If you are guessing that this is paintball in Southern Wisconsin you would be wrong. If you instead opted for an explanation involving the Forest Moon of Endor, move to the head of the class. Everyone agreed that the face protection is surplus Rebel Alliance gear.

The whole paintball scene is an odd one, though one that is highly addictive and fun. Most people there are completely into the event to the tune of far too many dollars towards clothing and technology. It had a very militia feel to it.

In the first game our patrol of 3 fell into an ambush in tall grass. We were pinned face down to the ground for about 5 seconds, after which Greg rolled over to return some fire. Within the next split second each of us had received head shots from the sniper 10 feet away. Yes, they hurt. I never fired my weapon. The problem was us creeping towards the enemy encounter.

The second game we sprinted, not crept, into position, ensuring our arrival before enemy units. We nestled into sniper positions and waited. After 5-10 minutes I had 2 kills and it was obvious that our flank was no longer a threat so we went back to protect the actual flag at the fort. We successfully protected our flag and Paula got a kill in the process.

The third game was by far the best. It involved close quarters and about 100+ barrels scattered and stacked in a small area, with a road running right down the middle. Yes, it was a lot like Raiders of the Lost Ark. I advanced very far up the obstacles and never was hit, but I ran out of paintballs and had to leave the game.

It is funny how often people take headshots. I figured on shooting for the chest whenever possible simply because its larger. But, while sitting in the weeds and peering between barrels all you want to do is shoot somebody in the head. Its odd, but true. Greg felt the same thing.

Go Bears.

I wanted to write a Fall themed entry, concentrating on the incoming color change, the crispness in the air, and the buildup to Halloween. Aside from that teetering a bit too much towards romance than I dwell in these days, its not the most accurate snapshot of the Fall changes afoot in Madison – at least my little piece of Madison.

Starting on Monday I had to begin wearing arm warmers on my nightly rides. Shorts and summer jerseys are still passable, but the writing is on the wall. As long as I can put off wearing knee warmers, and the inevitable tights, I’ll remain happy. There is a subtle red speckling across the south central Wisconsin foliage that will surely be full blown within 4-5 weeks.

Like most people, I have a plethora of interests, hobbies, money holes, etc. Gaming is omnipresent, but it usually goes on a break of sorts during the summer, only to ramp up when crisp air creeps in. The photo above represents my newly burgeoning dwarf army along with the yet to be read new Warhammer rules. 52!52!52! (Rip Hunter said that for time not to break Scott must send me 52 dwarves, or at the least all that are in the Skull Pass boxed set).

Fall always means that the warmer cycling gear comes out, and the gaming element of my life increases its presence and time demands.

I will never alter or upgrade my contempt for the Green Bay Packers. Nothing personal, its just the way it is. But, I have married myself to the state of Wisconsin to a legitimate degree so I need to find some teams to root for. I want to fit in. Enter : Team America’s Dairyland. Aside from being an all women’s cycling team dressed like cows, their mission is” to promote Wisconsin milk products.” They have passed me in team gear while on training rides in the Madison area and they are very fast. Serious cyclists with a serious cause. Show me where to donate and cheer and I’ll be there.

As a final cycling note, I am helping organize a century Saturday October 7th (8th is in the rain date) here in Madison. Check out the myspace group page. Any ideas for a theme, name, snappy art, or cool October 7th event to commemorate are encouraged. (It is the day Poe died and the anniversary of a beer tax rebellion)

I hope I’m not getting mentally slower as I rapidly tumble towards the old folks home. I have an English degree. I push my nose into a book everyday, usually multiple times, not counting comic books. Given those facts, I had trouble keeping track of the characters in the Hardy Boys story within “Hunting for Hidden Gold.” I read enough mysteries here and there to not be taken aback by whodunits and ‘hey, wasn’t he a good guy.’ But, I couldn’t keep pace with this Hardy installment. It had adventure in the Rocky Mountains and the Montana wilderness, but alas, it outran me. Its possible that its written a bit more sloppily than the other stellar entries, but I don’t want that to be my crutch. I read it within a few days, so stretching it over time and losing the thread isn’t a concern. No crutch to be found there. Maybe the DC continuity changes I’m attempting to memorize are shoving it aside. That must be it. I am not proud of this.

…

Watching the Ironman competition Sunday morning was fascinating and inspiring. At 8 am I stood on John Nolen Dr. watching the lead competitors ride their time trial bikes while still trying to secure their feet into their cycling shoes (that were already clipped in). I kept wondering, why not burn 30 seconds to fasten the shoes before mounting the bike? They must know what they’re doing, considering they were in the lead. They were off in the 50 degree drizzle for their 112 mile ride, followed by a full marathon. Crazy. For about 24 hours I thought I could do it, and made vague, wide-eyed plans to do so. That desire has now passed. I could do the swimming and cycling rather easily, but the running is impossible. I hate running. I don’t think I could even knock off the half Ironman. Maybe a double metric century is a better goal. It all adds up to fight back the grave a little bit at a time.

…

How about those Bears? 26-0 against Green Bay. Behind enemy lines, I couldn’t be more pleased.

If you look in the right hand corner of the above photo you’ll see highway C continue on snaking through the north woods of Price County, WI. I’ve swam in this tiny lake before and its pretty much as big as it looks – perfect for a quick swim with a small group of people. You’ll also notice the insidious leaves starting to turn. Visiting Prentice is always a journey to the heart of things for me. The hills on my bike ride were a little tougher than Madison’s (thanks to Timm’s Hill being right nearby), but the scenery more than makes up for some extra pedaling. While fishing I saw 3 bears (a sow and 2 cubs), which brings the bear count this summer up to 4. I should add a ticker for that in the right column of this blog.

As you can see from the growing pile of bags at the bottom of the picture, someone is moving out. My roommate is moving in with his girlfriend this coming weekend so I’ll be alone for the time being, though the possibilities always exist that another person will come along in need of a living room (fron-troom in chicagospeak) to inhabit indefinitely. Its not fancy but its right downtown and the price is cheap. The point of this post is the wonderful print hanging on the wall – Bosch’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights” to be exact. Ty framed it like a champ and Scott and Clare drove it north –thanks is given all around. I wanted a print that I enjoy, but one that will yield new insights as the years go on when it becomes harder to “see” each day. I think this threads the needle nicely, though the probability for nightmares is certainly higher than average. The rightmost panel is the prime candidate for REM gremlins. To the left of this, above the tv, hangs 3 great photos of the Uptown Theatre (in Chicago) sent to me by Melissa in Portland. In an attempt to be a bit more of an adult I’m trying to surround myself with some art, yet the façade will surely crack immediately when the bikes and comics are seen to be littering the apartment. It’s a start in the right direction though.

The woman in the Seney train depot told her dog to stop barking just before giving me a 10 second run down of what the little museum had to offer. There was a fair amount of old photos and artifacts from the pre-1900 Seney lumber town that had a substantially larger size than today. That wild west atmosphere had burned out by 1919 when Hemingway visited and though it wasn’t literally filled with burned out stumps at the time of his visit, the impression of a ghost town was accurate. The Hemingway exhibit in the train station had an interesting display case filled with 1919 era fishing and camping equipment – the same type described in the equipment list Hemingway had written at the time. While it isn’t known exactly where Hemingway and his 2 friends camped in 1919, it is known that they camped among some late summer blueberry pickers, and those pickers camped along the east branch of the Fox River near its intersection with the highway (top picture). Hemingway fished the main branch of the Fox as well (primarily it seems) and so did I (second picture). Both are very deep and cold rivers, even by north woods, trout standards. I caught nothing in either but used a Hemingway fly (yes, they make an Adams fly with that specification/title). I suspect this elevates my geekiness above the previous Star Wars/comic book/Warhammer nexus it had previously inhabited. Fair enough. The river and country were just as beautiful as the Wisconsin north woods I know so well, only with an added dash of history I enjoyed. I doubt I will be back to Seney anytime soon, but there is something (with ALL hipness certainly aside) to be said for having fished the same water and stood in the same woods as Papa himself.

Ernest Hemingway
BIG TWO-HEARTED RIVER

The train went on up the track out of sight, around one of the hills of burnt timber. Nick sat down on the bundle of canvas and bedding the baggage man had pitched out of the door of the baggage car. There was no town, nothing but the rails and the burned-over country. The thirteen saloons that had lined the one street of Seney had not left a trace. The foundations of the Mansion House hotel stuck up above the ground. The stone was chipped and split by the fire. It was all that was left of the town of Seney. Even the surface had been burned off the ground.

...

