feel right. Because, in essence, although everyone else in the building might have thought he was spot on, he knew within himself that he wasn't quite in that place that he needed to reach to create the moment he wanted to share.

For those who've been lucky enough to have even one of those moments in our life, I think the simple hope for another one is one of the things that keeps us going. I remember as a kid I'd sometimes get so deeply into whatever I was doing that I would get this tingling feeling, this rippling buzz of energy that would just wash over me at those rare instances, those most graceful and fleeting of gifts life occasionally gives us.

It's rarer still, I think, to see one captured on film. That's why I keep this - from the liner notes of the appropriately named "Grace", Buckley's one studio album released while he was still alive - on my desk wherever I work.

I love that picture. His head is thrown back, his eyes are shut, he's bathed in the light, the rhythm guitar player on the far left is following his lead and the drummer on the right is poised for the next cue Buckley would deliver by the simple nod of his head. He's creating, he's guiding, he's magnetic. He's a force in and of himself. And, beneath it all, rests the image of a clock, ticking ever forward, toward whatever end may await us all, someday, somewhere, sometime, as a reminder to do it - whatever it may be for each of us - now.

Those moments seem harder to come by as I get older. But they're every bit as electric and heavenly, if you will, when they do present themselves. (Whoever created this, which I love, apparently sees a little otherworldliness in Buckley, too.)

All this from the man who wrote, as that NPR piece mentions, what might as well have been his own epitaph, from "So Real."

I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under

But it's also the man who sang - as fittingly closes disc two of the posthumously released "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk" - "Satisfied Mind."

When my life is over and my time has run out,
my friends and my loved ones, I will leave there's no doubt.
But one thing's for certain, when it comes my time,
I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind.

May we all be so lucky.

Blur of a weekend

2007-05-21T09:44:00.001-07:00

Nothing like a quick 38-hour trip home and too many beers with old friends from college to mess with a guy.

Touched down at Will Rogers World Airport -- still the only major airport I know of named after a man who died in a plane crash -- @ 4 p.m. Friday. Lifted off for Portland @ 6 a.m. Sunday. (Got to spend two lovely layovers in Houston, where they're putting a Bass Pro Shop in one of the terminals because, really, you never know when you'll need to buy new huntin' or fishin' gear between flights.)

Two reasons to go:

One, to see my little sister, Chelsea, graduate with the first of her degrees. Glad I could be back for that. And congrats to her. When she finishes the rest of her counseling psychology work, someday, she'll have a helluva lot of expertise to draw on from our family. Maybe she'll be able to straighten us out.

Two, to see my old college adviser retire. Jack Willis, simply put, is the man who taught me how to be a journalist. A legend of Oklahoma journalism, he worked at the Muskogee Phoenix for years, eventually becoming its editor. Then, in 1993, he came to Norman, where he oversaw the campus paper, The Oklahoma Daily, until this month. He's in the state journalism hall of fame, but more importantly, he's in the hearts of the generation of journalists he molded in his career.

His students - including Amy and me, who met in his newsroom - couldn't feel more privileged to have come up under his leadership. He taught us lessons of journalism, and he taught us lessons of life.

Jack gives a farewell speech. His voice cracked a few times as the emotion of the moment hit him, which just about sent us all over the edge. This was right after three former students -- Nick Jungman, I and Sarah Ganus, representing the early, middle and late eras of Jack's tenure, respectively -- had the pleasure of speaking to the group about what Jack means to us and to The Daily.

Here we say goodbye, for now, in his old office, where we sat and had so many career talks. It's where he talked me into applying for my first internship, which took me to Wichita. It's where we talked through whether I should try to go to Portland or St. Petersburg. It's where I learned so many of the intangibles that I rely on daily now.

A few final Jack thoughts/memories.

Jack's old-school response to the "How long should my story be?" question always cracked me up while saying it all. "It should be like a woman's skirt," he'd invariably explain, in his typical deadpan style. "Long enough to cover the essentials, but short enough to be interesting."

Although I always wanted him to give me answers to my career questions, he always would say, "Well, Seth, what do you think?" And then he'd lead me through a conversation in which I'd figure things out for myself. It helped me not only then, but also years later in ways I'm still figuring out.

As I said Saturday to the group of alums who came back for Jack's sendoff, it's not that you just don't want to disappoint Jack in whatever you do and wherever you go in this business. Instead, it's that you want to make him proud.

Here's hoping we do.

On the big screen

2007-05-20T21:45:00.001-07:00

I made it into the movie for one scene.

No, really, hold my hand

2007-05-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

Kitchen love

2007-05-13T12:13:00.000-07:00

Our friend Stephanie wrote a very nice story about our kitchen remodel in The Columbian today. It has a cool picture, too. Check both out here.

I'm guessing the guy we bought this place from is kicking himself more and more by the day.

My Hollywood debut?

2007-05-07T22:14:00.000-07:00

My 15 seconds of fame may be coming up.

"Burnt Chocolate Water," which I wrote about last September, will screen May 18-24 @ the Hollywood Theater in Northeast. Whether my ugly mug winds up on the big screen or on the cutting room floor, I suspect it should be a good show.

In another of life's little quirks, the trailer and the promotional postcards going around show that filmmaker Jeff Grinta managed to hook up with Shannon Wheeler, who appears to at least make one very appropriate cameo in the project.

Wheeler created the Too Much Coffee Man comic. Turns out he lives in Portland now and works with Dark Horse. I used to read his work for a time in college. Haven't seen any of his stuff in years, but it used to be well worth the trouble of tracking down a copy. If you get a chance, check them out -- both the movie and the comic.