I don’t attend nearly as many hardcore shows as I used to, largely out of my taste not keeping up with the times, economics (more so a reason when I was still in school), and a general lack of time. Life is busy and it can be tough to find the time to stand around in a small space listening to a bill of small acts trying to get it together for the first time. It can be an amazing, enlightening, and unexpected experience (ie. the way I first was exposed to The Murder City Devils), but most of the time it is a bust. I know the journey is what counts. I buy a handful of comic books each week and only a few are truly memorable, but you’ll never find those diamonds if you don’t keep showing up every week for new book day. Not having been to a show in a good while, I expected a mixed bag at Gorilla Biscuits Saturday night. I was mildly excited to see the gig, my excitement only tempered by the possibility it would mostly be a sluggish cash in by tattooed men in their late 30’s. Joyously, I was wrong, wrong, wrong. Murphy’s Law was everything it was supposed to be, along with Jimmy Gestapo’s birthday cake being thrown into the crowd. GB was tight, in a great mood, and played almost every track they had in their canon (I honestly can’t think of a song they missed). 50 minutes, nothing but smiles from the band and crowd, and aside from some brutish bouncer behavior, a perfect show. Nothing more could be said. A+.

On the drive home I was able to tune in to one of my favorite late night radio shows, The Nick Digilio Show. I listen in Madison over the internet at times, but its enough of small project to make it so that it doesn’t happen often enough. They were chatting about strange, anachronistic phrases people use and I called up and chatted with Nick on the air, offering the phrase “take a cure.” Being on the radio isn’t the coolest thing to claim, but it was a fun cap to an already great night.

If you don't hear from me within 7 days, you now know where to start the search.

Stay off my lawn!

I just really like this cover.
…

Who gets to say that they were at the nascent stage of a given movement? I mean really at that first moment before the thing became watered down, which is probably when more than a handful of people heard/saw it. In this case I’m thinking specifically about hardcore, or punk if you want to describe that particular branch of rock music another, slightly broader, way. In American Hardcore, the period of 1980 – 86 is considered not so much the first era of hardcore (which it certainly is), but the only real era of it, before things drifted towards metal, emo, etc. I would disagree that the later eras are invalid (at least in being labeled “hardcore”). In fact, I might even attempt to argue that they are closer to a better definition of hardcore, sort of like an extra polishing or refinement. For me the sound of the late 80’s into the early 90’s remains fairly close to that of the early era (Black Flag and Bad Brains being some of the better examples of the standard sound, if that can even be quantified), even with the creeping in of metal. NYC and Boston produced a pure sound, but with a tighter message. In my experience the largest difference was in the turning away from the excesses of punk, and in the direction of straight edge. Bands didn’t need to be straight edge – the idea that it was a strong element in the scene had a subtle effect on what would be tolerated and what was considered foolish. As an example, it seemed like heroin raced through the scene in the early 80’s but was not a strong thread later in the decade, according to American Hardcore. I yield to no one in my love for the Misfits, but SOIA and Slapshot always seemed more direct and focused, even when they weren’t screaming about sxe or the like (I know SOIA was never straight edge). I can’t say anything bad about the book though. Reading interviews with all the heavyweights is inherently interesting, even if it makes some of them look like fools. Perhaps the simple reality is that I was young and into hardcore for the first time in the late 80’s and the author was first exposed in 1980. The kids today seem to think that their records are “amazing,” though they seem weak and should be in the cut-out bin, and by cut-out bin I mean garbage can. I suspect the author of American Hardcore laughs at the way I hold “Step on It” and “We’re Not in this Alone” close to my heart. He can wait to take me on with his “ROIR” cassette until I tend to the kids running around with their American Nightmare and Fall Out Boy records. I think there is some truth in all the perspectives flying back and forth across the generations, but the fact that music nerds can be so foolishly passionate at times makes books like this endlessly fascinating in their attempt to describe and document something so wonderful, pure, and beyond description. As more books are released I expect I will read them all and argue incessantly with each of them.

I am such and old man.

I hate those Leeward Islands so much. For years they have silently mocked me. Never again.

...

If you are ever in the mood to see something completely unique, yet akin to walking in a living kaleidoscope, see the House on the Rock. Its about 40 miles west of Madison and is well worth the admission. The Infinity Room was very unnerving as it swayed ever so slightly as I walked out towards the viewing station near the end of it. Very unnerving.

...

Sometimes when cycling in the country you will run into Bears. Literally.

Howl like a wolf and a witch will open the door…

The inevitable fact about enjoying even the most obscure pop culture interest is that someday some other fan of said obscure interest will find himself creating something for mass consumption and the interests of his youth will rise. You will rejoice with a knowing nod to this artist and know that all along that record, comic, movie kicked ass (take for example any of the plethora of modern fashions and attitudes filched from the then shunned skateboard world circa 1990-1994). Clerks 2, aside from being a great movie, has prominent King Diamond music, songs from “Them” to be specific. I still don’t think we’ll King Diamond shirts at Hot Topic, though it might be funny if we did. The last thing I expected to hear at the multiplex was King Diamond.

…

MOTAB is a monthly bike race/parade. The best way to describe it is this: bring a crappy bike, place it in the stack of other bikes, wait for the start, hear the start, run and retrieve your bike, do many laps around the old paint factory (this involves gravel, some off road riding, and much silliness), at the end of 24 minutes the first person to cross the finish line wins. Crossing the line has nothing to do with the number of laps completed, nor the speed in which you are traveling -- it is mainly luck. In celebration of the Tour de France’s doping scandal this was the all doping MOTAB. Your spokecard had the name of a banned rider on it and you had to drink a cup of EPO (read: cheap, red wine) before digging your bike out. It happens every month and I will certainly be there for the next one. It is every bit as fun that it sounds, probably more so.

…

Congratulations to the Mennonite Tour de France Champion Floyd Landis. His performance in Stage 17 is nothing short of legendary, right next to Eddy Merckx. I can hear Yarrow, BC rejoicing.

Always on the wrong side of whatever side there was

My softball debut at Bowling Green in Middleton was not exactly a trainwreck, but not exactly a star spangled spectacular. I went 0 for 5, but lined out once to the second baseman and then grounded out to the first baseman. The conclusion to draw is that my swing was slow. I tried to make some adjustments but all I ended up with was some fouls. I'm happy, like they tell the 8 year olds in little league, to have made contact. They stuck me in left field and my first fly ball was in the fifth inning on 2 outs. I caught it cleanly and ended the inning. It turns out that if I had let it drop we would have lost due to the run rule (if you are losing by 8 runs at any time after the 5th, you immediately lose). In little league we called it a slaughter rule. I misjudged a few other balls after that first one, but I'd like to think that my most important fly of the day was caught. In my defense I have never played fast pitch softball with a 12" softball. Since I'm from Chicago I'm used to 16" softballs, slow spinning pitches, and mangled fingers. These people here use gloves and pitch around 80+mph. When I arrived I mentioned that I was only used to Chicago clincher softballs, not the 12" 'kitten' balls. The response: "Yeah, we don't play with that size. We're straight." I felt like part of the team. Maybe if I could commit to an entire season and take some batting practice in the spring I could play much better, but I suspect cycling will always win my time when summer comes.

A big thankyou to Salma for the American Hardcore book. I'm enjoying it but like any book documenting something as underground and as much a life force as hardcore is to many people, there is plenty to disagree with. The book Dance of Days was a a great read, but too obsessed with kneeling at the Ian MacKaye altar and enshrining DC punk. So far American Hardcore is painting a smarter and wider picture, but a few things are sticking under my skin. I'll finish the book first and rant at that time. It has me digging into my cd collection so it must have an inherently good core. Any book that talks about such importand bands, music, and songs are welcome.

You haven’t aged well, nor have you learned

I think it was Scott that first came up with the expression “ it’s like swimming with your clothes on” to describe riding a mountain bike after being used to riding a road bike. That is a perfect phrase. It is also how I have felt lately regarding the books I’m ‘reading’ right now. Just thinking off the top of my head, here are the books that currently have bookmarks in them:

American Hardcore: A Tribal History by Steven Blush
Showcase Presents: Green Lantern
The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway
Jack Hagee, Private Eye Graphic Novel
Cell by Stephen King
Spider-Man/Black Cat: Evil That Men Do by Kevin Smith

I use old concert stubs as bookmarks and am all out of bookmarks right now. No new books are allowed to be started. That is the rule. I impulsively feel that my reading volume has spiked downward, but I ultimately realize that I’m reading just as much as before, it is just that nothing is getting finished.

Thankfully I am still keeping up on my weekly comics, mainly the all important weekly 52, and I was able to finish Cell at lunch.

Cell was a tight, excellently paced, short novel. I genuinely appreciate a longer Stephen King novel and the way he slowly weaves different characters into each other’s lives, sometimes taking a few hundred pages of characterization and action before they ever meet. This rarely feels bloated or wasteful, The Stand being an excellent example. The Cell is much different and is successful in its own way. The intense doom of the unknown zombie threat and its source functions best when it is unknown to the characters as well as the reader. We only meet characters when the main protagonist Clay meets them – no omniscient storytelling here. At the end we’re never sure of the true facts of the Pulse – we only know what the characters know when we they know it. Not a great book, but a very good one. For me, it all successfully hinged on the third person point of view that veered constantly towards a first person one. Also, there are many zombies to be dealt with, a healthy fear of technology premise that harkens back to the fear of atomic energy centered films of the 50’s, and the omnipresent political underpinnings all zombie tales possess. A solid grade of B.

…

The fast pitch softball team a few coworkers belong to has felt a pinch of dwindling members so I’ll be playing in a double header tomorrow. It’s a kitten ball, not a Chicago softball, but I’ll survive.

Dirge for #28

Better in the long run by far, but sad for the Hawks right now.

Dies iræ! dies illa
Solvet sæclum in favilla
Teste Dale cum Wirtz!

Bell destituet et
Maestitia invesperascit impers.
Havlat attinet spes et
Somnia hodie.



Day of wrath and terror looming!
Heaven and earth to ash consuming,
Dale’s word and Wirtz's truth foredooming!

Bell is gone and
Sadness grows dark.
Havlat holds the hopes and
Dreams now.

Time is not your friend, it spites you

I love the Rev. Paul Bearer's lyrics.


I had been out of town for most of the past week so updating is sparse, and my life has been somewhat uneventful. Sleeping in and simply getting some miles in on the Orbea is wonderful and uneventful and welcome. I swapped my worn out tires for some Hutchison Tour de France tires in a nerdy nod to this months grand tour. Yes, yellow stripes are involved. George Hincapie had a dud time trial today and I fear as a result his hopes of a tour victory are nil. All of USA's hopes are now on Floyd Landis' capable shoulders.

I have an itch to purchase an art print for framing in a grasping attempt to class up my life. Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights has been the front runner in the back of my mind for many years, and it still is. I only wonder if it is too busy and dense to be enjoyed at the width of 4 feet. Would a smaller portion of it blown up be better (probably from the right panel)? Any ideas? What about Memling's Last judgment?

Such a short post -- maybe this coming week will bring more excitement. Maybe I'll get into a fight with a vulgarity screaming hippie -- I mean 'free thinker.' Maybe the Cubs will find themselves on a winning streak and I will write a tear soaked dirge exploring my sadness. Maybe I'll mention my bike.

I would test positive for Real Chili

The Tour de France Post-Lance starts tomorrow and in the last 24 hours everything has turned upside down due to the doping scandal out of Spain. Many, many favorites are out as result. Ullrich is out. Basso is out. Vinokourov is in but his team has been halved. Gorgeous George Hincapie is quickly looking to be a favorite, particularly considering his team (Discovery Channel) is not implicated in the scandal, and is also very strong. Its a wide open tour and since there is no clear favorite each day will bring random, exciting attacks. Go George and Go White Sox!

Here is a Reason People Don't Like Me

Yesterday, at the top of his lungs and seemingly with all of his being, a man called me an asshole.

I’m sure many people probably agree with him. People that know me probably expected some degree of conflict between me and the hippy faction of Madison at some point. We still coexist happily in our own truce, but at time it seems we must clash. Driving down Williamson on Madison’s east side during rush hour yesterday I came across a man and woman attempting to cross the street. The were close to the middle of the road, oncoming traffic (in relation to me) was at a standstill, and he was waving a red flag in a strange, irritated, fencinglike manner. I had a 4 car gap ahead of me and no cars behind me. As I approached, going 30 mph, the intensity in which he shook his foil/flag increased to a strange, maddening pace. My Chicago radar went off and said, ‘maybe a crazy person, maybe not – just get past him and leave him behind.’ I just kept moving in a straight line at my normal speed. This apparently was a mortal sin, to say the least. As I just about passed the flag man he yelled loudly enough for the whole street to hear into my car that I was an asshole. At this moment my sin revealed itself when it all clicked in my head. I forgot about the cute little red flags and what they really mean to the good natured folk of Madison. It had been explained to me once and I chuckled and obviously filed it deeply away, next to Mr. Moriarty’s freshman Biology class. If you want cross the street, grab a flag from the receptacle on the sidewalk, hold it up, and start walking across the street like Moses. A decent idea, but I would argue unreasonable at times. If the stoplight (excuse me, ‘stop-and-go light’ in Wisconsinspeak) is only a block away and its rush hour, isn’t it a wiser idea to walk that block before crossing? I know the pedestrian always has the right of way, but don’t these flags foster a deadly sense of false security? Wouldn’t orange be better? Lets say I was visiting Madison for the first time yesterday and didn’t know any better – would I deserve to be called an asshole? I ultimately laughed at his righteous hatred in that moment – he was very mad and I could see him making faces at me in my rearview. Another Chicago truism popped into my head – words have a price. If you swear at strangers you should expect a fight sooner or later, probably sooner. That is why I don’t call strangers names. This hippie (he was obviously one, trust me – I’m not making a great assumption in the slightest) did not look like he was the fighting type, yet he seems to want to court that possibility. Maybe it flies in his neighborhood in Madison, but not in the rest of the world. So I guess I need to play ball and respect the cute red flag. I’ll do my part, but that man should also make a few changes and avoid his impending fistfight.

Other people also feel the red flag is misguided.

…

Part of being in a subculture (hardcore for example) that identifies itself through a style out of the mainstream that implies individuality, is that when you are gathered among many other individuals from this subculture you all look like you are wearing a uniform of sorts. It’s a reality, for better or worse. Here is a hilariously captioned flickr set exploring shoes at a gathering in Chicago.

Lancelot Link

I try not to generate posts on this blog simply offering links to websites. Its not that creative but I'm going to break that rule today. 4 Star Courier, along with being a new bike messenger company in Chicago, threw this past years' well run Tour da Chicago. Here is an interesting Chicago Reader article about them. Its well worth a read.

There is a reason no one likes you

What to say regarding the wonderful canoe trip? I ended up with a 23" Northern Pike, many smaller Northern and Muskie, some Perch, and a clam. Yes, I caught a clam, and so did Tater for that matter. We were fishing the bottom with worms and ended up catching clams. Odd. I got the biggest fish with the Northern, but Tater easily won overall with a fat 16" Smallmouth and a nice 18" Walleye that we ate for a breakfast appetizer Saturday. We saw a few bald eagles as well, essentially completing a perfect trip. We shall return soon. My tent leaked from many, many places for the second trip in a row, which would explain why it was last seen leaning against a dumpster at the boat landing on the Turtle Flambeau Flowage. Perhaps some poor soul has the interest in resealing it and giving it another try. Not me. It was 10 years old and $50 to start with so I have no real argument with it, though we must now part ways. Its a sin to simply throw it away.

Also, no Sasquatch was afoot, at least from our research on the 1 acre island we slept on. We did see a sign in Philips, WI on our way declaring that "Sasquatch was sited 2.5 miles north." The hunt goes on.

Operation: Sasquatch Quest

This evening I'll be driving up to the north woods to crash with my Aunt and Uncle in Price County, before heading out for a canoe trip Friday morning. Its not a long trip (through Sunday) but should be excellent. There are many islands in the canoeing area we'll be in so aside from having the charm of camping on an island, we'll also be able to avoid hanging our food from a tree. I know bears can easily swim if they are so inclined, but we should be fine. Famous last words, huh. The area we'll be in is about 20 minutes north of this month's upcoming Bigfoot expedition. I thought Sasquatch mainly lived in the Pacific Northwest, but apparently he's also in Price County, Wisconsin. The trip is mainly about fishing and camping, but now Bigfoot is in the mix. As a child that literally devoured UFO and Bigfoot books at the West Lawn Public Library on the south side of Chicago, I am somewhat interested to say the least. If we run into these people and t shirts are involved I might bite.

Yet another thrilling Alleycat

This blog may not be about many things, but I would like to assert that it is about more than just alleycats. Not today though.

Sunday’s WMD Choose Your Own Adventure alleycat was thrown by Jonny of Jonny Cycles fame, and was as excellent as a race could be. For $5 you got a veggie burrito at the start, coffee, beer at the end, and a race. Quite a deal. The theme was a weapons of mass destruction hunt styled upon a Choose Your Own Adventure book. You are the weapons inspector! We were only told the first stop, where we were then given a piece of paper with 3 choices/locations on it , 2 of which were incorrect. This continued for about 6 stops. Each piece of paper would have some discussion about the lead up to the Iraq war with 3 courses of action. At first I wasn’t sure if the correct location was the answer stating what should have happened, or what actually happened. It ended up being what actually happened, with politics and jokes thrown on top of the verbage of course. I’m not the fastest rider, but I ended up getting every answer correct the first time, which was an accomplishment considering most people made a few errors at least (Its funny that I got so many correct considering my politics are very different from most of what the race focused on). There was even a time trial in the middle, unexpectedly no less so as to take advantage of tired legs. I ended up foolishly waiting till the end to get a bunch of WMD components -- an inflated balloon, yellow cake(very tasty), a paper airplane (which needed to be thrown a certain distance), and an aluminum can (ie ‘tube’) – so my correct decision making earlier in the race ended up getting sacrificed towards the end of the race. I did finish in time and made all the stops, which is better than many people did, so I’m happy. Three hours on a track bike is long when you’re racing so I ended up sleeping soon after getting home. I’ll be up north camping this weekend otherwise I’d be at this weekend’s alleycat. Its almost ridiculous, but how can you complain? I’ll make the inevitable dozen or so more races planned before summer drifts away again.

Melissa at allbuttonedupyayportlanditrainstoomuch sent me some excellent b+w pictures of the Uptown Theatre that will soon be hanging on my wall, classing up the sparse dojo I live in.. Hopefully the theatre’s restoration will see fruition. With the rapid gentrification of Uptown I suspect the odds are very good. Thanks again to Melissa for the art – even though I never lived in Uptown I’m a sucker for Chicago history and loved the movie Backdraft more than I should admit.

At the race last Sunday the prequel event was the "Lip Gloss Paper Toss." The bike I'm riding here had "Lip Gloss" decals all over it with sparkles and other shiny things. It also had full suspension. The game was to throw the papers you see hanging off the front of the handlebars ala Paperboy. You were not allowed to cross the chalked line while throwing papers at boxes. I did poorly, but it was just as silly and fun as it looks. More pictures here.

June is Alleycat Month in Madison

I USED TO WANT TO KILL THE VILLAGE IDIOT,
AS IF HE WERE THE ONE TO BLAME.
BUT, WHEN ALL WAS LEFT TO ROT AND TURN,
HE WAS THE ONLY ONE REMEMBERING MY NAME.

- JOE COFFEE


Though I much prefer the sound of Sheer Terror, Joe Coffee’s softer (relative to Sheer Terror) style is well worth listening to and since the lyrics are written and howled by the Rev. Paul Bearer, it’s a winner. They only have an EP out right now but supposedly a full length is on its way come fall. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to tour much beyond NYC but Paul keeps writing the best heartbroken songs around so I’ll happily keep buying them and hoping for that Midwest show. Paul always has something nice to say that is worth listening to.

. . .


There is a ridiculous amount of alleycats here in Madison. An excellent Choose Your Own Adventure styled race will be coming up this Saturday, and another one the weekend after that. All $5, and most offering some degree of food/beer. What a deal, specifically if you’re like me and you know that you have no chance of winning.

Sunday night was the start of alleycat month (apparently) here in Madison with the Tracks race. You had 2 hours to visit multiple east side bars and record the name of the song for your manifest’s given disc/track in the jukebox -- “Tracks” you see. Everyone pretty much headed to Paradise first, and so did I. It’s a great dive bar right off the capital square, deep within a nest of one way streets. I ended up being the second rider there, but due to barreling down the street alongside the capitol in the wrong direction and then burning a red right in front of a cop to cut down a one way street going the wrong way, I was pulled over by said cop with the lights and everything. He gave me a hard time about legally being a car and riding safely and obeying traffic laws and what not. I apologized and said that I only rode that way because it was Sunday and the capitol is dead. I was very polite. He never asked me about the 20+ bikers behind me racing and stumbling down the sidewalk to drop their bikes and go running into the bar. A little annoying, but I earned it and the race didn’t get busted and I didn’t get a ticket(though it was threatened) so no worries, though my chance to place highly as the dark horse import from Illinois was sullied as I was one of the last ones to get in the bar and fill in my manifest. I made all the stops, met some people, and didn’t finish last by any stretch. And since its Wisconsin, there were brats at the finish line. A very fun time and well run.

Madison has a fair amount of fixed gear bikes, but they are mostly conversions – not too many pure track bikes. And very few seem to be without a front brake. Smart people. I am not smart.

Amy has left Decatur,IL and triumphantly returned to Chicago to further her journalistic career in the Windy City. I predict the appearance of her debut column in the Sun Times within the next 5 years, probably entitled "The Click." I seriously believe this to be true, though I may be wrong on the title. Her blog is gone and we all eagerly await the existence of a new one.

I have never met nor even communicated with Up In Alaska, but she is a prolific blogger, journalist, cyclist, and recent Alaskan -- and therefore very interesting. She'll be taking Amy's place in the journalistic link category on the right until Amy reclaims it.

The Gauntlet

Nick had one good trout. He did not care about getting many trout.
--Hemingway


Every time I head into the north woods alone with the intention of fly fishing I am drawn to Hemingway's Nick Adams Stories, "Big Two-Hearted River" specifically. I don't think I carry any of the pain and fear Nick does (I sure hope not) in that story when I'm wading Pine River in the far North East corner of Wisconsin, but I do constantly recall the spirit of that story and hope that the luck Nick has catching trout rubs off on me.

This trip was a wash, pun somewhat intended -- yet in the end the rewards were substantial, almost priceless. The weather on Saturday was very hot, almost too hot to fish. I dabbled in the stream a bit but had no luck. No complaints though as the scent of pine trees for as far as the eye can see is good company. I had lunch, read a bit, and then hopped on my bike for a 30 mile ride, planning on returning in time for dinner and an hour of working the evening hatch on the river. This did not go as planned in the slightest. I was so close to the Upper peninsula that in tribute to Hemingway I decided to poke my bike into Michigan for a few miles. Crossing the Brule River I peddled north on highway 189 for 5 miles, turning around and starting back to camp (Tipler, WI). It was so hot and clear that day -- not to mention that it was supposed to be hot and clear through Tuesday -- that it came as a great shock when a torrential downpour began, coupled with the raging lightening and thunder. Thankfully I was able to duck into an awning of a bratwurst grilling family to get a dry place to stand. They offered me a brat but I thankfully declined, hoping that the weather would let up so I could cook up the turkey dogs in my cooler. The weather did in fact let up to a slight drizzle, which considering the circumstances was wonderful. Many things are relative and its important to take them in their context. I happily peddled south and made it to Tipler (7 miles from camp) when the downpour started again. I was already soaked, as was my bike, which is a tribute to how strong this downpour actually was -- I had to stop and get out of the rain. Usually you hit a wall and say, "Eh, I'm already wet and wet is wet so I'll keep going." Not this time. It was a new level of wet and I had to run away from it. Tipler has about 50 residents but God bless 'em, they have a county park with a picnic shelter, under which I happily passed the next 30 minutes. As an aside I must note that at this time I was deeply aware of the fact that my gear/backpack(with clothing) was on the picnic table and that my tent had the flaps down. My camera and books were in a bag in the tent and would be fine, but everything else was most likely soaked. I tried to think the best while sitting amidst Tipler. The rain eventually let up and I headed for home. I was thankful to meet the brat grilling people that were weekending from Green Bay, and even more thankful that the good people of Tipler built a picnic shelter. The drizzle still was annoying but I could deal with it. I have a decent sense of adventure and I was happy to have a story to tell. I figure it all builds character and that most things that are difficult have their own rewards. I was right, in spades. A mile away from camp I came upon something I will never forget. I can only guess that the quiet of a bicycle made it all possible. About 25 yards ahead a black bear came out from the woods and stepped up to the road (its really more of a paved logging road so its about as isolated as could be). I stopped quickly and whispered ,"whoa..." Under my breath. I was far enough away to feel safe, but I was close enough to be in real trouble if the bear had designs on me. The bear either heard the slight rub of of my brakes or my quiet exclamation, because he turned his head towards me. He then shuffled across the road and into the spruce with a little spring in his step. I have seen one black bear in person (Minnesota) and literally hundreds on television via endless documentaries. This bear was easily the largest black bear I have ever seen anywhere in my life -- all national geographic specials included -- so close, so massive, so beautiful.Wisconsin certainly has bears, but its not known for them, so seeing one this size is extremely rare. My heart was very much racing -- somewhat out of fear but mostly out of excitement. He was there for a moment, and gone into the woods the next. I stood still and tried to relax. 20 seconds later a car drove by the moment I had just witnessed and thought nothing had happened. He drove in a dry car and I was soaked after getting caught in the rain 15 miles from camp. I was the lucky one.

My camp was soaked and my sleeping bag was also wet. A complete wash. Its Sunday night now and I'm home a day early. The main goal of the trip was to give my camping gear a once over before the canoe trip next month and that goal was accomplished.

Tonight I headed over to the Black Earth Creek near Madison and tried to make up for a little of the fly fishing I missed out on up north due to the Old Testament rain. I have caught many decent sized brook trout in my time, but never a rainbow. I caught a beautiful 12 inch rainbow trout tonight. The colors are so beautiful alongside the fish. It hit the fly at the farthest distance possible, meaning that the fight was long. Feeling the wiggling fish on the end of my line brings Nick Adams quotes to the front of my mind. It was simply wonderful and that large rainbow is now back safely in the creek as I write this.

I paid the price of discomfort but the dividends have easily been worth it. I'll be back to the Pine River soon and I can only hope I get to see that bear again.

Poor Planning

While I still plan on heading to the North Woods tonight, I deeply regret the overlap with the World's Largest Bratwurst Festival, here in Madison. It may be a hippy town of sorts, but its still Wisconsin. They expect to sell about 200,000 brats, at only a $1 a piece. I may have to head down on Monday if I get home in time.

Alas,

Still no Haunted Tank. Supposedly it will arrive next Wednesday. This is coming on 2 weeks late and it remains sadder and sadder that it matters a great deal to me.

This coming 3 day weekend looks to have amazing weather -- 80 in Madison. I'll be up north in the Nicolet National Forest at the Chipmunk Rapids campground trying for some Brook Trout as well as breaking my camping gear in for another season. The canoe trip next month will go a lot smoother if the gear has been given a trial run. With any luck I should have a nice 70 degree weekend in northeastern Wisconsin. I truly love the northwoods and this will be my first visit up north this year. I can't wait -- my waders are ready.

The Haunted Tank

Comics very often do not ship on time and instead come out several weeks later than the publisher's website promises. Like a simplistic fool I still become dejected when leaving the comic shop on Wednesdays and find that I had been lied to by the website. You would think I would adjust my expectations and let it go. I do this 99% of the time, but every now and again I get sucked in to a well of disappointment. This past Wednesday the Haunted Tank trade paperback was due to be released, but to my sadness was not. What is the Haunted Tank? It is easily one of the weirdest comic ideas to ever be released, at least in the 70's. I'll quote from the wiki entry:

The story of The Haunted Tank involved the ghost of the long dead Confederate general J.E.B. Stuart (who was a historical figure), who was sent by the spirit of Alexander the Great to act as a guardian over his descendent, Jeb Stuart, a fictitious character.

My conversation with the middle aged owner of the shop, whom does not look like comic book guy:
"I thought the Haunted Tank was coming out today?"
"Its late, maybe next week."
"I was really looking forward to it," I whined.
He looked at me with a serious, intense, yet empathetic gaze, "We were all looking forward to the Haunted Tank."
It was a moment.

Rainy Days

Today was pretty much the first day in a week where there wasn't any rain. Its tough to experience a warm April only to be hit with a rainy, 45 degree Saturday in mid May. I've been trudging through Jim Marrs' Alien Agenda -- all 600 pages of it. Its an excellent, thorough book, but an amazingly dense one. All you ever wanted to know about UFOs is there in the most complete and scientific way you are likely to see it presented, but man is it a thick fog to get through. Now that I'm done I plan to jump back on the Hardy Boys list and knock out the Missing Chums. I'll treat it as a pallet cleanser on my way to the next 600 page, dense brick (which is unknown at this point). The weather is better now and the alien agenda has now been revealed so I'm off to Bayport and more miles on my bike.

The Expense Account of the Beast

After completing my expense account reimbursement sheet for work upon returning from Chicago I had to sum all of my mileage (multiplied by $.445), hotel bill, and food expenses. The total was $666 and some change. I was immediately reminded of the Iron Maiden documentary 12 Wasted Years (1987) I had watched way back in high school. The little nugget from that flick that popped in my head was that the band's bus was in a fender bender way back in '81 with a priest and the total for the damages was $666 and some change. The priest would only pay $665 or $667. The band was taken by this and come 1982 we were presented with The Number of the Beast, one of the toughest records of all time (I am partial to the track "Children of the Damned"). So my trip to Chicago was metal and I didn't even know it. At the very least it prompted me to listen to some Maiden, which is always a good idea.

Upon returning to Madison from Chicago the plan was to head to Sam's Club and fill my empty freezer with big frozen bags of Salmon and Chicken Breast, as well as vegetables, etc. I'm glad I waited. Greg (or "Tater" -- the man ate a bag of tater tots after every St Rita High School football practice) gave me about 25 pounds of Michigan venison to take back from the southside. My freezer is literally filled solid with venison. I've eaten a tenderloin each day since Saturday. Delicious. The stew is cooking now and I'll give it a try tomorrow after it settles overnight. The way I understand it, I have parts of 2 bucks and a doe in my freezer.

My girlfriend Marisa Tomei will be in the new season of Rescue Me. I rejoice.

A week in Chi Town

Some other places were not so good but maybe we were not so good when we were in them.

-- Hemingway

I have long prided myself on never having lived in the suburbs of Chicago. For the 29 years I lived there I never lived in a suburb, much less lived on any other side of the city except the south side. Its important to have pride, however foolish it may be. I have been asked at times if moving to Madison was a betrayal of this self imposed southside creed, and I've always answered no. The betrayal is living in the burbs or, let it never be spoken aloud, on the northside. Leaving the region is permissible. I left, settled in Madison, found a nice gig, and generally did well. So my triumphant return to Chicago (the less educated in vernacular might refer to it as a trip for a 5 day Sun class in JSP/Java development for my job, but they would be incorrect and uninteresting) was a bit of a let down in a geographical regard -- they put me in a Downers Grove hotel room. It was very close to the class so it made perfect sense, but it was a defeat of sorts. As I said, pride is often foolish and weak and I do have it and some days it is worth a great deal and I feel I should go to confession for this transgression. Very mature. Ultimately, staying in a hotel for a few days and sitting in a class is a small vacation from work so no complaints.

I did get to hang out on the southside a bit, as well as other parts of my old stomping grounds. I think I easily came back 5 lbs heavier thanks to: Palermo's on 63rd and Hamlin, Hooters in glorious Oak Lawn, Francesca's, and El Cid in Logan Square. Seeing all the great old faces (Tom, Matt, Holly, Danielle, Ty, and Scott) certainly made me miss Chicago. The people are great as always, but the traffic had me praying for cheese filled air. I'll always miss the people, but the move was at the right time for me.

Melissa at allbuttonedup has written a very sweet entry about me. Since I started by talking smack about Portland and she responded with such pleasantries, I can only conclude that she is admitting defeat through a face saving maneuver (Dwight on The Office would definitely view it that way). Truce then. Please visit and comment on her blog -- its prettier and happier than mine. Her picture of me with my old neighbor's brick backgrounding me has me wearing a plaid shirt I cannot for the life of me remember owning. This is more troubling to me than it should be.

I'm a little disappointed with the ending of Infinite Crisis. I thoroughly enjoyed the story, the twists, the deaths, and the larger sci-fi concepts regarding parallel time and worlds, but the ending just wasn't final enough. I suspect this is directly related to 52 and its immediate publication. Usually the last issue of a crossover unravels things into a polite little pile, but in this case the unraveling has 52 issues over the next 52 weeks to work with so I should be quiet and feed my habit next week like a good little fanboy. I was pleased to see Alan Moore's mid-80's Green Lantern filler story pop up in a way that mattered unexpectedly in the last issue of IC.

Madison is getting greener by the day and my Orbea (along with its new wheels, chain, and bottom bracket -- thanks to Matt on Tuesday night in Evergreen Park, IL) is getting all the mileage my 30 year old carcass can give it. Its beautiful today and I will be putting in 2 hours at Real Chili tonight. A few employees bailed so the bat phone rang and I will be slinging chili yet again. Its not finals week yet so the UW kids will be drunk and tip happy for another week. A fact I am grateful to accept.

Roadside Wisconsin

Sunday I went on a group bike ride with the Bombay Bike Club here in Madison. They are weekly free rides that a lot of people attend, enough so that there is a slower group, a killer fast group, and everything in between. I hung with the fast group for the first 16 miles and then got spit out on a hill -- I was proud to hold on that long. I then found myself drifting back into a small group and finishing the 66 miles with them. We took a few wrong turns on the way to New Glarus (America's "Little Switzerland"), but soon got back on track. Riding that hard (22mph +) and long is definitely a lesson in suffering, and as my teachers in grade school said, "Offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory," or simply "Offer it up." So I went with that idea and was rewarded by an amazing sight during our 1 mile wrong turn -- a UFO. I returned later that day to get the pictures you see above. It is a car, converted into a drivable UFO, in the style of the deathmobile in Animal House. There is nothing more to be said. A half mile down the road we passed an old aluminum boat with "dick fuck" spray painted on the side of it. The ride and the wrong turn were easily worth it.

Portland can mow my lawn and pay me a $1/hr

My friend Melissa has a blog -- allbuttonedup. She married my good friend Paul. Yes, they met each other because of me. I'm the best (though its not hard to trace it all back a little further to Scott and his Cornerstone days). They live in Portland, have a wonderful son Sam, and smile and act happy all day long.

But underneath it all there may be some trouble brewing. This article asserts that if they were to lose the Trailblazers their city would descend into "the heap of lovely but forgettable towns," like Madison, which they name numerous times. We might be shy a pro sports team, but who won the 2006 NCAA frozen four for both men and women's hockey? Yep, the UW Badgers . In the end it is all about hockey.

Where did they film The Giant Spider Invasion?
Where did they film Back To School?

Not Portland, that is for sure.

Misty water-colored memories, of ...

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald



I came across a blog entry somewhere that escapes me now that had some discussion of the first comic you remember buying/reading/having – really the first comic that stuck in your head that you physically had in front of you at one point. It’s an interesting exercise in walking down memory lane, and it took me about 2 seconds to come up with my answer. I split it into the first comic I remember digging to the point where I realized just how great comics can be, and the first super hero book I loved. As is the case, my first favorite comic was not a superhero book. While I recall sometime in the early to mid 80’s a box of Archie digests making their way home from the flea market in Joliet to my room (Montana Charlie’s Flea Market – right down the road from Old Chicago, which still stood amongst the growing parking lot weeds at that time), I do remember a few comics before that time. I distinctly remember buying $.60 Archie books at T&B foods on 63rd and Hamlin. T&B was a dump even in those days, when the majority of the neighborhood looked infinitely nicer than it does today. But, it was a convenience store that had comics on a spinner rack and I could walk to it and Chicago was generally much dirtier back then anyway and what difference did I know anyway? Driving up to Prentice, WI for vacation around this time with my grandmother yielded a Whitman grab bag of comics from a gas station along the way. I think for $.60 you got 3 random Whitman books. The 2 you could see where Bugs Bunny books, but as it turns out the middle book was Grimm’s Ghost Stories #59. I liked the Bugs comics just fine, but the revelation that horror comics existed was pretty impressive. That was the comic for me. I really loved that comic, read it many times, and my eyes were truly open as to what the medium could be at that young age of 8. I loved reading horror stories so the existence of horror comics really put me over the edge. I recently thumbed through that exact copy and remembered the stories perfectly, even though they now seem pretty bad -- I now know and deeply love the golden era of 1950’s EC comics: Tales From the Crypt/The Haunt of Fear/ Vault of Horror/Crime SuspenStories/Shock SuspenStories. I was a cheap plot/story date back then, but ‘ol Grimm still is a treat and I couldn’t see ever getting rid of it. It’s a milestone it seems. I have since tracked down a few other issues in the run but they just don’t have the charm of the green cover with the frightened sailors.



Within a short time after that a friend Dan gave me his previous year’s subscription to Amazing Spider Man (#’s 227-238). He had read them many times and just passed them on as read and therefore useless. God bless him, wherever he is these days (last seen in Oak Lawn about 17 years ago…). What a prince. I read them all many times and was just in love with Spidey and the whole superhero world. I loved the idea of the cliffhanger, the deceptive/lying cover, and the ubiquitous splash page. I still have those exact, crumpled, stained copies in my collection. The book that stood out the most was easily #238 – the first appearance of the Hobgoblin (yeah, Dan gave me the comic with the Tattoos already used and gone). It took me about 3 more years to track down #239 and finish that storyline at one of the comic shops I soon regularly haunted. Within a few years I was buying Spidey and X books monthly, including all the McFarlane and Larson books as they hit the stands, but I still favor that year run on Spidey by pencilers and writers that still are unknown to me (I can’t say I’ve ever looked them up). #238 is still an expensive back issues to buy and it would be nice to have one that doesn’t look like a car ran over it and also has the temporary tattoos, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to replace my collection’s copy. It is simply worth too much.

By the end of high school I had become a fiercely DC superhero only customer and grew to love the EC books the most, but Grimm #59 and Amazing #238 still tower over them in their own way.

DYS - City To City

It's begun -No turning back

City to city

We're fighting back

Haven't changed the world

But we've made a start

We're digging in and fighting smart

And like a plague,We'll continue to spread

Fight their values until they're dead

We're serious and we won't go away

We fight for a better world - today

Laugh or frown, it's all the same

Won't play by your rules

'Cause we hate your game

One of the great side effects of moving is being forced to pack/unpack your cd collection, which in turn brings long forgotten music to the stereo once again. I probably haven't listened to DYS in 7+ years -- not for any specific reason mind you, it just hasn't happened. I still have most of the songs memorized so it was very easy to slip back into a sing along when I threw the disc into my stereo on the way to some errands tonight. It holds up much better than I had thought it would. I always remember the LP because of the Nazi in the crowd on the back, but sadly have forgotten just how good some of the songs are, City to City specifically. Boston hardcore never disappoints. Its definitely time to start digging through the entire cd collection. Such a sin to neglect all the great music there, not to mention the vinyl that hasn't been touched since September that remains in storage. I haven't listened to Bold or Gorilla Biscuits in a while...

While watching the Hardy Boys on Thursday night (er, I mean Supernatural) I was tickled to see that this week's episode was set in Fitchburg, Wisonson, which is an immediate suburb of Madison. While the real Fitchburg is not as rainy as the Western Canada where the show is filmed, they did name the hospital correctly -- Dane county is the correct county. I ride my bike through Fitchburg quite a bit but haven't seen any Strega. Its a decent show, though not as smart as the X-files, but the imagery is excellent so if you take it for a spooky hour of tv its just as fun and much cheaper than a splatter flick at the movies. I will give them credit for mentioning the names of other towns in Wisconsin where the Strega had been in the past century -- Ogdenville, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. It took me a minute to get the reference, but it came and that will enough to get me to tune in next week. Its typically a flashy, action based show so it is nice to see geeky references make their way to the surface.

...

When does a comic book character's death mean a lot? When its permanent and happens to a major character(Barry Allen, Supergirl)? or when it happens to a minor character that is beloved, sometimes even more so in death (Blue Beetle, Golden Age Sandman, Hawk)? Not to spoil this past week's Infinite Crisis, but where does its death fall into the scheme of things? I would have to say in the middle. I didn't love the character too much but the character's death was heroic and important. This is far too vague. Help me out, Wayne.

While I certainly love science fiction and fantasy, I've never been a big Doctor Who fan. I've seen plenty of the Tom Baker episodes on the channel 11 of my youth, but I never cared to keep up throughout other incarnations. I do understand that the thing with the show is that the plots are good and the effects never are. This was initially born out of economics, but after a while it became part of the show. MST3K would not be any better if the budget went through the roof -- probably worse. That having been said, a little extra money pushed towards the BBC show would help a great deal without sacrificing the show's identity (a Dalek should always look like a Dalek -- cheap and boxy). I tuned in for 5 minutes to the new Doctor Who on sci-fi over the weekend and realized that while the budget has gone up a bit, so has the cheese. There might be a big inside joke I'm missing, but the pig piloting a ship was too much. Maybe its like giving white trash money -- you get a jungle room. You give Doctor Who money, you get a midget in a pig costume.

An Art Boon

Like many people, I try to watch a good movie and read a good book on a regular basis. Most of the time these works are not great by any stretch, and many times are downright poor. This mixed bag usually further permutates itself into a scenario of good novel, bad comic, bland movie, etc. These past few days have been the complete opposite. I finished Bradbury's Something Wicked..., which was as good as everything I could read told me it would be.

I'm in the habit of taping movies on Turner Classic Movies to play the lifetime game of catch up to all of the great flicks that were made before I even walked this earth. For some unknowable reason, The Old Dark House hardly ever finds it way into the rerun schedule on TCM, even though the Universal monster flicks and other Karloff movies are in constant rotation. I taped it at 3:30am on Monday morning and watched it last night. Simply excellent. James Whale directed it and Gloria Stuart is the cute female lead (she was the old woman in Titanic). 70 minutes and you're out. Excellent as a chiller, funny as a comedy, and very weird with all of the sexual subtext.

Most people on the message boards disagree with me, but All Star Superman #3 was terrific. Grant Morrisson obviously has a deep love for silly Silver Age plots, but he also understands the romanticism underneath that makes them so fun and warm. If nothing else its an Infinite Crisis palette cleanser.

So in a 24 hour period all art I deliberately exposed myself to was A+. And its warm enough to get longer bike rides as well.

When you say Wisconsin,

You've said it all.

Women's Hockey -- National Champions

The great thing is to last and get your work done and see and hear and learn and understand; and write when there is something that you know; and not before; and not too damned much after.

Ernest Hemingway

...

The plan to race this summer took a small step forward yesterday. I swapped out the Tour de France tires I had been riding in order to save them for race day. They are excellent tires and weren't causing me any flats but they were starting to wear down. This way they will have just enough life in them to give me a little extra zip at the race. While this zip is 99.9% mental, it will help nonetheless. I threw on a nice pair of training tires and promptly put 80 miles on them this weekend.

Its almost pointless to wave, nod, or say hi to other road cyclists on the country roads here in Madison. There are so many that its ridiculous. There is almost zero sense of belonging to a sport subculture. I guess you could compare it to living in Chicago and liking Chicago style pizza. Its not that exclusive. Obviously this is a good problem for a city to have.

The Black Earth creek didn't yield any trout yesterday but it was nice to wet a line and cast a bit. Over an hour and not a single rise. Its called fishing, not catching.

I often read books slowly out of laziness, a busy schedule, or because the book just isn't very good yet I cannot commit to deciding not to finish it. A different thing is happening right now to Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. The book is so good that I'm deliberately reading it slowly. I'm going to dole the last 100 pages out over this week by working in some EC horror comic reprints and some early 80's, pre-crisis JLA issues. After Bradbury has been dealt with the Hardy Boys will be on tap.

Reading, fishing, and cycling. Hopefully the lean economy between these things will produce the clarity of purpose that Hemingway advocates.

Its good to have goals, even if ultimately there is no finish line (except for the grave, if I can be morbidly honest for a moment). My summer cycling goal is to compete in the road cycling portion of the Badger State Games in the open category and not finish last. This may not be terribly easy as often CAT 3 and 4 racers ride these races as warm ups for their events later in the day and as a result drive the pack a little harder than it would otherwise move. I considered riding a criterium as my first amateur race but decided against it when I realized the great possibility of a crash. With an out and back race, however, the chance to settle into your own pack makes the chance of a crash a little less likely. There should also be fewer curves and turns, therefore making the pack crack evenly a little earlier in the race. Or maybe I'm completely wrong. One thing I have heard is that the fewest amount of crashes are on the velodrome because people ride without brakes. It makes sense to me. Honest.

Up here in Wisconsin we sure do love our badgers. The team, the animal, the entire experience. I discovered this past weekend during a tour of the capital what exactly resides on the peak of the capital. Glaring at it one can only tell a gilded figure is on top. Well, its a woman -- "Wisconsin" to be exact. Her hand points towards the east (DC) and she bows her head out of respect. She wears a miner's helmet to symbolize the industry of the state. Very elegant, striking, and magnetic. A fine choice and a source of pride for this still settling cheesehead.

Oh, there is also a gold badger perched on her helmet. Classy? Definitely. Something to be proud of? You betcha.

Scene from Chicago ...

I know we are all bikers, specifically urban bikers, and some of us are urban bikers on track bikes. I know there is a degree of brotherhood amongst this cut of cyclists, but I didn't know how much of a hippy thing it can be. I found myself with a young lady whom had a flat on her very nice track bike. It was obvious she rode in the city a lot, was comfortable on a fixed gear in traffic, and knew how to change a flat. She swapped out her tube for a new one and pumped it up with her hand pump, promptly breaking the presta valve. This has happened to me many times by accident, but it was obvious watching her that this was going to happen for sure (pumping at a 45 degree angle to the valve). Fair enough -- its not my tube or bike. I also noticed that she was fairly assertive in fixing it herself so I figured that a "let me help the poor girl" approach would have been very condescending, so I let her alone. I simply mentioned that I had another tube. So, another rider pulls up, offers up one of his tubes to her, which she accepts and promptly breaks in the identical way she broke the first one. Now I am the best person in the world because I have a spare tube. Fine, its only $5 and I would appreciate one if I was in her situation (without pumping like a character in a Grant Morrisson Doom Patrol comic of course). The tube is taken and the other rider pumps it up with his pump and all is well. The conclusion -- nobody gets a thank you. Without going into too much detail, it was obvious the brotherhood vibe was supposedly in effect and that was why the tubes were not seen as favors. They were expected. I'm not a poor man, but it still got under my skin. Say thankyou -- its free to do so. If you want to behave like a hippy, make sure the people you behave that way with are on the same page. Otherwise you'll just be reinforcing a stereotype and annoying me.

...

Tomorrow at work we are allowed to dress down in jeans and anything red for the Badger Men's Basketball Game in the afternoon. We were told that jeans and sweatshirts would be ok, but that "velour jogging suits were not allowed." Obviously this has been a problem in the past. Wow. I obviously did not join the company early enough.

So many things in life are relative -- happiness, money, prosperity. In Wisconsin warm temperatures are just such a thing. It was near 50 degrees yesterday afternoon and it might as well have been 90 for the reaction it received in Madison. The city buzzed and hummed with the sense of Spring and the feeling that even though there was 7 inches of snow on Sunday, this was Friday and it was warm and new promises were being made. I know it was warmer in Chicago but I was not in Chicago. I quickly took my road bike out for an 18 mile loop and as the dust was blown off the frame and wheels I'm certain my bike was singing. Since it is an Orbea it sings in Spanish of course. There will be colder days in the near future and Spring is not fully here yet, but the appetite has been wet, and my bike now demands to be ridden everyday.

I will be working tonight at the Stairmaster somewhere in downtown Chicago. If you shout out Cro Mags or Sheer Terror lyrics I promise I'll stamp your manifest faster.

Last Monday evening my roommate and I drove up to Vilas Park for some hockey only to shockingly discover that the boards had been taken down. I know March is immediately coming but it was still supposed to be in the 20's for the next 2 weeks so I banked on some hockey for that time. Wrong -- no game on. It was very odd considering that its a fair amount of work to take the boards down. I would have been the same amount of work to wait a few weeks to take down the boards. Up north in Tomahawk they leave the boards up all year long. But on the bright side the weather is looking a little warmer and the days are a little longer so I'll be able to get some bike riding in on a regular basis soon. Nope. We just got 6+ inches of snow today so biking is on break for a week or so. I suspect this is the hockey/cycling shoulder season that I'll get used to over time. But in the end, I'm the guy that moved to Wisconsin.

...

I finally read Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow by Alan Moore. This is a sad fact to admit considering its one of the greatest Superman stories of all time, probably the best. The reprints were tough to come by for a while but the new DC Universe Stories of Alan Moore trade paperback solves this problem. The story was so wonderful and beautiful and heart breaking. Completely amazing. Many people that love comics see Superman as being so iconic that he can offer nothing in the way of modern drama ala Frank Miller or Bendis. They say if you think you don't like Springsteen listen to Nebraska. Well... read this story and weep for the man of tomorrow.

The reason I didn't win stage 5

Saturday night I found myself crashing on Tom’s southside couch waiting for my phone to ring at 6:30am so I could layer on the clothing for another Tour da Chicago stage. Tom is a generous host and also a wise and motivated homeowner – he is currently painting his living room (fron-troom in Chicagospeak). This places the entire condo in a state of disarray but it is easy to see the forest and not get hung up on the trees. It’s a free, warm place to crash and in a week or so will certainly look much nicer and hipper. At 5 am I became aware that I needed to use the facilities but bargained with my brain that since I will be getting up in an hour anyway, why not just keep sleeping. This is the same logic that results in sleeping through the snooze multiple times on weekdays. Once 5:45 had come all bargaining had ceased and I stumbled through the near dawn down a hallway to the washroom. The only problem (and reason anyone even needs to read this) is that there is a 2X4 along the wall. I slammed my pinky toe into it about as hard as one could. I kept quiet, finished in the bathroom, and went back to bed. After waking at 6:30 I looked down at the wool sock covering my right foot, didn’t see blood stains, and proceeded to cover the sock with an additional wool sock for the race. The toe was in a great deal of pain but I was tired and since there was no bleeding what could I really do? Driving to Chicago to race in the Tour to simply pull out due to pinky toe pain is not very hardcore, and since I live hardcore (particularly at the time of the rent) I had to gut it out. When arriving back in Madison around 5 and jumping in the shower I discovered that my pinky toe is completely dark purple – broken. As of today is a lighter-dark purple. Dr. Chris examined it and it moves and rests in the same angles as the good pinky toe so I’m saying that all will be well. So the reason I didn’t win the race was the bum toe. There can be no other logical explanation.

"When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes."
-- Desiderius Erasmus

Having just finished reading Teacher Man by Frank McCourt I'm left feeling a little confused about how to judge the book and consider how it fits into his trilogy (Angela's Ashes and 'Tis), or if a trilogy even exists. I certainly enjoyed it, but felt that some biographical broadstrokes were to be assumed. I have not read the other books but I understand that when taken as a whole all three span his youth through his retirement from teaching. It was a unique look into the life of a teacher that is constantly wondering if he is doing a proper job while also constantly striving to figure it out, when in the end the conclusion is that he was undeniably an excellent and memorable teacher. It was difficult to divine just how good of a teacher he really was at times because his self deprecating Irish character and personality wouldn't allow him to indulge the sin of Pride (I would assume he would answer that satisfaction is the death of desire and that he had no time to revel in any degree of satisfaction). I wonder if having read the earlier books I would have become more comfortable with his rhythm and found the facts within his voice a little more quickly. Well worth reading, but could easily have used another 200 pages, which I supposed is high praise. Once again I realize how indebted to teachers I am and how unique one's personality needs to be in order to achieve balance and excellence within a classroom (traits I admire so greatly because I know I don't have them).
...
Apparently when you get a haircut in Madison you must either figure out a completely new language that I do not know yet, or just accept the fact that you're rolling dice. "How do you want your hair cut?" "A '1' on the sides and trim the top. A high and tight." I left with a perfect fade that drifts into a '2' at its shortest. Its not bad but its not what I wanted. Maybe they sell different clippers up here.

Guns update

According to sources: No charges, all guns are legally held by said individual. Since he is a former police officer (briefly, many years ago) he can carry a gun and own a handgun in Chicago. All other handguns/rifles are permited properly. The odds of a good lawsuit against the city are high. He's a gun collector and since all guns confiscated by the police are etched with the po's initials, his legal possessions have been devalued. He was always a character though, and having a large collection of weapons fits.

Guns, guns, we got guns!

So here is something interesting that happened in my old Chicago parish/grade school/neighborhood:

http://suntimes.com/output/sneed/cst-nws-sneed16.html

Police arrested James Patrick, 63, on Wednesday, of the 3700 block of W. 62nd Place, where they found a cache of guns consisting of 117 handguns, 154 rifles and shotguns and thousands of rounds of ammo -- which police believe was being supplied to street gangs.
*The shocker: The arsenal was located across the street from St. Nicholas of Tolentine grade school!

Reading this online caught my eye for a few reasons: I went to St Nick's, I recognize the address as one 2 blocks from my old house, and James Patrick was MY SCOUTMASTER growing up! Nothing about this story makes any sense and I really hope more information comes to light. I suspect some CPD friends of mine will get the full story from the arrest report and that it will filter throughout the eagle scout alumni of St Nick's. Its completely crazy. The neighborhood definitely has a growing gang problem, but its usually the crotchety old residents that rant and rave at CAPS meetings about these things -- not embrace Capitalism brutally and join 'em.

The funny thing is that when I have told this story to people in Madison and start with , "So I read a story about my old Scoutmaster in the paper...," I immediately see their faces wince at the assumed incoming pedophilia arrest. Thankfully he was not abusing children, just selling guns, allegedly of course. I'm sure more information (and hopefully a mug shot) will help me sort through the facts.

Hey, my neighborhood is on the news!

Bear fan survives trip to Packerland

This past Saturday I had the pleasure and pain of attending the Frozen Tundra Hockey Classic at Lambeau Field in Green Bay where the outdoor hockey found the Badgers taking on the Buckeyes. While it certainly was a hometown crowd, everyone seemed to simply be happy to be at such a unique event and there was no visible animosity towards the Buckeyes. The crowd was mostly Badger red, although there were more than enough fans in Packer blaze orange (some with their hunting tags still attached). I had always heard that the look of Lambeau at times resembles a collective mass of hunters that have stumbled out of their shacks simply to consume mass amounts of beer and sit on a freezing aluminum bench. Its tailgating at its finest. Having been to Soldier(s) Field in my life and having many friends that have season tickets, I know tailgating at its finest. So throughout my visit to the Packer Kingdom I was asked what I thought of the stadium and the experience in general. I was mostly polite -- I respect the fact that they are an old franchise and still have an outdoor field, I respect the fact that up until a few years ago the place was an old dump (as was SoldierS Field), and in general I respect teams with loyal fans. With all those polite remarks aside, I hope that place burns to the ground, and said as much later in the evening when asked again. I don't want anybody to get hurt, I just want the franchise to become so sad and depressed that the Packers lose every game for the remainder of my natural life, and the lives of any children I may eventually have. The Bears are in my heart and blood for the long haul and Brett 'Interception' Favre can just drift into retirement unless he wants to be forced there by Brian Urlacher. I used to be polite about things like this but life is too short to politely watch people waste their lives on a loser. I owe it to humanity to tap all on the shoulder that decide to follow such a dim and fading light. Those poor souls. I hate frats for a variety of reasons and once had a friend in one. I was polite and opted for the road of 'hey, if it makes you happy, that's cool -- you're my friend.' She ended up being not that nice of a friend in the end (I don't talk to her anymore) and dearly regret not throwing in my two cents about how she bought her friends. I may have saved her had I intervened. I cannot abide as these drunken hunters walk deeper and deeper into a pit of despair following a guiding light of nothingness. I only regret that my desire to hurt that large inanimate structure is tempered by my need to also injure the Wrigley Field Beer Garden/Yuppie Palace. I'm so confused (and mature) about these things that nothing of consequence will ever get done. I joke, I joke. I live in this state and have to take the fact that I have not been beaten up while wearing my Bears shirt as a gift from the good people of Wisconsin. I ought to be mature and polite about these things, but I can still see Jim McMahon being body slammed 20 years ago.

Outdoor hockey is great, hanging out in Green Bay is plenty of fun, and everyone at the stadium was so nice to a covert Bear fan that I guess we'll call it a truce till next fall. I've traveled throughout Wisconsin quite a bit but never hung out in Green Bay so it was nice to check out a new part of the state. Green Bay was fun, but the Bears are still #1. (Rhyme unintended, bitterness intended).

Skates and Skins

But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated.

- Hemingway


At Vilas Park last night I found myself in a terrific pick up game of rat hockey, and as is most often the case, I was the worst skater. I almost always get chased down on a breakaway, but I don’t fall anymore, unless I’m involved in an accidental body check. I would say I’m improving quickly – my confidence is up and I’m able to pass the puck adequately. We played for about an hour and while my team lost, both teams probably scored about 20 goals, 3 of which were mine. Yeah, I threw down a hat trick. I did get a nice cut on my right forearm from a hook/slash/high stick, but I like to think of it more so as a badge of honor. I woke up with a sore arm and hip from a crash along the boards, but my tenacity remains undefeated and I had a 3 point game (without counting my assists, which I assure you were numerous). Game on again tonight. I’ll probably still get smoked by the rest of the skaters, but I’m in it for the long haul.

If I see the kid that hooked me at the rink tonight I’m dropping the gloves.

. . .

Working late Saturday nights at Real Chili is such a blast – lots of fun to be had, loud music, and heavily tipping customers. Talking with all the drunks around 3am is always fun. This past Saturday night as it slowed down around 4am I chatted up a couple of grad students eating at the bar. He was dressed as a Dickens character – wool buttoned coat, black top hat, forest green vest, plaid pants, sensitive beard, etc. His girlfriend had a pretty straight up goth look going. I have my money on a Philosophy Masters candidates (or maybe English Lit.), in which case they will soon be cleaning grease traps on Saturday nights as well. She asked me where I bought my hat, to which I chuckled, Kohl’s. Cool, she replied, I really like the newsboy look and want to get one myself. I then told her I wore it more so out of a connection to being a near skinhead in the past and generally being into hardcore. Its an exaggeration and a bit of fib (in hindsight, I could have went SHARP if I had been surrounded by them at a certain short period of my life), but that’s part of the fun in talking with drunks late at night. Her face dropped like I just stabbed her dog and was laughing in her face. ‘You don’t still..roll that way, do you?’ I then realized immediately that for her skinhead = racist. I then went into a nickel explanation of how the majority of skins aren’t racist and that originally it was a non racist movement. She was genuinely interested to find this out and stated repeatedly that she didn’t know any of that. I concluded by stating that most skins may not be racist, but they still like to fight (mainly other skins). Just stay away from red suspenders and red laces, I advised. So there you go – educating the drunks on State street.

Last night I drove over to Milwaukee for the opening/preview of the new exhibit Saint Peter and the Vatican: the Legacy of the Popes at the Milwaukee Public Museum (a natural history museum, kind of like the Field, only smaller). The exhibit doesn't formally open until Feb. 4th, but I'm a big shot and well connected so obviously I would be able to get in to the closed door preview with ease. They even gave me a name tag with my name already printed on it. No marker needed! Seriously, my cousin's firm in Milwaukee is connected to the museum, and after a few more connections past that you end up with my cousin on the list of invitees. Aside from the open bar and snacks you were able to tour the exhibit at your leisure with a bunch of big shots in suits. Its the only way to tour a museum for me from now on. The mayor of Beer City was there -- I sure didn't know who he is but my cousin keyed me in a few minutes after he and I had been standing next to each other reading a description of a painting.

The exhibit was really overwhelming to say the least. One highlight was being able to look at the first known map of Australia. That is just an amazing thing to be able to see. The other impressive portion was a walk through pseudo-tunnel designed to emulate the scaffolding and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel as it was being painted -- essentially the working conditions of Michelangelo Buonarroti. The Sistine Chapel bit, and everything else in the exhibit, gave me an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction, curiosity, interest, and a little instance of that nagging idea living in the corner of my brain that I'm not doing enough with my life. The whole 2000 years of history, art, and knowledge was simply awe inspiring.

Some people, as they were moving through the exhibit, mumbled something to the extent of ,"the Vatican certainly isn't poor." Its a valid point -- the Church is committed to helping the poor and collection priceless artifacts and objects isn't a terribly direct path to satisfying that end. Selling some of that stuff could feed a lot of people. True. But also, how much more enriched are all of our lives for being able to observe these works of art and history in an exhibit such as this? Mine certainly was. If they were scattered across the globe in private collections would we ever see them? How many would be lost or destroyed? The Vatican is undeniably an exceptional curator.

My goal to travel to Europe and Italy in particular is stronger than ever. Perhaps next year -- Alaska is the dream to refulfill this year.